EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT CONSUMMATION?

EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT

CONSUMMATION?

M iles strolled into his wife s bedroom, aware that every part of his body was standing at attention. He had planned to consummate his marriage in the evening. Only an infatuated fool couldn t curb his lust for a few hours.

He had waited one hour. A gentlemanly hour. He d had a bath, shaved, put on clean garments, and decided that gentleman or not, he couldn t wait. The chamber was empty, but he heard the murmur of women s voices from the water closet. Daisy?

His wife walked into the bedroom a moment later, and the nerves that had been sparking in his body raged into a forest fire. He felt as eager as a young man seeing a naked woman for the first time, his heart beating so hard that he fancied his shirt front was vibrating. He only vaguely noticed as her maid dipped a curtsy and trotted out the door.

Daisy s curves were emphasized by toweling wound tightly around her body. Her lips were plump and luscious, her chin pointed, her nose snub, her cheeks-

You are incredibly beautiful. The words leapt from his mouth without conscious volition.

Color flared higher in her cheeks. Miles. You re here. In my bedchamber.

He couldn t bring himself to obfuscate. Yes. I thought perhaps we could go to bed.

Daisy glanced at the sunshine pouring into the room. You said we would wait until nightfall. She turned even pinker. Everyone will know what we re doing.

Most newlyweds rush toward the nearest bed. His voice had an embarrassingly hungry rumble. He took a few steps toward her. But we could wait if you d prefer. Conscience prickled him. For that matter, we needn t consummate the marriage until you feel comfortable, Daisy. It s up to you.

His new wife couldn t turn any redder. Daisy looked not afraid, but cautious. Not nervous, but not experienced, either.

It occurred to him that she looked like a virgin, but that was absurd. What did he know of virgins, anyway? His erotic history had played out with dancers who dressed as flowers precisely because it was easy to drop their petals.

Daisy cleared her throat. All right. But first I d like to talk.

Her response wasn t precisely enthusiastic, but Miles had no intention of arguing. He promptly began unbuttoning his coat. I m happy to talk. Hopefully she didn t want to tell him about her former lover. He d pulled off his shirt before he noticed how tightly Daisy was clutching her towel.

He strolled closer and ran a finger over her white knuckles. Would you like something to drink? We could ring for champagne.

I d rather have a clear head. Could we have a cup of tea?

He burst out laughing.

I suppose that request might startle the household, Daisy conceded.

It does lend itself to the suggestion that you are bracing yourself.

She backed away. I suspect any number of women long for a cup of tea as the wedding night approaches. Just imagine if we had to have a bedding ceremony.

Miles raised an eyebrow. During which the whole village tucks a man and wife under the sheets? I d need something stronger than tea.

Some of the color had faded from her cheeks. She nodded toward his chest. Very impressive musculature for a gentleman.

Just how many men was he being compared to? Miles choked back that unfair, jealous thought. Daisy had come to him with her baby. She trusted him. Thank you.

Was it improper of me to comment? I don t know how to behave like a wife, for obvious reasons.

I don t know how to be a husband, Miles said, realizing it was true. My parents died long ago.

Don t model yourself on my father, and you ll already be ahead, Daisy said wryly. Or Livie s, she added.

I have not committed homicide, and as yet I ve had little inclination to do so, Miles said, though in the back of his mind, he reserved the right to slay her married lover, if he ever found out the lout s name.

He moved to stand just before her and bent to whisper his lips over hers. The tip of her tongue slid along his lower lip. Belying the light touch, it felt like a burn scalded his body, racing down his spine, wrapping around his loins. Hungry yearning took hold of him, wiping everything from his mind but his wife s curves.

His hands wrapped around her waist, and he lifted her to the edge of the bed so that he could kiss her easily.

You mustn t get the habit of carrying me around, Daisy observed. I m not a bag of laundry.

I won t, he muttered, gently tipping her backwards. As he braced his arms on the mattress on either side of her, her full, soft breasts flattened against his chest. His lips hovered over hers.

They were silent, looking into each other s eyes for long enough to become awkward, but Miles couldn t find any words. His mind-his body-was focused on Daisy rather than on shaping language.

Kiss me, she said finally, her voice raspy and deep. Then we ll talk.

Miles didn t follow orders very often; he rarely received them. But his lips covered hers so quickly that he caught the sound of talk with his tongue.

