by Sophia Nash
“But Charlotte, ma cherie, do not let your French blood be smothered by the frigid repression that seems to fill the veins of most of these silly Englishwomen,” he had called out as a parting remark.
And so she had changed from her white cotton gown that buttoned to the top of her throat into the revealing nightclothes made of silk and lace at least three times in the last half hour. Nicholas had left her at the cottage after the uproarious breakfast, promising to return by sundown.
At the last moment, she lost her nerve again. As the silk floated in a pool around her ankles, a soft knock sounded at her small bedchamber in the cottage.
“Just a moment, please,” she called out in a high-pitched squeak.
The door opened at the precise moment when she was tugging her old gown over her head. It billowed around her on its descent. Had he seen her naked form? She was paralyzed with embarrassment. She quickly did up the front buttons. “I am sorry, shall I give you a few more minutes, Charlotte?” She pushed back her rumpled hair and tugged at her nightgown one last time. “No, no. I am ready.”
Nicholas had changed from the sophisticated dress of this morning to dark evening clothes. He appeared as beautiful as a man could possibly be, all dark, mysterious elegance.
He came across the small chamber in three broad strides, picking up the discarded silk nightgown as he set the candlestick he had brought with him on her nightstand. “What is this?”
How mortifying. “Oh, it is nothing. Just a small gift my cousin delivered to me this afternoon.”
“A nightgown?” he asked, standing a few inches from her.
“Yes.”
He took one step closer to her. “I’m not sure I care for the idea of your former betrothed giving you such a… personal article, Charlotte.” He paused and arched one eyebrow. “And yet you are not wearing it.”
“Uh no, I did not feel like myself in it, my lord,” she said, looking at her toes peeking out of the bottom of her plain nightgown.
“My lord?”
“I am sorry, I mean Nicholas, of course.” Oh, worse and worse. This was not going at all as Alexandre suggested. She was supposed to entrance him. Instead, she was awkward and gauche. It was just that it was so hard to focus on words when he was standing so close to her, looking at her through heavy-lidded mysterious eyes. A mere wisp of fabric separated her from his hands. Charlotte found it difficult to breathe normally as she watched him untie his neck cloth and drape it over her bed.
Nicholas indicated with his hand the small stool in front of her simple dressing table. “Perhaps I could brush the tangles from your hair,” he said.
She was sure he could tell her nervousness bordered on panic. Charlotte moved to the stool and dropped down onto it, grateful for the moment to collect herself.
He stroked her hair with the horsehair brush, from the crown of her head to the base of her back. Her scalp tingled from the pleasure of an action heretofore unknown to her. She could not remember anyone ever brushing her hair.
He dropped the brush on the stand after several long wordless minutes. She watched his large bronzed hands grasp her arms in the mirror.
“You are trembling. I hope you are not too afraid, are you?” His voice was steady and low. “I will be very gentle, but I daresay you already know there will be some pain involved.”
“Yes,” she whispered, unable to feign any of the nuances Alexandre had suggested. “Charlotte, this is important. When were your last courses?” If it was possible to be more embarrassed, she felt it at this moment. “A week ago,” she whispered.
“You are certain?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I would not get you with child on our single encounter.”
She had to harness every last drop of her reserves of dignity to not burst into tears. She would not let him see her sadness. So it was to be as he had proposed. One night—one night only to do the proper. She was as unattractive in his eyes as she had been the day he had first met her. He did not want children by her.
“Shall we proceed then, with the consummation of our vows?” she asked without a trace of emotion.
Nicholas looked beyond her shoulder into the mirror’s image. Charlotte was very pale. He cupped her elbows and helped her to her feet, wrapping his arms around the front of her and burying his face in her flowing locks. She was like the same block of ice he had held in the graveyard this morning. He felt very unsure. He had never made love to an innocent, and hated the idea of hurting her.
He stroked her arms for a few moments, then turned her into his full embrace. He would bring her pleasure, slowly and lovingly. He wanted desperately to give her a small measure of happiness after her recent sadness. After everything she had done for him, he would give her passion. Tonight was all for her. He would loose his desire and hers as well, if it could be done.
He kissed the top of her head then pushed aside the thick curtain of hair to feather kisses on the soft, downy curls at the base of her neck. Nicholas felt her shiver. She weighed but a feather as he turned her and gathered her up in his arms to carry her to the bed.
“You are much more enchanting in this cotton gown than any amount of silk and lace. Your cousin has something to learn when it comes to the art of seduction, it seems.” He felt her relax a bit in his arms.
“Thank you,” she whispered, hiding her head in the crook of his arm.
With a quick movement, he thrust aside the bedcovers and placed her in the middle of the bed. Enormous gray eyes surveyed him as he went about the methodical task of removing his boots, coat and every article of clothing save his linen shirt. He was glad for her sake that his long shirt provided adequate cover for his obvious masculinity.
He joined her on the bed and pressed his lips onto her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, and finally settled on her gorgeous mouth. He kissed her for long minutes, patiently arousing her, enticing her body to respond to his experienced touch.
