by Diane Gaston
But nothing was typical about this marriage.
Chapter Eleven
‘Here you are, miss—ma’am!’ Nancy clapped her hands in excitement when Tess entered the bedchamber. ‘This is the wedding night!’
Tess wished she could feel such high spirits. She wished she could feel anything but gut-turning anxiety. She made herself smile. ‘I am glad you are here to help me out of my dress.’
Nancy grinned. ‘Oh, I’ll help you out of your dress and make you very presentable to your new husband!’
Tess did not even know if she would see her husband this night. She pressed her fingers on her brow.
Nancy peered at her, a look of concern on her face. ‘Miss—ma’am! Do you know about the wedding night?’
Daughter of the infamous Lady Summerfield not know of such carnal matters? She squeezed Nancy’s hand. ‘I’m a country girl. I do know about the wedding night.’
She’d seen the act performed, after all.
‘Whew!’ Nancy’s eyes grew wide. ‘I was afraid I’d have to tell you. That would have been very strange, would it not?’
‘Very strange.’ Tess smiled, this time in genuine amusement.
Nancy chattered on while she undid the buttons down the back of the dress, helped Tess out of it and unlaced her corset.
Dressed in just her shift, Tess washed her face and hands and sat at the dressing table so Nancy could pull the pins from her hair. ‘I’ll brush out your hair and tie it in a ribbon.’
Having her hair brushed was so soothing that Tess thought she might actually sleep this night. Would it not be wonderful if she could wake up in the morning in her room at Summerfield House? Her sisters would be there and all would be as it had been before their father died. She closed her eyes and again saw that room, bright with sunlight, its pale blue walls and white-skirted tables, her keepsakes lovingly arranged on a shelf. Where were her little treasures now? She’d packed them for Tinmore Hall, but never unpacked them. Would they be lost, like the life she’d once enjoyed?
Nancy wrapped her hair tightly with the ribbon and tied it in a bow. ‘I have something for you, ma’am,’ she said as she dabbed some lavender scent on Tess’s neck and arms. ‘Stay right there.’
From the reflection in the mirror, Tess watched Nancy remove a white, neatly folded garment from the clothes press.
‘Turn around,’ Nancy said.
Tess swivelled in her chair and Nancy held up the white garment and let it loose of its folds. It fluttered down like a billowing cloud.
It was a nightdress made from soft, thin muslin and adorned with lace around the neckline and hem.
‘Oh, my!’ Tess exclaimed. ‘It is lovely! Where did you get it?’
‘Lady Northdon gave me the muslin and lace and told me exactly how she wanted it made.’ She threw it over her arm and returned to the clothes press for another garment in the same fabric. ‘It has a robe to match it!’
Tess rose from her seat and fingered the fabric. ‘I cannot imagine how you sewed all these garments. You are a marvel, Nancy.’
Nancy beamed with pride. ‘It was a pleasure, ma’am, truly it was.’
Tess hugged the girl. ‘I do not know how to thank you. First the beautiful wedding dress and now this. I must also thank Lady Northdon for suggesting it.’
‘Let’s put you in it,’ cried Nancy. ‘You want to be ready. Your husband might come any time now.’
Tess took off her shift and Nancy helped her into the nightdress. She turned to the full-length mirror.
It was so sheer that she could see her flesh beneath it.
She added the robe and it was marginally better, but even by lamplight in her room, she could see the outline of her body under the gown and robe.
‘What do you think of it?’ Nancy asked as she picked up Tess’s shift and put it away.
It is too sheer, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, ‘I think it is the loveliest nightdress there ever could be.’
Nancy grinned. ‘Now, is there anything else I can do for you? I’ve turned down the bed already.’
Tess did not want the girl to go, but there was no reason for her to stay, except to keep Tess from thinking too much. ‘You’ve done more than enough.’
Nancy stepped forward and gave Tess a quick hug. It was not the proper sort of behaviour for a maid, but Tess found she was hungry for such warmth.
‘I’ll bid you goodnight, then,’ the girl said. She winked. ‘A very good night!’
She was gone and Tess was alone. She remained where she stood. As still as a statue, she listened to the sounds of the house. The hiss of the fire, footsteps above her—Nancy going to her room, no doubt. No sound of rain, though. It must have stopped.
He would not come to her, she knew. She wore a woman’s nightdress, as alluring as any her mother had possessed, but he would not see it, because theirs was a forced marriage.
All the days in her future stretched before her, empty like land washed bare by a flood.
She strode over to the window and opened it, sucking in the cool air. The air retained that damp chill that so reminded her of their night in the cabin. She stood at the open window until the chill seeped into her skin. She could feel it on her cheeks, in her lungs, on her eyelashes.
They’d worked together well in the cabin, had they not? Of course, Marc had done most of the work, but she had made herself useful, fixing tea and such. The point was, she could act now. She’d not remained passive and helpless in the cabin and she did not need to think of herself as helpless now.
They were husband and wife. It was time she started acting like a wife and not like a little girl pining for her dolls and wishing for things to be different. So what if her keepsakes were lost to her? She could find new ones in her life with him.
