Chapter 13
Diana sat before the ornate, Chippendale dressing table, edged with gold filigree. She focused on Nellie’s reflected face in the mirror before her.
Despite the chill air, her green silk dressing gown managed to keep her warm. Perhaps, it was the champagne she had consumed. Or perhaps, it was the thought of her beautiful new husband who had been kind this night and shared a bit of himself.
She’d felt close to him before the fire and the promise of their future blossomed before her. Sitting with him in the library, discussing the world and its nature, she knew she’d made not only a practical but a good decision in marrying him.
With each of Nellie’s long, smooth strokes of the silver-backed hair brush, Diana willed herself to breathe.
Och, she’d kissed a few braw young men in her life. Stolen kisses in the heather had been surprising and wonderful. After all, a bold, curious young lass such as herself had not been content to rely upon the written word to assure her of the true nature of kissing.
However, kissing was all she had done and certainly never with someone like Max.
Max was a man of the world and had a great deal of experience. Of that, she had no doubt.
When Max was in a room, it felt as if all the space had been taken up and filled with his strength, with his prowess. She all but hummed in his presence. The deliciousness of wanting him was shocking.
And she did desire him.
She was to bed that man. It was both an alarming and deeply appealing thought.
The taper flickered on her dressing table. And given the winter months, the fire which had been built up bathed the room in a red glow.
“Do ye think he’ll come tonight, Nellie?” Diana asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Nellie brushed and brushed, until Diana’s red hair sparked like the fire. “I dinna ken, lass. I told ye, a man like yers, he’s hard to fathom.”
Though the conversation in the library had been most enjoyable, it hadn’t been particularly revealing in regards to his intent for their marriage bed. He wasn’t to be distant, something which had lifted her heart. After all, he had made good conversation, not just pleasantries. The weather had not been mentioned once. No, he had wished to speak to her of meaningful things.
He had said little to nothing about himself which, given his nature, didn’t surprise her. Somehow, she’d have to draw him out, but that might take time. He was a man who was careful with his words for he understood that words were things of great power.
How could he not, with a playwright as his dear friend?
Still, the point was, he had made no indication as to whether or not he would be coming to her room this evening and so she had been left rather off foot. . . waiting.
After a few more moments, Nellie placed the brush down. “If I brush anymore lass, yer hair will begin to fall out.”
Diana grinned, despite her nerves, and turned in her chair, taking her maid’s wrinkled hands. “Thank ye for coming with me, Nellie. I dinna ken how I would have done this without ye.”
Nellie squeezed and enfolded Diana’s hands in her own. “Och, Yer Grace, with or with me no’, ye would have managed. For ye have yer mother and aunt’s spirit and I couldna be prouder of ye.”
Tears stung Diana’s eyes. All this had happened so quickly. With each breath, it was easy to feel some new emotion. Neither her mother nor her aunt had seen her wed.
But, at least, Nellie had been there.
At long last, she would thrive. And she would be happy. She owed her mother that.
Though she might long for the Highlands, there had been no future for her there. Now, her future was here as Duchess of Raventon.
A soft knock at the door broke their reverie and Nellie patted her hand.
“Ye’ll be grand,” Nellie whispered so softly that Diana almost didn’t hear her.
With that, her maid scurried to the servants’ door, tucked into one of the panels at the far side of the room and disappeared into its dark recesses.
Diana pressed her cool hands to her hot cheeks quickly then stood. “Come in,” she called.
The door opened slowly and Max lingered in the tall frame for a moment. Just long enough for the candelabra in his hand to bathe him in a golden glow.
The flame shone in his black hair, turning it ebony. It danced over his face, leaving shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and at his neck, which was bared.
His shirt was unlaced at the throat and he wore none of the usual accoutrements of a fully-dressed man. No coat, no cravat, no waistcoat. No, just a loose, white linen shirt which was slightly askew, making his clavicles visible.
She swallowed. Just the sight of that little bit of masculine skin had a surprising effect upon her.
And the austere, tight cut of his fashionable dark breeches tucked into polished black Hessians was remarkably appealing.
There was no denying she had had married one of the most handsome men in England. Whether he knew it or not, it did not seem to give him added arrogance.
Some men would preen like roosters, expecting the ladies to fall at their feet. Not Max.
No, his natural sense of self was assuring. He did not expect her to swoon over him. Rather, he crossed into the room then hesitated, as if he, too, was equally unsure.
“Are ye nervous, Yer Grace?” she asked. Immediately, she clamped her mouth shut, stunned she’d asked something so preposterous.
“I am,” he admitted. “A little. Well, not nervous. I am attempting to decide what is the best way to proceed. As soon as I’m certain, then any nervousness will fall away.”
She stared at him. His honesty was most impressive. How many men would confess to not feeling completely in control at such a time? Not many, she’d wager. “I see.”
“This is a first for me, too, you know,” he reminded her.
She laughed, a full bubbling sound, and she adored the feeling of being able to laugh in his presence. Life had been so fraught with unpleasant things as of late, that this? This was almost heaven.
“It’s true,” he teased, his full lips sensual. “I’ve never entered my wife’s room before.”
Diana licked her lips, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
“And what are ye planning on doing with yer wife?” she asked.
He strode towards her slowly and set the candelabra down upon her dressing table. Its engraved silver arms sparkled in the light and, suddenly, he was standing very near.
