Page 84 of The Formation of Us
She accepted the glass with a smile. “If I can cross a rutted field in the dark without spilling a drop of wine, I think I can manage a hardwood floor and a few doorways.”
He tapped his glass to hers. “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Grayson.”
“Our home.” She lifted her glass to toast him. “I wish I had something to give you in return.”
He linked his fingers with hers. “You’re all I want.”
“I hope that never changes,” she whispered, paralyzed with fear to think, toknowthat this sweet bliss could shatter at any moment.
He lit a lantern, then led her through the dining room, a small music room, and a large water closet downstairs. Upstairs, they passed four partially furnished bedrooms, two of which Cora and Adam would use, and at the back of the house a small nursery connected to a master bedchamber as big as their parlor.
Faith trailed her fingers across a tall chiffonier and matching dresser in a lustrous cherrywood that brought a rich warmth to the room. Awed by luxury she never thought to enjoy, she admired the dressing table with a beveled oval mirror—and was shocked by the reflection of a bride in her finest dress standing beside her husband. A huge canopy bed loomed behind them, with a bouquet of herbs and wildflowers lying on the white linen pillowcase.
Their eyes met in the mirror, his dark and too compelling. Faith’s breath locked in her chest, and she waited for him, for whatever he might expect of his wife.
“Somebody left a salad on our bed,” he said, nodding toward the herbs.
Her breath shuddered out and she brought her glass to her mouth and finished the last drops of her wine. She set the empty glass on the bedstand, then picked up the bouquet. “It’s a tussie-mussie,” she said. The stems were tucked into a white lace doily and tied bouquet fashion with a pink ribbon. “It’s from my aunts. Tansy must have left it when she brought my bag.”
Duke leaned his shoulder against the carved cherry bedpost, and finished his wine. “What exactly is a tussie-mussie?”
“It can be a gift. Or a curse. It depends on what herbs you put in it.” She skirted the bed to show him the herbs. “Basil is for love and good wishes, peppermint-scented geranium for happiness, and lavender for devotion.” She brushed her finger over a daisy-like white flower with a deep yellow center. “Chamomile is for wisdom and fortitude.” Which she would surely need to get through her wedding night. “This blue, star-shaped flower is borage for bravery.” A virtue she could use more of right now. “And this wild rose is for love.”
“You forgot that one,” he said, pointing to a green stalk with tiny leaves and miniature pink flowers.
“Thyme. For daring.”
He chuckled. “Thyme for daring. That must be from Iris.”
Her face flushed. Only Iris would have thought to add the thyme, knowing Faith would find the tussie-mussie on her marriage bed. Today, on her wedding day when she needed it most, her aunts had brought love and encouragement and a bouquet of heartfelt wishes.
“Now you know why I love those women,” she said, sniffing the green, reviving herbs to hide her discomfort.
“I’m glad you have them.” Duke was watching her play with the herbs, but she sensed his thoughts were elsewhere.
With a sigh, she laid the tussie-mussie on the dressing table, looked at her handsome, patient husband, and swallowed hard. It all hinged on this, her wedding night, and making him believe she was an experienced woman. One rushed intimate involvement was hardly enough knowledge to get her through the consummation, but she wasn’t a virgin, and for that she could finally be thankful.
Duke lowered his wine glass. “Why don’t you change now?”
The heat in his eyes seared her. “I’ll need your help with my corset.” She could manage her dress, but not the white lacy corset Iris had given her. The corset, chemise, and drawers were an expensive gift from one of Iris’s former johns, but Iris, who disdained corsets and pristine white underclothes, had never worn them.
Faith’s fingers trembled and she fumbled with the buttons on the bodice of her dress. She heard the rough slide of her husband’s gabardine suit as he crossed the room, felt his hard body beside her even though he didn’t touch her. He set his empty wineglass on dressing table, then gently lifted her chin.
“I’m not going to rush you. There’s no hurry”
He was so beautiful, so tender, giving her his trust, his faith, his passion—a perfect wedding night—while she was holding back, keeping secrets.
He brought his mouth to hers in a tender, wine-flavored kiss that sent a rush of heat through her. She braced her hands on the dressing table to steady herself. He kept the kiss light and nibbled her lips, slipping her buttons free from the bottom up. When he freed the last button at her throat, he pushed the fabric over her shoulders and exposed her lacy undergarments that suddenly felt too seductive and revealing.
Passion flared in his eyes and he dipped his dark gaze to her breasts, returning slowly to her mouth and at last to her eyes. “Let’s get this off you.”
Chapter 26
Obeying Duke’s gentle command, Faith turned her back to him. He slid the bodice of her dress off her shoulders and down her arms, tugged the sleeves over her hands, then draped the soft fabric across the dressing table. Then his warm lips touched the nape of her neck, and flutter-birds circled her stomach like dandelion puffs caught on a hard swirl of wind.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, his breath soft and warm against her bare skin.
She felt a gentle tug in her hair, as he removed the spray of wildflowers she’d worn. When he laid the tiny cluster of white and orange trillium and yellow snapdragons down, his eyes met hers in the mirror. Pin by pin, he freed her upswept locks, dropping the pins onto the table until she felt her mass of hair tumble down her back.
