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She stood quite still, eyes closed, head bowed against the tide of humiliation that washed over her.
She was such a fool.
He’d been honest with her from the start. He’d told her he was looking for a convenient wife. That he’d been in a hurry to get one, so that he could get on with the far more important business of rescuing Julia.
At what point had she forgotten that? When had she started hoping there might be a glimmer of truth in what Aunt Pargetter said about him falling for her? Men didn’t need to even like a woman to want to get her naked and in a bed. She knew that. She’d been brought up in a coastal town swarming with lusty sailors, for heaven’s sake!
She clasped her hands to her waist as her middle lurched almost painfully. How on earth could she possibly have thought that such a handsome, wealthy, titled man would suddenly become enamoured of a penniless, plain little...mouse of a creature like her? She’d mistaken his relief at finding a compliant, orphaned, modest woman to be his convenient wife so quickly for delight in her.
She shook her head. It had been useless flinging the list back amongst his other papers. The words of it were scored into her brain as though carved with a knife.
The sound of footsteps striding along the corridor had her opening her eyes and gazing in horror at the door. She couldn’t face him, in all his good humour, not now, not while she felt so...wounded!
To her relief, the feet kept on walking. It must just have been another guest returning to his room, or one of the hotel staff bustling about their business.
Still, it had been a warning. With fingers that shook, she poured some tea into her cup, selected a pastry at random and put it on to a plate. If he walked in now, he would simply see a woman taking tea. She would make her face show nothing of what she felt.
And she would not weep.
* * *
When Lord Havelock eventually returned, she was still doggedly dry-eyed. Sitting stock-still at the table with her cup of tea, untouched, in front of her.
‘Sitting in the dark?’ He frowned at her as she started, then stared at him as though she wasn’t quite sure who he was.
‘You should have rung for candles.’ He strode across and tugged on the bell pull. ‘And the fire has almost gone out, too.’
She turned, slowly, to look at it.
‘At least you’ve had something to eat...’ He frowned as he noted that nothing appeared to have been touched. Even her teacup was full.
Though her eyes were empty.
‘I’ve been a perfect beast, haven’t I,’ he said, pulling up the other chair to the table and grasping her hands. ‘To leave you alone for such a long time.’ He raised each hand in turn, kissing it penitently.
She looked at him in confusion. No wonder she’d started to think he was developing some real affection for her. But this was just...gallantry. If she’d had any experience of suitors, in the past, she would have known that this was how men behaved with women. That it meant nothing.
He should have picked either Dotty or Lotty. Either of them would have coped with him far, far better than she was doing.
‘Well,’ he said, starting to chafe her hands between his own. ‘I’ve achieved everything I needed to get done today, so now I’m all yours.’ He gave an uneasy laugh. ‘Though from the look you’re giving me that information doesn’t exactly please you. Dash it, where’s that waiter? Your hands are like ice. Your feet, too, I dare say.’
She thought she’d kept her face impassive, but something must have shown, for he shook his head and said ruefully, ‘Ah, Mary. You don’t have anything to worry about. On my word of honour, I’ll do better from now on. To start with, we’ll have a slap-up meal, and...and talk to each other. Yes? Not downstairs in one of the public rooms, but up here, since you are looking a little...’
Plain? Mousy? Not smartly dressed enough to be able to look the well-heeled clientele in the eye?
‘Uncomfortable,’ he finished.
‘I...I don’t feel very hungry,’ she said. ‘Today has been...just a bit...rather...’
‘Hasn’t it, though? Not two weeks ago I thought I’d never get married. Now here I am in a hotel room with my bride, on my wedding night. Takes your breath away, don’t it?’
She nodded.
‘Do you know what I think?’
She shook her head. That was the trouble. She kept imagining he was thinking things he’d told her point-blank he wasn’t going to think.
‘I think by leaving you hanging all afternoon, you’ve ended up feeling like a game bird ready for plucking. And that I ought to set about making you feel like a bride, instead.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you know very well what I mean,’ he growled, pulling her to her feet.
She uttered a squeak of surprise when he hefted her into his arms.
A woman with more pride, she expected, would have put up some form of protest.
Mary put her arms round his neck, buried her face in his shoulder and clung to his solid warmth as he strode with her over to his bedroom.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_05dcff38-4b94-5eda-bfb8-ba6a7f4ce681)
He tumbled them both on to the bed and kissed her with an ardour that left her breathless. And strangely comforted.
Even though he’d only chosen her with his head, not his heart, he had chosen her. There must be dozens of poor, plain, penniless orphans in London, yet he hadn’t looked any further once he’d met her.
And, yes, maybe that was only because he was in such a hurry to get married, but...
With a moan that was half distress, half desperation, she curled her fingers into the luxuriant softness of his hair and kissed him back for all she was worth.
