Penny, a freckled-faced country girl of fifteen or sixteen, curtseyed. “Oh, yes, milady.”
“I will ring for you in the morning when I need you.”
The maid bobbed again and hurried from the room.
Left alone, Mercy plucked at the ribbon on her blush pink peignoir and stared at the interconnecting door. She had been relieved to discover she and Grant had separate chambers, with a sitting room between. Her gaze roamed the bedchamber. Its charm and comfort had made her feel less a stranger in this big house. The walls were an exquisite hand-painted Chinoiserie pattern of flowers and birds on a gray background, the slender bedposts rosewood and gilt with bed hangings, canopy and curtains of cream and white damask. The carpet was a dense, soft gray, with a pair of pink French chairs drawn up to the white marble fireplace.
A dainty white and gold desk near the long windows had a pleasing view of the walled rose garden. “For your writing,” Grant has suggested when he’d shown her the room yesterday. He had been trying to appease her, she saw that now. But she’d been so dismayed by their earlier quarrel, she’d failed to respond. Had she been as much to blame for the distance between them? Was she unreasonable? Her father had urged her to be kind. She flushed. Had she taken slight at Grant’s every word and deed because he’d failed to declare his love for her? Well she was his wife now. Hope and a rush of excitement flooded through her.
Might it be better if she lay beneath the covers? She rose and was in the act of slipping off the peignoir when a knock came on the door.
“Come in.” Mercy struggled with the delicate fabric, catching it on a fingernail.
Grant entered, dressed in an inky blue silk banyan and backless slippers. He kicked the door shut with his foot, a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses held by their stems in the other. Tendrils of damp hair rested on his forehead.
She paused, clutching the lacy fabric which was halfway down her arms.
He smiled. “Am I welcome? Are you dressing or undressing?”
Mercy’s cheeks heated. “I was…um…I was getting into bed.” She gave up on the peignoir, slipping it off and placing it over a chair.
He put the bottle and glasses down on a table and turned to her. She stepped into his arms. He smelled of a woody soap, as he pressed a light kiss to her lips. “Are you tired, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone gentle.
“Yes. No. Only a little.” Mercy didn’t wish him to think she didn’t want him.
Grant turned his attention to the champagne on the bureau. He released the cork with a pop, and poured the wine. “It was a beautiful wedding wasn’t it: beautiful bride, beautiful service. Everyone thought so.”
Her heart lifted. “Oh yes, it all went very well.”
He held out a glass to her, and when she took it, raised his in a salute. “To a long and happy life together.” His eyes bathed her in admiration. “You look very pretty with your hair over your shoulders.”
“Thank you.” She took a large gulp and then another. The cold fizzy liquid slid down her throat and hit her nervous stomach. She shivered. The bedchamber was cool despite a small fire burning in the grate.
Grant took the glass from her and put them both on the dresser. He rubbed her bare arms. “You’re cold. Let me help you into bed.”
His arm around her, Mercy climbed onto the high bed. Once beneath the lavender scented bed coverings, she pulled them up over her chest.
Grant sat on the bed beside her. “Perhaps you’d prefer a hot drink. Shall I send for some hot chocolate?”
“No thank you. I’m quite warm now.” In fact, she grew rather too hot as he leaned forward and drew a lock of her hair through his fingers.
“Like pale silk.” He raised it to his nose. “And it smells sweetly of blossom.”
“It’s the rinse. I make it myself, or I did at home in Tunbridge Wells. I use…” She was suddenly bereft of breath. Grant had slipped beneath the covers beside her.
He turned on his side and leaned over to nuzzle her ear. “Mmm. You must tell me more; it smells delicious.”
“To peach blossom extract I add rosewater and…” she drew in a sharp breath as he pressed kisses beneath her ear and across her cheek.
“And I promise to listen…later, sweetheart.” He took her chin in his hand and his mouth captured hers, his kiss more a caress. His breath hitching, he deepened the kiss.
Mercy’s heart galloped as his hand slid over her ribs to her breast sending sensations racing through her. He sat up and pulled off his banyan, his wide smooth back turned away from her. Fascinated, she put a tentative hand up to stroke across his satiny skin, liking the way his muscles moved, powerful and strong. He pulled the covers off them and she was caught by a sight of male nakedness she’d only seen when giggling over Charity’s art books. She couldn’t equate him with those marble statues. He was all warm flesh and rampant male, and she became limp and hot.
He grasped a fold of the thin material of her nightgown, a pretty, embroidered thing she liked. “Shall we remove this?” In one quick movement, she was naked.
His warm body against hers made her gasp. She wondered if she pleased him. She would not think of that other woman with her confident ways. Not tonight.
How lovely were his kisses. When his tongue darted inside her mouth, she gasped at the unexpected intimacy. She coiled her fingers in his dark hair, grateful for Honor’s insight, but even with the aid of the champagne and the wine earlier in the day, she could do little but allow Grant to take the lead. He was obviously well acquainted with a woman’s body. His murmured endearments made her sigh as he traced his hands over her stomach, down to that private place between her thighs. Her stomach tightened and throbbed in the neediest way and his stroking there brought a moan to her lips.
