Page 81 of Marry in Scandal

“I’ll find it.”

He came closer and she stiffened. “Is something the matter?” he asked her.

“No.” Her voice squeaked.

He sauntered toward the window and cast a quick glance at the bed. Ah. A very filmy nightgown lay draped on the bed, which had already been turned down.

Damn the convention that kept brides ignorant until their wedding night. He glanced at her again. Her skin was chalky pale and, now that he was looking, he could see she was trembling.

Did she expect him to pounce on her without warning? To rip her clothes off and have his wicked way with her? She might.

Surely her sister-in-law had explained it all to her. Though women were strangely inhibited about such things—why, he had never understood. Men weren’t. Yet from what hegathered few women even knew what to expect from childbirth, even though the bearing of an heir was a woman’s premier role in life.

Lily had been to boarding school, he recollected. Some girls’ school in Bath. Hordes of schoolgirls had attended her brother’s wedding, he remembered. No doubt those school friends of hers had filled her ears with lurid tales of gory wedding nights. Girls’ schools were hotbeds of misinformation, the more dramatic the better, and the spinsters who ran them were no doubt just as ignorant. Or worse, men-haters. No doubt she’d been taught that all men were ravening beasts who couldn’t control their carnal appetites.

One of his flirts had told him that on her wedding night she’d expected to be practically disemboweled. “The reality was such a letdown,” she’d told him, laughing.

That was another reason for such secrecy and misinformation; it suited many men to have their brides ignorant. If a bride had no expectation of pleasure, the men’s skills were not called into question. Ned had no patience with it.

In his experience women whose husbands didn’t satisfy them wandered. And brides who were mishandled often became reluctant bedfellows. He wasn’t having his own bride seek her pleasure elsewhere. Nor did he want her reluctantly enduring his attentions for the sake of heirs and duty.

Dammit, he’d planned to go out for a good hard ride before dinner, exercise some of the tension out of his body so that he’d be in absolute control tonight.

But he couldn’t leave her here like this, trembling bravely before him, imagining God knew what, and letting her anxieties multiply.

He indicated the flimsy peach-and-lace confection spread out suggestively on the bed. “You won’t be needing that until much later this evening,” he said casually. “Come and look at this view.”

She swallowed convulsively and came toward him. He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her closer. He pointed. “Over there is Brighton. We’ll go there tomorrow or the next day. You will want to see the royal pavilion, of course—it has to be seen to be believed—it’s still beingadded to. The prince regent has—well, you’ll see. As well there’s shopping. Brighton may be small, but it has many elegant and fashionable shops. I think you’ll enjoy the lanes too.” As he gestured and pointed with one hand, he soothed and stroked with the other, as if unaware.

“The lanes?”

“A delightful rabbit warren of shopping delights. You’ll want to return with some small gifts for your family, I presume.”

“Yes, yes, I would.”

“It’s very warm in here. Let me help you unbutton your pelisse.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned her toward him and began undoing the buttons that ran down the front of her pelisse.

“Oh, but you don’t need—” She caught her breath as his knuckles brushed across her breasts. Her nipples rose. He pretended not to notice and kept undoing buttons.

He kept talking, distracting her from his roaming hands. “Have you ever been dipped in the sea? It’s supposed to be very healthful, though if you ask me, it looks rather grim—some of those female dippers look like wrestlers to me.” He brushed his hands over her breasts again. “Do you swim at all? I could teach you when the weather warms up a bit.”

“Swim? No, I d-don’t.” She shivered, but this time he didn’t think it was nerves.

“Now, let’s get this off you.” He slipped the pelisse off her shoulders and tossed it on a nearby chair. “We might ride to the beach tomorrow if the weather is fine. My friend Tremayne keeps a fine stable and he said we were to ride as often as we want.” Tremayne, of course, had laced the offer with double entendres. “Did you bring your riding habit with you?”

“Ye—er, I think so.” She looked vaguely around, but he turned her around to look out the window.

“Can you see that slight hill over there?” She craned her neck to see where he was indicating, and he began to unhook her gown.

“What are you—”

“Making you more comfortable.” He planted a warmkiss on her velvet-soft nape, and she sighed and arched against him. He slipped his hands around her and stroked her breasts through the fabric of her dress. There were innumerable layers between his hands and her softness, but he could feel the hard aroused points of her nipples. He scratched them gently and felt her shiver.

He nuzzled her neck, nibbling on her skin, and she murmured her pleasure and leaned back against him. His fingers flew, unhooking her dress rapidly. It fell apart, revealing the lovely line of her back, and the nasty tight bindings of her corset.

How he hated corsets. Women didn’t need them. How women could bear to be laced in, their lovely soft flesh tortured and pushed into some stupid unnatural shape...

He started on the hooks of her corset.