Page 83 of Marry in Scandal
Slowly Ned came to himself. He had no idea how much time had passed. Lily lay still and silent under him, breathing softly, her eyes closed. He was still deeply embedded in her. He carefully withdrew and rolled off her. And realized to his mortification that he was still fully clothed, still wearing his boots and coat, with only his breeches undone and his manhood shamefully exposed.
And that she lay, naked, but for her white silk stockings. Looking wholly enticing—and he should not be thinking such a thing, not when he’d just ravished her like a brute.
But she was flushed and rosy, all curves and female lusciousness, and those white stockings that ended halfway up her plump thighs framed a sweet temptation.
Her eyes fluttered open and he averted his gaze. He sat up, turned away and buttoned his breeches. “Are you all right?” His back was still turned. He wasn’t ready to face her.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you.” She sounded vague, abstracted.
He rose and walked across to where the cord hung down for the servants’ bell. He pulled it and, bracing himself, turned to face her. She was sitting up in bed, her knees bent and the covers pulled up around her. A froth of lace and peach silk peeped out. She must have pulled her nightgown on in the few seconds he’d had his back turned.
Her arms were locked around her knees and her chin rested on them. She was watching him, her expression thoughtful.
“What are you thinking?”
She blinked, as if he’d woken her. “Oh, nothing much. Just... thinking.”
“About what?” As if he didn’t know. But he needed to get it out in the open. Find out just how much damage he’d done. He’d been so taken up with his own pleasure, he couldn’t even recall what he’d done—if anything—to ensure hers. Unforgivable carelessness with any virgin, let alone his bride.
“About...” A blush crept over her skin. “I didn’t know—well, I suppose you can’t really, until—” She broke off and took a steadying breath. “It’s nothing, really, just—”
“I fear I was a bit hasty,” he began stiffly.
But she wasn’t listening. “It was... extraordinary.”
Extraordinary good or extraordinary bad?Ned wanted to ask, but he’d never been the kind of coxcomb who elicited—let alone demanded—praise from his lovers.
If a man couldn’t tell whether he’d satisfied a woman... He’d never had any difficulty knowing before. But today...
He swallowed. Time to be a man. “We’re going to be doing this often, and if you are to, to enjoy it, you need to tell me how you feel about what we do. We’ll get it right, eventually.” The women he’d lain with in the past had no hesitation in telling him what they preferred. He didn’t see why his wife couldn’t learn do the same.
“Oh.” Her face flamed and she pressed her palms against her cheeks as if to cool them. “Very well, I’ll try.” She thought for a minute, and her brow furrowed. “It’s hard to know, you see—being my first time—and how to explain—I don’t even know what words to use—sorry.” She broke off and took a deep steadying breath. “Aunt Agatha warned me it was an unpleasantness to be endured—but Emm—she’s my sister-in-law—said though it might hurt the first time—it did, but not very much—she said with practice it could be bliss.”
“And?” He had to know which it was.
She hesitated and gave him a half-embarrassed, half-troubled look. “I’m not quite sure—somewhere in between? As I said, it was extraordinary. Like nothing I’d ever felt or imagined...”
He had no idea what to say. He had no words, no excuses. He couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation, but he supposed he deserved it. It wasn’t even as if she were trying to make him squirm—though he was.
A low rumble sounded from beneath the bedclothes, and she blushed and placed a hand over her stomach. “I’m sorry, that was me. I’m fearfully hungry. I suppose I should get dressed for dinner.”
“Don’t bother, I’ve rung for a servant,” he said brusquely. “We’ll eat up here.” He wanted to finish the conversation, find out just how badly he’d messed up. And where on that wretched scale of hers he rated.
“In bed?” She brightened. “How lovely. Is that normal for a wedding night?”
He shrugged. Nothing about his wedding night was normal. Luckily at that moment the butler arrived, offering a temporary reprieve. Ned ordered dinner to be brought up, with champagne. And a glass of brandy to be brought to his room at once. He badly needed a drink.
“The food will be here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll have a wash in my room and let you, er, take care of things here.” First rule of soldiering: retreat, regroup and try again.
He stepped into his own room and shut the connecting door to give her privacy. He picked up the pitcher and poured some water into the basin. The water wasn’t even lukewarm. He was about to ring for hot water and his valet, then hesitated.
Her water would be cold too, but he was reluctant to interrupt her private female ablutions to ask her. If she wanted hot water she could ring for her maid—though fifteen minutes to dinner wasn’t enough time for a bath. Blast it, he could do without a shave, and if she wanted a bath, she could order one after dinner.
The everyday intimacies of married life. He supposed he would get used to it.
Why was it so different from the day-to-day intimacies he’d shared with lovers in the past? He didn’t know, but somehow with a bride—withthisbride—withLily—it was different. Old habits, old understandings no longer fit. Marriage, Lily, it was all new territory.
He washed quickly, combed his hair, then paced about the room. The brandy arrived—a decanter as well as a glass—and he drank the whole glass down in two gulps and poured himself another. Lord, he’d needed that.