The Prince's Bride (12 page)

“Now, my lady.” Flora’s brisk tone pulled Jocelyn from her thoughts. Flora nodded at the dress still in Jocelyn’s lap. “Did you have something you need mended?”

“Not exactly.” Jocelyn shook out the dress. “I brought very few clothes with me and I was hoping maybe we could make this a bit more, well, interesting.” Quickly she explained what she had in mind.

“I see.” Flora raised a curious brow. “Don’t know that it’s necessary, you being newly married and all. Still, it’s better to keep his interest right from the beginning than lose it and start over.”

Jocelyn laughed. “My feelings exactly.”

Flora plucked the garment from her hands and examined it. “Shouldn’t be hard. The removal of the lace alone should do the trick. Won’t take more than a few minutes I should think.” She looked up at her. “I do believe we have some old gowns of your husband’s grandmother around here somewhere. She was not as tall as you; still there might be something you’d like. They’re not the fashion now—Lord, they’d be more than forty years old—but beautiful all the same. Silks and satins and the like. If you’d be interested ...”

“Oh I would.” Jocelyn nodded eagerly. She could well imagine how she’d look in the gowns of another era. With wide skirts and sensuous fabrics and low-cut bodices. She’d be a vision. Any man’s fantasy. And surely irresistible to one man in particular.

They chatted for a few more minutes about inconsequential matters and Flora took her leave, promising to alter the dress at once and return within the hour, then look for the older gowns.

Jocelyn ate absently, the story of Nigel’s tragic love lingering in her mind. She wanted to be loved like that. Wanted it fiercely. How strange when she’d been fully prepared not more than a week ago to marry without giving love a second thought. Everything, her life, her future, her desires had changed since then.

She had changed.

Resolve filled her and she smiled wickedly. Or perhaps she hadn’t changed much at all.

And perhaps, at least if the love of the man you wanted was your husband, the best place to work your way into his heart was in his bed.

“It seems to be me that while you know everything about me, I know very little about you.” Jocelyn gazed up at Rand from beneath a fetching straw bonnet, one she’d brought with her from London precisely because she knew it framed her face perfectly.

Jocelyn sat on a blanket beneath an old oak on a grassy rise a short distance from the castle. Rand reclined beside her. She’d asked him to show her around the grounds in the belief that if she was going to get this man to care for her, she had to spend as much time with him as possible. He had agreed without hesitation, even going so far as to ask Cook for a picnic basket.

It had been an excellent meal and an excellent afternoon. They’d spoken of all kinds of meaningless matters and she’d learned he liked Shakespeare, had a fondness for large dogs, and detested asparagus. He also had the most intriguing flecks of green in his dark eyes when the sun hit them in just the right way.

Now, however, it was time for more serious matters.

Rand laughed. “What exactly do you wish to know?”

“Well, let me think.” She kept her voice nonchalant, as though their conversation were of no importance. It was, of course. She wanted to know everything there was to know about this man who was her husband. She reached into the basket, pawed through the remaining fruit tarts and other leftover morsels, pulled out an apple and a paring knife. “Tell me about being a spy.”

“No,” he said with a grin.

“Why not?”

“First of all, no true spy would ever admit to being a spy. It would quite defeat the purpose.”

“But you were—”

He raised a brow. “How do you know that?”

“Why, I...” She huffed in annoyance. “I suppose I don’t really, do I?” She brightened. “However, I do know you were working for the government as recently as last week.”

“One can perform all sorts of services for one’s country without being a spy,” he said mildly.

She studied him for a moment. “You are an annoying man, aren’t you?”

“And you are an intensely curious creature.” He plucked the apple from her hands, took the knife, and began to peel the fruit.

“At least you no longer consider me mercenary,” she murmured, watching the deft way he handled the knife.

“I’m not entirely certain curious is much better.” He pressed the back of the blade with his thumb and slowly turned the apple, the peel dangling from the fruit in one long curl.

“Why?”

His fingers were long and strong, his motions sure and competent and altogether mesmerizing. “A curious woman can get herself into all kinds of trouble.”

