Charles cut the cake—under the direction of Judith, of course, who had very firm ideas as to how it should be done—and soon he was busy unwrapping his gifts.
There was the watercolor from Judith, an embroidered pillow from Claire, and a small clock from Helen. “For your desk,” she explained. “I noticed that it's difficult to see the face of the grandfather clock across the room at night.”
Ellie elbowed her husband gently in the side to get his attention. “I haven't a present for you just yet,” she said quietly, “but I do have something planned.”
“Really?”
“I shall tell you all about it next week.”
“I must wait an entire week?”
“I'm going to need full use of my hands,” she said, giving him a flirtatious look.
His grin grew positively wolfish. “I can hardly wait.”
True to his word, Charles had a dressmaker come to Wycombe Abbey to go over fabric samples and patterns. Ellie would have to get the bulk of her new wardrobe in London, but Smithson's of Canterbury was a quality dressmaker, and Mrs. Smithson would be able to make a few frocks to last until Ellie could travel to town.
Ellie was quite excited to meet the dressmaker; she'd always had to sew her own dresses, and a private consultation was a luxury, indeed.
Well, not quite private.
“Charles,” Ellie said for the fifth time, “I am perfectly able to choose my dresses.”
“Of course, darling, but you haven't been to London and—” He caught sight of the patterns in Mrs. Smithson's hand. “Oh, no not that one. The neckline is much too low.”
“But these aren't for London. These are for the country. And I've been to the country,” she added, her voice growing a touch sarcastic. “As a matter of fact, I'm in the country right now.”
If Charles heard her, he made no indication. “Green,” he said, apparently to Mrs. Smithson. “She's lovely in green.”
Ellie would have liked to have been flattered by his compliment, but she had more urgent business. “Charles,” she said. “I really would like a moment alone with Mrs. Smithson.”
He looked shocked. “Whatever for?”
“Wouldn't it be nice if you didn't know what all of my gowns looked like?” She smiled sweetly. “Wouldn't you like to be surprised?”
He shrugged. “Hadn't really thought about it.”
“Well, think about it,” she ground out. “Preferably in your study.”
“You really don't want me here?”
He looked hurt, and Ellie was immediately sorry she'd snapped at him. “It's just that choosing dresses is a feminine sort of pastime.”
“Is it? I was looking forward to it. I've never chosen a dress for a female before.”
“Not even your—” Ellie bit her lip. She'd been about to say, “mistresses,” but she refused to utter the word. She was thinking positively these days, and didn't even want to remind him that he'd once dallied with the demimonde. “Charles,” she continued in a softer voice, “I'd like to choose something that will surprise you.”
He grumbled, but he left the room.
“The earl is a very involved husband, is he not?” Mrs. Smithson said as he shut the door behind him.
Ellie blushed and murmured something nonsensical. Then she realized that she needed to act quickly if she wanted to get anything done while Charles was gone. Knowing him, he'd change his mind and come barging in at any moment.
“Mrs. Smithson,” she said, “there is no hurry for the dresses. But what I do need…”
Mrs. Smithson smiled knowingly. “A trousseau?”
“Yes, some lingerie.”
“That can be arranged without a fitting.”
Ellie sighed with relief.
“May I recommend pale green? Your husband was most vocal in his praise for that color.”
Ellie nodded.
“And the style?”
“Oh, anything. Er, anything you deem appropriate for a young newly married couple.” Ellie tried not to put too much emphasis on “newly married,” but then again, she wanted to make it clear that she would not be choosing a nightgown on the basis of warmth.
But then Mrs. Smithson nodded in that secretive way of hers, and Ellie knew that she'd send over something special. Maybe something a little racy. Definitely something Ellie would never have chosen for herself.
Considering her lack of experience in the art of seduction, Ellie thought that might be for the best.
A week later, Ellie's hands were nearly healed. Her skin was still tender, but they no longer pained her with every movement. It was time to give Charles his birthday gift.
She was terrified.
She was, of course, rather excited as well, but seeing as how she was a complete innocent, the terror seemed to be the more gripping of the two emotions.
For Ellie had decided that her gift to Charles on his thirtieth birthday would be herself. She wanted their marriage to be a true union, one of mind, soul, and—she gulped as she thought this—body.
Mrs. Smithson had certainly lived up to her promises. Ellie could hardly believe her reflection in the glass. The dressmaker had chosen a gown of the sheerest pale green silk. The neckline was demure, but the rest of the gown was racier than Ellie could have dreamed. It consisted of two panels of silk, sewn only at the shoulders. There were two ties, on either side of her waist, but they did not hide the length of her leg, or the curve of her hip.
Ellie felt positively naked, and she gratefully donned the matching peignoir. She shivered—partly because there was a chill in the night air, and partly because she could hear Charles moving about in his room. He usually came in to bid her goodnight, but Ellie thought she might develop a case of mad nerves if she sat around and waited for him. She'd never been very patient.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she lifted her hand and knocked on the connecting door.
