Familiar landmarks announced their proximity to Cherry Hill, and Thomas pointed out the moment the carriage crossed into his domain. Huddled together, they peeked at the sights. Tall, wide trees lined the lane. Bare branches reached out from the small wood's edge, stretching toward the sky. The open ground sloped down on the right, where an acre-sized pond sat encased beneath an icy surface. Ahead, the land rose in gentle incline, cresting to obscure what lay beyond. The lane curved to the left, promising to expose, and Evangeline craned her neck in curious discovery.
Thomas laughed. “The fields lay behind those hills; we'll not see them today. Cherry Hill boasts more than four thousand acres. You shall be exploring for quite some time, Mrs. Masterson.”
Evangeline scooted near the window to take in her surroundings, and Thomas watched her reactions with interest. Each small discovery produced an appreciative sigh or bit of praise from his bride, and he silently thanked whatever unseen power conspired to bestow him such a gift. The women he'd cavorted with over the years cared only for his money and his cock – maybe in that order. Marriage to one of them would have proved loveless. This woman cared little for his money, and less for his manhood. A sinful grin lifted the corners of his mouth. She'd come to appreciate that in time.
“Look ahead.” Thomas lifted his arm and pointed out the right carriage window.
Her breath caught as Cherry Hill came into view. “Your home is enchanting!”
Clasping her small hand in his larger one he gently corrected, “Our home.”
She made no acknowledgment; instead she returned her attention to the sandy-hued stone home. Black window boxes brimmed with evergreen boughs, the effect welcoming, just as she'd envisioned.
“It is so large.”
“That it is, Mrs. Masterson. You'll do fine.”
“Do you truly believe that or are you attempting to placate me?”
Her question hinted at hidden insecurities, and Thomas considered whether Evangeline hid behind her stiff, severe nature to mask these feelings. No doubt her practicality would remain, but he vowed to build her up, to eradicate her self-doubt. “Both,” he admitted with a grin.
Pulling up in front of the house, the driver dismounted and opened the door. Thomas alighted and grasped Evangeline's waist, lifting her down in a graceful motion. A gray-haired fellow, tall and lean but for his small, protruding paunch, opened the front doors at precisely the correct moment revealing the staff lined up in the front hall.
“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Masterson,” greeted Mr. Eldrich Goddard. He stepped forward and bowed slightly.
Mr. Goddard was Cherry Hill's solicitor, Evangeline remembered from her conversation with Aunt Dorcas. Funny, he looked exactly as she'd described with his long nose and bushy eyebrows.
“Thank you, Mr. Goddard,” Thomas replied formally.
“Would you prefer dinner served soon, sir?” a hearty and hale woman questioned brightly.
“Mrs. Masterson will have a bath. We shall take our meal upstairs in my sitting room.”
“Very well,” the woman responded.
“Mrs. Masterson and I will review the staff tomorrow afternoon.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Masterson?” The woman waited permission to continue.
“Please, go on,” Evangeline encouraged. “But first, you must tell me your name.”
Red hair escaped the white cap's edge, short unruly curls springing in all directions around her face. “My name? Oh! Of course, Mrs. Masterson. Mrs. Betsy O'Leary.” The flustered woman smiled broadly, curtsied and continued. “Will you require anything with your bath special, Mrs. Masterson?”
“The bath will be satisfactory, Mrs. O'Leary. Thank you.”
The red headed woman beamed. “Anything you'd like, you've only to mention and I'll make sure you get it.”
Evangeline covered the small smile escaping her with her hand, collecting herself. “How very kind, Mrs. O'Leary.”
Thomas sent an I-told-you-not-to-worry look her way. Guiding her toward the staircase, he rested his hand against the small of her back. Eager to have her alone, Thomas could endure no further delays.
* * *
“Evangeline, you must eat something.” She'd not eaten much at breakfast either, Thomas remembered. “Eat. For me.”
