Marcus turned away, not wanting her to see his expression.He heard the click of the door as it shut behind her and released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He poured himself a brandy.So ...He was under no illusion; she wasn’t looking forward to it at all.What had she said?‘I’d rather get it—’
Over with, he supplied.
Most brides would be at least a little nervous on their wedding night, he supposed.No matter how experienced.He was guessing she’d found little pleasure in the marriage bed.
He drained his glass, picked up a cue and shot a few balls around the table.He’d hoped billiards might relax her, but it hadn’t.He’d felt the tension in her body every time he showed her how to hold the cue.
He sank another few balls.So she didn’t expect to enjoy their wedding night.It was up to him to change that.
He hoped he was up to the job.
He’d had several mistresses in the past—opera dancers and actresses for the most part—but mistresses had a tendency to flatter and praise, whether he deserved it or not.It was no doubt a condition of the position.
One mistress had been downright obsequious.She hadn’t lasted long.He couldn’t stand toadeaters.
And he sure as hell didn’t want that in a wife.
It was what he’d meant when he told Tessa he didn’t want a dutiful wife.He’d explained it badly, he saw, when the color had leached from her cheeks.All he meant was that he wanted honesty between them, that’s all.
God knew what she’d imagined he meant.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel.Another ten minutes.He loosened his neck-cloth.
His first night as a married man.He’d better not mess it up.
#
SOMEONE HAD LIT A FIRE, and her bedchamber was lovely and warm.Tessa opened her portmanteau, looking for her nightgown and wrapper.As they were only staying for one night, the maid had not unpacked for her.She preferred that.Bragge and one of the maids had packed her luggage for her.
She blinked.Sitting on top of everything else was a soft, tissue-wrapped parcel, with a small card saying, “With my very best wishes, Daisy Chance.”
Curious, she unwrapped it and found two garments, the like of which she’d never seen.She lifted one out.Could this possibly be a nightgown?In shades of cream, palest pink to a dark crimson, it was made of finest, sheerest silk, so soft and—she held it up to the firelight—practically transparent.And bringing to mind the seven veils of Salome.
The second garment was some kind of wrapper in the same shades, but just as fine and soft and translucent.
Both garments were quite improper.Why on earth would Miss Chance send her such scandalous garments?Was this what sophisticated ladies of thetonwore to bed?
She thrust them back in the portmanteau, stuffing them under the rest of her clothing and searched for her own nightgown: she was no Salome.
Her own nightgown was long and white and warm, with a dainty line of lace at the neck and cuffs.Spreading it out on the bed, she looked at it and pursed her lips.
It was a perfectly ordinary white flannel nightgown but now, having seen Daisy Chance’s gift, it looked to her eyes rather ...virginal.
And that reminded her of her previous husbands, who preferred her to look and play the innocent little girl at all times.
She shuddered.Never again.She was a grown woman.
She folded her long white nightgown, put it away and took out the Salome one.
#
MARCUS UNDRESSED INhis bedchamber and slipped a dressing gown over his nakedness.He knocked softly on Tessa’s door and, after a moment, entered.The room was dim.Apart from the fire burning in the grate, only two candles were alight.
She was shy.She was sitting up in bed with the bedclothes pulled up to her chin.She looked nervous and her eyes were huge.
He bent and stoked the fire with more wood, then turned to face her.“I didn’t explain myself well earlier.About ...expectations.And your being dutiful.”The heat from the fire warmed him.
