Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(121)

Still, the prospect of making love to Griffin was intimidating. Along with the trepidation that a normal bride—and the circumstances were hardly normal—might be expected to feel, she had the added burden of exposing her ignorance to a man who surely knew everything there was to know about intimate relations, including things she suspected she’d rather never hear about. It made not one whit of difference that one’s husband was generally expected to have more experience. In Griffin’s case, the gap in knowledge between them was simply too great to contemplate.


His hands slipped around to her back, moving along her spine in a soothing stroke. “Far be it from me to criticize,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice, “but I think things might go more smoothly if you let me take your clothes off. Unless you’d like to suggest another way we could go about this.”

She couldn’t help giving a smothered laugh. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said against his shoulder, still too shy to look at him.

“Well, it is rather what one expects. Of course, we could pretend you’re the kitchen maid and I’m the stable boy, and I could just tup you under your skirts. That might be fun. On second thought, however, I don’t think I’d recommend that for your first time.” His voice teased her with polite regret.

Justine pulled back and gave him a rueful smile. And even though his eyes still smoldered with heat, the taut, almost wolfish cast to his features that had so unsettled her had been transformed into amusement.

“Now, that’s just silly,” she said, resting her hands on his chest.

“You’d be surprised at how much fun silly can be.” He leaned back on his heels, bracing his palms on his lean, muscular thighs. He looked so at ease that the ball of tension in Justine’s chest started to unwind.

That is, until her gaze took in the substantial bulge pressing against the fall of his breeches. When she jerked her eyes back up to his face, he regarded her with a great deal of wry sympathy.

“It’s normal to be nervous, but that will fade fairly quickly, I promise.” He raised an arrogant eyebrow. “I do know what I’m doing.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s the problem. You do and I don’t.” When his eyes widened a fraction, she flapped her hand. “Of course, I know the basic mechanics, but you know a great deal more than that. You know all the . . . the . . .”

“Finer points?” he finished for her in a sardonic voice.

She tried not to wince as heat rushed to her cheeks.

He laughed softly, then reached forward to carefully part her unbuttoned bodice. “Mechanics are the least important part, believe me. There’s an art to making love, Justine, and you’re about to get your first lesson.”

When he pulled the fichu away from her shoulders, exposing her underthings and the tops of her breasts, her breath seized. But both the way he stared at her body, as if riveted by what he saw, and the tick of a muscle in his tense jaw, also triggered a glow of warmth low in her belly.

“And what is that lesson?” she whispered as his fingers traced along the top of her stays. Wherever he touched her, shivers danced across her skin.

“Learning to trust,” he said, not taking his eyes from her body. “Do you trust me, Justine?”

She closed her eyes and thought about it for a few seconds. The answer wasn’t long in coming. “I do trust you, although I’m not sure why.”

“We’ll turn our minds to that interesting little question later. For now, please open your eyes.”

When she did, his lips parted in a full-out smile that dazzled her with its charm. “If you trust me, then everything will be fine.”