How to Woo... A Reluctant Bride Page 4

  When the vicar pronounced them man and wife, Evan pulled Lydia to him and pressed his lips to hers. “Mine,” he whispered.

  *

  Lydia Channing, still in her wedding gown, sat next to her new husband in his carriage as they rode to her new home in Camden Town. Evan had whisked her away from the wedding breakfast at the earliest possible opportunity, not even giving her time to change into a traveling gown. Despite her nerves, she’d managed to eat a few bites before bidding farewell to her family. Now it was just the two of them, Evan’s mother having left for Brighton after the wedding.

  “I imagine your mother will be happy to return to the seaside,” she said to break the silence.

  Her new husband turned to smile at her. He seemed more relaxed now they were alone. “No doubt. Mother especially dislikes the heat and smells of London in the summer.”

  Lydia wrinkled her nose. “One can hardly blame her. It can be quite odiferous.” My, how polite we are, like two strangers.

  He chuckled. “That’s why I asked your brother for the use of his hunting box for a few weeks. I know you are used to spending summers in the country. We can leave tomorrow.”

  “It is the very least Harry could do,” she pointed out. “If not for our marriage, he would still be in debt.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “True, but now I am in his debt.” He turned to her, a gleam in his brown eyes. “I have you all to myself for a few weeks. And I can hardly wait to strip those tight clothes off of you and taste every inch of your body. That’s what a honeymoon is for.”

  “Evan!” His words made her heart race and a flush of heat spread through her body.

  He laughed and reached out to close the shades on the coach windows.

  “Evan?”

  He turned to her and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I can’t wait another minute to kiss you.”

  Her eyes drifted closed as he dropped soft kisses on her cheek, her jaw, and finally her lips. When she sighed, he deepened the kiss, sucking a little on her lower lip. Her hands clutched at his lapels as she reveled in the taste and feel of him.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her closer as his lips and tongue continued to explore her mouth, his tongue tasting and teasing hers. Warmth and languor swept over her and she melted into his embrace.

  When she finally pulled away, gasping for breath, he laughed and tugged at his collar. “Are you as warm as I am?”

  She opened her fan to cool herself. “Yes, very.” Though the weather was only part of it.

  He opened the window shades to allow a little air to circulate. “It will be cooler when we get home. You can change into something less restricting. The sari, perhaps?”

  “We shall see,” she said, wondering if she could summon the nerve to wear the exotic garment for him. He seemed fixated on it and she had to admit it had had a decided effect on a certain part of his anatomy. Alternate waves of heat and cold shivers passed through her at the prospect of their wedding night. She just hoped she didn’t disappoint him. She had no idea how to go on, but hoped more kissing was involved. Lots of kissing, she thought dreamily.

  She turned to gaze out the carriage window at the houses they were passing. Regent’s Park was nearby, Evan had said. She was moving to a much nicer neighborhood than she’d feared when he’d first proposed.

  Just then the carriage stopped in front of a terraced Georgian-style mansion. Her new home. She stared at the white three-story edifice as reality sank in. She was married to a stranger and about to move into a strange house.

  “Ah, here we are now. You’ll find the interior a bit shabby,” he said apologetically. “It hasn’t been redecorated in years. You’ll have free rein to refurbish the rooms.”

  “Is there a style you like? Or a particular color scheme, perhaps?” She realized how little she knew about him, his preferences. “Perhaps I should consult my mother.”

  Evan shrugged. “As you wish. But you’re my wife. That makes you mistress of the house. My mother will not interfere, and neither should yours.” His tone was firm, giving her a glimpse of him as businessman. She doubted his employees questioned his orders very often.

  “Very well,” Lydia agreed.

  He climbed out of the carriage then lifted her down. It wasn’t necessary, but it was romantic. His gaze held hers and she caught her breath at the intensity in his dark eyes. His gaze held a promise of untold pleasures to come, and she remembered the possessive way he’d claimed her lips after the ceremony and the one word he’d whispered. Mine.

  Next thing she knew, he’d scooped her up and turned toward the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her across the threshold while an aging butler nodded approvingly.

  He set her down in the entrance hall, and she took a quick glance around her. The floor was marble, but the walls were badly in need of paint.

  “My dear, this is Ogden, our butler.”

  Ogden bowed, letting her see the bald spot on the top of his head. “Madam.”

  “Mrs. Channing’s maid will arrive soon with her luggage,” Evan informed him.

  “Very good, sir. Will you want tea this afternoon?”

  “Yes, please,” Lydia whispered. The familiar afternoon ritual might make all of this seem more real. She felt curiously detached as if she were watching an actress in a play. As if this were someone else’s life, not her own.

  “Very well. We’ll take tea in the parlor.” Evan held out his arm. “Come, my dear, I have something special to show you.”

  Lydia placed her hand in his elbow and let him lead her into a formal parlor. She glanced around the room, which was decorated in a style at least twenty years out of date. There, in a corner, stood a baby grand piano with one red rose lying across the gleaming white and black keys.

  She rushed to the magnificent instrument and ran her hands over the smooth wood, then turned to face her husband. “Oh, Evan, it’s marvelous. But your mother said—”

  “I thought you would prefer this to our old spinet.”

