Page 24 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
He rejected that argument with a soft smile and a shake of the head. “I am comfortable with seeing your face as it is, my wife. You were brave enough to show it to me before you would agree to our marriage, remember?”
“You were gentlemanly enough not to react, but I saw the horror in your eyes,” she accused.
“You saw the pain I felt at what you have suffered,” he corrected. “You do not need to be afraid to show yourself to me, Arial. Do you have scars on your body, too? Is that why you wear long sleeves in the evening and have your gowns made to button to your neck?”
She broke eye-contact, looking down at her lap, where his hands continued to play with hers. “I thought we were going to consummate our marriage.” She screwed her eye shut, embarrassed at her petulant tone.
“We will, Lady Ransome,” he assured her. “Never fear.”
Honesty and frankness had served them well so far. She would be blunt. “I am afraid, Peter. Not of—” she hesitated for a moment, and then chose his term, “not of physical intimacy, precisely, but that you will find me loathsome if you see my body.”
*
Peter’s hands tightenedon Arial’s. A world of disappointment and rejection colored that last sentence. He wanted to punish every ignorant fool who had ever made her feel ugly, starting with the Weatheralls and the unnamed suitor Miss Tulloch and Barlowe had both told him about—the one who ran from her presence to vomit into a plant pot in the front hall.
His heart clenched at the depth of her pain and her gallant determination not to show it. When he spoke, he had to stop, clear his throat, and try again. “I think I am both stronger and fonder of you than you think, but I will wait until you are ready, lady wife. Let’s try this for tonight. You will put on your half mask and take off your robe but leave on the nightgown. And I will douse all but one of the candles. Will that be acceptable?”
She nodded and stood so he had to stand with her. “And you will tell me what I must do?” she asked, avoiding his eyes again. “I know very little, you see.” She showed her courage again. “My father’s book had illustrations, but I am sure some of those were unrealistic, and they don’t explain—that is, they are not moving, so I do not know…”
She was stammering in her confusion, and he was certain her skin, if he could see it, would be bright scarlet.
He took pity on her. “I have no recent experience, but I was once a young and riotous officer with money in my pocket. I will be happy to teach you, Arial.” The thought of teaching her was reviving his organ, which had retreated from full enthusiasm atthe thought of her pain. “I will need you to tell me what touches please you and what causes discomfort. You will be able to stop me at any time, simply by asking.”
He had another thought as she slipped her hands from his grasp and turned towards the dressing screen.
“Arial, let me know if there are any parts of your body you would rather I did not touch.” He meant scars it would embarrass her to have him feel. He hoped she understood.
She stopped halfway to the screen, so all he could see was an amorphous shape, bundled in clothing from head to toe. “My right shoulder and upper back, and the top of my right arm. But why would you touch those? They are nowhere near… That is, the connection is made…”
She broke off and hurried to shelter. He hoped her fluster was at least partly due to incipient desire, prompted by thinking about their “connection.” The images her reply had prompted had certainly had the desired effect on him.
He continued talking as he walked around the room, extinguishing the candles. “Touch is an important part of what we are about to do. We touch one another to increase our readiness for deeper intimacies.”
“Like kissing,” she said, her voice steady again. “I think kissing might be pleasant.”
Kissing was pleasant with a temporary lover. Peter feared that kissing Arial was going to be so far beyond pleasant it would shatter his world and remake it. “Kissing can be very pleasant, as can other touches. You may touch any part of me that you like. Did you enjoy what I was doing to your hands? I would very much like to do the same to your breasts.”
The noise from behind the screen was more intrigued than shocked, so he continued. “I would like to kiss them, too, and draw your nipples into my mouth. Then, if you like that, I shall kiss my way down your body to the center of your pleasure.Perhaps I shall stroke your inner thighs. The skin is very soft and sensitive there, and I think you will enjoy it.”
He didn’t know about Arial, but the naughty conversation was working on him.
She rounded the dressing screen then, and his generative organ, already engorged, hardened still more. She had left the candle burning behind her, and the virginal white nightgown, though it still flowed around her like a tent, was rendered almost transparent by the light.
He took a step towards her, holding out his hands to take hers. Up close, he could see that she was flushed, her eye wide. He saw some trepidation in its depths, but also desire.
He bent his head and his lips touched hers.
She smelt of cloves and something floral.Not roses or lavender—jasmine.That was it. Her lips were as plump and soft to the touch as they had looked. He had time for that assessment before she began to return the kiss, then his every thought fractured, and it took all his determination not to fall on her like a ravening beast.
His cheek kept bumping the edge of the mask, impeding his movements and reminding him he needed to go slowly. Not that Arial was objecting to his hand on her breast while the other anchored her against him. Far from it. She pressed into his hand, and lower, too, tipping to grind her groin against him, her body understanding what her innocent mind had not yet grasped.
He broke away for long enough to ask, “Am I going too fast?” He was gratified at her dazed expression and slow response.
She shook her head. “I like it.” And she tilted up her face, her mouth reaching for his kiss.
As he lowered his lips to hers, he suggested, “This time, will you open your mouth?”
Which she did, probably to ask another question, but before she could, his lips touched hers, his tongue already reaching to trace them. It was a long kiss, and even more fevered than the first. He explored her lips, her tongue, and her mouth. When she tentatively followed the retreat of his tongue with her own, he allowed her to explore in her turn, trembling with the effort it took not to take the kiss back over.
