“I know,” she murmured. “It is just, everything has happened so quickly and . . .”
“You’ve barely had time to adjust.” He drew her closer, surrounding her with the warmth and strength of his much larger body. “I understand, and I wish I could give you more time. But I fear if we don’t consummate our marriage, the forces working against us could use it to their advantage and try to have it annulled.”
“By ‘forces’, you mean your father?” she asked, leaning back a little to meet his gaze.
“Yes, but others also. Hopefully, word won’t leak of where we’re staying too soon, but I expect we shall have company at some point.”
“Oh.” Taking comfort from Destrian’s embrace, Eloise sought her courage. “Then we should not delay.”
“Are you sure?” He smoothed a stray lock of hair from her face.
“Very,” she said, the feel of his chest beneath her hands and the column of his thighs brushing against hers reminding her what manner of man she had wed. They had already shared a bed, if only to sleep, her belly fluttering at the memory. Tall, well-muscled, and with a scent that made her want to burrow her nose against his skin, Destrian’s body had aroused latent desires within her before, its nearness doing so again. His green eyes bore into her, his strong jaw tightening as she ran her hands up the centre of his tunic. Reaching the clasp on his robe, she undid it, and he shrugged his shoulders. Letting the heavy black cloak fall to the ground, he refused to loosen his hold when she moved to fetch it.
“Leave it.” His mouth covered hers, his lips silencing her protest. In the instant before his eyes fluttered closed, she saw reflected in his emerald gaze the contents of her heart . . . love, passion, and more than an inkling of possession.
Breaking away from his kiss, she murmured, “Make me yours, husband, for now and always.”
“With pleasure,” he whispered before claiming her mouth once more.
Eloise.
Beautiful, beguiling, Eloise.
His wife.
Destrian was afraid he was dreaming, that the exquisite young woman in his arms would disappear with the dawn as she had every night since they had last been together, a mere figment of his fevered imaginings. But she was here. She was real. Her sweet, floral scent, the slight but not insubstantial weight of her supple body in his arms, and the sensual movements of her lips beneath his all too wonderful to be an illusion. Desire for her raged like a firestorm in his blood, and he needed to temper it lest he rekindle her fear. But Destrian could barely think straight for wanting her . . . wanting to pleasure and possess and plumb the depths of her body just as he was ravishing her mouth with his tongue.
The taste of her was intoxicating, better than the finest wine, and he wanted to consume her. All of her. Cherishing her in the process.
Destrian had experienced desire before, nothing close to this degree, of course, but he had never been enamoured. He intended to fully savour every kiss, every touch, every sweet, heady sensation of this unexpected blessing. He also intended to make sure Eloise looked back on the consummation of their marriage with the fondest of memories, which meant he needed to slow the hell down before he lost all control, threw her on the bed and . . .
Pulling back, he drew in a ragged breath.
“Would you like to use the . . .” He gestured towards the door to the adjoining room. “I shall get us some wine and add more wood to the fire.”
“If you are sure you can manage?” Eloise’s impish smile, coupled with her doe-eyed expression, wrought a bark of relieved laughter from his lips. Her courage had returned, and he couldn’t resist a moment’s smug satisfaction at the knowledge his kisses had clearly played a part.
“Yes, I am sure I can manage.” He brushed a kiss on her nose then released her to attend to his chores. But before he turned away, her smile fell.
“What about your arm? Is it still bleeding?”
Destrian took a quick look, relieved to see the cut was shallow and the blood had already dried. “It is nothing. Probably won’t even need a bandage.” He shrugged, not wanting her to be distracted by having to play nursemaid to him . . . again.
She took a look herself, her brow furrowing further. “We’ll see,” she murmured, leaving him to cross to the chest by the wall.
“There are some strips of cloth I can use for a bandage, and here are the nightshirts.” She held up a well patched garment, one more grey than white, for him to view. “They are quite ragged. Do you mind?”
