Chapter Twenty-Seven

M atthew, although speaking with Lord Quinn, who had not tried to contain his amusement at seeing his friend and London's famed Bachelor Baron finally leg-shackled, seemed to sense her attention was upon him. He turned to face her with a wicked grin that had Purity's toes curling.

How could she not be focused on the man when his fingers rested practically in her lap? And directly below his hand, her body was throbbing at her core.

All at once, that tightly held bundle of nerves unraveled itself and joined a troop of butterflies in her stomach.

Pushing her half-eaten food away, she caught sight of the thick, gold band that Matthew had withdrawn from the left-hand corner of his right-hand waistcoat pocket during the service. The noise of him unwrapping it from a small sheaf of silver paper would stay in her memory forever as it sounded loud in the silent church. And then he'd slid it upon her finger.

She brought her glass of claret to her lips, hoping it would calm her.

Matthew leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

"Not too much, kitten. I want you fully alert when I tease you to begging and pleasure you all night."

"All night?" she spluttered.

He laughed. "We'll take naps in between."

"In between what?" she asked.

"Swiving, of course."

She closed her mouth to ponder how many times one could do the act in a single night, glad that her new husband was experienced enough for both of them.

Finally, they travelled home in their carriage, alone at last without need of a chaperone. They'd decided against an immediate wedding trip, thinking after they settled in as a family, they would go to Scotland for an extended visit with Matthew's relatives.

Finally at home, too early for bed, they sat in the drawing room on their new sofa.

"Well," Purity said, on tenterhooks for what was to come.

"We did it," Matthew commented, his leg jiggling and the fingers of one hand plucking distractedly at his trousers.

"Indeed," she agreed. Then she jumped up, causing him to do the same. Yet as she went to the bell-pull in her new home, she gestured for him to sit. "You don't have to do that every time now that we're married."

"Of course I do," he said, remaining standing. "As my wife, I shall show you even more respect, not less."

Nodding, she waited for the butler, a little surprised when the familiar Mr. Dunley didn't enter.

"Tea, please, Mr. Jacobs," she said. Yet as he bowed, she thought of the relaxing properties of wine. "And a glass of burgundy."

Then she turned to her husband but didn't ask him what he wanted. Instead, she added, "And brandy for his lordship, please."

On second thought, she might like to try that, too. She could do whatever she wanted as a married woman on her first night in the house of which she would be mistress.

"And a glass of brandy for me, as well."

"Yes, my lady." Mr. Jacobs disappeared swiftly. He was probably worried she was going to ask for more beverages.

"Come here, kitten," Matthew said, patting the sofa.

After she sat beside him, he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

"You shall have to drink all that or risk offending my staff."

When she stiffened in dismay, he laughed.

"I'm speaking in jest. You are understandably nervous in a new place."

She nodded, glad he understood. "It shows, does it?"

"Just a little. But if you drink all that, you'll spend your night in the water-closet, so I might encourage you to restrict yourself to sharing a glass of brandy with me, and then we can retire early.

"We can?" she asked, deciding not to tell him he shouldn't mention the water-closet. She supposed as husband and wife, they could speak more freely.

He nodded. "Unless you need to write down the names of everyone with whom you spoke today."

She laughed. "No, I think I can remember every detail without doing that. But are we allowed?"

"Are we allowed what?" he asked, plainly perplexed.

Her cheeks heated, and she buried her face against his chest and mumbled into his coat.

"I cannot understand you, lady wife," he said.

Sighing, she tried again. "Can we retire to our bedroom while it is still light out? What will the staff think?"

For some reason, that struck him as exceedingly funny, and he laughed heartily, causing her head to jiggle on his chest until she sat up.

"You are Lady Foxford now, not Mrs. Princum-Prancum. And the longer we wait, the worse your nervousness shall grow. So, let us get to bed. We can always send for a late supper delivered to our room after."

"After," she murmured, letting him take her hand and draw her to the door. In the hallway, they met two maids, each carrying a tray with everything she'd ordered.

"I am terribly sorry," she began. She was starting her management of the household very poorly. To make it less wasteful, she handed Matthew a glass of brandy and took the other one.

"Please, enjoy the tea yourselves and give the cook this glass of wine with our thanks."

Then he tugged her away from the wide-eyed maids.

