Page 33 of The Baron Takes a Wife

She made a sound of agreement, and he kissed her neck, trailing his lips against her skin. Finally, he pulled his lips away.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist.” He leaned his head against her face and smiled against her skin. It was strange that she could feel that sensation so clearly.

“There were two of us here, David. I clearly could not resist either. But I need some time to myself.”

He helped her down from the piano, his hands molding onto her body. She imagined again what it would be like without their clothes between them. But first, she needed time and space to think.

He caught her hand this time as she moved to go. “Elena. My door is always open.”

She bobbed her head, overcome with a sudden shyness, and turned to leave, feeling his gaze on her back, caressing her skin. Now that this door was open, how would she ever close it? And did she even want to?

****

That evening as she sat at her vanity, Elena realized that she desperately wanted to follow that wild, reckless voice inside her as it whispered to her to open that door. She considered that voice as she dismissed her maid and finished brushing and braiding her hair. She felt guilty that she hardly used her maid other than for formal hairstyles or dresses, but she had taken care of herself most of her life, and she didn’t need much help now. She regarded herself in the mirror. She no longer thought herself beautiful like the vain girl she once had been, partly because she felt so out of place in London, partly because of her scar. But mostly because she felt ugly to her soul for what she had wrought, that somehow, she had deserved all that had happened to her for her foolishness and selfishness. But maybe, said a small voice, maybe it wasn’t all her fault. Maybe a small part of her deserved to feel beautiful, to feel pleasure again. Heart pounding, she set the brush down, pulled on her wrapper, and walked slowly to her husband’s adjoining door. She knocked on David’s door, and when she heard no answer, she knew she had to keep going, or her courage would leave her. He had said his door was always open, hadn’t he? Mayhap he had not thought she would take his meaning so literally, but she always had the excuse of not knowing English turns of phrase. She opened the door and walked in as if she had done a hundred times before, head held high. She noticed the next chamber door was ajar, and a light came from behind. She kept walking. As she pushed that door, she saw him rising out of the bath, water dripping from his tall, bare form and froze.

****

His wife stood there unmoving before him, her expression, as well as her body, frozen. He couldn’t read from her eyes if she felt shock or embarrassment. He looked at Parsons, his new valet, who, ever the professional, nodded and exited, setting the towels he held down.

It was not the most scandalous thing for a wife to come upon her husband in the bath. However, for him, this wife was a different story. He knew she may have seen him without clothes before in the hospital, but that felt a world away. He had been injured, and he was not quite the man he was today, with clear evidence of his regard for her visible to her eyes. He had never before felt so vulnerable and bare, watching, waiting for her to move. He did not know whether to step out and take a towel or let her make the next move. She blinked for a long moment, and he could tell she was weighing her decision.

She wore a plain white nightgown and a wrapper that covered most of her skin, yet he had never seen a more tempting being in his life. Slowly, she took one deliberate step forward. His blood was pounding in his ears. He felt stuck forever in this moment, in this uncertainty of what she would do. He had wanted her to have the power to choose, but this moment was killing him. If only she would touch him. She took another step. Suddenly, he realized her intent as she shrugged out of her wrapper and stepped carefully into the tub.

Still, she did not touch him.

She reached out, finally placing her fingertips just above his hip, still lightly scarred from the explosion that caused his injury. She cocked her head and met his eyes. He could barely make himself move, but he gave her the slightest jerk of his head in assent. She bent down, wetting her nightgown in the process, and kissed the scar above his hip. He felt himself twitch. She then reached out one fingertip and, with great tenderness, ran it from his hipbone, up across his torso, to his collarbone, then his neck, until her finger rested on his lips. He could not speak if Wellington himself had risen from the dead and commanded it. His chest rose and fell as he stood, naked and wet and mesmerized by his golden wife.

She looked in his eyes again as if she were surprised her fingertip was on his mouth. Carefully, she eased her hips and then her breasts up against his body. He could feel his damp skin wetting her crisp white nightgown, his arousal cradled against her abdomen. She took her hand away, placing both her hands on his shoulders, and carefully stood on her toes and reached her lips to his. He took a moment to first recover from his shock and second to make sure that this was what she wanted. Then he wrapped his arms around her, nightgowns be damned, fiercely returning her kiss. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there together, but then suddenly, they were both in the water, kissing each other madly as drops splashed onto the chamber floor. Her nightgown was now completely soaked, and he could see her luscious body through every clinging inch as he stroked her beautiful breasts, running his hand over the spectacular fullness of them. Eventually, they broke apart, each breathing heavily, eyes locked. He felt as if he had stepped into some kind of myth or spell, cocooned in this moment with her, and the outside world felt a million miles away as the drips of water echoed his pounding heart.

She looked away, briefly breaking the spell. He swallowed, unsure of what to do next, as he did not want to lose this moment with her. He was reminded of Orpheus turning around to see Eurydice disappear into the ether. He had to save the moment before she slipped away.

“Elena, I ruined your nightgown.”

