After disembarking, they went to a horse-drawn tram which would convey them to the fashionable promenade a mile away. In the meantime, Gabriel’s valet, Oakes, directed porters and managed the transfer of luggage from the steamer. The valet would then travel separately to the hotel along with the lady’s maid.
Once they reached the promenade, it was only a five-minute carriage ride to the Empire, an opulent seafront hotel situated on a sand beach. The magnificent lodging was equipped with every possible modern convenience, such as hydraulic lifts for conveying packages to all floors, and suites with private bathrooms.
Having never stayed in a hotel before, Pandora was mesmerized by the lush surroundings. She turned in circles to take in every detail of the blue, gold, and white interior, lavishly appointed with marble pillars, hand-painted wallpaper and Italian plasterwork. The maître d’hôtel, who could hardly fail to notice Pandora’s interest, offered to give the newlywed couple a personal tour around the public rooms.
“Thank you, but—” Gabriel began.
“We would love that,” Pandora exclaimed, bouncing slightly on her heels before she recalled herself and went still in a belated attempt at dignity. Gabriel bit back a smile.
Gratified by her enthusiasm, the maître d’hôtel gave her his arm and escorted her through the hotel, while Gabriel followed behind. They went first to the picture gallery, where their guide proudly pointed out the fine portraits of the hotel owner’s family, as well as a landscape by Turner and a painting of children and dogs by the Dutch master Jan Steen.
Next they visited the hotel’s French restaurant, where Pandora was shocked and delighted to observe that mixed dining was allowed in the main room, instead of relegating ladies to small private rooms. The maître d’hôtel assured Pandora that men and women dining together in fine hotel restaurants was already the done thing in Paris. In a manner of highest confidentiality, he discreetly pointed out a table occupied by an Indian prince and his wife, and another where a renowned American financier dined with his wife and daughters.
The tour continued along a wide gallery surrounding an indoor garden with a soaring roof of iron and glass. As the maître d’hôtel expounded on the amenities of the hotel . . . a water supply drawn from its own artesian well . . . sea-breeze gardens where afternoon tea was served daily . . . a full ballroom paneled with red Verona marble and lit with Louis XIV crystal chandeliers . . . Gabriel’s patience rapidly wore thin.
“Thank you for the tour,” Gabriel finally interrupted as they neared the grand staircase with its balustrade of wrought bronze imported from Brussels, decorated with scenes of the twelve feats of Hercules. There was no doubt the maître d’hôtel would describe each feat in excruciating detail. “We are much obliged. However, I’m afraid Lady St. Vincent and I have already taken up too much of your time. We’ll retire to our suite now.”
“But my lord . . . I have not yet related the story of Hercules defeating the Lernean Hydra,” the maître d’hôtel said, gesturing to a scene on the balustrade. At Gabriel’s glance of refusal, he persisted hopefully, “Hercules and the Horses of Diodemes . . . ?”
Ignoring Pandora’s longing glance at the staircase, Gabriel thanked the man once more and tugged her up the steps with him.
“But he was about to tell us a dozen stories,” Pandora protested in a whisper.
“I know.” Gabriel didn’t stop until they had reached their private suite, where their valet and lady’s maid had just finished unpacking their luggage. Although Ida was ready to help Pandora change from her traveling clothes, Gabriel decided to dismiss her. “I’ll take care of Lady St. Vincent. You and Oakes won’t be needed for a while.”
Although the statement was hardly salacious, either in content or delivery, the fair-haired, round-faced lady’s maid blushed a deep shade of pink and bobbed a curtsey. She paused only for a brief, tersely muttered exchange with Pandora before departing the suite with the valet.
“What did she say to you just now?” Gabriel asked Pandora, following as she investigated the suite, which including sitting rooms, service rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, and a private veranda with a view of the ocean.
“She told me to drape my dress across a chair rather than throw it on the floor. Also she complained because I set my hat on a chair and soon someone’s going to sit on it.”
Gabriel frowned. “Her manner with you is too familiar. I’ve half a mind to dismiss her.”
