A TOUR LEADS TO TORMENT
Meanwhile, in the late earl’s apartments
“Truth be told, I’ve never stepped foot in these rooms,” Anthony said as he led Dahlia to the apartments in which they would live once they were married.
“Not even when you were a child?” Dahlia asked in disbelief.
He shook his head. “I was never allowed, so of course I was even more curious,” Anthony replied with a grin. “I used to stand outside this door and try to peek through the keyhole,” he added as they stopped. He turned the handle and gave the door a shove.
Pausing as if he expected someone to jump out from behind the door, Anthony gave Dahlia a quick glance. “After you,” he said.
“Coward,” she teased. A moment later, she stood breathless. “Oh!”
Anthony gave her a worried glance, but then saw the look of awe on her face. “Was your ‘oh’ because you... like it, or because you’re—”
“It’s gorgeous,” Dahlia murmured. She spun around in place, attempting to take in the decor and furnishings all at once. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly not this,” she added as she hurried over to admire the painting above the fireplace. “A Fitzsimmons,” she breathed as she studied the landscape featuring a folly next to a pond. A pair of swans swam on the water’s surface, and clusters of flowering bushes were scattered about behind the Greek temple-like folly.
Relieved at Dahlia’s first reaction to the apartment, Anthony began his own perusal, daring a glance into one of the bedchambers. From the hunter green fabrics and dark wood finishes, he was fairly sure it was the master suite. “I think I shall be very comfortable in here,” he commented. He made his way to the other bedchamber door and opened it at the same time Dahlia’s tour of the sitting room brought her to the same spot.
“Oh!” she gasped. “I love it,” she said as she gazed into the mistress suite. “I’m not sure why I was expecting pink.” She giggled upon realizing the bedchamber was decorated entirely in sea foam green and peach.
Grinning at her enthusiasm, Anthony watched Dahlia as she made her tour of the bedchamber, one hand skimming over surfaces and occasionally resting on an object she had stopped to admire. Seeing her like this, he remembered why it was he had thought of no one but her to be his wife.
Even during dinner, he’d been struck by her loveliness, by her patient and kind manner with Daphne, by how she so easily accepted the change in plans for their wedding trip and how she had seemed honored by his mother’s request that she run the Aimsley Park household during their residence.
“I really wish I could make love to you right now,” he blurted.
Dahlia paused in her study of the dressing table, turning to regard him with a curious expression. “Is there a reason you cannot?” she countered.
He swallowed. “I told your uncle I’d have you home by midnight.”
Her gaze went to the mantel clock above the fireplace. “Does it take a long time?” she asked. “To make love?”
Anthony glanced at the clock and shut the door. He leaned against it as he visibly swallowed. “I suppose that depends,” he said in a quiet voice. “I really wanted to take my time. Undress you slowly, and kiss every inch of you,” he whispered.
Dahlia was in his arms in an instant, her hands wrapped around his neck as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Or you could just get on with it,” she whispered after she’d pulled away slightly. “I probably won’t like it much. This first time,” she reasoned. “It’s best we get it over with, don’t you think?”
“Davy,” he responded softly, his brows furrowing. “I want to make it so youwilllike it,” he added before he kissed her. When he pulled away, his eyes darkened. “And I think I know how.”
A shiver of anticipation shot down Dahlia’s spine. Another rather pleasant shiver shot through her abdomen. “Oh!” she breathed, really wishing she didn’t sound so much like her mother. “What should I do?”
“Undois more like it,” he replied. “All of my buttons,” he added as his hands, still on her back, began undoing the fastenings of her gown.
Her fingers made quick work of both his top coat and his waistcoat, but when they moved down further, she froze and inhaled sharply.
Anthony shrugged. “That’s me. That’s what you do to me, Davy,” he whispered.
Her eyes rounded. “Does it hurt?”
He swallowed. “That depends on whether or not we do this.”
“Oh, we’re doing this,” she insisted, apparently unaware the bodice of her gown had fallen forward to reveal her corset.
“I wish for you to ride me,” he stated.
Dahlia blinked. “Ride you? Do you mean—?”
“Like a horse, yes,” he replied. “But astride,” he quickly added, noting her look of confusion. “Like you would Vindication, but without the riding habit. And boots.”
