Tabby paused then to cross herself, and Caroline followed suit, knowing if she did not, Tabby would not get any sleep at all that night.
Her maid continued to chatter, but as always, Caroline let go of the words and just listened to the lilting sound of her voice. The soft accent sounded like home. Caroline washed her face and dressed in the nightgown her mother had made, a white silk gown with lace on the sleeves and around the low neck of the bodice. The night rail floated around her like a fairy cloak. Caroline saw the silk was very fine and her body could easily be seen through the folds, even as she moved. For some reason, this fact did not make her nervous but made her wonder what her husband’s face would look like when he saw her in it.
Tabby placed the roses from Lady Montague’s hothouse in a vase of water and set it on the mantel. The yellow ribbon was still tied around their stems. Tabby left Caroline with a quick kiss on her cheek, furtively, as though she could hear her mother scolding her for her familiarity in her strident voice all the way from the kitchen of the Montague house. Tabby was gone then, and Caroline stood by the hearth, staring into the flames. The door opened quietly behind her, and the silence changed. It became charged with heat that did not come from the fire.
Caroline turned and faced her husband. He stood just inside the doorway, his hand on the latch. He seemed to have stopped in midmotion, caught by the sight of her in her thin silk gown.
“Hello, Caroline.”
His voice was rough, as though he had swallowed something harsh and might soon choke on it.
“Hello, my lord.”
“I think here, within these walls, you might call me Anthony.”
“I might.”
He smiled and stepped toward her, the sound of his boots muffled on the heavy carpet. He reached for her, and she did not move away. He did not draw her to him or toward the bed, but took her hand gently in his own. “I think another glass of wine might be in order.”
“If you wish,” she said.
“I do.”
Caroline took in her husband’s beauty as he moved across their bedroom to the champagne that lay cooling in a wooden bucket. How he had found champagne was a mystery, for more often in York the favored drink was mead. No doubt he had brought it with him, as he had brought her wedding gown.
She watched him pour the wine, taking in the unconscious grace of his motion, reveling in the fact that he now belonged to her. She knew this was not really true. Her mother had taught her that the wife became the husband’s property on their wedding night and not the other way around. But as she looked at him, Caroline found such pleasure in his rugged strength that she smiled. He may have dallied with many women in the past, but he would have no other wife.
Anthony poured wine into only one glass and brought it back to her without taking a sip. When he stood beside her, he drank from it first, out of old courtesy. She had read many times of the old customs, wishing they might somehow come back again. There had been a time when poison was slipped into wine cups. During those dark times, the man had drunk first to take the poison on himself.
Caroline was touched by the simple romance of the gesture, though she knew there was no poison in that inn. She felt like a princess in a fairy tale, as if she were living someone else’s life. She accepted the wine and drank deeply to show her trust before handing the cup back to him.
He finished the glass, tossing his head back to take in the last of the wine. In that moment, it seemed to Caroline that they had truly entered another world. He had taken another oath with her there in that borrowed room, a silent one. That one gesture was a second oath to protect her for the rest of his life.
Anthony set the wineglass on the mantel next to her mother’s roses and took her hand. He led her to the bed, but he did not draw her down on it or take her beneath him. As they stood together next to the high mattress, he leaned over and kissed her once, very sweetly, careful not to touch her in any other way, save for his hand on hers. When he drew back, his brown eyes stared into her own, and she saw the fire banked there, waiting for her. She knew, as she had known the night before, as she had known since the night she met him, that she wanted to step into that fire and be consumed.
“Sit down on the bed, Caroline.”
Though she was rarely one to obey an order, she did as he said. It was as if she were under an enchantment, distant from this moment and this night, as though they were not truly happening to her. Then he stripped away his white cravat and tossed it on a chair. He drew off his fine coat of midnight blue and tossed it after his cravat. When she saw the dark hair on his chest beneath the open collar of his shirt, her breath caught in her throat, and she knew this night was real.
Anthony stripped down in front of her, one layer of clothing at a time. He did not douse the candles but stood where she could see him. Instead of closing her eyes or turning away, Caroline watched as he removed first his waistcoat, his shirt, and then his breeches, never taking her eyes from him. He was like a Greek statue she had seen in the books in her father’s library, but larger, more beautiful, more real.
She raised her head to meet his gaze and found him smiling. He quirked a brow at her so she laughed. “So, Countess. What do you think of your husband?”
Caroline drew her knees onto the bed, moving back into the center of the snowy linens and the down-filled coverlet. She knelt with one arm outstretched so he might take her hand. Her throat was dry, but she managed to find her voice. “You know you are beautiful, my lord. As I am sure you have been told before.”
Anthony stepped forward and took her hand in his. The heat of his palm was like a brand, and she felt his body through the thin silk of her nightgown. She took in the heady scent of him, the mix of spice and sweet together. Though she had never seen a naked man before, she did not turn away.
“What I have been told before does not matter. There is no one here between us.”