They were married now. Did it really matter how it had come about? No. It was what they made of their future that mattered.
Her response brought a feral growl of appreciation from his throat. And then, for a few moments, it was as though he had been let off some invisible leash. His hands were all over her while his body strained against hers in a way that thrilled her to the soles of her boots.
His excitement called to something buried deep in the heart of her. Something wild and wanton that came roaring to life and swept aside her every inhibition. Her hands were every bit as greedy as his, seeking and stroking and learning. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She wanted to wrap herself round him. Press every single inch of her against every marvellously thrilling inch of him.
Until, quite without warning, he reared back.
‘This is going too fast,’ he panted, frowning.
‘What do you mean?’ It all felt perfectly wonderful to her.
‘This is your first time,’ he gritted out between clenched teeth. ‘I should be taking it far more slowly. Making it good for you.’
Well, she couldn’t argue with that. After all the horrible things she’d read on that list, the dreadful afternoon she’d spent sitting alone, cold and brutally wounded, the least he could do was make this part of their marriage good.
He’d closed his eyes on a grimace. When he opened them again, only a few seconds later, he’d calmed down considerably.
‘I didn’t even pause to get our shoes off.’ He sighed, with a shake of his head.
He sat up, scooted down the bed and rapidly unlaced her rather worn leather half-boots. Aunt Pargetter had wanted to get her some dainty footwear to go with her wedding finery, but there hadn’t been time. And she’d thought her own comfortable boots would stand her in better stead, considering the coldness of the season. Only now did she wish she’d taken them off herself, during the hours he’d been away seeing his lawyers.
He didn’t say anything about the patched soles, or the worn-down heels, but his frown did deepen once his fingers encountered her stockinged feet.
‘Your feet are like ice! Well, that won’t do.’ Taking her left foot between both hands, he first chafed it, then raised it to his mouth to plant a hot kiss on the sole. The action sent her skirts slithering up her legs.
His hot eyes followed their movement. Swiftly followed by his hands.
‘I need to get these stockings off,’ he said, as though warning her of his intent.
She shivered with pleasure when he deftly undid her garter, then slid one stocking down.
‘Cold?’
She shook her head. Far from it. It felt as though a bolt of lightning streaked from the heat of his hands against her bared skin, right to her very core. She subsided into the pillows again, luxuriating in the sensations he evoked whilst removing her other stocking—with slow deliberation.
Her eyes half-closed, she watched with growing interest as he got up, shrugged off his jacket, undid his shirt and yanked it impatiently off over his head.
He had, without doubt, the most impressive masculine torso she’d ever seen. And she had seen many. Sailors often worked in just their ragged breeches, when loading and unloading ships during the hottest months of the year.
But she’d always averted her gaze and hurried past. She’d never been even remotely tempted to pause and drink her fill of any single one of them. She hadn’t struggled to keep her hands neatly placed at her sides, rather than reaching out and running her fingers over each clearly delineated muscle. Or thought about letting her tongue follow in the wake of her fingers. Or got a mad urge to lick her way up that strong column of a masculine throat to the stubbled texture of his chin.
Not that she was bold enough to do any such thing. Besides, he’d just said he was going to make it good for her. And part of her, the part that was still smarting over the things she’d read on the list, wanted him to exert himself to make it up to her. Not that he would be aware he was doing any such thing, but still, she would know.
Anyway, he inadvertently helped her to resist the temptation by sitting down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, which gave her eyes an entirely new view to appreciate. His back. The broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle down either side of his spine, which disappeared into the narrow waistband of his breeches.
She was a little disappointed when he drew the line at removing them. Although perhaps it was only fair. After all, she was still in her gown. Not that it took him long to take it off her once he set to it. My, but he certainly knew his way round lacings, and corsets.
Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen by the time he lay down beside her and put his arm about her shoulders. The dexterity he’d just displayed with her clothing convinced her that he truly could make this experience good for her.
Even though he wasn’t all that proficient at flirting and charming his way into a woman’s bed, it didn’t mean he hadn’t had encounters of an...earthy nature, with willing women.
Willing? Oh, what an inadequate word. If any of them had guessed what kind of body he concealed beneath his casually comfortable clothing, plenty of them would have ripped them off just to get their greedy hands on it.
Just as she wanted to get her own hands on it.
She was so glad he didn’t wear the kind of clothing that showed his stunning physique to better advantage. If he’d needed a couple of valets to peel a tightly fitted coat from those bulging biceps, she would have missed the enthralling spectacle of him gradually revealing more and more of his masculinity for her eyes alone.
He wouldn’t have been able to just take her to bed because he felt it was time, either. She liked that they could be spontaneous about this, rather than having to involve servants.
She reached for him as he ran his fingers through her hair—hair that had come out of its fastenings during their first bout of kissing on this bed.
