The butterflies didn’t disperse as the party carried on through the afternoon and well into the evening. None of the people who had been invited seemed to be in any hurry to leave. Not when the infamous Percy Bellowes was providing enough food and drink for an army, or when there were so many influential people on hand to wheel and deal with.

“We should make our escape while we can,” Alex whispered to Marigold after a lavish, formal supper, when yet another round of drinks was being poured.

Marigold glanced over her shoulder to him, and the butterflies raged. “Can we really leave so many guests to their own devices?”

His hand rested lightly on her waist, and his smile hinted at everything that was to come. “I believe your father and sisters have things under control.”

A flush painted Marigold’s cheeks as she quickly scanned the room. Her father looked to be haranguing Mr. Disraeli. Only her father would take it upon himself to lecture the Prime Minister at a wedding reception. Her sisters, Flora and Catherine, who had made last-minute journeys from their husband’s country homes, were doing a fine job of entertaining the other guests and ensuring they had as much ice cream as they could stomach.

“So they do,” Marigold answered Alex.

“Then hurry.” He took her hand, making a bee-line for the door. “Before anyone notices our flight.”

A few people did notice their escape, but no one tried to stop them. Marigold couldn’t make up her mind whether she would have wanted them to or not. As soon as they reached the grand staircase in the front hall, she picked up speed, leading Alex up to the second floor and down the family’s private corridor.

They’d made arrangements to stay at the Bellowes house for the wedding night, since it was easier to stay under the same roof as the party than to fuss with traveling several blocks through busy London streets after dark.

“Mrs. German had the maids prepare the French room for us,” she said, wincing over the tremor in her voice as she reached for the handle of the door at the end of the hall.

“That sounds promising,” Alex said.

Everything seemed entirely too quiet as Marigold pushed open the door and stepped into the remote bedroom. The din of the party still rang in her ears, even though she could only barely hear the rumble of the guests downstairs. There she was, suddenly alone with a man who now held complete sway over her.

The French room was the second largest bedroom in the house, after her Papa’s. The enormous bed was piled with pillows and bolsters and a thick, down coverlet encased in pale blue silk. The maids had decorated the room with bouquets of pink roses and lavender that filled the space with the most delicious scent. The pale blue, velvet curtains were already closed, and her nightgown and robe were laid out across one of a pair of wing-backed, stuffed chairs that stood on either side of a white marble fireplace. A robe and pajamas that must have been Alex’s were draped across the other chair.

“What a delightful room,” Alex said, shutting the door behind them and turning the key in the lock.

A deep quiver shot through Marigold’s gut at the click. She pressed a hand to her chest to still her racing heart. It didn’t matter that she’d known this moment was coming for weeks, now that it was here, she fluttered like a bird in a cage.

But no, she refused to let herself be intimidated by something that nearly every woman experienced at some point in her life. Lady Stanhope’s words came back to her. This was her right.

She turned to face Alex, sending him the most coquettish smile she could manage. Lady Stanhope, Lady Stanhope, Lady Stanhope, she told herself. All she had to do was behave as though she were Lady Stanhope.

“The room isn’t the only thing that’s delightful,” she said, swaying carefully closer to him. She could have done without the breathless hitch in her voice, but as long as she could convince Alex she was a woman of the world, she would be all right.

And then he stepped forward, closing his arms around her and bringing his mouth down over hers in a fiery kiss. She tilted her head back, and he moved a hand to cradle her neck as his mouth explored hers even more boldly than he had in the elevator. Her senses were overwhelmed in a heartbeat as he slipped his tongue alongside hers. But it was the intensity of the need that rippled off of him more than the physical invasion that blossomed into something that was both desire and fear in her gut.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” he confessed.

His hands shifted to her sides as he kissed her again, and for the first time, Marigold realized how large they were, how large he was. He could crush her if he had half a mind to. When he reached up, cupping her breasts through the silk and cotton of her clothes, her legs felt as though they would betray her if she needed to run. But she held on, gripping his arms as his hands and mouth explored her, reminding herself that this was what she wanted.

“Now,” Alex said, breaking away from her at last and leaving her feeling like a quivering rabbit. “How does this dress come off?”

“I…there are buttons up the back.” She tried her best to send him a flirtatious grin before turning her back to him. As soon as she was faced away, her smile dropped, and she gulped for breath, pressing a hand to her stomach for courage.

“I see.” Alex stepped closer to her, his hands brushing her back as he began to undo the row of tiny buttons holding her bodice together.

