Chapter Twenty-Three

Dermott set his wife on her feet next to the four-poster bed. He stared at it for a moment, feeling uneasy at the prospect of sleeping in one of the earl's beds. It was far too fine for the likes of him.

His bride noticed his hesitation and said, "It's a lovely mahogany bed. I used to sleep in one quite similar to this." She reached out to touch the pale blue bed linen. "So soft."

She looked up at him, and his heart began to pound. The woman of his dreams was standing in front of him, had exchanged vows with him. Suddenly he could not think of what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, had been dreaming of doing, but he couldn't expect her to want to jump onto that fancy bed and let him sink into her softness. She was a maiden, after all.

He needed to woo her first. Bloody hell, he wished he had had the opportunity to court the lass before marrying her. Given her situation and the time constraints of his job, he had had little to no time to do so.

"Dermott, isn't this thoughtful?"

He hadn't taken his eyes off his bride from the moment she walked toward him with her hand on the earl's arm. Shaking his head, he finally noticed what she was looking at. The small table by the window facing the gardens had a silver tray with food to tempt their appetite—and did not require sitting down at a table to consume it. Mrs. Wyatt deserved a kiss and his eternal gratitude for understanding that they may not eat right away, and, if he could convince his bride, may be eating in bed!

He cleared his throat and his mind of such thoughts. She was nowhere near ready. "I was not expecting to be served a meal in our bedchamber, lass. This was kind of the earl and Lady Aurelia. We'll be certain to thank them when next we see them."

She frowned at him. "You make it sound as if we won't be leaving this room for days."

"If I had me way, I'd keep ye in that bed for a sennight."

Her laughter sounded like the tinkling of faery bells. "What could we possibly find to do to keep us there for seven days?"

Her innocence was a frustrating delight. He intended to show her how they could spend the time, but needed to reel in his impatience and need to claim her. Dermott walked over to where she stood next to the elaborate tray laden with everything from meat pies and slices of beef to trifle pudding and syllabub. She was reaching for the teapot when he moved to stand beside her. "Are ye that hungry, lass?"

She turned quickly and tumbled into his arms. Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade that reminded him of his ma's roses back home. Unable to resist, he brushed the tips of his fingers along the curve of her cheek. "Soft as the petals of a rose." Eyes wide with confusion and wonder tempted him to ask, "Has no man ever compared yer satin-smooth cheek to a rose petal before?"

"Erm… Not exactly."

She tried to turn away from him, but he nudged her chin with his knuckle until she faced him again. "Were the men courting ye blind?"

"Well… That is to say… Not exactly. It's just that…" Her voice trailed off again before she seemed to gather her courage and confessed, "If you must know, I did not take."

Dermott was confused. "Take?"

Her face turned red as a beet.

"I did not mean to embarrass ye, lass. 'Tis just that I do not understand yer meaning."

"Surely you've noticed my hair is a rather bland shade of light brown."

"When the sunlight shines on it, the silken strands remind me of honey."

From the expression on her face, his bride seemed to embarrass easily—mayhap she flustered easily, too.

"I do not have blue eyes," she said, as if to remind him.

"Is there a reason ye're pointing out what I can plainly see, lass?"

"I am tallish, and my curves are all but nonexistent."

Obviously the lass found fault where Dermott did not. "I'm thinking ye haven't noticed me height. I'd say ye're smallish." Sweeping his gaze from the top of her head to her toes, he smiled. "Ye've curves in all the right places, lass. I'm looking forward to discovering what magical taste I'll discover at the hollow of yer throat and beneath yer left breast."

Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, his wife was a delight. He knew he'd shocked her tender sensibilities, but he needed her to understand the man she married was not a fop, nor was he one to use a handful of words when one would do.

Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips to her forehead, one cheek, and then the other, before placing a kiss to the tip of her nose. When she blinked, he lowered his head and rasped, "Kiss me back, lass."

When he felt her rise on her toes, he slid one hand to her waist and urged her closer. Her curves nestled against the hard planes of his body. When their lips were a breath apart, he whispered, "Ye're as lovely as a rose, slender as a willow, and beautiful as spring itself."

She opened her mouth to speak, and he took advantage, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, tracing the rim of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. When she sighed and melted against him, he took the kiss deeper and splayed his hand on her back, holding her captive while he sampled the flavor and texture of her sumptuous mouth.

