Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes: Lord Havelock's List / Portrait of a Scandal. ANNIE BURROWS
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his masculinity for her eyes alone.
He wouldn’t have been able to just take her to bed because he felt it was time, either. She liked that they could be spontaneous about this, rather than having to involve servants.
She reached for him as he ran his fingers through her hair—hair that had come out of its fastenings during their first bout of kissing on this bed.
As she ran her hands down his back, glorying in the fact that there were no longer any clothes to impede her exploration, it occurred to her that a ‘modest’ woman wouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t have clawed her way under his waistcoat and writhed up against him like some kind of snake when he’d tumbled her on to the bed earlier, either. Nor would a ‘modest’ woman let her husband strip her naked at four in the afternoon—even if daylight was fading—and be glad of the way firelight bathed the room in a warm glow, so she could feast her eyes on her new husband’s magnificent masculine nakedness.
But then, nor would a man who truly wanted a modest wife be looking at her like that—as if he wanted to devour her.
Which was pretty much what he did next, tasting and nibbling her all over as though she was some rare delicacy. He didn’t leave an inch of her unexplored. And everywhere he put his mouth, he left behind such glorious feelings she didn’t know how to describe them.
She bit down on her lower lip when he finally stroked her legs apart and began trailing kisses up the inside of her thighs.
Her aunt Pargetter had warned her, during a private little talk the night before, that the things her husband might wish to do to her, once in the marriage bed, might seem strange and perhaps a little frightening at first. She had advised her against resisting, or protesting, because nine times out of ten he would have more of an idea what would end up making it lovely.
It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. Resist him? Protest about this? Oh, no. The slow slide of his tongue, the little nips of his teeth, combined with the firm caresses of those strong hands, those knowing fingers, were exactly what she wanted.
Oh, very well, so her aunt had got part of it right. He did know more than her about this.
And he was taking the time to make it lovely for her, too. Which was somewhat surprising, considering he’d so far given the impression of always being in a hurry to get things done.
There was just one awkward little interlude, after he’d shucked off his breeches, where what he did hurt quite a bit, but then he brought the lovely feelings back, with skill, with patience, until...until...oh, utter rapture. It was as if she had completely left her body behind. She was floating somewhere—somewhere he’d taken her. And he was there, too. She could tell. His whole body was quivering with it. Pulsing with it.
‘Mary.’ He sighed, as she began to drift back to reality. A reality that had somehow been transformed, though she couldn’t have explained how. And anyway, she felt too peaceful to rack her brains over what had changed between them, or within her, or...
He shifted his weight to one side and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Though how he found the energy to move so much as one eyelid, she couldn’t imagine. She felt as though all her bones had melted. And as for muscles—there was not one left, in her entire body, that wasn’t completely and utterly drained.
‘Thank you for being so generous,’ she heard him murmur, as he tucked her into his side.
Just before she drifted into sated oblivion.
* * *
There was no need to panic. He’d managed to bite back his urge to tell her that the way they’d reached the pinnacle of rapture together had been just about the most blissful experience of his life. He’d turned it into a far more temperate expression of gratitude, thank God.
And he was grateful. Grateful that they were so compatible, sexually. He’d specifically sought a woman he could enjoy taking to bed, hadn’t he? So that getting an heir wouldn’t be a hardship. She’d just ticked off another item on the list, that was all. His heart wasn’t going to be at risk, just because he’d had a momentary, overwhelming feeling of rightness. Of belonging.
No. It just meant he’d made a very sensible choice of bride.
* * *
The next time Mary opened her eyes, it was because someone was insistently shaking her shoulder, pulling her up from a dream that featured her new husband, shirtless, skilfully skating away from her and disappearing into a thick swirling fog while her own useless legs melted away from under her.
‘I am a little sorry to have to wake you,’ said Lord Havelock gruffly.
She blinked up at him sleepily. Last thing she knew he’d been wrapped round her like a living blanket. Now there was a real blanket tucked up to her chin, and he was... She frowned. He was dressed and standing over her looking a touch reproachful.
‘Lying there like that you look...’
He paused, searching no doubt for a polite way to tell her she looked a mess, with not a single pin remaining in her hair, which was more than half over her face. Still, at least that would be concealing the sleep creases she’d no doubt have from the embroidered pillow slip.
‘Absolutely edible,’ he finished with a wicked grin. ‘And speaking of edible, while you slept I ordered that supper I promised you earlier. And it’s arrived. I’m having them set it out in the sitting room, if you’d care to join me?’
He indicated the foot of the bed, where, to her astonishment, she saw the nightgown and wrap her cousins had given her, because, they’d said, her much darned and patched nightgown and a woollen shawl would simply not do for her wedding night.
The nightgown was of the sheerest lawn she’d ever seen. Even when she’d folded it into her portmanteau she’d been able to see the outline of her hand through it. And the wrap was of scarlet silk, patterned all over with lush oriental flowers of some sort.
But he was indicating he wanted her to wear them and join him for supper in the sitting room.
‘I thought you’d prefer a private supper, up here, rather than go through all the bother of getting fully dressed and dining in one of the public rooms.’
Well, there was that.
And also, she’d like to see how he reacted when she walked around wearing a nightgown that revealed as much as it covered. With her hair loose, she suddenly decided, and flowing unbound all the way down her back to her waist. She’d wager he wouldn’t reprove her for not being modest. Given the way he was watching the blankets now, which were only just covering her breasts, he was more likely to enjoy the show.
But all she said was ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ Because, to be fair, it did sound as if he’d actually thought about how she might feel. This once.
‘I will join you in a moment.’
After catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had to steel herself to walk into the next room. It wasn’t as easy to walk about wearing attire that was outrageously seductive as it had been to roll about on the bed stark naked.
But she wasn’t, most definitely wasn’t, going to let him get away with claiming he wanted a modest bride, when his behaviour earlier had shown it was the exact opposite.
She made it to the threshold, and paused, certain that her face had gone the same shade of scarlet as the silken wrap. For it wasn’t only her husband who could see her in her scanty nightclothes. But also the two waiters who were setting out their supper.
‘Ah, here she is now,’ he said, drawing the eyes of the two male staff in her direction. Her face went a shade hotter as they looked her up and down before swiftly bending their heads to concentrate on their tasks.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, she now noticed that he wasn’t fully dressed at all, but only wearing his breeches and the shirt he’d earlier tossed on to the floor.
‘You can be off,’ he said to the