He put on his most serious face as he offered, “Shall I help you?”
The noise Hannah made was an incoherent sort of nonword, but Silas could only take it for an assent. What other choice did she have? It was either this or wait for Marian to get back and ask her for help, however long that might be. Though Silas was determined to be respectful, he wasn’t so gallant that he would suggest that possibility if she hadn’t asked for it.
He circled Hannah as cautiously as if he were trying not to spook a skittish animal, coming to stop behind her back. She removed the crown of pink carnations from her hair and undid the hairpins herself so that she could remove her veil, which she folded neatly away into one of her trunks. Her dark hair hung loose down her back by the time she’d finished. Silas’s breath hitched in his chest.
There was something so unguarded about the sight of Hannah this way that he almost couldn’t bring himself to touch her, even as he ached to do so. He wanted to unwrap all her trappings and ribbons like the most long-awaited present, but he also wanted to make this moment last as long as possible. It was a tantalizing problem.
Silas finally settled on moving very slowly, which seemed to be the safest option given that he was already growing far too aroused at the sight before him. He began by stroking a hand through Hannah’s hair, memorizing the softness of it between his fingers as he brushed the strands carefully over her left shoulder to expose the buttons on her gown.
There was a great number of them. Little silk-covered nubs that slipped and eluded his grasp, clearly made for a lady’s hands.
I will not be bested by buttons.
Silas applied himself with methodical determination, working his way down the row as each one yielded a little more of Hannah’s body to his sight. He counted thirty before he reached the small of her back, that enticing curve that seemed to be begging for his palm. He didn’t let himself give in to the impulse. It was strangely satisfying to know that he could push himself to the edge of temptation without losing his self-control.
Silas wouldn’t touch Hannah unless she asked him to.
“Can you step out of the gown now?” His voice came out hoarse.
“I think so.” Why were they speaking so quietly when they were alone? It made the exchange feel like a secret. But this was his wife. There was no reason to be ashamed of undressing her.
Silas tugged one shoulder, easing the white silk down Hannah’s arm until she was halfway out, then repeated the motion on the other side. Once her arms were free, he helped her pull the wedding dress over her head and put it carefully away. They stood facing each other when they’d finished, equally unsure how to proceed. It was strange. Silas had been with women before, but he’d never attended to one with such drawn-out care. It felt unexpectedly new.
“The petticoats next,” Hannah whispered. “And then I should be able to do the camisole myself.”
He saw to the ties at the back of the petticoats—all four of them—which were stiff and cumbersome to peel away. Once they were gone, Hannah lost the dramatic bell-shaped silhouette she’d worn all day and began to resemble a natural woman. He couldn’t help but stare, longing to run his hands around the curves of her hips. So this was what she looked like without her armor.
When Hannah reached for the buttons to the camisole, Silas entreated, “Let me.”
She swallowed, the movement of her throat the only sign that she’d heard him. There was no reason for him to do this part. The camisole that covered her corset did up in the front and was one of the few things Hannah could reach without assistance. But Silas had started this task and he intended to finish it. The hum of excitement in his chest grew stronger with every layer, calling him onward.
Hannah must have noticed what she was doing to him. He could hardly hide it. But if it bothered her, surely she would have told Silas to stop. Instead, she watched him cautiously, some message passing between them without the need for speech. A question asked and answered.
Without breaking his gaze, Hannah lowered her hands, leaving the buttons of her camisole untouched.
Yes.
Silas drew up to his wife until they were bare inches apart, looking her in the eye for a long moment before he let his gaze skim deliberately down her throat, over the swell of her breasts, to where the camisole fastened over her corset. He undid the buttons very slowly, taking care not to touch any part of Hannah that wasn’t strictly necessary. It was enough to have this and no more.
She brought her hands up to pull the camisole away herself, trembling slightly as she did. Was it nervousness or desire? Silas wished she would tell him plainly how much he might dare.
“I can’t do the stays.” She turned her back to him once more, and he undid the laces to her corset with hands that had begun to tremble. God, she was perfect. He inhaled deeply, as if her rosewater might fill the hole yawning inside him. When they’d managed to maneuver the rigid whalebone off her, Hannah was at last down to nothing but her shift and stockings. “Thank you.”
She made no move to step away, and neither did Silas. They stood frozen there for a long moment.
Finally, he ventured, “Would you let me do the rest?”
Hannah’s eyes widened. “I–I don’t need help for this part.”
“I know.”
She glanced downward toward the evidence of his arousal.
“Do you expect me to—to fulfill my wifely duties?”
His lips twitched. What an unappealing way to word it. “I told you, I won’t ask you for anything you aren’t prepared to give. If you want me to leave you in peace to rest, say the word and I’ll go. Only say it soon, please.” He wasn’t sure how much longer his restraint would hold.
“I want—” Hannah broke off, though whether she was unwilling to tell him or didn’t rightly know what she wanted was hard to tell. “May I be honest with you?”
