Page 27 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Valance panicked. He hadn’t meant to say that! Bloody hell! How was he going to fix this?

“I mean, I don’t want to kiss you,” he babbled, trying to correct course. “That would not be respectful. And I do respect you. Very respectfully.” He longed to sink beneath the carriage and be crushed by the horses’ hooves. That might prevent him from saying anything more ridiculous.

“You can only kiss women you disrespect?” Doubt and confusion colored Honora’s voice.

“No, that’s not what I meant!” She must think him a fool. I am the biggest idiot in England, he thought—but he didn’t just think it. He said it out loud. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. When would this god-awful carriage ride end?

“I do not think you are an idiot,” she said politely, “but I am having trouble understanding you. What are you trying to say?”

“Right now, I am trying not to say anything, since I apparently do not know how to use words.”

“But do you want to kiss me, or not?” The carriage came to a slow, gentle stop just as she finished speaking.

“Oh, good, we’re home.” He tried to speak cheerfully. “It is very late, so I think we ought to go straight to bed, don’t you?” Perhaps a good night’s sleep would enable him to speak sensibly again.

“But are you going to kiss me, or not?”

“No! I would never do that!” Never? What in God’s green earth was he even saying? How could he have made such an utter mess of this conversation? It had been going so well, too. Up until he mentioned kissing.

“Well,” she said, “I wish you would.”

Valance was rendered speechless for a long, awkward moment. He finally gathered his wits sufficiently to ask, “Er, you do?”

Before she could answer, the groom opened the door of the carriage and lowered the steps.

“Yes, I do,” Honora replied. Then she stepped down from the carriage.

Valance remained in the carriage, staring after his wife. His brain seemed to be working more slowly than usual tonight. Had she actually said what he thought she said, or was that some delusion born of his own desire?

“My lord?” the groom asked him. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Valance scrambled out of the carriage and trotted after his wife. He caught up with her inside the house, just as she started to ascend the stairs. “My lady—”

She looked back over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

“Honora,” he corrected, though the name still did not sound quite right.

“Yes?”

She stood on the first step, which brought her head closer to his level, though she was so much shorter than him that even the stair did not quite close the height gap between them.

Valance cautiously reached out to stroke her cheek.

Then he stepped forward and kissed the most beautiful woman in England on the lips.

He kept the touch of his mouth against hers light and brief, not being at all certain how she would react.

She reacted by frowning, and his heart sank again. He was right to worry, wasn’t he? He drew in a deep breath, preparing to apologize for his forwardness, when she said, “I really think you can do better than that, Valance.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She drew a wavering smile. “That really isn’t all there is to kissing, is it?”

Valance gaped like a fish desperate for water. Then he shut his mouth and loosened his cravat, finding it rather hard to breathe. “I most certainly can do better than that, and if you are going to throw down the gauntlet, I will.”

Her smile widened at this, so he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him.

Then he commenced kissing in earnest. He could tell she did not know how to respond, but what she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm.

When he paused to verbally check in with her, she put an arm around his neck and pulled him back to her.

After that, things got so intense that he reached out and grabbed the banister with one hand, because he was half afraid they were going to topple over.

Honora seemed to be learning very quickly, and she showed no sign of tiring of their occupation.

On the contrary, she pressed her body against his in a way that gave at least one part of his anatomy very firm ideas about what ought to happen next.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he heard a gentle, unobtrusive cough. He reluctantly drew away from his wife and looked for the source of the sound. Preston stood at the top of the stairs, wearing his most wooden expression.

“My lord,” Preston said, “I merely wondered if you required my services undressing tonight?”

Valance had been taught that a gentleman never yelled at his servants, but for once he felt tempted to break that rule. A well-trained valet should know better than to disturb an employer who was occupied the way Valance had been occupied!

“No, Preston, your services are not needed. I will undress myself tonight.” Unless Honora undressed him—but no, he should not ask that of her.

He clearly remembered how mortified she had been at the sight of him in his smallclothes.

There was no need to rush things, no matter how randy he might feel at the moment.

“Very good, sir.” Preston discreetly retreated, leaving Valance alone with his wife again.

But she now stood a foot away from him, looking down at the floor. Valance sighed. Clearly, the moment had been ruined. And who knew when a moment like that might come again?

“I am sorry about that.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Honora said quickly.

He wished she would at least look him in the eyes. The way she kept pleating her dress suggested she felt anxious. Maybe this had been a huge mistake.

“I suppose we had better go to bed now.” He tried to conceal his disappointment, but regret seeped into his voice.

She cleared her throat, as if about to speak, but said nothing.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Are you going to go to bed by yourself,” she asked, still staring down at the floor, “or with me?”

“Um.” Valance had no idea how to answer her. Because he could not clearly see her face, he could not tell which answer she wanted to hear. “Whichever makes you happier?”

She finally lifted her chin. “I would like to go to bed with you.”

“Oh.” His heart thumped. So did something that wasn’t his heart.

“If you don’t mind,” she added politely.

Valance struggled not to laugh at the idea that he would mind. He succeeded in turning his chuckle into a cough. At least, he thought he succeeded, until Honora smiled bashfully back, blushing very prettily.

“How could I mind an invitation from so beautiful a woman? I would like to go to bed with you.” Possibly the understatement of the year, given that he’d been thinking about it half the evening. “But are you certain?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her face alight with interest. “I have so many questions!”

“Questions?” This time, it was panic rather than lust that made Valance’s heart skip a beat. He had entirely forgotten his earlier concerns about her understanding of marital relations. What if she didn’t know what she was agreeing to?

“Yes.” She nodded her head briskly, not seeming to realize the impact of her words. “No one tells girls anything, you know.”

Damnation! She probably had no idea what to expect. What was he supposed to say? Valance ran a hand through his hair, ruining what had been left of Preston’s coiffure.

Why didn’t they make books for this sort of thing?

This would be so much easier if he could simply hand her a book!

Instead, the marriage bed was traditionally explained by mother to daughter, sometimes not until right before the wedding.

If Lady Carrington had been in London, Valance would have asked her for help. But she rarely came to town.

That left only one option.

Valance rubbed his temples. He did not have a headache yet, but he expected one to crop up any minute now. “I suppose you had better talk to my mother about it tomorrow. She will be able to answer any of your questions, I am sure. And we can wait—”

Honora frowned and shook her head. “I had rather talk to you. I trust you more than your mother.”

Valance drew a deep breath. He really did not want to have to explain the facts of life to his wife. He felt certain this would be the most painfully awkward conversation in the history of language. Hadn’t he already played the fool enough for one night?

But he found it touching that she trusted him so much. And perhaps it was better not to involve anyone else in so intimate a matter.

“Very well,” he reluctantly agreed. “Why don’t we sit down by the fire, have a drink, and talk this over properly?”

She nodded. “Yes, please. You will explain things to me, won’t you?” She fixed him with keen, critical eyes.

Valance would have liked to dodge that sharp gaze, but he kept his eyes steadily locked with hers. “Yes, I will,” he promised. “I will tell you whatever you want to know. But I am going to need brandy for this conversation.” Probably a good deal of it.