by Emma Wildes
“Everything with Andrew is a surprise. Speaking of which, I had better get going or I will be scolded for being late.” Leaning forward to kiss her daughter’s damp face, she ran her fingers lightly through the silken tangled locks of her hair and felt an overwhelming love for this child she and her husband had created. “We will be back mid-afternoon or so. Please see that she’s already taken her nap so we can take her to the park, please.”
“Of course, my lady.” Brown-haired, demure, plain dressed in a dove gray gown, the governess inclined her head. “She’ll enjoy that, I’m sure. Tell me, are Lord Andrew and his new wife going to reside here at Wenton?”
“When they are in London, I would think so. This place is enormous and Andrew has always had apartments here. Goodness, look at the time.” Leaving the nursery, Helena hurried down the hall, pausing before one of the gilt mirrors to check her hair. Frowning, she wondered abstractly if Miss Davidson, who was lovely in a reserved, unassuming manner herself, had caught Andrew’s eye. It didn’t sound much like her brother-in-law to become involved with someone like his niece’s nanny—a more likely scenario, she decided, tucking a wayward curl into place, was London’s most dashing rake as a target for the fantasies of any lonely young woman who came into his sphere. At twenty-five, penniless, and by her own admission alone in this world, Lily Davidson wouldn’t be human if she didn’t dream of some handsome prince sweeping her away from a life in which she tended other people’s children and lived in houses she would never be invited to socially.
Well, Miss Davidson needed to pine for a different gentleman to rescue her from her drab fate for it was too late for this particular prince. Today he would become a married man.
****
She’d worn pale blue, the gown chosen hurriedly due to the mitigating circumstances of swift engagement and hasty wedding. Christa should have felt cheated by the whole process, but she actually was amazed at how much of a relief it was to realize that for the first time in her life, she was not under her father’s thumb.
No, perhaps not, but now her future was in the hands of a man she barely knew.
Not just her future, but her body as well. They were legally married and it was her duty to pleasure him at his will.
The carriage rocked a little as they rounded a corner. Glancing up, she saw that Andrew watched her, his mouth slightly curved. “Am I amusing in some way?” she asked defensively, finding the open laughter in his blue eyes disconcerting.
“It is so easy to tell what you are thinking,” he responded with a small chuckle. “Especially when you blush so charmingly. Of course, I hear brides are supposed to blush, so perhaps you are simply following tradition.”
Naturally, her cheeks heated further, which in was mortifying.
“I suppose it is normal to feel trepidation over something that one has no experience with.” She added tartly, “Though I suppose you have experience enough for the both of us.”
“Perhaps.” Unfazed by her outspokenness, he simply lifted a brow. “Do tell me, for I am perishing to know, what did your mother have to say about the upcoming night? I am learning an astonishing amount in a short time about astrological signs and their influence on us mortals. Tell me, is being a Cancer likely to make you a passionate bed partner?”
He had every right to tease her on the subject, since he’d sat next to her mother during the luncheon following the ceremony. It had probably tested his ability to be polite to listen at length to his new mother-in-law’s enthusiastic lecture on the subject. Christa muttered, “Let’s simply say her advice left me a little in doubt as to why men and women desire to share a bed in the first place. It all sounds quite distasteful.”
“Does it?” His blue gaze grew intense, holding hers. Her new husband said softly, “I shall see what I can do to change your mind about that.”
An odd sensation shot through the pit of her stomach at simply the sound of his voice, for there was an underlying sensual promise that even in her innocence she could not miss. A little breathless suddenly, Christa changed the subject as best she could, asking, “Am I allowed to inquire where we are going?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. Sitting a cross from her, large, well-dressed in his wedding finery, and imposingly male, Andrew said succinctly, “I am not your father. To me you don’t in the least resemble a child, and I won’t treat you like one. In fact, quite the opposite, I promise. You are allowed to ask me anything you wish, my dear. As for our destination, I thought our first few days together would be more private if we spent them in the country. I have a small estate just north of here where I breed horses.”
