Chapter Six
HOURS LATER, INA sat toying with a fork at the head of a dining table large enough for twelve. Not a large table, her table, and sitting to her right was Gavin, her husband.
She set the utensil down gently. The metal hardly made a sound against her thin china plate, but it was all too noticeable in the silent room. The entire meal had been like this. Quiet. Subdued. Uncomfortable.
Now, without the hubbub of the day to distract her, she was beginning to feel ill at ease. She reached for her wine, using the movement to surreptitiously steal a glance at her husband. He’d been quiet all day, politely greeting the callers who’d descended on her father’s house after the wedding breakfast to wish them well but not once rising to a quip. Someone who knew him less well might not have noticed, but to her it seemed he was wearing his reticence like a painted sign hung around his neck.
It was their wedding night that was the problem. The event—unmistakable in its gravity—sat at the table with them.
I can’t miss what I don’t know. The night they’d become engaged she’d brushed off his concerns that she’d never know the intimacy of a true marriage, but the kiss on the steps of St. Giles’ had her rethinking her careless concession. If just the press of lips against lips felt so good, what else had she given up?
She wanted her wedding night, she realized as she sat there, watching Gavin roll the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. Their agreement precluded them from regularly sharing a bed, but surely this night would be an exception. Their marriage wouldn’t be considered valid unless it was consummated.
She drew in a steadying breath. She didn’t know exactly what she was meant to do. Lana and Christine, one married and one widowed, had taken it upon themselves to give her a general working idea of the mechanics of sex, but that didn’t mean the situation was any clearer. Was a husband meant to come to a wife or vice versa? Should she undress and then don her night rail, or was it best to remain naked? How exactly did one tell one’s husband, “I wish you to deflower me now,” without having to express it in such ham-handed terms?
Under normal circumstances Ina would have had no compunction about pestering Gavin with a litany of questions, but the awkwardness hanging about them held her back.
“I suppose it’s getting late,” said Gavin at last.
“Not so very late,” she said quickly.
“It was a long day, and you received so many calls.”
“And I’ll soon have to return them all,” she said, doing little to hide her displeasure regarding the idea of having to sit in a carriage while her maid dropped engraved cards with her new name off at the houses of her acquaintances.
“You never did like making calls,” he said with a little smile.
“Neither would you if you were forced to do it.”
“You’re probably right.”
How does this start?
What if I don’t know what to do?
The questions raced through her mind, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words to ask.
In the end, it was Gavin who took charge, asking, “Shall we go to bed?”
Ina chewed her lip as Gavin led her upstairs on his arm. She fought to keep her steps steady and her hand from trembling. Perhaps he’d kiss her in the hallway and that would be her signal. Or maybe he’d request that she leave the door between their rooms unlocked. That seemed an entirely reasonable way to approach the logistics of the matter.
When they reached her bedroom door Gavin leaned down . . . and kissed her on the cheek.
“Sleep well tonight,” he said.
Ina let out a shaky breath. He was being a gentleman and letting her undress with the assistance of her maid. This was their wedding night, not a real good night.
Feeling no less unsettled than she had at supper, Ina retreated to her room and allowed Ruth to help her out of her things. Despite changing out of her wedding clothes when they’d arrived home, she hadn’t taken the time to loosen her corset. Her whole body felt like jelly when at last Ruth released the brutally tied laces.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked the maid.
She tilted her head back and gulped in deep breaths of blissfully unconstrained air. “Mark my words, now that I’m married I have no intention of letting anyone tell me how tight to lace my corset ever again. Especially not my aunt.”
She didn’t miss Ruth’s grin as she stashed the offending garment in Ina’s armoire.
Ruth’s chatter kept her mind preoccupied during her evening routine of washing her face and brushing her hair. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if Gavin was going through the same motions with Norris, their butler, who was valeting for him until he could find a manservant. A part of her hoped he was just as nervous with anticipation of the night to come.
When there was nothing left to be done, Ina dismissed Ruth and found herself with little to do but wait. Her night rail ballooned out around her as she dropped onto her chaise with a sigh.
She picked up a book, flipping through the pages, but nothing could distract her from the tick tick tick of the clock on the mantel. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty-five. When three-quarters of an hour had passed, Ina went from nervous to furious. Where on earth was her husband?
She snapped the book closed. “That’s it.”
Moving swiftly, she tugged on the long pink silk dressing gown Ruth had laid out at the foot of the bed and tied it in a loose knot around her waist. Pulling her unbound hair out from under the collar, she went to the door connecting her room to Gavin’s dressing room.
“Clearly there was no impediment there,” she muttered to herself as the unlocked door swung open.
There was no light in the dressing room, but by leaving her door open she could see enough to maneuver across the narrow space. It was only when she put her hand on the brass knob to his room that she paused.
He’s still Gavin. You trust him.
With as much authority as she could muster, she walked straight into his room. What she saw brought her up short. Gavin was sitting in an armchair. He’d taken his jacket off and unbuttoned his waistcoat, pulled off his necktie, and opened his shirt, but those were his only concessions to the late hour. The man still had his shoes on, and at the moment he was staring straight at them with a sheaf of papers on his knee and a whisky glass dangling from his fingers.