Charles froze in the act of removing his cravat. Ellie never knocked on the connecting door. He always visited her in her room, and besides that, were her hands healed enough to be knocking on wood? He didn't think she'd suffered any burns on her knuckles, but still…
He pulled the cravat the rest of the way off, tossed it onto an ottoman, and strode across the room to the door. He didn't want her turning the knob, so instead of calling out, “Come in,” he simply pulled the door open.
And nearly fainted.
“Ellie?” he said, or rather, choked.
She only smiled.
“What are you wearing?”
“I…ah…it's part of my trousseau.”
“You don't have a trousseau.”
“I thought I might be able to use one.”
Charles pondered the ramifications of this statement and felt his skin grow quite warm.
“May I come in?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” He stepped aside and allowed her to enter, his mouth dropping open as she passed by. Whatever she was wearing was cinched at the waist, and the silk clung to every curve.
She turned around. “I suppose you're wondering why I'm here.”
He reminded himself to close his mouth.
“I'm wondering myself,” she said, laughing nervously.
“Ellie, I—”
She shrugged off the peignoir.
“Oh, God,” he croaked. His eyes rolled heavenward. “I'm being tested. That's it, isn't it? I'm being tested.”
“Charles?”
“Put that back on,” he said frantically, grabbing the peignoir off the floor. It was still warm from her skin. He dropped it and reached for a woolen blanket. “No, better yet, put this on.”
“Charles, stop!” She raised her arms to push away the blanket, and he saw that her eyes were filling with tears.
“Don't cry,” he blurted out. “Why are you crying?”
“Don't you…? Don't you…?”
“Don't I what?”
“Don't you want me?” she whispered. “Even a little bit? You did last week, but I wasn't dre
ssed like this, and—”
“Are you mad?” he fairly shouted. “I want you so much I'm liable to perish on the spot. So cover yourself up, because otherwise you're going to kill me.”
Ellie planted her hands on her hips, growing just a little irritated with the direction of the conversation.
“Watch out for your hands!” he yelled.
“My hands are fine,” she snapped.
“They are?”
“As long as I don't run ungloved through a rosebush.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
For a split second he didn't move. Then he came at her with a force that knocked the breath clear out of her. One minute Ellie was standing, and the next she was on her back, on the bed, with Charles on top of her.
But the most amazing thing was that he was kissing her. Really kissing her, in that deep, dark way he hadn't since before the accident. Oh, he'd written racy things in his lists, but he'd been treating her like a delicate flower. Now he was kissing her with his entire body—with his hands, which had already discovered the side slit of her lingerie and were wrapped around the warm curve of her thigh—with his hips, which pressed intimately against hers—and with his heart, which pounded a seductive beat against her breast.
“Don't stop,” Ellie moaned. “Don't ever stop.”
“I couldn't if I wanted to,” he replied, touching her ear most thoroughly—with his mouth. “And I don't. Want to.”
“Oh, good.” Her head lolled back, and he immediately moved from her ear to her throat.
“This dress,” he groaned, apparently unable to speak in complete sentences. “Don't ever lose it.”
She smiled. “You like it?”
He answered by pulling open the bows at her hips. “It should be illegal.”
“I can get one in every color,” she teased.
His hands grasped her ribcage, his large fingers pressing into the underside of her breasts. “Do it. Send me the bill. Or better yet, I'll pay in advance.”
“I paid for this one,” Ellie said softly.
Charles held still and lifted his head, sensing something different in her voice. “Why? You know you can use my money to buy whatever you want.”
“I know. But this is my birthday gift to you.”
“The dress?”
She smiled and touched his cheek. Men could be so obtuse. “The dress. Me.” She took his hand and moved it to her heart. “This. I want ours to be a real marriage.”
He didn't say anything, just took her face in his hands and gazed rapturously at her for a long moment. Then, with agonizing slowness, he lowered his lips to hers for a kiss more tender than anything she could have ever dreamed. “Ah, Ellie,” he sighed against her mouth. “You make me so happy.”
It wasn't quite a declaration of love, but it still made her heart sing. “I'm happy, too,” she whispered.
“Mmmm.” He moved to her neck, nuzzling the length of her throat with his face. His hands slid underneath the silk of her gown, trailing fire along her already hot skin. She felt his touch on her hips, her stomach, her breasts—he seemed to be everywhere, and still she wanted more.
She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, wanting desperately to feel the heat of his skin. But she was shaking with desire, and her hands were still not as nimble as normal.
“Shhhh, let me,” he whispered, lifting himself off her to remove his shirt. He worked the buttons slowly, and Ellie wasn't sure whether she wanted him to go even more slowly, to prolong this tantalizing dance, or whether she wanted him just to rip the damned thing off and move back to her side.
Finally he shrugged off the garment and lowered himself partway back down toward her, leaning on his straightened arms. “Touch me,” he ordered, then softened it with an impassioned, “Please.”
Ellie reached up hesitantly. She'd never touched a man's chest, never even seen one before. She was a little surprised by the sprinkling of reddish brown hair that played across his skin. It was soft and springy, but it didn't hide the way his skin burned or his muscles leapt beneath her hesitant caress.
She grew more daring, excited and emboldened by the way he sucked in his breath when she reached for him. She didn't even have to touch his skin for him to shudder with desire. She suddenly felt as if she must be the most beautiful woman on earth. At least in his eyes, at least for this moment, and that was all that mattered.
