Page 70 of Just a Little Daring

August kissed Vivien tenderly but swiftly released her. “I’ll see you after your bath,” he said with a gentle smile.

Viv let him go a little reluctantly, though she was also relieved. A bath sounded heavenly, and so did a moment to prepare herself for her wedding night. Not that she was nervous, only full of anticipation. Between Mama and Nani Maa’s forthright advice—and that rather wicked book! — she felt she had been well prepared. Besides, she trusted August, and knew he would be a considerate lover, as he was considerate in all things.

Once she’d enjoyed a wonderful soak in sweet-scented hot water and brushed out and secured her long hair in a loose coiffure, Viv went to the bed. With nervous fingers, she picked up the wicked creation of silk and lace that had been a private wedding gift from Eliza. Unsurprisingly, it was French. She smiled, remembering how reserved and well-behaved Eliza had been before she had married so scandalously to Mr Demarteau, the Comte de Villen’s illegitimate half-brother. Eliza had proven that a little daring went a long way in her determination to wed the man she desired, and so Vivien took a deep breath and shimmied into the black silk nightgown. There was a far more demure white creation amongst her trousseau which was perhaps more in keeping for a virginal bride, but August knew she was not always the well-behaved young woman she ought to be, and he loved her anyway. Vivien bit her lip, skimming her hands over the sleek material that clung to her breasts and hips, and reached for the matching robe, leaving the sash undone. The silk was cool against her skin as she walked to the door that August had showed led to the adjoining parlour. He was waiting for her, standing by the fireplace, its glow casting him into bronze and copper and gold as he contemplated the flames.

“I hope you’re not having second thoughts,” Vivien said as she closed the door behind her.

“Of course not, I—” August’s words came to an abrupt halt as he looked up and saw her. His mouth fell open as he took in the confection of black silk and lace, and Viv felt a moment's anxiety at the shock in his eyes.

Perhaps the white would have been the better choice after all?

“Vivien,” he said, her name a breathless sound above the crackle of the fire.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked, hesitant now.

“Like it?” he repeated, blinking at her in bewilderment. “I may fall to my knees and thank my maker for his bountiful gifts, but like it does not express my sentiments.”

Oh. He did like it. Vivien grinned. “I was worried for a moment there. I thought perhaps I had shocked you.”

“You have shocked me,” he murmured, moving closer. “But I realise a fellow needs shocking now and then. Keeps him on his toes, makes him remember he’s alive.”

He stopped in front of her, one hand sliding over the silk at the curve of her waist, down to her hips.

Viv smiled. He wore only a loose shirt and trousers, his feet bare, and his hair still damp from his bath. She placed her hand on his chest, discovering his heart pounding fiercely beneath her palm. “You are certainly alive.”

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured, leaning in to nip her ear. “That’s not the only evidence, either.”

Viv bit her lip, her attention riveted by the part of him he alluded to, pressing urgently against the fall of his trousers.

“I have been out of my mind with wanting you, but we had best eat first, love,” he said ruefully. “Before you discover you are the main course.”

Vivien did not mind the sound of that, but she was hungry and too afraid that her stomach would grumble and mortify her at an inopportune moment if she did not attend to it.

They sat down to a splendid supper of salmon en croute and buttered haricots verts with a deliciously tart lemon sorbet to finish. August kept her wine glass topped up and Vivien did not remonstrate, for the wine was excellent and soothing to any last-minute nerves.

All the same, her stomach did an odd little flip when August rose and walked around the table, offering her his hand.

“Time for bed, lady wife,” he said, his voice gentle as he smiled down at her.

Vivien took his hand, feeling his warm fingers curve reassuringly around her own as he guided her back to their bedroom. Her bath and all the evidence of her preparations had been removed, and the covers turned down, though the room was still scented with the perfume of her bath oils.

“Orange blossom,” August said, breathing it in appreciatively as he closed the bedroom door.

“It’s my favourite,” she said, moving to the bed and leaning back against one of the heavy posts.

“Mine too, now,” August replied, following her.

He reached up and pushed the dressing gown from her shoulders. Viv shivered as she let it slither to the floor. His gaze skimmed down over the black silk of the indecent nightgown, lingering on the lacy edge that barely covered her nipples.

“Nervous?” he asked, stroking the upper curve of her bare breast with the back of his finger.

“A little perhaps,” she admitted. “But I trust you.”

“Perhaps I ought to confess that I am more than a little nervous,” August admitted with a wry smile, though it was hard to concentrate on his words as his finger moved lower, gently caressing a nipple that grew hard beneath the black lace. His touch provoked the most deliciously distracting sensations in places besides where he caressed her.

“You… You… are nervous?” she managed, struggling to keep her mind on the conversation.

“I want it to be good for you, perfect, but sometimes, the first time—”