“It’s such a fine day,” she said, crossing to Henry. “I suppose your phaeton is already at Ravensfield? ”
“It is not,” he said, handing her up into the chariot. “I sold my phaeton. Now that I’m a respectable married man, I need a more practical conveyance. Besides, I would have to concentrate on driving in a phaeton. That would be no test at all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You consider riding in a carriage with me a test?”
He nodded, a predatory look on his face, as he climbed in after her and closed the door. “The upcoming hours will be the greatest ordeal I’ve ever faced, my sweet. You are now mine in the eyes of church and country, but I’m determined not to consummate our marriage until we reach that magnificent bed we chose together, no matter how prettily you beg me.”
“Here?” She laughed in amusement, but her humor faded as she realized he was very serious. Her gaze dropped to his lap. Very serious and very aroused. Everything Martine had told her rushed through her mind. She pressed the backs of her hands to her hot cheeks.
“I’ve also determined,” he continued, “that from the time the carriage comes to a stop, I can be out the door, inside the house, and in my bedchamber in twenty-seven seconds.”
“You— You timed yourself?”
“Indeed.” He shrugged out of his coat and glanced around before shrugging and shoving it beneath the seat. “Jasper will have a fit when he finds that. Now, I’ll have to take care whilst carrying you, so I’ll round up to thirty-seven seconds until I have you in my bedchamber. That leaves me only twenty-three seconds to undress you and toss you on the bed, but I shall contrive.”
“Why must everything happen in the space of sixty seconds?” She regarded him with suspicion. “Have you made some idiotish bet?”
“Only with myself, and it’s more of a promise to both of us.” His gloves went the way of his coat. “I was perilously close to taking you on the floor of that dressing room, but you deserved a proper proposal and engagement. I swore to myself that our first time together would be in a bed and that we would be married.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Had I known the hell you’d put me through, I would’ve just found a bed and thoroughly compromised you. That’s the past, though, and we’ve finally accomplished the married part.”
He ran a finger over her lips. “I’m in a bad way, Di. I have been for months. Once we reach Ravensfield, I’ll not wait longer than a minute to have you naked in my bed.”
“Oh!” An involuntary gasp escaped her.
“Have I shocked you?”
“Well, yes, a— a little.”
“I think I’ll shock you often. I love when you blush.”
Naturally, his words made her blush even more furiously.
He loosened his cravat before taking her hand and tugging off her glove.
She eyed him warily. “What are you doing?”
“The carriage will get hot,” he explained. “I only thought to make you more comfortable.”
She was a bit overheated, but that had nothing to do with the carriage. If he planned to spend the entire journey saying wicked things to her, she would combust before they changed horses. He pulled off her other glove. “You may not shove these beneath the seat,” she warned him. “They’re new, and they match my dress. I won’t have them ruined.”
He placed them in the pocket on the door, and then frowned at her. “Your gloves are purple.”
“Madame Bessette prefers lilac. My shoes are also lilac.” She lifted a foot from beneath her skirts to show him.
“I can see your shoes and your gloves match, but your dress is green.”
“Pistachio,” she corrected him, “and there are lilacs embroidered on the gown, but they’re hidden by my spencer.”
“There’s no need for you to wear your spencer in here. Show me your gown,” he urged.
“I know what you’re doing. Do you think taking off my gloves and spencer will help so much in your sixty seconds?” Still, she twisted, giving him her back, and allowed him to help her out of the short coat. She gasped as his fingertips settled lightly on her shoulders and began to explore the exposed skin from her nape to the neckline of her dress.
“Very pretty,” he murmured.
“Madame is quite extraordinary. Did you not think my wedding gown incredibly lovely?”
“My attention was on my incredibly lovely bride.” He began to pull the pins from her hair.
“Oh, thank you. I do believe that one was embedded in my skull. Surely you noticed the embroidery on my gown? ”
“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. “The ducks. How did she know—?”
“Ducks? Those were swans! Swans, as in the animals in your family crest. Honestly, Henry, why would there be ducks on my wedding gown?”
“I like ducks.”
“All… All right. I suppose a wife should know that sort of thing. Do you have a favorite color?”
“The color of your hair,” he said easily, tossing aside the last of the pins. He began to unbraid her hair, and she sighed as it relaxed from the tight hold. He combed his fingers through the heavy mass, and then massaged her scalp and neck until she groaned with pleasure.
“Heavens, if I’d known you could do this, I might have proposed to you at the Keltons’.”
He laughed and pulled her onto his lap. Beneath her thighs, his erection strained against his breeches.
“I thought we were waiting for the bed,” she said breathlessly.
“For the bedding, yes. For touching, no.” His fingers fiddled with the top button of her dress.
“You’ve been touching me all day.”
“Di, there’s touching, and there’s touching.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Let’s have a proper greeting, wife.”
She flung her arms around his neck and eagerly dragged him down for a kiss. He wasn’t the only one who’d lain awake at night, frustrated with unfulfilled longing. He’d introduced her to pleasure, and now she craved it. His taste was addicting, his smell, intoxicating. He overwhelmed her senses, making her forget everything but the need to be with him.
