One ought to feel more than just lust for one's bride. /Did/ he? He searched hopefully in his mind for some tender feelings and discovered with something bordering on relief that indeed there was /something/ there. He had grown to rather like her as well as admire her. He could perhaps grow fond of her if he tried – and try he must and would.
If the truth were told, he had felt something like a lump in his throat when she had spoken those words earlier – /I wanted the whole world to look at me and rejoice with me/. He had wanted to gather her up into his arms – rather as he always did whenever Toby, during his insecure moments between play and mayhem, tugged at his breeches and asked him if he really, /really/ loved him. 'I'll see you in the morning,' he told his valet, his voice abrupt and still sounding irritable as he left the dressing room and made his way back along the corridor to Maggie's bedchamber.
He was certainly feeling lusty. Guilt had not affected him there. She was delicious even when she did not taste of wine. But when she did – as she had in the drawing room a short while ago – she was quite intoxicating. He did not suppose she realized how close she had come to being tumbled on the drawing room carpet when /she/ had kissed /him/ and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue.
He had not been expecting it. He had always found her rather inhibited, even prudish, sexually. The typical and perfect lady, in fact. But she had kissed him downstairs, and it had been a definite invitation.
Dash it all, he hoped she would not live to regret this marriage.
He was going to have to see to it that she did not, was he not? He owed her that much. And even apart from that, he could not really contemplate a marriage that he made no effort at all to make into a decent one. He had not wanted to marry, it was true, but he had done it and now he must live accordingly.
He was still feeling that curious mingling of irritability and lust as he tapped on her door and let himself in – it would be mildly absurd, he thought, to wait for her to answer his knock.
She was standing at the foot of the bed, hugging the bedpost. She was wearing a white nightgown, which shimmered in the light from two candles and looked somehow more gorgeous than the most elaborate of ball gowns.
And – oh, Lord! – her hair was loose down her back, and it reached almost to her bottom. It was dark and thick and shining. And that gorgeous nightgown, though perfectly decent, did absolutely nothing to hide her even more gorgeous curves.
He fought the advent of an early arousal. 'The canopy will not stay up without your assistance?' he asked.
She gazed blankly at him for a moment, looked at the bedpost to which she clung, glanced up at the canopy over the bed, and smiled as she dropped her arms to her sides. Then she laughed and looked more vibrantly beautiful than ever. 'I daresay it will,' she said. 'Perhaps it was I who could not stay upright without the bedpost's assistance. I /did/ drink that glass of wine.' 'I thought,' he said, 'that perhaps you would be fast asleep from its effects.' 'Oh.' She laughed again. 'No.' 'I am delighted,' he said. 'Are you?' He was delighted that she was awake so that he could bed her, though he had not really expected she would be asleep. Was he also delighted to be here with his wife? With the woman who would be his companion for the rest of their lives? Was he delighted that tomorrow morning, his lust sated, he would not simply walk away from her and forget her but would take her with him to Woodbine and into the future?
Would he ever be able to forget her even if he were free to do so? Now /that/ was an interesting question. 'What is it?' she asked, and he realized that he had been standing there staring at her for several silent moments. 'You are almost too beautiful to touch,' he said.
She raised her eyebrows. 'But not quite, I hope.' 'Do you hope so?' he said, and he walked closer to her and set his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arms' length while his eyes roamed over her. 'But you /are/ beautiful, Maggie. I am a fortunate man.' He lowered his head and kissed her at the base of her throat.
She tipped back her head and sighed softly. 'I am not embarrassed any longer,' she said. 'It is so foolish to be, is it not? This is the most natural thing imaginable. I want it, Duncan. I want it more than anything else in the world, in fact.' He wondered what the words had cost her in courage. Though he could tell from the heat radiating off her body that she did mean them.
He slipped his thumbs beneath the shoulders of her nightgown and moved them partway down her arms. He kissed one bare shoulder and moved his mouth over the swell of her breast, lowering the nightgown further as he reached the nipple and took it lightly into his mouth. He touched it with the tip of his tongue and felt her shiver. With heat.
He stood back a little and released his hold on the nightgown. She was pressing it against her stomach with both hands and could have kept it there if she had chosen. Instead, she let her arms fall to her sides and let the flimsy garment slither and slide downward to pool at her feet.
Her cheeks flamed and her eyes held his – until he looked away to see all of her.
Full breasts with rosy tips, small waist, curvaceous hips, long, slim, shapely legs – if there was any imperfection in her, he could not see it.
She was every man's sexual dream come true.
Then one of her arms lifted from her side and pulled on the sash of his dressing gown until it came loose. The garment fell open and she pushed it off his shoulders so that it too fell to the floor.
He was surprised – at her nakedness, at his own. He had been prepared to be far more … what? Decorous? Considerate? Gentle? She was not a virgin, it was true, but if his guess was correct – and he would wager on it – she was as close to being a virgin as it was possible to be without actually being one. 'More beautiful than ever,' he murmured. 'Duncan.' She set her hands on his shoulders and moved them down his arms, looking him over frankly as she did so. 'You are beautiful too. Is that an inappropriate word? I am sorry if it is. But it fits. You /are/ beautiful.' He took her hands in his and wrapped them about his waist, bringing her full against him as he did so. /God in heaven/!
He touched his lips to hers, opening her mouth with them as he did so and thrusting his tongue deep inside. She moaned and arched in harder against him. His erection pressed against her belly.
So much for gentle discretion. 'May we lie down?' she asked against his lips when he withdrew his tongue. 'I don't think my legs will hold me up much longer.' He bent and picked her up and carried her the short distance to the bed.
He lay her down on the bottom sheet and kissed her openmouthed again.
She still tasted of wine. She smelled of lavender soap. Siren and lady all rolled into one. 'Do you wish me to blow out the candles?' he asked her. 'I would prefer to leave them burning – I want to watch what we do. But it will be as you wish.' Watching them have sex by candlelight had not been part of his original plan either, by Jove.
Her eyes opened and widened. 'Oh,' she said. 'Leave them burning by all means, then.' He lay down beside her, slid one arm beneath her back, and moved the other hand over her body in a light caress, tracing her curves, feeling the soft heat of her skin, breathing in lavender and wine. He really must /slow down/. His hand roamed over her breasts and lifted one in his palm, feeling the soft, firm, magnificent weight of it as he rubbed the nipple with the pad of his thumb and lowered his head to take it into his mouth again. This time he sucked firmly.
She inhaled slowly and audibly, and her fingers twined tightly in his hair. 'Oh, please,' she said, but did not elaborate.
He moved on top of her and pressed his knees between her thighs, pushing them wide until he could kneel between them. He gazed down at her with half-closed eyes. She was gazing back at him, her hair a riot of dark glory over her shoulders and breasts.
Candlelight flickered over her face.
She lifted her arms and spread her hands over his chest before moving them in slow circles there, her fingers bent back, smoothing the light hairs with her palms in one direction and ruffling them again in the other. She looked back into his face and smiled.
He could feel the soft smoothness of her inner thighs against the outsides of his legs. He could see the heavy fullness of her breasts. He could smell lavender and wine and woman.
And his erection was so taut that if he did not bury it inside her soon, something very embarrassing was going to happen. 'Forgive me,' he said, lowering his head and kissing her lips, 'I cannot wait any longer.' 'Good,' she said, still smiling. 'Neither can I.' He could have stretched out on top of her then and taken her with swift, urgent strokes. He would feel that whole lovely, curvaceous body beneath his, and the feeling would further ignite
