He’d put it off for as long as he could—the bedding of his wife.
Sebastian tossed back another glass of whiskey. For courage. God, but he wasn’t afraid of her. Rather he feared that she would be repelled if she saw what rose above her, if she opened her eyes—
He would take her in the dark. Complete darkness. With the canopied drapes drawn tightly around the bed. They could both pretend then that he was as devilishly handsome as Tristan.
She’d seen him before, of course, had even looked upon him kindly. But it would be far different when coupling with the beast, knowing it was his hands upon her. He was loath to admit now that all his previous partners had been beauties, that he’d never given the plain girls a glance. He suspected ladies fancied being with handsome gents just as men fantasized about being with beautiful women.
How he would like to see her in the light. Perhaps he would wake early, when dawn filtered into the room. She would be gorgeous. Of that he had no doubt. Yet she was burdened with him as a husband.
He should have made Tristan marry her. What did it matter which brother did? They all owed her. But only marriage to him would make her a duchess. Didn’t she at least deserve the title and all the prestige that came with it?
He glanced over at the bundle resting on the table beside his chair, near the bottle of whiskey. Reaching out, he stroked the silken ribbon, smiling slightly as it wrapped around his finger. For as long as he could remember it had never remained straight. It had curled, just like Mary’s hair. Tonight he might have silk ribbons to untie.
He pushed aside thoughts of the girl who had given him the ribbon. In the bedchamber beside his a woman waited. From the moment he’d first set eyes on her again, he’d tried to think of her as the scrawny, all-limbs girl who had raced over the fields of wildflowers with him. But she was far removed from that. She tempted him as no other woman ever had.
It wasn’t fair to her that scandal had forced them into marriage, but he had promised her she’d not regret taking him as her husband.
It was time he made good on that promise.
Mary sat on the blue velvet chair near the window with her feet perched on the cushion and her toes curled around the edge. Her satin nightgown was drawn down over her legs, creating a tent over her limbs. Pressing her chin to her knees, she decided she was going to remove every damned clock from every damned room. She was already weary of the ticking serving as her only company.
Sebastian hadn’t said good night when he escorted her to the door. He hadn’t said anything at all. He simply opened it, and when she walked through, he drew it closed. But she had sensed the tension radiating through him during dinner and later when he’d walked her through many of the rooms. The residence was so large that she felt swallowed up inside it. It required a bold master, and Sebastian certainly seemed at home here. It also required a strong mistress, but she wasn’t certain if she was up to the task. How could she manage this household if she couldn’t manage her marriage?
Why did he touch her so infrequently? Where was the passion that had seared them in the garden?
She heard the click of a door opening and nearly shot up out of the chair. Instead she took a deep breath to calm her clamoring heart and watched as her husband prowled into the room. He glanced at the bed, seemed surprised by its appearance, and then his gaze found her.
He didn’t appear happy, but he did seem relieved. Perhaps he thought she’d run off.
He’d removed his cravat, jacket, and waistcoat. A few buttons on his shirt were loosened. He wore the patch. She’d wondered if he would. It made her feel as though he were hiding from her. His large feet were bare, revealing his crooked toes. She’d first seen them when they decided to cross a small babbling brook as children. The sight of them reassured her. Something about him hadn’t changed.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked suspiciously.
“Your toes. They’re as funny looking now as they were when you were a boy. I didn’t think you were going to come.” The words had all run together, and she realized she was nervous. She shouldn’t be. This was Sebastian, after all.
His progress into the room ended at the bed and he leaned against the post. She wondered if her words, pushed out while she still had the courage to say them, had halted his progress.
“Would you rather I hadn’t?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I’m your wife. You’re my husband. I want to be your wife.” Could she sound any more idiotic?
He glanced down at his bent toes, wiggled them, then his gaze met and held hers. “I assume . . . you’re chaste.”
She nodded, swallowed, her mouth suddenly wretchedly dry.
He plowed a hand through his hair. “I’ve never—”
“Oh dear Lord. You’re a virgin, too? I was hoping you’d have some experience. I haven’t a clue where to begin. All Aunt Sophie advised me to do was drink two glasses of brandy.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. Was it possible that here, at least, she would see his smile? She tilted her head, peered up at him. “Are you trying to smile? I’m not a virgin at smiling. I could teach you to do that.”