“I don’t mind.” Destrian rose from where he was crouching by the fire, unsure if he dared voice the scandalous idea teasing his thoughts.
“But?” Eloise lowered her arms.
“The room will soon be warm, and there are plenty of blankets on the bed. We don’t have to wear them if you don’t want. We don’t have to wear anything at all.”
Her gasp was audible from across the room. “Is that allowed?”
“Who is to know?” Destrian shrugged. “We can crumple the shirts a little, so the father won’t be shocked, or we can put them on for sleeping later if you think you would be more comfortable.” When she continued to stare, he quickly added, “Or we can just wear them now, as is proper.”
Eloise snapped her mouth closed, her gaze dropping to the nightshirt and then returning to Destrian. “No, that’s all right.” She laid it aside with hands that visibly shook. “Just give me a moment.”
As soon as she closed the door behind her, Destrian clapped his forehead with his hand. What was he thinking? Eloise was already afraid, and with good reason. He had never deflowered a virgin before, but he’d heard the process could be quite painful. With that to look forward to, the last thing his lovely young bride needed was him making outrageous suggestions.
∞ ∞ ∞
As soon as the door closed behind her, Eloise slumped against it.
Heavens above!
Destrian wanted to go to bed naked . . . with her . . . and she would be naked also. The idea was beyond shocking. And intriguing. And, well, downright arousing. How many times had she reminisced about waking to find herself sprawled across his body, her head lying on his bare shoulder? In her daydreaming, she ran her fingers through the soft curls in the centre of his chest, something she had not had the courage to do that night in the forest. He had slept in his shirt, which hadn’t stayed buttoned for long, and she had been privileged with the exceptional view—and feel—of his smooth skin and firm flesh. Not seeing and touching it again would be a travesty, as would be draping his body with a starchy, voluminous, raggedy old nightshirt.
Naked would be much better.
Covering her mouth with her hands, Eloise stifled a squeal before the excited sound changed to a whimper. She had not been completely unclothed before another soul since she was a small child. What if Destrian didn’t like what he saw? Biting her lip, she recalled the way his eyes had kept straying to the expanse of creamy flesh displayed by her low-cut gown earlier in the night. His hands had roamed her body, touching places she suspected he would want to touch again . . . amongst other more intimate places. What would it feel like to have his hands on her flesh without any layers of fabric between them?
Delightful, Eloise decided, heat pooling low in her belly and her breasts tingling at the mere thought. Her body had responded in a similar fashion when Destrian had pressed against her when they were alone at the palace. His hips had thrust forward, leaving her in no doubt as to the strength of his desire, his very hard, very prominent desire.
Oh my. Would she get to see all of him? Did she want to?
Another whimper escaped her lips, and a knock sounded at the door.
“Eloise?” Destrian asked when she remained silent, sounding hesitant. “I have the nightshirt here if you would like me to pass it to you through the door. I really don’t mind you wearing it, and I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise. I do apologise.”
“No, that’s all right,” she called, hastily removing Ayleth’s precious hair pins and putt
ing them aside to return to her friend when she got the chance. “I shan’t be long.”
After rushing her hair with a wooden comb she found on a shelf, she removed her lovely new gown and laid it carefully aside. When her stockings, slippers, and petticoat had joined the pile, she made quick use of the facilities then faced the door wearing nothing but the thin shift she had donned at the beginning of the night. Cut low to suit the bodice of her ball gown, it’s hem barely reached her knees. The material was sheer, revealing as much as it covered, but at least it was something.
If Destrian was serious about their sleeping naked, he would have to remove it himself, as her shaking limbs assured Eloise she had reached the limit of her courage.
Chapter 16
Destrian waited. And waited.
What could be taking Eloise so long?
After arranging some fruit and nuts on a platter and then pouring them both some wine, he was tempted to down his in one gulp but limited himself to a sip. Keeping a clear head was probably wise.
