Temptations of a Wallflower (19 page)

“I approve,” she said, taking his hand. He led her across the yard, making sure to guide her around a puddle. As she walked, the two dogs trotted curiously beside her, snuffling at her skirts and letting their tongues loll unconcernedly from their mouths. She smiled at them. Nothing bad could ever truly happen in the presence of a dog. They were blessedly good-natured creatures, full of effervescent life. They calmed her a little.

Jeremy guided her inside, where the innkeeper and his wife greeted them both. “Would madam care for a bath first before dining?” the older woman asked.

“After our meal, I think,” Sarah answered.

“This way, then,” the innkeeper said, gesturing toward another chamber.

A wave of profound bashfulness struck Sarah as she
entered the taproom, feeling every eye upon her. Her face felt bright as a lantern.

One of the men nudged the other with his elbow, and the two chuckled.

“God bless ye on your marriage,” one of them said to Jeremy.

How could they tell they were newlyweds? Did she and Jeremy wear signs? Hers would read:
About to be deflowered.

Her own husband turned a fine shade of red, causing the room as a whole to laugh genially. “My thanks.”

“Don't ye worry, lass,” a woman said, taking Sarah's hand. “Man like yours'll know how to treat a lady.”

“But not be
too
nice about it,” another woman said with a grin.

Oh, Sarah was quite certain she'd burst into flames in an instant. “Um, thank you?”

Gales of laughter broke out, and Sarah gently disengaged her hand and walked on. It was a relief to finally reach the private dining room, with its small round table, two chairs, and fireplace.

“What will madam care to drink?” the innkeeper asked.

“Wine.” She accepted the seat that Jeremy held out for her and moved to take off her bonnet, then remembered that he'd removed it in the carriage when he'd kissed her. Goodness, at the rate she was blushing, there wasn't any blood left in her body. It was all in her cheeks.

“Ale for me,” Jeremy said, sitting down opposite her.

“I hadn't taken you for an ale man,” she noted as the innkeeper and his wife left.

“I imagine we've a lot to learn about each other. All our secrets.”

The blood that had been so concentrated in her cheeks rushed away.

Now was about discovery. In a few hours, she would be a different woman. A woman who knew what it was to feel the touch of a man. A woman who not only wrote about physical love but had experienced it for herself. Would it change her completely? Would she find the whole thing anticlimactic and underwhelming? She stood upon a precipice, eager and afraid to jump.

Watching Jeremy smile at her in the candlelight, all she knew was that there was no going back. Only forward.

He was asleep when I left him, sprawled like a wolf on the fur blanket. Jacob barely stirred when I pressed a parting kiss on his cheek. But I could not leave without claiming my other prize. Carefully, slowly, I removed the pearl ring from his finger and replaced it on my hand. Then it was time to leave, and I parted from that spot with a heavy heart . . .

The Highwayman's Seduction

H
eart pounding, palms damp, mouth dry, Jeremy stood in the darkened hallway outside the room he was to share with Sarah. To give her privacy, he'd lingered in the dining room while she bathed. It had been a sore temptation to drink himself either to greater courage or unconsciousness. But he'd remained temperate, finishing only one pint of ale before heading upstairs. The men remaining in the taproom had ribbed him mightily, hooting encouragement full of much biologically impossible advice as he'd walked through. If ever a man had spontaneously gone up in flames, surely he would have done so, passing through that gauntlet.

He'd climbed the stairs, feeling half as though he ascended the gallows and half as though he rose up toward heaven. All the while, he silently prayed—perhaps not the most religious usage of prayer, but he likely wasn't the first man to call upon a higher power to aid him on his wedding night. Better to turn to God than beer.

Let me do this right,
he'd silently enjoined as the stairs had creaked beneath him.
Let me make this good for her.

Now he paced back and forth in the corridor. He kept hovering his hand over the doorknob, then turning away and pacing some more, feeling like a beast on a tether. He paused, listening at the doorway. Silence. No sounds of water splashing from her bath, nor the creak of the floorboards as she got ready for bed.

Got ready for bed.
Their
shared
bed.

Imagining her sliding between the sheets made Jeremy feel as though he was going to come. Or vomit. Or both. Hopefully not at the same time.

Breathe, damn it!
He tried to follow his own command, dragging air into his lungs like he was preparing to dive beneath the surface of the sea.

Other relatively inexperienced men had bedded women. But he didn't care about any of those other men. He was concerned only about himself and his ability to pleasure his wife.

If only he hadn't left his copy of
The Highwayman's Seduction
in his valise, currently inside the room. He could have thumbed through the pages, picked up a few suggestions as to how to proceed. But the highwayman hero of that novel had a sight more confidence than Jeremy possessed.

