Lucy shrank back. “Painful?”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I’d arrange it otherwise if I could. But if there isn’t ample pleasure before and after, then I’m not doing right by you.”
She was terrified, but some mindless part of her was eager, too. Ever since their first kiss, she’d longed to press herself against James, and the knowledge that their bodies were to be joined quickened her breath and set her heart pounding. And she supposed it was what she must do now that she was married. She wanted children, and it was her duty to bear heirs for her husband, so if this was how heirs were begotten…
She met his eyes and smiled tremulously. He must have recognized the invitation, the acquiescence, she had intended, for his eyes darkened and he pulled her into his arms. “Lucy,” he said, just before his lips claimed hers.
She couldn’t yield fully to the kiss. Her mind was in a whirl over what would happen next, and she could no more have stopped its curious yet frightened turnings than she could have ceased breathing.
She did forget to breathe for a moment when James untied her wrapper and pushed it half off her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. He cupped her breasts, her tiny breasts, one in each hand. Only a thin layer of lawn separated his hands from her bare skin. Part of her recoiled from the shocking intimacy of it, even though it was the most thrilling touch yet, and she found herself leaning into his hands with a sigh, a wordless, instinctive plea for more. Her busy mind noted that her nipples had stiffened as they did when exposed to cold air while dressing or undressing, and what a strange thing that was, for the one thing she wasn’t at that moment was cold.
She squirmed against the sleeves that hampered her arms, and James drew back for a moment to remove the wrapper completely. He had already discarded his own dressing gown, so now they were alike, naked but for the single layer of their nightclothes. During his explanation he had mentioned in passing that many couples left those garments on throughout, but that he preferred complete nudity, and she swallowed hard at the thought of yet more exposure. The odd combination of pleasure and dread nearly overwhelmed her, and she fought to control both with reason. This was her duty, what was expected of her, and she must calm herself and get through it so that she could be a proper wife and, in due course, a mother.
James reached for her again, with one hand clasping her hand, his fingers twining with hers, the other returning to her breasts. “So beautiful, so soft,” he murmured.
“Too small,” she protested.
He drew back and frowned at her. “What? Nothing of the sort. You’re perfectly formed.”
“But compared to—”
He cut her off. “No. No comparisons. Not now, not tonight. The only persons who matter now are you and me.”
Now that she thought about it, she realized it would not have been wise to finish the sentence, since the lush-figured woman she’d meant to name was his own sister. So she nodded and said nothing.
He cupped her chin in his hand and studied her gravely for a moment. “I suppose no one has ever told you how beautiful you are?”
“I, beautiful? I’m not beautiful.”
“Yes, you are. It was most remiss of me not to say so before now.” He traced her cheekbone and her jaw line. “Beautiful face.” He ran a hand down the side of her body, skimming her breast and waist, settling at her hip. “Beautiful form.” And then he reached behind her and began loosening her long braid. “And, especially, beautiful hair.”
Freeing her hair was not the work of an instant, and Lucy was captured in the circle of his arms as James gently, carefully unwound the braid. His breath was warm against her neck, and after a tense moment she sighed and rested her cheek against his. Her nerves seemed heightened somehow; she was exquisitely aware of the contrast between the skin along his cheekbones, almost as soft as her own, and the faint rasp of beard stubble too short to see.
Still unbraiding her hair, James rested his face more closely against hers, then drew back to nuzzle her, nose to nose, and kiss her again. It was a gentle yet probing kiss, their tongues in a sort of leisurely, playful duel, and it did not end until he leaned back to fan her long hair around her, running his fingers through it.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the day I met you,” he said.
Shyly she reached up and sank a hand into his hair, his beautiful black hair that curled so thickly around her fingers. “I like your hair, too,” she admitted.
He grinned at her. “Do you know,” he said, “I don’t think we need our clothes anymore.”
As quickly as that, he pulled his nightshirt over his head and cast it aside, then divested her of her nightgown while she was still frozen in astonishment. At that he pounced on her—it was a gentle pounce, but there was no other word for it. He kissed her frantically, and she kissed him back, one hand in his hair, the other cautiously stroking the smooth skin of his bare shoulder. She was dizzy with a sort of delighted terror from the sensation of his skin against hers, though she wished she had managed to get a look at his…his penis, that was the word he’d used, before they came to this point.
She could feel it, however, stiff and probing and somehow heavy, against her thigh. It seemed larger than anything capable of fitting inside her ought to be, and she tensed.
James rose up on his elbows and studied her, and Lucy thought, rather irrelevantly, how much she liked the look of his face, his high, wide cheekbones, his deep blue eyes, his long nose, rather too prominent, but she wouldn’t have liked his face half so well with a perfect Grecian nose like Sebastian’s. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be making comparisons, but it startled her how much she preferred her husband to the man she’d expected to marry.
“I’m sorry,” James said. “I’ve no business rushing you—I’ll slow down.”
Lucy didn’t want him to do anything of the sort—she wanted it over and done. But she held her peace. His caresses grew lighter, more deliberate. He traced feathery kisses all over her face and down her neck while he ran his hands softly across her breasts and belly, maddening touches that tickled as much as they stimulated.