She also did not have to wait for him to cross the hall and knock on her door. She could cross the hall and knock on his. He might refuse her this night, but she could offer herself. Or perhaps they could lie together as they’d done in the cabin?
It would be a start.
Tess closed the window and touched her face, reassured that it still felt the bracing chill. She strode to the door and opened it.
As she stepped into the hall she saw him coming towards her, not in breeches and coat, but the loose fabric of a banyan. He was almost as apparition-like as he’d been riding towards her in the rain those few days ago, just the silhouette of him, but she felt that same rush of relief she’d felt that day.
If he welcomed her, she would no longer be alone.
* * *
Marc hesitated when Tess appeared before him. She looked as alluring as she’d appeared the night he visited her bedchamber. Only this time he was clear-headed. It helped a little. Only a little.
‘What is it, Tess?’ He’d not expected her to seek him out. He’d been on his way to her door to reassure her he would not expect anything from her until she was ready.
‘I wanted to see you.’ She reached out her hand. ‘Talk with me, Marc. Please. For a little while?’ Her voice was uncertain. ‘In—in my room or yours.’
He took her hand. ‘I have some claret in my room.’ He’d had Staines bring it up earlier in the day when he’d been dressing. A little wine right now might be a good thing.
‘Your room, then,’ she said.
He held her hand as they entered his room. He had only two candles lit, which bathed the room in a soft light. He led her to a chair near the window. It rattled in the wind like the window of the cabin they shared. He poured the claret and handed it to her.
‘You wanted to talk?’ Perhaps he would like what she wished to say.
She took a sip of the wine. ‘We should—’ She began determinedly, but her courage seemed to flag. She gazed out the window. ‘Did you hear the rain earlier? It sounded so much like that rain at the cabin.’
‘I was reminded of the cabin when I heard it.’ He was reminded of the cabin right now and all his resolve to let his head rule was rapidly being washe
d away.
She turned her lovely eyes on him. What colour were they at this moment? At the wedding ceremony they had been grey. Like the rain. ‘We did well in the cabin, did we not?’
Until he overslept and allowed them to be caught in bed together. ‘You did well,’ he said.
Her scent distracted him, the lavender scent of bed linens. She looked soft and warm, like she belonged between the sheets, but he’d already promised himself he would not consummate their marriage this night. His head said he would wait until she wanted it, if she ever did, but now the idea of waiting did not appeal to him at all.
He sipped his drink.
She toyed with her glass. ‘At the cabin you said you would marry sensibly, that marriage should be to the man and woman’s advantage.’
Had he said that? He could not feel less like being sensible right now.
She went on. ‘You cautioned me about marrying for love.’
‘I remember that.’ Men and women mistook love for passion and passion meant allowing one’s emotions to dictate actions, as his parents had done.
‘If you had married sensibly.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I assume you intended to—to have a real marriage.’
Of course he had. He was obligated to produce an heir, was he not? ‘Certainly.’
She rose and moved towards him, kneeling at his feet. ‘Then I think we should have a real marriage. We could make something good of this. What, after all, is the difference between having a sensible marriage and a forced one?’
Was the question rhetorical?
She rested her hands on his knees and gazed up at him. She was offering herself to him? Good Lord, he wanted her beyond all sense. He tried to pull back. Did she truly wish this?
‘Tess, you must not feel under any obligation—’
She pushed away and stood, glaring down at him. ‘I did not come out of obligation. I wanted to try to make something good out of this, but I can do nothing alone. You must also want me, which you obviously do not.’
She turned on her heel and headed towards the door.
‘Wait!’ he cried.
He bounded from the chair and caught her by the wrist. He pulled her back and made her face him. Having her in his arms drove words right out of his head.
He took a breath and gazed down at her. ‘I never said I did not want you.’
‘Then why not?’ Her mouth parted and her lashes fluttered. ‘I am willing, Marc.’
She had pluck, he must say.
‘You want me to show you about making love, Tess?’ His blood was surging through his veins as he spoke.
She looked him right in the eye. ‘Yes. That is what I want.’
Those words were the only permission he needed. He picked her up and she wrapped her arms around him and did not break her gaze while he carried her to his bed.
He sat her on the bed and stood in front of her. ‘How much do you know of this, Tess?’
Her breath quickened. ‘Enough. More, than most, I think. I know what happens.’
He still was unsure of her. His head said she offered herself out of duty. His heart wanted to make something good of this, as she suggested.
Her fingers untied the ribbon of her robe. ‘I know I must undress for you.’
He watched as she took off her robe. As she moved, the thin cloth of her nightdress clung to her skin. It was so sheer he could see her flesh beneath it. His fingers longed to touch that smooth skin.
Her look was more determined than passionate as she reached for the skirt of her nightdress, but he felt proud of her courage. Slowly she raised the skirt, revealing herself in inches. Glorious inches. Finally she lifted the nightdress over her head and tossed it away and, still looking directly into his face, sat before him, fully revealed.
