by Gaelen Foley
Turning her around, he steered her back toward the entrance hall, then led her up the stairs to the main floor. Along the way, she admired the statuary niche above the landing where the staircase switched directions.
They came out at the top of the stairs, across from the formal drawing room, with its chandeliers, ceiling medallions, and light blue walls. He showed her how the pocket doors could be rolled back to join the drawing room to the music room, creating one large space for entertaining.
She seemed pleased and stepped through the opening into the music room. She glanced at the pianoforte and asked him if he played.
“A bit,” he answered. “You?”
“A little,” she replied with a modest smile.
They moved on. At the back of the main floor lay his favorite room in the house—a cozy, cheerful parlor, or morning room, with an informal dining table and chairs. A bow window overlooked the garden. Carissa ran her hand over the plump, stuffed couch before the fireplace, then glanced around at all the thriving plants, a faint smile on her lips.
“This is where I usually eat my breakfast,” he informed her. “Assuming we’ll be doing that together in the future, pick a seat to be your designated chair.”
She chuckled, looking them over. “This one. So I can see out the window.”
“You’ll have the morning sun in your face. It comes in this way.”
“Well, I shall enjoy the view. And if it’s too strong, I’ll take the one across from it.”
“Very well,” he said sagely. “Now that that important business is all sorted, we’d best move on. The night is waning,” he added, delighting in her blush at his innuendo.
Beau was encouraged, for Carissa seemed pleased by everything so far. As they left the parlor, he pointed out the closed door to the servants’ stairs across the hall.
“The female servants’ quarters are on the fourth floor of the house,” he explained as they wandered on. “The footmen have their dormitory in the basement level, along with the wine cellar and the scullery and such. I’m sure you’ll see all of that eventually if you care to inspect it.”
She nodded but seemed content to pass on that for now. Once more, to the main staircase they returned.
Beau could already feel his blood warming as he showed her up to the third floor, where the bedchambers were located. He escorted her along the corridor, where empty spaces waited to be filled with children.
“These two bedrooms could be for either the boys or the girls, and at the front of the house could be their nursery, or their little schoolroom,” he explained.
“How many?” she inquired, smiling as she turned to him, rosy-cheeked at his talk of their future offspring.
“At least two of each,” he answered firmly.
“You’ve got everything figured out, haven’t you?”
He dodged the question with a twinkle in his eyes. “And so, my lady, that concludes your tour. Any questions?”
She shook her head, holding his stare. Neither of them could look away.
“It is a snug, efficient place. That’s why I bought it. Of course, we won’t be here forever,” he added. “When my father passes on, we shall inherit Lockwood House. It is five times the size of this place.”
“This is more than enough for me.”
He gazed into her eyes, warmed by her approval. “I hope you will be happy here.”
“I know I will,” she whispered with a small catch in her voice.
“Good. Then, you have one more room to see.” He took her hand and led her to the last room on their tour.
When she stepped over the threshold into the dim, welcoming space, Beau glanced back and nodded a silent dismissal of the servants who had trailed.
Vickers and a few of his underlings had followed in fascination of their new mistress, eager to be of use and to hop to it if they were needed, or if she found anything to be out of place. Even Beau did not know how anxious they were to see their beloved, kind master settled in life. Then he shut the door and joined her in his, or rather, their bedchamber.
Carissa had crossed the room to her traveling trunks, which had been brought over from her uncle’s house but were not yet unpacked.
She knelt before the smallest leather trunk, lifting the lid; he could see that she was searching for something. “Here it is.” She lifted out a small object about the size of a book; it was wrapped in a square of silk and tied with a ribbon bow. She brought it over to him. “I made it for you myself. Here.”
“Well, this is very thoughtful of you.” He took it from her with a smile, intrigued. “You didn’t have to give me anything.”
“Of course I did, it is our wedding day. Careful!” she warned. “It’s not entirely dry yet.”
He furrowed his brow in curiosity, and even after he had unwrapped it, he was not sure of what exactly he was looking at. “Hmm.” He carried it closer to the light, then examined the little pasteboard box by the candelabra’s glow. She had covered its surfaces with small bits of paper sealed into place with varnish, and decorated it here and there with bits of colored glass.
Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the paper was actually taken from bits of newspaper clippings that had been written about his various exploits over the years and had appeared in the Times or the Post.
“It’s a secrets box,” she murmured as she joined him by the table. “You see, I’ve known more about you for a while now than you realized. Good things. I guess you could say I, um, made a few inquiries about you here and there.”
“Why?” he asked, smiling.
“You’re going to make me admit it?” she exclaimed.
“Aye.”
“Very well! I was more interested in you than I had let on.”
“There, was that so hard? But I have a confession, as well. I was interested in you, too.”
“You were?”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“I . . .” She stared at him, wide-eyed and blushing.
“Speechless?” he asked wryly.
“I would have never dared presume—!”
“Well, your friends’ husbands threatened to thrash me if I touched you. Even so, I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
“Lord Rotherstone threatened to thrash you for my sake?”
