“Lord Maxwell, Lady Charity, I now pronounce ye husband and wife.”
Never letting go of her hands, Graeme placed a soft kiss on her lips. Charity closed her eyes.
Maybe, just maybe, the nightmare of the past year had finally given way to a beautiful dream.
With the ceremony over, Charity was at a sudden loss for what to do. The urgency that had propelled their actions for the past several days had suddenly disappeared. She was married.
That is, until
Mr. Partridge asked, “My lord, will ye be stayin’ here for the night?”
And her newlywed husband replied, “Aye.”
Then it hit her.
She was married
. She would share a bed with her husband. As much as she longed for the intimacy that would entail, she had not yet let go of her terror of what came after.
To sleep, perchance to dream…
Charity sprang into action
. “My good Mr. Partridge, could you tell me where we might find shops in Gretna Green?”
“You wish to shop
? Now?” Graeme asked incredulously.
The innkeeper chuckled. “Never met a lady yet what didn’t love to shop.”
She batted her eyelashes at Graeme. “My lord, have you forgotten? Our trip here was rather…sudden. I find myself lacking certain amenities.”
“Oh
. Oh, right. Certainly.”
She could tell from his expression that he had no idea what she meant, but feared it had something to do with womanly matters that were better not discussed in mixed company
. Not exactly the truth, but it suited her purposes.
She turned the full force of her charm to the innkeeper
. “An apothecary and a dressmaker—are those available?”
“Of course, my lady
. But you must be exhausted from your travels. Perhaps you could tell my wife what you are after. She will gladly see to it that anything you require is promptly delivered.”
“
Mr. Partridge, you are heaven sent. I definitely need a few things, but the idea of climbing back into the coach so soon was nearly enough to give me the vapors.”
“Me, too,” Graeme joked, making them all laugh.
The owner of The Dog and Anvil knew his business well. Within minutes, Charity had given her order to his wife, who had cheerfully suggested a couple items she hadn’t even considered. Obviously the good woman had seen more than one unprepared bride arrive at her doorstep.
With that settled, the innkeeper led them upstairs
. “The finest room we have,” Mr. Partridge told them proudly, opening the door to a bedroom that boasted a large bed hung with burgundy. Matching drapes framed a large window. Charity barely took in the rest of the room, registering only that it was, indeed, quite nice for an inn. Her eyes kept going to the bed. That is, until the proprietor strode forward and threw open the door to a small adjoining room and she saw the one thing she wanted even more: a bath.
“I’ll have the staff bri
ng up hot water directly,” he promised when he heard her soft exclamation. “Then, after you’ve had a bit of a lie down, I do hope you’ll grace us with your presence for dinner, my lord and lady. The Dog and Anvil boasts the best chef in Gretna Green, we do.”
“’Tis no boast,” Graeme agreed
. “Why do you think I stay here?”
The innkeeper’s chest
swelled once more. “Right ye are, my lord. Blessings to the happy couple, then.”
Charity could have sworn he all but winked at Graeme as he shut the door behind him.
She stared at Graeme. Her
husband
. Why was it that after nearly four days in a carriage,
he
still managed to look so tempting?
“Should we—should I—that is, I mean, do you wish to—” she stammered
. How did one properly ask one’s newlywed husband whether he wished to exercise his marital rights?
Would he wish to get to it, right away, or wait until bed time
? Was there a correct time of day for marital relations? They hadn’t worried about such things while pleasuring one another on the journey here, but then again, they’d stopped short of the marital act. She’d gleaned certain key elements from her sister, and her faster set of friends had a number of ideas on
improper
relations, but obviously, her education in such matters had been incomplete.
A tap on the door signaled the arrival of a pair of footmen bearing large buckets of steaming water
. Charity’s gaze followed them longingly to the tub.
Graeme laughed
. “Don’t worry, my sweet. Have your bath, before the water cools. We’ve all the time in the world now.”
She glanced at him doubtfully, but was unable to resist the steamy tendrils that curled so beckoningly through the air.
The servants trooped up the stairs twice more, and the tub was filled.
Charity moved toward it as though in a trance
. Graeme came up behind her. His arms closed around her and he bent to whisper in her ear. “I have only one condition. Let me play at lady’s maid and assist you. I have a pretty good idea how that gown fastens."
She felt a smile playing at her lips
. Of course he did, given the number of times he’d managed to
un
fasten it on the way here. “You are one ugly lady’s maid,” she teased.
He put a hand to his heart
. “My lady, you wound me with your cruel words.”
She giggled while he made short work of unfastening her bodice
, amazed how he always knew the right thing to put her at ease. The gown slipped down to pool at her feet. The short corset came off next, and finally her shift.
Graeme’s hand skimmed reverentially over her hip
. Desire threaded through her at his touch.
Without warning, he scooped her up and plunked her into the tub
. She shrieked in surprise.
“If I hadn’t done that,” he growled, “your bath would have grown ice cold before you ever set foot in it.”
Charity sucked in a breath at the intense desire in his eyes.
Graeme stalked over to the soap and washrag
. They were not the luxurious scented soaps Charity had at home, but they were of good quality. After all, the inn did specialize in weddings, she remembered.
Graeme plunged the cloth into the hot water, wringing it over her back
. She sighed as the hot droplets sluiced over her skin.
