by Jane Goodger
They stepped inside to find a line of beaming servants waiting. Her mother’s insistence that they marry on Christmas Eve did not take into account that the servants would have to work themselves weary to accommodate the newly wedded couple. Elizabeth’s heart swelled at the sight of so many familiar faces, all standing there with bright smiles, probably thinking their little one had just come from a fairy-tale wedding.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Rushton, their butler said, bowing deeply. Elizabeth was quite certain Rushton had never in his life bowed before anyone.
“Merry Christmas everyone,” Elizabeth said, her eyes shining with happy tears. It was so good to be here, despite the reason why. When her eyes came to rest on Mrs. Crowley, she was nearly overcome. It had been more than a year since she’d seen her, the only woman she’d known who gave her hugs when she’d needed them most. She could not recall more than a handful of times her mother had touched her kindly, never mind give her the body-jarring embraces Mrs. Crowley had. She’d known, even as a little girl, that the housekeeper had felt sorry for her. Without thinking, she ran into her arms and was slightly shocked that she was now taller than her.
“It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Crowley,” she said, laughing because she’d starting crying.
Mrs. Crowley smiled up at her, her own eyes shining brightly. “Look at you. A duchess. I don’t expect too many duchesses go around hugging their housekeepers,” she said, clearly glad that this one did.
“I may hug anyone I wish now,” Elizabeth said imperiously, making Mrs. Crowley laugh. She stepped back and looked at the other servants fondly. “As soon as His Grace and I have eaten, you are all dismissed to enjoy your holiday.”
“Oh, no, Miss,” Mrs. Crowley said, rushing forward. “I mean, Your Grace. Your mother gave strict orders that we work through the holiday, given the special circumstances.” She darted a quick look to the duke, her cheeks turning ruddy.
“I believe my wife is in charge here now,” he said. “Enjoy your Christmas day. I’m quite certain we can fend for ourselves without too much trouble. I’ll sound an alarm should we burn the house down.”
Every other person in the room, including Elizabeth, stared at the duke open-mouthed, not quite believing what they were hearing. Because Rosebrier was a seasonal home, the servants did not live there, but in the nearby town. If they gave them the day off, they would be left completely alone, and Elizabeth wondered if a duke could manage such a thing. He didn’t even have his own valet, as he’d been sharing Lord Hollings’s. Elizabeth had inwardly prepared for a battle, already forming her arguments that no one should have to work on the Lord’s birthday, even for a duke. And duchess.
Finally, the small group smiled, delighted that they would have their Christmas, after all, which only made Elizabeth angrier at her mother for being so completely thoughtless. She returned to the duke’s side because he looked so out of place standing alone by the door, and really, it was her duty to make him feel comfortable in her home. Then, the strangest thing happened. As if pulled by a puppeteer’s string, each servant looked upward, their smiles rather mischievous. Elizabeth looked up, a feeling of foreboding drifting over her like a cool mist. Mistletoe.
Perhaps the duke…
“I believe they are expecting a kiss,” he said, close to her ear. Someone in the room tittered expectantly. “I believe I am expecting a kiss as well.”
Elizabeth darted a look at him, then pressed her lips together, slightly irritated that once again duty was calling. Even something as small as a dutiful mistletoe kiss was annoying. The duke must have seen something in her expression, for his eyes, which had been filled with good humor, immediately hardened.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, then pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Ridiculously, Elizabeth was disappointed.
For that kiss was quite unlike the ones she remembered from Newport. It was businesslike, dutiful, perhaps. The servants clapped as if they’d just witnessed something marvelous, as Elizabeth stood there embarrassed and slightly angry—with herself and with the duke.
“I simply don’t like being told what to do,” she said in way of an apology, though her tone was far from apologetic.
“And yet you always do as you’re told, don’t you,” he said softly.
She lifted her chin. “Not always.”
He smiled down at her and something like relief crossed his features. She would never, ever understand the man standing next to her, she decided.
“We’ve prepared a light supper in the dining hall,” Mrs.
Crowley said. “Once you’re all settled in, we’ll serve you right up. Are you sure you won’t be needing us tonight or tomorrow? I could—”
“No. As His Grace said, we’ll be fine. You know I can find my way about the kitchen.” Mrs. Crowley and the cook laughed, likely remembering as she did all the times she sneaked into the kitchen to raid the pantry. They let her, too, for they knew how very strict her mother was about what she was allowed to eat.
“Well, then, Merry Christmas to you both.” She looked uncertainly at Elizabeth. “Will you be needing anything else from me? Do you have any questions? I mean about the house, of course.”
Elizabeth knew that dear Mrs. Crowley was asking as kindly as possible if she had any questions about her wedding night.
“No. I’m fine,” she said, not daring to look at the duke for fear he’d see her lie.
Chapter 16
“Do what he wants. Do what he wants. Do what he wants.” She said the words until they had no meaning as she paced in her bedchamber waiting for his knock. He would knock and she would run to the bed and pull up the covers and call him in. And then, and then…
Do what he wants.
