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William nearly swallowed his tongue when Elizabeth appeared before him in her nightgown.

She looked angelic surrounded by all that white, gauzy fabric, but the outline of her legs through the skirt and the low cut of the neckline inspired him to think devilish thoughts.

The sheer robe covered her arms but did nothing to hide her figure.

Richard had been the one to suggest the champagne—he supplied it too—and told William to make a simple toast to his new wife, for the express purpose of setting her at ease.

The way the bubbles tickled her nose, making it scrunch up in a charming expression, amused him, and her wedding-night jitters roused in him a need to comfort her.

That need shifted to momentary shock when she talked about the marriage bed.

Perhaps he should have expected that, but still, she unsettled him…

delighted him, in some ways, even if her tendency to steer him into conversational tangents was frustrating.

Especially when he was trying so damn hard to focus on what he was doing.

However, when the discussion descended into the dangers of childbirth, he decided he needed to take the reins himself.

He was incredulous at her frankness.She could be so direct, so starkly honest, so impertinent, so compelling, so enticing…beguiling…enchanting… As his thoughts began to slow, he found himself leaning toward her, losing his awkwardness in her warm, shining eyes.

He fortified his resolve by plucking the champagne glass out of her hand and downing it in one, keeping his eyes on her face as he did so.

Feeling a little light-headed, he set the glass on the low table in front of the sofa and drew her up to her feet.

He kissed her fingers, pleased that he had, momentarily anyway, gained the upper hand.

Pulling her into a gentle embrace, his hands roamed over her back in gentle, rhythmic strokes, rousing him so there was no question about his intentions.

“Is this when we—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “No more talking.” And no more tangents. He needed to concentrate if he wasn’t going to hurt her, and he couldn’t let her distract him anymore.

He held her closer, the strokes of his hands becoming stronger and more urgent.

He ran his hands over her hair, her shoulders, her hips.

He eased her robe off her shoulders and laid it carefully over the back of the sofa.

Her arms were covered in gooseflesh from the sudden rush of cool air on her skin, and he saw her nipples pebble under the thin satin of her gown. He felt an answering pull in his groin.

After a few moments, he led her to the bed.

Her eyes were round and dark, reminding him of a deer he had surprised once out on the farm.

Strange that he should think of hunting at a time like this.

He smiled, trying to reassure her, and lifted the covers.

She obediently slid between them, scooting over and lying still, her dark hair contrasting sharply with the white pillowcase.

He took one last look before turning off the bedside lamp, thinking he couldn’t do this if he had to see those anxious eyes boring into his soul.

After he undressed, he slid in beside her, reaching for her and pulling her toward him.

He found her lips and kissed them again.

Her gown had gathered up around her knees and he slipped his hand underneath it.

She gasped, but, as he had requested, said nothing.

She was obviously going to let him run the whole show.

He was terrified.

Directing her with his touch to sit, he eased the gown up so he could pull it over her head before he threw it—somewhere, he wasn’t sure where—and gently laid her back down, leaning over her.

He could feel her breath catch and the rapid patter of her heart against his chest. This was the important part, the part where he had to go slowly.

The possibility of hurting her deeply distressed him, but he knew he would carry this out to its completion.

If he did not, he thought he would go mad.

He bought himself time, kissing her face and mouth, running his hands down the keel of her body, shoulder to collarbone to waist to hip, repeatedly.

He found himself fascinated with the softness of her breasts and returned to them again and again.

When he realized he was moaning, he made himself hush.

Deciding it was time, he moved over her, settling himself between her legs.

He remembered to push himself up on his elbows so as not to crush her with his weight, and he reached down between them to guide himself in.

When the tip of him touched her, he nearly came on the spot, and rolled away quickly.

“Mr. D—William?”

“Huh,” he said, distracted.

“Was that all there is to it?”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “No, I just…need…a minute.”

“Oh.” She lay there a second, and then wordlessly, she reached for him, pulling him to her and stroking his back as he had done to her.

She leaned in to kiss him, and he realized she was aware of his distress and was trying, in her own way, to comfort him.