“Can she?”

The peel fell to the blanket, a scarlet spiral against the pale coverlet.

“Isn’t there some superstition children have about the peel of an apple forming the initial of a future spouse?” Rand poked at the peel with the knife. “It doesn’t particularly look like an initial other than perhaps a curved P.”

“Prudence perhaps? Or Patience?”

“Or Patricia?” He laughed. “Surely there are more but I can’t think of any others.”

“Philomena.” She nodded and grinned. “Or Prunella.”

He grimaced in exaggerated horror. “God save me from a woman named Prunella.”

“I daresay you’re already saved as you’re already married,” she said with a laugh.

“Absolutely. And as that is the case...” He rearranged the peel into a reasonable approximation of a J. “That’s much better.”

Her gaze met his. “Is it?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I believe it is.”

She leaned forward until her lips were close to his. He wanted to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes. But he didn’t want it enough. Not yet.

She took the apple from his left hand, the knife from the right, and straightened. He drew a shuddering breath and she smiled to herself. This was indeed a very good start.

“Tell me, Rand”—she cut a slice from the apple— “about your family. Your mother perhaps.”

“My mother?” He frowned in surprise and the tension between them vanished.

Jocelyn groaned to herself.
His mother?
What a stupid thing to ask him about. The last thing a man needed to be reminded of at a moment like this was his mother. And it had been going so nicely too.

“Yes,” Jocelyn said with a resigned sigh. As long as she had brought up the subject she might as well continue. “My mother died when I was very young and I scarce remember her at all. I rather look forward to meeting yours.”

“She’ll like you, I think.” He studied her for a moment. “I suspect she always feared I’d marry some milk-and-water miss.”

“And she wouldn’t like that?” Jocelyn took a bite of the apple slice and noted the way Rand’s gaze focused on her mouth. She chewed slowly and deliberately.

“Not at all. She’s rather an independent sort herself.” Jocelyn took another bite and Rand swallowed hard. “Led my father on quite a merry chase, I believe.”

She cut a second slice, started to take a bite, then held it out to him. He accepted it, his fingers brushing hers, and electricity again sizzled between them. He popped the piece into his mouth, a drop of apple juice lingering on his lips.

Without thinking she reached out to brush it away. He grabbed her hand and licked the juice from her finger.

Rand turned her hand over and kissed her palm, and a shiver ran through her. His gaze met hers and she saw her own desire reflected in his eyes.

He pulled her down to him slowly as if they moved in a dream. Their lips met and time itself seemed to pause, then all restraint between them vanished. He jerked her into his embrace and her arms wrapped around him with a need she’d never known. His lips were hard and demanding and she demanded in return. Her mouth opened and his tongue met hers and delight swept through her. He tasted of apples and heat and desire. She wanted him and all that wanting him meant.

His hands were on her back, then lower, caressing her derriere, and they rolled together off the blanket and onto the grass. She lay on top of him, feeling every inch of his long, hard length beneath her. She wrenched her lips from his to kiss his face, his neck, and the pulse beat at the base of his throat. His scent, his touch filled her, surrounded her, conquered her.

His hands slipped along her sides and down the length of her legs until her skirt slipped up and he touched her bare skin. She gasped and shifted to lie face-to-face with him in the grass. His leg wedged between hers and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into her. Fear flickered, then was swept away by the more powerful urgency of need. His hand cupped her buttocks beneath her dress, pulling her more tightly against him. His head dipped to the swell of her breast revealed by the low bodice and she strained against the fabric wanting only his touch, his kiss.

His hand slipped between her legs to the moisture she could feel there and to a place she’d never been touched before. Indescribable sensation shot through her and she sucked in a hard breath. “Oh dear Lord, Rand.”

He stilled.

“Rand?” She pulled her head back and stared at him.

“No.” His expression hardened. He yanked her dress down into place, then got to his feet. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

“Is it ever?” She sat up and struggled to clear her fogged senses. “Why on earth not?”

“It’s not the way to begin a marriage.” He ran his hand through his hair in obvious frustration.

