The Wedding Affair (22 page)

For a moment she had no idea how she could continue. If he was simply going to stand there and watch while she stripped naked…

You asked for this
, she reminded herself.

She sat down on the room’s single chair and pulled up her petticoat a few inches to take off her boots. Footwear hardly mattered, and the boots had to come off sometime—even though she knew in her heart it was only a delaying tactic, intended to give herself another few moments to get used to the idea of being totally bare in front of him.

She raised her foot and bent to reach the fastenings of her boot. She felt as if she might spill out of her corset. She’d never had such an odd sensation before, as though her breasts had grown and her nipples were swollen and warm and eager to be free.

The earl dropped to one knee in front of her, gently pushing her hand away. He cupped her calf directly below her knee, supporting her leg with one hand as he efficiently tugged her boot loose with the other. His hand was big and warm and gentle, and a tingle ran up each of Penelope’s legs in turn, meeting deep in her belly where the sensation grew into a quiver of excitement.

Perhaps, she thought, footwear mattered after all.

The earl extended a hand to help her stand again. Without her boots, he seemed much taller, and suddenly she felt tiny and helpless and vulnerable. He reached out as if to cup her chin, but instead he tugged on the ribbon holding her bonnet in place.

Penelope uttered a faint protest and saw surprise sparkle in his eyes. She supposed it didn’t make much sense—after all, she was standing there in her shift and corset but making a fuss about taking off her hat… She swallowed a sigh and pulled the bonnet off. Released from captivity, her hair straggled down around her face and wild curls sprang out in all directions. She must look as if she was just getting out of bed…

Close enough, I suppose.
At least he knows what he’s getting.

She didn’t protest when he turned her away from him once more. For a moment he rested his fingertips against her neck, barely touching the hairline, and then slowly he pushed upward so each finger drew a channel through her hair, rubbing and relaxing the muscles in her scalp.

Penelope swayed a little and wondered how much wine she’d consumed. She hadn’t realized she’d had so much to drink that she would be dizzy, but perhaps she had lost count.

A moment later she felt the warm touch of his hands against the small of her back as he released the ties of her petticoats and let them drop to the floor. Then he began to work the knot loose in the lacings of her corset. “I see you do not lace yourself so tightly that you have difficulty breathing,” he said.

Unlike the other women you’ve undressed?
she wanted to ask. But Penelope kept her silence. He must already have noticed she made small pretense of being fashionable.

As the cords slackened, Penelope knew she should be more comfortable, but in fact her chest felt increasingly tight as his gentle touch worked slowly up her back until the corset was loose enough to remove.

Finally only her chemise remained. Not only was a good deal of leg bare, but the sheer fabric didn’t truly conceal even the sections of her body that were still covered.

The earl took a long look. Penelope wondered if he was noting how her breasts, no longer supported by the corset, sagged. Or perhaps he was wondering why the circles around her nipples were so much darker than the rest of her skin. She’d wondered herself at boarding school, when she compared her body to the other girls. But did his long survey mean there was something wrong there?

Trying to act casual, she crossed her arms across her chest.

His gaze drifted lower to the shadow between her legs. Penelope could feel her knees trembling. She wanted to lower her hands, but she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he laughed at her.

The earl reached out and slowly untied the string fastening the neck of her chemise. Trailing one finger downward, he traced a line from the base of her throat through the shadowed cleavage, pushing the soft fabric aside to bare her breasts to his gaze.

He has every right to look
, she reminded herself.
And to touch.
But if he didn’t like what he saw…

Under his steady gaze, she felt as if her skin was on fire. Simple embarrassment? Or something else, something that heated her from the inside out?

Was he breathing just a little faster, or was it only her imagination?

When he took his hand away, she felt as if a cool breeze had drifted across her skin—but rather than feeling refreshed, she wanted to shiver and press herself against him so she could be warm again.

He continued to look at her as he undressed. Every movement he made was efficient and refined. He was even graceful as he pulled off his boots, and he displayed not so much as a hint of self-consciousness. But she understood. Unlike her, the earl knew he was pleasant to look at. No doubt all his previous feminine audiences had made clear how much they appreciated his broad chest, strong shoulders, and well-defined muscles.

When he unfastened his breeches, Penelope couldn’t keep her gaze under control. When he stepped out of his smalls, she couldn’t contain her gasp.

The duenna who had chaperoned Penelope through her betrothal had told her something of what to expect in the marriage bed. But now she couldn’t help but wonder if Miss Rose had ever seen a man firsthand.

Penelope had thought her husband overwhelming the day before when he’d stripped to the waist in his bedroom, but the rest of him was even more compelling. Broad shoulders narrowed to hard, well-defined hips, and the strong angles of his body drew her gaze on down to what Miss Rose had coyly called man-parts.

If that was what made a man, Penelope thought, then the earl must be more manly than most.

Her lips suddenly felt dry. Half-consciously she ran the tip of her tongue across them, and she was startled when his penis seemed to grow longer and thicker and stand out even more strongly from his body.

He gently unfolded her arms from across her chest and pushed the straps of her chemise off her shoulders. The garment dropped to the floor, pooling around her feet, and Penelope stood completely naked in front of her husband.

“Get into bed.” His voice was low and harsh, and Penelope scrambled to obey.

Miss Rose’s words echoed in her mind.
Do not anger your husband. Simply lie still and let him do as he wishes. It will be over quickly.

She slid between the sheets. The cool linen was like a balm against her overheated skin, and the quilt was thick, concealing her lack of curves. At least now he would no longer be looking at her so closely—and perhaps finding her wanting—and she was glad.

