“Ambrose, I—”
“We’re here,” he interrupted.
Mara struggled to pick up her smile. “So we are.”
*
“Are you feelingall right?” Biting her lip, Mara shifted to the far side of the bed and brought the coverlet to her chin when her husband, half-dressed and holding a silver flask, staggered in from the dressing chamber. “You don’t look... well.”
“I’m fine,” he grunted, hopping on his left leg while yanking his trousers off the right. Catching his balance on the ornate bedpost, he squinted blearily at her, his blue eyes bloodshot and his jaw sporting a shadow of scruff that hadn’t been there this morning when they’d stood side by side in the church and committed themselves to each other before God, King, and two hundred people that Mara didn’t know. “Areyoufeeling all right?”
“Nervous,” she admitted softly, tightening her grip on the coverlet as if it were a layer of chainmail instead of a flimsy cotton blanket. “I’m feeling nervous.”
“What is there to be nervous about?” He tipped the flask upright, drank what was left, and tossed the empty container across the room where it landed in a chair. “We’ve already done the difficult part.”
“You mean the wedding?” she said uncertainly.
Ambrose grimaced. “Yes, the wedding. Thebloodywedding.” He raked a hand through his hair, pulling the dark ends taut. Wearing an unbuttoned shirt and nothing else, his chiseled frame was on full display in the darkened room... but she dared not peek below his waist.
It was too much,
This was too much.
Hewas too much.
“Perhaps I should sleep in my chamber for tonight.” She started to swing her legs over the edge of the mattress and froze when he suddenly leapt on top of it, his knees straddling her waist and his whisky breath a whisper away from her ear.
“But this is theenjoyablepart,” he said, kissing her neck. Prying her fingers loose from the coverlet, he cast it away, baring her slender body—clothed in a singular slip of ivory satin that had felt pretty and airy in the light of day but suddenly felt far too revealing in the dead of night—to his hungry gaze. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“Th-thank you,” she said haltingly. “Ambrose, I think—”
“Stop thinking,” he growled, cupping her breasts and flicking his thumbs across her nipples in a possessive caress. Her belly jerked in response, and for a while shedidstop thinking.
She didn’t think when he nibbled a path to her ear.
She didn’t think when he slid his tongue inside her mouth.
She didn’t think when he stroked between her legs.
It was all a blur. A wonderful, seamless, pleasure-filled blur.
But everything came into sharp, stunning focus when she caught a glimpse of what was meant to go in her. Substantial in size, Ambrose’s cock stood proudly up and away from navel, demanding attention. Wide-eyed, Mara gazed at it... and then immediately wished that she hadn’t when her body stiffened in response.
She burrowed inward, reflexively pinching her thighs together and bringing her hands to her chest. Were the duke sober and not lost to desire, he surely would have noticed the change. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t.
Not until it was too late.
“Ambrose.” She pushed at his shoulders, and when he didn’t react, her panic grew by leaps and bounds. She used to ask her father to stop when he’d advanced toward her, malice in his eye and his fingers already curled in a meaty fist. She’dbeggedhim. But it hadn’t mattered. He’d hit her anyway. And now that she had that terrible image in her head, now that she’d allowed herself to remember the feeling of absolute helplessness, it was all she could think about. “Ambrose, that’s enough.I said that’s enough!”
A hand that wasn’t her hand—how could it be her hand, she’d never hit anyone before—reared back and then came rushing forward, palm extended, to deliver a painful smack to the side of his cheek as he fumbled with the silk ties on her nightdress.
Caught off guard, Ambrose fell off the side of the bed and landed in a heap of blankets and bruised ego on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, scrambling onto her stomach and extending her arm. The same arm she’d just used to strike her own husband. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, brushing her hand aside as he rose unsteadily to his feet.
“But you just—”