“Isn’t this the way most people begin a marriage?”

She grabbed his offered hand and he pulled her to her feet. She glared at him. “After all, you are my husband and you have certain rights.”

He stared at her and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

“Well then?” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared. “Shouldn’t you insist on them?”

He moved closer and straightened her bodice. “This is entirely too low.”

“I know.”
Thank you, Flora.
Not that it did any good. His whole attitude was quite annoying. She slapped his hand away. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. When you and I are ready to be married in the truest sense of the word, I want all to be right between us.” He cupped her chin in his hand and brushed his lips against hers.

“This seemed rather right to me,” she muttered.

“I want more from you than a moment of passion on the side of a hill where anyone could see.”

“I thought it was more than a moment of passion on the side ...” She drew back and stared at him. “What do you mean anyone could see?”

He hesitated.

“Rand,” she said slowly. “It seems to me Worthington Castle is rather remote, precisely why we’re here in the first place. We are some distance from the nearest village and, at the moment, some distance from the castle. Who exactly are you worried will see us?”

He blew a long breath. “I have a few men patrolling—”

“You have a few men? Here?” She looked about in disbelief. “I thought you said once we were out of London, that there wasn’t any danger?”

“I did.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “I just don’t want to take any chances.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

“Not a thing.” He shook his head, his lips pressed into a firm line.

She studied him for a long moment and didn’t believe him for a second. There was probably no end of other things he hadn’t mentioned. He hadn’t told her about his uncle and his grandmother either, although she really couldn’t fault him for that. He was loyal and protective of those he cared about. And once, he’d probably been a damned fine spy. Because, whether he wished to confirm it or not, the man obviously
had
been a spy and was probably well used to lying when the occasion called for it. No doubt he felt justified in not being entirely truthful where her safety was concerned.

“I don’t believe you.” She gathered up the blanket and the basket and thrust them at him. “But I shall not press you at the moment.” She started off down the hill.

“What do you mean?” he called after her.

“You said it yourself, Rand, there are all kinds of trouble a curious woman can get into.”

“Jocelyn.” There was a warning in his voice and she disregarded it. After all, while whatever secrets he had about his past life as a spy or his most recent work for the government were intriguing it wasn’t what interested her most. Abruptly she realized she could trust him. Regardless of what secrets he kept she could trust him with her life and trust him without question. And someday, perhaps, trust him with her heart as well.

What truly held her curiosity right now was what it would take to get him into her bed. What did the man consider the right place and the right time? And whether it would be as wonderful as she thought.

And exactly what he meant by wanting more from her than passion.

This wasn’t working out at all the way he had planned.

Jocelyn sat next to Uncle Nigel at the dinner table chatting brightly, laughing a great deal and using each and every flirtatious skill she possessed to turn the old gentleman’s head. Not that Nigel was putting up the least bit of resistance. No, in point of fact he was giving at least as good as he got, and looking a good twenty years younger for the effort.

Had it been another place, and another man, Rand might have been annoyed at the attention being paid his wife and the attention she was paying someone else. Particularly given her appearance tonight.

She looked like something from a dream. His dreams to be exact.

She usually wore her blond hair piled on top of her head. Tonight it fell loose in soft careless curls to caress her shoulders. Her eyes caught the candlelight and gleamed with enjoyment. Her skin glowed almost as if she was lit from within by excitement or secrets. And she’d donned the most amazing silk and satin confection. A dress even he could see was a good thirty years out of fashion. Still, it suited her.

Its full skirt rustled provocatively every time she so much as breathed, although how she could take even a single breath was beyond him. The bodice was tight-fitting, defining her waist, laced with ribbons up the front. The ivory-colored satin was barely a shade different from the peach and cream hue of her skin. And if he’d thought the neckline of the dress she’d worn today was low, it was positively modest compared with what she had on now.

It was scandalous. It was outrageous.

And absolutely delectable.

Jocelyn directed a question to him and Rand responded without thinking.

Nigel raised a brow. “Do you really think so, my boy?”

“Indeed,” Rand murmured with absolutely no idea what he’d just agreed with.

