Page 42 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

The heart of a lioness.

“Oh, it’s ever so pretty, my lady!”

Susan, the new lady’s maid, gazed reverentially at the fine linen and lace ensemble Clementine had put on after indulging in the most decadent bath of her life.

It was all so strange, this new way of being.

She had her own maid to attend to her every need, and a bath scented with expensive oils.

Moreover, there was no one calling through the door, demanding to know where this or that was or how long she would be.

It was heavenly.

And now, standing before a full-length looking glass, she regarded herself in one of the items Madame Auguste had provided for her hastily put together trousseau.

The nightgown was of the finest linen, so delicate it was nigh on sheer, and gossamer lace adorned the neck, cuffs, and hem.

The wrap was likewise exquisite, and Clementine felt almost naked as she thanked the maid for her help and bade her goodnight.

“Yes, my lady. Shall I wake you in the morning? Do you like a cup of chocolate, or—”

“Not tomorrow morning, perhaps,” Clementine suggested gently, watching as the eager maid turned scarlet.

“Oh! No, indeed. Goodnight, my lady.” Susan bobbed a hasty curtsy and then fled, leaving Clementine to take one last look at herself.

Her blonde hair cascaded down her back, over her shoulders, and she wondered what Beau—what Sylvester —would think of his bride. He had seemed more than pleased so far. She only hoped that might continue.

Glancing at the clock, she realised she had been more than half an hour, and hurried to the door.

She stepped out into the living room, which had been illuminated with two lamps, but was otherwise dark and still.

Padding across to the door her husband had indicated was his, she gathered her courage and knocked.

The moment she did, the door flew open, and Sylvester stood before her.

“Thank God! I feared you’d got cold feet!” he exclaimed.

Clementine heard the frustration in his words as she stared at him and her lips curved upwards. Dear me . The poor man had got himself into quite a lather.

“I beg your pardon. I was enjoying the novelty of a bath with no interruptions and with hot water that was deeper than my ankles.”

Sylvester sighed and held the door open for her.

“No, it’s I who should apologise. What a brute I am, barking at you for taking a little time for yourself on your wedding night.

It’s only that I’ve driven myself mad waiting for you, wondering—” He shook his head.

“Never mind. Come and eat something. You must be famished by now. That picnic was ages ago.”

“Wondering what?” Clementine asked as he led her to a small round table laid for two.

The room was as stylish and masculine as the man who owned it, painted in shades of deep blue, with rich fabrics and elegant furnishings.

“It doesn’t matter. Come, sit down,” he insisted.

Clementine gave him a curious glance but let the matter rest. There was time enough to discover what was troubling him. Intuitively, she felt it was something significant if it could make a man who was generally so sophisticated and sure of himself so uneasy.

Instead, she admired her husband, whose attire seemed to be nothing more than a heavy silk banyan.

Idly she wondered how many he owned, for this one was a rich forest green, with black silk fern leaves embroidered around the lapels.

His feet were bare, and she glimpsed strong calves dusted with blond hair before she sat down and he took his place beside her.

Still, she could see that intriguing triangle of skin at his chest and throat and longed to reach out and touch the wiry copper-gold hair.

Sylvester handed her a napkin, and she tore her gaze away, hoping he had not noticed her gawking.

The food prepared for them was delicious and just what she would have desired if she’d thought about it.

There were a dozen little dishes, with both sweet and savoury pastries so delicate they were like little puffs of air.

There was a smoked salmon salad with fresh dill cream, a selection of cheeses, and grapes and peaches and raspberries, and a large bowl of jewel-like strawberries beside a dish of thick white cream.

Sylvester poured champagne for them both and raised his glass. “To my beautiful wife, the Countess of Beaumarsh, and to me, the lucky devil who married her.”

Clementine laughed at his irreverent toast and clinked her glass to his, and they ate, picking at this and that as the tension between them grew.

“Have you eaten enough?” he asked a short while later, his voice low as Clementine toyed with a strawberry she did not really want.