That's what he needed: confidence. In all of the Lady of Dubious Quality books he'd read, every one of the male lovers had been supremely self-assured, almost to the point of arrogance. They knew that they could give a woman pleasure, and that informed all of their actions, their words. Marwood's advice rang in his ears. Conviction and boldness had been key at the masquerade in Bloomsbury.

He pushed thoughts of the Golden Woman aside. Now was about him and Sarah. His wife. His future.

A door to one of the other rooms opened, and a middle-aged woman emerged. She looked at Jeremy with motherly concern.

“You don't go in there, Vicar,” she said, glancing toward the door to his room, “she'll head down to the taproom and find someone else to do her good and proper.”

With a pat on his cheek, the woman moved on, chuckling to herself.

Jeremy took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and broadening his chest. He was a grown man. He was made to give Sarah pleasure. And he would do it . . . now.

He knocked on the door. “Sarah?”

There was a sudden patter of feet, and the ropes of the bed creaked as someone—presumably Sarah—climbed in. The bedclothes rustled.

He hardened like iron.

“Yes,” she called. “Uh, come in.”

He stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. Sarah was in bed watching him, the covers pulled up to her armpits. Her skin had gone pink all
over, concentrating especially in her cheeks. Her eyes gleamed brightly as she observed him come in and pull off his coat.

Sounds from the taproom dimly penetrated through the floor. Men laughed. Someone struck up a tune on the fiddle.

“The bath was acceptable, I hope.” He glanced over at the tub full of cooling water and tried not to picture her naked in it—without much success. His cock grew even harder. At this rate, he'd terrify her with the pier piling of his erection.

“The innkeeper's wife put rose petals in the water,” Sarah said.

At the mention of the flower, he realized that the air was scented with its fragrance. A few wilted petals drifted in circles atop the surface of the bathwater.

“That was kind of her,” he said dully.

“It was,” Sarah answered.

Both of them looked everywhere but at each other as conversation guttered out like a candle flame. More sounds continued from below—a shout, a woman singing—and the pop of the fire in the grate sounded as loud as a gunshot.

Would he and Sarah stay like this all night, frozen with apprehension?

Confidence,
he reminded himself.
You will make her feel inexpressible pleasure.

“I'll just have a wash up,” he said, tipping his head toward the washstand in the corner.

“Of course,” she answered quickly, her eyes darting to the opposite corner.

He walked to the small table, where a pitcher, basin,
and small cake of soap awaited him. A mirror hung on the wall, allowing him a view of Sarah behind him. She kept her gaze firmly away from him, so he took advantage of this and hastily stripped from the waist up. Neckcloth, waistcoat. Then his shirt, which he tugged rapidly from his trousers. All of these garments he set aside on a nearby chair.

He readied the water and washcloth, then scrubbed himself. Neck, underarms, chest. Water sluiced down his torso. The room felt very hot, however, so he didn't mind.

Glancing up at the mirror, he noticed Sarah staring. At him. His back. Her gaze roved eagerly over his shoulders, his arms. She even let her eyes roam lower, to his arse and thighs.

She had no idea that he watched her watching him.

Knowing that she observed him with so ravenous a look, his heart sped up and his cock ached. So . . . his new bride liked what she saw. Rather than be repulsed by his muscular physique—so unlike most noblemen's—she seemed to enjoy his form. Gratitude for his morning swims filled him, and he felt a nice little surge of masculine pride. The desire in her eyes stoked his own.

He didn't want to embarrass her by drawing notice to her attention, yet he didn't want her to stop looking at him as she did.

Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
But perhaps just a little bit of conceit might be a good thing. There was no real harm in it.

So he stretched a little and flexed the muscles of his arms and back, as though unaware of her gaze. Her
eyes widened in appreciation. He struggled to resist the urge to preen and pose even more.

She loosened her grip on the covers. The blanket slid down to her waist, revealing her in a ribbon-trimmed chemise. The fine fabric did little to conceal the lush, full shape of her breasts, or the tight little buds of her nipples straining against the linen.

At this rate, he'd be lucky to make it to the bed before exploding.

He turned around, and, to his surprise, she didn't look away. Instead, she continued to stare at his chest and arms. He would have thought an untested maiden like her would have shown more shyness—but her boldness filled him with his own sense of strength. She hadn't looked away from the erotic Oriental art, and now she showed the same daring with him.

His hands strayed to the fastening of his breeches, readying to completely undress.

“Will you blow out the candle?” he asked, glancing at the light on the bedside table.

“Ah, my husband is shy,” she returned with a little smile.

He didn't want her believing him timid or nearly as inexperienced as he actually was, sensing that neither emotion created much passion. “Leave it burning,” he said, summoning his own bravado.

Her widening smile showed that she did appreciate his courage.

