As the footman let the steps down, he kissed her again. If he could not kiss his bride on their wedding day, what hope was left for him?”
He was not so far gone he failed to check for anyone unusual loitering in the street. Only then did he hand her out of the carriage. But he did not go into the house immediately. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her. “That is yours.”
The footman closed the door, revealing the crest freshly painted on the shiny black panel.
“Oh!”
He loved she was lost for words. “But we shall leave it to another day to travel. Today we will enjoy our wedding breakfast, and then leave the company to its own devices.”
“Oh.”
That sounded more apprehensive than he liked. He would not stop, though. Last night he had longed to go to her, but she was not as grief-stricken or she had it under control. If he had gone to her, he would have anticipated the wedding. He had not waited this long to break his word to himself now. He would give her a proper wedding night. Wedding afternoon, if he could contrive it.
Taking her hand, he led her indoors and upstairs to the drawing room, where they were to receive the felicitations of their friends and family.
* * * *
Viola blinked, exhaustion sweeping over her. Her early morning combined with more wine than she was used to had spread weariness through her. But as the wedding breakfast wound on and on, she lost track of time, and almost place. She could be anywhere, and the people gathered for any other meeting.
The Emperors were a rowdy group, taken as a whole. Lord Ripley and his wife had sent their apologies. Connie was pregnant and sickly, so Alex had taken her into the country. She had met Alexander only a few times and did not know him as well as some of the others. Maximilian and his wife were there, her hair almost as dark as Viola’s own. Lord Augustus Vernon, Julius’s brother, was still abroad. He had gone on the Grand Tour and now only came back to England for short periods. He’d been a scholarly boy, with the face of an angel, but she had not seen him for some years. Perhaps he had changed in the intervening period. She certainly had.
The ladies found plenty to discuss, their arguments as rational as the men’s. They put Viola’s meager knowledge of certain topics to shame. She would have to read more of the Greek poets if she wanted to keep up with them. In translation, although Livia could quote the original, and did, once or twice.
For once Viola was glad of the hours she’d spent with Drusilla, ploughing through the books the governess had made them study.
And all the time Marcus sat next to her, accepting toasts, ensuring she had enough to eat, and watching her. Every time she looked at him, he was looking back at her. Had he taken his attention from her once?
He leaned over to murmur to her, ignoring the, “Oho! Love talk!” that came from several directions.
“When my mother leads the way to the drawing room, go upstairs instead. Wait for me. I will not be long.”
She opened her eyes wider. “Why?”
“It’s either that or a public bedding. I heard my brothers plotting.”
So this was it. A public bedding would be humiliating. They’d put the bride and groom to bed, so they could make a sham of their first joining. These days they did not actually do the deed, but a great deal of raucous jesting would go on.
Relief and apprehension mixed in her while she considered what could have been—and what would be.
Did he mean his room or hers? How long would he be? Should she send for her maid?
When Lady Strenshall got to her feet and indicated the ladies should leave, all the gentlemen stood. Marcus kissed Viola’s hand and glanced at her meaningfully. She nodded, lingered until nearly all the ladies had left, and then glided out in their wake. Instead of following them to the drawing room, she slipped up the stairs and into her room.
She was alone. Her maid was not there, but the room was in perfect order. She drifted across to the window. A gardener was just visible in the distance, making himself busy among the bushes at the end of the garden. A back door next to him led to the mews at the back of the house. For two pins she’d run down there and find a horse to take her away from all this.
Viola was terrified. She had lain with him before, but not as his wife. It was not so much the prospect of that, but the ordeal she had just gone through. She hated being the center of attention. The bawdy jokes from some quarters had worried her. Where had this streak of cowardice come from? She stamped her foot, annoyed with herself. She had faced so much so far. Surely this would be easy?
Would she prove a disappointment to him?
Oh, how weak of her! He would have to take her as he found her.
She would prepare. Going to the dressing table set before one of the two windows, she stepped on the dais and reached behind her neck to unfasten the pearl necklace.
“No, leave it on. I have an idea.”
“Goodness!” Too intent on her thoughts, she had not heard him come in. But here he was in his wedding finery, walking across the room to her. Viola froze, her hands still on the clasp.
He closed his fingers over hers and guided her hands away, circling her waist and lacing their fingers together. He bent his head to kiss the bare skin at the base of her throat. His mouth lingered there, warm and firm. He lifted his head. “You looked utterly lovely today,” he said. Over the top of her head, he gazed at their reflection in the mirror. “I will never forget it. And you remembered the yellow.”
“It’s not the same shade as the other gown, but it’s much better quality.”
“It looks the same to me.”
Was he teasing? Indignantly she began to outline why this gown was superior to the other, but he stopped her by the simple expedient of kissing her throat again. “They are both lovely because you are in them,” he said.
That compliment stopped her completely. “I’m not a society beauty.”
“Yes, you are. Everyone will say so. You are the only woman I could see today.” He lifted his head.
Once she saw his eyes, she could not doubt his sincerity. He burned for her.