She glanced up, rivetingly aware of the quality of his voice, and noted the look his eyes.

Their blue had turned an intriguing shade in the dimly lit room, like a midnight sky.

Finding her voice suddenly unavailable, Clementine simply nodded as her heart picked up speed.

How strange to have been so keen for this moment so many hours ago, and now to feel all on edge.

Determinedly, she told herself not to be such a ninny.

She would not give her husband the impression she was a silly little nitwit by getting all shy on him after what she’d done in the carriage. It was too ridiculous.

“Come, then,” he said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand.

Clementine took it, reassured by the warmth and strength in his grip, which held her hand securely but did not overwhelm her. He had already shown himself to be tender and considerate; she had nothing to fear.

He led her to stand beside the bed, an imposing four-poster that looked to be as ancient as the house itself. Smiling, he stood back to regard her.

“I have thought often of you like this,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling.

“Ever since that night I brought your father home and you came out to scold him, so worried you forgot you were wearing nothing but your nightclothes. How the sight of you tormented me! All that innocent white cotton. It was enough to drive me distracted, I hope you know.”

Clementine gazed at him in wonder. “It was?” she said, confounded and delighted by this revelation. “I had no idea.”

“I know, and I was too much of a gentleman to explain it to you,” he said ruefully. “But it has plagued me and plagued me, and now I shall ease my mind by doing as I have longed to do for what seems like forever.”

He stepped closer and Clementine found she could not breathe as he tugged at the first ribbon tie.

It came undone with ease, and so he proceeded to the next, and the next, until the wrap slid from her shoulders.

It glided to the floor soundlessly, barely stirring the air.

Next, he reached for the ribbon tie that kept the neck of her nightgown closed and gently pulled the bow.

Opening the neck gathers wide, he let go.

The fabric fell, brushing her skin as it went, sliding over her hips with a whisper of sensation, making her shiver.

Clementine closed her eyes, suddenly unable to look at him, but she heard his swift intake of breath and hoped that was a good sign. Certainly, it could not be horror, for whilst she was not in league with an incomparable like Beatrice, she knew her figure was pleasing.

“Clementine, look at me.”

Clementine gathered her courage and did as he asked and found herself gazing into her husband’s eyes. His expression made her heart skip, for it was filled with tenderness and something very much like adoration.

“My beautiful girl, my darling, how lovely you are,” he told her, and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine went willingly, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion she saw in him, so raw and so unexpected.

When his arms went around her and his lips found hers, she knew at once she would have everything she had dreamed of.

Perhaps he did not realise it yet, but Sylvester would give her the marriage she wanted, because he wanted it too.

The touch of his skin against hers was a delicious shock, heat and silk and the press of a body that was like and so unlike hers. He intrigued her, and her hands moved restlessly, exploring, wanting to discover everything all at once.

Laughing softly, Sylvester caught hold of her hands. “It’s not a race,” he told her, before lifting her into his arms.

Clementine clutched at his shoulders, panicked for a moment until she realised how very strong he was, for he lifted as if she weighed nothing, when she was very aware she was no lightweight.

“I’ve got you,” he said, amusement in his voice as he carried her to the bed and laid her down upon the mattress.

Clementine immediately sat up, not wanting to miss a thing as she saw him untying the silk belt on his banyan.

He let it fall, exposing all she had wished to see, but he did not allow her the time to gaze at him in rapt admiration as she certainly could have done given the chance.

Instead, he climbed onto the bed, pushing her down as his mouth captured hers again, and she reached for him, relishing the heat and the weight of him as he pressed closer.

Yet, she did not wish to have her chance taken from her, and she pushed him back, not hard, yet he moved away as if she’d shoved him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his brows tugging together in concern.

“Yes, I want to look,” she said, struggling to get to her knees on the soft mattress. His lips quirked at that, his worry disappearing.

“I am at your disposal, my lady,” he said gravely.

Clementine hid her smile and gave a brisk nod. “Good.”