Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(114)

On their wedding night, Alec allowed her private time to prepare for bed, and he lingered downstairs while she dressed slowly in a lacy white gown. The bedroom was resplendent with the same dignity as the rest of the castle, with an intricate plaster-molded ceiling, Louis XIV furniture, a French tapestry, and an Aubusson carpet. Mary, a maid who had left the Berkeleys’ employ in order to attend her, arranged Mira’s hair in long, perfect curls and brought her a crystal flask filled with perfume. The scent was a fresh, clean distillation of sandalwood and roses, and Mira sniffed it approvingly before applying it sparingly to her throat and wrists.

“Would you like me to stay wi’ you until—” Mary began kindly, noticing the trembling of the flask that Mira held.

“No, thank you.” Mira smiled at her faintly. “I think I would like to be alone for a little while, Mary.”

The maid curtsied and left quietly. Sprawling on the bed and propping her chin in her hands, Mira stared into the crackling fire that lit the fireplace. It was not a cold night, but she was glad of the small, cheerful blaze. It lent a companionable warmth to the room, casting its light on the walls and softening what could have been a harsh silence with the sound of its burning. In a few minutes she heard the steps of booted feet outside the door. There was a brief hesitation before a few light taps descended on the wood paneling.

“Come in,” Mira said, surprised at the thin sound of her own voice. She jumped up, folding her arms protectively across her chest as Alec entered the room.

His eyes drank in the sight of her, and a smile shaped his mouth as he closed the door. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he said softly. Silently she watched as he shrugged out of his coat, and she wondered ifshe should offer to help. What was the wifely thing to do? Should she ask about whatever it was that had been necessary for him to take care of? Should she turn back the covers and get into bed, or go over to him and—

“Mira, are you nervous?” Alec asked, his gray eyes smiling down at her as he dropped his coat into a chair and pulled his boots off.

“No, no, of course not. Why would I be—?”

“There’s no reason to be. You know already how good it will be between us.”

“It’s just that… it’s been a long time,” she offered lamely, and he chuckled, padding barefoot to a small brass-inlaid table and uncorking the bottle of wine that had been left there with two elaborate goblets. The jeweled and gold-encrusted goblets were part of a set that had been given to them by Rand and Rosalie.

“Yes, it has been a long time,” he said, filling a goblet and handing it to her. “A good month, at least. Perhaps you’ve a right to worry… God knows what could have changed in a month’s time… What are you smiling at? This is a solemn occasion, Lady Falkner. A terribly serious business, marriage is. Now that you’re my wife, you must learn to be dour and sensible.”

“I will,” she promised him, taking a sip of wine and feeling it trickle silkily down her throat. “Tomorrow.”

“Good,” he approved firmly. “I am told that it is a terrible burden to be the wife of a Falkner, but I will try to provide what few compensations I can. Do you like the wine?”

“It is lovely. But I deserve more compensation than a mere glass of wine for what I’ve gone through today.”

He grinned and began to unbutton his shirt. “Don’t worry. Tonight you’re going to get everything you deserve.”

“I can only hope so.” Covertly she glanced at him, and a tiny blaze of anticipation flickered like fire within her. They had never had the privacy or leisure to lookat each other in detail, and he was a beautifully made man, His body was large and sparely fleshed, his waist and abdomen well-tapered with tightly roped muscles, while the broad lines of shoulders and back were formed with an incomparable symmetry. Dark fur was spread lavishly over his chest, and Mira was tempted to go to him and splay her fingers through the textured hair, rub her face in it like a small cat craving affection. Instead, she looked at him over the rim of the goblet and finished the wine. Aware of her curiosity, Alec stripped the shirt off slowly and dropped it into the chair. Slowly his hands moved to the fastening of his pantaloons; then he stopped as her eyes flickered away immediately.

Crooking a slanted eyebrow, he strode to where she was standing, taking the goblet from her nerveless fingers and setting it on the table. Mira’s mouth opened in surprise as her husband reached toward the bed and deftly whipped off the counterpane with a flourish. “What are you doing?” she asked.

He spread the thick, beautifully worked material on the floor in front of the fireplace. “I’m changing our venue.”

“Alec,” she murmured, casting an appalled look at his handiwork. “That expensive counterpane on that Aubusson carpet—it’s going to get—”

“Mira,” he interrupted softly, “they’re not holy relics. They’re just things… objects… articles meant for our use.”

“They’re expensive objects. I can’t be careless with such things. I won’t ever be able to.” She pressed her palms to her forehead in a sudden gesture of anxiety and closed her eyes tightly. “Dieu, how am I going to live here? I don’t want to live in a castle! I have been so afraid ever since we arrived that I would break something, or spill something—how am I going to live here?”