*

Georgiana couldn't think—couldn'tbreathe! Dermott's mouth commanded her full attention, and participation, as he coaxed her to mimic the kisses he shared with her. His firm lips tutored her until she finally stopped thinking about if she was kissing him properly and poured what was in her heart into her response.

His lips trailed along the line of her jaw to beneath her ear, and she felt her legs wobble.

"Hang on to me, lass."

She could not do otherwise. She had lost the feeling in her legs when his talented lips and teasing tongue worked their magic. He was teaching her, while showing how much he cared for her. This man who stood head and shoulders above the rest towered over her, yet his callused hands were gentle; he was treating her as if she were as fragile as a butterfly.

She clung to her husband as he slipped his arm beneath her legs and held her against his pounding heart. Thank goodness she was not alone in the chaotic feelings rioting inside of her! Georgiana needed to show him she welcomed his touch, while he taught her what awaited her in the marriage bed. She slid her hands up and over his shoulders and trailed a path of kisses from beneath his jaw to the cleft in his chin. His eyes were dark with what she now recognized as passion. Pleased to be able to get a response with her awkward kisses, she nipped his chin and reveled in his deep groan.

"Ye're killing me, lass."

She froze and placed a hand to his heart. It pounded harder. "Forgive me! Why didn't you stop me?"

His rusty laugh surprised her as much as the tears she had to blink away in order to glare at him. "What is so funny?" Their eyes met, and he brushed her tears away.

"I'm humbled that ye care enough to cry over the thought of me dying."

She shoved against him, and would have ended up landing on her bottom if not for his lightning-fast reaction. He caught her and plundered her mouth with mind-numbing kisses until she could neither see, nor hear…but she could feel Dermott's lips and tongue! The strength of his hands, as they gently brushed away more tears that gathered, soothed her.

Finally, she found her voice and whispered, "Don't die, Dermott. Please?"

"'Tisn't as if I have any say in the matter, lass. Only God knows what plans he has in store for the rest of me life—and yours."

"From what I have heard and observed, you have a dangerous job. Would you promise not to take any unnecessary chances with your life?"

He studied her closely, as if trying to determine her thoughts. He'd never guess that her heart was breaking at the very idea that he would be taken from her. Not when she had only just found him!

"Aye, lass, ye have me word. Though ye must understand that what seems unnecessary to ye does not seem so to me—or the other lads in the duke's guard." He bent and captured her lips again, sending tingles of awareness to parts of her she had no idea were capable of feeling. "Seeing as how ye have strong feelings about me not risking me life, will ye let me make love to ye? I'll go slowly. If and when ye say stop, ye have me word that I will."

Georgiana could not control her breathing—she was panting as if she couldn't fill her lungs fast enough. Her head felt light over what he was asking, though in truth, she had agreed to marry the man. She could not very well expect him to walk away from her tonight, when he'd mentioned doing his duty before he carried her upstairs.

His kisses suggested that it was more than a duty to him. Lord, please let him feel a smidgeon of what I hold in my heart for him. A peace settled over her, and she knew God had heard her petition. "Yes."

His emerald eyes gleamed as he walked over to the bed and stood her next to it. He removed his frockcoat, untied his cravat, and took off his waistcoat. "Are ye planning to make love to me wearing that fancy gown?"

She blinked and noticed that he was about to remove his cambric shirt. "I… um… What I mean to say is—"

"That ye've never disrobed in front of anyone before."

Affronted, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and frowned at him. "Of course not!"

"I love a feisty woman. Turn around, lass, and I'll undo yer buttons."

Her arms dropped to her sides. Instead of speaking, she simply turned around. The heat of him seared her skin wherever they touched. His hands on her shoulders urged her to turn back around. "Do ye need me help taking yer gown off?"

Heart in her throat, she couldn't speak.

He trailed his finger from the scar high on her forehead to the curve of her cheek before pressing a kiss below her scar. "If only ye'd have listened and not jumped, lass, ye wouldn't have been so gravely injured.

"I never heard you."

"Would ye have listened if ye had?"

She shrugged. "Truthfully?"

"There will only be truth between us lass, never prevarications."