“I love the country,” Christa admitted.
“Do you?” His smile was warm, inviting and potent. He shifted a little on the moving seat, his long booted legs outstretched. “What else do you like, Lady Christa? It seems to me, considering our situation, we should get to know one another.”
“I suppose you are right.” Looking at him from under her lashes, Christa gave her new husband a glimmer of a smile. “I like dogs, children, and sweets.”
“In that order?” His mouth twitched a little.
Not able to help it, she burst out laughing. “I don’t know. How about you? You must be fair and tell me what you like.”
“I like horses,” he said smoothly, “and beautiful enchanting young ladies in blue, with golden hair and tempestuous personalities ruled by the stars above.”
Not having a clue as to how to respond, Christa merely looked at her new husband, that treacherous excitement spiraling deep again.
He added with a wink, “And no, not in that order.”
****
Contemplating his glass of brandy, Andrew resisted the urge to glance again at the clock. Giving his bride time to ready herself was the gentlemanly thing to do, though he was a little mystified at just what the proper amount of time might be. In his opinion, letting him remove her clothing was ample preparation for the act of sex, and that would take him no time at all. If there was one skill he’d perfected in the past decade or so, it was unfastening female attire in record time.
In fact, maybe she needed his help.
Patience was not his best attribute and he got restlessly to his feet, seeing it had been at least twenty minutes since Christa had gone upstairs. If her nervousness during dinner was any indication of her trepidation over their forthcoming lovemaking, it was probably prudent to go ahead and go on up, rather than let her worry more over it.
The truth was, for someone trapped into an arrangement he had never wanted, he was damned anxious to fuck her.
Lust was a fairly straightforward emotion, one he was well-used to, but he really didn’t care to analyze the sense of possessive need he felt as he climbed the stairs. Perhaps it was because he’d never been married before, tied to one woman in the eyes of God and English law.
Or perhaps it was because his new wife was not only exquisitely beautiful, but had an underlying sense of adventure that he certainly hoped would extend into the physical aspect of their marriage.
Her mother would probably attribute it to some distant constellation. He guessed it was simply an innate sexuality Christa was too innocent to hide.
The manor house he had purchased a few years ago was not huge by any means, and he naturally kept a minimal staff since he wasn’t that often in residence. Christa hadn’t been put off by the dated furnishings he had never bothered to replace, but instead seemed pleased at the idea of getting redecorate the house. They had discussed it over dinner, an impromptu cold buffet put together by the startled cook, not expecting him, and certainly not with a new bride in tow.
It was going to take everyone some time, it seemed, to get used to the idea of him being a married man.
The shrouded upstairs hallway was utterly quiet. Andrew passed the doorway to his own room, and paused a moment before lightly rapping on the next door. “Christa?”
“Don’t come in.” There was a slight edge of panic in her response.
“Why not?”
Her answer was muffled. “I’m not ready.”
“Unfortunately,” Andrew said smoothly and opened the door, “I am.”
His young wife gasped at his abrupt entrance, whirling from her seat at the dressing table by the armoire, her hairbrush in hand. Contrary to her words, she was fully clad in nightdress and dressing gown, buttoned, cinched, and covered with concealing cloth from neck downward.
It was difficult not to laugh, and he didn’t try to stop himself. “You’re right,” he said, strolling in and closing the door. “You aren’t ready. Why don’t you start by taking off your clothes? That will help considerably.”
“My maid just helped me put this on,” Christa objected ridiculously, looking delectable despite her voluminous garments, her long pale hair shining and her smooth cheeks slightly flushed.
Andrew deliberately untied and discarded his cravat. “I’ll apologize most profusely in the morning to her for the wasted effort. Come now, making love is always better done when both parties are undressed.”
Luminous blue eyes gazed at him desperately. “Do we have to?”