Elizabeth wasn’t completely naive. But she supposed she was about as naive as any nineteen-year-old of her acquaintance. Certainly the fundamentals of what was about to happen were obvious, she supposed. Suddenly the vision of dogs rutting came to her and she squeezed her eyes shut. It was not like that.
Was it?
No. Of course not. She must remember those wonderful kisses on their picnic, the way they made her feel, well, wonderful. That marvelous liquid heat that surged through her, which had become such a distant memory she wasn’t certain it was real.
She gnawed on her thumb, then jerked her hand down. Really, it couldn’t be that difficult. After all, every human since the beginning of time had managed to do it, and apparently do it well, given all the children running about. She took a deep breath and let it out. Then nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a noise next door in his room. The duke. Like a flash, she was in her bed, her bedcovers pulled up to her chin, her body so tense it began to ache. And then…nothing. Slowly she began to relax, but her eyes were still pinned to the adjoining door where he could step through at any moment.
In a small bout of rebellion, Elizabeth had not donned the nightgown her mother had purchased for her, the lacey, silky thing that clung far too tightly to her and wasn’t at all warm. She’d tried it on, saw her reflection in the mirror, and noticed her nipples, erect from the cold, were clearly visible through the clingy fabric. That would never do. So, stepping firmly to her wardrobe, she pulled out her voluminous winter gown, all soft and warm and comforting, and hugged herself when it was on.
She could not know that she was a vision in either gown, that a man who had not been with a woman in months would take one look at her, with her dark, wavy hair flowing down her back, her small breasts pushing against the thin white fabric, and want to fall to his knees in gratitude. All her life, Elizabeth was made unaware of her beauty by a mother who was convinced vanity was one of the greatest sins. So when Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror, she saw only a frightened girl with her hair down, not the desirable woman that she truly was.
Now, waiting in bed, she felt about ten years old waiting for a whipping from her mother. She dreaded it, but simply wanted it over.
“Do want he wants,” she whispered, feelin
g her panic grow. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she said softly, but harshly. “Come in and get on with it.”
“Elizabeth.” He called out to her and for a crazy minute she thought he might have heard her. “Would you come here, please.”
“Do want he wants. Do what he wants.” She walked to the adjoining door and opened it and gasped. For there, sitting on his bed waiting for her, was her half-naked husband looking far more beautiful than any man had a right to, like a painting by Michelangelo. And he was smiling.
Rand felt for the girl. He truly did. He could still remember his first time, the anticipation, the utter embarrassment, the ultimate pleasure. Only for Elizabeth, he was quite certain she felt no anticipation. This wasn’t what he had planned—and planned and planned—in his head. He’d pictured coming into her room and making love, making her come, making her scream with pleasure. But he’d realized somewhere between the wedding and this moment that he was going to have to tread a bit more carefully with her. He was nervous as hell that he’d scare her or ruin this for her—or him. What did he know about bedding a virgin? He’d heard they cried, that there was blood. God, blood? How much and just how difficult was it to get to where he wanted to go? He’d reminded himself that he’d never heard of anyone bleeding to death over such a wound, but the whole idea that he’d have to hurt her was damned disconcerting. And if he was nervous about the whole thing, she was likely in a panic.
“Come here,” he said, patting the bed beside him. She hesitated, then steeled herself and walked to his bed, her eyes forcibly anywhere but below his chin. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he saw no purpose in drawing things out and undressing awkwardly in the middle of things. Besides, he always slept in the nude except for the coldest of nights. The bed dipped slightly when she perched on the very edge of the bed. He likely could have laid his pinky finger on her and she would have fallen to the floor.
“What did your mother say about tonight?” he asked. Her cheeks heated and she looked down to her lap.
“She said to do what you want.”
He chuckled and she darted a look at him, irritated that he laughed, no doubt. “I don’t think that likely went over well with you.” She shook her head, all meek, waiting for his commands. “What do you want?” he asked.
She looked at him with surprise. “To run from the room?”
He full out laughed then, and she actually smiled. “That is not an option. Not yet.” She immediately frowned and he realized if he wanted to do this right, he was going to have to be very careful. “I’m going to hand you the reins.”
“I beg pardon?”
“You are in charge of this.”
She looked at him as if he’d sprung a second head. “You are not a virgin,” she said, but there was a question there.
He made a strange sound in his throat.
“Do not laugh at me.”
“I’m not,” he said rather solemnly. “Elizabeth, shall I tell you what I want? Shall I? I fear I would frighten you and you would indeed run from this room.” He could not tell her he wanted to rip the gown from her body and bury himself in her heat. He could not say he wanted to kiss her nipples until they were wet and hard from his attention. He could not say he wanted to touch her between her legs, to feel if she was wet, to caress her there until her back arched, until she cried out. He could not tell her he wanted to taste her, dip his tongue inside, make her writhe beneath him. He could not tell her his arousal was so painful that he needed to put himself into her, to thrust again and again until he found release.
“Touch me,” he said. He thought she might actually dart from the room, but she surprised him when her eyes drifted to his chest and she lifted her hand to touch him. He closed his eyes when he felt her hand on his chest, tentative and warm. He tried not to react, but God above, he was only a man and she was so incredibly desirable. The blankets tented and he prayed she wouldn’t notice. Some day she would see that and smile. But not this time, not now.
