He stood so still, like a stone statue. She could almost hear him thinking things through, trying to balance his desire with his fear. “Give me a chance,” she whispered. “I want to do more than imagine.”
“Fine.” He pulled back, and she almost stumbled as he released her. “If this is what you want.”
Amelia rather thought it was what they both wanted, but she wasn’t about to quibble over details when she was getting her way.
“Come to my bed when we return. I’ll make you my wife.”
Before she could throw her arms about him, he walked away. He left her standing in the dark dining room and went into the vestibule. A moment later, while she was trying to still her racing heart, he doused the candles. “My lady, are you coming? The carriage awaits.”
Amelia practically ran after him. She’d been waiting as well, and that wait was almost at an end.
NICHOLAS SAT ACROSS from Amelia in the carriage, his body in a perpetual state of arousal. He was always aware of her when she was near, always catching the scent of crisp green apples or the low ring of her laugh or the flash of her smile. She drew him, like opium drew an addict, and tonight he had lost the battle to resist. He’d been losing it ever since he met her, losing it little by little each day he spent with her. But tonight, the things she’d said, no man could resist the words coming out of her mouth.
She didn’t shock him. Widows and actresses he’d bedded had said things far more scandalous. But he expected that from women of their experience. Amelia had little experience and such a sweet, innocent face. Clearly underneath that innocence was a woman who desired more. A woman with needs and wants, and who wanted him to satisfy those desires. He’d never thought he’d have a wife willing to be open about her needs. He expected to marry a pampered young lady who was just past girlhood and who knew nothing of men and wanted to know even less. She’d suffer through the rituals of the marriage bed or be glad to be excused from them, and eventually she’d birth a son or daughter and they could both pursue other lovers.
That was his assumption before his injury. Afterward, he thought he’d never marry. And now he had married a woman, not a girl, and she was not all that shy about what she wanted. The more she told him what she imagined doing to him, the more he wanted her to do those things and do them to her in return. He could keep fighting it, but why?
He’d end it tonight. He’d strip bare and let her see his deformity, and that would be the end of it once and for all. Better to do that now than after he tasted more of her, after she’d got under his skin, and he began to want her more than he did now.
They didn’t speak in the coach, and when they arrived home, he escorted her to her door and bid her goodnight. She went inside, giving him a look of promise before O’Malley closed the door. He retreated to his own chambers then and allowed his valet to help him prepare for bed. But instead of lying down, he told his valet to prop him up against the pillows and took up a book he didn’t intend to read.
Once the valet was gone, he stripped off his nightshirt and waited. He was naked but the bedclothes covered him to the waist. When Amelia came to him—if she came to him—he’d tell her to pull them down so she could see the state of his legs. Then they’d see what happened.
He didn’t have to wait long. It had been no more than two or three minutes before he heard her tap lightly on the door and then open it a crack. “My lord?”
“I’m here,” he said. Her head appeared first, and her eyes went directly to his bare chest. He watched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and then she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Her hair tumbled down her back in waves the color of ripe wheat. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her cheeks a bit pink from either the cloth she’d used or her anticipation. She wore a thin robe cinched at the waist and her bare feet peeked out at the hem.
“Are you—?” She gestured to the part of him covered by the bedclothes.
“Naked? Yes.”
“Then I’m overdressed.” Before he could protest, she unknotted the tie of her robe and let it slip off her shoulders into a puddle on the floor. Then she wore nothing but her thin night rail. And it was quite thin, so transparent he could see the pink of her aureoles and the honey of the curls between her legs through the material.
She came to him, hoisting herself onto the other side of the bed and moving toward him on her knees. She had to tug up her skirts to manage it, and he had more than a glimpse of creamy calf. How the hell was he supposed to think when she came toward him with that smile on her face? He’d had a plan. He’d intended for her to come to his side of the bed and pull back the covers so she could see his legs. But he hadn’t even had a chance to suggest that, and now he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to risk that she’d run away. She paused beside him, still on her knees. Without even thinking, he reached forward and nudged a lacy strap off her shoulder. It fell to her upper arm, tugging the garment down to reveal the top of one breast.
Their gazes met, and Nicholas thought he could feel the spark flare between them.
“May I kiss you?” she asked.
God, yes. But instead of speaking, he pulled her to him and kissed her with a slow, sensual patience that he didn’t think he’d be able to maintain for long. “Come here,” he said between kisses, and he tugged her on top of him, settling her over his straining erection.
She pulled back, her eyes wide as she felt him nudge her core. “So this is one of the positions you were talking about?” She wiggled, and he grasped her hips and held her still. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, freezing instantly.
“No, but if I’m to have any measure of control, you can’t wriggle like that.”
“And what if I do?” She wiggled her brows and them shimmied her hips in challenge.
“Then this will be a short night.” He knew it would be a short night regardless once she saw his legs.
“I don’t care.” She reached out and smoothed his hair back. “As long as I’m with you.” Her voice held a note of loneliness in it. He hadn’t thought that she might be lonely, but he should have. She was in a new house, taken away from the home where she’d lived all her life. He should have been there to help ease the transition. Instead, he’d left her to sleep alone in a bed chamber that probably didn’t even feel like her own.
“You’re with me now,” he said, and slid his hand up her back to cup the back of her neck. She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips sure and needy. The weight of her hair was like a silk skein over his arm, and when he slid his hand down, her back was just as soft and smooth. He should stop this. He should tell her that before they went on, she should see his legs. But he didn’t want this to end. It wasn’t only that it had been a very long time since he’d been with a woman. It was this woman. He wanted her, only her, all of her.
She pulled back and gave him a look he could only describe as saucy. “You would make a good tavern wench with a look like that,” he said.
“Do you like tavern wenches?”
“Not as much as I like you.” He slid the other strap from her nightrail down her arm, and she rolled her shoulders back allowing the garment to slip lower. Precariously low so that it would take only a nudge to reveal her breasts. Nicholas tried to resist, but his hands had other ideas. He crooked one finger and rested it on the material in the valley of her breasts. And then he lowered his finger and the linen slid down to her waist.