His kisses were slow, lingering affairs. Impatient, she nipped at him and flicked her tongue over his lips. His arms tightened about her as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. She parried and returned in kind, joining the dance. She moaned as he shaped her breast through her gown.
The carriage hit a rut in the road, and she bounced into the air. Diana made a desperate grasp for the holdings, but Henry caught her and set her back in place. “As much as I like you lying across my lap, I think that position may prove too precarious.”
He was doubtless right, but she didn’t have to like it. She pouted as she started to climb off him.
“My thoughts exactly,” Henry said as he clamped his hands around her waist and held her still. In an instant, he drew the curtains, so the only illumination came from the long octagonal back window above their heads. He must have had this chariot specially built; she imagined the squabs in most carriages likely reached his shoulders. She stopped speculating about carriage construction when Henry picked her up and turned her to face him. He held her there, poised above him, as if she weighed next to nothing.
“Lift up your skirts,” he instructed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Raise your skirts up enough so you can kneel astride my lap.”
She hesitated, eyeing him doubtfully.
“So quickly you forget your promise to obey me?” he teased. “Come, may a new husband not show his bride his undying love and affection?”
“Is that what you’re going to show me?” He made no move to put her down, so she bit her lip and gathered her skirts up to her knees. Despite all that had passed between them, Diana found she was too shy to meet his gaze as he lowered her to straddle his lap. He clutched her tightly as the carriage hit another stone in the road, and they both groaned as she pressed against him.
“Good God,” he muttered, “I must be mad to torture myself like this.”
He set her back slightly and brought one hand up to cup her cheek. The other he left at the small of her back, lest she go flying again.
“The thing is,” he explained, “once we arrive, get upstairs, and are gloriously naked in our glorious bed, I need to have you ready for me. With the way you rip at my control, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to wait, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than nature demands.”
“What do you mean?” Perhaps she hadn’t understood all of Martine’s talk, but she would have understood that. The Frenchwoman’s essentiels had covered everything from chewing a sprig of mint before going to bed to the pennyroyal tea she should drink if she wished to prevent a child.
How could she not have mentioned pain, or was this deception forced on all brides? She began to climb off Henry, but he held her in place despite her struggles. He looked uncomfortable. “Will I hurt you as well?” she asked.
“God, yes,” he choked out a laugh. “You’re killing me right now, and the thought of giving you pain tears me apart inside. Did your mother not explain what happens in the marriage bed?”
“My mother would not tell me anything, so I asked Martine.”
His brows rose. “Martine?”
“My grandmother’s lady’s maid. She’s French,” Diana told him, as if that explained everything. Perhaps it did. “She thinks you’re very handsome, but she said nothing about pain.”
“She didn’t want you to run before the wedding. No, Di, don’t look at me like that. I was only teasing. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I suppose it’s too late for that. It will only hurt the first time, and I’ll spend the next fifty years pleasuring you to appease my guilt.”
She hadn’t thought this through very well, Diana realized. She understood the basic principles of the marriage act. She knew Henry was a large man—everywhere. Somehow, she hadn’t put the two together. When she added herself into the equation, it didn’t add up. His… His… That couldn’t possibly fit inside her.
“We will fit together perfectly.” Henry’s finger lifted her chin.
Oh, heavens, not only had she spoken aloud, she’d been staring down at her lap. Their laps. Her skirts covered everything, but she was going to burst into flames, so she supposed she really didn’t need to worry about her wedding night. Unfortunately, once she started worrying about a thing, she had trouble stopping.
“How much will it hurt?” she asked nervously.
He frowned. “I don’t know. That’s the truth, love. This is a first time for me as well. If I could spare you this, I would. Since I can’t, I’m going to do my best, before we arrive, to make you as ready for me as possible. When I race up those stairs with you in my arms, I intend for you to be frantic.” His voice dropped. “Fevered. So desperate to have me inside you that you don’t care about the pain.”
His husky murmur washed over her like a wave of desire, and she met his lips halfway. She lost track of time—of everything—as they kissed, exploring each other as if their mouths had never met before. She arched her head back as he kissed his way down her neck and over her chest until he came up against her gown. He rubbed his cheek against her, and she delighted in the slight abrasion from his afternoon stubble. His palms skimmed the sides of her torso, stopping just beneath her breasts. She shifted restlessly on him, trying to encourage his hands to move higher.
He nuzzled her again. “Your skin is so soft,” he groaned. “Softer than velvet, silk, or mink, and I want more.” His fingers moved to the buttons at the back of her gown. “I want to see you.”
“I want to see you too.” She tugged at his cravat as he yanked at the laces of her stays. His rough need made her frantic, but he made no complaint as she jerkily unwound the starched linen and tossed it to the floor. She loosed the single button at his throat; his shirt sagged open, revealing a golden vee of skin dusted with blond hair. She stroked her fingers over his hot flesh, marveling at the thump of his heart, the quick beat of his pulse. Hers was just as fast, if not faster, and—she watched her laces join Henry’s cravat—she couldn’t blame her shallow breathing on tight stays.
“I want…” He was delicious… and hers. “I want to taste you.”
