Chapter Twenty-Three

 

Gina stood before the mirror in her wedding gown, her hands to her cheeks.

Blair came from his dressing room wearing his robe. “Why, what is it, darling?”

“I can’t believe this is me.” She gazed at her reflection. “If only mother and Milo could see me.”

He put his arms around her waist. “Maybe they can, darling. Maybe they can.”

“Oh, I’m so happy.” She leaned back against him. “I’m a little tipsy. I had several glasses of champagne.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Are you as happy as I am?”

“Yes, my Gina.” He took her in his arms and waltzed around the room. She laughed, thrilled to have him strong again.

He drew her over to the bed. Breathless, they gazed at one another. “I want so much to please you.” She stood and grasped her skirts with both hands, easing them up a little, planning to perform a provocative dance.

Blair grinned and leaped to his feet. “No, sweetheart.” He held her shoulders and gazed loving down at her. “What Mabel told you has no place on this day.” He gave a wicked smile. “Tomorrow, or next week, I look forward to enjoying what she taught you.”

He crushed her to him and kissed her deeply. “Darling,” he murmured. “Let me make love to you.”

 

*

Blair undid the myriad of tiny buttons down Gina’s back. He’d never felt this tender undressing a woman before. Gina was his soul mate, from the moment he first saw her in that painting, he’d been lost. He meant every vow he’d made before the parson. He would love and protect her for the rest of their lives.

The bustle petticoat and the corset joined her gown over a chair. Gina stood before him in her camisole and bloomers. He removed the tortoiseshell combs from her hair and threaded his fingers through the glossy golden locks as they spilled over her shoulders, lifting a scented curl to his lips.

“These combs were my mother’s gift to me,” she murmured, taking them from him and placing them carefully on the dresser.

“I’m glad you have something to remember her by,” he said huskily. He kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. As he eased the strap of her chemise down, he pressed kisses over the soft skin of her shoulder, then raised his head to caress her lips. Her lovely body had filled his thoughts since the brief glimpse in Mayfair when she was half-dressed in the lurid chemise. He kissed her with slow drugging kisses. As need tightened his body, he cautioned himself, this was Gina’s first experience of lovemaking. He was determined that it would be special.

“I want you to enjoy this, sweetheart.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder as he bent to draw down her blue satin garters over her lovely legs. He stroked the velvety skin of her inner thigh and rolled down her stockings. He remembered how she’d teased him to distraction on that disastrous night that had sent him hurrying away to Ireland. His instincts had been right not to spoil what they had, for he might have lost her forever, and here she was, his cherished wife.

Gina stood naked before him, all creamy curves, her high, full breasts tipped with shell-pink nipples, a soft vee of fair hair at the apex of her thighs. As lovely as a Degas nude. He couldn’t draw his gaze away from her as he shrugged off his dressing gown.

 

Gina gasped at the sight of him. He was so beautiful. His broad chest tapered to a narrow waist and slim hips. She touched the puckered scar, a symbol of their triumph over adversity. Their life together would hold more adversities to overcome, she was sure, and many victories, joyful ones. Not least the child she hoped to one day hold in her arms.

Blair joined her on the bed. He kissed her taut nipples and made her moan as she grasped his thick dark hair. She knew little of love making, but her desire to have him inside her, quickened her pulse and shortened her breath. She grew hot and moist between her legs, and when he stroked that special part of her, exquisite pleasure spread through her body and she cried out.

“Your body is smooth and rough, hard and strong,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over his satiny skin, marveling at his muscled chest with its rough smattering of hair and small brown nipples. His breath scented with wine blended with hers. When his tongue entered her mouth, she gasped. Tasting him set her whole body on fire.

“I love you, Gina.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Touch me.” His eyes dark blue with desire, he took her hand and swept it over his stomach and down.

She marveled that he grew hard beneath her fingers, loved that she could make him groan with pleasure. “Hard and soft as velvet.”

“Sweet torture,” he murmured.

He settled his body between her thighs, hipbone to hipbone, and his manhood nudged the folds of her sex. Her body clenched, and she opened wider to welcome him, wanting, and needing him.

Her heart pounding, Gina drew in a breath as he edged inside her. It stung, and she bit her lip trying not to cry out. She arched her back to better accept him and he was inside, filling her.

He paused and stroked her hair. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head unable to speak. It did hurt a little, but what bliss to be joined with him in this way. How right it felt.

When he moved inside her, the pain ebbed away. She stroked his back over the straining muscles and down to his rounded, strong buttocks, tensing with each thrust. Her hands on his driving hips, she instinctively moved with him in some primitive rhythm.

With a groan, Blair spilled his seed inside her. He lay beside her and gathered her into his embrace. “Are you sore sweetheart? It will be more enjoyable next time.”

“Mmm.” Gina snuggled against him as a delicious lassitude filled her. She wanted to tell him how beautiful it had been, but she was too sleepy. She could only manage to murmur that she loved him. The thought came to her that she would tell him tomorrow.

She heard the smile in his voice. “It’s been a long day. Sleep well, my love.”

* * *

 

Two days later, her body flushed from early lovemaking, Gina settled in the library, recalling with a sigh how Blair’s expert touch had sent her to even higher levels of ecstasy. After breakfast, he’d kissed her and ridden out to the home farm.

She liked to sit in this room with its smell of leather and old tomes. The family history was here. A painting of Blair’s great-grandfather hung over the fireplace, dressed in riding clothes, he stood beside a magnificent black horse. He had blue eyes, and a very determined chin. She would have liked to have known him and was sure that Blair inherited some of his fine qualities as well as his good looks. Seated at the big oak desk, she took a fresh sheet of writing paper from the drawer. She picked up a pen and began to write, grateful to her mother for teaching her to read and write, but painfully aware that her spelling was very bad. In neat script, she wrote The life of Milo Russo, a renowned artist, by his step-daughter, Giovanna.

Hours later, Blair found her there when he arrived home for luncheon, still scribbling away. He crossed the room to hug her and peer over her shoulder. “What are you up to? The maid said you’ve been in here for hours.”

Gina chewed the end of the pen. “How do you spell exquisite?”

Blair told her, and she wrote it down.

“English spelling makes little sense at times.”

Satisfied with her efforts, she straightened the sheets of paper and rose to give her husband a proper kiss.

“Am I to be told what this endeavor may be?” he asked with an indulgent smile.

“I’m writing about Milo’s life, his wonderful paintings, how much he loved my mother, and how he was struck down just as he’d begun to be famous.”

“A grand idea. I’ll buy you a journal in which to write it.”

“Would you? I should like that.”

“It can be your diary. Write not just about Milo, but of your life too, my love.” He held out his hand to here. “Come now, it’s time to dine. And I want you to myself.”