“Don’t we need clothing?” She gestured down to her open bodice and his shirtless chest. “Details, my love.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Very well. What do we say?”
“I don’t know.” She gazed up at him. “What do you want to say?”
He took a breath then placed his free hand over their joined hands. He took one end of the string and looped it over their wrists. “I, Stratford Leopold Fortescue, do promise before you and before God to love and cherish you all the days of my life. I will forsake all others and love only you.” His eyes were locked with hers. “How was that?”
“I think,” she murmured. “You are supposed to say something about worshipping me with your body.”
His gaze lowered to peruse her body then met hers again. “You’re right, of course. Emmeline, with my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “And I promise to never doubt your love, to never doubt my worth, and to make certain you feel beautiful and perfect every day of your life.” He kissed her gently.
She felt tears sting her eyes. “Thank you.” It was a long moment before she could swallow the lump in her throat and say anything further. She wrapped the other end of the string around their joined hands. “I, Emmeline Anne Wellesley, do promise before you and God to love you with my whole heart, to cherish and honor you until we grow old, to tend you when you are sick, to mourn with you when you suffer loss, to swim naked with you when we find another hot spring.”
Stratford, who was looking rather teary-eyed himself, laughed at that as she’d intended.
“And of course, I shall worship you with my body and endow you with all my worldly goods. But most importantly, if the baron should ever so much as look at you with disapproval, I will give him such a dressing down that his ears will burn for a week.”
He pulled her close and held her tightly for a moment. “You are sure to become his favorite daughter-in-law,” he murmured, and she laughed. “What do we say to conclude? There is no one to pronounce us man and wife.”
She wrapped her free hand around him. “I think you simply kiss the bride.”
“I have been wanting to do that for ages now.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly and gently. Their hands were still clasped, tied lightly with the string, but he twined his fingers with her other hand, kissing her until they were both flushed and a bit breathless. He took the string binding their hands and tossed it over his neck like a loose neckcloth. Then he led her to the ledge where he’d laid the blankets and lowered her until she was on her back and he lying beside her.
She’d wanted him to continue where he’d left off—his hands under her skirts, his mouth on her breasts—but he began to kiss her gently and sweetly starting at her forehead and moving down. When he reached her mouth, she kissed him back, deep kisses that seemed to go on for hours and said more of what they both felt than words ever could.
Finally, he moved lower, kissing her neck and her shoulder and her collarbone and then the slope of her breast. He laid his head there, then lifted a hand and cupped her, teasing first one nipple then the other into a peak. Heat flooded her sex, making her squirm with need. “Stratford, I want you.”
“Don’t rush me. This is our wedding night. I want you to remember it.”
“We are in a cave in Scotland. How can I ever forget?” But perhaps actions would persuade him faster than words. She reached between them, found the fall of his trousers, and opened it.
“Now you’re not playing fair,” he grumbled into her breast. With a laugh she took his erection into her hand and stroked. He groaned and pushed into her touch. Then his mouth closed on her nipple, sucking hard and eliciting an equally insistent pull from between her legs.
He seemed to know what she was feeling because his hand slid up to her knees, parting them, then finding the gap in her drawers to cup her sex.
“You’re wet and hot,” he said, moving to lick her other nipple.
“I want you.”
“Then you shall have me.” He moved over her, reaching both hands under her skirts to remove her drawers and dropping them beside her. “One day, when we are in a proper bed chamber, I want to see you wearing those—and only those.”
“Should I be scandalized?”
“You will be when I show you just what I want to do with you when I have you wearing just those drawers.”
Heat burned through her. “What do you want to do with me now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He pushed her skirts up, edging her legs open with his body as he settled between them. Emmeline had never expected to feel fear, but when he was in that position, she suddenly felt quite vulnerable and uncertain. He kissed her gently. “We’ll take things slowly,” he said as his hand glided up her thigh and stroked the burning flesh between her legs. “You like this?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I won’t do anything you don’t like.” His fingers played her, one moment stroking firmly and the next feathering lightly. She forgot her fear when his thumb found that pearl of pleasure, and she couldn’t stop her hips from rocking into him. She could feel his hard manhood pushing against her leg, and when his fingers entered her, she wanted it to be him.
“I want you inside me,” she breathed as pleasure began to uncoil through her.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Soon,” she demanded. “Please.”
But he ignored her demands and continued his gentle assault, until she was practically crying out with need, and then crescendoing with it until she cried out and bucked hard against his hands. And just when she had peaked, she felt him enter her. Not all the way, just enough that she realized he’d replaced his fingers.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“No.” Their eyes met. “It doesn’t hurt at all.” How strange that women always talked about the pain of their wedding night. When this was all pleasure and—he moved deeper, and she went still.
“Am I hurting you now?”
“It’s definitely uncomfortable,” she said. “Is that all?”
He lowered his forehead to her shoulder. “No. There’s more.”
She lifted his face so she could look in his eyes. “How much more?” The look he gave her said this was only the beginning. She nodded and clenched her jaw. “Very well. Go ahead then.”
He laughed. “You are the very picture of endurance.” He reached between them and stroked the place where their bodies met. Even though she’d just climaxed, the feeling was pleasurable. “I told you I shan’t do anything you don’t like.”
“I like that.” She kissed him, and his mouth was warm and inviting. She wrapped her arms about his neck and willingly opened her legs further as he stroked that place that gave her the most pleasure. She felt his hips move, pushing deeper, and though the intrusion stung slightly, she found that she trusted him and that every time he inched deeper, he did something wicked with his hand or mouth that distracted her enough until finally he groaned and had to bite his lip.
“What is it?” she asked. “Are you hurt now?”