Chapter 39

Andrew led Stacia through the narrow doorway into their ‘bridal chamber'.

She couldn't help laughing. "Whose idea was this?" she asked as they paused to admire the familiar scene at the far end of the priest hole.

Andrew grinned. "It seemed…fitting."

"Is somebody going to lock us inside this time, too?"

"Would you mind terribly?"

"Hmm." She thoughtfully tapped her chin. "It depends on what books have been included."

He laughed. "Come," he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the blazing fire. "Needham looked so happy to oblige my request to use this as our bridal suite that I suspect the viscountess will find herself imprisoned up here sooner rather than later."

"Do you think he knows about our first stay in this room?" she asked, taking a seat on the settee while Andrew investigated the hampers.

"He did not give me that impression," he said, pulling a bottle from a bucket of ice. "Champagne?"

"Yes, please. I felt sure that Kathryn's sisters knew."

"Perhaps they decided the rest of their families did not need to hear the truth," he said, removing the cork with a pop, filling the waiting glasses, and handing her one before sitting down beside her. He raised his glass. "To us." He paused, grinned, and then added, "Wife."

"To us," she echoed. "Husband."

He laughed and they both drank. Afterward he took her glass and set it down before sliding his arms beneath her and lifting her onto his lap, shifting her until she was exactly where he wanted her.

"There," he said, looking smugly satisfied. "I have been dying to hold you for days. And I've been dying to do this, too." He claimed her mouth with a deep, drugging kiss that left her body limp when he finally released her.

His eyes were dark as they flickered over her and landed on her hand. He lifted it and examined the ring as if he'd not been the one to give it back to her mere hours earlier. "It is lovely, but I cannot believe you will not allow me to buy you a more suitable ring."

"I don't want another one, Andrew, I adore this one," she said, admiring the perfect rose.

"But it was a Christmas present—not a wedding ring."

She ignored him. "I still cannot believe you knew how much I liked this."

"I was spying on you that day. Stalking you." He waggled his eyebrows in a villainous manner. "It was to be your secret St. Nicholas gift, but it wasn't ready when I went to the village to fetch it before going to London. I had to take it along to a jeweler I know in town, and he sized it."

Stacia stared for a moment, and then said, "Oh." She suddenly felt like a jealous toad.

"What is that oh for?"

"Nothing." The last thing she wanted to do was expose her jealousy to him.

He cocked his head. " What ?"

"It is just—well, it wasn't a very nice thing."

"What thing?"

"I knew you'd gone to the village before going to London—Mr. Higgins mentioned it—and I thought—" She bit her lower lip.

"You thought what?"

"That you had gone to see Mrs. Johnson," she blurted the words out in a rush, hoping that would make her feel less insecure and foolish. It didn't.

He frowned for a moment and then his eyes widened in comprehension. Instead of being angry, he clucked his tongue. "I told you I wanted to marry you only a few hours earlier! What a filthy mind my new wife has. I shall have to see that she turns it in the appropriate direction henceforth."

"I'm so sorry, Andrew," she said, unwilling to forgive her suspicious mind as quickly as he did.

"You are forgiven. Just promise me you won't think such a thing again?"

"I promise."

"Good. Because I am yours. And you are mine. I don't want any other woman, Stacia." He hesitated, met her eyes with an unsmiling look, and said, "For years I have cultivated a reputation as a heartless rake, but—like so much of my behavior—most of what I did was engineered to irk Sylvester." He lightly stroked her cheek, his eyes flickering over her face.

His expression shifted until he looked almost tentative.

"What is it?" she asked, a tendril of fear snaking through her.

"There is something else. Something I did not want to mention when you told me I had met you before—often. I didn't say anything at the time because it seemed too self-serving." He pulled a wry face. "It is also an unpleasant subject for me. I have known for a long time that I must have sustained more than hearing loss when I, er, got my bell rung. I often forget things, Stacia—people, faces, names. I do better if there is more than just a brief introduction. Conversations of any length seem to—to set a person in my mind, for lack of a better term. I should have confessed my problem before we marr—"

She cupped his face with both hands and brought him lower for a kiss.