“I could take you to bed and deflower you with all decorum and modesty, or I could show you another way.”
She swallowed. “What?”
“I want this marriage to be of equals, in the bedroom as everywhere else. I have always wanted a partner, just like my parents.”
He slid his hands up to the top of her bodice, shaping her curves as he went. “Lovely though this gown is, I want it off.” He unfastened the first hook. Her gown unhooked on both sides, and slowly he undid each one, her gown loosening as he went.
She watched their reflections in the mirror. After every hook he glanced up and met her gaze, as if reassuring her.
The gown fell undone. Stepping back, off the dais the dressing table stood on, he drew the gorgeous yellow silk off her and tossed it over a nearby chair. It sighed its surrender, as did she.
He unfastened her stomacher next, pulling the tapes that fastened it around her body. Gently, he drew the panel of white bows off her, and it joined the gown. Then he removed his heavy blue coat. It thumped on top of the silk. His casual discarding of the garments betrayed his excitement as much as the heat in his eyes. Marcus was an orderly man, taking care with his garments. Now he tossed them aside as if they were of no value to him.
Her petticoat came next. Once he’d loosened the drawstring, it slid down the silk under-petticoat to land in a flowing river of silk around her. He bent. “Lift your feet, sweetheart.”
She did so. He supported her ankles and removed the petticoat, not even looking as he shoved it aside. “I have missed you,” he said, standing. He made himself busy with her under-petticoat and hooped skirt.
“I thought of calling my maid.”
“I’m glad you did not. This is delicious torture.” Quickly he undid the gleaming buttons fastening his waistcoat from throat to thigh. His neckcloth and
stock followed.
Torture it was indeed. With every garment, part of her was stripped away. “You know how to deal with women’s garments,” she said, keeping her voice low to stop it trembling.
“Watch,” he said. “They’re like the outer petals of a flower. All I’m doing is revealing the true beauty beneath.”
He undid the laces on her stays, the swish of the tapes through the eyelets the only sound in the room. She held her breath. He pulled it away and she was left in her shift, stockings, and shoes. And the jewelry. Bending once more, he undid the buckles and helped her to step out of her shoes. When he unknotted her garters, his fingers brushed her thigh. Viola gasped.
“Soft,” he murmured, his voice a whisper above a breath.
But he did not venture further. Instead, he straightened, bringing her final garment with him, pulling it up over her head.
She was naked but for her stockings and jewelry. She could see down to her hips in the mirror.
“Take a step back.”
That brought her to the edge of the dais, where her maid would stand to do her hair. She saw all of her torso now, from the top of her head down to her thighs and everything in between. Her nipples were furled, the tips rosy and prominent.
He gazed at her without touching. “Stay there.” His voice was tight. He finished undressing, tossing everything aside hurriedly, and then stood behind her and circled her waist. The step brought her up to his brows, so he was only just taller than she was in this position. “Another time I’ll take you here,” he said. He kissed her throat, while bringing up his hands to cup her breasts, teasing them into high, blatant prominence. When he brushed his thumbs across her sensitive nipples she caught her breath. Her head went back against his shoulder and she closed her eyes.
“No, Viola. Watch.” His voice gained a stern tone of command that sent shivers through her. When he pulled her back against the heat of his body, she did as he told her.
They were pressed together, his bigger body surrounding hers. His hands cupped her breasts, caressing them, tugging gently at her nipples. “That looks so good. It feels even better,” he murmured against her throat. The heat of his breath feathered across her skin.
Watching them in the mirror added a new dimension to an experience she had expected to be embarrassing, but which had proved nothing of the kind. The sensations pouring through her body increased when he caressed her. He slid his big male hands over her skin and into the cluster of curls at the top of her legs. Watching what he was doing made her deeply conscious of their intimacy, and when he pushed one finger through her crease, she whimpered in reaction.
“You are wonderfully sensitive,” he said. “Trust me now. Just watch.”
He had not even kissed her mouth. But here they were, naked, just a string of pearls between them. He kissed down her spine and moved his finger deeper, touching that part of her he would enter before too long.
Here, time slowed down. He kept his movements deliberate, taking his time, but he murmured to her, praising her. “You are so wet, sweetheart. That will ease my way and make it better for you. Do you remember that time at the inn? When I did this?” He tweaked the hard knot of flesh at the front of her crease.
She saw it in the mirror, a small pink pearl nestled between her legs. Opening her delicately, he continued to caress her, sliding his fingers in her wetness. When he stood, he brought one hand back up to stroke her left breast as he worked her. His cock pressed against her back, hot and fleshy, the head leaving a spot of dampness when he shifted his position.
He watched his movements as she did, the way he stroked and aroused, each touch bringing her closer to the peak she had experienced once before. Sharp edges of sensation ran along every part of her body, forming her, defining her.
“That’s it. Enjoy. Don’t think of anything but this. But us.”
His voice thrummed along her veins, stirring her senses. The sound of what he was doing between her legs came to her, illicit and infinitely arousing. Soft and wet and altogether wicked.