He was an absolute idiot. He had broken the moment and offered her the most basic, obvious information possible. But it was the only thing his brain could make himself say. She looked down as if only now aware of where she was and what she was wearing.

“It’s only a nightgown.”

She then stood and slowly pulled the garment over her head. Every golden part of her, glistening with water, was now revealed before him. He felt almost blinded by the gold of her skin and hair, the reflection of the copper tub, and the water. Carefully, he rose and wrapped her in one of the soft towels Parsons had left, then stepped out of the tub and picked her up. Normally, he needed a cane to walk for longer than a few steps, but he figured he could make it to the bed this one time. He carried her back to his bedchamber and laid her out on his bed. Looking down at her, he thought he had never seen anything or anyone so lovely in all his life. He suddenly became very aware of the scars on his face and body, of his difficulty walking for long periods. As if she could read his thoughts, Elena slowly drew his head to hers, kissing his temple softly. He felt such awe, such luck that in all the world, this woman had stumbled upon his sickbed and read to him and made him laugh. That she was showing him he was more than his looks, more than his title. He had never felt this mix of desire and tenderness together before in his life. He wanted to do something for her.

“You know,” he said, breaking the spell of silence that had entwined them. “I’ve never seen your hair down before.”

He stroked her braid, a long mix of brown and gold that felt like silk in his hands. His fingers reached the end of her braid, knotted with purple ribbon, which seemed sensual for bedtime but somehow fit his wife. He looked up at her with a question in his eyes, and she gave a small nod of assent. He needed her to know, that even with taking down her hair, she had control. He pulled on the ribbon gently, spilling her hair onto the bedclothes. It felt as if he were unwrapping a present, as intimate as undressing her, as though they were not lying naked together already. Her hair spilled onto her shoulders and into the valley of her breasts. He gathered a handful of her hair and inhaled deeply.

Amber and honey, the heart of his desire. He gently nestled the golden-brown strands and kissed the silkiness. He felt her watching him, and he lay her hair back against her breasts, letting his fingers linger there. He worshipped her beautiful breasts, still damp from the water, cupping and stroking them, filling his hands. He then replaced his fingers with his lips, his tongue. The sound of her moans inflamed him, and he soon found the space in between her breasts and claimed it with his mouth. After he used his lips and tongue to trace around both of her breasts, teasingly reaching the center as she arched into him, he then began to kiss his way down her body as she responded even more to his touch. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he looked up at her.

She was watching him, waiting. He gestured at her sex with a nod. She looked dazed, her golden-brown eyes shining in the dark. He nodded again, and he could see understanding dawn in her eyes. She gave a small, almost indiscernible dip of her head in assent, and he grinned against the inside of her thigh. He wondered if she had ever done this before. A small part of him hoped he was the first to bring her this kind of pleasure. He blew cool air on the apex of her thighs, and she shivered. Then he slowly spread her legs wider and kissed her lightly on her sex. She moaned again, deeper and more urgent. He gently used his tongue to stroke the essence of her, and he saw her hands clutch the bedclothes for purchase. He had one hand spreading her sex, and he pushed the other up between her breasts to that spot, his spot really, where he could feel her heart beat rapidly against his palm. Now that she was laid out before him, he began to use a steady rhythm with his tongue. He heard her breathing change into shorter gasps, which kindled his desire, and he increased his speed as she moaned in response. When he began to feel her body arch, he looked up as he wanted to watch her climax. With her head back and eyes closed, she opened her mouth as if to cry out, but instead, she gave a whisper of a gasp full of joy and sweet release. Then, the corner of her lips began to turn upward as she came back down, and he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life as that smile. That he had brought her that smile made him feel ten feet tall. As she opened her eyes, he moved beside her, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her lazy, well-pleasured smile gave way to a confused expression.

“Did you want to, um?” It seemed his wife had not quite recovered the power of speech. That thought brought David a not unsubstantial amount of pride.

“Not tonight. Tonight was about your pleasure. Tonight was about what you wanted, how you felt. Did you like that?”

He ran his hand through her hair, which ran in waves past her breasts, and let his hand rest in that spot between them that he liked so well.

“Yes, but—” She bit her full bottom lip. He had a feeling of what she was afraid to say.

“Elena, I’ve had a lot of time to think about pleasure and sex. It isn’t just about penetration. There are many different ways to enjoy marital relations. This is one of them.” When he first sustained his injury, it had made him feel like less of a man. Even though he was able to feel desire again, the experience opened him up to reconsidering what made him a man and what made sex, well, sex.

She pulled back to look at him, and she must have liked what she saw because she laid her head on his chest and nestled against him. He kissed the top of her head and drew the bedclothes over them, carefully tucking them around her body. He was so grateful that she gave him the chance to touch her body, to bring her pleasure. He wanted to say so much, but he heard her breathing change, and he could feel her fall asleep against his chest. There was a strange intimacy in listening to another person fall asleep, he decided. He felt like she had entrusted something precious to his keeping. He wrapped his arms around her, and promised himself he would protect her, protect that trust with his life, then he joined his wife in sleep.