“I don’t want your gold or your brooch, Theodosia.”
She looked up and saw the truth of his words in the azure depths of his eyes. “Do you accept?” she whispered.
He could see nothing but her beauty, could hear nothing but her beautiful request. “Yes.”
The reality of the situation fell over her. Once upon a time she’d planned to have coitus with some stranger in a darkened hotel room.
Instead, she was going to make love with Roman Montana beneath a canopy of trees.
Joy rose in her heart like a beautiful sunrise. She reached out her arms for him.
Roman brought her to him, next to his chest, and he held her as though someone might come and take her away from him in the next moment. Smiling into her soft hair, he urged her to the ground again but continued to hold her.
And hold her.
Nighttime found them still on the ground, ensconced within the cocoon of each other’s arms, the thick bed of grass and flowers, and the knowledge of what would soon happen.
“It’s dark,” Roman whispered.
Theodosia couldn’t breathe, much less reply. The time had come, she mused. In a short while she would cease to be a maiden.
The thought brought her a tinge of worry. “You will be gentle, Roman.”
She spoke the words as if they were a statement, but he heard the question in them. “Yes.”
She rose from the ground, retrieved one of her bags out of the back of the buckboard, and disappeared behind a mass of brush.
His own breathing a little ragged, Roman built a fire within the shelter of the nearby oak glade. He then prepared a bit of stew with dried meat, onion, and potatoes. Food was the last thing on earth he wanted, but he remembered that Theodosia hadn’t eaten since noon.
When the food was simmering over the fire, he saw Theodosia watching him. Dressed in her flannel nightgown, she sat against the trunk of a large tree, firelight dancing over her long golden hair and the purple violets embroidered on her gown. “I made some supper.”
She could smell the stew but could see only Roman.
He’d removed his shirt, boots, and stockings and wore only his tight black breeches. His dark chest rippled and gleamed and enticed.
He was going to take off those tight black breeches and make love to her. Tonight.
She fondled the knowledge as if holding it in her hand.
“Do you want to eat, Theodosia?”
Mute with anticipation, she could only shake her head.
He sensed her excitement, but he reminded himself that a whisper of trepidation edged her desire. Casually, he picked up a spoon and began to stir the stew. “Nervous?”
“No,” she said a bit too quickly.
He smiled.
She saw the crooked slant of his grin and realized he knew she lied. “Yes, Roman, I am a bit anxious,” she admitted, gliding her finger across one of the purple violets on her gown. “But only because tonight will be the first time I…I—”
“Have coitus?” Still smiling, he continued to stir the stew and remained determined to do his best to relax her. “But I thought it was just a scientific procedure. Didn’t you tell me one time that it was only the joining of male and female gentiles that move in rhythm—”
“It is the physical union of male and femalegenitaliaaccompanied by rhythmic movements, usually leading to the ejaculation of semen from the penis into the female reproductive tract. But Roman, I—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. The bedding rules. I haven’t forgotten them. I’ll make our bed in the pitch-dark woods, away from the fire. I won’t kiss you, I won’t touch you. I’ll only wait for you to bare your lower half. You can close your eyes and think of unrelated matters, and I’ll be done in two minutes. Maybe less. I don’t even have to take my breeches off if you don’t want me to. I could just open up the front.”
“Two minutes?” she repeated disbelievingly.
