Marquesses at the Masquerade(77)

“I admit I thought I may have been too hasty, but now that I have you away from everyone and all to myself…” He studied her face. Her skin heated under his perusal. “Oh, you are beautiful.”

She became conscious of her dull nightgown, her hair flowing loose. She hadn’t been dishabille with anyone outside her family. But he was her family now. “I don’t have pretty nightclothes,” she stammered. “I didn’t expect to be married in a matter of hours after the proposal.”

“I was gazing into your eyes when I called you beautiful. I hadn’t even noticed your gown.” Then he made a dramatic show of looking at it. “Good God, it’s hideous!”

“It’s not hideous!” she cried, laughing. “It’s white, boring, and functionary, and not at all romantic.”

“It’s wonderful to hear you laugh again.” That tender smile she had missed all day finally returned. Its warmth soaked into her bones. She would have thought that being in a bedchamber alone for the first time with her husband would have elicited a case of nerves. Instead, this was the closest she had come to relaxing all day.

“I brought you a gift.” He held up the package. It was the shape of a book. “I think you can guess what it is.”

Their hands met as she took the package. Even the brief touch comforted her. But she instinctively drew away, as would be polite, and then remembered that he was her husband now. She could touch him without Society’s censure. So she snuggled against him, letting his heat and scent soothe her.

“Ahh, Annalise,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

She carefully folded back the paper to reveal a book of botanical illustrations. “It’s lovely,” she whispered, carefully flipping through the pages. “Just lovely.”

“Did you take notice of the author?”

She turned the book to the cover. “Mrs. Herbert Brockley,” she marveled. “A woman botanist.”

“I thought you might be inspired. Perhaps you should consider publishing a book of your illustrations and thoughts.”

She looked at him comically. “I’m not the scientist. My father was. I merely draw flowers and animals as it pleases me.” She rubbed the book’s title that was embossed in the leather and strolled to the lamp by her bed for better light. She sat on the edge of the mattress and opened the book again. “My father always talked about creating a book, but he never did. I still have all his notes. I brought them with me.”

He sat beside her. “You should make a book of your work and his in his memory.”

“Do you really think I could?”

“Without a doubt.”

There was no mockery in his expression, as was always present in her uncle’s face, only honest sincerity. He truly thought she was talented. Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

He studied her, turning her self-conscious.

He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear and then let his fingers drift down her long locks and alongside her breast. She shivered, not with dread or nervousness, but with expectation.

“I only want you to be comfortable when we are together,” he said quietly. “Our courtship was too brief. I can wait as long as you need.”

Her face heated as she realized he meant their marital intimacy. This was the part where they consummated their marriage, when all their spoken vows translated to their bodies. In her mind flashed an image of their bodies intertwined. Oddly, it didn’t cause her any nervousness. Only want.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked. “Or must I wait?”

He smiled and answered with his lips. The kiss started as sweet as yesterday’s did, but a tension gripped her body. She couldn’t get close enough to him. After a terrifying day, she needed his magic. But he drew away, and cold air met her skin.

“You are so lovely.” His voice was hoarse and thick.

“Don’t leave me alone tonight,” she implored. “Can you stay here, even if we don’t…” She had spent all her nights alone, feeling the darkness seeming to press upon her and worries accumulating in her mind.

“I will stay any night you wish.”

“I wish for all of them. You said I didn’t have to be alone again.”

He kissed her, his body turning hard, making her aware of the muscles of his arms and chest, the slight roughness of his shaved chin, and the tinge of sweat that mingled with his cologne. Her breasts began to ache, wanting more of what he was giving her. Still, she could feel him hesitate, meting out his love. She needed to give him a sign that he shouldn’t worry about her. She let her hand slide up his chest. When her fingers reached the opening of his robe, his warm, naked skin sent a wild jolt coursing through her body, as did the realization that he wore nothing underneath. She paused, feeling very much in deep waters.

“It’s all right,” he whispered encouragingly in her ear. The heat of his breath tingled her lobe. “You can touch me. It gives me pleasure. Don’t be nervous.”

She tentatively let her fingers drift inside his robe, discovering the contours of his chest and belly. She enjoyed the hums of pleasure he gave as she caressed him. Yet, when she reached the patch of curls beneath his stomach, her knuckles accidentally brushed against his swollen sex. It jutted, stone-like and thick. She was arrested, unsure what to do. She could hear his uneven breath rushing by her ear.