His eyes drank in the sight of her. Her breasts were high and firm, her nipples dark against her pale skin. Her waist was accented by the fullness of her breasts and hips. The triangle between her legs was tinged with auburn, like her hair. Her legs were long and shaped as if a sculptor had carved them.
She displayed her nakedness almost defiantly. This woman he married would face any situation with admirable fearlessness. She’d already done so and was doing so now. Would she be as bold in lovemaking?
His blood surged in his veins in anticipation of it.
He stepped back and mimicked her undressing, removing his banyan and letting it fall to the floor. He, too, revealed his nakedness, his arousal. She, as he expected, did not avert her gaze.
‘Lie back on the bed, Tess,’ he instructed.
As she did so, he climbed on to the bed and lay next to her. ‘I must touch you, to help ready you.’
She nodded, her eyes widening as he stroked her arms and shoulders. His head was still working enough that he knew it would be best for her to become used to his touch. His loins wished to awaken her body, like his had awakened. He wanted to join her. They were made one in matrimony; now let them be made one in the flesh. Put the past behind them and forge something together.
Her limbs relaxed and he grew bolder.
She gasped as his hand slipped over her breast. He moved gently, though it cost him something. His desire was pushing him and her skin felt so very soft. He moved his hand further down.
* * *
Tess did not expect a man’s touch to feel this way. His hand was strong and sure, but gentle, and the sensations he created radiated throughout her. She thought she would come apart when he stroked her breasts. The intimacy of it astounded her. Who had touched her there since she’d been a little girl in need of help bathing?
The touch was not all pleasant. His fingers, no matter on what part of her body, created an ache at the womanly parts between her legs. With each stroke the ache grew more intense. Not a pain, exactly.
A need.
His hand moved down her body, closer, and she wanted to push it down there, as if his touch would relieve the ache.
Finally his fingers reached the place.
‘I need to touch you here. To make you ready. To make it easier for you,’ he explained.
He fingered her most sensitive place and the aching surged. Her back arched and she moaned, the sound not unlike those her mother made when Tess had watched her with her lover.
‘Do you feel the pleasure?’ he asked, his voice rough.
‘Not pleasure.’ How could she explain? ‘Not quite.’ She did not have the words.
He was a magnificent man. Tall and as well formed as the Greek statue at Tinmore Hall. Better formed, in fact. Leaner and hard-muscled. Was it wanton of her to think so? To enjoy his touch so very much?
He rose above her. ‘Now,’ he uttered, ‘I will enter you.’
A wave of fear joined the potpourri of emotion and sensation flowing through her. His male member was large; she could well imagine pain, but she did not want him to stop. She wanted this need, this aching to come to its end, even though she did not know what that end would be.
‘Don’t stop,’ she cried. ‘Don’t stop.’
It seemed as if her body opened to him and he eased himself inside her, with stroke after stroke. Her muscles responded of their own volition, moving with him, meeting and separating, meeting and separating.
The ache grew even more intense, so all consuming, so needful, that she lost the capacity to think. She was all feeling, all sensation, all merged with this glorious man. Her husband.
He moved faster, his breath came faster and she moved with him, wanting to cry out with each thrust.
Then something remarkable happened. Sensation exploded inside her, filling her with an unimagined pleasure. A moment later, a growl escaped his lips and he trembled inside her. Spilling his seed, she realised.
This was consummation, she thought, as her body drifted into a pleasant languor. Joining.
He collapsed atop her, but immediately lifted his weight off her and rolled to her side. ‘You felt it,’ he said.
She could not speak, so she nodded her head, and blinked ba
ck tears that suddenly filled her eyes.
He rose on an elbow and peered at her, looking puzzled.
She swiped at her cheeks. ‘I’m not weeping. Not hurt. Not sad.’ She couldn’t explain.
He wiped the tears with his thumb and stared into her face. She tried to smile. She wanted to smile.
His expression turned soft and tender. He leaned closer and placed his lips on hers.
She realised then that this was her first kiss. By him. By any man.
And it had come after lovemaking.
Chapter Twelve
Tess woke with the dawn’s first light. Through the window she could see a piece of sky, a glorious and joyful shade of pink.
She smiled. Even the sky matched her mood.
After that tumultuous first time of making love, Marc made love to her again. To her delight, the sensations were every bit as wonderful. Different, though. Slower and sweeter.
She, Lorene and Genna had been warned of the temptations of the flesh by every governess they’d had. Considering their parents’ excesses in such temptations, it had been good advice. When Tess watched her mother and her mother’s lover on the sofa in her sitting room, she’d not understood the appeal. It had not looked at all like something one would desire to do.
Now she understood, though. She understood her mother better, as well, how her mother could crave this wonderful experience, how she could want to repeat it, over and over. She understood precisely how like her mother she was.
Tess gazed at her husband, face relaxed in sleep, hair tousled, thick, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He took her breath away. She could not imagine lovemaking with anyone else. Ever. She felt connected to him in a way even stronger than her connections to her sisters, as if the consummation of their marriage had indeed made them one.
Did he feel that, as well? How could he not?
She’d felt herself open to him in their lovemaking. Surely now he knew everything there was to know about her; she’d felt that unguarded.