Page 51 of Maid for the Marquess

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You never could,” I reassured him without knowing if it was true.

I understood that there was pain a woman’s first time. But I trusted Alexander. I entrusted myself to him. He was mine, and I was his.

“Tell me if I should stop.” He slicked himself up and down my folds, the smooth sound of my wetness rising in the hushed stillness of the night, accompanied by our ragged breathing.

I was sure I would never want him to end. And I opened my mouth to tell him so, but then his lips returned to mine, sealing over them, and he fed me his tongue. In the next instant, I felt him press against me below.

Then into me.

The initial give of my body to his was difficult. As I had thought, I was small and he was large. I stiffened with discomfort.

He stopped. “Concentrate on me, love. On the pleasure. Relax for me.”

His fingers were on me again, teasing the already swollen bud. I did as he told me, concentrating on the pleasure sparking through me, on his big, protective body against mine, on his lips, so firm and skilled, angling over mine. He thrust into me with painstaking slowness, my body stretching. There was another pinch, but this time, it was drowned out by the steady pulse of his fingers over me.

I twisted into him as the second wave of sparkling bliss hit, beginning in my core and exploding through my body as he pushed the rest of the way inside me. He was lodged deep, his chest pressed to my breasts, his mouth on mine.

“That’s it, Maddie,” he murmured. “Let me love you.”

I held him tightly as he moved, his hips pumping, then retreating, then thrusting forward again, filling me anew. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I was raw and yet so incredibly fulfilled. I ached, pleasure to the point of almost pain, as he moved in and out of me, claiming me, making me his wife in deed.

And he hadn’t been wrong. This was nothing like the animals. This was so much more, the exhilarating union of heart and body and even soul, or so it seemed to me as another shudder rocked through me. I was coming undone yet again, the driving glide of his cock taking me to the edge. He stiffened and moaned my name, throwing his head back as he surrendered to the sweet oblivion of desire. I felt the hot rush of his seed, and I reached for him again, pulling him back down to me for a kiss as his cock throbbed deep within me.

It was in that moonlit moment, our hearts pounding and bodies joined, that I knew I was in love with my husband.

CHAPTER 15

MADELEINE

“Is the proposed menu for the week to your liking, Lady Wheaton?” Mrs. Dougall asked as we were seated in the cheerfully sunlit room I had chosen as my sitting room.

We met once a week so that I could review the meals Cook would prepare. I was still new to managing a household, and I was grateful to the housekeeper for her kindly guidance as I learned all the responsibilities I now had as mistress of the house.

“You know better than I what his lordship prefers,” I demurred. “Do you think these will please him?”

To be sure, being the Marchioness of Wheaton was vastly different from being a lowly chambermaid at Cliffwood. My days had become a happy blend of tending to the needs of the house and spending time with Alexander whenever I could. And my nights—well, I didn’t dare think about my nights just now, seated before Mrs. Dougall. I’d likely turn red as an apple.

They were my favorite part of every day.

“I do believe these will all be suited to Lord Wheaton’s tastes,” Mrs. Dougall told me, smiling. “He is especially fond of Savoy cake.”

“I shall have to remember that.” My husband possessed something of a sweet tooth. “He never wishes to make requests when I ask him. He tells me that he will be happy with whatever I choose.”

Mrs. Dougall’s smile turned fond. “I do think there are perhaps a few dishes he might turn up his nose at. He never has cared for pickled figs or fricassee of rabbit, for instance.”

I committed these dislikes to memory as well, knowing I still had much to learn about my husband as well as my household duties. But I looked forward to both. I had settled into my life here at Wheaton with a graceful ease, and I was heartily grateful for it.

“That is excellent to know, Mrs. Dougall. As I’ve never particularly cared for either of those, I shan’t miss them.” I paused to peruse the list I had made in anticipation of our meeting. “How is the airing out of the music room progressing?”

“The music room will be ready for you and his lordship this evening,” Mrs. Dougall informed me. “I know his lordship was looking forward to you playing for him on the pianoforte. It was tuned earlier this morning by Mr. Winthrop in the village.”

“That is wonderful news,” I said, though a hint of worry laced my delight at the news.

The music room at Wheaton Hall had long been closed up, the furniture and pianoforte hiding under coverings. When Alexander had suggested that I make use of it once more, I had been overjoyed at the prospect of having a music room to myself and the leisure to be able to play again. But it had been years since I had last had lessons, and I worried my husband was doomed to disappointment.

“If I may be so bold, my lady,” Mrs. Dougall added, a glint entering her eyes. “I must say how pleased I am to have a mistress in this house. I had begun to despair that Lord Wheaton would never take a bride. To see him so contented with you now warms my heart. He is such a fine gentleman, none better.”