Nigel and Jocelyn exchanged glances and yet another laugh. It was rather annoying to be excluded from the conversation. Although it didn’t really matter at the moment. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything since their aborted picnic this afternoon.

He wasn’t sure why he had called a halt to what would surely have led to a delightful afternoon of lovemaking under blue skies. Damn it all, one would have thought he was the skittish virgin and she the experienced rake. Regardless of what he had said, it wasn’t the possibility of discovery that had stopped him. His men were stationed along the perimeter of the castle grounds a good distance away and completely out of sight. The chances of being spotted by them, or anyone, were practically nonexistent.

“And I’m certain you agree?” Jocelyn turned toward him, her honey-colored eyes brimming with laughter.

“Of course.” Rand nodded absently.

“I knew it.” Jocelyn turned back to Nigel, and once again the conversation continued without him.

He’d realized it on the hill today. He didn’t just want it to be right for her. He wanted it to be right for them. Because it was important for the rest of their lives to start out right with the woman he ... what? Loved?

Nonsense. She was the woman he’d married. The woman he’d had to marry, and love played no role in it whatsoever.

Jocelyn leaned toward Nigel, and once again Rand noted the appallingly low cut of her gown. He was bloody well glad she wasn’t wearing something like that around someone like Alexei.

Where had that thought come from? It felt suspiciously like jealousy. Regardless of her words, did she indeed care more for Alexei than she’d let on? Had she wanted the prince for more than his title and his wealth? Although it scarcely mattered, she was Rand’s now.

“I was hoping he’d teach me,” Jocelyn said with a sidelong glance at Rand.

And Rand wanted her.

“He’s quite accomplished at it.” Nigel nodded. “I’d say it was something of a natural gift.”

Wanted her in his bed.

“But you’ve never—” Nigel started.

Wanted to feel the heat of her skin next to his.

“No.” She sighed. “I haven’t really had the opportunity although I am exceedingly curious. It sounds quite enjoyable.”

Wanted her writhing with pleasure beneath him.

“I toyed with the idea when we were at Effington House earlier in the season.” Jocelyn shook her head. “There were any number of gentlemen who would have been more than willing to instruct me.”

Wanted her to call out his name in the throes of passion.

“He’s acquired a bit of a reputation for it, at least among his friends.”

In the grip of love.

“Be aware, though, I have on occasion heard him whoop with triumph accompanied by a rousing
well played.”
Nigel chuckled.

Abruptly the words registered in Rand’s mind and shock coursed through him.

“Uncle!” Certainly allowances had to be made for Nigel’s age but this was too much. “I daresay I have never—nor would I. And to say such things in the presence of a lady, especially my wife, is ...” Rand’s gaze shifted from his uncle’s look of astonishment to Jocelyn’s confused expression. At once his cravat felt exceedingly tight around his neck. “What were we discussing?” he asked carefully.

“Billiards, Rand.” Jocelyn stared at him as if he was quite insane, and perhaps in truth he was.

“She wants you to teach her how to play.” Nigel’s voice held an innocent note but his lips twitched as if he held back a grin, and his eyes glittered with silent laughter.

“I noticed the billiards room and I would very much like to learn the game.” Jocelyn studied him cautiously. “It’s not an unfitting pursuit for a woman. I know the dowager Duchess of Roxborough plays, as did Marie Antoinette.”

“Lovely women. Both of them. I may have played with the duchess once myself. Or perhaps it was the queen. Or maybe both.” He leaned toward his nephew in a confidential manner. “I am still speaking of billiards here, Rand. Wouldn’t want you to mistake my words.” Nigel grinned wickedly. “Again.”

“I do appreciate that,” Rand said under his breath.

“After dinner then?” Jocelyn continued to consider him curiously.

“After dinner?” Rand stared at her across the table.

Gad, she was lovely. She quite took his breath away. He wanted—

“Billiards, Rand,” Nigel said pointedly. “She’s talking about billiards.”

“Yes, of course, billiards.” Rand nodded firmly, belying the odd flustered feeling that gripped him. “After dinner. Excellent.”

