"Only one," he said with a soft smile that made something kindle deep in her belly. "Shall we escape the beast and go there now?"
Her heart thumped harder than Rex's tail. "Aren't there more rooms I haven't seen?"
"None that cannot wait until tomorrow." He skimmed his fingertips over her cheek, ignoring Rex's protest. The pad of his thumb brushed her lips. "And I cannot wait any longer."
That simple statement made her heart give a little leap. She pressed a hand to her chest. A faint smile curving his bruised lips, he lifted that hand and brushed his mouth over the knuckles before lacing his fingers through hers.
Rex dogged their steps all the way back through the long gallery, the north drawing room, and the round gallery. Tris quickened their pace into the corridor and past the Queen's Bedchamber. By the time they reached his rooms, they were running. Alexandra laughed at the absurdity. When they finally darted through his bedroom door and he whirled and all but slammed it in the dog's face, she laughed even harder.
Rex whined once, barked three times, then padded away, his big feet thudding with each step.
"He knows when to give up," she observed with more giggles.
"You find this humorous?" Tris returned with mock severity. Without waiting for her to answer, he dragged her into his arms and silenced her with a kiss.
It was a kiss of desperate tenderness, a kiss that quickly escalated, igniting heat with its demand. Though she wondered if the pressure hurt his swollen mouth, she couldn't bring herself to care. The scent of him filled her senses: fresh air and soap and that elusive something she thought of as him. He tasted of Tris and the wine he'd drunk with dinner, and she thought she'd like to taste him, to kiss him, forever.
When he finally released her, she just stood and gazed at him, unsteady on her feet.
"You're not laughing anymore," he said with a smug smile.
"Laughing? I think I forgot to even breathe."
The smile widened as he walked away to turn down the gas lamps. There were four of them mounted on the walls, two on each side of the room. Even battered and bruised, he moved easily, with an innate grace, so tall and handsome in the wedding outfit his valet had cobbled together, the white breeches hugging his muscled thighs.
She could scarcely believe he was hers.
"There," he said when the room was bathed in a softer, hazier glow. "Isn't that nicer?"
"It is." Watching his gaze roam over her, she smoothed the white lace skirt of the dress she'd borrowed from Corinna. "Thank you."
He shrugged out of his black tailcoat and draped it over the back of one of the striped chairs before he began untying his cravat. As his long fingers worked at the knot, she noticed his tanned hands, their backs lightly sprinkled with hair that glowed golden in the gaslight. She wanted to walk closer and help him, but she didn't trust her knees. She was forgetting to breathe again. After all those years of hopeless dreaming, to think he was really hers…
It was incredible. She swallowed hard—so hard she feared he'd heard it.
"Are you nervous?" he asked, sitting on the chair.
He had heard it. And misunderstood. "Not really. Griffin told me what to expect."
He looked a bit startled at that news. "Did he?"
"Oh, yes."
He tugged off his black pumps and peeled off his white stockings, leaving his feet and well-defined calves as bare as the day he was born. Sweet heaven. If she had to watch him anymore in the act of undressing, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions. "When are you going to leave so I can get ready for bed?" she asked a little shrilly.
He gave her a puzzled smile. "I was planning to get you ready for bed myself."
"Pardon?" That wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to leave her, so she could change into Juliana's pretty nightgown, and then return wearing a dressing gown himself. One that went to the floor and covered all of him. Including his legs, where her gaze seemed to be permanently fastened. "You're supposed to leave so I can prepare myself and wait for you in the bed."
He rose and came close, his silvery eyes narrowed. "Says who?"
"Griffin. Griffin told me—"
"Griffin is a muttonhead." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Turn around."
She did, her gaze falling on the bed. It looked big and soft, and someone had already turned the covers back invitingly. And by all indications, he wasn't going to let her get in it without him.
After he untied her sash, she felt his fingers freeing the buttons down her back. Practiced fingers. "You've done this before."
"I have buttons on my own clothes, you know." He managed to sound both amused and evasive. "What else did Griffin tell you?"
"He said it's not like horses—we will do it face-to-face."
"Yes, usually," he said, and before she could ruminate on that, added, "What else?"
Her bodice loosened, and she crossed both hands over her bosom to hold it in place. "He said it would hurt. But just a little, and only the first time."
He swung her back around, his eyes searching hers. "Are you worried about that?"
"Not really."
"Good. I'll go slowly, I promise. If it hurts, just tell me, and I'll stop."
"Thank you," she whispered, caught in the intensity of his gaze.
He raised her hands from her chest to his mouth and placed a warm kiss to the back of one and then the other.
And her dress fell to the floor, revealing her sleeveless linen chemise.
He stepped back, his gaze roaming hungrily over her half-clothed body. The possessive look in his eyes was more exciting than she could have imagined.
The shiver that ran through her was not from a chill.
When he reached for her, she moved closer, raising her face for his kiss. As his mouth claimed hers, she pressed herself against him, feeling all the hard small buttons that ran down