For a moment, Marigold squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed that they were suddenly stinging with tears. A man was undressing her. A man who, in all honesty, she barely knew. He would take her clothes off, look at her naked body with lust, then take her to the bed and have his way with her. Lady Stanhope be damned, the little she knew of carnal relations didn’t feel particularly divine in that moment. It felt terrifying.

“There,” Alex said as the last button popped and her bodice sagged.

He went to work on the intricate fastenings of her bustle and skirt, giving Marigold just enough time to take several deep breaths to compose herself. This was good, she reminded herself. This was what married couples did. She forced herself to shrug out of her bodice, denying the fact that she was shaking, as Alex tugged the ties of her petticoat free.

“Perfect,” he hummed, pushing the pile of fabric and cage that was her bustle, skirt, and petticoat down her legs. He circled his arms around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. With practice and precision, he unhooked her corset, letting it fall to the pile of wedding dress that they stood in when it came free. Then he splayed one hand across her stomach and stroked the other across her breast, only the thinnest layer of cotton between them. “What a beautiful view,” he murmured.

She couldn’t shake her thoughts away from the fact that she was now nearly naked while he was still fully clothed. Without the layers of her wedding costume, she felt tiny and helpless in his powerful arms. Divine indeed! She felt as though she were inches away from disaster.

“Let’s get rid of the rest of this,” Alex murmured, kissing her neck before reaching for the hem of her chemise.

“Wait.” She clamped a hand over his to stop him, panic seeping around her edges. She scrambled for an explanation for her hesitation that wouldn’t make her look like a ninny. “It’s not fair.” She twisted to glance up at him. “You haven’t taken anything off.”

“So I haven’t,” he said, grinning down at her like a wolf about to devour his prey.

He stepped back and unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it aside. His eyes never left hers, even when she stepped out of the cloud of silk at her feet and inched backward to the bed. His waistcoat came next, then he shrugged out of his suspenders and tugged his shirt from his trousers. He managed to coordinate toeing off his shoes with undoing the buttons of his shirt, then peeled his shirt off over his head.

The sight of the broad expanse of his chest, muscles well-defined, nipples tight, just a dusting of hair, sent twinges of pleasure and panic through Marigold. Why had she thought making him undress would put them on more equal footing? He was even more overwhelming stripped bare than he was clothed. And when he unfastened his trousers, pushing them down and kicking them aside, her fear reached a fevered pitch.

He was huge and imposing. Nothing in all of the art she’d observed depicting the male form prepared her for the raw sight of his erect manhood. She hadn’t had any idea that men could be so solid or so…purple. A wreath of dark curls surrounded his staff and what hung beneath, but all she could focus on was his thickness and the flared tip that stood straight up, bold and aggressive. How was she possibly supposed to fit that inside of her?

“Is that fear or hunger I see in your eyes?” he asked as he approached her slowly, a devilish grin reaching his hooded eyes.

Marigold backed all the way against the bed, until she had nowhere to go, and gripped the coverlet in desperation. He would think she was a silly goose not worthy of his time if she admitted her fear.

“Which do you think?” she answered. Her voice shook horribly, and to hide it, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips the way she’d seen an actress do once.

It must have been the right move. Alex’s grin widened, and his eyes blazed as he closed the distance between them. She did her best not to gasp when he reached her and pulled her into an embrace. His mouth slanted over hers once more, taking hers with deep passion, but it was the rest of his body pressed to hers that made it impossible for her to catch her breath. His spear was hot and solid between them, and he moved his hips in such a way as to rub it between the two of them. Her body reacted exactly opposite of her mind. A tingling ache pulsed through the very center of her even as what breath she managed between his fevered kisses grew fast and shallow.

When he swept her chemise up over her head, tossing it aside, she froze with fear. His hands explored her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, as he kissed her lips, her cheek, and her neck, but she felt it all as if her body were at the opposite end of a tunnel from her mind. She couldn’t move a muscle as he eased her back onto the bed, kissing her shoulder and collarbone as his hands tugged at the drawstring of her drawers.

He rocked back, quickly pulling off her drawers, stockings, and shoes, leaving her completely exposed to him. Then he was on top of her completely, shifting both of them farther across the coverlet. She was beyond the point of trembling, so terrified as he kissed her, fondled her breast, and wedged himself between her legs that tears stung at her eyes that were impossible to hold back, even when she squeezed them tightly shut.