She saw a flash of white that quickly disappeared.
“I’m not a virgin at all,” he said. “I was going to explain that I’ve never taken an inexperienced woman to my bed. I understand that the first time can be painful. I wish it weren’t so. I never want to hurt you, Mary.”
She slid out of the chair and padded over to him. Reaching up, she cupped his face between her hands and turned it until she could see all of it. “Then share more than your profile with me.”
She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed. He placed his hand over hers, the one resting against his scars, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. She felt the heat from his mouth coating her skin with dew. She wondered how much of her might receive the same treatment.
“Perhaps in time,” he said quietly, “but not tonight.”
She thought about reminding him that she’d seen his scars, more than once, but she knew that he could excuse those moments as weakness when he’d been unable to prevent her from assisting him. Tonight they would share an intimacy that he no doubt thought would be marred if he revealed his true self. Or perhaps it was simply masculine pride. Whatever it was, she would forgive it. They would have many more nights together, and she would eventually gain what she wanted from him.
She touched her fingers to his mouth. “I want to see a real smile.” She laid them against his throat. “And hear you laugh again.”
“You don’t ask for much.”
“No, I don’t. Not really.”
“You’ve always been so feisty,” he said. “I tell myself you’d have not been happy with Fitzwilliam. That perhaps what happened was for the best.”
“Do you know I have not given him a moment’s thought, not since he strode out of my father’s residence? I regret that I may have caused him hurt or embarrassment. But I do not regret that he was not the man waiting for me at the altar. You must believe that, Sebastian. We can’t spend our lives wondering, ‘what if?’ We must simply make the best of what we have.”
“And did you have two glasses of brandy?”
She laughed lightly. “Three. But that was some time ago. I fear the effects have worn off. I’m not feeling quite as warm as I was.”
“You shall be soon enough.” He cupped her jaw and tilted her face up to receive his kiss.
It was nothing at all like the kiss they shared in the garden. It lacked desperation. But it didn’t lack passion. It was a nibbling, a slow exploration. His tongue waltzed with hers. She slid her hands up over his shoulders, into his hair, holding him near. His low feral groan vibrated through his chest, resounded against hers and she pressed herself closer.
She’d spoken honestly. She’d not given Fitzwilliam a thought since he walked out on her, but she thought of him now and realized she would not have been comfortable with him at a moment such as this. She would have feared his judging her actions. With Sebastian she experienced no fear of judgment.
He had always liked who she was. She’d never had to pretend with him. She could touch where she pleased, knowing he would not find fault. She could thrust her tongue into his mouth, and welcome his taking the kiss deeper. For his sake, she schooled her fingers not to seek out the scars, not to trace them, not to do anything to make him self-conscious about them.
Never separating his mouth from hers, he lifted her into his arms, carried her the short distance to the bed and laid her down, only then breaking off the kiss. He pressed one to her forehead, her chin. Then he leaned back, studying her as though he thought to memorize every line and curve, every slope and valley.
“You’re going to douse the light, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Sadness touched his features. “For tonight. A woman’s first time . . . ugliness should not be a part of it.”
Tears clogged her throat, tears she refused to allow to rise to the surface. She could argue that he was not ugly, that she found everything about him beautiful, but she knew he was not of a mind to listen. It would build a strain between them, would dampen the joy they should find at this moment.
Lifting her hand, she cupped his unmarred side. “I’ll leave tonight to your superior experience, but rest assured I’m a fast learner and some night you will have to leave it to mine.”
“We shall see.”
He moved away and she watched as he prowled through the room dousing the lamps. Almost desperately she memorized what she could see of him: the long limbs, the broad shoulders, the strong back. She wished he walked about without clothing, but that would come in time as well. What a wanton miss she was.
Only one lamp still cast its glow. The one beside the bed. Before going to it, he released the ties holding back the curtains that surrounded the bed as though he had no wish for even a star to peer through the window and gaze on them. One by one the heavy velvety curtains flowed together until only one remained tied back.