When he slid his fingers from that place, she murmured in protest, but he put his hands on her waist and urged her to turn towards him. When his eyes met hers, he smiled. “That’s better.”
Bending, he lifted her, one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he came after her, inserting his knees between hers, opening her up.
She put her hands on his shoulders, his muscles tensing under her touch. He was magnificent, powerful, his hair tightly drawn back, leaving his features in sharp relief. “Lift your knees, my darling.”
She did so, hugging his narrow hips between her thighs. Watching her eyes all the time, he took his cock in his hand and guided it to her. It slid down her crease as easily as his fingers had a moment earlier, until he reached her opening. He pushed.
Shards of pain shot through her, and an unbearable tension, as if he were probing a part of her that fought back. Her back arched, and her face contorted.
“Keep looking at me,” he commanded, his voice harsher now.
She obeyed him. His eyes were dark with passion, but reassuring. This would be over in a moment, and she knew it would never hurt this much again. He pushed again. More pain.
“No.” Closing his eyes, he climbed off her and rolled on his back by her side. “That’s too much.”
“Are we not to do this, then?” Bewildered, she turned her head and gazed at him.
He cupped her face, and despite the pain of a moment ago, she nuzzled into his palm. “Not like that, sweetheart. I can’t hurt you.” Drawing closer to her, he planted a kiss on her lips, sweetly soothing.
Was she to retain her virginity? How were they to get past this without a little pain? “It didn’t hurt too much, truly.”
“Yes, it did.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t lie to me, Viola. Never do that.” He sighed, his breath warm on her cheek. “Some women find more difficulty than others.”
“How do you know?” she demanded indignantly.
He smiled. “Gossip at White’s.”
She neatly fell into his trap. “They gossip at a men’s club?”
Leaning back, he hooted with laughter. “Where else? Although that kind of gossip is more likely at the House of Lords.” Still grinning, he turned back to her. “Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn’t resist. I just know, all right? Take it from me. I have never deflowered a virgin before, but I did do a little reading.”
Her eyes rounded. “There are books?”
“Pamphlets and books, yes.”
He studied the subject before he tried it. The knowledge melted her heart. “Won’t you come back?”
“I have a better idea,” he said. “You come here. Come, sit.”
He stayed on his back. She stared at him, not knowing what he meant. “I am here.”
“Have you ever ridden a horse astride?”
Heat rushed to her skin when she finally understood.
He grazed her face gently with the knuckle of his first finger. “Your skin is so beautifully soft. Sit astride me. You can take me at your pace and the angle that is best for you.”
Yes. But he would see everything—everything she had. The prospect of such intimacy cowed her, made her think. But this was Marcus, lying next to her stark naked and aroused. He would do it. So could she.
Holding her bottom lip between her teeth, Viola rose and mounted him. That was what she would have called it. She’d ridden astride as a child, before learning to do it side-saddle. These days she could do anything side-saddle she could do astride. Except this.
She pressed against him, her…private parts against his stomach. When he tensed, he nudged the knot of flesh. Daring, she touched it. “Is there a name for this?”
“Clitoris,” he said immediately, and touched her hand where she touched herself. His eyes burned. “You look beautiful doing that. Do you remember what I did for you at the inn?”
He touched it, sent pleasure rocketing through her. “Yes.”
“Let me do it again. Move your hand. Not only will it give you pleasure, it will make you wetter. You can take me easier then.”
When she slid her hand out from her clitoris, he took over. He had a sure touch, confident as hers was tentative.
“Put me inside you, Viola.”
“Yes.” She licked her lips before rising up on her knees. That brought her opening close to his member. His cock. She had to support it with her hand, so with him touching her, their hands nudged each other, their touches deeply intimate.
He felt hard, hot, but essentially human, the skin delicate, especially over the head. His cock was slick, the liquid clear. She moved over it, feeling the rounded head nudge her. When she pressed, the pressure began again. She leaned back a little, and the pressure eased.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Keep going.”
She pushed a bit more and found she could take more. His sharp “Oh!” told her she had worked him farther inside.
He moved his hand. He was watching. “I’ll keep still. You do it,” he said in a tight voice.
She pushed in farther and waited until the stretching had ameliorated somewhat. Then a little more. She took him a tiny bit at a time. Stopping to rest, she smiled down at him, trying to show him she wanted it. “I’m not boring you?”
His laugh shook his whole body, including the part inside her. She must have gained an inch from that alone. Still laughing, she bore down more, and more. Until suddenly he was fully embedded inside her.
The ball sack was under her, touching a part of her she had not realized was so sensitive. She felt every wiry hair as it brushed against her skin. “I’m full.”
“So you are. Full of me.” Reaching forward, he grasped her hips and moved her a little.
She liked that, liked it a lot. A new experience, but not exactly unexpected. It was just knowing about it, seeing the animals in the fields and occasionally a villager taking his pleasure with his woman out of doors. Seeing that and knowing it were so different she had no words to properly describe it. Only part words. Intimate, certainly. Strange, yes, that too.
Dilemma in Yellow Silk (Emperors of London) Page 17