“Marigold?” Alex’s voice sounded as though it were a million miles away. His mild, sensual tone quickly turned serious. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Darling, I’m so, so sorry.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Marigold snapped back into the moment. Her body had gone as rigid as a statue. Alex lay beside her instead of on top of her. His wolfish expression had been replaced by kindhearted concern. He stroked her hair—still pinned in its elaborate style—and the side of her head. She blinked a few times to focus on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I should have noticed sooner.”

“N-noticed?” she stammered, her voice high enough to be a girl’s.

“That you were…nervous.” She could tell he was choosing his words carefully so as not to hurt her more. “I shouldn’t have been so eager. This is your first time.”

“You…no, I…it’s….” She could barely form thoughts, let alone voice them. Her mouth had gone dry, and she bit her lip to moisten them, afraid she might cry in earnest. “I don’t want to be a ninny.”

“You’re not a ninny,” he laughed. It was an oddly reassuring sound. “You’re just inexperienced. And I’m a randy old fool, dazzled by your beauty.” He cradled her face, smiling at her, and stroked his thumb over her cheek. “Here. Let’s get a little more comfortable.”

He let go of her, rolling to the side, and began tossing the mountain of pillows and bolsters off the side of the bed. Feeling started to return to Marigold’s limbs, and as he peeled back the coverlet and sheets, she was loose enough to crawl under them with him. He carefully tucked everything over them, then settled onto his side, facing her.

“Better?”

Marigold nodded, still feeling ashamed down to her toes.

He nodded to her hair. “Do you need help taking all the pins out?”

“Oh.” She reached up to touch her hairstyle. “I suppose that would be more comfortable.”

“Let me.”

They both sat, Marigold shyly turning her back to him, and Alex began pulling the flowers and pins from her hair. Whether it was deliberate on his part of not, his actions gave her the time she needed to breathe, wipe the last of her tears from her face, and settle her nerves. It certainly wasn’t the way she imagined her momentous wedding night progressing. Tears definitely weren’t supposed to be part of the picture. As Alex finished with her hair, setting the pins on the table beside the bed and running his fingers through to get her locks to relax, she felt like crying because she’d been crying. The whole thing was laughable.

“There,” he said at last, circling his arms around her. He settled her between his legs, her back to his chest, but instead of the fear that the same gesture had raised in her before, she only felt shame. He kissed her slumping shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said softly, brushing her hair back and stroking her arm. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Oh, I think there is,” she murmured.

“Why?” he laughed gently.

She twisted slowly, dragging her eyes up to meet his. “Men like you want a woman who can match their passions.”

He let out a breath, smiling tenderly, and shook his head. “Men like me—” He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, his arms holding her. “—want a woman who cares for them but knows her own mind too.”

Marigold blinked. “Do you want to be loved?”

A flash of something old and painful filled his eyes before he answered, “Of course I do. Don’t we all?”

Marigold nodded, but guilt constricted her throat. She hadn’t married him for love. She didn’t love him now. But every moment that he sat there, holding her when he could have ravaged her, built the case for loving him in her heart.

She shifted her body a little more toward, him, draping her legs over his under the sheets. “I want to be the right kind of wife for you.”

He laughed, brushing the side of her face and kissing her lips lightly. “You already are.”

She shook her head, cheeks burning. “No, I mean, I know this part of marriage is important to you. I want to rise to the challenge.”

He kissed her again, his lips stretched in a smile. “You mean you think I’m some sort of ravening beast with a gargantuan sexual appetite, and you want to keep me satisfied.”

He was joking just enough to put Marigold a little more at ease. “Well, yes, of course,” she tried her hand at joking right back. “I wouldn’t want that sort of depravity running loose in the halls of Parliament. It’s my duty to slake that kind of hunger.”

The heat of desire was suddenly back in his eyes, but with a slower sort of smolder. “Do you truly wish to be a slayer of carnal desires?”

Marigold’s lips twitched into a grin. He was teasing her, and yet, at the same time, he was making her a serious offer. “Yes,” she said, resting a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his skin. “I’m so ashamed that I panicked, because what I really want is exactly the opposite.”

He studied her, the heat and fondness in his eyes telling her that he understood. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, then kissed her with just a hair more passion than his last half-dozen kisses. “If you want to be a sensual lover, then we can work on that together.” He kissed her again, parting her lips and teasing his tongue against hers. “It takes practice to learn how to be together this way. It was my fault that I tried to leap straight to step twelve instead of starting at the beginning.”

He kissed her with more passion still, his hand slowly rising from her waist to the underside of her breast. This time, his touch felt magical, and the heat of his body stirred deep emotions within her.