“Make love? Yes, I’m afraid so, my dear. That’s what wedding nights are for. Believe me, without wedding nights, there would be no bridegrooms.” Sitting down calmly on the edge of the antique tester bed, Andrew tugged off a boot. If someone had told him even three nights before this that he would be soothing a frightened virginal bride into his bed, he would have told them they were utterly mad. “Now,” he added matter-of-factly, “take off your robe.”
He dropped his boot on the floor, a little surprised at his own impatience. Already his erect cock filled his breeches uncomfortably, throbbing against the tight material, his hungry gaze taking in his wife’s lissome form as she reluctantly slipped her robe off her slender shoulders.
His breath caught abruptly in his throat and he suddenly understood her embarrassed hedging more fully.
Sheer fabric clung in provocative outline to every full curve and hollow. The gown was made from a fine lace, the pure pale color just a sheen over her flawless skin, and he could see every tempting detail of the body of the young woman before him in minute detail, right down to the triangle of downy hair at the apex of her thighs and the blush of her perfect pink nipples. As a garment, the nightdress did not qualify.
It was perfect.
Damn, her breasts were just as he imagined, full and lusciously high, begging for his hands and mouth.
His voice was a little thick as he asked, “Where did you get that gown?”
“Helena gave it to me.” Christa’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, as if she had to exert considerable control to keep from covering herself. Her chin lifted a little, the shimmering veil of her hair brushing her hips. “I can’t see it even serves a purpose but she insisted you would like it.”
“Oh,” his smile was dark, “I do.”
“Andrew,” she said his first name tentatively, “don’t you think it would be better if we got to know each other first?”
“No.” His answer was honest and completely male. He was hard as hell and unwilling to negotiate. “We can exchange words over the breakfast table for the next four decades. I’ll find out whether you like marmalade with your toast soon enough, but tonight is for a different type of discovery.”
“I didn’t think you’d agree.” She sounded a little disconsolate, her lush lashes lowering a fraction.
Pulling his shirt from his breeches and deftly unbuttoning it, he slipped out of it and tossed it aside. “You enjoyed our embrace last night.” It was a statement, not a question, because he well-remembered her surprisingly enthusiastic response.
One brow arched up and she stared at his bare chest as he walked toward her. “I have a feeling this will be a little different.”
“Yes, it will.”
Christa didn’t retreat, but he sensed that she wanted to run. Stopping in front of her, Andrew ran his hands lightly down her bare arms, catching her hands so their fingers intertwined. Gazing into her eyes, he said huskily, “I think you are very beautiful.”
Looking up at him, a small smile touched her soft tempting lips. “And you, of course, are very handsome and charming. Is this how you usually seduce women, by holding their hands and giving them compliments?”
“I’ve never had a wedding night before. This will be as unique to me as it is to you.” Considering he was rock hard and aching, assuring her he would go slow seemed overly optimistic, so he didn’t try. “Let’s move to the bed,” Andrew suggested persuasively, not waiting for an answer but effortlessly lifting her in his arms. Her body felt warm, and deliciously soft, and the subtle scent of her perfume was alluring. Through the almost nonexistent gown he could feel smooth female skin and ached to taste and touch it.
“You won’t need this,” he said as he laid her down, untying the bit of ribbon at the neckline so he could strip off the filmy garment. Nude, his young bride was every man’s carnal dream, those voluptuous breasts quivering as she stared up at him. Settling next to her, Andrew ran a fingertip down her face, tracing the curve of her cheek before he lowered his head and kissed her.
Her mouth was sweet and receptive, and whatever her trepidations about the actual act of sexual intercourse, in seconds her arms came around his neck and Christa pressed closer. Andrew could feel the hardening of her nipples against his bare chest and he made a low, involuntary sound of approval deep in his throat. Tangling his tongue with hers, he stroked the curve of her hip, urging her closer until their bodies fully touched.
Heaven, he thought hazily.
****
Marriage had always been a vague concept of adjoining rooms, a box at the opera, perhaps several well-behaved children cared for by suitable nannies, of course…
Christa certainly hadn’t imagined a large predatory male, his half-nude body pinning her to the bed as he stroked his tongue in her mouth and cupped her breast intimately in his palm.