  Tears of joy and guilt and trepidation welled in her eyes and suddenly she could control herself no more. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

  Evan rushed to her side, pulled her hands away and cupped her face in his. “What’s wrong, darling? I thought this would please you.”

  She tried to speak, but all that came out was a loud, hiccupping sob. Instead, she threw herself against his chest, her arms around his waist, and let the storm rage. His arms closed around her as he murmured comforting noises in her ear. She cried for the loss of her hopes and dreams, but also for the man she’d often misjudged in her mind. He must care for her, at least a little.

  When her tears ceased, she drew back to study him through bleary eyes. “I must look a fright.”

  He pulled a large white linen handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to dry her eyes and cheeks. “What upset you, Lydia? I was quite alarmed—”

  “Forgive me, Evan. Today has been overwhelming, and your gift was so generous, so kind, so thoughtful. No one has ever given me anything like this before.”

  His face relaxed into a smile. “Then you do like it. I was worried—”

  “I love it.” When she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, he pulled her back into his arms and turned his head. His warm lips covered hers in a tender kiss, and she responded eagerly.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat startled them apart. Lydia turned to see Ogden carrying the silver tea tray to a table. “Will you pour, madam?”

  “Yes, thank you, Ogden.”

  Ogden set the tray on a table. “Will there be anything more, sir, madam?”

  “No, thank you. We’ll ring if we need you,” Evan said firmly.

  After the butler left the room, she looked at her new bridegroom, saw the grin on his face, and dissolved into laughter.

  “What must he think of us?” she asked, sitting on a settee before the tea tray. Beside the gleaming silver service sat delic
ate china cups and saucers along with plates of finger sandwiches and scones, and she realized how hungry she was.

  Evan joined her. “I imagine he thinks I’m the luckiest man in London.”

  She stared into his eyes, realized he was not jesting, and vowed to be the best wife she could be.

  *

  “Are you sure about this, Mrs. Channing?” Iverson asked, doubt in her tone.

  Lydia lifted the red sari from her trunk and laid it on the bed. “Quite sure. Mr. Channing said he wanted to see me in it again. But first I have to remember how it goes on.”

  Iverson picked up the long-sleeved cotton gown Lydia’s mother had ordered for her trousseau. “But Mrs. Blatchford chose this especially for your wedding night.”

  Lydia eyed the modest high-necked gown with the row of tiny buttons and shook her head. “Never mind what Mother said. What is important now is my new husband’s wishes.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  Lydia had not quite gotten used to being called madam rather than miss, but she was now a married woman. Not Miss Blatchford, but Mrs. Channing. “Help me with this corset, please.”

  She took a deep breath when the corset came off. Quickly she donned the sari blouse and hooked it. Then she picked up the long piece of remaining material. “Let’s see if I can remember how to do this.”

  *

  After dinner Evan wandered around his bedroom, clad in his new blue and white striped pajamas, wondering how much longer he should wait before going to his new bride. He’d never felt so unsure yet so filled with anticipation. He pictured her in the red sari Zahra had given her, the cloth draped seductively around her curves. His cock was already partially hard just thinking about what was to come.

  At the same time he was more nervous than he’d ever been in his life. It wasn’t as if it were his first time, but every woman he’d been with had been a prostitute, so he was never sure if their cries of pleasure were real or feigned. After all, they were paid to please their clients. But Lydia was a highborn lady, and a virgin. He just hoped he could make this pleasant enough for her she’d let him visit her room again. And again…

  He glanced at his copy of the Kama Sutra. The book recommended waiting ten days before consummating the marriage. Bloody hell. He could no more wait ten more days to make her his wife than he could fly to the moon. He wanted her. Now. Badly.

  Taking a deep breath, he walked to the door between their rooms and knocked. He let out his breath when she bade him enter. He found her perched on the edge of the bed in the red sari, but looking pale and apprehensive.

  He sat on the side of the bed and took her hands in his. “You wore the red sari. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  She gave him a sheepish look. “I almost didn’t. At first, I couldn’t figure out how to put it on again, but I finally figured it out. I think.”

  “Stand up and let me see.”

  She rose and turned in a circle, all the while clutching the waist with one hand. “I don’t know how well it will stay on.”

  “No matter,” he said, kissing one hand. “I am looking forward to removing it.”

  “Evan,” she exclaimed.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What did your mother tell you to expect on your wedding night?”

  Lydia flushed and glanced away. “Very little actually. She said to lie back and let you take charge.”

  He sighed and reached out to touch her face and turn it to him. “I’d really prefer it if you participated in what we’re about to do. It is much more pleasurable that way. Like it was when you kissed me back, like you did at Zahra’s. And in the carriage.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “If that’s what you want.”

  “What I want is you naked and writhing in my arms.”

  She gasped at his blunt talk, but made no objection when he removed the draped material from her shoulder and fumbled with the row of tiny hooks at the front of her choli. “Could they make these any smaller?”

  She giggled. “Let me do it.”

  He stood back and watched as she unhooked her choli, giving him a glimpse of her rose-tipped breasts. His cock lengthened at the sight and he stifled an impulse to rip the sari from her. Slow down, man.

