“Nearly a decade. I had just turned sixteen.”
There was more to the story. Pain echoed through her words. Perhaps he was being cowardly, but he didn’t want to darken his wedding night with those memories. Instead, he cupped her cheek. “What terrible things you have survived. I am in awe.”
She shrugged. “I endured. You saved a dozen street boys and girls from a monster.”
He caressed down her jawline to stroke her neck. “I wanted you to know me better. Instead, I see you more clearly.” He let his fingertips trail across her collarbone. “But this is not a night for ugly thoughts. Do you think you could stand to rest beside me and not be afraid?”
“I wanted a fearsome husband. It would be silly if I despised you for it.”
“I wanted an aristocrat for a wife, and I chose a queen in all her fierce beauty.” He angled her face to match his. “I want to make her mine as surely as I want my next breath.”
Her expression turned wistful, as if she couldn’t possibly believe what he said. But her nostrils flared as well, and there was a hitch to her breath that told him she was not sleepy.
He drew her face closer, he let their breath mingle, and she knew he intended to kiss her. Still, he waited long enough for her to deny him. He would not force her, even on their wedding night. Instead, she surprised him by leaning in, by lifting onto her toes, and by pressing her mouth to his.
Hunger burned in his blood. The spark had been lit long ago, but now it roared in his ears and beat in his cock. As she stroked across his mouth with her tongue, he let his hands slide from her neck to her bodice. He shaped her breast with his hand and felt her nipple pebble beneath his palm.
His other hand cradled the back of her head, supporting her while she explored his mouth with her tongue. It was torture to feel her tentative probes and not take over. It was exquisite delight to feel her twist her tongue around his.
He could not hold out much longer. Not with her breath catching and his blood thrumming with hunger. He pinched her nipple through the thin fabric of her gown and felt her entire body tighten against his. But it was the way her head fell back from his that was his undoing. Her head rested in his palm, her chest lifted in invitation, all while the moonlight bathed her skin in an ethereal glow.
Her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze caught and held his as surely as any goddess entrapped a mortal man. Then she set her hands on his chest. He wore nothing over his torso but a fine lawn shirt, and to his shock, she rubbed her nail across the nub of his nipple.
Lust burst through him. Need ripped away his restraint.
They were in shadow, alone in the middle of the night. No one was about, he was sure of it. And so while she rubbed her hands across his chest, he unbuttoned her dress from neck to hip. His fingers were clumsy, but what he couldn’t manage with dexterity, he pulled apart with strength. Her gown slipped off her shoulders and down her arms.
He already knew she wore no undergarment. He’d felt the lack of stays when he began to caress her. But now he saw the truth of her in the moonlight.
High breasts, pointed nipples, and skin flushed from desire. And when the gown dropped to her ankles, he knew exactly where he would feast.
Chapter Twenty-One
Iseabail was nostranger to sexuality. She had birthed hundreds of babies from both animal and human mothers. She had seen the results of it, heard detailed accounts of it, and knew with clear understanding everything that was involved.
But she had never experienced anything herself. Her mother had seen to that when she was sixteen. No soul touched her for fear that her mother’s witchcraft would strike them dead. That had suited her just fine in Scotland—for the most part—but the heart shriveled without touch. Her body longed and her mind imagined.
She had no idea why she had run from her marriage bed. She’d felt claustrophobic at the idea of being locked inside when all his men came banging at her door. It was the custom, she knew, to harass the newlywed couple, but she could not bear it.
And so she’d rushed outside where the air was clean, the water burbled, and he could find her. Out where the moon bathed everything in its purity. And here, she could let him touch her, caress her skin, and kiss her breasts.
But she didn’t expect the power of his caress or that a single kiss would set her body on fire. The way he touched her was so different from anyone else. There was a reverence in his stroke, as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him. That couldn’t possibly be true. Thanks to their discussions in the carriage, she had an idea now of the extent of his wealth. He had a hand in businesses throughout London. He had men and resources that dwarfed what her uncle commanded in Scotland. And yet when he touched her, she felt like she was the center of his whole world.
“Do you like this?” he whispered against her skin.
He had been kissing across her shoulder, licking her skin with tiny nips as he moved lower. The feel of it was so exquisite that she had to clutch his shoulders to keep upright.
“Yes,” she gasped. He already knew she did, but she liked the way he smiled against her skin. And then he caught her nipple between his lips.
Lightning shot through her blood, followed by a thunderstorm of feeling when he began to suckle. She felt dizzy with the pleasure of it all.
So this was sex when it was good. And in case her mother’s magic still lingered about her, she whispered the words. “I allow this. Iwantthis.”
He pulled back, his expression quizzical. She touched his face, marveling at the man she would spend the rest of her life with. “In case the magic needed me to say it.”
His brows rose. “You were cursed?”
She shook her head. “Only those who would touch me against my will.”