The room was warming nicely, but he added more wood to the fire, wanting to make sure it didn’t need tending for a long time. After double checking the door to the cottage was locked and all the windows secure, he drew back the covers on the bed. When Eloise still hadn’t appeared, he approached the door to the adjoining room again, one of the borrowed nightshirts in his hand.
She had said she was all right, but it was obvious from the time she was taking that he had frightened her. What had he been thinking? She might have worked as a maid for half her life, but his new bride was gently bred. She should be treated as such, not like some doxy willing to raise her skirt for a few coins. Hell, even a doxy would expect to remain clothed.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, raising his hand to knock and offer both the nightshirt and another apology. Before his hand connected with the wood, the door opened, and Eloise appeared wearing only a thin, cotton chemise.
“Oh.” She startled, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “If it’s all right with you, I thought I’d wear my chemise to bed and disrobe later, as it is rather cold . . .” she ducked her head “. . . and I am not quite that brave.”
Her words took a moment to register, as his attention was riveted to the soft material clinging to her body. It hinted at the treasures beneath, leaving her arms and lower legs bare . . . bare and cold.
“You are the bravest person I know, and I am an utter fool,” he muttered, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed where he laid her gently down and tucked her beneath the blankets. Determined to make amends for his boorishness, he fetched the nightshirt from where it had slipped from his fingers and passed it to her, but she didn’t take it from his outstretched hand.
“I don’t need it,” she whispered.
“But I shouldn’t have made such a request. It was wrong of me.”
“You don’t want to be naked with me?” Eloise tugged the blanket up under her chin.
“No! I mean, yes. I do.” A shadow had appeared in her eyes, and Destrian hated that he had put it there. “I just don’t want you to think I expect you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, that you might consider too forward.” Her brows rose, and he rushed to add. “Also, it’s still a little chilly.”
In truth, he had started to sweat, but that was more from fear he had ruined things, combined with the glimpse he had been given of her lithe limbs and curvaceous form, heating his blood to boiling point.
Lowering the blanket, Eloise shrugged an almost entirely bare shoulder. “I shall be plenty warm enough in here once you join me.”
“You’re not upset with me?” His voice came out an octave high, and he cleared his throat.
“Not at all.” She looked up at him with her wide brown eyes, and he swayed on his feet. The blood drained from his head, thrumming loudly in his veins as it took a direct route to a far less rational part of his body.
“That is . . . good.” He managed a gruffer, more manly tone, helped by the heat in his loins. “I feared I might have offended you with my suggestion.”
Eloise licked her lips, his gaze following the action of her tongue as it slid along the plump lower lip before disappearing inside her mouth. “I am not offended,” she murmured. “A little impatient for you to join me, perhaps.”
“Join you. Right.” Destrian turned a full circle before finding his bearings and heading for the room containing the privy closet. As soon as the door closed behind him, he stripped, the process taking longer than he would have liked without a valet’s assistance. It didn’t help that he foolishly attempted to remove his breeches before his boots. Cursing quietly, he wasted precious minutes untangling himself. Following Eloise’s example, he kept his undergarments on, not wanting to shock her by appearing completely nude.
Lord, he hoped he was doing the right thing. The nightshirt would have been far more modest, his thin breeches covering him about as well as Eloise’s chemise covered her . . . not very. He had been in a state of semi-arousal for most of the evening, certainly whenever she was nearby. But the thought of seeing, and touching, her again had taken the last traces of ‘semi’ out of the equation. Destrian couldn’t recall being more aroused before in all his life.
“Down,” he muttered when his rigid member threatened to break free of his undergarments. Groaning, he pressed against it with his hand, an act of utter futility. What was a man to do? Nothing was going to sate his need for Eloise except finding release in her sweet, sensual and hopefully receptive body. But he could only imagine how alarmed she would be by the sight of the prominent bulge. He suspected she understood what was going to happen, what he was going to do to her—with her—but the size of him might cause her to question the feasibility of such an act. She might even refuse to try.