“There are steps?” she asked, still breathless, but no longer ashamed of it.

“No,” he laughed, momentarily light-hearted. “I made that up. But we should start with the most basic of pleasures before seeking out the more ambitious ones.”

“Oh?”

One syllable was all Marigold had time for. He closed his mouth over hers, but instead of just kissing her, he pivoted around her, laying her on her back, her head against the pillow. Gently, he rested his weight over her, nudging between her thighs and into the same position he’d been in when she froze. Only this time, freezing was the furthest thing from her mind. This time she felt as though a fire were building inside of her that could consume her.

“Tell me,” he said, serious again. “At any point, if anything I do makes you uncomfortable or frightens you again, tell me and I’ll stop immediately.”

“You will?” Her heart lifted with a joy far more potent than any caused by his kisses.

“Absolutely.” His expression was as solemn as the grave.

“Isn’t there a point after which a man can’t stop?”

“Balderdash,” he said. “That’s nothing more than a boorish excuse to push a woman further than she wants, which I will not do with you.”

Mad as it was, his offer to stop at any time filled Marigold with the desire to go on as fast as possible. “If that’s the case,” she said, stroking a hand up his arm to thread her fingers through his hair, “then please resume step one.”

He smiled. “I believe we’ve already advanced to at least step three.” His voice lowered to a sensual growl.

“Then what’s step four?”

“This, I believe.”

He drew his hand up her side, his fingertips leaving what felt like trails of fire, and closed a hand around her breast. At the same time, he kissed his way down her neck and chest, adjusting the rest of his body as he went, to kiss her breast. When he closed his mouth over her nipple and brushed it with his tongue, Marigold gasped with pleasure. Suddenly, everything felt right. Lady Stanhope was right after all. The sensations his mouth evoked in her were heavenly. Her body, which had felt so normal for most of her life, was suddenly an instrument for him to play, and the music was sweet.

“Do you like that?” he asked after teasing her nipple to a throbbing point.

“I do, actually,” she replied, feigning casualness while writhing impatiently under him.

Alex grinned with wicked understanding and shifted so that he could hold and tease her other breast. “I thought you might. I could tell from the way you kissed me in the elevator that you have a passionate nature.”

“Barring a few unforeseen hiccups,” she whispered, proud that she could joke about what had been painful just minutes before.

Alex nodded gravely. “Already forgotten.”

He bent to kiss her other breast, teasing her with his lips and teeth and taking forever to repeat the delicious things he’d done with her first nipple.

“You have exquisite breasts, you know,” he said instead of giving her the pleasure she now craved. “I must inform you that I foresee myself wanting to fondle and suck them quite a bit in the years to come.”

His combination of ridiculous formality and semi-crude language sent spirals of need straight to the secret place so intimately nestled against his thigh. “I do wish you’d get on with it in the present, thank you very much,” she replied with an equal amount of formality.

He answered with a low laugh, bending to suck her nipple into his mouth. The warm, wet sensation left her panting, and the most scandalous noise escaped from her throat. That only seemed to encourage him as he continued to lick and suck and squeeze one breast then the other.

That in itself left Marigold overheated and hungry for more, but when his mouth left her breast and traveled farther down her stomach, the sensations more and more wicked the lower he went, she began to tremble all over again for entirely different reasons.

She was certain he would stop and return his lips to hers when he reached the thatch of curls between her legs, but to her shock, he kept going. His big hands stroked her thighs, and it wasn’t until his thumbs ran along her inner thigh that she realized she’d been steadily inching her legs farther and farther apart. The realization made her tense.

“Are you all right?” he asked, pausing and raising his head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“What are you doing?” she asked in return, panting. She lifted herself on her elbows just a bit. The sight of her legs partially spread with Alex’s face between them was as incongruous as it was fascinating. The ache that had been building deep inside of her grew, leaving her breathless with curiosity.

Alex grinned, his eyes flashing. “I believe the crude term for what I’m doing, or rather what I hope to be doing, is eating your pussy.” A shiver of excitement zipped through Marigold. “In more technical terms, I’d like to use my mouth and tongue to stimulate your sexual organs to the point of bringing you to orgasm.”

He could have been speaking Russian for all she understood from what he’d just said. It was the impish twinkle in his eyes that made her say, “Oh. All right, then,” and relax back against the pillows.

“I think you will find this most enjoyable if you open as wide as you can to me,” he continued in his devilishly formal tone.

