When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(33)

“After bearing three children, I think your mother must know something about it.”

“She doesn’t believe that sexual intercourse should be practiced unless it’s for the procreation of children,” he said bluntly. “She’s Catholic.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but I’m a bad one.”

Lysette laughed. “Very well. You may educate me as you wish. Just remember your promise.”

“Of course.” He removed his coat slowly. Their gazes meshed intimately, and the silence became charged with tension. Despite Lysette’s intention to remain composed, she felt her heart beat erratically at the realization that they were now married. He could do anything he liked with her, and no one would interfere. She was fairly certain that he would not betray her trust now, when that betrayal would certainly destroy any faith she might ever have in him. On the other hand… she wouldn’t put it past him to test her a little.

Giving him a deliberately offhand smile, she played with the spill of champagne lace that trimmed the elbow-length sleeves of her seafoamblue silk gown.

After draping his coat and cravat on a chair near the hearth, Max glanced at her with coffee-dark eyes. “Do you know what happens in the marital bed, Lysette?”

“Of course. I have a married sister, remember. And one can’t help hearing things here and there.”

“Tell me what you know, then.”

She adopted an expression of deep concern. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten, Max?”

He grinned at her impudence.

“No, I merely want to hear your version, and perhaps make a correction or two if necessary.”

“Very well, I—” She stiffened as he walked toward her. Gently Max took hold of her shoulders and turned her away from him. The brush of his fingers on her back caused her breath to snag. He began to unfasten the buttons of her wedding gown. Lysette found it difficult to speak around the swallow that had lodged in her throat. “What are you doing, Max?”

“Making you more comfortable.”

“I am quite comfortable the way I am, thank you.” Her stomach quivered as she felt his fingers moving deftly along the line of tiny silk-covered buttons. “Max, your promise—”

“I agreed not to make love to you,” he said, his warm breath falling on the nape of her neck. “You didn’t stipulate that I couldn’t look at you.”

“I should think that after seeing me na**d for nearly three weeks, that would be enough.”

“Since you were unconscious for most of that time, it didn’t count.”

An unsteady laugh escaped her as she heard her own words being repeated back to her. Finishing the row of buttons, Max leaned closer to nuzzle into the curly upsweep of her hair.

The bodice of her gown slipped down to her elbows, and Lysette gripped the handfuls of silk and lace over her thin chemise. Max stood so close that she could sense the heat and weight of his body, smell the alluring fragrance of his skin, the light hint of bay rum, and the crisp note of starch from his shirt. But he did not touch her.

Inhaling deeply, Lysette moved away from him, heading to the dresser where her nightclothes had been placed. As was the way of most Creole couples, they had agreed to occupy separate bedrooms.

“The marital relationship seems quite simple,” she said, somehow managing to keep her bodice up and simultaneously remove a nightgown from the drawer. As she straightened, she saw Max’s reflection in the square Queen Anne mirror on the dresser. He had removed his shoes and was sitting on the bed, thighs spread.

She concentrated on the nightgown in her hands as she continued. “The husband and wife embrace and kiss, until he becomes aroused. Then he puts his… his… male part inside her, and it is painful. After the first time, it is no longer quite as unpleasant, but it is an obligation that a wife may not often refuse. Unless she has her monthly courses, or some other illness gives her a respite from his attentions.”

“A respite,” Max repeated in a strange voice. Risking a glance at him, Lysette saw an almost comical mixture of amusement and consternation on his face.

“Well, yes. I can’t see that any woman would actually look forward to letting a man do that to her. My sister Jacqueline says that it is quite unpleasant.”

“Does your sister love her husband?”

“I don’t believe so. It was an arranged match, and they don’t suit. He is somewhat older than she.”

“How old is he?”

“About a hundred and fifty,” Lysette said glumly, and Max let out a rich laugh.

“And you were worried about our age difference?”

Lysette shrugged and smiled, unable to help contrasting her sister’s decrepit husband with the virile creature before her. “I wasn’t, really,” she admitted. “I was just trying to provoke you.”

“You succeeded,” he informed her, and she laughed.

Regarding the balled-up gown in her fists, Lysette wondered how to change clothes while preserving her modesty. It didn’t seem possible. Wryly she reflected that she had no secrets from him, anyway. Before she let herself think about it too long, she shed her wedding gown and chemise, untied her garters, and unrolled her stockings. The entire process took less than a minute, but she felt her husband’s blistering gaze on her, and it seemed an eternity before she finally donned the nightgown.