He slid down a little and lowered his mouth to her breast. Lucy gasped in shock as he suckled her nipple, the way the touch of his lips and tongue sent a jolt of pleasure to the juncture of her thighs. As if he could read her mind, he slid a hand to just that spot, and she stiffened as she felt his fingers slip into the triangle of curls there.
He lifted his head and gave her a troubled look. “Lucy. I know this is all new, and it isn’t easy for you. But, believe me, please. It’ll be so much better for you if you try to relax.”
Annoyance flickered through her; he asked the impossible. But she took a deep, slow breath and willed her joints to unclench. He drew his hand lower, nudging her thighs to part, and after a moment she acquiesced. She ignored the instinct to just let her legs fall open, but she let him put his hand where he wanted.
And then she inhaled sharply at the sheer intimacy of the touch. It was shocking, embarrassing—and why was she so strangely wet there? But at the same time it felt wonderful, so much so she could hardly keep still. She stirred restlessly, wanting to thrash and arch against his hand.
“Mmm…yes,” he murmured. He kissed her, slow and deep, and then his fingers found a new spot. The sensation, the thrill of it, was so intense it went beyond pleasure, and Lucy clutched at his shoulder in fear. This was all so strange, so new, and she was perilously close to losing anything resembling control. So she fought it, made her mind reclaim her body, told herself to be still and calm.
James broke the kiss and looked at her. There was something terrible in his expression, a mix of disappointment and hurt, and Lucy felt her eyes sting with the beginning of tears, so great was her dismay.
“You just want to have this over with, don’t you?” His voice was heavy.
Lucy shut her eyes tightly and nodded. She knew it was the wrong answer, but she was too afraid—more of herself than him—and s
he didn’t know what he wanted from her.
He sighed. “Very well. I wanted to give you so much pleasure, show you how good it can be, but I suppose that’s asking too much from a first time.”
His weight lifted off her, and for an instant she wondered if he meant to abandon the attempt altogether. She hoped he did not, for she did want this done, and then she knew he wasn’t stopping when he pushed her legs more widely apart, bending her knees. Such a strange position to be in, really most undignified, and then he was over her again, between her legs, and she could feel his…his penis there, and—her eyes flew open as he pushed inside her.
He’d been right. It did hurt, a sudden sharp stinging pain as her body struggled to accommodate his. But the pain was hardly unbearable, and suddenly the position she was in and the act they were committing no longer seemed so embarrassing. It felt…right. Of course this was how it was, and she belonged here, with James.
Instinctively she lifted her hands to rest on his shoulders and drew her legs up a little, as if to embrace his hips with her thighs. She studied his face, his dear face, so shuttered and intent now, and hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed in her anymore.
He blinked down at her. “You—you like this?”
She felt her face heat. “Yes.”
“Ah, Lucy.” A tremor seemed to run through his body, shaking him from head to toe, and he kissed her and began to move, a rocking, thrusting rhythm. She watched him, amazed by the intensity, the wildness, on his face.
After a moment the pain was gone, and she enjoyed his motion. The rhythm called up an answering pleasure in her, but not as wild and difficult to control as when he had touched her with his hand. She took deep breaths to keep it under control and watched James.
Soon he groaned and went still, and she felt something warm pulsing deep within her. He stayed still for a few seconds, breathing hard, then withdrew, leaving her strangely bereft.
He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand gently stroking her hair. “Did I—that is, I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”
She smiled and shook her head. “It hurt at first, but not terribly. But after that, it was pleasant.”
He smiled back, but with only one side of his mouth. “Pleasant.”
She weighed her words. “It was…startling, mostly. But I did like it.”
“It can be so much more than pleasant, Lucy, but you must relax.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I—I couldn’t. It was too much.” How could she explain her fears, her panic, at sensations so strong, unfamiliar and overwhelming, her frantic need to stay in control?
“Well.” He curled onto his side and pulled her into an embrace, her head pillowed against his shoulder. “I suppose it was too much to expect from your first time, and you knowing so little about what was going to happen.” He pressed his lips against her brow. “But I want to please you. I want you to have every bit as much pleasure as I do.”
She wanted to please him, too. She had brought so little to this marriage, and she didn’t want him to regret having been obliged to offer for her. “I hope I didn’t disappoint you too greatly,” she said.
His arms tightened around her. “No. No, no, no. You didn’t disappoint me. You’re my beautiful wife, and I—” He shook his head. “If anyone failed, it was me. I didn’t do enough to please you.”
“But I was pleased,” she protested. How could he claim to have failed her?
“Not as much as you should be,” he said decisively. After a moment he laughed. “It occurs to me that we’re both being a little absurd. It isn’t as though it had to be perfect the first time. We’ve the rest of our lives to learn how best to please each other.”
“The rest of our lives,” Lucy repeated. She could still hardly believe it.
“Must you sound so daunted?” he said, suppressed laughter in his voice.
“It’s just such a long time.”
“It had better be—young as we both are, we have many decades to go if we’re to achieve a great old age, which is certainly my intent.”
