Mary had just worked up the courage to watch him finish undressing when he placed his right foot on the frame of the bed and began unbuttoning his pantaloons' leg. His muscular calf was now only inches from her face, and she was spellbound by the play of his long, sleek muscles. The blood in her veins began to pulsate wildly as she stared at what she had only been able to admire from a distance before.
Mary was inordinately captivated by the play of his fingers as he undid the buttons over his right leg and then moved to the other one. Once they were both loose, he lowered his leg to the floor and kicked off his shoes. His hands rose to the waistband of his pantaloons and slowly released the top button.
Despite lying naked before him or watching him remove his upper clothes, seeing him slowly unbuttoning his pantaloons was the most exciting thing she had ever experienced. Her mouth went dry and her breasts suddenly felt heavier, more sensitive than they ever had before. The gentle breeze stirred by his movements wafted over her breasts and caused them to ache with longing.
When he reached the last fastener, Mary blinked several times and canted closer in anticipation of what came next.
Peter had never felt so exposed, vulnerable, and so alive in his entire life. None of the women he had taken to his bed in the past had ever watched him as intently as he undressed. And none of them had ever made him feel as he did with Mary.
She made him feel powerful and invincible. And Mary made him feel something else he had never felt before; she made him feel loved. Not the familial love of a family because he knew, despite the disagreements with his mother, his family had always loved him as he had loved them. But Mary made him feel loved as a man wanted to be loved by the woman he loved in turn.
Peter pushed down his pantaloons, and his manhood sprung free. It jutted out in front of him. He was afraid his boldness would shock Mary, but it didn’t. Or at least it didn’t appear to, as he saw her lick her lips and lean towards him as if to get a better look at what he had just exposed.
Then he remembered, without her glasses she probably couldn’t see him very clearly. So it made sense that she would have to move a little closer to see him.
But when he stepped toward Mary, her gazed flew to his face, and he saw her bite her lower lip. Her eyes were still clouded with desire, and something else as well now.
“Peter,” she said and licked her lips. She took a breath and then blurted out as her cheeks turned crimson. “Are you sure,” her eyes flickered to his manhood, “we’re going to fit together?”
He wanted to laugh, but the blush on her cheeks and the anxiety in her eyes told him that this was not a laughing matter. He had wondered if Mary was still a virgin at her age. He simply could not imagine someone else not wanting her as badly as he did. But her nervousness seemed to say that she was still an innocent.
“Mary,” he asked hesitantly, “have you ever . . . ever done this before? I mean, have you ever been with. . .”
She stared at him unblinking, in a very direct and un-coy way. “Have I ever lain with a man before? Is that what you are asking me?” She shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but I do understand what happens between a man and a woman when they make love.” She laughed softly, then added, “I’ve read more than a few Gothic novels. And,” he could see a mischievous gleam entering her eyes even as her blush deepened, “I am a bluestocking, Peter. So I have read more than one book on animal husbandry in my life as well.”
He crawled onto the bed and interlaced his fingers with hers. She rolled over on her back and gazed up at him. “Mary Elizabeth Penrose, are you comparing me to some kind of barn animal?”
She giggled and his heart lightened. “Nooo,” she said as she slowly shook her head back and forth, “but as a governess, I’ve heard more than one matriarch talking about their lovers and comparing notes. And you would be surprised what these normally conservative, righteous women will say to one another. Especially when they don’t realize someone is listening to their gossiping.”
Peter laughed with her. When they both quieted down, he laid down beside her and slowly ran his fingers down the length of her arm to the softness of her belly, then back up the valley between her breasts.
Her body quivered beneath his fingers, and when he looked up, it was to find a worried look on her face. “I’m not beautiful, Peter. Not like the women that are vying for your hand in marriage” she whispered softly while staring at his hand as it rested between her breasts.
“No, Mary,” he said, and raised his hands to cup her face. He turned her toward him and waited until she was looking back at him. “You are beautiful, exquisite. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
She shook her head against his hands and closed her eyes.
“Mary look at me, please,” he entreated. When her beautiful blue eyes opened and focused on him again, he continued, “Yes. You. Are. I have seen other women before, and they are nothing compared to you. I love the way you look.” He looked down and caressed the fullness of her breast. “I love your breasts.” He leaned over and placed a quick kiss on the top of each. Peter then feathered his fingers over her ribs and down to her stomach as he admired her. “I love the way you look, Mary. You are exactly as I would have you be.”
The anxiety in her face melted away, and a smile that warmed him through and through blossomed across her lips. Her hand rose up and caressed the stubble on his cheek, and he suddenly wished he’d had the foresight to shave before coming to her.
“And I love the way you look,” she said, as if she had heard his inner thoughts.
Mary had never thought of herself as beautiful. But neither had she ever thought of herself as ugly. She was just not like other women that she knew. But now with Peter’s admiration, Mary felt like a diamond of the first water.
But she was still nervous about what was to come; she couldn’t help herself. After all she was a thirty-year-old virgin, a firmly-on-the-shelf spinster, and a bluestocking. And although she knew it was illogical, she just felt like she should know about making love to a man.
