Whatever the reason, the kiss that had begun so tenderly, as a gentle brushing of lips, very quickly moved onto something rather more urgent.
Aubrey’s hand moved from her waist sliding under her cloak to cup her breast through the fabric of her gown and he groaned with frustration. “Dammit, are we nearly there yet?” he growled, repeating her question of just moments ago with such resentment she couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he grumbled, nuzzling her neck with his lips, the warmth of his mouth against the cold air surrounding them such a contrast she shivered. “You’re killing me, love.”
“I am?” she asked, all innocence, though Celeste had left her in no doubt what it was men felt at such a time. Curious what his reaction would be, Violette lifted her head to allow him to kiss further down her neck, and at the same time moved her hand to rest on his thigh.
There was a slight sense of tension that she felt run through him, and it was intriguing how she felt him tense further as her hand slid farther up his thigh. When she finally found the courage to slide a little higher still, and encountered the evidence of his arousal, the desperate sound he made was really very empowering. She moved her hand, just a little, fascinated by the way he had become so utterly still, and was annoyed when he snatched her hand away.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, and she looked up to see a rather frantic look in his eyes. “Don’t ... I can’t ... not here ... Oh, God, Violette.”
It was a rather incoherent plea, perhaps, but Violette got the gist of it and could only feel satisfied that her husband was suffering just as much torment as she was. She bit back a rather smug grin as she realised that it was for him, by now, rather worse.
***
At last, of course, the interminable journey did come to an end.
Their luggage was unloaded in double quick time, everyone having been well-briefed by Aubrey to make themselves scarce as soon as they were able. They watched the carriage move away, the sound of the horses’ hooves a muffled clatter on the frozen dirt road.
Finally, they were alone, stood together before a small whitewashed cottage with such a heavy burden of thatch that the tiny building seemed to crouch under the weight of it. Although the garden was almost bare in November, it was nestled up to by trees on three sides, and then a long vista of rolling hills could be seen on the fourth side.
The freezing wind tugged at Violette’s skirts and the first delicate fall of snow began, a few scant flakes dancing on the air around her. A plume of smoke billowed from the wonky brick chimney of the cottage before them and the warm glow of candlelight could be seen through the windows.
“Oh, Aubrey,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “It’s just ... perfect.”
Aubrey grinned and looked rather pleased with himself. “Knew you’d like it,” he said, pulling her by the hand up the path to the painted front door.
She followed him, laughing, almost at a run, as they hurried under the little porch. At the last moment, Aubrey swung around and lifted her into his arms as she squealed with surprise. Kicking the door open he kissed her and carried her over the threshold.
“Hello, Mrs Russell,” he said, grinning at her as he set her carefully back on her feet.
“Hello, Mr Russell,” she replied, feeling unaccountably maidenly and shy after all.
“What do you think?” Aubrey asked, gesturing at their surroundings. “Does my wife approve?”
Violette sighed and then looked up with a grin of delight as the warmth of the place wrapped around them. It wasn’t just the warmth of the fire blazing merrily in the large hearth, either. The heavy oak beams and low ceilings and the soft glow of candlelight all conspired together to make the most welcoming and cosy parlour that Violette had ever seen. But it was nothing to the warmth in Aubrey’s eyes.
“I certainly approve,” she replied, feeling as though she might actually burst from happiness. Any misgivings she might have had about marrying to disoblige her brother fled, and she knew, with no question, that she had done the right thing. “But won’t you show me the rest?” she asked, her voice low.
“I’d love to,” he replied with a chuckle and took her hand. She followed him to what looked like a small, wooden cupboard door, and watched as he ducked under the low lintel. Following where he led, she found herself on a narrow staircase, and at the top, another wooden door.
The bedroom was warm and cosy. Thick velvet curtains were drawn against the cold afternoon and the fire was blazing. Taking up almost all of the available space was a large, ancient four-poster bed, and Violette gasped in astonishment.
“Goodness,” she exclaimed. “However did they get it in here? It looks grand enough for Henry VIII.”
“The bed was made at the same time as the cottage,” he replied, watching her as she moved around the room, trailing her fingers over the huge carved posts that held up a tapestry canopy.
“It’s very old,” he said, moving towards her. “Almost three hundred years, I think.”
She glanced up at him, wondering how many married couples had spent their first night in this room. She turned to the window, twitching back the curtain to see the cold white sky and the freezing countryside beyond the glass.
“Glad I’m in here,” she said, turning back to him.
“So am I,” Aubrey said with a chuckle. “Especially as it’s our wedding night, I’d be a bit lost without you.”
She bit her lip but couldn’t help but point out, “Hardly night, it’s barely four o'clock.”
“Is that a complaint?” he murmured, tugging at the ribbons on her bonnet and casting it onto a chair without a second glance.
“No,” she said, hearing a rather breathless quality to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “The servants ...” she queried and saw him shake his head.