It took a long time.
Finally, she curled her tongue against his and moaned softly. Only then did he begin to undo the small buttons on the front of her gown.
“Should we not blow out the candle?” she asked.
He looked at her rosy complexion, bathed in the golden candlelight. “You would deny me the pretty vision I hold before me?”
“You do not need to say falsehoods to please me,” she whispered.
“At some point in your life you made a very incorrect assumption about your appearance. I hope to persuade you to think otherwise. In fact, I shall put you on a strict regimen of no less than three compliments a day.”
That brought a small smile to the corners of her lips. “Ah, the dimples make an appearance. Just in time, I might add,” he said with a chuckle.
An immense, deep desire dwelled in him. He reached beneath her neckline and felt her sharp intake of breath. His groin constricted when he touched the tip of her lovely breast and it hardened. Her skin was so soft, her breasts perfectly proportioned and firm. He looked at her face to see a fan of dark lashes splayed across her flushed cheeks. He wanted her to experience it all despite her shy nature.
As he lowered his head to taste the rosy pink confection of her breast, he massaged the other to tightened perfection. He laved and nipped the tender aureole, giving equal time to both breasts until she arched her back, involuntarily signaling her pleasure.
With deliberate movements, Nicholas slid his fingers up the side of her body, bringing the fabric of her nightclothes up along with his hands. Her eyes flew open but he was grateful that she resisted the urge to cover herself.
Dear God, she was perfectly formed.
All gentle, flowing curves and long slender limbs just waiting to be touched and awakened. He sucked in his breath, praying for control.
Without thinking, he drew his shirt over his head in one swift motion. Her gaze lowered and her eyes widened. He must patiently arouse her anew to dampen her fear and replace it with yearning. He stroked her arms and
felt gooseflesh.
Nicholas knew without glancing that her legs were clamped together. He stroked her slender thighs over and over, trying to relax her.
“Dear heart, open yourself to me,” he whispered into the delicate shell of her ear before gently biting her small earlobe. She trembled for a moment and released the tension in her legs, allowing him to spread her legs wide. His fingers sought her sensitive point of pleasure, stroking and massaging with the lightest of touches until he heard her breath quicken. Her flushed face began to twist from side to side, and he knew she was in a complete heightened state of arousal, lost to the world around her. His fingers continued their erotic dance, skin to skin, as he slowly circled the entrance to her and delved into the edge beyond.
“Nicholas, Nicholas. Oh, I need… I need… something,” she whispered. “Please…”
The time was ripe, the air heavy with unrelieved tension. He moved his body to cover hers, forcing her legs even wider with his own. With tender longing, he entered her slowly, stretching the small, tight, very virginal passage until he met a barrier. God, but she was tiny, and she was like a delicacy before a starving man. She had become very still and tense all over again. He longed to gorge himself quickly, but did not.
He withdrew to massage the sensitive point of pleasure for long moments, and lowered his head to taste her breasts once again. The tension in his body was tight as a bow, and he could wait no longer. He must have her.
In one long, swift movement, he entered her as gently as he could muster and drove past her virginity until he could feel her inner muscles constricting all around his full length. He felt such exquisite pleasure it was almost painful. He paused and allowed her to get used to his invasion of her tiny body. He swallowed and prayed for regulation of his senses. Nicholas raised his head to look at her. Her head was pressed back deep into the pillow, her puffy lips opened in unfeigned desire, her eyes closed.
“Are you all right, Charlotte?” he asked raggedly.
Her eyes opened ever so slightly. He was lost in their gray depths of emotion.
“Yes. Is it over?” she asked, it seemed to Nicholas somewhat sadly.
“No, my dear, it has just begun.”
“Oh… Am I expected to do something?”
Nicholas smiled, glad the momentary distraction tempered the raw edges of his desire. “No, but I daresay if you move, this will be over before it has begun. Charlotte, you make me feel like an inexperienced boy, unable to muster any kind of control.”
He watched a small smile tease the corners of her lips. “I am glad I please you.”
He kissed her dimples and began the ebb and flow of a slow rhythm that made her eyes widen in surprise. He edged up her legs with his hands to wrap her limbs around his back, and then urged her to bind her arms around his neck.
She was all petite, charming femininity. As he drove into her, branding her as his own, he felt her body tighten about his own. Her small arms gripped his back in an effort to draw him deeper, deeper still. Then suddenly her body stilled, and at the peak of its straining she called out his name.
“Nicholas, Nicholas… Oh,” she whispered, her breath caught.
He stroked deeply once, twice, then broke through the final fraction of an inch to fill her and release his seed into her very core. It felt like a release of years, powerful and overwhelming. He longed to crush her to him and burden her with the sudden realization of his great love for her.
He closed his eyes. That was the word. It had been so thoroughly wrapped up in a desire to protect her and nurture her that he had failed to see his feelings for what they truly were. He loved her. And he would love her always.
The question was whether he loved her enough to let her go, to let her live her life to its full potential without him to hold her back. He was not sure he could do it.