With as much authority as she could muster, Ina said, “I was under the impression that new husbands typically can’t wait to see their wives in a state of dishabille.”
His head snapped up.
“Of course,” she continued, “I understand that their marriages are probably a sight more conventional than ours but—”
“Ina.” He said her name as though it had been ripped from him. It set her back on her heels, but she’d already come this far. If she was going to make a fool of herself, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.
“What are you reading?” she asked, nodding to the papers.
He looked down as though seeing them for the first time. It was clear from where she stood that they were letters written in a thin, looping script. A woman’s hand? The thought shouldn’t have given her pause, but the way he ran his finger along the edges of the paper made her heart hitch.
“They’re nothing,” he said.
“They must be something if you’re reading them on your wedding night,” she countered.
He’d dropped the pile of correspondence unceremoniously on the table next to him. “They’re nothing,” he repeated with more conviction. “Just a reminder of the foolishness of youth. Why are you here, Ina?”
“I thought maybe . . .”
The fire might be blazing in the grate, but a chill ran down her spine and she tugged her dressing gown closed at the neck. She hadn’t known what to expect from her wedding night, but this melancholy reluctance hadn’t been it. It had been ridiculous to think Gavin wanted any of this.
“I was mistaken,” she said. “Forgive me.”
She turned fast. The kiss, the way she’d thought she’d caught him looking at her, she’d misjudged it all. She’d been a fool to think that Gavin would ever cross the unspoken boundaries of their friendship.
“Ina.”
But she didn’t turn back. She put one foot in front of the other, her head down, as she made for the dressing room door as swiftly as she could.
She was nearly across the threshold when Gavin caught her up by the waist and spun her around. She stumbled, but his body pressed against hers, holding her upright.
“What are you—”
And then he kissed her. Oh Lord, how he kissed her. If the kiss on the steps of St. Giles’ had been sweet, this one was all savagery. His hands framed her face, diving into her loose strands of hair as his lips pulled at hers, dragging her down into lust. She dug her fingers into the fine linen of his shirt, desperate just to hold on. He sucked on one of her lips as he had before, but this time it was harsher. She gasped. Expertly, his tongue darted into her mouth, stoking the fire in her belly into a full-on roar.
When Gavin’s hands fell to her shoulders she thought he might loosen her dressing gown, but instead he pushed her away. Holding her at arm’s length, he glared down at her, his eyes wild and maybe a little unhinged.
“We said we wouldn’t do this,” he said.
“I thought our wedding night might be an exception.”
“Do you want that?” he asked.
“Don’t you?”
He nodded sharply. “Yes, and if you don’t you should walk out of this room now.”
Her right hand still clutched at his shirt, and she stared at the way the firelight sent shadows dancing across her fingers. Light and dark. Always changing.
“After the church steps . . . I want this. I want to know,” she said, her voice steady. The nerves in her body hummed like violin strings that had been plucked, and she didn’t know how she’d ever feel the same. It was overwhelming and yet exactly what she needed.
He let out a long, steady breath as though steeling himself for what he was about to say. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive,” she said, holding her chin a little higher.
His hand slid down her silk-clad arm, wrapping loosely around her wrist. “Come.”
He led her toward the bed and positioned her so that the backs of her thighs brushed against the high mattress. She thought he might say something to prepare her for what was next, but instead he raised his thumb to the fleshy part of her lower lip and drew the pad of his finger down her lip to her chin. When he reached her neck, his fingers splayed out, applying a gentle pressure that made her heightened senses sing.
Her eyes fluttered closed when he brushed the neckline of her dressing gown. The garment gaped open, and she could feel him run his fingers over the fine top edge of her night rail. Her nipples peaked and her breasts ached for him to cup them even as he traced the inside slope of them. This wasn’t pleasure, this was torture. He was intent on tormenting her until she was shaking, unable to form words except to beg him for more.
She bit her lip and struggled to stay still when his hands went to her shoulders and pushed the still-tied dressing gown down but left her night rail in place. The sleeves pooled at her elbows, and she was about to shrug out of them when his mouth dropped to her right breast and sucked.
Ina saw stars. Giant bursts of brilliant color as her head fell back and her body pressed up into Gavin’s mouth. The damp fabric roughed against her nipple, sending her soaring while his fingers molded the shape of her curves to fit his hands.
She whimpered when he let her nipple slide from his mouth until his lips moved a few inches to the left and he ministered to her other breast.
This was a mistake—not losing herself to Gavin, but rather the idea that she could experience this sort of pleasure just once. It would have been better not knowing. Then at least she would’ve been able to live under the same roof as him without thinking every moment about how good this felt.
When he moved to the belt at her waist, she almost ripped it open for him. Instead, she braced her hands against his shoulders and tried not to sink to her knees when he framed the spread of her waist with his hands and then reached around to cup her backside.