“There is no one here but us,” he replied, reaching for the buttons on her pelisse. “I’m reliably informed that there is wine and fresh bread and ham and ... oh, any number of things to ward of starvation.” She glanced up at him to see the amusement in his eyes, and was suddenly aware that he seemed very much more sophisticated than she.
He paused and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re not frightened of me, are you, love?” he asked, the slightest frown in his hazel eyes.
She let out a breath and reached up her hand, cupping his dear face with one hand. “No, of course not,” she replied, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Just ... happy, and ... a little nervous, perhaps,” she admitted, wondering where all the confidence she’d discovered in the carriage had fled to.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. “Well,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “To be honest, so am I.”
She looked up at him through her lashes, so obviously sceptical that he laughed and drew her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. “I swear it’s true,” he said. “Cross my heart,” he added, placing her hand on his chest, and she felt the steady thud of his heart beating beneath her fingers. “I have dreamed of this, of you here with me, since that first night when I found you, all alone on the street, in the dark.”
Violette felt a glow of warmth in her chest as she remembered that night herself. “I was very frightened,” she admitted. “But then, there you were, and I knew it would be alright. You had such kind eyes.”
Aubrey pulled a face at that. “Kind eyes?” he replied with a slight huff. “Could you not have said I cut such a dashing figure you knew I would defend your honour at all costs?” He frowned and waved a nonchalant hand. “Or something like that. I mean, a fellow has his pride, dash it. Kind eyes,” he repeated, grumbling just a little.
“Oh,” she said, stifling a giggle. “Well, obviously, I thought all of that too.”
“Obviously,” Aubrey replied with the quirk of one eyebrow and she realised he was teasing her and hit him half-heartedly.
“Oh, Aubrey,” she said, smiling up at him. “I do love you.”
“Well, there’s a coinc
idence,” he replied, his voice low as he pushed the pelisse from her shoulders and allowed it to fall in a crumpled heap. Before she could protest, not that she had the slightest intention of doing so, she was swept up and laid on the huge bed.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed, peering over the edge as Aubrey climbed on himself. “It’s a long way down. I feel I’m in the story of the princess and the pea.” She squealed as the mattress dipped in the middle and the two of them rolled together.
“Well, hello again,” Aubrey said, laughing as they were swallowed in the soft mountains of the mattress. His laughter died, though, as he moved to push the curls from her face and kissed her.
For a moment, Violette was content to remain still, accepting his kisses and feeling the warmth of his body as it radiated through her clothes. But passivity wasn’t in her nature, and soon she found she wanted more. Reaching up, she tugged at his cravat, and, finding the obscure knot quite beyond her, turned her attention to his waistcoat.
“Oh, take it off!” she muttered in annoyance as Aubrey chuckled.
“Well, you only had to ask, love,” he chided, trying to sit up as the mattress enveloped him once more in its loving and rather smothering embrace. “Good God, it’s like climbing a mountain range,” he remarked as he tried to get off the bed in order to undress.
Violette began to giggle and Aubrey peered up at her lofty position. “Would you awfully mind not giggling whilst I’m taking my trousers off? Quite unnerving for a chap, you see.”
Of course, this had quite the opposite effect, and sent Violette off into whoops of laughter. She had no doubt, of course, that it was exactly what he’d intended, and that he was doing everything he could to put her at ease. She could only love him more for it if such a thing were even possible.
He made a show of climbing back onto the massive bed before collapsing beside her with a huff. “That’s it. I’m worn out now. Getting on this damn bed’s like climbing Everest.”
Violette cast an appreciative and curious gaze over the beautiful form of the handsome man beside her. His eyes were closed, so she didn’t need to feel self-conscious, and her eyes drifted from the strong line of his broad shoulders, down a fine, well-made chest with a slight scattering of auburn hair, and then further to a flat belly and a dark trail of hair that led beneath his drawers. She rather wished he’d taken them off too, but, then, she could wait - for a little while, at least. His bright, hazel eyes blinked open.
“You don’t mind it too much, do you?” he asked, looking suddenly rather self-conscious, and she frowned at him, wondering what he meant. His hand went to the scar on his thigh, a slight twisting beneath the skin where the muscle had knit a little awkwardly, and she gasped with shock. She stared at the scar, remembering how terrified she’d been that he would die, and felt suddenly furious that he should believe she would care about a stupid scar.
“Oh Aubrey,” she snapped, scowling at him. “Do you really think me so abominably shallow?”
“Well n-no,” he stammered, looking appalled, and then gave her a rueful smile. “But it ... it isn’t very pretty.”
“And you think a pretty man is all I want in my husband?” she demanded with one imperious lift of her eyebrow.
Any lingering doubts he might have harboured seemed to dissipate in the light of that demand, and he sank back into the voluminous mattress with a sigh.
Violette coughed to get his attention once more and then smirked at him. She got to her knees, turning her back on him. “Well then,” she said, her tone mild. “If you’ve quite finished preening, would you mind undoing my buttons before you fall asleep?” she teased, though her heart seemed to be beating awfully fast.