“Ida is the Genghis Khan of lady’s maids,” Pandora conceded, “but she’s very good at reminding me about things I tend to forget, and finding things I’ve lost.” Her voice echoed slightly as she went into the marble-tiled bathroom. “Also, she told me I was a donkey-headed halfwit if I didn’t marry you.”
“We’ll keep her,” he said decisively. Entering the bathroom, he found Pandora bending over the large porcelain bathtub, fiddling with two sets of spigots and faucets, one silver-plated, the other polished brass.
“Why are there so many of these fixtures?” she asked.
“One set is for freshwater bathing, the other for seawater.”
“Truly? I could take a seawater bath right here?”
“Indeed.” Gabriel grinned at her expression. “Are we a bit less surly about our honeymoon now?”
Pandora gave him a sheepish smile. “Perhaps a little,” she admitted. In the next moment she threw herself at him impulsively, her arms circled around his neck.
Feeling the fine tremors that ran continuously through her slender body, Gabriel held her more firmly, his amusement fading. “Why are you trembling, love?”
Pandora kept her face against his chest. “I’m dreading tonight.”
Of course. She was a bride on her wedding night, facing the prospect of climbing into bed with a man she scarcely knew, with the certainty that there would be pain and embarrassment. A wave of tenderness came over him, but at the same time, disappointment settled like a stack of bricks on his chest. There would likely be no consummation tonight. He would have to be patient. He would resign himself to whatever preliminaries she would allow, and then perhaps in a day or two, she might be willing to—
“I’d rather do it right now,” she said, “so I can stop worrying.”
The statement derailed Gabriel so completely that he couldn’t speak.
“I’m as nervous as a Christmas Eve goose,” Pandora continued. “I won’t be able to eat dinner, or read, or do anything until it’s over with. Even if it turns out to be pure agony, I’d prefer that to waiting.”
His heart leapt in relief and desire, and he let out a controlled breath. “Darling love, it won’t be agony. I promise you’ll enjoy it.” He paused before adding wryly, “Most of it.” Ducking his head, he found a soft place on her throat with his lips, and felt the tight ripple of her swallow. “You liked our midnight rendezvous, didn’t you?” he asked softly. Another swallow, and she nodded. He could feel the effort she was making to relax, to trust him.
He sought her lips, urging them to part with the lightest touches of his tongue. Her response was soft at first, the innocently carnal mouth following his teasing caresses. She relaxed and leaned against him, and he could feel her attention centering on him, all her vitality pouring into him. The hairs at the back of his neck bristled in excitement, while heat danced and rioted in every part of his body. With difficulty, he ended the kiss, cradling her face in his hands, watching her long inky lashes sweep upward to reveal drowsy blue-black eyes.
“Why don’t I send for some champagne?” he suggested. “It will help you to relax.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “And then I want to give you a present.”
Pandora’s dark winged brows drew together. “A literal present?”
Gabriel responded with a puzzled smile. “Yes. How could it be otherwise?”
“I thought ‘give you a present’ might be a metaphor.” Her gaze flicked in the direction of the bedroom. “For that.”
He began to laugh. “I wouldn’t presume to flatter myself quit
e so extravagantly. You’ll have to inform me later if my lovemaking is a gift or not.” Still chuckling, he bent to press his lips to hers.
He adored her. There was no one like her, and she belonged to him completely . . . although he knew better than to say that out loud.
Any of the awkwardness Pandora might have felt while being undressed by a man was eclipsed by Gabriel’s continuing amusement. He kept breaking out into chuckles until she demanded, “Are you still laughing over your metaphor?”
That set him off again. “It wasn’t a metaphor.”
Although Pandora wanted to point out that most brides would not appreciate their husbands laughing like hyenas while removing their clothing, she was fairly certain that anything she said would only prolong his amusement. She waited until her corset was unhooked, leaving her only in her chemise and drawers, and then she dashed to the bed and plunged beneath the covers. “Gabriel?” she asked, pulling the bedclothes up to her neck. “Instead of champagne . . . may I have a glass of port? Or is that only for gentlemen?”
Her husband came to the bedside and bent to kiss her. “If you like port, my love, that’s what you shall have.”