"I agree. As to that, Dermott, does my scar bother you? It is a mark I will bear for the rest of my life."

"Aye, lass, but only because of the pain it caused ye."

Heart in her eyes, she stared up at him. Seeing the utter truth on his face, she nodded.

"Now then, as to yer lovely gown, ye don't want to wrinkle it, do ye?"

His voice had deepened, and the rumbling vibration set off a chain reaction inside of her. She wanted—nay, felt compelled—to do whatever he asked when he spoke to her in that low register. "Erm… Yes, I could use your help. Lady Aurelia made the alterations herself. I've never heard of a countess sewing her own clothes before."

"There is much ye do not know about the family me brothers, cousins, and I protect," he said, gently lifting the gown up and over her head.

She felt painfully exposed standing before him in her borrowed chemise. The thin batiste did little to hide her body from his inspection. And the way his eyes took in every curve beneath the chemise had her breasts—and lady parts—tingling.

As if he knew his effect on her, he slowly smiled and tugged his finely tailored black shirt off, tossing it on the chair with his other garments. "Ah, lass, ye're a beauty to behold. I know I am not worthy of touching the hem of yer fine gown, but I've done that just now and plan to touch more of ye—with yer permission."

Georgiana knew what was expected of her, but the sheer size of him… Lord, the man was fit. His bulging muscles had her insides quaking. Would he accidentally crush her in the middle of the night if he turned over and ended up on her side of the bed?

"Whatever it is ye're thinking, lass, let it go. I gave ye me word to be gentle."

Needing to show him she would keep her word to him and allow him to seal their vows, she let her eyes travel from the top of his head to his too-handsome face. She snuck a peek and noticed his lips curving into a smile. Emboldened, she lingered on his impressive pectorals and lowered to his breastbone, then lower still to his belly and the waistband of his trousers.

"Lass, I cannot take much more of yer lusty looks."

"Lusty?"

"Yer eyes show what ye're thinking. 'Tis yer lips and yer tongue that are a bit shy. I can fix that." He tugged, and she fell against his massive chest. His heat seared through her, drugging her, until she was swaying on her feet. "Are ye ready to let me see all of ye, lass?"

She bit her bottom lip and dug deep for the courage to hear whatever comments he may have about her too-small breasts and barely there hips. Hadn't she overheard more than one gentleman at the last ball she attended saying the same, sotto voce? She had been near enough to hear their comments, as they no doubt intended.

"I'm ready."

Before she could change her mind, her chemise was gone, and her husband stood staring at her. She was wrong—she couldn't bear it if he found her form lacking. She closed her eyes tight and prayed he'd finish his intimate inspection quickly.

"Open yer eyes, lass."

She shook her head.

"Georgiana Hyacinth O'Malley!"

That had her eyes opening wide. "What did you call me?"

"Yer name. 'Tisn't Eggerton any longer, lass, and as soon as I make ye me wife, 'twill be part of yer past."

He scooped her into his arms, then gently laid her on the bed and joined her. His massive body, poised above her, covering her, made her feel tiny, fragile, though she knew she had nothing to fear from him.

He bent his head and kissed her gently at first. With each kiss, the intensity increased. His tongue traced the rim of her mouth again, but this time he nipped her bottom lip. Shock had her gasping, allowing his tongue entry to taste her fully. "Yer flavor is a heady combination of honeysuckle and heather, lass."

She'd never sampled either, and she wondered when he had. He slowly lowered his body so he was nestled between her thighs—the hard, hot length of him poised at the very heart of her. Pinned to the mattress, she did not feel as helpless as she thought she would. She trusted him. His heat seared her, as her passage wept and clenched of its own accord.

"Don't worry, lass—ye're not ready to receive me yet. I just wanted to feel yer moist heat before I began me first lesson."

She made a strangled sound in the back of her throat, but for the life of her, couldn't string two words together.

"Do ye want me to stop, lass?"

No!her heart cried. Unable to speak, she shook her head, and her husband lowered his head, capturing her breast in the wet heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue over her nipple, tugging on it, until she was squirming beneath him, begging him for something she did not understand.

"Do ye want me to stop, lass?"

This time she forced out, "No!"

His deep chuckle did things to her insides that she was certain were not proper at all.

"Thank God, lass!"