She lay in bed, reflecting on the last few days. She was married. It still didn’t feel real, even though her body told her she was well and truly married. She was a little bit sore, but her body also felt looser and very satisfied.
She lay watching the dawn appear behind the curtains, and listened to the duke’s rhythmic breathing. His hand lay loosely splayed on her belly, warm and oddly heavy. Was this how she’d awaken in future, in a big richly furnished bed with her naked husband beside her?
No, of course not. She recalled the agreements they’d made. There would be a honeymoon and then she would live in her own house and he would make conjugal visits to ensure she gave him an heir.
The thought was strangely depressing, even though it had been exactly what she’d wanted before. She hadn’t known him then.
She still didn’t really know him, but she didn’t feel thesame about him as she had. It wasn’t just the marriage consummation, either, though that had engendered a certain intimacy, a feeling of closeness between them.
It wasn’t just a physical connection she felt, though.
Even before the wedding night, the way he’d behaved toward her since the betrothal became real, his reaction to his discovery of his mother’s deception, the unspoken but public support he’d given her, his reaction in church to her scarlet dress, the rubies—there was more to him than she’d ever imagined.
Her bladder urged her out of bed. She found what she needed through his dressing room exit, and on the way back, feeling self-conscious to be walking around stark naked, she borrowed a richly masculine embroidered silk robe that was hanging on a hook. On her return she found him awake. “Morning.” She felt herself blushing.
“Good morning,” he murmured. “You look very fetching in that robe. How do you feel?”
“Fine. Very... relaxed.” She stood uncertainly, his robe clutched around her, her bare toes digging into the deep luxurious pile of his Persian carpet.
He got out of bed, and apparently quite unembarrassed by his nakedness or the semi-aroused state of his manhood, he kissed her briefly, then headed for the dressing room. He returned a short time later, belting a tie around another robe. “You’ve woken very early. I didn’t let you sleep much last night—you don’t want to sleep in?”
She shook her head. He pulled the curtains open, and the morning sun streamed in.
“I don’t sleep in very often,” she explained. “We—my family and I—usually go for an early ride, especially in summer.” She wondered if they were riding out now.
His green-gray eyes glinted. “I would show you another kind of dawn ride, except I suspect you’re a bit sore.”
Her sleepy body leapt to life at his words. She swallowed, and said diffidently, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. “I’m not really.”
He took two strides toward her and slipped his handsbetween the folds of her robe. His warm hands caressed her, slipping down over her hips, cupping her buttocks, then sliding up her body in slow tantalizing sweeps coming to rest just beneath her breasts. “Are you sure? Because you were indeed a virgin, and—”
“I’m fine. So if you want to... I don’t mind.” Not mind? She was already aroused.
He cupped her breasts and swept his thumbs over her hardened nipples. She gasped and arched toward him. Slipping her own hands under his robe, she reached down to grasp him.
He pulled back. “No, don’t touch me. Not yet. This time is for you.” He walked her backward and pushed her gently onto the bed. He flipped the robe open and sighed. “You are so lovely.”
In response, she pulled his robe off him and ran her hands over his magnificent shoulders. He was beautiful too, though if she told him that he’d probably think she was trying to flatter him. He was too used to flattery. The knowledge inhibited her.
He ravished her with mouth and hands, exploring her body, licking, kissing, nibbling, surprising and exciting her with small nips—like a stallion did with a mare, only more gentle. Her body was afire.
His mouth closed over her breast, laving and sucking at her nipple and she gasped with pleasure as hot spears of sensation spiraled through her. Vaguely she realized his hand was between her legs. His fingers moved in slow, tantalizing, rhythmic circles, and she wriggled and thrust her body against them, trembling and shuddering, her legs shaking. Not long now, she thought.
She ached for him to enter her. He was hard and erect and ready, but every time she reached for him, he stopped her with his hands. “Not yet.”
The tension spiraled higher. She was frantic with need. “Now, Hart, now!”
He pushed her legs apart, and she waited for him to enter her, but instead she felt his hot breath, there. He partedher with his fingers and—oh, God!—he was licking and nibbling and sucking and...
She couldn’t... she couldn’t... She was going to...
She gripped his hair and screamed. And shattered around him in an explosion of ecstasy...
She might have slept for a while, she wasn’t sure, though someone had covered her up. But when she finally gathered her scattered senses enough to think, only two thoughts came to mind. The first was that it was no wonder that Lily and Rose often arrived late for their morning ride. She stretched luxuriously. If this was married life, she liked it very much.
The second thought came a few moments later: he hadn’t entered her at all.
She sat up. He was lying on his side, his head propped on his elbow, contemplating her. “Did you like that?”
