Page 23 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
Arial leapt to the correct conclusion. “Richards thinks we should consummate the marriage tonight.”
Peter had thought of another option, though it would be torture. Still, he could do it for Arial. “We need him to believe we have done so, and we need to convince the servants of that fact. My sisters and Miss Tulloch, too. I know you trust them, but people can say things without meaning to, and if it came to questioning under oath, we want them to tell the truth as they see it. I believe I should spend at least tonight in your rooms. Not necessarily in your bed. Do you have a sitting room or a dressing room? I can sleep on the floor if there isn’t a cot.”
“I think I would like another glass of wine,” Arial commented. “You have given me a lot to think about.”
Peter picked up Arial’s glass from the low table beside the sofa and fetched his own, then crossed the room to fill them. When he turned back towards her, she was standing. She held out her hand for her glass. “I will take it up to bed with me. Will you give me thirty minutes to change, Peter? And will you thencome and knock on my door and join me in my bed? I want to be your wife in every way tonight.”
“Are you certain?” Peter asked, ignoring the eager response from his body.
She smiled back at him and lifted her glass in a salute. “Absolutely certain. I did not let my fears keep me from coming to London, I do not intend to let them stop me from going out into Society, and I shall not let them keep me from finding out what all the fuss is about. You are right. Waiting will only make me more nervous. Let us begin our marriage tonight, Peter. We have the rest of our lives to get to know one another.”
Peter clicked his glass against hers. “To finding out what all the fuss is about,” he said.
Chapter Nine
Arial waited forPeter in her room. Thirty minutes, she had told him. To prepare herself.
Her maid had brushed her hair, turned down the bed, and unfastened Arial’s gown. Arial had washed herself and changed into her night attire, including the soft mask she donned for sleeping. It was knitted in soft cotton, and covered her head, with a hole over her eye for her to see.
Where should she wait? Seated by the fire? Would he expect her to be already in bed, her robe off and the candles doused?
Would he want the candles lit? Surely not. He claimed to desire her and had admired her figure. But he had only seen her face and her hands. The rest of her was covered in clothing. He seemed unbothered by the less damaged side of her face, but he had not seen the marks left on her body where embers had burned through her clothing to consume her skin.
Well, there was nothing more than usual to see at the moment. Less, in fact. Even her shape was hidden by the abundant folds of her night rail, buttoned to the neck and at the wrists, with the voluminous robe over. And nothing showed of her face but her one eye.
What would Peter be wearing? The thought of his body made her uncomfortable in a not altogether unpleasant fashion—hot and breathless, with strange tremors in parts of her anatomy she seldom thought about.
Presumably, Arial could keep the nightgown on, even if she did leave one or two candles alight. She would certainly like to see her beautiful new husband!
So, this was desire. How awful if, when it came to the point, Peter was unable to go through with the consummation!
Before her agitation reached the point that she fled for refuge to Clara’s sitting room, the knock on the door came, and Peter’s voice. “May I enter, my lady?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak. She swallowed and tried again. “Come in, my lord.”
Peter’s beauty intimidated her when he was clothed. He was even more beautiful in undress—in a robe that barely touched his knees and that opened at the top to show the nape of his neck and top of his chest.
Arial felt both decidedly overdressed and horribly exposed.
“Good evening, Lady Ransome,” he said, with a formal bow that accorded poorly with his attire, but that allowed the robe to gape so she could see more of his chest. Was the robe all he wore? The thought took her breath away and she could do no more in response to his greeting than a shallow curtsey.
He took one of Arial’s hands and led her to a set of chairs by the fireplace.
She said, “I thought we were going to…” She could not think of an appropriate word. She sat. She presumed Peter knew how to go about the matter and would follow his lead.
He pulled the other chair closer, hooking it with one foot, and sat without releasing her hand.
“I take it the stocking over your head is easier to sleep in than the rigid half mask that is your day wear.” It was a statement, rather than a question, made in a calm and matter-of-fact tone. Meanwhile, as if possessed of a mind of its own, his thumb traced patterns on her hand in gentle, subtle touches that made her nerves quiver and yearn.
She managed to ignore the sensation enough to answer. “The day mask digs in.”
Peter turned her hand over and began to stroke her palm with the same gentle pressure. “Do you think you could bear to wear the day mask while we engage in physical intimacy? I wish to kiss you, Arial, and to see what I can of your face, so I understand what pleases you and what doesn’t.”
“Oh.” Arial considered that for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I shall change it.” She made to get up, but Peter captured her other hand and began to stroke that, too.
“We have plenty of time,” he said. “I hope one day you will feel comfortable enough to leave the mask off entirely when we are in bed together.”
He didn’t understand. “I wear a mask at night for my maid’s comfort and now for yours, not for my own,” she explained. “Also, if there is a fire or some other disaster and I have to flee my room, I do not want to upset people.”
