Chapter 17

The door to Matthew’s bedchamber opened. Tabitha, who had gone into the room to retrieve a few of her belongings, started at his sudden appearance. “Matthew?” she asked.

He stood in the doorway with an expression that was difficult to read. There was heat in his gaze, but she did not understand why it was there.

“I want you to remain in my bed tonight,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “I do not want you to spend the night in your own chamber apart from me.”

Tabitha pressed her lips together, uncertain of what had brought on this sudden change in mood. She had meant what she had said about there being no need to consummate the marriage, and because Matthew did not protest overly, she had assumed that he found the arrangement preferable. Now, she was unsure but did not ask why he wanted to be with her that night. She sensed there was something strange about him. There was a thick feeling in the air, a sort of tension which had not been present during their dinner.

She sat on the bed and looked at him with wide eyes. He strode closer and leaned over her. Matthew dipped his head and placed a slow, lingering kiss on her neck. Tabitha’s breath hitched. “Are—are you sure—we—”

He pressed his weight against her, and Tabitha fell back against the bed. Matthew climbed atop her, looming over her with that same strange, heated look. Perhaps, in telling him that he did not need to fulfill his marital duties, she had persuaded him to do so. That was what she—

She had wanted the marriage to be consummated and had agonized over that ever since the wedding night, which ended with her pleasure and nothing further, but she knew his heart belonged to Her Grace.

Matthew would regret it later if he did this, even out of honour. Even if Tabitha wanted this, she must be selfless. She must prevent him from making a terrible mistake. When he leaned down to kiss her, she placed a finger against his lips. “Wait,” she said.

He tilted his head back. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do,” she said gently, “so very much, but I understand why you cannot. I meant what I told you, every word, and I do not want you to feel as though you are being forced to do anything with me.”

“You are not forcing me.”

He pressed his lips hard against hers, and Tabitha groaned into his mouth. His body, heavy and strong, pressed against hers, and she arched her back. Tabitha pressed her hips against him, her body moving more from instinct than any real awareness of what she was doing.

Her lips ached, and her chest ached for want of air. But the sensations coursing through her were so hot and fast that she nearly forgot herself. When he pulled away, she gasped for air. “Wait,” she rasped. “What about Her Grace?”

“She is gone.”

“Gone?”

He nodded. “My daughter, too.”

Tabitha searched his face for any sign that this was some strange, morbid jest, but she found none. “What do you mean?”

“Jonathan Howell, the man I hired, found their death certificates in France.”

Tabitha gasped. “I am so sorry. I cannot even imagine—”

He silenced her with a long kiss. Tabitha’s mind whirled, struggling to understand the situation. Surely, Matthew ought to be grieving. Surely, he was grieving. Why was he here, then, with her? Wanting to consummate their marriage on the same evening when Her Grace’s death had been confirmed?

She turned her head. “I—I think you—you will regret this,” she rasped, struggling for air. “If we do this.”

“No,” he murmured. “No, I have waited so very long for—for this. Let me have this, Tabitha. Please. I do not want your sympathies, not tonight.”

Tabitha swallowed hard, and he pressed his lips against her neck. Hot breaths of air came against her skin, and he adjusted his position, lining up their bodies. His hardness pressed against her, and Tabitha became aware of the dull ache coiling between her legs. She was as affected by him as he was by her.

“Tonight,” he whispered, “I want you in my bed, and I want to be inside you. You are my future, and I want to embrace our life together. I will mourn Rosemary in the morning.”

Tabitha wanted to help, but she did not know how. Perhaps this was the best she could offer. She curled her fingers in his hair and tipped her head back, signalling her consent. He responded eagerly, trailing kisses along her neck and down to her breasts.

Every touch of his lips and hands was like a branding that sent the most delightful sort of heat rushing down to her core. Soon, she was groaning and twisting beneath him. All her senses focused squarely on him as if they were the only two people in the world.

He seized her gown, pulling it up. Tabitha sat upright so he could remove it. Her stays and chemise followed in quick succession. Soon, she was naked and spread on the bed before his eager gaze. He fell on her at once, kissing her all over. His attentions left her gasping for air. Her hips bucked against the fabric of his trousers, and she felt a warm dampness between her legs. “Oh, Matthew,” she breathed.

All the worries that had plagued her marriage fell away like snow to the first breath of spring. She pulled his jacket, forcing it halfway down his shoulders. “Having trouble?” Matthew asked, grinning.

He leaned back and removed the garment. Tabitha watched as he unbuttoned his waistcoat next, followed by his shirt. She gasped at the sight of his well-muscled torso, and a lump lodged itself in his throat. He was magnificent, his musculature impressive even beneath the dim light of twilight sweeping the room.

