Her throat tight, she nodded.
“Er, hello.” Max poked his head in. “Am I allowed to come in? Or is this a private meeting?”
“Come in, you dolt,” Fi said with exasperated affection.
“You look beautiful,” Max said. “I am going to miss you.”
Her heart full, she hugged him, whispering, “I am going to miss you too, dear. Try not to betoogood in my absence.”
“You’re just in time, Max,” Papa said. “You and I can share the honor of escorting the most beautiful ladies in London.”
Max bowed to Mama with unexpected grace. “May I take you in?”
“Of course, dearest,” Mama replied, beaming.
“Ready, my dear?” Papa held out his arm to Fiona.
Inhaling, she placed her fingers on his sleeve and straightened her shoulders.
“I’m ready,” she declared.
Eleven
Iam a married man.
The thought sent a surge of elation through Hawk. When it came to his studies and espionage, this was not a foreign emotion; it had been a long time, however, since he’d experienced this sense of heady triumph in his personal affairs. Yet what man wouldn’t feel this way after laying claim to a goddess?
Not that I’ve claimed Fiona fully. That is still to come.
With simmering anticipation, he eyed the door that connected his bedchamber to hers. He wondered how much time he ought to allow his bride to get ready. They had arrived at his town house an hour ago, after the intimate ceremony and reception at his parents’ home. He’d introduced Fiona to the staff and given her a tour of the house.
Seeing the place through her eyes, he’d had to hide a cringe at its shabbiness; the drawing room was in utter shambles. His neglect of domestic matters showed. Luckily, his new bride seemed unperturbed by the state of her new home.
Instead, she’d charmed all the servants by learning their names. Weatherby and the housekeeper, Mrs. Lawson, had been gratified by their new mistress’s interest. Encouraged by Fiona’s attentiveness, the typically taciturn butler had been downright chatty. All in all, the introductions had lasted longer than Hawk anticipated, which meant Fiona had had less than thirty minutes to prepare for bed.
A gentleman should give his young virginal wife at least an hour,he decided.He should not pounce on her like some ravenous beast.
It would take self-discipline to make love to her with the courtesy she deserved. He was damned randy for her; he couldn’t recall any woman who’d heated his blood to this degree. It didn’t help that Fiona had flirted with him all day. After the reverend had pronounced them man and wife, Hawk had intended to give her a chaste kiss appropriate for the occasion. When their lips met, however, hers had parted on the softest of sighs. Her sweetness had lured him to make the kiss longer—and, frankly, deeper—than it ought to have been.
Only the clearing of men’s throats and muffled giggles from the ladies had brought Hawk to his senses. His father’s stoic amusement and his mama’s beaming delight had been more than a little embarrassing, especially for a man of his years. Yet Fiona had a way of making him feel like an unschooled lad.
As eager as Hawk was to explore the delights of his marital bed, doubts also niggled at him. Not about Fiona, but himself. About his ability to be a good husband to her. He couldn’t stem the memories of Caroline’s anguish and his powerlessness to help her.
Why does life hurt so much?she’d wept.Help me, Thomas. Make it stop.
He curled his hands. While he’d failed Caroline, he would not fail Fiona. He and Fiona had gone into this with proper expectations. She did not need him to take care of her emotionally; she’d told him that she was a self-possessed and independent female. They were to be partners who enjoyed each other’s company in bed.
Hawk was determined to start their physical relationship off on the right foot. To show husbandly restraint and take things slowly. Despite Fiona’s spirited nature, lovemaking would be new to her; everyone knew that virgins tended to be nervous. Caroline had had a fit of the vapors the first time he’d disrobed.
Grimacing at the memory, he reminded himself to dim the lights and give his new bride adequate time to prepare herself. He wondered idly how much Fiona knew about the marital act. Contemplating her carnal knowledge did not help his own lust. To distract himself, he poured a whisky and drank it by the fire.
A soft knock interrupted his brooding vigil.
Setting down his glass, he went to the door that adjoined the master suites. Opening it, he found his new wife standing on the other side, and his mouth went dry.
By Jove, she’s stunning.
At their wedding, Fiona had looked like a princess in her ivory gown, and he’d thought with pride that no woman could be more beautiful. He’d been wrong; in dishabille, his wife was even more glorious. Her hair was a loose, shining curtain of fire that fell to her waist. Instead of the voluminous wrapper he associated with well-bred virgins, she wore a sensual and tasteful dressing gown of yellow silk trimmed with orange ribbon.