A tiny burst of tenderness flared in his heart and melted another little corner of it.

He rolled over her, pushing a little way in and stopped against her barrier. A shudder ran through his body, not of revulsion, but of desire, and he pushed a little harder.

“William,” she gasped, “wait.”

He managed to croak out, “Can’t,” before, of their own volition, his hips thrust forward and broke through.

He heard a squeak and pulled back to look at her, bathed in some combination of streetlight and moonlight. Her eyes were squeezed shut, lips pressed together.

“Lizzy?” He brought his hands up to stroke her face gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this…right?” she asked, her voice timid.

“Yes.” He groaned. “Oh god, yes.” She fit all around him like a glove. He thought he would expire from the pleasure of it.

She opened her eyes. “I’m fine now.” She smiled in tentative relief, and he bent to kiss her.She wiggled a little under him.

“Sweet Jesus!” he cried and promptly spilled himself inside her.

Hours later, as the sun rose and illuminated the room, William lay awake, nuzzling the jasmine-scented skin at the nape of his bride’s neck.

He had awakened before dawn, with his arm protectively around her, lying on his side with her back and backside pulled tight against him.

Now, he felt her stir, her body stiffening as she woke. She turned over and looked at him.

“Good morning.” His low, gravelly voice sounded strange to him.

“Good morning.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

He paused, not quite sure what to say next, scooting over so she could lie comfortably on her back, still keeping his arm around her waist. Several seconds passed.

“About last night—what we did—it’s supposed to get better.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, especially for you. The first time can be a little…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be either.”

He kissed her cheek, reached up, and twirled a wayward curl around his finger. “What would you like to do today, Mrs. Darcy?” He knew what he would like to do, and it didn’t involve anything outside the four-poster bed.

She tilted her head, considering. “Well, first, I think I’d like to take a nice, long bath.” She looked up at him through her lashes.

He smiled, remembering how much she liked the bathtub at Netherfield Hall. This one was even finer. He drew back his arm to let her go. “Of course.”

She searched and found her gown beside the bed. Clutching it to her, she grabbed her bag as she disappeared into the bathroom.

He dozed a few minutes, then got up and put on his trousers. Maybe later—maybe tonight, he could try this again. He was amazed at himself—after living celibate all this time, it was humbling to realize that only one foray into lovemaking had led him to the point where he thought about little else.

“Elizabeth?” he called through the door.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to go down and order up some breakfast from room service. After that, I planned to take you shopping. You’ll need some new clothes, and this may be the last time we’ll get to town for a while.”

“That sounds nice. Thank you.”

He laid his palm against the door, wishing he had the nerve to open it, but the bond between them seemed so new, so fragile, he dared not barge in. From beyond the door, a series of splashes and light humming brought a smile to his face. He finished dressing and quietly closed the suite’s door.

Elizabeth leaned back in the tub, letting the warmth and fragrance of French milled soap settle around her.

Waking up beside a man, a husband , was a disconcerting experience. And he had slept with her in his arms, which seemed odd. Neither her mother nor her aunt had spoken of that possibility.

William’s questions earlier about her well-being surprised her.

He was always so stoic—a “pull-oneself-up-by-the-bootstraps” sort of man—and his concern touched her.

In all honesty, except for the pain at first, she was well.

Just a little self-conscious. Elizabeth had overheard stories about wedding nights that were much worse.

She figured, all things considered, she had a fairly easy time of it.

At least her husband seemed to care about what he did to her. She thought it was a good sign.

She reached over and pulled the stopper from the drain, stood and plucked a fluffy towel from the rack beside her.

She wanted to be dressed and ready to face the day when William came back.

Plus, she was starving. She sat beside the gas fireplace as her hair dried, leafing through the magazines and shopping advertisements on the coffee table, not really concentrating on any of them.

In a very strange quirk of fate, she was now Mrs. Darcy, and it was rather exciting. Bathtubs, shopping, dinners out, handsome Mr. Serious as my escort. Gee whiz, I could really get used to this. The magazine rested on her lap, and a dreamy smile crossed her lips.