The scent of him, soap, lemon, and cloves wafted towards her. And much to her shock, she leaned towards him quite unbidden.
He tilted his head down, still leaving several inches between them as he whispered, “Offer you a new skill.”
Her lips parted. A new skill? Good Lord, the way he said it, the promise felt like silk sliding over her skin. Despite the winter night, she felt hot. A shocking wave of desire washed over her, as if for years upon years she had been waiting for this man and this moment.
She let her head drop back slightly, easing the way for him to take her lips with his own.
He stared down at her through hooded eyes. His gaze searched over her face but then, instead of kissing her, as she assumed he would do, he reached behind him and pulled a small dagger from his waist band.
Its jeweled amethyst hilt winked in the firelight. It was a beautiful piece, engraved with Scottish thistles. The blade was narrow and not overly long. The dagger was not even the length of her hand, but she did not doubt its deadly point.
“For you, my wife.”
The wedding present might have seemed strange, but not to her. She understood it immediately. First, there was its beauty and its nod to her homeland. He had chosen not just any dagger, but one suited for her.
A sgian dubh or a skean dhu to Sassenachs.
Then, she could not ignore the wave of pride then went through her. He believed she was also capable of protecting herself. He didn’t see her as a doll of a woman who needed to be put on a shelf and be looked at or sheltered from the world. Oh no, he saw her as a woman in the world. One who, unable to be guarded every single moment of her life, had the wherewithal to take care of herself at such a time.
“Thank ye,” she whispered, carefully palming the hilt. It was the perfect size to be hidden easily on her person, the point of a sgian dubh.
“Tomorrow. . . tomorrow, I will begin to teach you to use it. Do you wish that?”
She nodded wordlessly. There was no need to say anything. For as close as they were, just mere inches apart, she felt a sudden affinity to him as if they might understand each other in a way that she had never understood another person.
“Good,” he said softly, his voice a rough rumble now. He pulled back. “I wish you a good night.”
“A good night?” she queried.
“You must be exceptionally tired,” he observed.
She pressed her lips together, stunned at her own disappointment. Would it be terrible if he witnessed that she had no wish for him to go? She did not know, so foreign was the nature of their arrangement. “I feel remarkably awake.”
Max nodded. “It is the instability of the last weeks.”
She nodded, too, feeling silly for the first time in some time. “I-I. . .”
“Yes?” he prompted.
She bit her lower lip, desperately trying to form the words.
“You must never be afraid to tell me what you wish,” Max said softly.
She lifted her gaze to his. “I wish. . . I wish ye to stay.”
His dark eyes flared and, for the briefest of moments, she could have sworn she saw unmitigated passion. But then it vanished and he inclined his head.
“Whatever you wish, Diana.” He took a step back. “I’ll sit with you while you rest.”
“That’s no’ what I meant,” she attempted to protest. How awkward she felt! Had she made a terrible mistake?
“You don’t know me and I don’t know you yet.”
She frowned, for that wasn’t at all how she felt. “I feel strangely close to ye.”
“That is common,” he assured. “When in crisis, it is very easy to feel close to the person assisting you.”
Was that what he thought? Was that all it was? No. Surely not. She did not simply feel bonded to him because he’d saved her. Was he used to women offering themselves to him after rescue? The thought jarred her.
But then she realized that he was right. She preferred that he wished to bed her. A woman he knew, that he cared about. So, she could wait. She would have to.
Then she stilled as an unaccustomed wave of doubt crashed over her. “Ye. . . ye do find me desirable?”
A dark brow arched and he stared down at her quietly for a long moment before he slid his hand to her neck then oh so slowly, traced his fingertips over her pulse. He took the nape of her neck in a firm but gentle grip and angled her head up ever so slightly.
Wordlessly, he lowered his head with nigh agonizing delay. He let his mouth linger over hers.
She stood transfixed, barely able to breathe. And when his mouth finally took hers, ‘twas as if she had been set ablaze with need and awakening.
He kissed her slowly but deeply, branding her. His lips traced hers and then his tongue delved into her mouth, claiming every bit of her, teaching her that she belonged to him and that he hungered for every silken bit of her.
At last, when she could bear it no more, she wrapped her arms about his broad back and held him tightly. Every fiber within her urged her to be as close to him as possible. The feel of his hard chest against her body while he kissed her was the most simple, yet, heady pleasure she had ever known. His body was no common body, but one hewn of steel and flesh.
Now, he broke the kiss with less slowness than he had begun it. Shaking slightly, he stared down at her as if he did not know her at all. As if she were a faery creature come from the glen to steal his reason.
And he backed away, carefully. “Come, Diana,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It’s time for you to go to bed.”
And much to her astonishment, he led her to the great four poster bed, pulled back the counterpane then swept her into his arms. As if it were the easiest endeavor in the world, he placed her into the warmed sheets, and placed the thick goose down cover over her frame.
Quietly, he walked back to her dressing table and, one by one, he blew out the flames of the candles.
Then he crossed to the tall, wingback chair before the fire and touched the books stacked upon the small, ornate table beside it.
He picked one up, sat, and then in the light of the fire he began to read Moll Flanders to her, to ease her to sleep.
And as she listened to the sound of his deep voice, recounting the tales of a young woman on the greatest adventure of her life, facing trials most would never face, Diana knew she, too, had embarked on the greatest adventure of her life. And she could only hope that she, like Moll, would have a happy ending.