Liv could feel her husband's heart beating in his chest as she rested against it. He cradled her with one arm, his other hands gently holding the reins of the horse that was bringing them back to Pemberton Hall.
No words had passed between man and wife once they had left Jarvis House. Instead Ruan had lifted her, as though she weighed nothing, into the saddle of his horse, before hopping up behind her. The journey was both pleasant and arduous. It felt wonderful to be held in the arms of a man as strong as the Duke, but the butterflies in her stomach had erupted at his closeness, so that she felt almost sick with excitement.
Pemberton Hall lay in darkness when they arrived, Ruan guided the horse to the stables, banging on the door to rouse one of the grooms.
"Oh, Ruan, don't," Olive protested, "I can wait here while you tend to the horse, don't wake the poor men."
"My dear," her husband took her by the waist and pulled her toward him. "You may be able to wait, but I cannot."
A bleary eyed young groom opened the door to the living quarters of the stables, interrupting their embrace.
"Sorry to disturb your sleep Keats," her husband gave the lad an apologetic smile, "But I need you to stable him. I'm in rather a rush."
Olive felt her face flame with embarrassment as her husband took her by the hand and led her across the cobbled yard toward the back entrance of the house. They entered Pemberton Hall through the kitchen door, Ruan leading her commandingly up the servant's stairs, to the third floor.
"Oh," he paused when they reached the hallway, a look of dismay on his face. "I suppose that wasn't a very glamorous way to bring a Duchess into her new home."
He looked genuinely crestfallen and Olive had to stifle a laugh, such was his dismay.
"The hallway rather makes up for the lack of decor on the way up," Olive offered, for it did. The arched ceilings were covered in frescoes, and the wallpaper was heavily embossed. A thick Persian carpet ran the length of the hall, inviting the walker in the direction of an impressive set of double doors, that Olive knew would lead to the Duke's suites.
"If you're impressed by the hallway, then you'll faint at the sight of the bedroom," Ruan growled, lifting her up in his arms and carrying her toward his room. "Though dear God please don't faint. I've had the ignominious pleasure of being, possibly, the only Duke of Everleigh to have two marriages go unconsummated for any length of time."
Olive bit back a giggle at his self-deprecating words. She felt snug in his arms and was grateful for their support, for her knees felt weak with nerves and anticipation. Ruan near kicked the door open, in his haste to get inside. He placed Olive gently on the bed, then began to tear at the cravat around his neck and the buttons on his shirt.
Olive watched him from beneath her lashes, feeling suddenly shy. Her husband lifted his shirt above his head to reveal a toned, muscular stomach like a washboard and a chest that was thick with dark curls. She sat up and hesitantly reached a hand out to touch his chest. The skin on skin contact made her husband pause, and he placed his hand over hers,just above his heart. "I love you," he said simply, pressing her hand close to his flesh so that she could hear his heartbeat.
"And I you," Olive whispered, for the love she felt for him had pierced through her on the cliffs, when she thought that Lavelle would shoot him. She had never felt so strongly for anyone, as she did for the Duke, and the thought made her a little nervous. Her feelings were obviously displayed on her face, for Ruan stroked her cheek softly; "Are you certain that you're ready?"
Despite the passion which burned in his eyes, Olive knew that if she told her husband that she was not ready yet, that he would stop. The only thing was, she didn't want him to. As she nodded her head, he dropped his lips to hers and kissed her gently. The soft feel of his skin, contrasting the hardness of the muscles beneath, left her dizzy and light headed. With assured hands her husband began to undress her, working the buttons of her dress as though he was a trained ladies maid and not a Duke.
"You're rather adept at that," Olive commented, feigning humour to hide her nerves.
"There's a lot of things I'm very good at," her husband replied, his mouth quirking with amusement. His hands lifted her dress over her head, and soon she was lying naked beneath him. Any fear or trepidation that she might have felt, was soon swept away on a tide of pleasure. Her husband was a skilled love-maker, and though at first it hurt slightly, soon she became used to the feel of him. Within minutes she was breathless, as waves of pleasure--that she had not known were possible--washed over her. Sensing that she was spent the Duke finished with a low groan, collapsing on top of her and cradling her in his arms.
"That was rather good," she whispered to him across the pillow, when a few minutes of breathless silence had passed. She could not believe that the beautiful man lying next to her was her husband, and that she would wake up the next morning --and every morning-- to the wondrous sight of him.
"Rather good?" Ruan huffed, evidently displeased with her choice of words. "I obviously wasn't doing my job properly if it was only rather good."
"It can get better?" Olive glanced at him innocently, knowing that he would rise to the bait of her teasing.
"A hundred times better," Ruan said, his face filled with need as he pinned her beneath his strong forearms. "I'm afraid you'll have to get used to this Olive."
"Used to what?" she asked, reaching up with her hand and smoothing the lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
"To being in my bed," her husband replied, with a smile that could only be described as pure wicked. "For I won't be letting you leave it for quite some time."