As she ran her hands down his back, glorying in the fact that there were no longer any clothes to impede her exploration, it occurred to her that a ‘modest’ woman wouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t have clawed her way under his waistcoat and writhed up against him like some kind of snake when he’d tumbled her on to the bed earlier, either. Nor would a ‘modest’ woman let her husband strip her naked at four in the afternoon—even if daylight was fading—and be glad of the way firelight bathed the room in a warm glow, so she could feast her eyes on her new husband’s magnificent masculine nakedness.
But then, nor would a man who truly wanted a modest wife be looking at her like that—as if he wanted to devour her.
Which was pretty much what he did next, tasting and nibbling her all over as though she was some rare delicacy. He didn’t leave an inch of her unexplored. And everywhere he put his mouth, he left behind such glorious feelings she didn’t know how to describe them.
She bit down on her lower lip when he finally stroked her legs apart and began trailing kisses up the inside of her thighs.
Her aunt Pargetter had warned her, during a private little talk the night before, that the things her husband might wish to do to her, once in the marriage bed, might seem strange and perhaps a little frightening at first. She had advised her against resisting, or protesting, because nine times out of ten he would have more of an idea what would end up making it lovely.
It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. Resist him? Protest about this? Oh, no. The slow slide of his tongue, the little nips of his teeth, combined with the firm caresses of those strong hands, those knowing fingers, were exactly what she wanted.
Oh, very well, so her aunt had got part of it right. He did know more than her about this.
And he was taking the time to make it lovely for her, too. Which was somewhat surprising, considering he’d so far given the impression of always being in a hurry to get things done.
There was just one awkward little interlude, after he’d shucked off his breeches, where what he did hurt quite a bit, but then he brought the lovely feelings back, with skill, with patience, until...until...oh, utter rapture. It was as if she had completely left her body behind. She was floating somewhere—somewhere he’d taken her. And he was there, too. She could tell. His whole body was quivering with it. Pulsing with it.
‘Mary.’ He sighed, as she began to drift back to reality. A reality that had somehow been transformed, though she couldn’t have explained how. And anyway, she felt too peaceful to rack her brains over what had changed between them, or within her, or...
He shifted his weight to one side and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Though how he found the energy to move so much as one eyelid, she couldn’t imagine. She felt as though all her bones had melted. And as for muscles—there was not one left, in her entire body, that wasn’t completely and utterly drained.
‘Thank you for being so generous,’ she heard him murmur, as he tucked her into his side.
Just before she drifted into sated oblivion.
* * *
There was no need to panic. He’d managed to bite back his urge to tell her that the way they’d reached the pinnacle of rapture together had been just about the most blissful experience of his life. He’d turned it into a far more temperate expression of gratitude, thank God.
And he was grateful. Grateful that they were so compatible, sexually. He’d specifically sought a woman he could enjoy taking to bed, hadn’t he? So that getting an heir wouldn’t be a hardship. She’d just ticked off another item on the list, that was all. His heart wasn’t going to be at risk, just because he’d had a momentary, overwhelming feeling of rightness. Of belonging.
No. It just meant he’d made a very sensible choice of bride.
* * *
The next time Mary opened her eyes, it was because someone was insistently shaking her shoulder, pulling her up from a dream that featured her new husband, shirtless, skilfully skating away from her and disappearing into a thick swirling fog while her own useless legs melted away from under her.
‘I am a little sorry to have to wake you,’ said Lord Havelock gruffly.
She blinked up at him sleepily. Last thing she knew he’d been wrapped round her like a living blanket. Now there was a real blanket tucked up to her chin, and he was... She frowned. He was dressed and standing over her looking a touch reproachful.
‘Lying there like that you look...’
He paused, searching no doubt for a polite way to tell her she looked a mess, with not a single pin remaining in her hair, which was more than half over her face. Still, at least that would be concealing the sleep creases she’d no doubt have from the embroidered pillow slip.
‘Absolutely edible,’ he finished with a wicked grin. ‘And speaking of edible, while you slept I ordered that supper I promised you earlier. And it’s arrived. I’m having them set it out in the sitting room, if you’d care to join me?’
He indicated the foot of the bed, where, to her astonishment, she saw the nightgown and wrap her cousins had given her, because, they’d said, her much darned and patched nightgown and a woollen shawl would simply not do for her wedding night.
The nightgown was of the sheerest lawn she’d ever seen. Even when she’d folded it into her portmanteau she’d been able to see the outline of her hand through it. And the wrap was of scarlet silk, patterned all over with lush oriental flowers of some sort.
But he was indicating he wanted her to wear them and join him for supper in the sitting room.
‘I thought you’d prefer a private supper, up here, rather than go through all the bother of getting fully dressed and dining in one of the public rooms.’
Well, there was that.