She was already pressed against the bed, so it took next to nothing to push her down on top of it. His hands skimmed down her hips and over her legs. His mouth kissed a trail over her stomach while his fingers circled her ankles and skimmed up over calves, knees, thighs. Her hips arched, begging him to inch higher. Higher.
Then he lifted her night rail to her waist.
“God, Ina.” The words sounded as though they’d been squeezed from him like water wrung from a cloth.
She pitched up on her elbows and caught him with eyes fixed on the V between her legs. His hunger was unmistakable. He wanted her, not because she was his best friend but because she was a woman. The power of that realization surged up in her until he pressed his thumb to the bead of nerves between her legs, and her whole world fell away. This. This was the only thing that mattered.
He rolled his thumb, and desire bolted straight through her. She cried out and her hips canted up. Gavin slowly began to massage her, catching a rhythm when her muscles clenched under his hands. His other hand circled her lips, spreading the warm wetness from her slit along her sensitive folds. When his finger dipped in, she cried out a half plea.
She ached, wanted, needed him.
She began to protest when his hands fell away until she saw he was tearing at his shirt and undoing the placket of his trousers. Garments hit the floor with impressive speed, and at once he was naked before her. The fire lit him from behind, making his hair glow, halo-like, while his face remained in shadow. She could hardly make out the line of his mouth or read his expression. That nearly gave her pause, but then she remembered that this was Gavin, whom she trusted more than any other man in this world.
“Move down the bed,” he said, his voice rough.
She scrambled up so that her legs were fully stretched on the mattress, and he climbed up after her.
“Take this off,” he said, plucking at the fabric that stood as the only barrier between them.
She shimmied the cotton garment up over her head and tossed it over the side of the bed. His eyes drank her in from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes, his hand skimming over her body as he went. She bit her lip, determined not to show any fear at being naked before a man for the first time in her life.
“Open your legs for me,” he growled.
Her knees fell to either side, giving him more than enough room to settle between them. His erection pressed hard against her stomach as he moved over her.
He kissed her again as she felt his cock bump against her slit. She squirmed a little under him, but the encouragement did nothing to make him move faster. He was deliberate and slow, drawing this out. She knew she should want that too—this evening being their one exception—but her whole body screamed for more.
Gavin deepened their kiss, his hands tangling in her hair once again, and pressed into her. His cock slid in slick against her wetness, stretching her. She bucked against the shock of the sensation she’d never experienced before.
He pushed up on his hands. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she gasped out, struggling with the words to explain what it was she was feeling. Pushed. Whole. Complete. None of them was quite right.
“Then can I—?”
“Yes,” she hissed out. He could’ve asked for anything in that moment and it would have been his.
He pulled out of her and slid back in farther. Her head burrowed back into the pillows while her hips ground into the mattress. Again he withdrew and pushed into her. Deeper. Each time he thrust until skin pressed against skin and he was buried inside her.
His rhythm picked up and, with her feet firmly against the mattress, she matched him.
A low, roiling heat built up in her with every stroke, and her breath grew short. A sheen of sweat covered them both, and she dug her fingers harder into the muscles of his arms to keep from losing her grip.
Then, all at once, Gavin threw his head back with a curse and pulled out of her. White, hot seed spilled on her leg and onto the coverlet as he worked his hand over his cock, finishing himself off.
She’d done that. She had so aroused a man that he’d climaxed. A smug smile slid over her face.
When finally his hand fell away, he looked up her body at her. “You look very pleased with yourself.”
She sighed with contentment. “I am.”
“And yet you didn’t—?”
He looked at her with such significance she knew he could only be asking whether she too had orgasmed.
She shook her head. “No, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself nonetheless.”
His eyes darkened but not with displeasure. “Then we’re not done.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows and cocked a brow. “What?”
“Lie back and open your legs again,” he ordered, and a shiver ran down her spine.
This time he settled on his knees between her legs. He hooked his hands around her thighs, tilted her hips up, and lowered his head.
His mouth. He was going to use his mouth?
She surged up onto elbows right as his tongue touched her. He rolled it over her clitoris, then flicked the sensitive bud once.
“Oh my God,” she breathed out, her fingers grasping at the bedsheets. Her body was already primed from him, but this was so much more. A wave of desire swelled up in her, and her inner muscles began to tremble.
Gavin sucked on her as he slipped a hand out from under her leg to pinch one of her folds. Her hips shot up off the bed, but he clamped her down by throwing his other arm across her stomach.
She wanted to see this—to prove to herself that this was really happening—and when she looked down her body she locked eyes with Gavin. He was staring back at her with open, raw hunger, lust, and something a little like anger. But any chance she had to contemplate why was lost when he began flicking his tongue over her again and again in fast succession.
Her orgasm rocketed through her with a force she’d rarely felt when she pleasured herself alone. The weight of his arm kept her pressed down even as she drove her hips up against his mouth, grinding him into her as he pulled her pleasure from her bit by excruciating bit. She was lost, unable to think. Unable to talk. The only thing she could do was take from him until he had nothing more to give her, and so that’s what she did, riding his mouth until she felt weak against the bed.