Page 12 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

A prickling unease, like a thousand tiny needles, covered her skin. She waited, half-expecting to jolt awake and find it all a dream.

“Pinch me,” she urged in a whisper, “so I know this isn’t a figment of my overactive imagination.”

His slow smile warmed her from the inside out, chasing away the prickling sensation. “I’d rather do something we’ll both enjoy.” His head lowered, his lips meeting hers.

Her breath hitched as his tongue teased the seam of her lips. She opened eagerly, only to have him catch her lower lip between his teeth—a soft nip—followed by the gentle sweep of his tongue, tasting and teasing, coaxing her deeper.

His arms enclosed her, bending her slightly backward. His body, hard and warm against her softness, especially her belly, overwhelmed her. She was so lost in sensation that she didn’t notice the slow gathering of her gown’s hem until he said, “Hands over your head. This absurd tent must go.”

Without thought, she raised her arms. Cool air brushed her bare skin and panic rose. Her arms fell, and a flustered tug-of-war with the fabric ensued until it ripped.

“The lamps are still burning, my lord! It’s indecent!” Cici exclaimed.

“I care not,” he muttered, using the yards of fabric to reel her in. His palm cupped a bare bottom cheek, and she yelped in surprise.

“It’s your inability to follow a simple request that matters.”

Cici blinked. “What request?”

“If not Andrew—call me husband, my love, anything—but not ‘my lord’ on our wedding night. Is that truly so hard?”

“No, but this is all so new to me,” she whispered. “Please be patient, my lo—uh, Andrew.” Dear heavens, she’d almost done it again.

“I’ll try harder,” she murmured—and promptly burst into tears.

He stiffened, alarmed. “Sweetness—what is this? Calling me by name shouldn’t unravel you.”

Her words tangled with sobs. “I don’t know what to do—or how to act—or what you expect.” Her voice cracked. “Mama only said—” But the rest stuck in her throat.

“What exactly did your mother tell you?”

She shook her head, hiding her flaming face against his chest. “I can’t repeat it.”

“Yes, you can—and you will,” he said gently. “To repair what’s broken, I must know the damage.”

“She said to let my husband… uh…” Her cheeks burned hotter. “She told me this right before our vows, in the vaguest possible terms.”

He lifted her chin, watching her stall.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Mama told me to follow Queen Victoria’s advice.”

“And what is that?”

“She reasoned—if it was good enough for the queen’s daughter, it was good enough for an earl’s.”

“Out with it, Cecilia, before I lose my patience. What was this sage piece of wisdom laid at your feet?”

“She said…” There was no easy way around it, so she blurted it out. “Lie back, close my eyes, part my, uh, thighs—and think of England.”

A long, heavy silence hung between them.

Then Andrew began to tremble. The next moment, he wrapped her in his arms and laughed—genuine, deep, belly-shaking laughter that rippled through her where their bodies met.

“I fail to see the humor,” she said tightly, her voice muffled by his chest.

His laughter slowed to an occasional chuckle. “I’m sorry. But prudish, pearl-clutching old biddies have been peddling that tale for decades. It’s meant to suppress the wanton spark in young innocents like you.”

“It isn’t true?”

“I highly doubt it. Queen Victoria was madly in love with Prince Albert. After his death, she mourned for years. Publicly, she was all moral propriety—but privately, she was an artist. She painted romantic scenes, even male nudes. One sketch she gifted to Albert.” He grimaced. “I saw it once. Wish I hadn’t.”

Cici stared, mouth agape.

“Don’t repeat that,” he said, deadpan.

She nodded emphatically. She wouldn’t dare. Maybe she’d tell Maggie someday.

He gently closed her dropped jaw with one finger. “The queen ended up with nine children. If she didn’t enjoy it, being the sovereign of England, she could’ve stopped after one.”

She didn’t realize he’d guided her to the bed until her legs hit the mattress. With the sheets already turned down, he pulled the ribbon tie at the neckline then whisked the voluminous gown over her head. This time, she didn’t resist.

Naked beneath the sheets, she watched in awe as he undressed. Propriety demanded she look away, but nothing about this seemed proper, particularly when his trousers hit the floor with a soft thud. She glimpsed strong thighs and taut buttocks before he slipped beneath the sheet.

With him covered, relief washed over her, but a sharp pang of disappointment followed, her curiosity about the rest of his powerful form unappeased.

