How to Seduce a Bride

“No more,” he said when she held out her glass for champagne again. “You’re feeling too lovely.”

“I am not!” she protested.

“Then get angry with me. See if you can.”

She collapsed into giggles. “You’re right! How can I be mad at someone who gives me such delicious cakes and wine?” She raised her head and peeped at him through errant curls. “I’m not tipsy, I’m just happy. This reminds me of the days before I was sent away, when I’d visit with my friends and sometimes stay overnight at their cottages. We’d tell stories and giggle until dawn. My friends,” she said wistfully. “I wonder what happened to them. After my father and I were arrested, I never heard from them again.”

She sat up straighter. “Too bad for them, right?” she said, tossing her head to clear the curls from her eyes. “I made friends back in Port Jackson. They call it Botany Bay, but no one can live there. We stayed at Port Jackson. And I did have friends there, too. But we never laughed so much. There are people with tales sadder than mine,” she said seriously. “And now,” she said on a deep breath, “I don’t intend ever to be sad again.”

“I’ll try to ensure that you never are,” he said. “That, at least, I can promise.”

He rose from the chair he’d been sitting in, and came to sit beside her. He drained the last of his champagne, then paused and held up the empty glass, scrutinizing it. “They say that these were made from molds of the breasts of Marie Antoinette,” he mused.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her eyes widen. “But I also heard they’re modeled after those of Diane de Poitiers, mistress of our Henry the Second. I also heard that Paris took a mold of Helen of Troy’s bounty, and that’s where they come from. Odd, that so many lovely breasts figure in stories about one simple glass, don’t you think?

She eyed the glass carefully. She took it from him, and suddenly clapped it over her own right breast. Now his eyes widened.

“Phoo,” she said, looking down to see that the glass didn’t encompass half of her breast. “That doesn’t speak well for me. I couldn’t fit in one of these. Or even two put together. Well, maybe two put together. What do you think?

“Oh! Your face,” she exclaimed, laughing again, and clapping her hands. “I’ve finally done it! I’ve shocked you! And here you were, trying to scandalize me. Don’t deny it. You’ve been telling warmer and warmer stories… why, that’s what happens when you drink too much,” she said. “Did you know that?”

“Possibly,” he said, taking the glass from where she’d put it on the bed, and placing it on the night-stand. “But actually, I was trying to warm you up. Seduce you, that is. There are some who say that warm talk enlivens a woman wonderfully.”

He traced one finger along her collarbone, then leaned forward and brushed his lips along it. His hand trailed down toward her breast, his lips following. “I wouldn’t want to put this lovely article in a glass,” he murmured against her skin, as his finger pulled down the neckline of her gown. “There are far better things to do with it.”

He cupped her now exposed breast and brought his mouth to the puckered rosy tip. “Much better,” he murmured.

She sat still, feeling too much to know what to say as he put his tongue to her breast, and then his lips again. Tanner had sometimes squeezed her breasts in lust, or pinched her there as a jest, but he’d never done this. This was extravagantly delicious, it overcame her; she couldn’t assess her feelings.

He raised his head to see her expression.

“This is good, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s too good, I didn’t know…”

He silently cursed the dead man who had obviously never treated her with any tenderness, even in lust. “Oh, it gets better,” he said as he gathered her in his arms.

He kissed her gently, his palm over the breast he’d abandoned, so that the air couldn’t chill her. They sat on the high bed and he stroked and kissed her, touching his tongue to hers. She sighed into his mouth. Her hands went to his head and she held him so she could drink deeper. Her skin warmed; he could feel her heart racing against his. She moaned, low in her throat. That was what did it. She heard herself and woke from the sensual spell he’d been weaving.

He felt her body stiffen. He drew away.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head; he could see frustrated tears springing to her eyes. “Don’t stop,” she said angrily. “I can’t help it, ignore it, go on.”

“In a pig’s eye,” he said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I just thought of what we’d do. Pay it no mind. I’ll get over it.”

“Get over what?”

“Dreading,” she said, and then cursed in a way that made his eyebrows go up. He was impressed.

“It’s fine when I feel,” she said furiously. “But when I think, it all stops. It must be because I always had to think before, with Tanner. Whenever he came to me. Because I couldn’t bear to feel. Now, when I want it the other way ’round, this happens. Damnation!” she swore, balling her hand to a fist and pounding the bed, “I didn’t know it or I’d never have married you, or anyone! Do you believe me?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. He thought for a moment, trying to rein in his senses, so he could make sense. “Well,” he finally said, “there are several ways we can fix this. Believe me, it can be and will be remedied. Now, let’s see the best way to do it. We can feed you a whole bottle of champagne and open another. Then you won’t be thinking at all.” He frowned. “But the problem is that if we get you drunk enough you won’t remember how good it was with us, and we’ll have to start all over again next time.”

She smiled, but it was a small, sad smile.

“Or,” he said, “we can put you in charge. That’s it! You won’t have to think of anything but what you want me to do next.”

“What?” she said.

He cocked his head to the side. “Of course, there’s the distinct possibility that you won’t know what you want. But that can be sorted out, too. I’ll tell you in advance. Or show you, and you can judge. How does that sound?”

She stared at him.

“Shall I tell you your options?” he asked, smiling.

She bowed her head into her hands. “Oh,” she whispered in an agony of self-loathing, “why do you put up with me?”

“Because,” he said softly, “I love you. I thought you knew that.”

She looked up at him.

He gathered her close in his arms. “Nothing could be worse than not knowing what’s going to happen,” he told her. “I should have realized that sooner. Sometimes talking about such things can be lovely. Did you know there are some people who would rather talk about it than do it? Well, not you or I, but I think talking can ease our way. Let me tell you what’s possible. Remember, you will have your choice.”

And then he spoke to her about making love, the things they could do together. He described those things in soft words, delicious words, wooing her with how he phrased them. Nothing he said sounded wrong. He punctuated each lesson with a kiss, and told her about things she’d heard of, but had been grateful Tanner never asked of her. Now, listening to her new husband’s husky, entrancing voice, as he sat next to her with his arms around her, trying to seduce her into a deeper embrace, she found she wanted to try everything he spoke of.

Only once, she stopped him, her eyes wide. “Good women do that?” she asked in wonder.

“The best women do that,” he assured her. “And I, of course, would do similar, only different, of course, for you. Would you like to hear about that?”

“No,” she said.

He stopped breathing, and silently cursed himself for a fool, to think a woman who had been hurt by a man could be lured by words that told her about what she must think of as only further indignity. He was wondering how to repair the damage, thinking frantically of what to do next, when she pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him.

“Don’t you want to hear more?” he asked, when he could, though he felt that if he waited longer his heart