" Mmm, " he hummed when she practiced some of his own tricks on him. When she pulled away, his eyes were heavy-lidded. "What was that for?"

"Because I wanted to kiss you."

He smiled. "That is an excellent impulse. You must always surrender to it. Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?" he asked, his teasing tone telling her that the question was not a memory lapse.

"You did. Twice."

"Here is a third time: you look utterly gorgeous." He cocked his head. "Are you hungry?"

Stacia blinked at the change of subject. "Er, no."

"Do you want to play a game of Dictionary?"

She gave a startled laugh. "No."

His nostril flared slightly. "Are you ready for bed?"

Her face scalded under his knowing look. "Ye—"

He lunged to his feet before the word was all the way out.

Stacia laughed as he carried her toward the bed, all but sprinting.

***

Andrew loved hearing Stacia laugh almost as much as he loved hearing her pant, gasp, and whimper.

He had been looking forward to tonight for days, but he also felt a certain tension. She was a virgin, after all.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, as he set her down on the bed.

"A little. But I trust you."

Christ! The woman knew how to grab his heart. Andrew suddenly recalled a conversation they'd had in this very room, in this bed. Lord. How much did she know? How much didn't she know? "Are there any, er, questions that I can answer?"

"Oh. You mean about what is going to happen?"

Andrew nodded. "You told me that nobody tells young women about, er, sexual matters."

Her cheeks darkened. "Lady Needham spoke to me last night."

Andrew felt a rush of relief. As much as he adored filthy pillow talk, he had not relished having to describe such an intimacy in practical terms. "Ah. Good. Excellent. I daresay she knows what she is talking about."

She laughed. "Yes. It sounded like it." She swallowed, her amusement dwindling, and then added, "She said there would be a little pain. She also said that you were probably the sort of man who would, er, make sure that discomfort did not signify."

God bless Lady Needham.

"I will make it good for you, Stacia."

"I know you will."

He caressed her face, unable to resist touching her. "I don't usually sleep in most of my clothing as I did those nights we spent together."

She snorted softly. "I did not think you did."

"I don't even sleep in a nightshirt."

"Oh. Is that—is that something you would like for me to do?"

He grinned. "You mean sleep naked?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "You just like making me blush."

"Yes. I do. And yes to your first question. I want you to sleep naked. And when I say sleep , I mean any time we share a bed. Which will be every night."

"You don't wish to have your own room?"

"We will have our own rooms, but we will share one bed—yours, mine, I do not care which." He took her chin between his fingers and tilted her up for a kiss. "But I want to sleep tangled up together. I like it almost as much as I like sex, Stacia. I want both with you, as often as possible."

She caught her lower lip with her teeth and then nodded.

"Who shall I undress first?" he asked.

"You first," she blurted, making him laugh.

"As my lady commands."

There was a pair of candles on one of the nightstands and he wondered if she would ask to have them snuffed. But her eyes and attention were riveted to his hands as he unbuttoned his dark green tailcoat and the pale gold waistcoat beneath it.

"Will you valet me?" he asked once the coats were both unbuttoned.

She leapt to her feet with an enthusiasm that made him chuckle.

A moment later, after much pulling and tugging, she managed to peel off the tight sleeves.

He caught her arm before she could return to the bed and pulled her close, kissing her soundly. "You are such an excellent valet that I almost regret engaging Thomas."

"You cannot change your mind now—Dora would not allow it," Stacia said.

He laughed. "No, I daresay she would not."

The young lovers had approached Andrew when they'd learned he was engaging a valet and personal maid, offering their services. Thomas had waited on Andrew several times during his stay and Stacia seemed fond of Dora, but he had needed to talk to Needham before poaching his servants. Naturally, the viscount—one of the most generous men Andrew had met—was as gracious about losing two excellent servants as he had been about everything else.

Andrew released her and then sat down on the bed. He was tempted to ask for help with his hessians—his cock throbbed just imagining the sight of her straddling his leg—but something told him he needed to save his more playful impulses for a later date.

Once he'd shed his boots and stockings he stood and tugged off his cravat, holding it out to her. "Will I need this?"

