Page 55 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“In that case, come here.” He sat back and held one arm out, inviting her to move closer.

Clementine told herself she was a sensible girl and would not swoon if her husband put his arm around her. All the same, her insides trembled, and her heart sped as she did as he asked.

“There, now. That isn’t so terrible, is it?” he asked, glancing down at her, his blue eyes dancing.

“Don’t mock me,” she warned him tartly. “You have all the experience and I none, which, I might add, is exactly how men have arranged things. So don’t go teasing me for being an ignorant ninny.”

“Good lord, Clementine, as if I would,” he retorted, though amusement still lurked in his eyes. “And I cannot believe you ignorant.”

“Not about the mechanics of the thing,” she admitted. “Just the… the technique.”

There was a tense silence. “The mechanics and the t-technique,” he repeated, but she heard the quaver in his voice and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Wretch!” she exclaimed, though she was laughing now. “How else should I put it?”

“Oh, n-no, my dear. I think that explains the situation perfectly,” he said, before giving a snort and bursting out laughing.

“One day, I shall make you pay for that,” she grumbled, finding she did not mind in the least, for it was delightful to watch him laugh with such abandon, and to be the one who had given such mirth, albeit unintentionally.

“I never doubted it,” he said, regaining his equilibrium and pulling her closer.

He looked down at her, his expression surprisingly tender as he leaned in, moving slowly so as not to startle her. Clementine held her breath, her heart thundering, watching. Ought she to close her eyes? She wondered but did not want to miss anything. This was her first kiss, after all.

He had not kissed her when he had proposed, for which she had been relieved at the time, but now she thought she regretted that. At least then she might have been a little prepared for… for…

His lips were surprisingly soft, plush and warm, and gentle as they brushed lightly over hers. A shiver ran over her skin and then he did it again, increasing the pressure a little. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then moved, giving dozens of butterfly-soft kisses that made her mind feel hazy at the edges. Though she had wanted to watch, to experience this kiss, these kisses, with every sense, she found her eyes closing, unable to keep them open. She needed to savour, to focus her mind on the feel of his mouth caressing hers. It was…

Oh.

It was good. Very good indeed. Warmth curled through her, warmth that seemed to build with every press of his mouth upon hers. His hand was a sensual weight at her waist, and she wished he would move it, that he would slide it down to her hip, or up to her breast, which suddenly felt heavy and desperate for his touch. Well, now she understood why people made such a fuss about men and women never being left alone together. If this was what temptation felt like, it was no wonder people got themselves into such trouble.

He did not hurry her or seem inclined to do anything more but continue in the same fashion, but as the kiss went on, one touch of lips melting into another, Clementine grew increasingly impatient. Boldly, she lifted her hand and rested it on his shoulder, thinking that perhaps it might encourage him to take them a little farther down this path.

It didn’t.

Well, she was not a silly chit straight out of the schoolroom, she reminded herself. She would try something else. Her hand moved, sliding over the fine material of his coat, feeling the strength of the shoulder beneath and discovering there was not a bit of padding there. It was all Beaumarsh. Delighted by this information, she lifted her hand, touching his jaw. She would have liked to curve her palm around his neck, but his cravat had been folded so intricately she found the prospect of disordering it too intimidating and decided it was best avoided. His jaw, however, was firm and there was a slight rasp as she ran her fingers over his skin. This morning he had been clean shaven, but now, late in the afternoon, the first golden hint of beard was making an appearance. Encouraged when he made no objection to her exploration, she allowed her hand to move back, sinking into the warmth of his hair. The dark gold locks were silky, sliding through her fingers, and Beaumarsh sighed.

Clementine stilled, entranced by the soft sound of pleasure. She wished to make him sigh again, and perhaps make other sounds that would signal his approval of her touch but, just as she was considering her next move, he drew back.

“Enough,” he said.

Clementine looked at him in shock, though somewhat mollified by the heat in his eyes, which had darkened considerably, the pupil wide and inky black, leaving only a thin sliver of blue visible. “Enough?” she repeated breathlessly. “I should think not.”

He grinned at her, so smug and pleased with her words she almost laughed. “Oh, just for now, love. But I promise you, your wedding night will be one to remember, and not because it happened in a carriage.”

Frowning, Clementine considered him with frustration. “Well, surely we can just carry on as we were and—”

“No,” he said, laughing. “That’s not the way it works. You’ll just have to trust me, because if we don’t stop now, neither of us will be inclined to stop at all. I would never do anything you didn’t want, Clementine, but if you keep encouraging me, we might find ourselves in a tangle on the floor by the time we reach our next stop,” he grinned as he spoke, looking as though he was ready to be persuaded if she really insisted.

“Really?” she said, fascinated despite knowing she ought not be curious about such things.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said, settling himself back beside her. He slanted a glance at her and reached over, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But I am more than pleased that you wish to. I promise you, if I could make this blasted carriage move any faster, I would do so. I am counting the moments until we are finally home.”

“Well, that’s all right, then,” she allowed, glad she was not the only one afflicted by this sudden agitation and impatience for more.

“Come here,” he said, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling his arm curving around her shoulders. “Comfy?

Clementine nodded, though it was not entirely true. Her body was fizzing, alive with sensation, like a champagne bottle that had been handled too roughly. Her blood seemed to rush through her veins, hotter than usual, and her skin was oversensitive. Suddenly she was very aware of her clothes, of the places where they were tight, and of the too many layers between her and her husband. She fidgeted, conscious of the silk stockings and the garters that held them up. Madame Auguste had been a wonderful help to her with her trousseau and persuaded her to buy all sorts of things she would never have dared to consider before. But she was to be a married lady now, Madame had argued, and her husband would appreciate such things. The garters were embroidered with little roses and ornamented with tiny pink silk ribbons. They were the most frivolous and shocking thing Clementine had ever worn in her life, but she had seen them and wanted them, and now the knowledge they were there, hidden beneath her skirts, made her restless.