After taking a deep breath, he began to unfasten the buttons on his breeches. This was only the second time in his life that he'd stripped before an audience, and the first time had been mostly in darkness. Sarah
watched his movements avidly, her gaze fastened on his stiff fingers as he slipped each button through its hole. The front flap opened. He peeled off his breeches. And then he stood before her in nothing but his smallclothes.

The fabric of his undergarments was very thin. There was little hiding the jut of his erection tenting the linen. His whole body was flushed and aflame. He thought to cover himself with his hands, lest he frighten her. But then he saw her looking straight at his cock, not with fear but with curiosity and excitement. His hands stayed at his sides.

“My wife is not shy,” he said huskily.

“Not with my husband, I'm not,” she answered, dragging her gaze back up to his face. “I've spent too long in the shadows. Now . . . with us . . . I want everything in the light.”

His heart—and other parts of his anatomy—leapt.

He wouldn't keep her waiting—not when he could barely delay another moment. So he padded across the room toward her, his every muscle tight with wanting, his pulse hammering.

She edged over in the bed, making room for him. He let the candle continue to burn as he slid into bed. The sheets were warm from her body, faintly perfumed with roses. He felt big and ungainly as he climbed in beside her, but she merely watched him with that same eager look. They sat side by side, leaning against the headboard. Her near nudity was a tempest in his veins—her long, sleek legs, the curve of her belly, her bare arms. Everywhere was Sarah, filling his senses.

What would Marwood do in this situation? Mas
terfully take command, sweeping the woman into his arms and claiming her confidently. But Jeremy wasn't his cousin, and never would be.

A moment passed. And then another.

“You've never done this before, either,” Sarah said.

He thought, briefly, about prevaricating or overstating his experience. “I have,” he replied. Then admitted, “Once.”

She exhaled, and her lips curved. “We can learn together. Step by step.”

He threaded their fingers together and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. “God, Sarah—if you only knew how much I want you.” His voice was rough. “The prayers I've said . . . I'm afraid of scaring you.”

“Fear has no place with us,” she said softly. “You aren't alone. I've been waiting for this—for you—for a long time.”

He leaned down and, with his free hand, cupped her face, tilting it upward. His mouth came down onto hers. She kissed him back feverishly, hotly, her lips as demanding as his. They devoured each other, consuming and taking. There was no part of him that did not feel and respond to her, urging him to take her, take her swift and hard.

But he would not give in to the commands of his impatient body. He needed to give her more than a fast, graceless fuck.

Taking hold of her shoulders, he guided her down until she lay flat upon the bed. He loomed over her, bracing himself on his forearm, as he continued to kiss her. He stroked his other hand along her jaw, down the column of her neck, playing over the fine curves of her
collarbones. Then he let his hand drift lower, between her breasts, where her heart hammered.

He cupped one breast, silken and full, and groaned at the feel of her with so little between them. She gasped into his mouth at his touch, her gasp turning into a moan as he found the stiffened tip of her breast and stroked it. She was so tight and eager, straining against the fabric of her chemise, panting with each caress, each focused touch. Gently, very gently, he pinched her nipple, and her moan deepened.

Jeremy played with her other breast, giving it the same attention. She writhed beneath him, arching upward, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her legs were restless against his, so soft and long as they rustled the bedclothes.

He stroked his hand down even lower, skimming her ribs, her waist, feeling the supple curve of her stomach. Lower still. Until he reached the juncture of her legs. Slowly, he guided his fingers over her mound, until they rested over her folds. Then he simply let his fingers stay there, letting her grow accustomed to the feel of him through the fabric.

His cock ached, and everything felt ready to combust at the slightest movement. He was so close to her. To the very core of her, the center of all her secrets, her most private self. He wanted to delve deep, but he had to keep a tight rein on his hunger.

Slow, slow,
he reminded himself.
You're not a damned wild beast.

She shifted beneath his touch. Pressed upward against his fingers. Her legs opened slightly.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes.”

He caressed her lower still, moving over the fabric of her chemise, until he reached the bare skin of her thigh. Nothing ever felt so soft as she did there. Creamy and sleek and lush. And hot as a fever. He gathered up the hem of her chemise, until she was nude from the waist down.

With more patience than he knew he possessed, he stroked up her thigh. Then found her. That lovely quim. And, Lord help him, did she feel like Paradise. He touched her gently outside her folds, rubbing her, listening to Sarah's responsive sighs and moans. His fingers dipped deeper. He almost came at once, feeling her wet heat. She wanted him. As much as he wanted her.

“I can't wait anymore,” he growled. Taking his hand away, he positioned himself above her, settling between her legs. He angled his cock toward her entrance. Then slowly sank in, inch by inch, as her body worked to accommodate him. All he knew was tight, molten heat surrounding him, enveloping his very consciousness.