His bride blushed furiously and continued to push her food around the plate. “I'll try,” she resolved softly, “but I've no appetite today.”
Her earnest attempt and honesty combined to set his blood afire.
Dash it all!
He didn't give a damn about her untouched plate. In one swift motion Thomas stood and held his hand out toward her. “Come with me, sweetheart.” He grew hard as iron when she obeyed at once.
Leading her into his bedroom, now their bedroom, her slight tremors blossomed to steady trembling beneath his hand. He stroked his thumb against the back of her hand, hoping to soothe in some small way the anxiety pulsing from her. The massive bed loomed before them, symbolic he sensed – to her – of the surrender she had undergone in becoming his wife. Upon reaching the bed's edge he stilled, regarding her carefully. The way in which he proceeded would affect her profoundly, and the responsibility of her happiness and sense of security rested heavily on his heart.
She stared straight ahead, her body next to his, but her inner self locked tightly away; he needed to woo her, to unravel her thread by thread. Sliding his hands up her arms, Thomas drew her against his chest, holding her loosely in an effort to ease her obvious discomfort. “Evangeline,” he husked, “relax. You are all right.”
She exhaled, releasing her pent up breath with a small whimper.
“Easy, sweetheart.” Slowly, he slid his arms up and down her back atop the satiny night gown. Soft, gentle caresses followed, meant to lull and comfort. Untold minutes he continued, savoring the press of her against his body, awaiting the moment of her capitulation to his nearness. When at last she softened, he smiled into her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Lie down,” he whispered, easing her back onto the bed.
Her trembling returned in earnest. Thomas slid next to her and cupped her face in his hands. “Look at me, Evangeline.”
Her eyes fluttered open, fear and uncertainty mingling. Brushing her lips with his own, he watched her eyes widen, felt her body tense. Thomas stopped at once. “Tell me what happened just now. What went through your mind?”
She looked away. “Nothing. I'm sorry. You...You may go on.”
“Look at me.” His silken tone gentled the command. “I expect the truth when I ask you a question.”
“I...I thought you were about to perform the wedding night duties.”
Thomas laughed low and throaty. “Sweetheart, it's not like that. I want you to forget whatever nonsense you've been told – or imagined – about what will transpire in our bed. Understand?”
She nodded mutely, a blush spreading over her skin.
“That's better. It will not be easy for you, Evangeline, I understand. I will do everything in my power to ease your fears. But you must trust that I will not hurt you, for fear will cause you discomfort where there should be none. And,” he crooked a grin, “I'll not perform duties, Evangeline. What we share will be done together. Our bodies will offer comfort and pleasure to one another.” He dipped to brush his lips against hers anew, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. “Sweetheart, let me give you these.”
His mouth found hers, drinking in her softness as he moved against her sensually. No resistance met his endeavor; neither did she reciprocate. When he broke the kiss, his eyes questioned.
“Mr. Masterson,” she began shakily, “I do not require all of...this. I accept you, husband, and give myself to you. But I am not like other women.”
“Is that so?” Thomas arched his brow. “And what are other women that you are not?”
She blinked up at him. “Surely you should know.”
“Enlighten me, Evangeline,” he encouraged devilishly.
“I've told you,” she squeaked ou
t miserably, “I do not require outlandish affection, nor do I enjoy being close to...to...”
“Sweetheart, you will enjoy it.”
He claimed her mouth with determination. Damn her fears. Pliant lips accepted his branding, still hesitant to participate. It was a beginning of sorts, and Thomas welcomed the small offering, aware of its cost to her. Teasing and suckling her mouth with patient deliberation, he coaxed her lips apart and entered her with his tongue. Her gasp allowed him further access, enabling him to remain inside as she sought to push him out. He groaned, aroused by the war of wills between them. Victory was his, for her protests gentled, replaced by meek surrender. Deep satisfaction flooded him and he continued the amorous assault, introducing her to the feel of his mouth upon hers.
