Chapter 7

James wondered if he should even be there. It was the middle of the night. All the guests had gone home. All the servants were in their quarters. His new wife was in her chamber. Only he was not where he was supposed to be. But… where was that?

He found himself standing outside his wife's door, the grandeur of the hallway around him fading into insignificance as he hesitated before the closed entrance. Thoughts swirled within him like a tempestuous sea, each one vying for dominance over the other.

Did he have to knock? Was she sleeping or was she awake? Should he intrude upon her solitude on this night, the first night of staying in her new home? Even if he did knock, would she welcome his presence, or would she recoil from it, closing the door in his face?

A torrent of uncertainty washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his resolve. But amidst the tumult of his thoughts, a single impulse rose above the rest — a longing, a yearning, an undeniable desire to see her, to touch her, to inhale the scent that was the essence of her.

With a decisive motion, he raised his hand and rapped gently against the polished wood, the sound echoing through the quiet corridor like a whispered plea.

And then, he waited.

The silence stretched on, pregnant with anticipation, until finally, the faint sound of movement emanated from within. James held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as the door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond. Their eyes met in the muted lamplight, a silent exchange fraught with unspoken truths and unfulfilled promises.

"Yes?"

He could never imagine that just the very sound of someone's voice would have such an effect on him. All the little hairs on his body rose as his ears were caressed by the melodious sound of her voice.

"May I come in?" he asked before even clarifying why he was there, out of fear that she might close the door immediately, not letting him in.

She hesitated. He noticed it. But a moment later, she moved to the side to let him in. As he did so, she closed the door, and he turned to her, their eyes locking. He swallowed heavily, unprepared for the sight that unraveled before him.

Her nightgown was a cascade of delicate fabric that enveloped her slender form, like a present he yearned to unwrap so desperately. Her long hair fell down her back in waves, a silken curtain that framed her delicate features with an ethereal glow. Her face, bathed in the gentle flicker of the flames, held an otherworldly beauty that seemed to transcend mortal existence. Her eyes, pools of shimmering darkness, reflected the candlelight with a mesmerizing intensity that held him captive for much longer than he was willing to admit.

She walked around him, moving to the center of the room with quiet confidence as the fabric of her nightgown rustled softly against her skin, accentuating the subtle curves of her figure in a tantalizing dance of shadow and light. He noticed that she had opened the window, and the sounds of the night filled the room.

From the shadows, he watched her with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his heart swelling with a mixture of longing and admiration. At that moment, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, she was the epitome of loveliness — a vision of purity and grace that stirred something deep within him.

"Was there something Your Grace wanted?" she asked, her voice down to a titillating whisper.

He wanted to walk over to her, cup her face with his hands, and drink in her warm breath, making her his. But he knew that he had to go slowly. He could not frighten her by ravaging her on their first night, no matter how much he wanted to.

"James," he corrected her. She immediately lifted her eyebrow in confusion. He clarified. "Not Your Grace. James is fine. We are married, after all."

"James," she nodded. "Was there something you wanted?"

Yes, there was much something he wanted, and he would have taken it right then and there, but she was so innocent, so lovely that he feared taking her and breaking her in the process. No. He had to do it tenderly, slowly, build his way to her, so she would give all of herself to him.

For the purpose of an heir and nothing else, a small voice inside of him forced him to remember. He agreed, of course. That was the only reason he was doing this. Nothing else. Fortunately, the fact that his new wife was beautiful and desirable made that process so much easier.

"Just to see if you are all right," he said softly.

"I am, thank you," she nodded. He could see that she was trembling.

He took a step closer to her. "Are you cold?"

"No," she shook her head, rubbing her upper arm with her other hand. "Just… sleepy."

Now, they were standing dangerously close. He could sense it as much as she could. Yet, he could not tear himself away from her. He felt that was where he needed to be. There and nowhere else.

Unable to resist himself, he lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. She felt soft, warm to the touch. He had never touched any woman who was that beckoning, that desirable. Lust raged on inside of him, and it was difficult to keep it controlled and restrained.

His hand lingered on her skin for just one brief moment then she took a step back, her doe eyes widening at him, almost as if she realized only then what her duties as a wife would entail. It was almost endearing seeing her so. And it made him even more attracted to her shining innocence.

"I know we have not discussed this before, but I have a condition for our marriage," she stated boldly although James was a good judge of character, and he could tell when courage was real and when it was merely a fa?ade for fear. In her case, it was the latter.

He smiled at her, resisting the urge to chuckle as he did not want her to think that he was not taking her and her opinions seriously. "A condition?" he reiterated.