Reaching up, she pulled Peter to her lips. He tasted of mint and brandy and the essence of Peter that he’d left her with last night.
She opened her mouth and invited him in, and his tongue swept in to mate with hers. She felt consumed, set ablaze by the taste of him. And then through the sensual haze, she felt his hands as he began to explore her body once again. Her skin tingled and warmed beneath his fingers. She longed to do the same to his body, and then suddenly she reminded herself that she now had every right to fulfill the fantasies she had been harboring. Especially those about his body.
Tentatively at first, her arms encircled his back and traced the sinewy muscles she could reach, as they bunched and moved beneath her fingers. Mary was fascinated by the hardness of his body, so very different from the softness of her own.
After a time, his lips left hers and burned a trail down her neck, to the hollow at the bottom. He licked and nibbled once, then again, before continuing his track down her chest to the fullness of her breast. He seemed to linger there, worshiping what she had always despised until now. Then the roughness of his cheek grazed over her nipple, and she arched off the bed as the sensation caused a jolt to run through her.
She could feel a quiver at the apex of her legs, a longing she had never felt before. Mary was fascinated by the feelings and marveled at the sensations that were radiating up her body when he suddenly shifted and his lips grazed her nipple.
Of its own volition her body arched off the bed again and pressed more firmly against his mouth, seeking more of what he was doing to her.
Suddenly he moved and switched to her other breast, causing even more the bolts of pleasure to rocket through her veins. Dimly she felt his hand move lower and lower until it caressed the quivering flesh between her legs. Once again, her body seemed to jump off the bed as her mind emptied of all but what he was doing to her.
Now, acutely aware of what he was doing, she felt him toying w
ith her sex, and then felt the push of his finger as he slowly pressed it into the entrance of her body. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared sightless at the man above her. Mary could scarcely draw breath or form a thought as she reveled at how he was making her feel.
“Mary, you’re wet and ready for me,” he whispered against her breast. She had heard women talking about “being wet” and “ready for a man”, but until now she had never understood what they meant.
She was about to say something, when his finger caressed the hidden nub at the top of her entrance. Over the years she had given herself pleasure doing the same thing, but it had never felt the same way. And whatever she had been about to say was lost to a crisis in sensations as they rocketed through her body and washed over her in wave after wave as her climax took her. Mary’s body quivered as he drew more and more of the exquisite feelings from her.
When she at last returned to herself, she opened her eyes to find Peter hovering over her, a boyish smile of triumph on his face. Everything inside of Mary warmed and melted at the sight of his admiration.
“Mary?” he asked.
Instinctively she knew what he was wanting, and moved so that he was settled between her legs. She felt the probing at the entrance to her body and reached up to caress the stubble on his cheek once again. She thought about asking him to never shave again, as she loved the feel of his whiskers against her fingers.
But then he shifted and the bluntness of his manhood pressed into her. “Mary, this is going to hurt a little the first time. And I am so sorry.”
Despite the newness and the strangeness of having his body pressing into hers, she was inordinately touched by the concern in his voice and on his face. “Peter, I love you and have dreamed of this for years.” She searched his face and then added, “And somehow, deep down, I think it was always you that I was dreaming about when I thought of making love to someone for the first time.”
His smile trembled and she could swear she saw a glimmer of moisture in the corner of his eye. “I think it has always been you that I have been dreaming of as well. It was why I was never happy with any of the other women I was with. They simply were not you.”
He leaned down and sealed their lips together. His tongue thrust into her mouth several times, and then his body began to emulate the action at the core of their being. After two tentative thrusts, he reached the barrier of her virginity and stopped.
Peter withdrew slightly and began kissing her ardently as he slowly slid back into her, momentarily pressing against her barrier and then breaching it. Mary felt a sharp pain and then a soft pop as her virginity gave way, and he seated himself fully inside of her.
“Mary?” he asked against her lips.
“I’m fine, please don’t stop,” she replied.
She heard him sigh and knew he had been worried about hurting her. It warmed her heart and made her love him even more. And then his thrusts became quicker and more powerful, until the quickening she had felt a few minutes before grew and grew until her body shuddered with pleasure once again.
She cried out his name as he shuddered above her, pouring his seed into her and calling out, “Oh, Mary, I love you.”
Chapter 12
They made love once more during the night, then fell asleep in each other’s arms. For Mary, it had been a magical night. One that surpassed all of her dreams and fantasies about making love to the man that she loved. In the morning, she hadn’t wanted the dream to end and had asked-no begged-Peter to make love to her again. But he had insisted that she would be too sore to do so. Mary had wanted to argue, but the truth was, she was kind of sore down there, and in the end had grudgingly agreed that they should wait until after they were officially married. Or at least for a day or two before they made love again. Which according to Peter, might be after their wedding, as he planned to wed her right after Christmas.
When she asked him how that was possible, he told her that his mother had not only shown up at the Northumberlands’ Christmas party with a number of the candidates for his hand in tow, but also with a special license, already signed by the archbishop. She had been appalled on his behalf, as she knew how he felt about his mother’s machinations, but she was also thrilled that their marriage could take place so soon after the holidays.
