Love, Come to Me(55)

The light quilt and sheets seemed to resist her efforts to pull them down, but she accomplished the task with a determined tug. Then she turned the lamp down almost all the way, so that it gave off a low, inviting light. Heath would be up here soon, and this time she wanted everything to be different from their disastrous wedding night. Like a madwoman, she tore at the fastenings of her dress and kicked off her slippers, plucking pins out of her hair at the same time. Button after button—why did her dress seem to grow buttons faster than she could unfasten them? Yanking off her stiff silk petticoat, which was padded at the rear with a multitude of small ruffles, she let it drop to the floor in a billowing heap. Underneath the petticoat was a narrow crinoline, made of watchspring steel with a white cotton bustle attached. The whole affair collapsed into a huge, lumpy pancake, which she resolved to kick out of sight as soon as the rest of her things were off. Pins flew everywhere as she tugged more out of her hair. Oh, where was the hairbrush? She hopped on one foot, then the other as she stripped off her garters and stockings.

Flying to the mirror in her corset and pantalets, Lucy dragged a comb through her long hair until the chestnut locks fell thick and smooth over her shoulders. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered as the clock seemed to tick faster. Heath would be here any minute. There was still her corset to take off, and that would take up a lot of time. It was made of thick white cloth that was starched, steam-molded over metal and whalebone stays, and laced tightly up the front. Usually she pulled the laces as tightly as she could by herself and tied them in a bow. This morning she had been in a hurry and had left them in a knot. Futilely she picked at the hard little knot with her fingernails, but it showed no signs of loosening. She could have wept with frustration as she heard Heath’s footsteps on the stairs. Why was everything going wrong? “I’m not ready yet!” she called out, her voice tight and much higher than usual.

“Fine. I’m going to take a few minutes to wash up.”

Lucy put her hands to her boned and stayed midriff, taking a deep, calming breath. Then she tore at the laces with renewed energy before giving up and hunting for a pair of nail scissors. The contents of a drawer rattled like thunder as she pulled it open and pawed through it frantically. Everything was there except the scissors.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

She whirled around, flustered and overwrought, her eyes bright with anxiety and exasperation. Heath stood before her in a dark blue robe, looking calm and collected, faintly amused by the sight of her flurry. “Don’t make any jokes,” she said tautly.

“I’m not about to.”

She turned away and resumed her impatient search through the drawer, flinching as she felt the touch of his hand on her bare shoulders. “What is it?” he asked quietly. She gave up her search for the scissors and sighed tremulously, knowing that she was far more agitated than a pair of knotted corset laces should have warranted.

“I . . . oh, I knew something was going to go wrong . . . it’s this corset, this horrible . . . thing . . . I can’t undo the knot, and I was looking for something to cut the laces—”

“Is that all? Turn around. Well, you do know how to tie an impressive knot, but it’s nothing to stew over.” His fingers went to the laces, and he began to work at the tangle.

“It’s impossible. You might as well help me find the scissors,” she said, biting her lower lip, and he smiled.

“Give me a few minutes. We have a long night ahead of us.” His head bent lower as he concentrated on the knot. The fragrances of soap and his skin combined in a subtly attractive scent that drifted to her nostrils. Lucy felt a light fluttering in her stomach at his nearness. “Why are you wearing a rough coutil corset? I thought that along with your new clothes you must have ordered new underclothes—”

“My old ones are just fine—”

“I beg to differ. Plain white doesn’t suit you. And besides, I have a fancy to see you in colored satin and silk. I can see I’ll have to take care of it.”

“Colored satin underthings?” Lucy had never heard of well-bred women wearing anything but white, gray, or tan underneath their dresses. “You wouldn’t dare buy me any of those . . . would you?”

“Dozens . . . including black pantalets with frilly ruffles and pink bows.” He grinned down at her, and despite all of her jitters she felt a responsive smile tugging at her lips. Just then the knot came undone, and Heath unwound the laces from the metal studs of the corset. Lucy closed her eyes and breathed deeply with relief. As her rib cage expanded and her lungs filled with oxygen, familiar tendrils of dizziness curled through her head. “Feel better?” he murmured. She nodded, raising her eyes to his as he peeled the corset away from her. The tips of her bare br**sts brushed against the soft blue material of his robe. How oddly exciting it was to have him undress her so slowly, treating her like a precious object that would shatter from rough handling.

His fingertips traced her spine in one stroke, skimming over invisible, downy hairs, and his touch sent a sensual chill through her. Swallowing tightly, she reached around to the back of her pantalets to unfasten them. As she fumbled with the button, he slid his arms around her and took her hands, squeezing them briefly before moving them aside and freeing the button with a twist of his fingers. The pantalets dropped to the floor.

Heath lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bed effortlessly. As she hooked her arms around his neck and was clasped against the hard sinew of his body, she began to relish the feeling that had once frightened her. It was actually pleasant to feel so disarmed and vulnerable, exciting to be held by a man who could throw her off balance so easily, a man who didn’t shy away from arguments, a man so far above embarrassment or prudishness that she knew nothing she did could ever shock him.