But he took hold of the quilt and the sheet, stripping the covers away to drape them over the foot of the bed so she lay sprawled across the mattress entirely bare to his gaze. “That’s better,” he said as he stretched out beside her.

With the very tip of his forefinger, he traced a line from her forehead down past her ear, along her throat, and around the back of her neck to spread his hand over her nape as he bent to touch his lips to hers.

He had kissed her once before, and though his caress had been no more than a cool and formal end to their brief wedding ceremony, at least this gesture was familiar. Penelope relaxed a fraction, knowing what to expect.

Except… she was wrong.

This time, his mouth wasn’t chilly and firm. He was all heat and motion, his lips searing hers, his hand at the back of her neck holding her, gentle but insistent. “Open your mouth for me,” he said, and when she did, his tongue delved in, sweet and tangy and refreshing. He tasted foreign, different, and yet utterly right, like a perfectly executed dish from the hand of a master chef. Unable to stop herself, she darted her tongue against his, and in turn he deepened the kiss.

He cupped his palm around her breast and a shiver shot through her. How, she wondered, could his touch on her breast make the spot between her legs feel damp and warm and somehow all aglow?

As if he understood what she was feeling, he stretched his hand downward over her belly and her hip, slowly insinuating his fingers between her legs. She wriggled against him until his fingertip brushed a most sensitive spot, and she cried out.

He pulled back and said, “It’s all right if you want me to stop.”

But her cry had not been protest but simple surprise, and when he withdrew his hand—withdrew himself—she felt empty and cold, and as if she had ruined something wonderful.

“No,” she said. “If that is what a husband and wife are supposed to do, then do it—now.”

“Before you change your mind?” he said dryly. He didn’t wait for her answer but bent his head to her breast. He had barely touched his tongue to her nipple before it peaked. He traced the rosy aureole and then settled down to suck and lick and tease the eager point. He divided his attention between her breasts, tracing the shadow between them with his tongue, and slipped a hand between her legs once more.

Penelope wriggled under the flood of senses—the heat of his mouth, the chill of air on her damp skin, the silky brush of his hair against her throat, the scent of his soap teasing her nose, the gentle firmness of his fingers stroking between her legs. Each individual sensation seemed to be expanding, circling outward until they collided and caused ripples to run throughout her body. She was glad she was lying down, for her knees were even shakier than before.

She was gasping, and something seemed to be wrong with her vision, for the edges of the room had grown darker and she couldn’t focus. As she closed her eyes to concentrate on the heat growing between her legs, he slid one finger inside her body and nudged at a sensitive spot she’d never dreamed existed. Penelope’s world tore apart. She bucked and shuddered against his hand, and he held her as she rocked against him and cried out.

He waited until the quivering stopped, and then he parted her legs and settled his weight over her. “This will hurt a little.” He sounded breathless. “But it will soon be over.”

Miss Rose’s warnings echoed in Penelope’s mind.
It will be over quickly
, the duenna had said.
Lie still…
Penelope tensed, remembering she had not exactly been still.

He nudged the head of his penis inside her and Penelope trembled. But she knew somehow that what lay ahead would be even more wonderful than what had just happened, and so she forced her muscles to unclench as she lay quietly under him and waited.

He slid slowly inside her, and she could feel herself soften and stretch to welcome him. He hesitated and then pushed past her barrier, and Penelope gulped and whimpered a little with the shock.

“It’s all right now,” he whispered against her temple, and when she eased once more, he slid a little deeper, inch by slow inch. She could sense the tension in him, could see the tightness of his jaw. Instinct told her to rock her hips just a little, and she looked into his eyes as she moved, seeing surprise there even as he sheathed himself completely in her. Her moment of triumph, of enjoying the power she had exerted over him, faded in fear that she couldn’t contain him. But then the heat took over, and as he began to move, the pressure started to build again inside her.

He pressed deep and then withdrew almost completely, stroking inside her as thoroughly as he had caressed her breasts. Each thrust grew more urgent, and Penelope’s breath caught painfully in her chest as she reached once more for fulfillment, somehow knowing an ecstasy even stronger than before lay within her reach.

With one last powerful thrust, he took her over the edge. Then, even as she shuddered with her release, he clenched his jaw and pulled away from her.

Caught up in the waves of sensation surging through her, arching in exaltation, she didn’t notice for an instant that he was no longer sheathed inside her body, and when she did, she was too self-conscious to wonder why.

Ten

The riders who dismounted that afternoon in the stable yard at Halstead were much quieter then they’d been on the outbound trip in the morning, and Simon was relieved when most of them simply turned their horses over to the grooms and straggled off toward the house for refreshments and a rest.

He led his own gelding into the stables and reached for a currycomb, glad to have an excuse to stay away from the company for a while.

In a nearby stall, Andrew Carlisle put a final polish on the gleaming coat of his own horse and grinned at Simon. “I never knew you to be so fond of currying your own mount before, my friend.”

“The grooms have their hands full. You got back safely with the carriage?”

“Surely you didn’t doubt it, with the very efficient Kate Blakely managing the trip. We must have been half an hour ahead of you. Miss Emily will be safely deposited in her bed by now with the doctor in attendance.” Andrew patted his horse’s neck and moved over to help Simon. “Did Lady Daphne complain all the way back about the pall the accident threw over her party?”

“Most of it,” Simon admitted.

Except, of course, when he’d tried to glare his sister into silence—for instead of taking the hint to watch her tongue, she had accused him of being every bit as irritated with Miss Emily as she was. Since Kate Blakely and Andrew Carlisle had been sent off with the carriage, Daphne had pointed out, Simon himself was required to accompany the riders all the way back to Halstead. Which meant, Daphne finished triumphantly, he could not make some excuse to stay in the village with Olivia Reyne.