He made it a point to concentrate on the conversation throughout the remaining courses, actually managing to add a coherent comment or two in the process and eliciting an occasional appreciative laugh. Still, he couldn’t ignore the tumult of emotions swirling in the back of his mind.

What had the woman done to him? He was a clear-thinking, intelligent man. Passion, lust, had always had a place in his life, but never before had it been the only thing he could think of. And never before had it centered on a single woman to the exclusion of any other rational thought.

Blasted woman. It was her fault. If she didn’t look so bloody enticing and wasn’t so obviously willing and ...

And she did want him, didn’t she? Wanted him as much as he wanted her?

And if she wanted him, wasn’t it entirely possible that perhaps she loved him as well?

“Now then,” Rand said, obviously warming to his duties as tutor. “The object of the game—”

“I know the object of the game, Rand.” Jocelyn rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “You have one red ball and two white balls. You hit them with this stick—”

“It’s called a cue.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. “I’ve watched people play. It’s very much like croquet only on a table without the wickets.”

“Something like that.” He nodded at the table. “Go ahead.”

“Very well.” She leaned across the table, positioning her cue as best she remembered and attempted to smack the nearest white ball. Her cue glanced off the side and the ball dribbled off at an angle. She glanced up at Rand. “That wasn’t very good, was it?”

“No indeed.” He chuckled. “But you’re not holding the cue properly. Here, watch how I do it.” He eyed the balls on the table, lined up his cue, and stroked it smoothly. It rolled straight into the red ball, propelling it into the nearest pocket.

She raised a brow. “Your uncle was right. You do know how to play.”

“I quite enjoy billiards.” He strode around the table, studying the remaining two balls. She liked the confident way he moved. Like a man with a purpose. A man who knew what he wanted and how to go about getting it. Her stomach fluttered at the thought. “I played a great deal when I was last here.”

He took another shot, striking the remaining ball and sending it into another pocket. He pulled the balls from the pockets and tossed them back onto the table. “I was here for rather a long stay when Nigel was ill. Of course, I helped manage the estate for him, but there was little else to do and he slept a great deal.”

Rand circled the table, taking a shot now and then, nearly always successful. He was a pleasure to watch, graceful in a masculine sort of way.

“Nigel mentioned to me once how much he liked the game so I had the table sent up from London in the hopes that once he recovered he would enjoy taking it up again. When he felt better we played together, and Flora tells me he has indeed been playing in my absence.” Rand took another shot, then straightened. “Care to try again?”

“It doesn’t look terribly difficult.” She studied the table, selected a position, and tried once more. This time her ball smacked the red ball with a solid thunk. She smiled with satisfaction. “Much better, I think.”

“We’ll make a billiard player of you yet.” Rand grinned. “Now then, allow me to show you ...”

They played for a long while with Rand explaining as they went along. Jocelyn realized the game took far more skill than she’d expected. Still, it was enjoyable, even if a bit frustrating.

There was a chandelier directly above the table that lit the playing surface but little else in the room. The atmosphere was distinctly cozy, even intimate. Perhaps her concentration would be better if she wasn’t so acutely aware of Rand’s presence. Awareness that grew with every passing minute.

She caught herself brushing past him a bit closer than necessary and wondered if he noticed. She found herself studying the curve of his neck when he leaned over the table and the way his dark hair curled over his starched collar. She noted the fine fabric of his jacket stretched taut over his broad shoulders and how the muscles of his back rippled beneath the cloth. And remembered exactly how that back had looked without any clothes at all. And wondered why it seemed so hot in here now.

“Your turn.” His gaze caught hers and he smiled. A distinctly rakish sort of smile as if he knew full well what she was thinking.

“Is it?” She turned away to hide the annoying blush she knew colored her face. Blasted man. What was he doing to her anyway? This afternoon she wanted nothing more than to give herself to him right there in the grass, and tonight little more than a knowing smile on his part had her quite disconcerted.