She smiled, and they lay curled comfortably together in silence for a moment.
“If you wish to…” James said. “That is, you might…”
He sounded so unwontedly bashful that Lucy turned to look and found to her great surprise that he was indeed blushing. “What is it?” she asked.
“I thought you might wish to clean yourself a little before we fall asleep, especially if there’s any, ah, blood.”
She blushed, too, but it struck her as a good idea, since she felt sticky and strange. She sat up and looked, discovering that she had indeed bled a little, just a faint red streak on one thigh and a few spots on the sheet.
“This only happens the first time?” she said.
“Yes, as far as I’m aware.”
She slid out of bed and crossed to the washstand. James didn’t watch her, but apparently became absorbed in examining the bed canopy above his head, and Lucy was grateful for his tact as she washed herself. The cool water felt soothing against her sensitive skin, which still stung a little.
“I think,” James said, still not looking at her, “that this is the point where I’m supposed to excuse myself and return to my own room to sleep.”
“I see.” To Lucy’s surprise, she didn’t especially want him to do so. His presence was the most comforting thing she had in this strange new life. James was quite simply her closest friend. She wondered if it was odd to think of her husband in such terms, especially after the intimacies they had just shared. Yet even though those intimacies had been as disturbing as they had been pleasurable, she trusted him and felt safer the closer she was to him.
“However,” he continued, his voice strangely diffident, “if it’s agreeable to you, I’d like to stay. I’ve found that sharing sleep with another person—a person one is fond of, at least—is a…a most agreeable experience.”
She glanced toward him and was caught by the look of vulnerability on his face. Never before had she seen James look bashful, as if he needed something from her or anyone else. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll…I’ll try.”
He made room for her on the bed and pulled back the covers in invitation. “If you find you cannot sleep, I’ll be happy to leave you alone in the future. Only—I do hope you like it.”
She hadn’t always slept alone, though this would be very different. “When I was a child, I shared a bed with my sister Margaret,” she said, then wished the words unspoken. She didn’t want to remind James of how poor she had been as a child. He had certainly never had to share a bed with a sibling because his family couldn’t afford beds for everyone, nor been glad of the company because the house was cold and the blankets threadbare.
“And?” he said, looking untroubled by her revelation.
She shrugged. The motion made her self-conscious about her nudity, and she instinctively tried to cover herself with her hands. “I hope you don’t kick and thrash in your sleep the way she always did, but I was always glad to have another person there. I had nightmares, when I was little.”
“But not now?”
“Not very often.”
“Good. But if you have any, I’ll be here.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “We should probably put our nightclothes on. I like you as you are, but the maid who brings our fresh water tomorrow might find us shocking.”
Relieved, Lucy retrieved her nightgown and pulled it over her head and watched out of the corner of her eye as James did the same with his nightshirt. It seemed a shame to cover his slim, muscular form, and she wondered if he would let her sketch him nude…she blushed at her own thoughts and began rebraiding her hair.
“Must you?” he asked. “It’s so beautiful loose.”
“It would be tangled into knots by morning,” she said.
“I understand.” His voice was tinged with regret. “But I shall look forward to taking it down again soon.”
She snuffed
out the candles, and they lay down together on the big, comfortable mattress. When Lucy curled onto her side, James rolled behind her and caught her in a loose embrace, one hand resting gently on her abdomen. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was good to sleep together. But she wondered how he knew it.
“James?”
“What is it?” he said, his voice a little drowsy.
“If you don’t mind my asking…” she began tentatively.
“Lucy, you can say anything to me.” Now he sounded firm, awake. “We’re to be honest, remember?”
She did. At least, she meant to be as honest as she possibly could. “How did you know you liked to share a bed with someone else? It’s not as though you ever would’ve needed to share with family. That is—I know it isn’t the first time you’ve done this, but I gather it isn’t customary to stay in the same bed thereafter. At least, not if you can afford separate beds.”
“Ah.” She felt him nuzzle her, kiss the back of her head. “Are you sure you want to know about my past?”
She stiffened slightly. “Is it so very dreadful?”
“Compared to most men’s? Not at all. In fact, I’m sure some of my peers would consider me quite laughably inexperienced, if they knew my whole history.”
“Then why would I not want to know?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “I’ve only ever lain with three women—that is, four. Four, now.” His hand tightened at her waist for a moment, and Lucy had a brief, uncomfortable sensation of being a number noted in his accounts book. “For a man in my position, that’s a very low number. But the third…she was important.”
“You loved her,” Lucy said, then wondered with a stab of sudden envy if she ought to have used present tense.
“Yes.” It was barely more than a whisper.
She had no right to be jealous. It wasn’t as though she loved James. She didn’t think she loved Sebastian anymore, but she certainly had in the past. Of course, she and Sebastian had never—but if she accepted that James had coupled with other women before his marriage, she had no right to complain about his sentiments toward them. Yet she was jealous. She wanted him to speak of her with that quiet intensity. She almost regretted her question, but she couldn’t leave her curiosity unsatisfied now.
A Marriage of Inconvenience Page 21