While he left to ring for a servant, Pandora removed her undergarments beneath the covers. She dropped them over the edge of the mattress and propped an extra pillow behind her.
In a few minutes, Gabriel returned and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking one of her hands, he placed a rectangular leather case on her palm.
“Jewelry?” Pandora asked, suddenly feeling shy. “There was no need for that.”
“It’s customary for the groom to give the bride a gift on the wedding day.”
After unlatching the tiny gold clasp, Pandora opened the case and beheld a double-stranded pearl necklace on a bed of red velvet. Her eyes widened, and she lifted one of the strands, gently rolling the lustrous ivory pearls between her fingers. “I never imagined having something so fine. Thank you.”
“Do they please you, sweet?”
“Oh, so very much—” Pandora began, and stopped as she saw the gold clasp, glittering with diamonds. It was fashioned with two interlocking parts of swirling, deeply cut leaves. “Acanthus scrolls,” she said with a crooked grin. “Like the ones in the settee at the Chaworth ball.”
“I have a fondness for those acanthus scrolls.” His gaze caressed her as she put on the necklace. The double strands were so long that there was no need to unfasten the clasp. “They kept you in place just long enough for me to catch you.”
Pandora grinned, enjoying the cool, sensuous weight of the pearls as they slid against her neck and chest. “I think you were the one who was caught, my lord.”
Gabriel reached out to touch the curve of her bare shoulder with his fingertips, and followed the pearl strands over her breast. “Your captive for life, my lady.”
Pandora leaned forward to kiss him. His mouth was warm and firm, shaping hers deliciously. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, and she was conscious of nothing in the world except the tantalizing stroke of his mouth, and the silky touches of his tongue. She was lightheaded from the penetrating sweetness of his kiss, her lungs dilating as if she were inhaling hot mist. She didn’t realize the sheets and blankets had fallen to her waist until she felt his hand at her breast. His thumb lightly rolled a strand of pearls across the sensitive peak, back and forth. A quiver ran through her, and the pounding of her heart strengthened until she could feel it in her cheeks, throat, breasts, and wrists.
He kissed her slowly, his tongue sinking deeper, deeper, until she moaned at the pleasure of it. She tried to squirm free of the covers, forgetting everything but the need to be closer to him. In the next moment he had her stretched out on the mattress, his fully clothed body covering her naked one. The masculine weight of him was satisfying and exciting, his aroused flesh jutting against her stomach and between her thighs. As she writhed upward into the stimulating pressure, she felt as if butterflies were dancing and fluttering inside.
Gabriel breathed as if he were in torment, claiming her mouth with long, fevered kisses, murmuring darkly as his hands roamed over her. “Your body is so exquisite . . . so strong and soft . . . the way it curves here . . . and here . . . God, I want you so much . . . I need more hands to feel you with.”
If she’d had the breath, she would have told him that he was quite dangerous enough with two.
Wanting to feel his skin, she tugged at his clothes. He moved to help her, although the process was complicated by his reluctance to stop kissing her for more than a few seconds at a time. One garment after another was flung over the side of the bed, until his naked body was revealed, flushed and golden, his torso smooth except for his hair-roughened chest and groin.
After risking a glance at the startling sight of his erection, Pandora’s stomach clenched with nerves, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. Once, on one of their rambles around the estate, she and Cassandra had glimpsed a pair of small boys splashing in a shallow creek, while their mother, a tenant farmer’s wife, watched over them. The boys had been naked and hairless, and their private parts had been so innocently small as to be hardly noticeable.
This, however, would have been noticeable at a hundred yards.
Gabriel’s hand came to her jaw and nudged her to meet his gaze. “Don’t be afraid,” he said thickly.
“I’m not,” she said quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly. “I was only surprised because . . . well . . . it’s not like a little boy’s.”
Gabriel blinked, and amusement deepened the creases at the outer corners of his eyes. “It is not,” he agreed. “Thank God.”