It was shocking.
It was exciting.
She felt hot everywhere, especially between her legs. Her breasts ached, and when Andrew skimmed his mouth down the curve of her throat, across her collarbone and lower, she couldn’t help but gasp when he lightly licked her right nipple. Her new husband murmured, “You have gorgeous breasts, Christa. Just the right size, large, but not too big. They overflow my hand, and are firm and smooth as silk.”
It was true, her molded flesh looked pale and opulent cradled in his long fingers, and the way he fondled and touched her was so pleasurable she couldn’t help but sigh, her lashes drifting lower. When he took a taut nipple in his mouth and began to suck, her sigh turned into a moan.
She barely knew him, she tried to remind herself, unable to stifle the sound of enjoyment.
At this moment, that didn’t seem to matter, for her wayward body responded to him anyway.
Andrew touched her as his mouth worked lazy, wondrous magic with her breasts. He touched her…everywhere. Across her shoulder and down the sensitive inside of her arm, the quivering muscles of her stomach, and lower, to brush her thigh and slide inward, between her legs. Christa couldn’t help but stiffen as she felt the glide of that sinful foray, his fingers parting her pubic hair and skimming the delicate folds between.
“Stop,” she said in sudden complete panic, trying to clamp her legs together. “Andrew!”
Lifting his head, he gave her a seductive smile, his azure eyes heavy with obvious desire. “Why should I stop?”
“I--I don’t like it,” she faltered, unsettled and uncertain.
“You don’t? I beg to differ.” His laugh was low and utterly masculine. “You are wet as hell, sweetheart.”
What did that mean? Staring at him, Christa wasn’t sure if she should be alarmed or humiliated.
“You’re aroused,” he explained, looking infuriatingly amused at her confusion. “Your body is getting ready for sex, my sweet little wife, and it’s a damned good thing because I’m about ready
to explode just thinking about it. Now, open up and let me in. I promise you’re going to enjoy this.”
Her mother had carefully explained she was going to have to let her husband do what he wished in bed, it was her duty, her role in life. Her face on fire, Christa slowly relaxed her thighs and spread them slightly, her breath catching as Andrew took full advantage of her capitulation.
If she thought his caress outrageous before, she felt utter shock as he found her female opening and slid one finger completely inside her vagina. Christa lifted her hips a little, the motion instinctive, and as his thumb made a gentle circle between the moistened lips of her labia, she felt a glimmer of luscious sensation.
“Oh,” she breathed, her fingers threading through Andrew’s thick dark blond hair, her head falling back.
“Yes,” he murmured against her neck, kissing her lightly, his heated breath beguiling. “Let me take you to paradise, sweetheart.”
His thumb moved again and sheer pleasure coursed through her body.
Paradise indeed.
As his finger began to withdraw and sink back between her legs in a gentle rhythm, he continued that sweet hot motion with his thumb. Christa moaned freely in moments, her legs falling apart as rapture gripped her body, centering around that erotic invasion and manipulation. Her breath came in short gasps as she climbed an invisible peak, Andrew finally pushing her off the top as he captured her mouth in a long, ardent kiss and increased the pressure.
She cried out against his lips as she climaxed. Pleasure so vivid and intense her muscles locked, her hands frantic on his wide shoulders. Convulsing, she shuddered and held his hand tight between her shaking thighs until finally the tremors died and away and her body relaxed.
Sliding his hand free of her still pulsing cleft, her husband stood and unfastened his breeches. A little dazed, Christa barely noticed what he was doing until she saw the long length of rigid flesh high up against his flat stomach, the dark color and engorged crest indicating his full arousal. “Dear God,” she said involuntarily. “That’s enormous.”
He laughed; magnificently nude, all sleek defined muscle and male power. “You are refreshingly candid, sweetheart. Is that also one of the traits of your particular birth sign?”