And he slammed the master bedchamber door.
When he opened a door near to the opposite end of the endless stretch of hallway, he carried her into a room small enough so the branch of candles lit every corner. There was a narrow had in the center, an armoire and a desk against the far wall. In front of the small fireplace was a dark blue rug with a wide green border, well worn, a very old chair sitting on it, high-backed, its seat sunk in. A lot of bottoms had settled in that chair over the years. Rosalind said, 'I like this bedchamber.' Then she shut up fast when he laid her on her back in the center of the had.
He was breathing hard, unable to focus on her words, on anything. 'Now, Rosalind. Now.'
'Wait, Nicholas!'
'What? What is it?'
'This room, ah, I think it suits you more than that massive earl's chamber-particularly with your grandfather in it.'
She was afraid, dammit. He had to slow himself down even though he knew it would kill him. He owed his grandfather a fist to the nose, if a ghost had a nose. He set the branch of candles on the small table beside the had, managed to say in a credibly calm voice, 'It was my bedchamber as a boy. I spent many happy hours here. I plan to spend many more this night.'
And the dam broke. His hands were all over the buttons on her gown. His fingers were nimble, a vast relief, and when he pulled the gown off her shoulders and down her arms, imprisoning her, She lay on her back, looking up at him. 'Nicholas?'
'Hmm.'
'That cackle we heard in your bedchamber-maybe that was a chicken we heard and not your grandfather.'
Laughter spurted out of his mouth, and he turned away, holding his stomach he laughed so hard. He finally caught his breath, leaned down, and pulled her up against him. He whispered against her cheek, 'How is a man supposed to perform his marital duties if he's howling with laughter?' 'I'd rather it was a chicken.'
He kissed her, then laid her onto her back again. 'Perhaps,' Nicholas said, laughter bubbling up again, 'if it was Grandfather, he will sing advice to me tomorrow.'
'Oh, dear, do you need it?'
That got his attention. He prepared to lunge.
'Nicholas, no, wait. You've got me half-undressed and here you are still in your bloody coat.'
In record time, his record at least, he was naked, his boots tossed at right angles next to his boy's chair, his clothes scattered on the floor at his big bare feet.
She made a funny noise in her throat.
'Rosalind?'
He saw himself then through her eyes and cursed, this time detailing a goat who mistook a boot for a female goat. He was naked. Could he be any more of a clod? What to do? He couldn't very well grab a blanket and wrap it around himself, that would lack finesse, it would be, quite frankly, unworthy of a man who knew what was what. So he faced her, arms to his sides, and didn't move. 'I'm a man, Rosalind, just a man. I am sorry if you are disappointed there is no tree trunk sticking out from my belly.'
What if she were repulsed? What if she thought him the ugliest creature on God's earth?
She was breathing hard; he heard it and wondered what she was thinking, feeling. He continued to stand there, looking down at his big toe, stubbed in his haste to get her away from his grandfather's bedchamber. It pulsed with pain. It steadied him. What was she thinking? What-
She came up on her elbows, never looking away from him. 'You are beautiful, Nicholas. I never imagined a man could look like you do, all hard and smooth. I mean-' She actually broke off, swallowed, and her eyes went right to his sex.
He was aroused, nothing he could do about it. He was beautiful? He cleared his throat. 'You think all of me is beautiful? Or just parts? Or maybe just my feet? I was told once that I had David's feet, you know, Michelangelo's sculpture? What do you think?'
Whatever she thought remained unspoken. She looked utterly absorbed, staring, staring, and her eyes were looking nowhere near his face. Because he was a man, because a woman's attention was focused on him, he predictably got bigger.
She sat up suddenly, swung her legs over the had, and reached out her hand toward him. Then her face flamed red and she dropped her hand back to her lap. A pity that, he thought. She whispered, 'Oh, dear, as fascinating as you look, I don't think this will work. I'm very sorry, Nicholas.'
'It will work, I promise you.' He walked to the narrow had. She squeaked, rolled, and nearly fell off the other side.
'Didn't you see it work quite well in your book? And all those gentlemen were far more well-endowed than I am.'
She clutched a pillow to her chest. 'Well, yes, I suppose so. But you're not a drawing, Nicholas, you're a man, all real flesh and blood and you're standing right by my had.'
'We will go slowly,' he said, and prayed he could manage that tall order. It would be a close thing, but he was determined not to muck it up. 'Come back to me, sweetheart, and let me see you. You want to be fair about this, don't you?'
'No.'
'Here I am, naked to my feet, and you're still dressed ready for a ball.'
She gave him a long, considering look. 'All right,' she said and scooted back to him. She lay on her back, her arms at her sides, and closed her eyes.
Again, he couldn't help himself, he laughed. 'If you would clasp your hands together over your breasts, I could slip a lily between your fingers. Oh, Lord, Rosalind, you look like a half-dressed sacrifice.'
Her eyes remained tightly shut. 'I am.'
He was still laughing when he tossed her gown to the foot of the bed. He studied the acres of virginal white petticoats, her slippered toes sticking out. He must be careful not to rip the lovely lace-edged white chemise. He got her slippers off, pulled her stockings down, smiled at the hand-stitched pale blue garters she wore. He looked at those long narrow feet of hers, the nice arches. He wanted to lick her toes.
Her eyes popped open when he lifted her bare foot to his mouth. 'What are you doing?'
He licked and caressed his way up to her knees. 'You are really going to like this.' He raised her leg, her petticoats frothing around them, and began kissing and licking the back of her knee.
Bless her heart, she didn't move, but since his ears were attuned to any sort of sound she might make, he heard her breathing jerk a bit. Suddenly, she shot upright and leapt on him, taking him backwards. They rolled off the bed and landed on the floor, Nicholas thankfully on bottom. A rug was beneath his butt but his back was on the bare oak planks, scratchy and cold.
Who cared?
She kissed his nose, his chin, his ears, licked his jaw, and he thought he'd die when she slipped her tongue inside his mouth.
He went to work on the billowing petticoats-five of them-and soon they looked like small snow mounds scattered across the small bedchamber. When she was wearing naught but her lovely chemise, she was lying on top of him, her hands all over his face, tugging at his hair, kissing his nose, his eyebrows, his mouth. He eased his hands beneath the chemise and nearly expired at the feel of her.
'Now there is nothing between thee and me,' he said.
32
She reared up, stared down at him as he kneaded her flesh. She moaned, looked horrified, then she whispered, 'Nicholas,' and kissed him again.
His fingers stroked her inner thighs, moving upward until he found her. He stopped breathing. He eased a finger inside her, and to his utter joy, that blessed finger set off a cataclysm. She began to move frantically against