“And Warrington, and of course, Lord Falconridge. They’re very protective of you.”
“How sweet!” She beamed at the revelation of her friends’ concern. “Well,” she said, laying a hand on his chest. “I have a husband to protect me now. But back to the matter at hand. Let me tell you what your present means.”
“I’m all ears.”
“This is my way of saying how much I admire you for all you’ve done. How proud I am to be married to such a man. You’ve done so many interesting things in your life, and I’m sure you’ll do many more. I realize most of them have to be secrets, but there’s no harm celebrating the ones I’m allowed to know about, is there? Most of all, this box comes with my promise that your secrets will always be safe with me.”
He shook his head in wonder at her sweetness. “I adore it. And I adore you.” He set the box on the table and turned to her, taking her face between his hands. He kissed her on the forehead, his lips lingered at her brow. “Thank you, darling,” he whispered.
She tilted her head back to gaze up earnestly at him. “I realize our marriage had an unconventional start, but I want you to know that I’m sincere, as well, and I intend to make you happy.”
“You’ve already been doing that for weeks without even knowing it,” he whispered, then he gathered her closer and lowered his head to claim her mouth. She slid her arms around him, parting her lips as he deepened the kiss.
Carissa could feel his heart pounding against her chest. She clung to him, dizzy with desire.
Even her long-standing anxiety over this night began to fade in the gathering heat of her passion for him, the hunger she had tried so long to ignore. Indeed, it was hard to remember her fears at a
ll when his clever fingers started plucking at the buttons on her gown.
His wandering hands distracted her, making her forget everything but this moment.
“You are wearing far too many clothes,” he informed her, breathing heavily. “Something must be done.”
She gave him a game half smile.
His wet lips gleamed in the candlelight. “Turn,” he whispered. “I’ll help you with your gown.”
She obeyed, then stood quivering while he unfastened the buttons down her back. Soon, she felt the coolness of the air licking at her skin, his fingertips trailing down her spine.
When he had unbuttoned her dress down to her hips, his hands came to rest on her shoulders; she trembled violently as his lips played at her nape. He kissed her neck over and over while his hands gently pushed her puff sleeves down off her shoulders.
This was nothing like her experience with the poet, she thought dazedly, absorbed in sensation. She could barely remember that cad’s name at the moment, nor had she any desire to. He’d been rushed, awkward, selfish.
Beau was the opposite of that and completely sure of himself. She could feel it in his every touch. His air of confident command was an intoxicating aphrodisiac. Without a word, he freed her arms from the sleeves, and still standing behind her, slid her gown down her body. His hands followed the fabric down the curve of her hips until she stepped out of the pool of blush-colored satin on the ground. But he was not through with his task yet.
When she turned to him, he captured her chin and tilted her head back, capturing her lips for another leisurely kiss. His fingertips trailed down her throat and chest, then he slid his palm down her waist to her petticoat tapes. “Back to business,” he whispered.
She watched in deepening excitement as he diligently untied them. He sank to his knees and took his time with the task of working her petticoats down her body as well.
Carissa’s chest heaved as she now stood before him wearing no more than her stays, her stockings, and chemise. He was on eye level with her breasts. “Turn,” he rasped once again. She pivoted slowly, his hands on her hips all the while.
When she stood with her back to him, he unlaced her stays with an almost tender motion. The rigid garment was cast aside. “And turn,” he murmured again, barely audible.
Carissa swallowed hard as she obeyed, slowly pivoting to face her husband.
He studied her in silence, a storm of passion darkening his chiseled face. Still on his knees, he trailed his fingers down her arm, making every inch of her tingle. He was studying her as rapturously as she had stared at the musical clock. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” she forced out in a shy, strangled mumble.
“Such white skin, such sweet freckles.” Here a kiss, there a soft caress, all the way across her collarbones, from one shoulder across her chest to the other.
She trembled with yearning and bit her lip and waited in agonized pleasure to find out what he would do to her next. When his warm hand cupped her breast through the thin white muslin of her chemise, she went still. But it was his right; she did not object.
He leaned closer and kissed the valley between her breasts through her light covering. “You’re incredible,” he breathed, “elegant, delightful, . . . sweet from head to toe.”
Then he slowly stood up, kissing his way up the center of her chest as he rose. Carissa tilted her head back, her toes curling as his kisses explored the crook of her neck. His playful lips closed on her earlobe, with a warm little bite that made her giggle. She leaned against him, weak-kneed with desire. His arms cradled her, then he began removing the pins from her hair.
Before long, her long locks had tumbled free around her shoulders. “You have no idea how long I have been wanting to do that,” he whispered with a roguish twinkle in his eyes.
“Now you can do it whenever you like,” she told him with a breathless smile.
“I am a lucky man.” He tugged the knot of his cravat loose.
She reached up with trembling fingers and helped him untie it. In the midst of her wifely task, she got caught up in staring at the beautiful architecture of his Adam’s apple. With his cravat hanging loose about his shoulders, she found a whole new appreciation for his soft, sculpted lips, the rugged line of his jaw, and the sweep of his seductive throat. At length, she came back to her senses and got on with her task, reaching up to push his handsome coat off his shoulders.