She drew a deep breath and leaned over the table. Still, this afternoon passion had simply erupted with no hesitation and no conscious thought. Now desire seemed to hover in the very air like an omniscient presence. Pulsing and growing with every word they spoke and every word they didn’t. Threatening and terrifying and exciting.

“You’re really not holding that right, you know,” Rand said softly.

“No?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She swallowed hard and straightened. She met his dark gaze directly. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me the proper way to ... to ...”

“My pleasure.” He leaned his cue against the table and stepped to her side. She turned back to the table and he moved behind her. So close she could feel the heat of his body through his clothes and hers.

“Hold it like this.” His breath teased her neck and a shiver ran through her. He wrapped her right hand around the cue, his fingers lingering on hers. “Now lean forward and place it on the table.” She did so and he shifted slightly to her side. He positioned her other hand on the table to help support the cue. His arms were around her, his presence engulfed her, and she could barely hear his words over the beat of her heart.

“Now then.” His voice was low against her ear. “Just pull back slowly”—he fit his actions to match his words—“then push forward, in a nice easy stroke.”

The cue hit the ball but Jocelyn scarcely noticed. She didn’t move so much as a single muscle. “That wasn’t very good, was it?”

He kissed the side of her neck, and her knees threatened to buckle. His voice was low. “It was very good.”

She held her breath. His lips trailed down the curve of her neck and his warm hand slid up her arm to push the neckline of her gown over her shoulder. He kissed her shoulder and she shuddered with delight.

He straightened and drew her up with him. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensation of his hands on her bare skin. He pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, then nudged her dress off her other shoulder. His fingers lingered on her skin, lightly caressing, and she reveled in the intimacy.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. His hands skimmed over the satin of her bodice and higher to cup her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples through the fabric and she felt them harden with his touch. Her head dropped back against him and he nuzzled her neck. She could barely breathe and didn’t care.

She turned in his arms and her lips met his with an eagerness that surged through her, captured her, controlled her, sweeping away all judgment and reason. She shoved at the shoulders of his jacket until he shrugged it off and it fell to the floor. She kissed his lips, his jaw, his chin. His lips moved over her face, her throat, her shoulders. She tugged at his cravat and yanked it free. He fumbled with the ribbons on her bodice, the complicated ties and bindings.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered against her skin. “Damned dress, I can’t—”

“Just rip it, Rand.” She gasped. “Now.”

He didn’t pause to protest but gripped the delicate fabric in his hands and tore it down the middle. The confining tightness of the bodice vanished, replaced by a glorious freedom and spiraling anticipation. He moved to kiss her breasts and she braced her hands on the edge of the table behind her. His lips moved over her, tasting and teasing until she wondered if she’d swoon from the sheer delight of it. He pulled a nipple into his mouth and suckled until she moaned with pleasure.

He wrapped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her upright. She gazed into his eyes, black with passion, a mirror of her own consuming desire. She gathered his collar with both hands and, with a strength she didn’t know she had, ripped his shirt down the front, her gaze never leaving his.

Surprise shot across his face, followed by wicked amusement. His voice was low. “I rather liked that shirt.”

“I like it better now.” Her sultry tone matched his. She placed her palms on his chest and ran her hands slowly upward to his shoulders, then leaned forward and nicked her tongue across the dark ovals of his nipples. He sucked in a hard breath, and she reveled in the new and intoxicating sense of power brought on by his reaction. He pulled her tight to him, his mouth capturing hers, conquering hers. Or was she the conqueror and he the conquered?

Her naked breasts crushed against his bare chest, hot and hard and powerful. She marveled at the exquisite feeling of flesh to flesh, heat to heat. She pressed closer, needing more. His grip tightened, demanding more. She slid her hands down his back to the curve of his buttocks and let her fingers roam over the tight fabric of his trousers. His hands dropped to her skirt and he gathered it up impatiently until it was bunched up between them. At once she regretted the stupidity that had led her to wear the old-fashioned gown with its yards of fabric.

Rand paid it no mind. His hands skimmed over her hips and around to the flat of her stomach and lower until his palm cupped her and his fingers slipped between her legs. She shuddered at his touch, slick and sensual and overwhelming. His fingers stroked back and forth and her world narrowed to that one point of pleasure. Time and place vanished and all she knew, all she wanted to know, was the indescribable tension tightening inside her and the throbbing ache that pulsed through her veins.