Marigold nodded, then wiggled her hips. She had no idea what she was doing. Alex must have sensed that as well. He stroked his hands down her thighs to her knees, lifting them and pressing them far apart. The resulting movement left Marigold bristling with excitement, and a bit of embarrassment, as the most secret part of her yawned wide for him.

She had about half a second to consider the position the most ludicrous thing she’d ever done before Alex’s hands swept up her thighs to delve into the folds between her legs. The sensations his touch evoked were so potent that she sighed aloud and gripped the bedsheets on either side of her.

“You’re so wet,” he growled, as if that were a good thing. “But I can make you even wetter.”

He followed up his words by leaning in and raking his tongue along her opening. Every nerve-ending fired in unison as pleasure throbbed through her. She let out a long moan as his tongue continued to lick and tease, and even to thrust inside of her. She’d never felt anything like it, even in her own explorations of her body—which now seemed pitiful. Such intimate contact should have been terrifying, and indeed, fifteen minutes earlier, it would have been. But now, it was exquisite.

“Oh,” she panted as the pulling, tightening sensations inside of her began to grow pitched. “I think…I feel….”

Alex shifted what he was doing, drawing the folds of her flesh aside as he moved his mouth and tongue to tease the button of pleasure nearby. The sensation topped everything else he had done, sending her body over the edge. The world seemed to narrow down to just his mouth over her, his tongue stroking patiently, and then to explode into pure pleasure. She throbbed with it from the inside out.

Alex shifted over her quickly, while she was still lost in the bliss of her body’s release. The pressure of something large at her opening joined with the pleasure she already felt. A moment later, he thrust into her.

A flash of pain, like something tearing, cut through the trembling bliss. Marigold sucked in a breath with the realization that he was inside of her. Her virginity was gone. That part of Alex that had startled her so badly when she’d seen it before now stretched her from the inside. And it felt…wonderful.

“Are you all right,” he asked her, tension sharp in his voice, as though he were pressed to the limit as much as she was. He held himself perfectly still as he filled her, but she could feel just how much control that took.

She drew in a slow breath, lifting her arms to hold onto him. Instinct told her to shift her legs as well. He helped her along, positioning first one leg, then the other over his hips.

“Like that,” he panted, jerking slightly against her as if failing in his attempts not to move. He bent down and kissed her, but was panting too hard to draw it out. “I need to move now, my darling. Are you ready?”

She nodded, breathless with anticipation. Was there more to mating than just being joined together as they were?

Yes, there absolutely was. Alex began to move, using small, gentle strokes at first as he guided himself in and out of her. Each thrust brought a wealth of new sensations with it. They were wonderful. The feeling of being possessed and stretched intensified as his strokes grew longer and more powerful. Pleasure began to build within her all over again.

Alex’s sighs evolved into something deeper, more guttural, as whatever was driving him took over. Marigold felt the moment his careful consideration of her comfort gave way to ages old instinct. His every thrust was filled with purpose and pleasure, and she cried out in time with them, sinking into the amazing feeling of him using her body to reach for what he needed. But there was power in the way he needed her, and when at last he tensed and growled with release as he spilled himself inside of her, a second, throbbing orgasm hit her.

With completion came an enveloping sense of contentment. Alex relaxed, his weight strangely comforting as it pressed on her. She stroked his back as he caught his breath, tensing her inner muscles just a bit to make sure he was still inside of her. She loved the feeling, now that the first shock and pain were over, and she wanted much, much more of it.

All too soon, Alex recovered enough strength to roll to the side, breaking free of her. Marigold felt his absence acutely. Her body burned from exertion, but she still welcomed Alex’s arms around her as he pulled her body against his.

“What do you think?” he panted. “Should we do that again sometime when we’re both not exhausted?”

“I think it would be a pleasant way to pass an evening,” she gasped in reply, taking his hand from where it rested on her side and moving it to cup her breast, just in case he thought her casual sarcasm represented real indifference.

He went to work right away, kneading her breast and teasing her nipple to keep her pleasure simmering. “A few hours sleep, and we can try to reach step seven,” he laughed.

“Dear heavens.” Marigold tingled with need that was already renewing. “That was only six out of twelve?”

He kissed her cheek, then collapsed against the pillow. “Who said twelve was as high as the steps go?”

A shiver of anticipation shot through Marigold, even as she forced herself to close her eyes and let sleep take her. At this rate, she was going to have to name her first-born daughter Katya in honor of Lady Stanhope. She certainly owed the woman a mountain of thanks.