He approached the last lamp, the last sash. She wondered which he would see to first. She thought of whispering, “No,” when he leaned over the lamp.
He took one last lingering look at her and blew it out.
Sebastian released the last sash, felt the air stir as the curtain fell into place. Even without the lamps providing light he could see shadows. He knew it was ludicrous to crave complete darkness for their first coming together, but he wanted to give her the illusion of having in her bed a man who was perfect in features if not perfect in heart.
He tossed aside his shirt and shed his trousers. He wanted tonight to be good for her. She tempted him to be better than he was. At least here, between the sheets, he could ensure that she was glad she married him. Finding the part in the curtains was more difficult than he’d expected but eventually he found it and slipped between them onto the bed. It dipped with his weight. He inhaled her scent, trapped within the cocoon he’d created, relishing the fragrance filling his nostrils.
“I thought perhaps you’d run off,” she whispered.
He supposed the darkness required soft voices, murmurings. “Silly goose.”
“I’m not silly.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Should I be?”
“No. Just trust me to handle this.”
“I do.”
Reaching out, he felt silk, but not the silk of her nightdress. Silk of her skin. Her thigh. He slid his hand up—
Her hip.
“Your nightdress.” His voice sounded rough, raw.
“I removed it.”
“I see.” Damned, but he wished she’d removed it before he doused the final flame.
“Are you disappointed?” she asked.
“God, no. I should have known you wouldn’t be shy about this.”
“It’s not this, Sebastian. It’s you. I’ve never been shy with you.”
He felt her hand traveling up his arm, exploring. He closed his eye, imagining her exploring everything. She might be a novice at lovemaking, but he suspected she’d be a quick study.
He followed the curve of her hip, her side, until in his mind, he could see her clearly stretched out beside him. He rolled until he was half-covering her, until her luscious swells met the flat planes of his body. Heated velvet warmed his flesh.
Unerringly he plowed his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and blanketed her mouth with his. Inwardly he smiled at the flavor of brandy on her tongue. It added a dark richness to the kiss. But beneath it was the taste of Mary, and he sought it out like a man who had been denied drink for most of his life.
For that was how he felt. He’d been in a desert searching for an oasis and she was it. Her eyes were the green of lush vegetation, her hair the red of ripe fruit, her sighs the soft wind cooling his fevered skin.
He couldn’t deny that he wished other circumstances had led to this moment, that she’d had a choice, that it was not scandal that had brought her to his arms. But neither could he deny that he was damned glad that she was here. And not because it had been so long that his body ached for want of a woman. But because the woman was Mary.
Lush Mary, whose hands trailed over him, tentatively exploring. Everywhere that she touched he felt as though a dead part of him was being brought back to life. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had yearned for a woman’s touch to this degree. It was as though he would die if she stopped touching him, if he were forced to stop touching her.
He trailed his mouth along the slope of her throat and closed a hand around a pliant breast. He relished the weight of it against his palm. Easing down, he circled his tongue around her nipple.
Gasping, she dug her fingers into his scalp.
Closing his mouth over her areola, he wondered at the shade, cursed himself for insisting on darkness. What an utter fool he was. But he could no more leave her now to light lamps than he could cease to breathe.
If only there could be a way to shine the light on her without shining it on him.
She whispered his name, spurring him on to greater pleasures. The sole of her foot traveled along his leg.
He slid lower, bracketing his hands on either side of her ribs. How could she be so slender, yet so voluptuous? He moved down, dipping his tongue in her navel. Someday he would pour wine there and sip it. But for now it was enough to experience the saltiness of her skin against his tongue.
He slid down further, nestled himself between her thighs. The fragrance of her sex wafted around him. He blew at the curls. She sighed.
She did not question, she did not object. He lowered his face and kissed the very heart of her womanhood. He swirled his tongue over her, felt her quiver beneath him. So sensitive, so ready for his plunder.
He was aching with the need to plow into her, but not yet, not until he revealed what she could have. With mouth, tongue, and fingers, he taunted and teased, urged her toward greater heights. Her mewling cries echoed around them, trapped within their curtained confines. He heard her gasping, could feel her writhing.