She felt his hands on her, lifting her up, and then the lingerie slid over her head and landed in a pool of silk on the floor. Ellie no longer just felt naked, she was naked. Somehow it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
He moved off her and removed his breeches. This time he disrobed quickly, almost frantically. Ellie's eyes widened when she saw his aroused manhood. Charles noticed her apprehension, swallowed, and said, “Are you afraid?”
She shook her head. “Well, maybe a little. But I know you will make everything beautiful.”
“Oh, God, Ellie,” he groaned, sinking back onto the bed. “I'll try. I promise, I'll try. I've never been with an innocent before.”
That made her laugh. “And I've never done this before, so we are even.”
He touched her cheek. “You're so brave.”
“Not brave, just trusting.”
“But to laugh, when I'm about to—”
“That's exactly why I am laughing. I'm so happy I can't think of anything but laughter.”
He kissed her again, his mouth hot on hers. And while he distracted her in this way, his hand stole down the soft skin of her stomach to the patch of curls that shielded her womanhood. She stiffened for just a moment, then relaxed under his gentle caress. At first, he made no move to touch her more deeply, just tickled her as he moved his mouth along the planes of her face.
“Do you like that?” he whispered.
She nodded.
His other hand moved to her breast, squeezing its fullness before grazing the aroused nipple with his palm. “Do you like that?” he whispered, his voice growing husky.
She nodded again, this time with her eyes squeezed shut.
“Do you want me to do it again?”
And while she nodded for the third time, he moved one finger into the hot folds of her womanhood and began to stroke.
Ellie gasped, then forgot how to breathe. Then when she finally remembered where her lungs were, she let out a loud, “Oh!” that caused Charles to chuckle and slide his finger in deeper, touching her in the most intimate of ways.
“Oh, Lord, Ellie,” he groaned. “You want me.”
She clutched desperately at his shoulders. “You only just noticed?”
His chuckle came from deep in his throat. His fingers continued their sensual torture, moving and stroking within her, and then he found her most sensitive nub of flesh, and Ellie nearly burst from the bed.
“Don't fight it,” he said, pressing his arousal against her belly. “It only gets better.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Positive.”
Her legs went slack again, and this time Charles nudged them further open, settling into the space between her thighs. He moved his hand, and then his manhood touched her, softly probing at her entry.
“That's right,” he whispered. “Open for me. Relax.” He pushed forward, then stopped for a moment. “How is that?” he asked, but his voice was strained, and Ellie could tell that he was exerting extraordinary control to keep himself from making love to her completely.
“It's very strange,” she admitted. “But good. It's—Oh!” She yelped as he moved even closer to her center. “You tricked me.”
“That's what it's all about, sweetling.”
“Charles, I—”
His face grew serious. “This might hurt you a little.”
“It won't,” she assured him. “Not with you.”
“Ellie, I…Oh, God, I can't wait any longer.” He plunged forward, sheathing himself completely within her. “You feel so…I can't…Oh, Ellie, Ellie.”
/>
Charles's body began to move in its primitive rhythm, each thrust accompanied by sounds that were half-groan, half-breath. She was so perfect, so responsive. He'd never before felt desire with this total, complete urgency. He wanted to cherish her and devour her at the same time. He wanted to kiss her, love her, surround her. He wanted everything from her, and he wanted to give her every last piece of himself.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized this was love, that elusive emotion he'd managed to escape for so many years. But his ideas and feelings were overwhelmed by the raging need of his body, and he lost all power of thought.
He could hear her moans grow higher in pitch, and he knew that she felt the same desperation and need. “Reach for it, Ellie,” he said. “Reach for it.”
And then she shattered beneath him, muscles tightening like a velvet glove around him, and Charles let out a loud shout as he plunged forward one last time, releasing himself into her womb.
He shuddered a few times with the aftershocks of climax, then collapsed on top of her, dimly realizing that he was probably too heavy for her, but unable to move. Finally, when he felt as if he might have a little bit of control over his body again, he started to roll off of her.
“Don't,” she said. “I like feeling you.”
“I'll crush you.”
“No, you won't. I want to—”
He rolled to his side, pulling her along with him. “See? Isn't this nice?”
She nodded and closed her eyes, looking weary but well-loved.
Charles played absently with her hair, wondering how this had happened, that he had fallen in love with his wife—a woman he'd chosen so impulsively and so desperately. “Did you know I dream about your hair?” he asked.
She opened her eyes in delighted surprise. “Really?”
“Mmm, yes. I always used to think it was the exact color of the sun at sunset, but now I realize that I'm wrong.” He pinched a lock and brought it to his lips. “It's brighter. Brighter than the sun. And so are you.”
He gathered her into his arms, and then they slept.
Chapter 19
The next week was pure bliss. Ellie and Charles spent more time in bed than out, and when they did venture downstairs, it seemed as if life was conspiring to send only the good things their way. Ellie had her first dress fitting, Claire finished cleaning the orangery and told Ellie she'd very much like to help in the planting, and Judith painted four more water-colors, one of which actually resembled a horse.