Taking a deep breath, Pandora tried to think past the attack of nerves. He was her husband, and a beautifully made man, and she was determined that every part of him would be dear to her. Even this rather intimidating part. No doubt his former mistress would have known exactly what to do with it. The thought awakened Pandora’s competitive instincts. Now that she’d asked him to discard his mistress, she could hardly prove herself a poor replacement.
Taking the initiative, she pushed at his shoulder, trying to urge him onto his back. He didn’t budge, only gave her a quizzical glance.
“I want to look at you,” she said, pushing again.
This time he rolled easily, lying down with one muscular arm curled behind his neck. He looked like a lion sunning itself. Propping herself up on an elbow, Pandora set a tentative hand on his midriff, the flesh lean and tightly knit with muscle. She leaned over him to nuzzle the coarsely silky fleece on his chest. His breathing changed as she used the tip of her tongue on a flat male nipple, raising a tiny, diamond-hard point. When he offered no objections, she continued to explore him, trailing the backs of her knuckles to the sleek line of his hip, and down toward his groin, where the sun-colored skin became silkier and warmer. As she reached the verge of softly springy curls, she hesitated and glanced up at his face. The trace of a smile had vanished. His color had heightened, and his lips had parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.
For such an articulate man, Pandora thought wryly, her husband had certainly chosen the wrong time to keep his mouth shut. A few instructions, a suggestion here or there, would not have gone amiss. But Gabriel only stared down at her hand as if spellbound, and breathed like a broken steam boiler. He seemed positively helpless with anticipation.
Some mischievous corner of Pandora’s heart relished the discovery that this large, virile creature wanted her touch so badly. She scratched her fingertips lightly through the coarse, silky hair, and the heavy shaft twitched against the taut surface of his stomach. A faint groan came from over her head, while the powerful muscles of his thighs contracted visibly. Feeling braver, she scooted down on the bed and delicately grasped the rigid length of him. It was as hot as a fire-iron, and very nearly as hard. The skin was satiny and fever-colored, and judging from the way he shivered, intensely sensitive. Fascinated, she dared to fondle up and down the shaft, and molded her fingers over the tight-mounded
weights below.
His breathing roughened. The scent of him here was clean like white soap, but tempered with a hint of salty pungency. Pandora drew closer, drawing in more of the beguiling scent. On impulse, she pursed her lips and blew a long, cool stream of air all along the length of him.
Gabriel reached down to her head with an incoherent sound. Leaning closer, she touched him with her tongue, and licked upward as if it were a stick of sugar-candy. The texture of him was silken and plush, like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Catching her beneath her arms, Gabriel pulled her upward until she straddled his hips, with his hard-swollen erection pressed between them. “You drive me mad,” he muttered before crushing his lips against hers. He cupped the back of her head in one hand, carelessly dislodging a few hairpins from the upswept curls, while the other hand slid over her naked bottom.
As Pandora squirmed over him, he guided her floundering movements into a lazy rhythm, his hardness spreading the folds of her sex with silky friction. The crisp fur on his chest teased the tips of her breasts and sent darts of fire down to the quick of her body. The strokes against her sex became even smoother and silkier, a strange and lascivious feeling, glides of heat and moisture . . .
Her head jerked up, and she froze, her face turning scarlet.
“I . . . it’s wet . . .” she whispered, mortified.
“Yes.” Gabriel’s eyes were heavy-lidded, lashes shadowing drowsy depths of starlight blue. Before she could say another word, he had pulled her high enough to fasten his mouth to her breast. She moaned as he resumed the rhythm beneath her, making her ride the slick, searing hardness, his hands kneading her bottom. He was slow and relentless, teasing until she was brimming with sensation, desperate for the tension to spill into relief.
Rolling carefully, Gabriel pressed her onto her back and began to browse over her body with hot, feathery kisses. His hands wandered over her skillfully, causing downy hairs to prickle and lift everywhere. His fingertips traced sinuous patterns inside her leg, venturing higher and higher, finally reaching the smoldering softness between her thighs. How gently he touched her. She felt the subtle, centering pressure of a fingertip, and stiffened as it slid forward. The intrusion burned as her inner muscles tightened to keep him out. He murmured against her stomach, and although she couldn’t make out the words, the low resonance of his voice soothed her.