Page 58 of The Unwilling Bride
She didn’t know what to do.
Merrick removed his hand and cursed softly as he swung himself around to sit on the edge of the bed. In the dim golden light of the bedside candle, she could see several small scars crossing the skin of his broad back. His shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked warily.
“For frightening you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”
She was unprepared for the remorse in his voice. “I was just caught unawares. And you were so—” she struggled to find the word “—forceful.”
He sighed again and answered without looking at her. “I’m a stern, grim man, Constance. If it’s a merry husband that you seek, I am not he.”
“I want more than merriment,” she said, meaning it. “I have no desire to be married to a man little more than a jester, like Henry.”
“I am too serious, too harsh. I can’t say sweet words of the sort women like to hear.”
“You mean you don’t utter flattering nonsense or empty promises under the guise of love.” She clasped her hands, her heart aching with dread. “Is that all, Merrick? Or have you reconsidered? Do you no longer want me for your wife?
“To be with you is all I’ve ever wanted,” he replied, his deep voice hoarse with longing, his eyes full of anguish, as if he feared she no longer wanted him. “But I don’t deserve you.”
“Why not?” she asked wonderingly. “You are a lord, a mighty knight, champion of tournaments. I doubt there is a better man in England, and if we speak of deserving, perhaps it is I who don’t deserve you.”
His face flushed as he looked away. “You can’t mean that.”
“But I do,” she insisted. “You are everything I’ve hoped for when it came to a husband. I wanted a man I could respect and who respected me, who made me feel loved and cherished and desired. Who made me feel safe. You do all that, and more. You stir my heart, and my desire, more than I could ever dream, and you need no words to do it.”
How he looked at her then! Relief, happiness and something that caused her blood to pulse with excitement mingled in his eyes. He reached out to touch her cheek, sending shivers of longing through her. “How I wish I could find the words to tell you how I feel about you, to say how much I need you, how much I want you.”
She had no difficulty with the drawstring of her shift now. “Show me instead,” she whispered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MERRICK NEEDED NO FURTHER urging. He eagerly began to strip off his wedding clothes as Constance blew out the candles set on the table and in the candlestand, all save one beside the bed.
Standing beside it, she gave her husband a brazenly seductive smile. “Before I extinguish the last candle, I want to admire my husband as he wishes to admire me.”
Facing her in all his masculine magnificence, Merrick’s eyes were dark, exciting pools of desire. She ran her gaze over him slowly, from his wide, intelligent brow, dark, passionate eyes, angular cheeks and sensual lips to his broad shoulders and slender torso. He had a few scars there, ones she’d touched lightly when she’d caressed him before. Dark hairs curled around his nipples and met in the center of his chest. They began again at his navel, and went lower, surrounding his shaft that stood in bold announcement of his desire. His legs were long and muscular, lean and strong from hours on horseback.
“Do I meet with your approval, my lady?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
She regarded him with blatant admiration. “You certainly do.” She rose, letting her shift fall to the floor and puddle at her feet. “And I, my lord? Do I meet with yours?”
His hungry eyes devoured her. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“And I’m yours,” she murmured, stepping forward and wrapping her arms about him. “Your wife.”
“Mine,” he murmured as he bent his head to brush his lips over hers, teasing and tempting, as their bodies met. “I scarce dared to dream…”
His words drifted away as he kissed her.
Dared to dream what? she wondered as she sank into the haze of desire. That they would be wed? That she would be his? But that had been planned for years and years….
Then she stopped wondering, aware only of the feel of his skin—so much of his skin—against hers. It was like being next to the heat of an open flame. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and his aroused shaft slipped between her naked thighs. His whole body tensed, as if the sensation took him by surprise.
Yet only for an instant, for in the next, he was helping her down upon the bed. His knee slid between her legs to guide her, while his strong arms eased her onto the coverlet and pillows. He sank down, too, his body covering hers as he kissed her.
She could sense him restraining his need, wondering why, until he told her. “Have no fear, Constance,” hemurmured as his lips journeyed to her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. “I’ll make sure you’re ready for me.”
“I’m ready for you now,” she whispered, certain that she was.
