Page 47 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Though she had imagined the idea of being a marchioness would be terrifying, she found she didn’t much care.

She would likely make a good many mistakes, but she was confident now that she would learn.

Clemmie was adapting beautifully to life as the Countess of Beaumarsh and, if she could do it, so could Bea.

More to the point, if Stonehaven could make such remarkable progress in such a short time after losing his eyesight, then she would not complain about the challenges of her new position.

Perhaps she was not born to consider rising to such heights, but she was not a complete ninny, and she had discovered she was far more capable than she’d realised.

For so long she had stood in awe of Clementine and her organisational skills, and had assumed she had none herself.

But when Clemmie was around, there was no need to exert oneself, for everything had already been done.

When she’d left to get married, Bea had felt like she ought to do things exactly as Clemmie had done, but now she realised she could find her own way.

She was more than her beautiful face. More than an appendage to whatever man deigned to marry her.

Stonehaven needed her, wanted her, and he had fallen in love with her without knowing what she looked like.

That was the greatest blessing, and gave her such faith in herself, a certainty in her own abilities which had been lacking before.

Bea smiled in the darkness, letting out a sigh of regret.

Of course, if she really was Sally, she wouldn’t be lying here in the dark pining for Stonehaven.

Sally was a bold creature and would be tiptoeing across the hall at this very moment, daring everything to—

Bea sat up in the darkness, her heart thudding.

“You great ninny,” she said out loud.

She was Sally.

Well, yes, she was… but there was a difference between snatching kisses and embraces and going to a man’s room in the middle of the night.

“Not a man, your intended husband,” she told herself firmly. “You will be married in a week’s time.”

Still, her heart gave another uneven thud, and she wondered if Stonehaven would be appalled if she crept into his bed.

Would he think her wicked and bold? Her lips curved into a smile as she considered this.

Stonehaven would be delighted. That was all she needed to find her courage, and then her slippers and a dressing gown.

Glancing over at Izzy’s slumbering form, she padded to the door, holding her breath as she turned the handle. The door creaked. She winced, waiting for Izzy to wake and demand to know what she was doing, but no such demand materialised, and Bea let out a breath.

Once she had checked the way was clear, Bea ran along the corridor, found Stonehaven’s room, and turned the handle. It was locked.

Bother and drat!

Bea glared at the door as if personally affronted by its refusal to budge, which did not help.

Well, she could not stand here dithering in her nightgown.

Someone would see her and then there would be the most appalling scandal.

Knowing she was playing with fire, she hurried back to her room, grabbed a handful of hairpins, and darted back to the door.

She had once successfully opened a locked packing box to which they had lost the key, and surely a door key couldn’t be much more complex?

Feeling a combination of exhilaration at her daring and blind panic for her recklessness, she fell to her knees outside the door, bent the first hairpin to what she hoped might be the correct angle, and wriggled it in the lock.

Stonehaven sighed. It was no good. He could not sleep. Now he was wide awake with nothing to do but drive himself mad with thoughts of Bea sleeping a short distance away down the hall.

Then he heard the door handle turn. Stonehaven stiffened, then sat up, listening hard.

Who could be trying to get in? George had his own key.

A thief, perhaps? It wasn’t unheard of for people to have their belongings stolen in places such as this.

Maybe they thought a blind marquess would be a fat pigeon to pluck, and an easy one at that.

Well, they’d soon discover their mistake.

He got to his feet, moving sideways to touch the wall so he could find his way to the door and smothering a yelp of pain as he stubbed his toe on the hearth.

“Bloody damned bastard!” he fumed between gritted teeth, before carrying on more carefully. Now he could hear little scratching noises outside the door, like mice.

Frowning as he discovered the door itself, he leaned closer, pressing his ear to the wood.

“Drat you! Why won’t you open, you wretched thing?”

Stonehaven’s heart leapt with a combination of joy and terror.

Reaching up, he fumbled for the key George had shown him, hanging on the wall beside the door, and snatched it from the hook.

He managed to shove it in the keyhole without too much difficulty and yanked the door open, which Bea promptly fell through.