He sat still as a statue as she touched her lips to the base of his throat. A shudder ran through him when she touched her tongue to his skin. She took a longer lick, savoring the taste of salt and man. Then she nipped him.
The blasphemy that poured from his mouth should have outraged her; instead, it excited her. Her thighs contracted involuntarily, tightening her knees around his hips. The movement snapped the reins holding the rogue’s control. He wrenched her dress forward over her shoulders, taking the straps of her stays and petticoat with it. She scrambled to pull her arms through the layers of fabric.
As soon as she freed herself, Henry flung the stays away and shoved the rest down, leaving her in nothing but her thin shift above the waist. He stared at her chest for a long moment, and then released a shaky breath. “Christ,” he swore. “I forgot about the damned red ribbons.”
“Henry,” she pleaded.
His eyes flicked up to her face. “Come,” he said. “Taste me again.”
The dark challenge in his voice spurred her desire. This kiss was hungry and clumsy. She started at the touch of his hands on her breasts, and their teeth clashed together. Their noses and foreheads knocked as they struggled to devour each other, neither willing to wait and take the other’s lead.
A bumpy stretch of road forced them to pause as he steadied himself with the holding strap and she steadied herself with him. Without the support of her stays, her breasts bounced and quivered like an overset dish of blancmange. Henry eyed them with the same greed he would a tasty dessert. Apparently he meant to taste her, too, because as soon as the road leveled, he leaned her back over his arm and set his mouth on her breast.
She squealed from shock, then panted from pleasure as he sucked softly, dampening the fine lawn with the wet heat of his mouth. The rhythmic pull echoed the throbbing pulse that had taken up residence at her core. His free hand plumped her other breast, squeezing, caressing and running his thumb in circles around the aching peak.
She nearly wept with frustration when he removed his hands, then wanted to howl with desire when she realized his intention. He tugged at the condemned ribbon until it came loose. He sat her up only long enough to slip her shift over her shoulders and down past her breasts, then he had her sensitive flesh back in his mouth, seemingly hotter, wetter without the fabric barrier. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pinching, as his teeth clamped gently around the other.
“Yes!” she gasped, jerking at the pleasure coursing through her body, running from her breasts down to her sex. That was where she wanted his hand. Between her thighs. Stroking her. Outside. Inside. Henry wasn’t the only greedy one. She wanted the pleasure he’d shown her before.
“More,” she demanded.
He lifted his head, one golden brow quirking in amusement. “More? Like this?” He tweaked her nipple harder.
She shook her head, even as a little breathless cry escaped her lips. She pulled her arms free of her shift. She crossed her arms over her breasts, suddenly conscious of her nudity.
Eyes turned dark as midnight locked with hers. “Tell me what you want,” he urged, his deep voice laden with desire. His eyes glittered with fierce, molten lust.
Her nerve faltered. “I want you to… to touch me…” she trailed off helplessly.
“Tell me, Di,” he insisted, nipping at her lower lip. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
She drew in a breath and closed her eyes before dropping her arms and letting the truth spill from her lips. She could withhold nothing from him. “Between my legs. Please, Henry, I ache for you.”
A low groan rumbled from his chest as he seized her lips in a kiss so heated, so searing, it stole her breath. It stole her heart. It stole her very soul. She couldn’t think, could only feel as he widened his thighs, opening h
er as he did so.
She shuddered as his fingers delved beneath her skirts and found her; the first light touch had her crying out. She broke the kiss and buried her face against his neck. Her hands clenched on his shoulders as she grabbed large fistfuls of his coat.
The only sounds in the carriage were the harsh rasp of his breathing and her partially muffled moans. She bit her lip, trying to keep quiet, as he cupped her woman’s mound. Even that gentle pressure overwhelmed her senses.
“I— It’s too much!” She jerked up, thighs clenching, but she couldn’t close her legs with him between them. His free hand rubbed her back until she relaxed, then settled on her behind to hold her in place.
“Not nearly enough,” he murmured as he slid his hand down. He pressed the heel of his palm against her as the tip of one finger eased inside her. “God, Di,” he groaned against her ear. “You’re so tight.”
“Don’t stop,” she begged. “I need you.”
“You’ll have me soon,” he promised thickly. “For now…” He pressed in further.
Diana tensed, and he withdrew. He dragged his finger up her cleft to circle the sensitive nub. When she began to writhe, he returned to the entrance to her body and worked the digit into her with short thrusts. Each pulse of his hand rocked his palm against her nub. She could feel the muscles of her sex expanding to let him in, an oddly satisfying sensation. But she wanted to fly again, to jump off the edge of that precipice and soar into mindless pleasure.
“More,” she demanded.
“More here?” He rubbed his palm on her faster, harder. Behind her closed eyes, red flashes began to streak across the darkness like fiery shooting stars. “Or more here?” He began to work a second finger inside her. She bucked her hips, driving him in deeper… and soared.
He kept her aloft, spiraling higher and higher, like a feather swirling on a windy day. He would let her drift down, but just before she touched the ground, he drove her back up again. She was crying with the overwhelming joy rioting through her body. She didn’t belong to herself anymore, but to him. To the pleasure he gave her. She was lost in it, and he was her only anchor to the person she’d been before.
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