Her hand twitched and he thought she might reach for it, but she just shook her head.

Andrew tossed it aside, pulled off his shirt, and then pushed down his tight pantaloons and drawers in one motion.

When he stood, her eyes arrowed directly to his cock, which was delighted to be on display and already standing at attention and slick with need.

He held out a hand. "Come here and let me undress you."

She swallowed but stood.

Andrew turned her back to him and slowly worked on the row of small buttons, dropping kisses on her exposed nape. "Have I told you—"

"Yes."

He laughed softly. "You don't know what I was going to say."

"What were you going to say?"

"How beautifu—"

"Yes, you've told me."

"Don't you like hearing that?" he asked, slipping his hands beneath the shoulders of her loosened gown and pushing it to the floor before turning her.

"I am not beautiful," she said as Andrew stooped to pick up her dress while she stepped out of it.

He laid the garment carefully on the bench at the foot of the bed before turning to her and setting his hands on her shoulders. "You are beautiful to me." He forced her to meet his gaze. "I will keep saying it until you believe me." Her lashes lowered and he tilted her face up. "I'm serious, Stacia." He kissed her. "You are the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance." He smiled wryly. "And that includes the many I've probably forgotten."

Rather than laugh or smile, she merely looked pained.

"What is it, darling? You need to talk to me. Always. I am terrible when it comes to reading your mind—it is all I can do to read my own."

"It is nothing."

"It is something. Come. Tell me."

She closed her eyes. "You said once before that M-Mariah was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen. I suspect that was probably more truthful. I know full well that I am passable, at best."

There could only have been one time when he might have said such a thing, not that he could recall his exact words. "Open your eyes, darling. I need to tell you something that shames me." When she complied, he continued, "I cannot recall Mariah's face. I know she had blue eyes and blonde hair, but that is all I remember. I don't know if I have forgotten because of"—he made a vague gesture toward his head—"or because the memory has simply faded because of time. For more than a decade I romanticized a relationship which lasted less than two months. An affair ." He held her gaze. "If I said she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, it was because that is one of the few things I recall feeling." He cupped her face. "I don't see her face, Stacia. When I close my eyes, I see yours. "

***

Stacia felt like a needy, insecure fool for bringing up such a matter—especially when she heard the truth.

"You told me to forget the past—to forgive myself—and to move on. You have to allow me to do that, darling. I am ten years your senior and there have been women in my life. But now—and for the rest of my days—there is only one woman." He kissed her and then pulled back and frowned. "What is this?" he murmured, brushing away a tear she hadn't realized she'd shed.

"They are happy tears. I don't understand why I am feeling so emotional."

"I think that is understandable; it has been a hectic few weeks. Let me relax you." He kissed her lightly and resumed undressing her with a practiced ease that still gave her qualms, as much as she tried not to think of his past.

"Sit," he said, once he'd slipped off her stays.

He took her foot and set her slipper on his knee.

Stacia's eyes slid over to his membrum virile. It was not as erect as it had been a few minutes ago, but neither was it completely…quiescent.

"Other foot, sweetheart."

Stacia blinked; he'd removed her slipper, garter, and stocking while she had been staring.

"I like your eyes on me," he said as he slipped off her other shoe.

Stacia swallowed at his hot, hungry look and resumed her unmannerly gawking.

A moment later all she wore was her shift. She tensed, waiting for him to pull away her last defense.

Instead, he lightly caressed her cheek and said, "Lie back, sweetheart."

Stacia lifted her feet onto the bed and pushed away from the edge before lying down.

He lowered onto the mattress and bracketed her shoulders with his hands, his knee nudging at her tightly clenched thighs. "Open for me, darling."

When she did, he laid down between her legs. "You remember what I did before?"

Stacia gave a slightly hysterical giggle. "As if I could forget."

"It was pleasurable?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Close your eyes if it helps you relax, darling."

Stacia was about to do exactly that when her inner voice suddenly woke up. Begin as you mean to go on.

Indeed.

She forced down her embarrassment and pushed up onto her elbows. "I want to watch."

The slow, sinful smile that spread across his face told her how much he liked that answer.