“You have no idea what this is costing me,” he muttered.
She started to push up from the tub.
“Don’t you dare.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said
. And I am painfully hard with the desire to finally, finally make love to you.”
Charity drew a shuddery breath as his blunt declaration fueled her own desire.
“But I also know that I intend to lick every inch of your body, and the taste of your freshly bathed skin is a pleasure worth these minutes of torture.”
“You intend to
…” Her nipples hardened at the images his words brought to her mind.
“You have beautiful breasts
.” He proceeded to wash them.
Charity squirmed, needing more, and he chuckled knowingly. “Wanton.”
“Wretch,” she retorted.
He continued running the soap over her body, unable to resist leaning in for kisses that left them both breathless
. His shirt was soaked. Finally he pulled back. “Can you manage your hair on your own while I undress?”
She nodded, her voice strangled by desire.
She gave her hair the fastest washing of her life, then hopped out of the tub as Graeme stalked toward it, fully naked and sporting a massive erection.
Her knees threatened to give way.
While Charity’s bath had been lengthy, sensual and luxurious, Graeme’s was entirely opposite.
The bath was a delay he deemed necessary, since he’d arrived in his home country smelling
quite ripe, and he wanted his wife to enjoy making love. He had no doubt she would, so long as he took care not to handle her too roughly the first time. She’d already proven to be a creature of passion.
“Do you wish me to help you?” she purred.
“No, thank you,” he managed in a strangled voice, looking away lest he be tempted to lick the last droplets of water from her delectable breasts. “I’ll manage. As much as I would welcome your ministrations, the distraction would be…overwhelming.”
She
gave him a smirk and sauntered off. He shut the door to the small bathing area and proceeded to scrub himself in the most perfunctory manner possible. Satisfied he would not offend her, he blotted the drying cloth over his body. There.
He couldn’t take another minute of delay
. He wrapped the drying cloth around his hips and opened the door.
Charity stood combing out her hair
. She’d borrowed his spare shirt, which clung to her still damp body.
She dropped the comb
.
Graeme gazed at his newlywed wife, her hair damp and skin still flushed from her bath, and his erection threatened to pry loose the cloth at his hips.
Still, he couldn’t help but subject her to a bit of teasing, after the pleasurable torture of watching her bathe. “So, my wife, what shall we do now? Would you like to go shopping? Or perhaps a game of draughts?”
“You tease
.” She giggled. A girlish sound, fresh and natural. And totally belied by her body, which screamed
take me
. The sweet curve of her breasts was clearly visible through the thin cotton of his shirt, the dusky tint of her nipples pushing temptingly against their covering. The garment hung nearly to her knees, and beneath he could see the outline of her legs, the slight shadow at her cleft where they came together. The place his body clamored to be.
“
I, tease? Nay, my sweet. It is you. Your every move has teased and taunted me from the moment we met.”
She gave him a saucy look
. “I was not teasing. I was…enticing.”
“Ach
. Lass, perhaps I am not as schooled in the new forms of flirtation. What, exactly, is an enticement, if not teasing?” He was enjoying this verbal parry with her, even more because he knew it where it would end. In bed, with him deep inside her.
“An enticement is
…like a promise,” she decided.
“I see
. Then, Lady Charity, I believe it is time for you to make good on your promises.”
He stepped forward, slid his hands beneath the shift and lifted it over her head in one fluid motion
. He clasped her to him, skimming his hands over the smooth skin of her back, the sweet curve of her buttocks. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hand came between them. He felt a tug, and the cloth at his hips fell away. His erection pressed against her stomach. The feel of skin on skin, head to toe, sent a rush to his head more intoxicating than whisky. He wanted to step back, admire her glorious body, but he couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop his hands from squeezing her bottom, pulling her tighter against him.
He seized her lips in a kis
s, his tongue delving into her mouth and finding hers, parrying until they both gasped for breath.
“Bed
.” He guided them toward it, scooping her up and onto the mattress. Her legs wrapped around him, pressing her moist center against his hardness. He followed her down, groaning as she bucked her hips against him. He kissed the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, filling his hands with her breasts, cupping them, brushing the pad of his thumb over her nipple. She cried out, arching into him. He slid further down, capturing her nipple in his mouth and drawing on it tightly. Her head thrashed from side to side.
“Now, Graeme
. Please,” she begged him.
Now, definitely
. Any more anticipation would only torture them both. He guided the head of his cock to her entrance. God, she was so slick. So ready for him. He pushed into her, straining every muscle in his body to keep from going full force. She sheathed him with impossible tightness. The urge to drive deep, thrust until he was buried to the hilt, nearly overwhelmed him. He gritted his teeth.
“More,” she whispered
.
“I don’t—want to hurt you,” he panted.
She gazed up beseechingly, desire darkening those endless pools of blue. “Graeme, I want all of you.”
That did it
. He pulled back, then thrust home. She tensed with a sharp little cry. He stilled. “Too much?” He started to withdraw, guilt penetrating the haze of lust.
“No
!” Her small hands held him to her. “Just…be still just a minute…there.” The tension left her body. Still holding him, she wiggled beneath him. “Graeme…”
He knew what she wanted
. Needed. The same thing he did. He started to move again, slowly, and her eyes darkened with need.