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‘No, not really.’
‘Tired?’
‘I feel quite wide awake. I hope I did not send your shoulder to sleep, leaning on it like that.’ He shook his head. ‘I am excited about seeing our new home.’
Jack was quite clear in his own mind that if she did not want to sit down to dinner immediately, or fall asleep, then the only thing he was excited about was taking his wife to bed and very thoroughly convincing her that they were married.
The chaise drew up in front of the front door, which opened, revealing a tall man who must be Wystan, the butler, and two footmen who ran down to open the doors. Jack jumped down, then stood and held out his hands to Madelyn. ‘Let me help you.’ She gave a startled gasp when, instead of handing her down, he swept her up in his arms and strode across to the door. Tradition said that brides should be carried across thresholds and, in his opinion, straight upstairs.
‘My lord, my lady. Welcome home and on behalf of the staff here, may I offer our congratulations. Dinner—’
‘Thank you, Wystan. Please tell Cook to put dinner on hold indefinitely. We will ring when it is required. Bedchamber?’
‘Er... Yes, my lord. Second door on the right on the first floor, my lord. When Lady Dersington’s maid arrives—’
Jack was already halfway up the stairs. ‘Tell everyone to have their own supper,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘My wife needs to rest.’
‘Jack, I don’t, really. I am not tired,’ Madelyn protested.
‘I lied.’
‘Jack, I must weigh so much. Do put me down... Oh!’
He shouldered his way through the door, walked to the bed, deposited Madelyn on top and went back to turn the key in the door.
‘But, Jack, I should wash.’
‘Afterwards.’ He shrugged off his coat, glad he had travelled in a comfortable old one that did not require the exertions of a valet to get it off, and began on his neckcloth.
‘No, now.’ Madelyn slid off the bed, revealing a gorgeous flash of long leg, silk stocking and bare thigh, and fled into the dressing room.
Jack found he was grinning. He sat down on the end of the bed and began to pull off his boots, a far more difficult exercise than getting out of his coat. He had them both off, and his stockings, but all that he could hear from the dressing room was frantic splashing. Perhaps he had better stop undressing—virgin brides should not be confronted by stark-naked husbands, even if she had seen him last night. Hopefully she would find him acceptable enough when she was stone-cold sober. He gave the bed an experimental prod. At least there seemed to be a new mattress and clean linen and a pile of soft-looking pillows.
The dressing room door creaked open and Madelyn emerged, swathed in a vast linen bathsheet.
‘Sweetheart.’ He got up and went to put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You are shivering.’
‘Cold water.’ She was staring fixedly at the open neck of his shirt. ‘I think... I think I would like you to warm me up please, Jack.’
‘There is nothing I would like better.’
‘The candles...’
‘We could make love in the dark, but I would very much like to see you. Are you shy?’
She nodded, not meeting his gaze.
‘Well, so am I. What if you take one good look and say, Ugh?’
‘Idiot,’ she said with a choke of laughter. ‘Jack, are you still angry with me?’
‘No,’ he said and realised that was the absolute truth. ‘And I would never hurt you, not intentionally. Although I understand it might not be exactly comfortable the first time.’ As he spoke, he let his hands stray slowly over her back, her bare shoulders under the fall of silky hair, gentling and stroking until she began to sway against him, relaxing into his touch.
His fingers explored the edge of the linen sheet to find the corner that had been tucked in to secure it. One tug and it began to unravel, then slid to the floor. Madelyn made a grab for it, missed and pressed closer against him in an effort to hide, which suited Jack very well indeed.
‘I am wearing too many clothes,’ he remarked. ‘But I cannot unfasten my breeches with you so close. Can you reach the buttons?’ For a moment he thought she would refuse, then her fingers slid between their bodies and began to search for the fastening of his falls. He was already so erect that the fabric was straining, making it harder to push the buttons through the holes and Madelyn’s groping fingers were accidentally wreaking havoc every time they strayed or slipped.
There was a gasp of relief—although which of them made it was difficult to tell—then he pushed at the breeches so they slid down over his hips, taking his small clothes with them, leaving him with just the shirt tails for decency.