Kissing his wife was like kissing a firecracker. The impulsivity and brightness, the sparkle that made Daisy into Daisy, shot through his body as their tongue knit together. The kiss wasn t sensitive and sweet, but wild and demanding. One of his hands slid over the toweling, reached her plump arse, and curved around it, pulling her even closer. Their tongues stroked until she broke free with a strangled gasp for air.

Miles let her breathe, lowering his head to kiss her jawline before his hands cupped her face and tilted her head back so that he could ravage her mouth again, his broad tool pressing into her warmth.

A soft alarm sounded in his head, warning that her taste was like a drug. Ignoring it, Miles trailed his mouth over her closed eyelids, sliding his hands around the elegant frame of her head, arrowing his fingers into her hair. It was still damp, curling around his fingers.

Daisy s eyes opened, lashes fluttering. She didn t look alarmed or frightened, but as desirous as he. May I? he asked, hooking a finger into the toweling that miraculously had remained wrapped around her body.

She blinked and shook her head. Not yet. I want to talk before we

He nodded. In a few minutes. Her hands were soothing his chest, fingers spread wide like starfish. They brushed his nipples, and his whole body jolted.

Fever bright eyes met his. Do you like that? Daisy whispered. Her hands swept down the sides of his body to the top of his breeches. You have remarkable muscles.

The words jumped out of his mouth. Compared to?

When I was fourteen, I saw a groom washing himself in the horse trough. She shot him a naughty look that made his cock pulse against his silk breeches. I watched for longer than I ought to have, so I have clear memories of his chest. But you

I wasn t always this burly, he admitted. In the last year, I ve worked off the stresses of my position at the House of Lords by frequenting Gentleman Jack s Boxing Salon almost every day.

I would say rugged rather than burly .

Miles tugged gently at her toweling, eyebrow raised. Please?

She swallowed visibly, then gave a tiny nod, her fingers curling around the waistband of his breeches, touching skin that prickled into life.

Carefully Miles untucked her towel and drew the two sides apart. Daisy was luscious. Utterly luscious, with generous curves and skin like cream roses, dotted here and there by little brown dots that he wanted to lick. Her nipples were raspberries, and the curls between her legs only slightly darker than the hair on her head.

On her hips were silver streaks, evidence of the child she carried. He ran his fingers over them, thinking that someday Daisy would carry his child. I will love Belle, he said abruptly.

Daisy frowned, looking down at his hands. What?

These marks are from carrying Belle, are they not? He smoothed his fingers over them again. A wash of gratitude went through him. So many women were lost in childbirth. His wife was fertile and had carried a baby to term.

No, Daisy said bluntly. Those have nothing to do with a child. They appeared when I was a girl, as my hips grew.

His hands curled around her hips, fingers sinking into warm flesh, easing her closer to the edge of the bed so he could kneel and worship her with his mouth. His body shuddered with anticipation, thinking of that intimate caress.

I love your hips, he rumbled. Some dim part of his brain reminded him that Daisy had asked for tea and conversation, not a husband who leaped on her like a lion on a gazelle. He cleared his throat. Was there something you d like to discuss before we continue?

She came up on her elbows, looking at him. Do you wish that I was a virgin? Her eyes sparkled at him with an odd sense of suppressed excitement. Every man wishes that in his wife, doesn t he?

Obviously, the topic was delicate. Miles hesitated. Social norms governing women s erotic lives were unfair, yet some uncivilized part of him had loved the idea that his wife would be his alone.

He decided to dodge the question. Marrying a virgin would be a risk. What if she saw my burly chest and shuddered with disgust? What if she insisted on making love under cover of darkness? What if she took no pleasure in our bed?

Couldn t you have taught her pleasure?

I could try, but believe me, it s a rare gentleman who is lucky in that regard.

His wife was biting her bottom lip so hard that it had turned cherry red. Obviously, Daisy felt shamed by her lack of chastity. What if I terrified my bride?

Her brows drew together. What do you mean?

Miles undid his placket and drew out his tool. It bobbed against his stomach. Her eyes widened, and she drew in a silent breath.

We will fit, but a virgin might well faint at the sight. That s added to the fact that she wouldn t know how to find her own pleasure.

She rolled her eyes. A male appendage is not necessary for pleasure.

Miles grinned at her. You see? I am so damn lucky because you like my burly chest and hopefully the rest of me, and you ve already given birth to a child, so I needn t worry about you dying in childbirth-

Miles, she interrupted.

Yes?

I have to tell you something.