He had removed his jacket in the other room. His shirt was damp from where he’d used it to dry himself but he put it back on for Charlene’s sake. He sat on the chair and pulled off his boots.
Jack blew out the candle. The room was saved from blackness by the soft moonlight flowing in from the window. He stretched and then reclined on the hard wood. He should have asked the widow for an extra blanket. He’d not take one from Charlene. He did not want her to feel a chill. At least this floor was cleaner than the one in the storeroom. His muscles protested. They knew the bed was right there.
The bed ropes rubbed together as she moved. He could feel her close. “Why are you on the floor?”
“We need our sleep,” he lied, turning on his side away from her. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. His eyes were gritty with exhaustion but the sound of her movements on the bed stirred the other parts of him that were never too tired.
“We could both sleep in this bed. There is room.”
“It would not be wise, Charlene.”
There was another rustle of movement... coming closer to him. When she spoke, he knew she was right at the edge of the bed. “I was thinking the widow was right. We could speak our own words. It may not bind us legally, but what are legalities in the sight of God, and it seems somewhat silly to pretend.”
“Pretend what?”
“That I don’t want you here beside me. I’m not certain, Jack, how one goes about it, but I want you as close to me as possible. I want to know you in all ways. I’m tired of waiting for my life to begin.”
Her hand lightly touched his shoulder. “Come to bed, Jack. Come to my bed. Then no one will ever be able to take you away from me. Even if your brother catches us, I will already belong to you.”
Jack rolled onto his back. It was as he suspected, she was right at the edge of the bed, the moonlight catching on her glorious hair and turning it to silver. “I’d not let anyone take you away from me either way,” he vowed.
“Yes, but should we not be comfortable?” She lifted herself as if to move to create room for him beside her. The covers fell down from her shoulders and he discovered it was as he suspected, she was naked under those sheets.
All noble thoughts fled his brain.
Jack came to his feet. He unbuttoned his breeches because he needed the space there first, but he didn’t remove them. Being noble was a damn trial, especially when Charlene threw back the covers and there she was in all her glory.
“Char, you are killing me,” he whispered. Her skin glowed. Her breasts were firm and perfectly made. The line of her waist flaring to her hip was smooth and feminine in its curve.
He could see her blush even in the moonlight. “Really? You want me to cover up? It seems silly but Lady Baldwin said that on my wedding night I need never worry. If I was naked, my groom would know what to do.”
“For once in her life, Lady Baldwin is right.”
And he could no longer hold back the lust inside him.
Jack pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He didn’t know what his young bride would think about his very obvious desire for her, but he was about to find out. He slid off his breeches and tossed them in the direction of his shirt.
He knew Charlene had never seen a naked male by the way her eyes widened at the sight of his full arousal, and then she came to her knees. He half expected her to ward him off.
Instead, she whispered, “May I touch?”
That request almost brought him tohisknees. “I pray you do.”
She placed her hand upon him and, God help him, he was almost unmanned. “Gentle now,” he warned, covering her hand with his. “When we first met, you almost gelded me. I wouldn’t advise you to try it again.” He showed her what he did like.
Charlene was an inquisitive student. She curled her fingers around him, ran the pad of her thumb over his tip—
Jack grabbed her hand, bodily lifted her up, and kissed her.
And it was every bit as sweet as he’d dreamed. He liked the taste of her and the way she trusted him. She was eager and open to his lead. He pressed his body to hers, letting her feel him as he explored her mouth—and yet, this seemed wrong.
Jack broke the kiss.
“What is the matter?” she asked. He could feel her heart’s wild beating. It matched his own. His blood sang for her.
“The words,” he ground out. “This isn’t just a coupling. The Widow Fitzwilliam is right. Words count.” He held her from him. Lord, she was so finely made, so delicate and yet strong and resilient. She might even be stronger in spirit than he.
Hope had been. His late wife had taught him much of love... and through Charlene, he’d found the will to love again. Was any man more blessed?