***

Unlike the last time, when it had been too damned dark to see anything, Andrew groaned when he parted her lips, his mouth flooding at the sight of her slick, swollen sex. "So lovely, Stacia." He looked up and smiled at her wide-eyed face. "I wish you could see how beautiful you are."

"I—what—why—"

He chuckled. "But we will save that for another night, my love." Holding her gaze, he lowered his mouth, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure at the taste of her.

"Andrew," she whispered through slack, parted lips.

He slid a finger inside her tight sheath while he tongued and sucked, taking his time working her toward her climax.

Or at least he tried to take his time, but her body soon tensed and her hips lifted higher and higher, until she was pushing against his mouth, bucking and writhing, her skin sheening with sweat.

Andrew marveled at the feel of her tight cunt as she contracted around his finger, her orgasm rolling through her in powerful waves.

When she began to come back to earth Andrew slid a second finger inside her.

She made a soft sound of surprise and her snug passage squeezing him like a vise.

"You are so deliciously tight," he said, smiling at her expression of dazed mortification. "I need you to come for me one more time, love." He lightly kissed her bud. "Will you do that? For me?"

She nodded, her breathing becoming rough when he eased a third finger alongside the first two.

"Relax, Stacia," he murmured, carefully stretching her silken sheath a bit more with each stroke. Only when she began to meet his thrusts did he lower his mouth, fucking her harder and deeper, not stopping until her back arched off the bed as a second orgasm wracked her small body.

Only when the last ripple of pleasure had faded did he reluctantly withdraw and rise up to his knees.

He smiled down into her heavily-lidded eyes and used the head of his cock to stroke her, slicking his shaft with her juices before positioning himself at her opening.

"Ready?" he asked.

She stared up at him through sated, slitted eyes and nodded, spreading wider for him.

"Such an eager darling," he praised, hissing in a breath when he pulsed his crown past the outer ring of muscle. "Christ but you're tight!"

She bit her lip at his crude words, but her hips lifted to take him deeper, pain creasing her eyes.

"Fast or slow?" he asked in a strained voice.

She swallowed. "Fast."

Andrew gritted his teeth and sank into her until he could go no deeper. He thought he felt some barrier give way, although he strongly suspected that was only his imagination.

She was breathing harshly.

Andrew kissed her, his hips not moving. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"I know," she said. Her hands, which had been limp at her sides, slid over his back. And then lower.

Andrew raised his eyebrows when they froze.

"May I touch—"

"Anywhere," he said emphatically. "You may touch me anywhere. In fact, it is mandatory." He smiled so that she knew he was speaking in jest. Well, mostly.

Her small, cool hands slid south until one rested on each buttock.

"Oh," she said, catching her lip with her teeth before squeezing him so lightly he might have thought he'd imagined it if not for her shy smile.

He withdrew while she was distracted.

Her brow creased and her hands stilled.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked.

"It—it doesn't hurt, but it's…"

"Yes?"

"It feels bigger than I thought."

"Flatterer," he teased. "I would say that you are too tight, but…" He kissed the tip of her nose. "I would be lying."

When the tension drained from her face Andrew sank back in, filling her all the way.

The lines on her forehead smoothed and she met his gaze. "It doesn't hurt this time."

"Good. Because I'm going to do it again." He matched deed to word. "And again."

Andrew worked her slowly but deeply, giving her every inch with each stroke, watching her closely for signs of discomfort. But when her hands began to move on his arse—squeezing and cupping him like a pair of cabbages she was contemplating buying—he transferred his weight to one arm, slid a hand between their sweaty bodies as he sped up his thrusts.

She squirmed, her fingers digging into his buttocks as his hips drummed harder and harder.

She exploded just as he lost control and gave in to his need, his last few thrusts wild and savage before he thrust deep and flooded her with his seed.

"Stacia," he muttered as his hips jerked, her tight body squeezing his cock with the echoes of her orgasm, milking him until he had nothing left.

***

Yes. It had hurt.

But what her brief, embarrassingly frank conversation with Lady Needham had not prepared Stacia for was the emotional impact of such a raw, physical joining. Never would she have expected the sensation of completeness she felt.