To preserve her reputation, just as the eastern sky was turning grey, Peter slipped from her room and headed back to his own. The Christmas Eve ball was being held that night, and Peter told her that they would announce their engagement during the ball, and the date of the wedding for those who wanted to stay for it.
When she reminded him that she didn’t have an appropriate dress for either a ball or a wedding he had assured her that his sisters were taking care of everything for her.
Just before he slipped away, they had agreed to meet in a few hours to go to the magical pond at the old Scottish ruins to break their fast and for their own celebration of their engagement.
Mary thought it was terribly sweet of him, as he knew how much the place meant to her. And that reminded Mary of something she hadn’t thought about in a while; once upon a time, the young boy she had introduced to that magical place had given her a ring there.
She hurried to her portmanteau and dug in it until she found a small box with her few pieces of jewelry. Most of them had been her mother’s, but one was the ring Peter had given her twenty years before.
Taking the ring out, she gazed down at it. As always, it seemed to have a life of its own whenever she held it. In the past, Mary had always thought the strange feelings she got when she held it was just her imagination, but now she wondered if it might not be more.
Mary clutched the ring in her hand and pulled out a gold neckless that had been her mother’s. She slipped the ring onto the chain and hung it around her neck. When she saw Peter again, she would show him the ring he had given her all those years ago.
After putting her things away, Mary decided she should try to get a few minutes of rest. She was convinced that she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, but she’d no more than laid her head on her pillow than she was being awakened by Fran.
“What time is it?” she asked the maid as she quickly set up in bed.
“Why, it’s nine, mum.” Fran replied.
Oh God, she was supposed to meet Peter at the mews at nine. “Fran, I need you to go tell my fiancé (oh how she loved saying that word) that I’ve been delayed.” She glanced over at the ormolu clock. “Tell him I’ll meet him at the mews in thirty minutes. And then go down to the kitchen, and asked the cook for a basket and some pastries for the Duke of Rollens and myself.”
“Yes, mum,” Fran replied and hurried off with a big smile on her face.
Mary hoped Fran caught him before he left his room. She didn’t want him waiting in the cold for her. Changing into her into her warmest dress and coat, she checked her appearance in the mirror over the vanity and then hurried from the room.
Unfortunately, she got no farther than the top of the stairs when she was stopped by a pair of footmen. "Miss Penrose," one of them said hesitantly "The Duchess of Rollens is requesting your presence."
The look on their face told her that they knew what Peter had done to the last two men the duchess had sent to fetch her. They were politer and even respectful. But nonetheless, they were just as determined that she follow them.
Somehow, she was not surprised that she was being summoned by the duchess once again. Apparently, her fears that hers and Peter's tryst would be discovered was not unfounded. She was, however, amazed that the duchess was up so early, as Peter had told her that she and his sisters rarely rose before noon, even when they were in the country. But apparently, she did when she wished to chastise a governess who’d had the audacity to get herself engaged to her son.
Mary expected them to escort her to the duchess' boudoir or one of the many drawing rooms, but they didn't. In fact, they escorted her exactly where she had intended to go in the first place, to the castle mews in the outer curtai
nwall.
With each step she took her trepidation rose until it nearly choked her. And indeed, when they came through the walkway into the mews' courtyard, she could see the duchess glaring at her. And she was still dressed in a formal evening gown, one she must have been wearing the night before. Beside her stood one of the nursemaids she had yet to get to know, but had seen in the nursery a time or two.
Two more male footmen were standing behind the duchess and the nurse. All of them were glowering at her with similar looks of disapproval and repulsion on their perturbed faces. A soft mewing came from the direction of the nurse and Mary glanced down and noticed for the first time that the gray-haired nursemaid was holding a wicker basket. Holding it in such a way as if the basket contained offensive refuse of some kind.
An uneasiness swept over her as she came to a stop several feet away. She dipped a polite curtsy to the Duchess. "Your Grace asked to see me?" Mary asked.
"Rollens is not going to be meeting you, Miss Penrose. I’ve had my son informed that his planned rendezvous with his mistress has been delayed, as you are unable to meet him for another two hours,” the duchess enunciated harshly and then waved in the direction of the nursemaid. “I have done so, because this, abomination, was delivered last night for you. When the maids could not find you, they brought the thing to me, believing that as the Duke of Rollens' mother, I would want to know about it, and,” she harshly stressed the word, “that you were not in your room last night."
Mary had known something was wrong the minute she had been summoned. But now she was confused as to what the duchess was talking about. Mary eyed the basket suspiciously, and then returned her attention to Peter’s mother.
Whatever was in the basket had upset the woman greatly, and somehow Mary knew it had given the duchess the excuse she believed she needed to end hers and Peter’s engagement. Mary also knew that either the duchess, or the maid, were lying about not finding Mary in her room last night. If they had indeed come to her room during the night, then they more than likely had discovered that she and Peter were together. Which meant that not only did Peter's mother know they had slept together, but so did most of the Duke of Northumberland's staff.
The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2) Page 10