A weak whimper met his growl of arousal and he stilled, finding her gaze to discern the nature of the sound spilling into his mouth. “Are you all right?” he questioned softly.
Surprise showed clearly on her face. She'd not expected him to ask, or maybe not to care he realized.
“I think so,” she replied honestly, breathlessly.
Caressing her cheek, Thomas watched the dim firelight dance across her skin. “You are beautiful, Evangeline.”
The amber flecks in her brown eyes dulled at his words, and she turned her face from his. “You do not have to speak such things to me, Mr. Masterson. I know I am a plain woman.”
Firmly, he turned her toward him again. “You're right,” he ground out. “I do not have to speak such things. I want to. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and I find you lovely.”
“Oh,” she managed. “I...I do not know what to say.”
“Learn to accept my compliments, sweetheart.” He studied her, sensing the moment ripe to move forward. Reaching down, he untied the ribbons holding her wide necked gown and pushed the material open.
Instinctively, her hand flew to grasp the material.
“Shh,” Thomas crooned. “Let me.” His eyes fixed on hers as he slid his hand beneath the material and sought the softness of her tiny breast. “So soft,” he murmured, grazing his palm across her flesh. Her body betrayed her to him, responding eagerly. “My touch pleases you?” he asked, knowing the answer, wanting her to acknowledge the truth.
“Mr. Masterson...”
“I am your husband, Evangeline. Call me Thomas.”
She shook her head. “It is too intimate.”
“Sweetheart,” he cooed seductively, “I've your lovely breast in my palm and my lips upon your own. Is that not intimate?” He captured her sob with his mouth, feasting until it was a forgotten memory. “Say my name, sweetheart. I need you to say it.”
Chapter Nine
“Thomas!” she cried out, sensation rendering her helpless.
“That's it, sweetheart,” he encouraged softly.
His hand stroked her expertly beneath the gown. Her breast tingled and a fullness seemed to swell her flesh. What was he doing to her? Panic flooded her senses, for this moment brought her deepest fears to life. If she succumbed to her emotions, she'd be as foolhardy as her mother and sister; giving in once would only lead her toward total enslavement.
But, oh! His hands and mouth were relentless, wonderful even.
He pushed the gown down over her shoulders, exposing her to his hungry gaze. She returned to her senses at once.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. “Dear God, must you?”
Her frantic plea stilled his hands, but not before her breasts lay bare to him. He locked onto her wild-eyed stare, his own green-gray gaze alive with molten heat. “Easy, sweetheart.”
The short reprieve afforded the moment she needed to collect herself.
“I'll go slow,” he added, as if he knew what she had gained in the brief respite. He kissed her gently. “Only say a word and I shall give you a moment to adjust.”
She nodded when instead she wanted to skitter away from him. Oh! Who was she trying to fool? His bold touch and heated kiss threatened to drown her in a sea of sensation - not an entirely unpleasant death, she admitted privately.
His eyes darkened gray and stormy, and then, then he did the unspeakable. He lowered that mouth and lavished his kiss upon her breast!
For the love of the saints!
She tried to pull away, truly she did, but those large hands held her firm. Adding to her dismay and confusion – and dare say no small injury to her sense of decorum – his words of earlier echoed in her brain, rattling around with no love of decency. She did enjoy it. Pleasant tingles danced wherever his mouth seared her, and just when she had no defenses left to withstand it all his hand wandered lower, snapping her out of her near delirium.
Oh, no!
Never did he cease those terrible, wonderful ministrations at her breasts as he sifted her gown down over her bottom, lifting her in his hands effortlessly and without her understanding how it had been accomplished. She could barely draw breath so unhinged was she.
Exposed.
Her body lay bare, the cool air tickling her flesh in nipping bites. Now, that hand ventured to stroke her hip and thigh, igniting a hellfire of heat in its wake. Should she allow this exploration of her very self? Is this what was required for a man to stiffen so as to be able to force his way into a woman's body? She shivered, an uncontrollable shudder of fear that threatened to override her dizzy enjoyment.