Andrew was inside her.

And it was glorious.

Stacia reveled in the hot, heavy feel of him and was disappointed when he began to pull away.

"I am crushing yo—"

She dug her fingers into the tight globes of his bottom and held him in place. Or at least, he allowed her to stop him from leaving.

His chest rumbled with laughter. His laugh was one of the things that she loved most about him. And his teasing sense of humor. And the way his eyes lit up when he was amused or delighted. And his—well, there was not much she did not love. And if he did not love her? Well, this right now, and the past nine days of companionship, joy, and affection were all far, far more than she had ever hoped for.

"I take it you want me to crush you?" he asked.

She squeezed his buttocks harder in answer.

Again, he chuckled. "This suits me to my toes," he murmured, and then his manhood flexed inside her.

Stacia sucked in a breath. "Was that—did you do that?"

This time, his laughter shook the bed. "Who else would be doing it, sweetheart?"

He did it again and again, until he began to harden inside her.

He groaned. "Now see what you have done, Lady Shelton?"

"I didn't do anything. That was all you. "

"You are heaven," he said. "Utter heaven. I have been dreaming about being inside you for weeks."

Just what did a woman say to such a thing? Not that she didn't adore hearing it.

He pushed up onto his elbows and smiled down at her. "You are so wet and tight that I want to take you again. And again. But I will not. I know you must be terribly sore."

There was an undeniable ache underlying the pleasure she felt having him inside her. "A little," she admitted. "Are—are you?"

He stilled, his expression arrested. "Er, am I what?"

"Sore."

"No," he said after a long moment. "Men are fortunate that way," he added in a suspiciously level voice.

She squinted at him. "You are teasing me, aren't you?"

"I would never !" he said, opening his eyes comically wide.

"You are horrid."

He laughed. "I am," he agreed, slowly withdrawing from her body. "But you love me anyway, don't you?"

A hiss escaped her, and not just from the slight physical burn. "Yes, Andrew. I love you anyway."

He backed down her body, until he was once again between her thighs. "I am relieved to hear it, darling, because I love you, too."

Stacia's eyes, which had begun to close, flew open. "What?"

He grinned up the length of her body, his skilled fingers lightly caressing her sex. "Heard that part, did you? And here I thought you had fallen asleep." He lowered his mouth and kissed her thigh. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but it is bad form to tell one's lover such a thing at the peak of passion."

"But…since when?" she asked.

"Your new husband is a terrible dunce, Stacia. It took me until this morning in the chapel to finally put a name to what I was feeling. But today is not the first time I experienced the emotion."

"It—it wasn't?"

He shook his head. "Somewhere along the way, without me even realizing it, my enchantment turned to love. I wish I could recall when the feeling took hold, but I do know that I was enchanted and fascinated by you since the night I said such horrid things about you and you gave me a cool tongue lashing outside the drawing room, instead of doing what I really deserved and shoving me down the stairs."

"Oh, Andrew," she said, her vision suddenly blurry.

"I love your laugh, my sweet, serious, darling Miss Martin." He gave her a rueful smile. "I am sorry it has taken me so long to tell you what I felt. For the longest time I thought there was only room for one sort of love in my heart. I convinced myself that is what my vendetta was all about: my love for Mariah. I am not saying that I didn't love her, but what I did in the years after her death was not about her, but about my obsession with hurting Sylvester. Will you forgive me for being such a dolt for so long—for not telling you what I felt when you shared your love with me?"

"I am glad you didn't tell me then, Andrew. I might have thought you were just being kind, rather than telling me what you truly felt."

"You are too good to me; you have been from the very beginning. I will strive to make my idiotic behavior a thing of the past, darling. And you—you are my future. My future and my love."

She gave a watery laugh when he kissed her. "Don't become too perfect. I rather like some of your idiotic behavior."

He laughed. "I can safely say that is a given." His eyelids lowered and he gave her a look that could only be called carnivorous. "But enough talking about how much I love you," he said, his lips curving into the sinful smile she loved so much. "Now let me show you."

And then he proceeded to do exactly that.

The End