  He moved closer and cupped her head in his hands, touched his lips to hers, lightly at first then with more pressure. When she kissed him back, he angled his head and opened his mouth, tracing her lips with his tongue, and then sucking on her lower lip. Her mouth yielded to pressure and he slipped his tongue inside.

  When he drew back, he saw her lips were swollen, her face flushed and her eyes half-closed. Her hair had been plaited in a long braid down her back. He pulled it over her shoulder, found the end and untied the ribbon. “I like your hair loose.”

  “But it’s so unmanageable. Straight and fine.”

  “Soft and silky,” he corrected, sifting his hands through the strands, separating her braid until her hair fanned around her shoulders. “Much better.” He nibbled on her jaw, traced her ear with his tongue and kissed his way down her neck where a pulse pounded in time to her breathing. He kissed her again as he caressed the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, pushing her choli down around her arms, baring her breasts to his view. He cupped them in his hands and used his thumbs to rub the rosy nipples into hard peaks. She gasped and her skin flushed even more. “Do you like this?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He chuckled and ran his hands down to her waist to remove her sari and petticoats. The material fell to the floor, leaving her naked before him. His gaze took in her rounded breasts, small waist, her soft abdomen and the blonde thatch covering her mound. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  She gazed back at him, her wide blue eyes seeming slightly glazed. “No one has ever called me beautiful before.”

  “Then they are all fools,” he said, gathering her close for another deep kiss. She smelled of roses and lavender and tasted as sweet as a ripe strawberry.

  He lifted her onto the bed and stretched out beside her, running a hand down her smooth skin to the tip of one breast. When she let out a little mewl, he replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing her white flesh then sucking on her nipple. She made incoherent noises he took for pleasure. His own need was spiraling almost out of control.

  Sitting up, he unbuttoned his pajama top, stripped it off and tossed it on the floor. “Would you like to touch me, Lydia?”

  She reached out to touch his face, running her hand along his jaw. “You shaved again.”

  “I didn’t want to cause you any discomfort.”

  “That was thoughtful.” She leaned closer to kiss him and her breast brushed against his arm. He bit back a groan, praying he could wait long enough to make this good for her. His cock was heavy with need and demanding release. Think of something else.

  While she ran her fingers over his shoulders and arms, he set his jaw and concentrated on the work he’d delegated during his absence, going over each account to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. The pressure in his groin eased, just enough.

  When she moved her hands to his chest and grazed his nipples, a shudder passed through him.

  “Ah, so you like that, too.” She moved closer to kiss his chest, her silky hair brushing his body. Her mouth closed over one nipple as her hands caressed his waist. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. Who’d have known his virginal bride would be so quick to learn?

  He pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest, and kissed her, urging her mouth open with his tongue. She kissed back, her tongue dueling with his.

  When they were both breathless, he pulled back, fighting for control. Her lips were redder and a flush warmed her face and neck. Her body was so beautiful to him, soft and round and womanly, her skin white except where flushed with desire. Her breathing was rapid, her nipples hardened into pebbles.

  He lavished attention on her breasts and then kissed her stomach, swirling his tongue around her belly button while his hands caressed
her inner thighs. When his mouth moved toward her mound, she cried out.

  “Evan!”

  He chuckled, the sound rumbling against her skin. “Yes, Lydia?”

  “What are you doing?”

  He lifted his head to smile at her. “Just lie back and enjoy.”

  *

  Lydia fisted her hands in the sheets, fighting the urge to cover her breasts and private parts. He’s your husband. He’s allowed to look. “Don’t you want to turn down the lights?”

  He seemed surprised at her suggestion. “Why? I enjoy looking at you. I want to see every expression on your face when I make love to you.”

  “Oh.” She was a little taken aback, but then it dawned on her she could look at him, too. He was better built than she’d realized, tall and lean, more wiry than slender. His bare chest was lightly muscled with dark hair between his nipples and trailing down to his slim waist. She dared to lower her gaze and saw his man-root straining against his pajama pants. There was no doubt he wanted her, arranged marriage or not, and she found that fact comforting.

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  He laughed and moved up the bed to take her in his arms. “Are you so eager, my bride?”

  Not eager, nervous. But she said nothing, just knew this anticipation was driving her slowly mad.

  He pulled one of the pillows from behind her and pressed her down onto the bed, covering her bare legs with his. Bending his head, he covered her mouth with his, sucking on her lips, then delving inside her mouth to stroke her tongue with his. She wrapped her arms around him, caressing the smooth skin of his back.

  “You can scratch, if you want,” he murmured in her ear.

  Her eyes flew open. “Is that what you like?”

  When he shrugged, she ran her fingernails gently over his back. When he sighed in apparent pleasure, she smoothed her hands down his back to his waist, enjoying the feel of smooth skin and hard muscle beneath her fingers.

  Kissing her again, he moved his hands to her breasts, stroking and kneading them, using his thumbs to tease her nipples into hardened nubs. Excitement coursed through her and she squirmed against him, needing something but not sure what. Nothing her mother had said could have prepared her for the way she felt, hot and shivery at the same time, but in a pleasant way.