Page 68 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“I will spoil ye, I want to do so. I want ye to have the best of everything, to have the happiest, most perfect life I can give ye.”

She stared up at him, reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand. “You only need to love me to do that, Hamilton,” she whispered, the words sinking into his heart and making it ache with happiness.

“Aye, well, I intend to do that too,” he said gruffly, desire and anticipation thrumming beneath his skin as the delicate scent of roses teased his senses. “Come, lassie, hurry. If ye keep looking at me that way, we may not make it to the bedroom.”

“Hamilton!” she exclaimed, so scandalised that he roared with laughter. “You are dreadful,” she scolded him, but he noticed she was laughing too, though she tried to hide it.

Finally, they arrived at the lovely guest suite his sister had prepared for them, and Hamilton led her in, watching her face with pleasure as it lit up.

“Oh, what a beautiful room,” she breathed as she walked through an elegant sitting room to the bedroom, taking in the lovely pale green floral wall hangings, gold framed pictures and luxurious velvet curtains and upholstery. Though it was the middle of July, it was still Scotland, and the suite of rooms was large, so fires burned in the hearths, warming the temperature to one that would be pleasant to enjoy naked.

Georgie had filled their bedroom with roses, as Hamilton had requested, and the sweet scent drifted around them, lush and intoxicating. Clara went to one of the lavish displays and breathed in, closing her eyes and sighing.

“I’m dreaming,” she said happily.

“I thought so too, when I saw ye coming up the aisle towards me,” Hamilton admitted. “For a moment I was honestly terrified I might wake up.”

She turned to look at him. “Truly? You’re really happy?”

Hamilton went to her and took her in his arms. “How could ye think otherwise?” he asked, touching her cheek with reverent fingers. “I have wanted ye since the first moment I saw ye, when ye woke me in the schoolroom.”

She smiled at him, clearly pleased by the admission. “Why were you there, when you and Malcolm have clearly always been at odds?”

He shrugged. “Malcolm was too drunk to work but I couldnae leave the boys without someone to school them. I’m nae the greatest teacher in the world, but better than none at all.”

Clara stared at him and then reached up, framing his face with her hands. “You are a good man, Hamilton Anderson, the best man I have ever known, and I am so very, very proud to call you husband.”

Oddly, Hamilton found his throat felt grow tight upon hearing such words and so he simply took hold of her hands and turned his face into each, kissing the palms.

“Then let me make ye my wife, Clara,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

Hamilton swallowed, the anticipation that had been building all day threatening to drive him to distraction, but he only smiled at her and turned her around, striving to at least appear calm. He didn’t want to frighten the poor girl by pouncing on her, though he was sorely tempted. His nerves were fraught. Over a month of celibacy—and the nightly dreams of his bride with which his imagination had furnished him—had his patience strung tight as a bowstring. He could only pray he would not act like an impetuous boy in his haste.

He moved to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons that marched down her spine and discovered his hands were trembling. With a soft laugh, he reached for the silver flask he’d hidden about his person, took a fortifying swallow, and tried again.

Clara looked over her shoulder, her expression perplexed.

“Is there a problem?”

“Nae, lassie, I’m only muttering curses against dressmakers who want a new husband to lose his mind.”

“There are an awful lot of buttons,” she admitted with a choked laugh. “It took forever to do them up.”

“It will nae take forever to undo them,” he promised her firmly.

It took a good deal longer than his fraying nerves liked, however, but finally the dress sagged to the ground. With more haste than skill, he undid petticoats and too many confusing layers until only her shift, corset, and drawers remained.

Clara peered over her shoulder at him again, smiling uncertainly.

“I think I’m winning,” Hamilton said with a shaky laugh, never having felt so nervous about bedding a woman in his life.

Get a grip, ye numpty, he told himself. Yet unwrapping his virgin bride set him on edge, with a reverence he had not expected. He wanted everything to be perfect for her. He tugged at the corset strings, reminding himself he was a man of experience, and he’d had no complaints so far, but that didn’t seem to help. Especially when the corset fell, and Clara turned to face him. The shift was still moulded to her shape where the corset had held it tight to her skin, and the fine cotton did little to hide the dark shape of her nipples, and the lush, high breasts they ornamented.

It took him a moment to recall his plans for their wedding night, but Hamilton gave himself a mental shake and took her hand.

“Come, lassie, I want to show ye something.”