"They think I am ridiculous," she said on the stairs. "Look, I'm holding a glass and I still have my gloves on!"

"Nonsense, they think you are generous. I think you're ridiculous." And he escorted her into their bedroom.

"What about Diana?" she asked belatedly.

"She definitely thinks you're ridiculous, too."

"Foxford," she begged, "stop teasing me at every turn."

"You won't say that later," he promised mysteriously. Before she could ask, he added, "Mrs. Caldwell has strict instructions that we are not to be disturbed, not by a little girl or her kittens or even Clara, the all but bald doll."

Purity laughed.

"Our little girl will be put to bed after her dinner with a story and a hug," he promised. "But right now, it's your turn."

To be put to bed! That sobered her, and unthinkingly, Purity took a large drink from the brandy, imagining it to be smooth as fruity red wine.

"Sweet Mary!" she exclaimed around the coughing and the spluttering. It was a shocking heat, burning its way down her throat and somehow having got into her lungs, as well.

Her new husband patted her back until she waved him away.

"Foxford—"

"How about Matthew?" he said.

She nodded but didn't want to be deterred from her request. "Could we get directly to it, Matthew? To the swiving, I mean?"

He'd been untying his cravat but stopped and stared at her. Then he cocked his head.

"Are you saying you don't wish to follow proper bedroom etiquette?"

Purity had never heard of it. Instantly, she regretted not asking Clarity more questions.

With her fingers twisting in her skirts, she said, "Much as I believe in adhering to etiquette, as you know, I would as soon set everything aside and dive right in."

He shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "These things must be done correctly. You have taught me that. Or the whole thing will be ruined."

"Ruined?" she repeated. "Very well. What must we do before we get into bed?"

He sighed heavily. "There are a number of things. I should have made a list for you. That was badly done of me."

A list! "I have a decent memory," she said. "Why don't you tell me or simply begin?"

"First thing to do," he started, then paused and looked around the room, "is we turn down the bed so we can fall easily into it."

After drinking his brandy in one large swallow — which she found monstrously impressive — he set his glass down. Then he stalked to the four-poster bed and tugged at the counterpane, followed by the next layers of blanket and sheet. She joined in on the other side, neatening the mess he'd made.

"Then we plump the pillows," he said.

Purity stared in amazement as Matthew attacked the pillows with gusto, squeezing, kneading, and thumping each of the four pillows until their down innards had been duly rearranged.

"Next we make sure the curtains are drawn to avoid drafts when we are unclothed."

"Surely, your maid always does that when she lights the coals in the hearth and turns up the oil lamps."

"It's on the list," he said, tapping his temple, "in my head."

"I fail to see what any of this has to do with etiquette," she said. "It's more like housekeeping duties."

On the other hand, the mundane acts had succeeded in driving away her anxiousness.

"Now we must undress one another, a single piece of clothing at a time."

That seemed reasonable and fair. "But you have removed your coat and were already untying your cravat," she pointed out.

"True. However, my coat is considered outerwear, and my cravat is ornamental and hard to remove if you don't know the knots. In any case, the man gets to start."

He drew close, raised her arm by her wrist, and stripped off her glove, then her other.

Purity shivered, feeling immediately naked without her silken hand coverings. Moreover, the skin at her wrists tingled where his fingers touched her.

"Weren't they two items?" she asked, despite being happy they had begun the more intimate tasks at last. "Not that I am complaining." In case he said they had to beat the rug or look under the bed for dust before they continued.

"Gloves, stockings, and shoes count as one article each," he explained, "since they always come in pairs."

"You removed your gloves in the front hall," she said.

"That was remiss of me, wasn't it?" His gaze caught hers before lowering to her mouth. "Between my gloves, jacket, and undone cravat, you may remove two items from me."

Matthew stood before her, arms hanging at his sides, and waited.

Purity swallowed the lump in her throat. Since he'd untied his neckcloth, she captured one end and drew it from him. Realizing he'd tossed her gloves onto the chest of drawers, she put his blue silk cravat there, too.

Then she unbuttoned his cream-colored waistcoat, before pushing it down his arms. She went around the back of him to slide it off completely, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of his broad back. She even paused to lay her cheek against his back and breathe in the sensual fragrance that suited him perfectly.