"Yes," she nodded, her beautiful, lush lips parted, as if beckoning him to kiss her. He would, he promised himself that he would, but now, he had to listen to her.

"You do realize that you are not in a very good position to make conditions, my dear." He was playful with her, all to see where that would lead.

"Please, do not call me my dear," she said sternly, like a governess endeavoring to discipline a pupil. He liked it more than he thought he would.

"All right, what would you like me to call you?" he teased again. It was incredible. She was bringing out the most playful side of him, the one he had not seen himself in ages. It was as if he was not himself with her but some old, carefree version of himself that did not exist in the real world any longer. Only with her.

"My name," she clarified.

"All right, Penelope," he said, liking how her name rolled down his tongue. He wanted something else to roll down his tongue, perhaps her own tongue, her pebbled nipple, or…

His manhood roared with desire at the image of her most tender, hidden flesh upon his tongue, and it took all of his conscious effort to subdue the desire he felt for her. "Let's go back to your condition for our marriage," he steered the conversation back to a safer zone.

"My condition is that there will be no heirs for the first year of our wedded life," she stated more boldly than the last time.

Her words shocked him much more than he expected them to. In fact, he was so shocked that he could not utter a single word. All he could do was look at her in disbelief. Obviously noticing his shock, she proceeded to explain why her desires were so.

"I… just need time to adjust to my new life," she told him. "You probably don't know, but before I came here, I had been living in a nunnery in Scotland for the past five years. I was brought back a day before I was to meet you, and now this whirlwind wedding, I… I just feel out of place."

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, shaking his head and gesturing with his hands. Only one thing rang inside his mind like an angry church bell. "You were in a nunnery? You are a nun?"

"No, no," she shook her head. "I was an oblate."

"What's that?" he frowned.

He could see her facial features pacify slightly. She was not as nervous, as defensive as before. "It's a young woman preparing to become a nun, but she has not taken her vows yet. I was in the process of becoming a nun, but… I did not."

"So, you… wanted to become a nun?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"What I wanted does not matter," she told him in a way he was not expecting her to. There was so much sadness in her response that it gripped him by the heart instantly. "That is all in the past. What matters is the present. You and I are married, and I understand what that means. Still, I… I was hoping that you would understand my situation and… well, understand why I would need some time to adjust to everything, not just married life, but life in general."

He could see that she did not want to talk about her life as an oblate any further which only made him more curious about it. Did she really want to become a nun? If she did, why did she agree to marry him? There were so many things he did not know about this woman, so many things he wanted to find out.

She spoke with so much clarity, so much reason that he admired her for it. He could not imagine what that must have felt like to spend five years building a life somewhere only to be plucked by the very root and planted somewhere else, expected to grow and prosper. That was almost impossible without time to adjust, time to get used to the new way of life. However, at the same time, he could not wait an entire year. He did not want to.

"All right," he agreed with reassurance. "I promise you that I will not force you into anything you don't want to."

Her eyes fluttered at him. "Really?"

"Really," he nodded with a smile. "Despite what you or anyone else might think, I am not a brute."

"I never said you were," she whispered back. "I merely asked for some time."

"And time you shall have," he said, slowly diminishing the distance that was between them. "I accept your terms."

Now, they were dangerously close again, drinking in the sight of each other. He could tell that she wanted him as much as he did her, but she stated the terms. Now, she made it more playful, more competitive, and he relished the idea of wooing her, seducing her.

He leaned closer, whispering into her ear. "But I promise you one thing, Penny…" The nickname appeared out of nowhere, but it suited her so well. He breathed slowly against her warm, tender skin, dragging his lips from her cheek to her throat, relishing the taste of her. "I promise you will be begging me for a night of passion before the month is out."

Then, without any other words, he crashed his lips against hers. It was a collision of desire that sent sparks throughout his entire body. His hand found the nape of her neck and his other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. Her own hands fell on his chest, open-palmed.

With a fervor born of unspoken yearning, he felt her melt into him, lost in the heat of the moment. Their tongues danced to a melody known only to the two of them. His lips molded to hers with an urgency that mirrored the racing of his own heart. Every touch, every caress ignited more passion that consumed him in its entirety, sweeping him away on a tide of ecstasy. In that timeless moment, nothing else existed, there were only the two of them.

He did not want to allow her to be the one to pull away first. He wanted to lead this game she had started. Although reluctantly, he pulled away, relishing the sight of her slightly swollen lips and her beautiful eyes, wide with surprise.

"Goodnight, Penelope," he said softly, turning around and walking out of her chamber, knowing that his promise would linger behind him long after he had gone.