Chapter Fifteen
Willamina had heldher breath as Finlay’s fingers brushed along her skin, working their way down her back as he slowly unfastened the buttons of her dress. He caused goose pimples to rise on her skin and she hoped he didn’t notice her reaction.
She looked over her shoulder. True to his word, Finlay stood near the fireplace, staring into the flames, his back to her.
Flashbacks of her first wedding night flitted through her mind. There was no romance. No consideration for her feelings. Gerard had ordered her to strip and then pushed her roughly onto the bed, taking what had then belonged to him, not caring the pain it caused her. When he was done, he left the room and she didn’t see him until the next morning.
Finlay would be a caring lover. She believed that with all her heart and being. He was too kind. And the way he looked at her with desire pooling in his eyes set her stomach aflutter. He tried to hide his feelings, but she got glimpses of them before he quickly schooled his looks.
Laying with Finlay would most certainly be a different experience. A divine experience. One that, once she had a taste, she would forever long for.
She could count on one hand the amount of times she and Gerard had lain together—none of them pleasant, so she was glad the number was low. It wasn’t like that for every couple? It couldn’t be. If it were, she couldn’t imagine a woman ever beinghappy with her husband. But she had seen, and known, lots of couples that were happy with each other.
Couples that were blissfully in love.
She wanted that kind of love.
She slipped her dress off and let the material pool on the floor. In her trunk were the nightdresses she’d purchased from the modiste. Some much too revealing. Others more modest. She chose one of the modest ones that offered the most coverage and slipped it over her head. Then she removed her stockings and crawled on the mattress, drawing the covers up to her chin. Once she was settled, she called out to Finlay.
“Are ye settled?” he asked, still facing the fire.
“Aye,” she whispered, watching as he turned and his gaze settled on her, his face softening.
Finishing his wine, he tugged at the buttons of his shirt as he approached the bed. Stopping on her side of the bed, he smiled down at her, before bending and placing the lightest of kisses on her cheek. He didn’t say a word as he straightened and walked over to his side of the bed and sat down to tug off his boots.
Next, he pulled his shirt over his head. She tried to drag her eyes away from his back, full of muscles that rippled with every movement.
She should be affording him the same amount of privacy that he had her. But she couldn’t. Instead, she found her mouth dry. She swallowed. Hard. Biting her lip as she continued to stare.
When he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down, baring his buttocks, she had to bite back a gasp. Powerful, muscled buttocks and thighs treated her eyes to a divine feast.
Her husband was a verra fine specimen. Before he slipped between the covers, he snuffed the candle, and then the bed shifted under his weight.
The barrier of pillows she’d set up earlier still allowed them plenty of room so that didn’t make her feel guilty doing it.Though she did feel a wee bit of guilt for insisting on it in the first place. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.
Now? She wasn’t so sure. What would it feel like to fall asleep wrapped in her husband’s arms?
“Mina?” Finlay said softly in the dark.
“Aye?” she whispered.
“I bid ye a good night and thank ye for letting me sleep in the bed.”
What could she say to such a statement? It sounded absurd when he voiced it. So she answered with the only thing she could say. “Ye’re welcome.”
As the minutes wore on, she found sleep eluded her. Finlay’s breath evened out and soon, he was softly snoring. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see him with the help of the light from the fire.
He looked so relaxed as he slept. His features softened. She moved to lay on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek and watched him sleep, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke his hair, his jaw. To splay her hands on his broad chest.
She squeezed her eyes shut. If she kept staring she would never fall asleep. But his image was seared into her lids.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because when she next opened her eyes, light filtered through slits of the drapes covering the large windows. She was laying on her back, the covers still up to her neck. She looked to her left, but the other side of the bed was empty. Finlay must have woken earlier and left.
The door opened and she sat up, dragging the covers with her.
Finlay gave her a warm smile from the doorway as he entered. “Good morn, sleepy-head.”
She rubbed at her eyes. What time was it? She wasn’t usually one to sleep in. “Good morn.” She watched him as he walkedabout the room before grabbing the poker and jabbing at the remnants of the logs that had burned through the night. Embers flew and he added another log from the rack nearby.