She felt the mattress shift beneath her as he moved and then came the touch of his sure fingers as the buttons slid free one by one.
He didn’t say a word as he helped her remove her dress, petticoat and stays and finally her chemise. She was left in only her stockings and garters and could feel the heat of him against her bare back.
The anticipation was almost more than she could bear and she turned her head a little, looking at him over her shoulder and seeing an expression of such reverence in his eyes that she couldn’t help but smile.
“So very lovely,” he murmured, reaching out a slow hand, as though afraid she was an image in a soap bubble and would disappear if he touched her. But his fingers met her skin and trailed a path down her neck, down the line of her spine, until his fingers splayed out and he curved his hand around her waist.
Violette sighed as he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and then at the junction of shoulder and neck, and then she became too impatient and turned into his arms.
She pressed against him, overbalancing both of them and they almost disappeared into the depths of the mattress as they fell together.
Aubrey gave a bark of laughter and stared up at her. “Do you think it’s possible to drown in a bed?” he asked as Violette stifled a giggle.
“I have no idea,” she said, grinning like a fool. “Let’s find out.”
Chapter 27
“Wherein a solitary cloud gathers on an otherwise idyllic horizon.”
Somehow, Aubrey managed to shift them on the man-eating mattress so she was beneath him, and Violette could only wonder at the fact that she wasn’t in the slightest bit nervous anymore. It was her beloved Aubrey after all, and nothing she could do or say to him would ever be foolish or wrong. She trusted him implicitly, and any shyness fled in the light of love she saw in his eyes.
“I think if we come back here again, I shall order a new mattress to be installed first,” he muttered, blowing at a feather that had billowed up in the effort of shifting them around.
“Oh no,” Violette protested, finding herself utterly charmed by both the bed and her wonderfully endearing husband. “I rather like it.” Seeing as she was rather smothered by both mattress and Aubrey, her husband could only return a rather wolfish grin.
“Oh, well,” he said. “In that case ...”
But there was nothing much said after that. Violette was too consumed by the feeling of his hands sliding over her skin, his warm lips as they kissed a trail across her collar bone. She held her breath, remembering the exquisite sensation she had experienced before when his mouth had covered her breast and ... Oh.
She sucked in a breath and tangled her fingers in the thick warmth of his auburn hair. It was everything she remembered and more. Gone was the worry they might be discovered, that her brother might tear them apart and she would never see him again. There was only the two of them, and the realisation that this was only the first of many such nights.
Violette admitted to a little surprise when his path carried on, his lips pressing delicate kisses along her belly, and kept descending further. It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Celeste when she’d told her he might ... She gasped and heard a very masculine chuckle of satisfaction but was powerless to protest. It was really indecent, but ... goodness.
Violette arched up, bowing her body like an offering toward the intimate attentions that her husband was bestowing on her in the most wanton fashion, but really, there was no other choice. It was almost as though her body had been possessed by a succubus without the slightest notion of shame, and all she could do was submit. Waves of pleasure crashed over her and she did nothing to protest, too consumed by the draw of heat and the heady tug of desire in her veins. The strangest sensation of urgency swept over her, driving her on, demanding she chase some glittering sensation that seemed to hover just out of her reach. She held her breath, anticipating ... something was waiting for her, she wasn’t quite sure what ... and then it became clear.
She cried out, astonished and bewildered and swept away by a tumbling melee of sensation, and all of it might have been overwhelming, shocking, even, if not for Aubrey. Aubrey, whose kisses were covering her skin even now, whose soft voice was coaxing and warm as her breathing came in heavy, short gasps and her vision seemed blurry, the dim
candlelight too bright as she blinked in a daze.
“There you are,” he murmured, smiling down at her.
“Yes,” she replied, quite helpless to say anymore, but finding in the end, that it was all she needed. “Yes,” she repeated, pulling his head down to hers. “Yes.”
He moved over her and she gasped, looking down in surprise as the hard length of his arousal pressed against the part of her that was still alive with sensation. As she saw, and for the first time, exactly what it was that a man looked like at such a moment, her eyes widened considerably.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed, startled despite all of Celeste’s assurances. “Are you quite sure ...” she began only to look up and see a vision of helpless amusement in his eyes.
“Quite sure, love,” he said, with such gravity and affection she could only grin at him.
“Sorry,” she murmured with little huff of laughter. “I’m being rather silly, aren’t I?”
“No,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You are being rather perfectly wonderful,” he whispered. But then talking seemed to be too much of an effort and he was all tension in her arms, his muscles taut and hard as iron as he moved between her legs, pushing against her, gently but inexorably towards what came next.
Violette moved beneath him, accommodating the sensation and finding it less strange than she might have imagined. Looking up at him, she relaxed, seeing only the face of the person she loved most in the world in front her, and so the pain he warned her of, the pain he tried hard to save her from, never came.
She simply gasped, hauling in a breath of surprise as he filled her, surprised not by the strangeness of it, but the completeness.
Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell Page 23