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She curled and uncurled her hands and pictured her unfinished knitting waiting for her in the top of the chest of drawers. Nothing calmed her like slowly creating row after row until it emerged into something lovely and useful. But knitting was hardly something a husband admired in a wife, was it? What would Cillian think if he entered and found her knitting in her crumpled shift? He might well turn around and leave the room.
Given the description of the act told to her by her sisters, she might prefer that. She’d witnessed a scandalous moment or two in her six-and-twenty years but those were between people who very much desired one another. It was no secret that many an arranged marriage meant an uncomfortable night for the woman.
No. She had to do this. Their marriage had already started off strained, and her sisters gave her plenty of advice for her first time. Maybe it would even become something passionate and wonderful, just like they enjoyed with their husbands. After all, Cillian was certainly a physical looking man.
Rising from the bed, Ivy stripped off the shift and carefully lifted the chemise over her head in the hopes of avoiding mussing her hair. There was nothing she could do about her rounded belly or large thighs, but she could at least look pretty.
She smoothed the fabric down her body and gave into the temptation of looking in the long mirror. It wasn’t too bad perhaps. The warm ambience of the room flattered her pale skin and made her hair glow. The chemise skimmed her curves and highlighted the indent of her waist. Perhaps he would not find her repulsive after all.
A gentle tap at the door made all confidence flee. “Yes,” she managed to croak out.
The door eased open, and Cillian peered through the gap. “I wanted to check...” He stilled as his gaze flitted up and down her. “Uh...”
“Come in,” she suggested before she lost her nerve.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him, seeming to take up most of the air in the room. “That is...” His gaze lingered somewhere around her breasts.
That had to be a good sign surely?
Ivy noted his rolled shirt sleeves and the lack of a cravat. He was ready to remove the rest of his clothes, she imagined.
She did her own staring, finding sudden fascination in the way the muscles of his arms flexed when he moved his fingers and how his throat bobbed. The open neck of his shirt revealed a little crisp hair.
She’d never seen a man with chest hair. Her brother Frederick was entirely hairless when he used to swim in the lakes near the estate, though if that had changed, she did not know. He’d been travelling the world and avoiding the censure that came with being a Musgrave for two years.
Lucky man.
When minutes past with neither of them saying anything, Ivy motioned to the bed. “Should I perhaps...” She didn’t know how to say it so gave up and climbed on the bed, lacing her hands across her stomach and closing her eyes.
More time passed. She opened one eye to find him still by the door, still staring.
“Oh. Is this wrong? There was this one that...” She gulped and rose, placing herself on hands and knees then glancing at him over his shoulder. “My sisters said some men like this.”
“Christ,” he muttered.
“My lord?”
“Just sit normally, Ivy, and for goodness sake’s call me Cillian.”
She bit down on her bottom lip. It was no good. She’d made a mess of this whole thing. Cheeks blazing warmer than the fire, she sat on the bed and curled her legs to one side.
“I only wanted to ensure you were all well, Ivy.”
“But—”
“This...” He motioned to the bed. “This can wait.”
She scowled. “Wait?”
He readjusted his eye patch slightly. “Yes. We can take things slowly. I know you are...innocent. The last thing I want to do is make you...” He coughed as his voice grew strained. “Uncomfortable.”
“I see.”
A slight smirk crossed his lips. “Do you, Ivy?”
“I’m not certain.”
“All I’m saying, is there is no reason to rush. After all, we have a lifetime.” Cillian uttered this with a strange joviality that made her wonder if he was joking. He took a step forward, hesitated, then took another few to the edge of the bed. “It’s been a long day, sweeting. Get some rest.” He pressed the briefest of kisses to her forehead.