He joined her on the bed, his heavy weight pressing down into the feather mattress so that she rolled to him. She laughed again, and he caught her and kissed her. Caroline pushed away all thought of the days to come, all thought of her past, of her family, of her home, now left behind. She kept her mind on the here and now, leaning into him, her breasts pressing against his chest. Caroline reached behind him and drew him closer, her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair. She met his eyes before he could draw her down onto the bed.
“Then I say it, Anthony. You are beautiful, and I am a fortunate woman.”
Caroline saw her husband’s face soften as she spoke. There was tenderness in his eyes she had not seen before, warmth that had nothing to do with lust, nothing to do with the bargain they had struck. In the face of that tenderness, the world as she once knew it slipped away.
There was fire in his touch as he drew his open palm slowly over her back, down her waist, until his large hand cupped her bottom, pressing her tight against the hard length of him. His hands were hot as his grip tightened around her, bringing her close, drawing her deep into the flames of his desire. She could taste the passion on his lips as he kissed her. This time he held nothing back. Caroline thought he might devour her, the way paper was consumed and turned to ash. She welcomed it, reveling in the feel of his hard body against her softness. She pressed herself against him, her arms twined around his neck, her mouth open under his. And still, no matter how close she got, it was not enough.
Anthony pulled her down onto the bed. The cool sheets warmed beneath them as his hands moved over her body, stripping away her night rail. She shivered, the night air caressing her skin.
In the light of the candles, she watched his face as Anthony drank in the contours and hollows of her body, the rise of her breasts, the curve of her stomach, and the blond curls between her legs. Inch by precious inch, his eyes feasted on her, and then his hands followed the path his eyes had taken, his mouth not far behind.
Caroline cried out as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, drawing on her with lips and tongue and te
eth until she writhed under him, the heat between her legs growing with every passing moment, with every touch on her body. After he had feasted on both breasts, he raised his head and met her eyes, his smile wicked. His gaze slid down to the curve of her thighs. She wriggled beneath him, and he rolled a little away from her and shifted down the bed. She murmured in protest, thinking he meant to leave her, but then he parted her thighs so he might lie between them.
Caroline gasped when she felt his mouth close over her. He kissed her there as he had kissed her mouth, with the same care, taking pleasure in her even as he gave it. She lost her breath as his tongue tempted her. She thrashed, trying to escape him, but he held her fast and would not let her go.
Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could not see his face. She saw only his dark head between her thighs, and when she lay back against the bolster, she saw only the wooden canopy over the bed. She closed her eyes and reveled in the pleasure coursing through her, the race her body ran without her consent.
His tongue beckoned, and her body followed as over a cliff. A great tightening and then a wash of pleasure began to build like a flood behind a dam until it swamped her, making her cry out his name.
Caroline came back to herself as the ecstasy receded like an outgoing tide. Her mother had never mentioned a wife’s satisfaction when she told her what her duties would be on her wedding night.
Anthony rose to lie beside her. He held her, stroking her hair. Her breathing began to even out, and her heart began to slow its frantic pace.
He did not speak, nor did she. The gulf between them seemed wider for the pleasure he had given her. She did not understand how such pleasure could be possible between strangers who were often at daggers drawn. She did not know what to do next, but she felt something surely needed to be said.
“Thank you.”
He drew back and met her gaze. “There is no need for thanks between us. I give to you freely, and I will teach you to give to me.”
“So,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice she did not feel, “how will you teach me these things?”
As he smiled, she was struck once more by the contours of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.
“Slowly,” he said as he bent down to press his lips to hers.
Chapter 11
Caroline let go off all misgivings, all thoughts of the future, and allowed herself to enjoy her husband’s lips on hers. She would savor her wedding night, just as she savored the taste of champagne on Anthony’s lips. Her mouth opened under his, and his tongue found hers, tempting her, drawing her forward to lie against him. He relaxed against the bedclothes and let her drink her fill. Caroline pressed herself to him, forgetting he was supposed to be teaching her.
She took in his beauty in the candlelight, his strong thighs and tapered hips. His chest was hard under her hand, lightly dusted with dark hair. When his eyes met hers, she lost her breath, his desire was so clear. But he did not touch her.
Caroline ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. She reveled in his strength, the smooth planes and hard muscle, the satin of his nipples under her fingertips. Anthony’s breath came short when she touched him there, and she smiled, watching his eyes darken.
She bent down and laid her lips against his skin just over his left breast, where she could feel the beating of his heart. Still he did not move but watched her hungrily, until she raised her lips and took his nipple into her mouth.
His hand moved into her hair, and he groaned before drawing her up to meet his lips. His mouth opened over hers, and this time, he held nothing back. Anthony rolled across the bed so she was beneath him, and covered her mouth as if he would devour her. His lips and tongue ran over hers until she thought she might lose her breath completely. Caroline did not want to breathe. She would rather taste his tongue on hers.