Stonehaven reached down, feeling for her and hauling her up, whilst kicking the door shut.

“Are you out of your mind?” he exclaimed with a growl.

“Well, no, but—”

She did not get to finish whatever she’d been about to say, for Stonehaven kissed her. He held her close, kissing her as if it were necessary to his existence, as vital as air. She did not seem to mind, becoming boneless in his arms, pliant and giving, making his blood thunder in his ears.

“You are reckless,” he told her breathlessly, before returning his mouth to hers. “I ought to be very cross with you,” he added, his hands sliding over a deliciously rounded behind that made him want to fall to his knees and thank the almighty for blessing him with such abundance.

“Are you?” she asked when he removed his mouth from hers in favour of kissing a path down her neck.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She laughed at that, and the sound rioted through him, a burst of joy and love and hope. This woman, oh, this woman was beyond his wildest dreams. He’d never even known to dream of this, that such a feeling was possible for one’s wife, for the person he would spend the rest of his days loving.

“Are you sure, Bea? I don’t mind waiting. I would never—”

“You might not mind waiting, but I do,” she said with her usual candour, and his heart soared higher still, knowing that she was as impatient as he for their lives to begin.

“I love you,” he said breathless with anticipation, finding the tie holding her dressing gown closed and tugging ruthlessly.

“I know,” she said, helping him to push it from her shoulders.

“And this,” she instructed, pulling at his nightshirt.

“Bea!” he said, delighted by her enthusiasm. “Don’t rush me. I’m a shy fellow, you know.”

She snorted. “Yes, that’s exactly how I would describe you, shy and retiring.”

“Close your eyes,” he told her primly.

“Lawrence, it’s dark,” she pointed out.

“Completely?”

“Well, no. There’s moonlight,” she admitted.

“Ah, there, you see. I look perfectly lovely by moonlight,” he said, a wistful note to his voice designed to make her laugh.

She made a choked sound. “You are a ridiculous person, my lord, and if I was not head over heels in love with you—”

“But you are,” he reminded her, grinning inanely.

She sighed, a soft flutter of warmth against his cheek. “I am.”

He smiled, holding her close, his voice serious this time. He did not know why it was important to him, but he realised he was not entirely in jest. This was something he wanted.

“Close your eyes, Bea. It’s only fair. If the price of having you in my life is my sight, I pay it willingly and gladly, but I wish I could see you, just once, in the moonlight. I know I can’t, so let it be that way for us both.”

“My eyes are closed,” she whispered.

“Keep them closed,” he told her. “Please. Just this time, so it’s the first time for us both.”

“I will,” she promised, nuzzling against his neck, her lips grazing his jaw.

“I’ve not shaved,” he said regretfully, rubbing his hand over the coarse stubble.

“Mmm, scratchy,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against it like a cat.

He laughed, pulling back. “You’ll hurt yourself,” he objected. “Your skin is so fine, like silk.”

“I’m not half so delicate as you think,” she insisted. “Now, are you taking this off, or are you not?”

“My, but you’re pushy. Lawrence, propose to me, Lawrence take your clothes off. If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” he said, tsking as he tugged at his nightshirt.

“I will be a constant trial, I’m afraid,” Bea agreed. “Indeed, I—”

But what she might have said, he did not know, for she had put her hand out, reaching for him, and finding his bare chest. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and then her other hand joined the first, palms flat upon his skin.

His own breathing became ragged as her hands moved, up to begin with, her fingers combing through the wiry hair on his chest, and then down, coasting over the hard muscle of his abdomen, and lower still.

“Bea,” he said huskily, though what he meant to say he didn’t know. To warn her perhaps, to save her maidenly sensibilities from the shock they were about to receive, but all he heard was a soft ‘oh’ of surprise, and his brain melted.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, a prisoner to the pleasure of her touch, lost in the feel of her hands exploring him, stroking and caressing, but he only came to his senses when things began to feel rather more explosive than he was prepared for.

“No. No more,” he croaked, taking her hands and placing them around his neck.

