She was stalling—he could see it in her face. But it was still early enough. His wife removed her bonnet and he helped her with her cloak, handing them both to a footman. “Allen will take these.”
Two other servants waited nearby, and Cormac introduced them as well. “Lady Dunmeath, may I present our butler, Graham, and our housekeeper, Mrs. Foster? I’m certain you will want to meet with her later.”
“I am pleased to meet you both,” Emma said. Then she asked Cormac, “How long will we remain in London before we travel to meet your family?”
“A few more days,” he answered. He hoped that he could manage to push aside his illness a little longer. “But I thought we would travel to the seaside first. For our honeymoon.”
He felt her grip loosen on his arm, revealing her tension.
“All right,” she answered.
“Mrs. Foster, we won’t be eating our supper until later tonight. I’ll ring for food when we’re wanting it.” After the feast from their wedding celebration, there was no need to eat just yet. Then, to Emma, he said, “I’ll show you around the house.” He dismissed the servants, and then turned her toward the left. They took slow steps down the hall, and he counted along with her.
“This is our library,” he said, guiding her through the doorway.
“Nineteen steps,” she said quietly. For a moment, she breathed in deeply. “Are there roses here?”
“There’s a vase of them on the other side of the room.”
“I can smell them.” She let go of his hand, and he sat while she explored the drawing room, counting steps and touching the bookcases. “It’s a lovely room.”
But as she traced her fingers across the book titles, he realized she had never known the joy of reading the stories. Perhaps he could give her that gift and calm her nerves about the wedding night at the same time.
“Will you sit down for a moment?” he asked. “There’s something I’m wanting to give to you. A different sort of wedding gift.”
He led her to the settee, and after she sat down, he searched through the books to find a book of fairytales. Then he flipped through the pages, searching for a good story. It was in German, but he translated as he read aloud.
“There once was a widow who lived in a small cottage, deep in the forest, with her two daughters. Every day, she bade her eldest daughter to go out and spin thread by the well.”
“Cormac, what are you doing?” Her voice held amusement, and he caught her hand and sat beside her.
“Telling you a fairy story, if you’d like to hear it.”
“A fairy story? I thought you were giving me a tour of the house.”
“I realized that you’ve never known the joy of reading stories. And I thought you might enjoy it.”
Her face flushed, and she looked away. “I’m not a child, Cormac. You don’t need to read to me.”
She had misunderstood his intentions. “Oh, you needn’t worry,a stór.I’m fully aware that you’re not a child.” His hand moved to her waist, and he drew her to sit on his lap. He couldn’t stop his rigid arousal, but having her so near was a welcome balm to the illness he was fighting.
For a moment, he breathed in the scent of her throat. Her pulse was racing, and he reached up to touch her hair. He drew her hands to his face and turned his mouth to kiss her palm. He could feel her body trembling, but he didn’t know if it was fear or the echo of his own desire. “I’ve never wanted anyone more in my entire life.”
“It doesn’t seem real that you’re my husband now,” she murmured.
He wanted to press her back against the settee and learn the shape of her mouth by kissing her, tracing every part of her lips. The wedding gown she wore skimmed the edges of her figure, baring her shoulders and revealing every curve. He wanted to unfasten those buttons to see more of her lovely skin.
Instead, he asked, “I am grateful that you’re my wife now, Emma. But don’t be thinking that I’m reading a story because I feel pity for you. It’s my way of courting you. If you’re willing to listen.”
“You don’t have to court me,” she said softly. “We’re already married.”
He opened the book, returning to where he’d left off. While she remained in his arms, he read her the story of Mother Holle. Throughout the tale, he watched her face. There was a softness in her countenance, as if she’d hungered for such stories.
And it was the beginning of her seduction.
*
Emma lost trackof time as he read to her. Lord Dunmeath’s voice was a rich baritone with an Irish lilt that made the fairy story come to life. She’d never heard the tale before, and it was as if another world had opened up to her. She was fully conscious of his body beneath hers, his arms around her as he read.