Her womanly parts throbbed from the sensual act of being close, and she moved away to lay his waistcoat over the chair by the window.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the same chair.

His commanding tone sent a shiver down her spine, and she did as he said. In an instant, he crouched at her feet, wrapped his fingers behind her ankle so he could lift her leg, before sliding off her soft shoe of the palest-pink kid leather.

Purity closed her eyes at the sight of his bent head and the feel of his fingers cradling her heel. Then he removed her other shoe and rose again, drawing her up beside him.

"Now yours," she said.

He shook his head. "I cannot allow you to put your hands on my boots. You are my wife, and thus I shall be pleased to do it."

In the shake of a lamb's tail, Matthew had tossed his ankle boots to the side of the room.

"Turn around," he said, an edge to his tone.

Far more swiftly than she could manage, he undid the buttons of her white satin dress purchased specifically for their wedding day.

When he whipped it over her head, she hoped it was undamaged and watched him drape it over his waistcoat. Their garments mingling made her stomach flutter again.

Purity stood in her finest satin corset, two horsehair stiffened petticoats, her best silk chemise, and her stockings.

With his gaze taking her in from top to bottom, her skin quickly came up with goosebumps as if she was cold.

She was anything but. In fact, as soon as he had pulled off her dress, she would swear her body became hotter.

"My turn," she said.

"I'm all yours," he said, his glance resting on the tops of her breasts.

She slid her fingers under his braces going over each of his broad shoulders.

"These are one item," she said.

"Yes," he agreed, then nothing more as she drew them down his arms until the braces hung at his sides.

Unfastening the buckles that were clipped at the waist of his trousers, she removed the suspenders with a sense of accomplishment at having handled the unfamiliar task. These she put on the top of his chest of drawers, returning to stand in front of him.

Purity reached out to finger the fabric of his white lawn shirt, even though it was his turn to remove something. Swiftly, he captured her hand under his, pressing it atop his chest. His strong heart pounded under her flattened palm.

Taking his other hand, she placed it over her bosom so he could feel her answering beat.

Their gazes locked, and her mouth went dry even as other parts of her dampened.

"Your petticoat," he said.

"Petticoat s ," she corrected, emphasizing the plural. They usually were a little heavy, but all day, she'd been floating on air, not even noticing their bulk.

Matthew untied them at the back, and both layers fell from her hips. After helping her step out of the pile, he kicked it a little viciously to the side.

She chuckled. She'd often wanted to do the exact same thing.

"Your shirt," she murmured. "Oh, but the collar." She eyed the detachable garment with doubt.

"I'll do it," he said, "to be quick."

"Not if it ruins everything," she said, watching him take off the studs that held it in place.

"I was teasing." His voice was husky. "There is no etiquette, no list, no rules. Only myself torturing us with an idiotic game."

She laughed. "It was appreciated," she said. "Truly. When you said there were rules, I calmed a little."

He barked out a laugh. "I knew you would. But there are none except to pleasure one another."

"I see."

He tugged his fine lawn shirt out of his trousers, showing it to be longer than she thought. With his arm arched over his shoulder, he grabbed a handful of the cotton, shrugged his shoulders, and drew it over his head.

Her mouth dropped open as she watched the play of his shoulder muscles. He was spectacular.

"Your corset," he said, and the hoarse tenor of his voice made it obvious he was as affected by her as she was by him. He made quick work of the laces and hooks with practiced fingers until she was in her chemise, drawers, and stockings.

She resisted the urge to scratch her rib cage as she normally would. That didn't seem a particularly ladylike thing to do in mixed company, even in front of her husband.

And then he reached for her, feathering his fingers into her hair.

"Ow! My maid used extra pins and combs and an aigrette," she explained with an apologetic shrug, "to secure my coiffure. I shall need a minute."

Luckily, there was a small mirror atop his chest of drawers. If she was to share the room, she would have to replace it with a more generously sized looking glass. In any case, she drew out the many accessories and then unplaited her hair before running her fingers through it.

All the while, she was aware of him leaning against the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles, as he watched her.

"Your maid was expecting a strong wind," he said wryly.

She nodded, feeling nervous again.

"Kitten," he said softly when she dithered with her back to him. "Come here."

Taking a last glance at herself in the mirror, she turned.