He sat up, scooted down the bed and rapidly unlaced her rather worn leather half-boots. Aunt Pargetter had wanted to get her some dainty footwear to go with her wedding finery, but there hadn’t been time. And she’d thought her own comfortable boots would stand her in better stead, considering the coldness of the season. Only now did she wish she’d taken them off herself, during the hours he’d been away seeing his lawyers.
He didn’t say anything about the patched soles, or the worn-down heels, but his frown did deepen once his fingers encountered her stockinged feet.
‘Your feet are like ice! Well, that won’t do.’ Taking her left foot between both hands, he first chafed it, then raised it to his mouth to plant a hot kiss on the sole. The action sent her skirts slithering up her legs.
His hot eyes followed their movement. Swiftly followed by his hands.
‘I need to get these stockings off,’ he said, as though warning her of his intent.
She shivered with pleasure when he deftly undid her garter, then slid one stocking down.
‘Cold?’
She shook her head. Far from it. It felt as though a bolt of lightning streaked from the heat of his hands against her bared skin, right to her very core. She subsided into the pillows again, luxuriating in the sensations he evoked whilst removing her other stocking—with slow deliberation.
Her eyes half-closed, she watched with growing interest as he got up, shrugged off his jacket, undid his shirt and yanked it impatiently off over his head.
He had, without doubt, the most impressive masculine torso she’d ever seen. And she had seen many. Sailors often worked in just their ragged breeches, when loading and unloading ships during the hottest months of the year.
But she’d always averted her gaze and hurried past. She’d never been even remotely tempted to pause and drink her fill of any single one of them. She hadn’t struggled to keep her hands neatly placed at her sides, rather than reaching out and running her fingers over each clearly delineated muscle. Or thought about letting her tongue follow in the wake of her fingers. Or got a mad urge to lick her way up that strong column of a masculine throat to the stubbled texture of his chin.
Not that she was bold enough to do any such thing. Besides, he’d just said he was going to make it good for her. And part of her, the part that was still smarting over the things she’d read on the list, wanted him to exert himself to make it up to her. Not that he would be aware he was doing any such thing, but still, she would know.
Anyway, he inadvertently helped her to resist the temptation by sitting down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, which gave her eyes an entirely new view to appreciate. His back. The broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle down either side of his spine, which disappeared into the narrow waistband of his breeches.
She was a little disappointed when he drew the line at removing them. Although perhaps it was only fair. After all, she was still in her gown. Not that it took him long to take it off her once he set to it. My, but he certainly knew his way round lacings, and corsets.
Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen by the time he lay down beside her and put his arm about her shoulders. The dexterity he’d just displayed with her clothing convinced her that he truly could make this experience good for her.
Even though he wasn’t all that proficient at flirting and charming his way into a woman’s bed, it didn’t mean he hadn’t had encounters of an...earthy nature, with willing women.
Willing? Oh, what an inadequate word. If any of them had guessed what kind of body he concealed beneath his casually comfortable clothing, plenty of them would have ripped them off just to get their greedy hands on it.
Just as she wanted to get her own hands on it.
She was so glad he didn’t wear the kind of clothing that showed his stunning physique to better advantage. If he’d needed a couple of valets to peel a tightly fitted coat from those bulging biceps, she would have missed the enthralling spectacle of him gradually revealing more and more of his masculinity for her eyes alone.
He wouldn’t have been able to just take her to bed because he felt it was time, either. She liked that they could be spontaneous about this, rather than having to involve servants.
She reached for him as he ran his fingers through her hair—hair that had come out of its fastenings during their first bout of kissing on this bed.
As she ran her hands down his back, glorying in the fact that there were no longer any clothes to impede her exploration, it occurred to her that a ‘modest’ woman wouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t have clawed her way under his waistcoat and writhed up against him like some kind of snake when he’d tumbled her on to the bed earlier, either. Nor would a ‘modest’ woman let her husband strip her naked at four in the afternoon—even if daylight was fading—and be glad of the way firelight bathed the room in a warm glow, so she could feast her eyes on her new husband’s magnificent masculine nakedness.
But then, nor would a man who truly wanted a modest wife be looking at her like that—as if he wanted to devour her.
Which was pretty much what he did next, tasting and nibbling her all over as though she was some rare delicacy. He didn’t leave an inch of her unexplored. And everywhere he put his mouth, he left behind such glorious feelings she didn’t know how to describe them.
She bit down on her lower lip when he finally stroked her legs apart and began trailing kisses up the inside of her thighs.
Her aunt Pargetter had warned her, during a private little talk the night before, that the things her husband might wish to do to her, once in the marriage bed, might seem strange and perhaps a little frightening at first. She had advised her against resisting, or protesting, because nine times out of ten he would have more of an idea what would end up making it lovely.
It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. Resist him? Protest about this? Oh, no. The slow slide of his tongue, the little nips of his teeth, combined with the firm caresses of those strong hands, those knowing fingers, were exactly what she wanted.
Oh, very well, so her aunt had got part of it right. He did know more than her about this.
And he was taking the time to make it lovely for her, too. Which was somewhat surprising, considering he’d so far given the impression of always being in a hurry to get things done.
There was just one awkward little interlude, after he’d shucked off his breeches, where what he did hurt quite a bit, but then he brought the lovely feelings back, with skill, with patience, until...until...oh, utter rapture. It was as if she had completely left her body behind. She was floating somewhere—somewhere he’d taken her. And he was there, too. She could tell. His whole body was quivering with it. Pulsing with it.
‘Mary.’ He sighed, as she began to drift back to reality. A reality that had somehow been transformed, though she couldn’t have explained how. And anyway, she felt too peaceful to rack her brains over what had changed between them, or within her, or...
He shifted his weight to one side and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Though how he found the energy to move so much as one eyelid, she couldn’t imagine. She felt as though all her bones had melted. And as for muscles—there was not one left, in her entire body, that wasn’t completely and utterly drained.
‘Thank you for being so generous,’ she heard him murmur, as he tucked her into his side.
Just before she drifted into sated oblivion.
* * *
There was no need to panic. He’d managed to bite back his urge to tell her that the way they’d reached the pinnacle of rapture together had been just about the most blissful experience of his life. He’d turned it into a far more temperate expression of gratitude, thank God.
And he was grateful. Grateful that they were so compatible, sexually. He’d specifically sought a woman he could enjoy taking to bed, hadn’t