“But you liked—”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed readily. “I did. Indeed, I did. But no more. Not tonight. I’ve too much else to discover to allow you to distract me so wickedly.”

“Was I wicked?” she asked, sounding rather delighted at the prospect.

“Very, very wicked. Deliciously, wonderfully wicked,” he murmured, steering her backwards. “Is that the bed?”

“I hope so, but I don’t know. I’ve got my eyes closed,” she reminded him.

“Welcome to my world,” he chuckled, reaching out tentatively, relieved when he discovered the mattress. “It is! Thank Christ.”

She laughed as he grappled with her nightgown. “Turnabout is fair play,” he said before tugging it over her head and casting it aside. He heard a movement and put out his hand for her, only to find empty space.

“Well, that was a dirty trick,” he said indignantly.

“Come and find me,” she teased him.

Not being a halfwit, he did not need asking twice, and climbed onto the bed, his hands exploring until they found…

a wrist? No, an ankle! Huzzah! A shapely ankle at that, he thought, his heart beginning to speed once more as his hand slid higher.

He felt a shiver run over her as his touch drifted over satiny skin, feeling the softness of her thigh, the lush curve of her hip.

He allowed himself a brief detour to stoke the little thatch of curls at the apex of her legs, but he remembered the feel of that delightful little nipple pressing enticingly against his palm and his mouth watered at the prospect.

“Perfection,” he breathed, as he crawled up the bed, his hand sliding over the soft swell of her belly, and up to cup that wonderfully plump breast, and there it was, the sweet little bud he had hungered for.

Bea gasped as his mouth closed over it, suckling, holding her to him, her hands stroking his hair as he lost himself in the delight of exploring her.

Time hung suspended as he kissed and nuzzled, making his way from one breast to the other, to her lips, and then on a slow, winding path back between her legs.

This finally seemed to shock her, and she tugged at his hair, clearly mortified.

“Do you object on moral grounds, or because you think I mean to do something you won’t like?” he asked her gently.

“I-I….” she began, and then subsided. “No, neither. I just… is that… usual?”

“I certainly hope so, or people are missing out on some delightful interludes,” he said frankly.

“Truly?” She sounded sceptical.

“Cross my heart and hope to die. Though I think I should warn you that on this occasion you’ll need to keep quiet, which might be harder than you realise. We can’t scandalise the entire inn, however. Once we are home, I shall expect a very different and far louder reaction, if you please.”

There was a brief silence before she settled back against the pillows. “Very well,” she said placidly.

“Sure?”

“Quite sure.”

He smiled. She sounded perfectly sure, trusting in him to know what he was doing, and that he would do nothing she did not like.

The knowledge made his heart sing. The soft, breathy sounds she made moments later made his blood burn in his veins.

At least in this, it did not matter that he could not see.

His other senses were quite devoted to the task and, judging by her reaction, Bea had no complaints.

When she clutched at the bedclothes, her body bowing beneath him as she made quiet little mewling sounds, he was hard pressed to keep himself in check.

As it was, he hardly gave her time to catch her breath, too desperate for the feel of her around him, the knowledge that she would be his alone for always too wonderful to wait another moment.

Her arms went around him, pulling him down to her, welcoming him into her embrace, and then into her body.

Stonehaven went as slowly as he could bear, feeling as though he would lose his mind at the exquisiteness of heat and lush feminine flesh that greeted him.

Yet Bea seemed not to feel pain or nervousness or any desire for him to hold back.

“Yes,” she whispered as he joined them together. “Oh, Lawrence. Yes.”

The sound of his name spoken so reverently sank beneath his skin and echoed in his heart, smoothing over all the jagged places where he still felt any sense of loss, of being diminished or less than whole.

Bea healed and remade him, just as she had done from the start, just as she would always do, and for her, he would be the best man he could be.

He would be braver, stronger, and more determined than ever to live life to the full, for the love of her.

As he shuddered in her arms, spilling himself inside her, giving her everything he was and promising that he always would, a profound sense of peace settled over him.

He held her to him as his heart thundered and his breathing sawed in and out, sending up a silent prayer of gratitude for everything he had been given.