Hugh needed to reassure her that she had nothing to fear in him. He wanted Eleanor’s trust, even though trust was something he found not just difficult but impossible—especially with a woman.
After all, the woman he had loved body and soul all those years ago, Alais Courville—the woman he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with—had played him false so completely that all his hopes for their future had been burnt to dust. Her betrayal had been so breathtaking and so devastating that it had left him with a bitterness that could never be erased. Never again would he allow anyone to get close enough to trample on his heart as Alais had done.
Though of course that had nothing to do with Hugh wanting to bed Eleanor. But once he had done so he would take a step back and leave her to her own devices. It wasn’t as though she wanted any real intimacies, and he certainly didn’t want to get too close to her.
He would be the kind of husband Eleanor would welcome—respectful, yet distant, courteous, yet remote. He didn’t want anything more. Then he could get back to business, serving King John by capturing Le Renard and his outlaws.
Even the missive that had arrived earlier from Lord Balvoire, with its serious implications, had not really penetrated his mind. His thoughts were solely on his new wife and this night. Yet how to proceed?
He tossed back the ale in his goblet, swiped his mouth with his hand and jumped to his feet. He must proceed slowly and with care...
Hugh knocked on the wooden door of his new chamber and ambled in just as Brunhilde was drawing the heavy curtain around the bed, leaving only a small opening visible, Eleanor evidently behind it. He stood against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest and nodded at Father Thomas as he swung a censer, blessing every corner of the room and wishing the married couple joy, fertility and much happiness.
The guests who had staggered behind Hugh to the solar were outside in the antechamber, craning to catch a glimpse, but Father Thomas and Brunhilde ushered them away, closing the door.
Hugh and Eleanor were finally alone, and this was their wedding night.
Hugh drew the curtain around the bed slowly and found Eleanor sitting upright in the large feather bed, wrapped in a deep blue coverlet. She looked up at him and stole his breath.
If he had thought her lovely before, it was nothing compared to how she looked now. He had never seen her luscious long hair unbound, framing her face. He watched, entranced, as her lips parted and she bit her bottom lip nervously. Her brown eyes held flecks of gold and amber in this light, but also a veil of anxiety and barely disguised fear.
Hugh had two choices here. He could get into bed and make Eleanor his in every way imaginable, as was his right, blotting out all vestiges of the man who had been there before. Or... Or he could do something for her.
He could wait.
He knew what he wanted to do. Lord above, he knew what he should do—if only to legitimise the marriage—but then, this proud, terrified woman was like no other. He sensed that her past experiences, whatever they were, could not have been good, and if he wasn’t careful they would determine their future...badly.
Hugh gave himself a mental shake and smiled. ‘I hope it has not been too exhausting a day for you, Eleanor?’
‘I am well, as you can see,’ she said in a flat tone. ‘Are you well, my lord?’
‘Mmm? Yes, of course.’
No, he damn well wasn’t. He dragged his shaky fingers through his hair and swallowed hard.
‘Are you sure, my lord?’
‘Yes—and call me Hugh. I cannot get used to anyone “my lording” me—especially you.’
He sighed, trying to drag his gaze away, then sat at the edge of the bed and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he watched her. He caught a tendril of her loose, unbound hair and wrapped a silky lock around his fingers.
‘You seem more nervous than I... Hugh.’
‘I am.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me, what do you want to do?’
‘Do?’ Her eyes widened in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘This is our private time together, Eleanor, and what we do is no one’s business but our own.’
She frowned, meeting his eyes. ‘This is our wedding night. It wouldn’t be legally binding if we didn’t...’
‘True... But no one need know. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’
He watched as Eleanor’s jaw visibly dropped and she pushed forward, meeting his gaze.
After a moment she shook her head, looking away. ‘No... I thank you for your consideration but, no. I’d rather get this over and done with, if you don’t mind.’
‘Very well.’ He cautioned himself to proceed slowly. ‘But remember you promised you’d be gentle with me, Eleanor.’
She rolled her eyes as he slid his hand to cup her face, tilting it and tracing her soft pink lips with his thumb. He bent his head to hers, his lips so near that there was only warm, wet air between them. He let the moment stretch agonisingly, allowing Eleanor to pull away if she wanted to. Hugh’s mouth curved into the ghost of a smile as she moved closer, before he pressed it to hers and kissed her softly.
He noticed from the corner of his eye that her hands reaching out from beneath the covers were still gloved.
‘You wear those even in bed?’ he whispered against her lips.
‘What?’ She looked up, dazed. ‘Oh, yes. These allow the applied balm to...to make my hands soft.’
‘Fit for a lady.’
‘I suppose...’ she murmured, and she pressed