Holding her stare, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it aside. She slipped his suspenders off each of his shoulders with a caress, while the deep V of his shirt fell apart, revealing his bare chest.
Instantly, she was agog at his masculine beauty, but her gaze homed in on the necklace that he wore: a small, manly cross on a rugged silver chain. She reached out and touched the small, Maltese cross of white enamel in a steel frame. Then she met his gaze in question.
His eyes smoldered with blue flame. “The insignia of the Order.”
She absorbed this in fascination, then let the little metal cross fall against his chest once more. He leaned down to kiss her.
She returned his kisses eagerly, and while his arms wrapped around her waist, she stroked his lovely chest. He reached for the placket of his trousers after a moment. Still kissing him, she could feel the backs of his knuckles brushing against her stomach as he unfastened it. The sensation filled her with wild, impatient hunger. He pulled back just long enough to lift his shirt off over his head with a sweeping motion. She drew in her breath at the sight of him. The man was perfectly luscious.
He cast his shirt aside. “I want more of you.”
Carissa could not speak, but he would not have allowed it anyway, his mouth consuming hers. He wrapped his arms around her. She let her hands go exploring; her palms traveled over the hard swells of his chest. She marveled over every warm, chiseled harrow of his muscled abdomen. The feel of him was velveteen, and with each moment that passed, his skin burned hotter.
Beau kissed her passionately, his fingers raking through her hair. “I want to be inside you.” He steered her gently to the edge of the bed, where he took hold of her chemise and gathered it around her hips.
“Sit,” he whispered.
She did. He sank lower; she spread her legs wider as he went down on his knees and began to explore her. The room was filled with their panting as she watched him.
The drumming of her pulse set the rhythm. He licked at her nipple through the light muslin while his other hand squeezed. Carissa moaned, squirming beneath him. Inch by inch, he slipped her chemise off her shoulder, freeing her arm from the sleeve and exposing her breast.
She gasped at the hot, damp shock of his mouth claiming her nipple. While he sucked one breast, his fingers played with the other, teasing her nipple, flicking and pulling it, kneading it, until she was on fire.
He switched sides, working the other sleeve down and freeing her other arm while he sucked and played. The sway of his body between her thighs enchanted her though he still merely knelt beside the bed. He teased and caressed her with every inch of his magnificent body. She knew he was doing it on purpose, driving her utterly mad with all his sensual temptation.
She moaned his name imploringly, but he was not nearly done playing with her. With a final pinch of her nipple he trailed his fingertips down the center of her belly until he came to her mound. He pressed her center gently with his thumb, gave it a loving, broad stroke with the heel of his hand, and began pleasuring her with his finger.
A high-pitched sigh escaped her lips as his middle finger penetrated her. Carissa did not know how much she could bear as he knelt beside her, kissing her thighs, tasting her body with his tongue while he pleasured her with his hand. As passion threatened to overtake her senses entirely, she tried to hold back, scarcely wanting him to see this wanton side of her, but he looked at her from across the smooth sweep of her naked body and gave her a devilish, knowing smile. “I need you now.”
Kissing her mou
th, her chin, her chest, her nipples, he dragged himself back just far enough to get rid of his trousers, also kicking off his shoes.
Carissa stared, amazed, at the glory of her warrior’s nakedness. His sleek hips, his muscled buttocks in the mirror behind him, and thrusting toward her face where she lay on the bed, his big, rosy cock, hard and surging. As he took off his pantaloons, she just stared, awestruck. He had strong thighs, elegant muscled legs—even his bare feet were beautiful. He climbed onto the bed, his hands planted on either side of her, his body covering hers.
The feeling of his naked body against hers was blissful. She ran her hands over him, touching him everywhere as he nuzzled her nose with his own, then stared into her eyes, giving her silent reassurance. His Maltese cross dangled over her.
“I want you to tell me if anything causes you the least distress,” he whispered. “I want every moment of this to be good for you, for you to know that you can trust me.”
Her voice fled at his tender words, reminding her of how she was deceiving him in this most intimate of moments. She hated herself for it but dared not interrupt their joining now. She could not bear to think about her foolish past. He was all that mattered in this moment.
“You all right?” he murmured.
She nodded, took his chiseled face gently between her hands, and pulled him down to kiss her. He obliged heartily, and, slowly, he filled her.
Carissa felt no fear, no pain, which just went to show how excellent he was at the art of seduction. She did not shrink from his hard body penetrating her as he claimed her for his own. She wanted nothing more than to belong to him.
She could feel his heartbeat pounding in time with hers, the delicious weight of him atop her as he began rocking her with tender care. His lusty panting filled her world. She wrapped her legs around him while he linked his fingers through hers, pinning her to the bed. They moved in unison for a timeless eternity, as if they had been made for each other . . . as if this was meant to be.
She knew it was.