“It’s soft,” she said, moving her hand, feeling his chest hair. He opened his eyes and found she was staring at her hand touching his chest.
“What do you want, Elizabeth?” She looked up at him and he saw no fear.
“I…” She looked down at her hand again. “I wouldn’t mind kissing. I suppose.”
He smiled. “Then kiss me.”
She giggled, delighted. “You are serious, aren’t you?
You actually mean for me to lead the way. To take the reins, as you said.”
“Yes.” For some reason, that made her eyes well up.
“What have I said to make you cry?”
“You are so kind, and I…I am not.” She shook her head and looked away.
“I can be quite mean. If that’s what you want,” he said, completely confused and wondering if he were making a muck of things. She wasn’t supposed to cry until after.
She let out a watery laugh. “That is not at all what I want.” Then she leaned toward him and kissed him, her hands going to either side of his face, her soft breasts pressing against his forearm. It was a soft kiss, full of question and innocence, and it made his heart ache in a queer way he’d never before felt. He tasted her, and deepened the kiss, letting out a groan and bringing his hands up to pull her closer. She was soft and lush and so very feminine. Without her corset, she had a real woman’s waist that curved gently to her hips, curves so exaggerated by her underclothes he decided he would ban her from wearing them. He could not wait to see what she truly looked like, how her breasts arched, how her waist dipped, how her thighs curved to her firm behind.
She let out a sound, a sigh of pleasure, and it was all he could do not to pull her virginal gown over her head and see what his wife looked like beneath the lace and cotton that flowed around her. Pulling back, he smiled, noting her lips, red and lush from their kisses, her eyes slightly dazed. He could see not even a hint of fear in them.
“What is next?” he asked.
“I truly don’t know,” she said, grinning. “Are you fully naked under the covers?” Her eyes darted quickly to the place where his skin ended and the blankets began.
“Would you like to find out?”
“No,” she said quickly. Then she tilted her head a bit. “Well, perhaps just a quick peek.”
And that’s exactly what she did. She lifted the blanket, gave a look, squeaked a bit, then pulled them up even higher. “You are naked. Fully naked,” she said, sounding more delighted than horrified.
“It’s much nicer to do what we need to do without clothing,” he said, watching as she fingered her cotton gown. “May I take off your gown?” he asked, holding his breath.
“You mean all the way?”
“That would be helpful.”
“Can I get under the covers first? It’s cold.”
It wasn’t cold at all, but he nodded, perfectly happy with how things were proceeding. She climbed over him, not caring a wit that she nearly kneed some very vital parts, and pulled the covers high before squiggling out of her gown. She held it up for him to see like a prize.
“Very well done,” he said, turning and resting his head on one hand. She lay there with the covers pulled right up to her chin, looking at him uncertainly.
Elizabeth simply could not believe she was naked in bed with a man. With her husband, she amended. It was, by far, the strangest experience of her life. Even though she knew thousands of women had done this before her, to her it was a unique and utterly disconcerting experience. She had never seen a man’s naked chest in the flesh until that evening. She looked to him expectantly, but he was staring at her as if waiting for her to do something. She decided then and there to hand the reins back to him. After all, she was certain he had done this at least one other time and this was her first time.
“I do believe it’s time to let you take the lead,” she said.
He nodded, his eyes searching. “I’m going to touch you and kiss you in places you never imagined,” he said, his voice low. “I
want you to close your eyes, love, and let me. I…” He let out a breath. “I’m no expert, but I’ll try to please you. I will try.”
“Should we lower the light?” she asked, looking toward the gaslight near the bed.
“No. I want to see you. But for now, close your eyes.”
He let out a shaking breath and she realized for the first time that perhaps he was nearly as nervous about all this as she. She closed her eyes, her body tense as she waited for him to proceed.
Then he kissed her cheeks, a soft buss that was so comforting, so loving, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. He smiled back and kissed her jaw, another gentle kiss and she let out a sigh. And then, oh then he put his mouth near her ear and it was as if a jolt of electricity shot down her body to between her legs. Now, that was quite unexpected.
He said nothing, he barely touched her but with his mouth, on her neck, her shoulder, her clavicle. He moved back to her mouth, letting out a deep sound that made her smile. So far, this wedding night stuff was quite wonderful, she decided. He laid a hand beneath the blanket and she stiffened for an instant before deciding she liked that, as well. Oh, she could kiss him forever, she decided. He was quite good at these long, drugging kisses that made her want to squirm against him, that made her wish he would move his hand and touch her everywhere and everywhere and everywhere.
And then he did, his thumb brushing against one nipple, an exquisite sensation she’d never imagined. She grew hard beneath his caresses and the feeling intensified, shot heat between her legs. He kissed her neck, her chest, the mound of her breast above the blankets, and, finally, he pushed away the blanket and laid his mouth on the nipple he’d been torturing with his hand and she arched against him, letting out a cry. He didn’t stop, simply moved to her other breast, suckling her. “Please,” she said, not knowing what she was asking for. But the pressure, the exquisite pressure building between her legs, making her move her hips, making her want something she’d never guessed at before.