“Ahh!”
Thomas stilled, then returned to her mouth. He did not continue kissing her, rather, he watched her a long moment. What he was waiting for, she could not begin to fathom. Vaguely aware of his movements, she could not tear her eyes from his to discover their purpose. Only when he shrugged off his shirt and lie against her did she understand, for his bare, heated flesh pressed next to her own.
“Mr... Thomas,” she croaked.
“Sweetheart, no,” he cupped her chin and lifted, keeping her from looking down. “Don't look tonight. It will only heighten your anxiety.” He kissed her tenderly. “Shh...” He placed a finger over her lips, tracing their outline.
His kisses began in earnest, then, stealing her breath, luring her to a place of bliss she could not resist following to. Those strong hands resumed sliding over her as well, descending her body in measured forays until he reached her most secret flesh. His gravelly moan poured into her mouth. She froze, squeezing her legs together, whimpering her protest. Tearing her mouth from his, Evangeline turned her head away.
“Don't hide from me,” he murmured, kissing her ear, trailing his mouth across her neck and down to her collarbone.
The potent combination of words and kisses, while pleasing, could not distract her attention from the weight of his hand against her there.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered next to her ear. “I am only going to touch you. It will not hurt, I promise.”
A cry escaped her when he stroked along her sensitive flesh, and her legs shook against his body. Soft endearments tumbled from his lips between kisses, gentle in tone and arousing in nature. He praised her body's softness, adored her welcoming wetness – much to her confusion – and coaxed her thighs wider. Time folded upon itself, for it seemed his attention went on forever.
“Please...Thomas,” she appealed at last. “I can bear no more.”
“I know. You've been so brave, Evangeline. Soon you will trust me enough to give you the ultimate pleasure.”
Her blush deepened as she forced out her next question. “Should I...what I mean to ask is...do you require me to touch you so you can ready for the act?”
His groan threw her off. “Not tonight,” he murmured against her lips. “If you touched me, sweetheart, I'd spill before the act could be accomplished.”
“Oh.”
Whatever did that mean?
Thomas kissed her senseless, and somehow, settled himself between her thighs before she could close them. His heaviness sparked a troubling unease and she tensed beneath him.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he insisted gently at her reaction.
�
��I'm afraid,” she breathed nervously.
“What exactly are you afraid of?” he probed.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I cannot get away,” she whispered in a strained, terse voice. “You might become overwhelmed with...with your emotions and hurt me without meaning to.” Closing her eyes tightly, a tear seeped from one corner and tracked down her cheek.
Thomas kissed it away, raising his chest from hers as he rested on his forearms. “Is this better, sweetheart?”
She could only nod.
“Who told you I would hurt you?”
“My...my mother.”
Thomas cursed, then kissed her tenderly, undoing the little composure she clung to. He rained gentle kisses over her face, cupping her cheeks in his large hands. “I am not going to hurt you. Relax for me.” He moved with grace, stroking against her private flesh with his hard length, slowly easing her legs apart as he nestled closer to her core. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.
She did as he asked, desperate for his words to prove true. Sweet pleasure coursed through her at his gentle, controlled movements, and little by little, her muscles went lax beneath him.
“That's it,” he encouraged, pressing against her. “I'm going to push inside you, easy, baby.”
And he was easy, moving with a protective concern Evangeline hadn't anticipated. Her body stretched, and then he eased back, pressing forward again to stretch her in slow increments.
“God, sweetheart, you're so small,” he growled, the harshness of his voice in stark contrast with the gentleness of his body's movements.
No opportunity to absorb his claim presented itself, for he moved again, this time stretching her until a burning sensation drew a gasp from her lungs.
He stilled immediately. “Better now?” His eyes searched hers, worry plain in his expression.
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