“I am afraid I am too heavy for you. You are so small.”
“Don’t go. Oh, please don’t. It feels wonderful having you hold me,” she said.
“Ah, my Charlotte,” he said, and bit his tongue to hold back the words he longed to say.
He rolled off her and pulled her into his arms on her side. His shoulder provided a solid pillow. He longed to close his eyes and drift into what he was sure would be the most peaceful slumber, but he resisted.
“Would you like me to stay with you here tonight? Or shall I return to the abbey and leave you in peace?”
“Would you mind very much if I asked you to stay?”
His heart surged with joy. “Not at all. It would be my pleasure.” He pressed her body closer to his own and felt himself falling, falling into a blissful state of peace.
She would never be able to fall asleep. Not on this, the most momentous day of her life. She would not be able to or want to miss a moment of feeling his arms around her. She felt something she had never experienced in all her years. She felt cherished. Oh, he did not love her as she loved him, but she did feel he treasured her, and she prayed she had performed her marital duties adequately, even though she knew he had done everything. It was a pity she would not have the chance to try some of the suggestions Alexandre had made.
She felt much more bold now that she understood the actual process, she thought in her traditional methodical manner. She had not realized conjugal relations could bring such unexplainable yearning and gratification. Now she understood why it was required to finalize a marriage. The act bonded two people together, body and soul, in a fashion impossible to reverse. Impossible to forget.
How could she live the rest of her life near him without wanting to experience this ultimate act again and again? It would become an obsession, which would lead her to madness.
She must accept his offer to live away from him or she would end up losing every ounce of pride and be reduced to begging for his attentions. But perhaps, just perhaps, he might not spurn her touches, this night only. She must make memories to last a lifetime.
And so it went.
He did not ignore her tentative touches. The rest of the night was filled with patches of sleep for him in between gentle lovemaking instigated by her. She forced herself to fling away the last vestiges of her bashfulness by touching and exploring every perfect feature of his body, first with her hands and finally, at moonset, with her lips, following his example. She was unsure who was more surprised by her boldness, he or she. But she hoped desperately that she had pleased him. He had groaned and whispered his delight over and over. Oh, please let him want to make love to her again after this one night.
She was very sore, but it was a pleasurable feeling nonetheless. She felt very womanly, very content. As the unwanted first tentacles of dawn groped through the curtains in her small bedchamber, she worried that by prolonging the sweet agony of the pleasures of the night she had not satisfied her thirst for memories, but whetted her appetite for more.
She turned her head to find his half-opened green eyes staring at her.
“I must look a fright.” She touched her tangled locks.
“Quite the opposite. You look a veritable goddess of… of desire,” he said, with a slow, devastating smile. “There, that is your first compliment today. And no, I see your look. You are not allowed to negate any compliments.”
It would be very, very easy to allow herself to become reduced to the status of worshipful slave to him.
“All right. But I shall repay you with a fine breakfast, if you will allow. I gave Doro the day off, as I could not bear to see her knowing looks this morning. So I hope you will be satisfied with day-old bread and coddled eggs.”
“I can see you would be useful on the front lines by your willingness to cook the morning after your wedding night.” His eyes twinkled.
Charlotte marveled at his rugged virility. His muscled, bronzed form lay against the white bed linen in all its tempting magnificence. Even the healed gash on his thigh and a various assortment of battle scars added to his powerful magnetism. His eyes darkened as he watched her looking at him.
&nb
sp; He reached for her and dragged her against him once more. “But, I think I must have one last taste of you before anything else, and besides, it isn’t anywhere near morning,” he growled into her willing ear.
It had been easier to lose her inhibitions in the complete darkness when the candle had guttered. In the dim stillness of dawn, she observed his fully aroused male state and swallowed. She looked into his eyes and caressed his whiskered face with her small hand, so happy that he wanted her despite the reality of the receding shadows.
Suddenly, he stilled. “I think, perhaps, I have overstayed my welcome. Charlotte, you are too good. You must be very sore and uncomfortable. Come, my dear, if you will see to our breakfast, I will see toward a bath for you, my tender-hearted bride.”
She looked down at the traces of blood on the sheets and felt shy again. She hastily rearranged the bedcovers. “As you wish. But I am very willing, more than willing to accommodate you first.”
He stared hard at her, and finally pulled her once more into his arms, giving and taking in an age-old fashion that brought secret tears to her eyes in the final throes.
Chapter Fifteen
“It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides.”
—Jane Austen
I TOLD you, ma cherie, that you must leave all timidity out of the bedroom,” Alexandre said, while he slashed through the face of the clay bust he had been working on.
“Zut, alors. This is the most frustrating craft. What if we relieve our tensions instead, by me showing you some of the ways you could attract that cold-hearted Englishman back into your bed?”
Charlotte sighed and continued to rework the noble forehead of her clay model. “Alexandre, I know you mean well, and that you are flirting with me to tease me out of my mopes, but really, I cannot find any humor in your comments today. I am sorry.”