Matthew removed his boots and stockings, and Tabitha scarcely dared to breathe as he undid his trousers, unleashing his manhood. She drew in a sharp gasp as she took in the size of it. Tabitha had read about the male anatomy, but seeing it was something entirely different. The muscles inside her twitched in anticipation.

“Are you certain you will fit?” she asked.

“Quite certain,” he said. “I will be careful.”

He coaxed her thighs further apart, and Tabitha grasped the linens beneath her, bracing herself for what was to come. “Relax,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the inside of her thigh. “It will be easier, then. I will be so gentle with you, Tabitha. So very gentle.”

A small, distant part of her wondered if he had said those same words to Her Grace on their wedding night, but it seemed vulgar to ask. With his other hand, Matthew carefully guided himself to her entrance. She felt her inner walls press against him. Tabitha tossed her head back and clenched her jaw as he slowly pushed inside her. It was not quite painful, but near to it.

Mostly, the sensation was strange. She felt a fullness within her, and he grunted as he sheathed himself entirely in her. Her hips bucked, and a surge of pleasure washed through Tabitha. White spots danced in her eyes, and she gasped. Then, he moved. He pulled himself out and shoved himself back in.

Tabitha groaned and clung to the linens. He began to move in and out, and she could feel him moving within her. There was a rhythm to it; she moved her hips against his, meeting his every thrust. That familiar feeling of pleasure curled once again inside her, and she panted for air. Matthew seemed pleased with her reaction, for he grinned and moved more quickly.

Tabitha gasped. Sweat gathered at the small of her back and beneath her breasts, and her breath emerged in helpless cries for release as each pleasant sensation stimulated her more than she had thought possible. Pleasure thundered through her, so sudden and fierce that she screamed into her release.

Seconds later, Matthew growled, and a rush of warmth and wetness filled her. Tabitha lay against the linens, gasping for air as he withdrew himself from her. “Well?” he asked.

He sounded terribly smug, and Tabitha wanted to have some clever retort for him. She found nothing, though. Instead, she merely tossed an arm over her forehead and panted for air. Matthew chuckled and lay on his side by her, prompted up on one elbow. “That amazing, was it?” he murmured.

He traced a finger around her nipple, and she curled a hand in his hair.

“I may need a moment before I can form a coherent reply,” she managed between gasps of air.

He hummed and palmed her breast. She watched his face. It had darkened in the room, and it wasn’t easy to see if his eyes still held that same heat. His posture seemed less tense, but his face was vague and melancholic.

“How are you?” Tabitha murmured.

She really meant do you regret this? However, Tabitha could not bring herself to be so direct. This was one of the few times in her life that she felt she ought to be tactful and not express what she truly meant.

He did not answer, and for a long time, the only sound between them was their pants for air. At long last, he rolled onto his stomach and sighed. “I am not well,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

She let him, curling her body against his. Her naked body felt cold and damp with the sweat and their arousal. Tabitha slowly nodded, her hair brushing against his chin. “No one would expect you to be,” she said kindly.

“But I will be well. It may take some time,” he said, “but I will be. And I will have you. You are my wife now—my only wife.”

Tabitha pressed her forehead against his shoulder, drawing a shuddering breath as he stroked her hair. She knew that she could not understand the depth of his grief, but still, she thought she might know something about complicated emotions. Tabitha would not be happy that Matthew had learned his wife and child were dead, especially in such a horrible way. A very small and selfish part of her dared to hope that this could be a turning point for them, a chance for their marriage to feel a little more real.

“I am here if you want to talk about it,” she said sincerely. “I know I cannot be her and would never try to be. But if I can offer you any comfort, I will.”

“I know,” he murmured against her hair. “You are enough. You will be enough.”

Tabitha fell quiet as he ran his fingers through her hair. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes and listened to his breathing. She felt a little sore and terribly tired, but it was a pleasant sort of tired. Matthew hummed softly, and after a while, his hand stopped moving. Tabitha remained in his arms, though. She heard the faint sounds of him snoring and nestled more closely against him.

This was how she had imagined her wedding night, and he had been so gentle that she could almost pretend he loved her. This was not love, though. It was some strange meeting of grief and desire, and in the morning, she still feared he might regret this decision. But at the moment, she was sleepy and satisfied, intertwined in her husband’s arms. It was not yet morning, and her husband was fast asleep and momentarily content.

He had not yet thought through his decision; she was certain of that. As Tabitha closed her eyes and slowly drifted to sleep, her last conscious thought was a desperate and silent wish that her husband would not regret this in the morning.