Destrian groaned again, the sound close to a whimper. Spying an urn in the corner, he filled the bowl that stood on the washstand with the icy water it contained. Then he gave himself a thorough wash, clenching his teeth against the cold and rubbing himself dry with a rough towel he found hanging on a hook. Trying not to think about the hot bath and soft towels his valet would have supplied for him back at his quarters in the palace, Destrian was relieved when the impromptu wash reduced the problem he was facing to a more manageable size. The bracing cleanse had been beneficial in other ways, as he had just ridden hard from the palace and then engaged in a sword fight. Going to his marriage bed smelling of horses, sweat, and blood would have been far from ideal.
With his body washed and now under a semblance of control, Destrian cleaned the wound Rulf had inflicted, wincing when it stung. It actually hurt quite a lot, but he would be sure to keep that knowledge from Eloise, not wanting to trouble—or distract—her. Spying one of the strips of clean rag she had found in the chest, he wrapped it around his upper arm, tying a knot with his teeth. When he was satisfied it wouldn’t come loose, and with one last admonishment for his partially subdued member to behave, he ventured out to where Eloise was waiting.
“Oh! I forgot your arm,” she said, her worried gaze on his makeshift bandage. “Do you need me to tend it for you?”
“No, it is fine.” Seeing her sitting up, her long brown hair tumbling past her shoulders, undid all his hard work, and he rushed to douse the lantern. With the room lit by the soft glow of the fire, he kept his back to her, drawing deep breaths into his lungs as he strove for control.
“Are you sure you are all right?” she asked, the velvet softness of her voice worsening his condition. Keeping to the shadows, he sidled up to the bed then ducked beneath the covers before sighting the two glasses of wine and platter of food he had prepared earlier on the table across the room.
“Darn,” he muttered, hoping she wasn’t offended by the mild curse. “I forgot our supper and wine.”
“I’m not hungry or thirsty,” Eloise said, rolling towards him. “In fact, the only thing I need right now . . . is you.”
Destrian drew her into his arms, careful to keep his lower body away
from hers. While he admired her bravery, he worried that coming into contact with his erection would cause it to desert her. Hopefully, once she was sufficiently aroused, she wouldn’t find it quite so intimidating . . . which meant he had a job to do.
His mouth sought hers as she reached for him, the kiss all the sweeter for the knowledge it was their first since speaking their vows. Her lips matched his eager movements, parting willingly at the first questing stroke of his tongue along their silken seam. Moulding herself to his upper body, Eloise’s breasts flattened against his bare chest. With nothing but the thin material of the chemise between them, he could feel her nipples pressing against him. The sensation almost too much to bear, Destrian groaned.
Slowly, he told himself. You don’t want to frighten her.
Eloise had other ideas, hugging him close so their lower bodies came into contact. Just as he feared, she tensed, and he went to pull back. But with a soft whimper vibrating against his mouth, she held on tight. Pressing forward, he allowed his member to brush lightly against her belly. A deep, desire-filled groan escaped his lips when she pressed back. Her bare feet tangled with his, the hem of her chemise riding high, and he slipped one of his thighs between her slender legs. Unable to resist the temptation, and desperate for a small measure of relief, he rocked against her. He kept the movement gentle, hoping it would ease any concerns she might have while beginning to prepare her for what was to come. When she widened her legs, allowing his thigh to slide higher and his hardness to press more directly against her softness and warmth, relief of a different sort rolled over him.
Heavens above, she was glorious . . . and brave. He was more than a little awed by her courage.
Bringing his hands into play, he stroked her sides, wondering if she would be offended if he touched her breasts.
Eloise was his wife, not some tavern lass or maid eager to earn a trinket, and he wasn’t sure what was appropriate. The paltry advice he had received from his father had been in regard to a marriage arranged for political expediency, not one where love and passion were involved. He had expected fulfilling his marital duty to involve a vain attempt not to distress his reluctant but equally dutiful bride. From Eloise’s delightful moans, and the sensual way she moved in his arms, he was confident she was neither distressed by his attentions—so far—nor motivated by anything but desire. As was he.
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