Andrew rolled onto his hip and pulled her close. What she couldn’t see, she certainly felt. And there was a good deal of him—or rather, that part of him—nudging insistently against her thigh.

He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply as he stroked her hair in long sweeps down her back. “The sweet vanilla scent of your hair and the texture of silk. Just as I imagined.”

His gentle touch soothed.

“A woman’s first time doesn’t always meet expectations,” he said softly. “If you relax and trust me to take care of you, it will be easier. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try,” she whispered, with her eyes squeezed shut and clutching the sheet between them.

He pried the linen loose with gentle fingers. “This is neither trusting nor relaxed, my white-knuckled bride. Let me look at you.”

“Can’t we just get it done?” she groaned.

“Absolutely not. I intend to take my time—and savor every moment.” His voice softened into a tease. “Open your eyes and look at your husband. I won’t have you lying there thinking of England.” Then, with quiet insistence, “Now, Cici.”

She peeked at him between her lashes, enough to make out the slight upward curve of his lips.

“You can do better. I want to see the lovely green of your eyes.”

His compliment emboldened her to look up.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his own.

“Now, for the sheet.” With a sharp tug, the linen vanished, and she felt the heat of her husband’s body against her own.

“Scandalous as it seems, men and women, husbands and wives, and lovers throughout the ages have found this endeavor mutually enjoyable. Our city wouldn’t be bursting at the seams with people if that weren’t true. ”

He spread kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck, until reaching her breasts. Each warm press of his lips sent sparks dancing along her skin.

Propped on one arm, he traced a nipple with a fingertip. “Fate’s been kind. My bride is stunning. With the prettiest full breasts and the most exquisite pink nipples.”

He lowered his head and blew a stream of warm breath over one, watching as the tip hardened further.“Exquisite.”

A stream of breath coaxed them higher. Then his mouth closed over one, sucking and nibbling. She arched into him instinctively, his caresses igniting a strange restlessness.

By the time he rose above her, her body pulsed with need. His voice resonated more deeply, when he proclaimed, “You belong to me, Cici. It’s my duty—and honor—to protect and cherish you always. I take that responsibility seriously. Keep your vows, and I’ll keep mine.”

His warm hands mapped every curve. She would’ve promised anything, but words eluded her. Luckily, he didn’t expect an answer, his lips finding hers, smothering any words she might have said in a kiss that stole her breath away.

“This glorious mouth is mine,” he murmured.

“Your body, too.” Andrew’s fingers trailed over her waist and rounded hips.

He slid one hand under her and palmed a bottom cheek while he pressed his turgid length firmly against her.

“This velvety haven between your legs is mine to touch, tease, and yes, to taste. I plan to have you often, possessing your body until it learns to crave mine, always seeking our shared pleasure.”

“Do you belong to me too, Andrew?” she asked, boldly.

His answer came without hesitation. “You do. I’m not only your husband, but your protector, guide, and soon, your lover.” He lifted slightly, and his intense gaze fixed upon her. “Spread your legs for me, Cici, so I may claim what is mine.”

Her cheeks burned as though they might ignite, but she did as bidden, wanting more. Wanting him.

“Wider,” he urged. “I must lie between your thighs to taste you and soon take your virginity.”

“Oh, Andrew,” she breathed. “The things you say are frightfully lurid.”

“Does it make you feel naughty?”

“Never more so.”

“Excellent, naughty and daring and carnal can be fun, and it means we are definitely on the right track.” On his knees, he pressed her thighs farther apart. “When I say ‘wide,’ sweeting, this is what I mean.”

“Heaven help me,” she whispered, appallingly exposed as his broad shoulders kept her legs open.

She squealed when he parted her folds with his thumbs, baring her most intimate place. Then he did the unthinkable—he licked her.

“Mm, you taste better than Cook’s honey-almond cake. Every time I have one from hereafter, I’ll think of lapping up your sweet honey.”

“Andrew!” she cried, stunned by his vulgarity.

“Shall I call this pretty pink haven something else? Your womanly parts, perhaps?” He clucked his tongue. “I think not. It’s too impersonal and not something I’d call out while rampant with passion. How about quivering quim?”

He glanced up from between her thighs, his grin pure mischief. Cici shook her head, appalled but barely suppressing a laugh.

“No? I’ve heard it referred to as my fruitful vine .” He nuzzled her curls with his chin, giving her an outrageous wink. “There’s always cock’s alley , but that is much too crude. Don’t you agree?”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted—but instead of protesting, a giggle escaped. “You are incorrigible.”