Anthony drew back. When she moved to cover his mouth with hers as he had taught her, he only smiled. He kissed her lightly before trailing his lips along her throat, over her collarbone, and down between her breasts. She froze, holding her breath as his lips closed over one nipple. She moaned as he laved the peak with his tongue. He did not linger but soon feasted on the other, until she was writhing under him. As good as his mouth felt on her skin, she wanted more.
Only then did he raise himself over her, pressing between her legs until her thighs fell open, gates that would not hold against him. He kissed her deeply as his hand moved between them to caress the nubbin of flesh at the apex of her thighs.
Caroline gasped, but he did not linger long. As soon as he found her wet and ready, he met her eyes, all traces of his smile gone.
“I would have you now, Caroline, if you will let me.”
This was when he would take her. Her mother had instructed her to lie still and quiet in obedience. But this heat, the feeling of his body covering hers, was something her mother had not told her of. The warmth of his flesh and the melting heat between her thighs made her desperate for something she could not name. Caroline found she could not speak, so she drew him close to her and pressed her lips against his. She took strength from his kiss, as if he had given back to her the power of speech.
“I am yours,” she said, “if you will have me.”
***
Anthony thought he might lose control then and there with her soft voice in his ears, low and throaty like the caress of a more experienced woman. When Caroline met his eyes, he saw the unfettered depths of his lust mirrored back to him. For all her youth and innocence, in this, she was his equal.
He meant to tell her it would hurt at first, but he would take her slowly, that he would be gentle and as careful as he could be. But all such thoughts fled as he looked at her and she writhed beneath him.
He kissed her, taking her breath from her lips as he slid into her, finding his home in the cradle of her thighs.
Anthony felt her tense at the pain of his entry, but as he moved slowly and steadily over her, careful to keep his full weight from her, she relaxed, her eyes widening with wonder. He had thought to take his fill at last, to lose himself in her selfishly, since he had earned it. The deflowering of a virgin was not supposed to be easy, and he had done so with courtesy and care. Anthony knew he could possess her as he had wanted to since the moment he saw her. She would enjoy his touch, for he was a skilled lover, but she would not feel the pleasure again. As he looked down into the maple brown of her eyes, he found he wanted to give her that bliss a second time.
So he raised himself higher, still joined with her but withdrawing a little, so she whimpered at the loss. Her soft moan almost drove him over the edge. As it was, it was all he could do to hold onto his strength and keep his climax at bay. He raised her hips from the bed and angled his entry to give her the most pleasure.
Anthony moved over her, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, watching as her eyes lost their focus, looking inward toward the ecstasy he promised her as he moved against her.
He found the spot he sought, for he heard her sharp intake of breath. Anthony smiled, triumphant, as she began to thrash under him, as if she would escape the pleasure he was giving her. He held her under him and kept up the steady motion of his hips so she was trapped beneath him, able only to let the pleasure come.
She cried out, calling his name. He fell against her and gave himself over to sensation, driving into her as a man possessed. When his pleasure took him, it was the most intense of his life. Anthony wondered at that, when he could think again. How could a girl from deep in the country, a girl of family and breeding, with no experience and nothing but her beauty to recommend her, how could such a girl give him the most intense orgasm of his life? He wondered if he had begun to lose his reason, if the wedding vows had worked some magic on him, if her soft sweetness, her acquiescence to all his demands had seduced him as much as he had seduced her. But he soon let these thoughts go, for Caroline was warm against him, her soft breasts and thighs cushioning him, her long golden hair spread out upon hi
s pillow, just as he had imagined it would be.
Anthony wondered if he had hurt her at the last, when he lost control of himself, but as he raised his eyes to look at her, he found her smiling.
“Husband,” Caroline said, her voice throaty from the pleasure he had given her. “When can we do that again?”
Anthony laughed, drawing her close against him, rolling onto his side so he was no longer crushing her. She laughed with him from sheer joy, for she did not understand that even the strongest of men needed time between bouts of love. That this was yet another thing he would teach her filled him with a sense of peace he had rarely, if ever, felt. In that moment, the world as he had always known it fell away. There was only this bed, an island in an uncharted sea, and only this woman, soft beside him.
Gone was the wild woman who had defied him at every turn since he had met her, the woman who had leaped over hedges on horseback to escape him. He had tamed her, and the taming was as sweet as he might have wished for.
In the relaxation of the moment, a niggling sense of disappointment filled his breast to mingle with his bliss. He thought of the woman he had seen besting all comers on the archery range, the woman who had thrown a knife at him not once, but twice. That woman was strong enough to bear fine sons. He hoped that strength still lived in her, though her wedding vows seemed to have made her as docile and warm in bed as he might have wished.
Her breath was warm on his skin where she lay against his chest. Caroline slept, safe and at peace. Anthony knew that, whatever came, he would do what he could to protect this woman for the rest of his life. But he found he would miss the woman he had met in her father’s house. He wondered where that woman had gone, and when, if ever, she might come back again.
How to Tame a Willful Wife Page 7