Lucian’s eyes were bright, with a touch of mischief. “We’re not going to the wedding breakfast. Leastwise, not yet.”
Rosalie glanced at the powder room in alarm as he opened the door and pulled her inside. “Why not? What are we doing?”
The door closed with a click. “Consummating the marriage, of course.”
Lucian had spoken in jest.
Mostly. Of course, if his fair bride wanted him to fuck her in a glorified closet between the vows and the wedding breakfast, then, as every reader of theRake Reviewcould tell you, Lucian did not possess enough scruples to object.
But he had really just wanted to have a moment with Rosalie. After everything they had been through, and how dramatically he had made a hash of things, he could not believe that he had somehow managed to marry her. He had honestly not realized it was possible to feel this happy.
The door he’d spotted led to what appeared to be an old powder room. It was empty save for a cherrywood table beneath the lone window bearing a porcelain urn with a chip beneath one of its gilt scroll handles.
He tugged Rosalie to him and gave her the sort of kiss he hadn’t been able to give her in front of her mother, her large, imposing father, and the Archbishop of Canterbury.
When he raised his head, she was breathing hard. She glanced around the tiny room. “Can we really consummate the marriage here? In a powder room?”
“I was joking about that.”
Her face fell. “Oh.” She hastily composed her features and gave a forced laugh. “Of course. I knew that.”
Lucian grinned. His new bride was full of surprises. “Do you want to?”
“We shouldn’t,” she said at once.
He kissed her again. This time, when he lifted his head, she made a soft whimpering sound.
His voice was dark when he spoke. “I didn’t ask whether weshould. I asked whether youwanted to.”
She blinked her eyes open. They were glassy with pleasure. “You have this strange effect on me,” she murmured.
He bent down to kiss her neck and was gratified when she shuddered. “I know precisely what you mean. You have the same effect on me.”
“Lucian!” she gasped as he kissed his way across her collarbone toward the swell of her breasts. He brought his hands up and began teasing her nipples through the silk of her bodice.
He reached behind her, seized the urn, and moved it to the floor. Placing his hands around Rosalie’s waist, he lifted her onto the table. “It is a bridegroom’s duty to take care of his bride.” He brushed a quick kiss across her lips. “Let me take care of you, Rosalie.”
“All right, I…” She trailed off, glancing around the tiny space. “The window,” she said, gesturing to the panes just behind her. “What if someone sees?”
It was a reasonable concern, as it was a full-sized window—necessary, no doubt, to maintain symmetry on the house’s outer façade.
Nevertheless, Lucian doubted anyone was watching. “It’s all right.” He kissed her ear, and she shivered. “It’s not as if we’re on the ground floor.”
Rosalie’s breath was coming in pants. “But what if… someone were to see?”
“Good. Maybe they’ll tell that blasted Brazen Belle woman. Instead of publishing that rot about how I don’t want to marry you, she can report that I am completely and utterly besotted.”
Rosalie blinked at him as if she were confused. “You’re… besotted? Withme?”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Rosalie. Darling. I just crossed an ocean for you.”
Suddenly, she looked as if she might cry. He didn’t think he’d said the wrong thing, but surely he wasn’t supposed to make her cry on their wedding day?
But then, she reached down and drew her skirts up to her thighs, and Lucian knew how to interpret that one. That was definitely a good sign.
“Come here,” she said in a shaky voice as she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to her.
Lucian wasn’t about to object. He stepped into the vee of her thighs and kissed her long and deep. Unsurprisingly, his cock had sprung to attention. Much to his delight, Rosalie scooted forward to the edge of the table and began rocking against him.
