She was gorgeous, but the nightgown she wore—lord almighty, what tent did she steal that from? The thing was hideous, with extra ruffles, flounces, and trimmings to decorate ten ballgowns. There was a battalion of pearl buttons standing guard along the front of her voluminous, ill-fitting nightgown.
Ariadne locked the door with him, and a sound of a scared mouse left her before she spun around and slammed the door behind her. He sighed and, with a heave, stepped out of thewater, languidly reached for his towel, dried off, tousled his hair, and donned his silk robe.
As his habit was to sleep in the buff, he wore nothing beneath his silk robe. He pushed the door in, expecting to see her there—but only found a curtain fluttering in the empty. Instantly, his eyes latched onto the almost closed door that led to his room and grunting irritably, he strode to it.
What on earth had she come for?
Oh God, oh God, oh God, what have I done?
Frantic, Ariadne began to pace the space at the end of her bed while wringing her hands. The moonlight bathed her room in a silvery sheen, highlighting the subtle hues of the faded wallpaper adorned with floral motifs. A gentle breeze whispered through the open window, carrying with it the faint fragrance of blooming roses from the nearby gardens.
Foolish, so foolish.
Pausing to suck in a breath, she did not see any of the rich furniture around her; instead, she sawhim. The torchlight had burnished his inky hair, kissed the divinely handsome contours of the unmarred side of his face.
She saw the web of tightly knit skin, the ridges of his scar whitening against taut skin, his every muscle drawn with the injury. Below the taut skin of half his torso, sleek muscles had rippled with unmistakable power.
The unmarred side chest had resembled cut slabs of granite, no hint of softness or an ounce of fat on him, while a sprinkling of bronze hair drew her gaze downward like a magnet toward the lean ridges of his abdomen, down past the prominent vee of muscle girdling his hips, to his…
“I need to apologize,” she said as her face flushed red. She had seen him, all of him, without his permission.
She swallowed, her mouth dry. She’d seen anatomically correct models of the nude male form, but evidently, that drawing did not accurately depict that part of a man’s anatomy—at least not this man's.
A wave of dizziness washed over her. “He must be a satyr instead.”
She jumped a foot in the air when the door was mercilessly yanked open, and Cedric walked in, his eyes narrowed, his dark hair dripping on his silk robe.
“Do you care to tell me what that was about?” he demanded.
He is not happy.
“I—I—” her words failed her while the pit of her stomach knotted in a delicious melody of attraction and fear. She swallowed and dredged up the courage. Nudging her chin up, she said, “Well, it is our wedding night.”
His brow ticked up. “You want to consummate this marriage?”
“Isn’t that what is needed of us?” she asked bravely.
Cocking his head to his left, he gave her a long stare, and soon enough, the emotion that darkened his eyes was nothing less than devilish. “Very well,” he went to the tie of his robe. “We can start now.”
“Now?” she squeaked.
“Now,” he repeated, as he lowered his robe and watched as her eyes ran over his skin. His cocky smirk changed to a knowing twist as she stayed immobile.
“You’re having second thoughts, I assume?”
Her throat bobbed, trying to moisturize the arid scrape inside. She looked up bravely. “No. I am not reneging on my decisions.”
His breath puffed out like an incensed bull’s. “Stop the pretense, Ariadne, you find me vile. Children shrink from me in terror, ladies whisper behind their fans, and gentlemen avert their eyes. You are no better.”
Anger spiked up her spine. “That is not it! Do not dare put words in my mouth.”
His eyes ran over her. “Then what is it?”
“Have you never considered that someone who had never been with a man could be nervous about such a thing?” The words tumbled out of her mouth with no barrier.
She took a step closer, her red-cheeked, apple-scented outrage inflaming his senses. A vein throbbed at his temple, irritated more at himself than at her.
“Then why try?” He demanded.
