Pendragon

He smiled, couldn't help it. 'Yes. Some men believe it to be a calling. Other must practice assiduously to be competent at it. Be quiet.'

'Thomas, is this going to be a nice thing? Despite the blood?'

At the sound of her quavery thin voice, his fingers stopped, three buttons from the bottom. He looked at her back, at the soft batiste chemise, the lace straps, all of it so feminine, so unlike him, alien from him, this soft creature who now belonged to him. Not to anyone else. To him. No, nothing hard about Meggie at all, particularly not her heart, and he knew it, but he didn't want to let it matter. He had to be strong about it, couldn't let her know. He couldn't. A man had to have his pride. He said, 'I will try to make it a nice thing.'

'All right, then I will try not to worry overly about this.'

Slowly he turned her to face him. He pulled the gown down until her arms were trapped against her sides. He lightly stroked his fingers over her jaw, her throat, came to rest lightly on her bare shoulders. She was so bloody soft. 'Meggie?'

'This isn't quite what I had expected, Thomas.'

'What did you expect?'

She shrugged, but he saw that she was embarrassed.

'Come, tell me.'

'Perhaps a small dinner by the fire, though it's quite warm, isn't it, so a fire might make us uncomfortable. All right then. We could leave the table by the window. We could speak quietly to each other, perhaps watch the moonlight play over the water, and comment on the feelings it brings to our souls.'

'That is a bit sentimental for my tastes.'

'I thought it might be. All right, some champagne then. You didn't want any in the carriage. Were you afraid that I would become ill? Were you afraid I'd really force you to sip it out of my mouth?'

He just smiled down at her. So young, he thought, too young. She didn't deserve that he maul her. He leaned down, pressed his forehead against hers. 'You array yourself in your nightgown and I will go downstairs and order up a bit of food and champagne from Mrs. Miggs. I believe she is quite pleased that I chose her inn for our wedding night.'

'Maybe she was, but Mr. Miggs just grunted at me and stared down at his shoes.'

'It is Mrs. Miggs who deals with the patrons. Now, do you need a maid to help you?'

'No. I can reach the rest of the buttons.'

He turned to go.

'Thank you, Thomas.'

He paused a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking. At the moment she was afraid to ask.

Thirty minutes later they were seated opposite each other at a small table next to the window, Meggie wearing a very lovely peach silk peignoir that her aunt Sinjun had brought her from Edinburgh. Thomas, however, was still dressed in his very nice trousers and jacket and his beautifully polished boots. His cravat looked as fresh as it had in the church that morning. So many changes on this one single day. Tomorrow she wouldn't wake up the same Meggie as she had just this morning. So few hours had passed, and yet her life had changed irrevocably. She wondered if Thomas felt the same way. Surely he must. Men couldn't be that different from women.

'It's strange,' she said, nibbling on a piece of bread, 'to be sitting in my nightclothes across from a man who isn't either my father or one of my brothers, or one of my dratted boy cousins, for that matter.'

'Come, Meggie, I cannot imagine you ever wearing that delicious confection to bed in the vicarage.'

'Well, you're right about that, but still, you're still dressed, Thomas, and I'm not.'

Thomas just smiled and held up a glass. 'To our wedding night,' he said.

Meggie was slow, but at last she did tap her glass lightly against his.

He'd given her too much time to fret. He said, 'After we have eaten and drunk just a bit more, what were you thinking would happen?'

'Since I don't know anything specific beyond kissing, as you well know, I admit things get a bit muddled. All right, really muddled, perhaps even incoherent. Right now I know I'm happy and that you're smiling. Do you think maybe that could be enough for you to go on?'

'There will be a lot more than just smiling, Meggie.'

'Like what?'

'You. are endlessly curious, aren't you?'

'Since this will involve me very personally, I don't think it all that strange.'

'What will happen is pleasure, hopefully for both of us.'

'I have already felt pleasure when you kissed me.'

'Different, stronger pleasure.'

She looked very skeptical about that.

He didn't move from the table until she'd drunk a half glass of champagne. He sat back, his hands laced over his lean belly. 'Why don't you get in bed, Meggie. I will blow out the candles.'

'Do you really wish to?'

'To what?'

'To blow out the candles.'

'Ah, a dollop of interest in me?'

'Well, yes, to be honest about it. It's difficult to think about this, but since Mary Rose and my father are married and they do sleep in the same bed, I suppose they do see each other without their clothes. That is difficult for a daughter to imagine.'

'A son as well. Does this mean that you wish to see me naked?'

She met his dark eyes and very slowly she nodded. 'I have been thinking some more about what I want to have happen. I want to add you to my fantasy. I want you to be my main character.' She gave him a nervous smile.

He didn't say a word.

'All right, you force me to be blunt, Thomas. I want you to take all your clothes off.'

'And will you undress for me as well?'

She rose from her chair and walked over to the bed. She paused a moment, and said over her shoulder, trying to smile a siren's smile, not all that successful, but she tried, 'Well, this is my fantasy, not yours. However, to be fair, perhaps I can think about that later, much later. You are the one who knows what is going to happen. Let me at least decide how we will begin it.' She sat on the bed and let her feet dangle over the side.

He too rose and walked to the bed, stopping not three feet from her. He stood in front of her for a moment, then pulled off his beautiful buff jacket. 'You say I'm beautiful, Meggie, but I'm about to prove you wrong. I'm a big hairy man.'

'I think since it is you, I shall quite like big and hairy. Show me.'

She watched him remove each and every item of clothing, fold each and every item and lay it neatly on a chair, watched him so closely that when he straightened, naked, he was already hard as the oak floorboards beneath his bare feet, and surely that would alarm any virgin.

She stared at him as he stood there, his arms at his sides. He wanted to ask her if she believed him to be as well-looking as Jeremy, but he couldn't, of course, he wouldn't.

'I was wrong,' she whispered, her eyes never looking away from his sex.

He was shaking, getting even harder, something he wished didn't have to happen, but there was no hope for it, not with her staring at him like she wanted to-no, he wouldn't think about her in front of him, her mouth on him. For God's sake, she was a vicar's daughter. But to the best of his memory no woman had ever looked at him like that. Now that he thought about it, neither had he ever before stripped off his clothes in front of a woman in order to advance her education. He cleared his throat. 'What were you wrong about?'

'You aren't beautiful, Thomas.'

'You see, I told you I was just a big hairy creature, and that-'

'You are magnificent. I did not know what a man really looked like. But I do know, all the way to my toes, that no man could be as fine as you.' And, really without thinking, she reached out her hand to touch him.

He closed his eyes, so tense he couldn't breathe. He wanted to spring, jump right on her, but he held himself perfectly still. He felt her fingers lightly touch his belly, just stay there, not moving, her fingers warm, until he thought he'd yell with it, then she stroked her fingers down the line of black hair over his belly, lower and lower, tangling her fingers in the hair at his groin, moving, still moving until she touched him, so lightly, as if she didn't