Without warning he stopped, and before she could protest, grabbed her waist and hoisted her up and backward onto the table. He started to climb up after her.

Abruptly she realized that in another moment it would be too late. To prevent what she wanted. What they both wanted. To turn back. She pressed her hand to the center of his chest. “Rand?”

“What?” His glazed gaze met hers.

“Is this the time and the place?”

“No?” It was more a gasp than a word.

“Do you care?”

He drew a shuddering breath. “No.”

“Neither do I.” She grabbed the remains of his shirt and pulled him toward her.

He tumbled or perhaps leapt or maybe just fell, it scarcely mattered and she didn’t care. Somehow they were both on top of the table struggling to find overheated flesh amid a tangle of torn satin and linen and silk. He pushed her skirts up and she tugged at his trousers, with fear and anticipation. Hand and mouth, lips and fingers were everywhere in a frenzy of touch and taste and desire. She realized he’d managed to remove his trousers, and his long legs were naked next to hers. She reached down for him, at once excited and afraid. Her fingers wrapped around his arousal, larger and harder than she’d expected and surprisingly smooth beneath her fingertips. Steel cloaked in velvet.

He groaned with her touch, then shifted to hover over her, his knees on either side of hers, his forearms braced on the table.

“Jocelyn.” His gaze searched hers. “Are you—”

“Yes.” She tried not to wince. “I know what... that is, I’ve been told ... prepared ...” She grabbed what was left of his shirt and pulled him down to whisper against his lips. “I understand any discomfort is well worth it.”

“Oh indeed,” he murmured, and she tried hard to believe him. He reached between them, and she felt his hand guide himself into her with a slow, measured pace. “Well worth it.”

She tensed in spite of her resolve to relax, and clung to the belief that, ultimately, according to Marianne, this would be wonderful. It certainly had been up to this moment. Now, however, it was distinctly ... odd. Not uncomfortable, simply ... unusual. If this was as bad as it got, it wasn’t unpleasant at all. Rand paused, apparently this was it and she was a bit disappointed. All that had happened before he had actually, well,
entered,
was much, much more exciting.

“Hold on to me,” he whispered in her ear.

“Hold on—” Before she could finish the sentence he pulled back, then thrust hard and deep into her.

Searing pain shot through her and she opened her mouth to scream. He clamped his lips over hers and held her tight. Her body throbbed around his, ached with invasion, with trespass. She wanted to stop. Now. It wasn’t at all pleasant. Not the tiniest bit wonderful.

But Rand wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let her move. His mouth remained on hers, his embrace unyielding. After a few moments, the pain abated, and she relaxed slightly. He moved within her slowly, tenderly. She braced herself and waited and grudgingly admitted it wasn’t perhaps as bad as she’d thought. She moved tentatively in response to him. Not bad at all. In truth, with each of his easy thrusts it grew nicer. And nicer yet when she lifted her hips to meet his.

His rhythm increased and she matched his tempo, that elusive sense of bittersweet tension she’d felt before once again coiling deep within her. They moved together faster and he thrust deeper into her and she pushed harder against him. Her breath came in short gasps. Her blood pounded in her veins. Her heart thudded hard in her chest and she felt or sensed or heard his beat in unison. In a tiny fraction of her mind not absorbed with sheer sensation and unbelievable pleasure she noted that it was indeed well worth it.

And when she thought she simply couldn’t survive another moment, and knew without doubt she would surely die if she didn’t reach whatever elusive height she was striving toward, yearning for, she exploded around him. Her back arched and her body shuddered and great waves of ecstasy crashed through her until she gasped for breath. And he thrust once again, hard and deep, and joined her with a deep shudder of his own and a groan that was at once pain and joy.

He shifted and rolled onto his side, taking her with him. For a long time they clung to each other, struggling to catch their breath, waiting for the beat of their hearts to slow and the world to stop spinning.