He shrugged out of his jacket and then unfastened his waistcoat. When he was only in his linen shirt and trousers, he stepped closer. “Will you untie my cravat while I work on the cufflinks?”
Her heart was pumping blood so loudly in her ears that she could hardly hear him. He wanted her to undress him. Strip away whatever pretense of propriety he wore in public. She shivered and found her hands lifting even though she didn’t think she’d decided they should. She touched his cravat and felt around for the tucked ends that would allow her to loosen the knot. When her fingers brushed his skin beneath the wrapping, he hissed in a breath softly.
“I’m sorry, did I scratch you?” She pulled her hands away.
“That wasn’t a sound of pain, I assure you. I like when you touch me,” he said. He had one cufflink free and was working on the other. He stopped and kissed her yet again. “Please continue.”
Her hands shook as she went back to her work. She somehow managed to get the careful knot in the fabric untied and then slowly began to unloop the long length of the neckcloth away. He was so much taller than her that it was a challenge, but she found herself laughing went he bent down playfully so she could draw the cravat away at last.
“There we are,” he said, and his arms came around her. “This doesn’t have to be wrought with worry and tension, Clarissa.
“I beg to differ, my lord,” she said, her laughter fading into a smile. “I’m afraid I’ll be tense until this is over.”
“Not if I do my job right,” he muttered, and then he stripped his shirt open and tugged it over his head.
She stared despite the fact that she’d been trained never to do so. How could she not? She’d never seen a man half-naked and here was her husband, a powerful specimen of lean muscle and strength all but towering over her. Again, she was struck by the dichotomy of her emotions. She felt overwhelmed, but the room was also somehow dreamy. Like this was some foggy fantasy.
“I can’t tell if you’re horrified or thrilled,” he said, and the teasing in his tone shook her from her shocking thoughts.
“I—I—both?”
“Oh dear,” he said, and came closer. He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest, flattening her palm against the plane of muscle covered in warm flesh. “What is horrifying? Just my face?”
“You know you have a very handsome face,” she managed to croak out as she watched her fingers flex against him, felt his body ripple in response. “I just don’t know what to think or do.”
“You’re doing fine,” he murmured. “Touching me is exactly what you should be doing. May I remove your dress?”
She blinked. He had gone first, after all. That had been their bargain. This was his right and the longer she waited for it to happen, the more frightening it became. She nodded. “Yes.”
Once again he turned her back to him and she felt his fingers go back to the buttons along her spine. His hands brushed her skin as he flicked one after another free and then pushed her dress slightly forward so it gaped down around her chest without falling off her arms.
He moved her to face him again. His pupils were dilated now, his breath harsher. Almost as if he were as anxious about this as she was. But how could that be? He’d had lovers before, she had to be just another in a string of women he took to his bed.
“Breathe,” he whispered as he drew her gown down inch by inch, over her elbows, down over her wrists, around her waist and finally pushed it into a pool at her feet.
She had never been on display like this. Not with her chemise brushing mid-thigh and her garters on display and her chest shockingly bare so that one could see the cleavage of her bosom. She raised a hand to cover herself, but it was woefully inadequate.
“Better than I imagined,” he said.
She tilted her head. “You imagined me like this?”
He nodded. “Since we kissed in the library and I knew you would be my wife, I have definitely imagined this moment.”
She wrinkled her brow. “But you didn’t want this. You don’t want me.”
“I very much want you,” he said, and cupped her bare shoulder with his palm. She shivered at the warmth on her skin and the way he dragged his hand down, catching his fingers in the strap of her chemise and tugging it to her elbow.
He moved in to kiss her again and she relaxed a little at that familiar touch in the midst of the warring reactions to new sensations. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, letting her body mold to his skin, be closer than ever before. As her riotous thoughts faded, she found herself clinging to him, lifting to him. Wanting him to do more, even if she feared what more would be.
She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed back. He released her immediately and watched as she paced away to the fire. She stared into the flames, trying to ground herself further.
“Too much?” he asked when she’d been silent for what felt like forever.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been raised all my life, told by guardians and books and friends and governesses that I’m not to feel such strong reactions, emotions. And yet now I’m supposed to take off my clothes and let you do these things to me that turn me on my head. How can I be both demure and filled with desire?”
His expression changed. She wasn’t sure what he felt, but she braced herself for a scolding or to be made fun of. Instead he caught her hand. “Why can’t you just beyou, Clarissa? In this room, in my arms, in my bed, could you forget comportment and propriety and ladylike behavior and just be you?”
She blinked up at him and a horrible fact became clear. “I’m not sure whoIam.”