Her fingers became entangled in his hair, tugged and soothed. His body was tense with need, but he fought it back. He would have her, but he would have her so slick and wet that he would slide in smoothly and save her discomfort.
He didn’t want to hurt her, considered pleasuring her and denying himself, but she was a temptation he hadn’t the strength to resist. He wanted to know how it felt to sink into her heated depths. He wanted to feel her pulsing around him, drawing out the last of his seed. He needed her to make himself complete.
He didn’t know where that thought came from. Didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of it. He had been too long on his own. He needed no one. Yet the declaration mocked him.
Unlike Mary, who never mocked him. Who accepted him faults and all.
Who was crying out and bucking beneath him, whose nails were scoring his shoulders.
Mary, Mary, Mary. Dear sweet glorious Mary, lost in the throes of passion.
Rising above her, he plunged into her and released a harsh curse when she screamed.
He stilled, but holding him as close as she was Mary could feel the tremors cascading through the entire length of his body. He had taken her on a journey of exquisite rapture. But it hadn’t been enough to distract her from the pain of her maidenhead being breached.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been so large, but the fullness of him astounded her.
“Forgive me, Mary. Dear God.” His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder.
“Shh. It’s all right.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I know. The pain is easing. Give me a moment.”
Their harsh breaths filled the air, echoed around them. The musky scent of sex hung heavy around them. She didn’t know why she’d never considered that lovemaking would come with a fragrance. Strange how it enhanced her desires, made her yearn even more for what could be between them.
“It was lovely, by the way,” she murmured.
“Lovely?”
He sounded as though he choked on the word, but how could she describe what she’d felt? “Splendid, really. Spectacular.” She released a self-conscious laugh, held him tighter.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “It can be like that when we’re together.”
“I might expire if I experience those sensations again.”
“You won’t.”
“Is it like that for you, when you . . . reach that part.”
“It’s exceedingly . . . lovely.” He chuckled low, a sound that vibrated through her heart.
“You’re teasing me now. Is it all right to tease when we’re doing this?”
“It’s all right to do anything we want.”
He shifted slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the discomfort.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked, and she heard the worry in his voice. While he’d not been able to see her closing her eyes, he’d obviously been aware of her stiffening.
“Not so much. Move a little more. I think I’m getting used to it.”
He took her mouth as though he owned it, and she supposed in some ways he did. There was a roughness to the kiss that had been lacking before. It more closely resembled the desperation she’d sensed in the garden. As though if he didn’t have her, he would die.
Warmth swirled through her and her entire body responded by curling inward. It took her a moment to realize that he’d begun moving slowly, sliding out, then in, gently with no hurry, no rush. The kiss had initially distracted her, but now it became part of the sensations. His tongue swirling through her mouth, his hands knotting in her hair, his hips rocking against hers.
The discomfort receded, the pleasure returned. More intense, more encompassing than it had been before. This time she knew what to expect. Before she had fought it, feared it. Now she embraced it. Embraced him.
She caressed him, every inch that she could reach. She realized that he, too, had to be lost in the sensations because he didn’t stiffen or object when her fingers encountered scars and continued to explore them. They were part of him, and as such, they were part of her.
Breaking off from the kiss, he rose above her and began pounding into her with a fierceness that called to the wildness in her. His grunts echoed around her. She felt the tenseness in his muscles, the quivering. Her own body reacted in kind: tightening, crying out for release.
When the climax hit her, she feared that he had lied, that she would die. How could anyone survive such intense pleasure? It rocked her to her core, left her with no bones, with the inability to move as Sebastian cried out with his final thrust.
Resting on one elbow, he buried his face in her hair. She could feel the hard pounding of his heart against her breast. She didn’t know where she found the strength to skim her fingers over his slick back.
“That was even more lovely than before,” she said breathlessly.
He laughed, a deep, rich sound, as he rolled off her. He slid an arm around her, brought her in against his side.
It was strange but that one small act pleased her more than anything else that they’d done that evening. It gave her hope that one day he’d be glad that he married her.