CELEBRATE THEY did, dancing the new dances and supping on scrumptious delicacies until the wee hours when the ball finally wound down. The locals headed for home, and guests who’d traveled a distance were each shown to one of Cainewood Castle’s hundred chambers. Mary fell asleep on the way up the stairs, and they took her to the nursery and tucked her into one of the small beds that flanked baby Jewel’s cradle.
“She looks like a princess,” Cameron whispered.
Clarice went on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you so much for including her in the handfasting. It meant so much to her.” She hesitated a moment, still shy with this man—her new husband. “To both of us.”
“To all three of us,” he corrected her, bending to kiss Mary’s little forehead.
Apprehensive of what would come next, Clarice wished it weren’t so short a distance to the Gold Chamber. Once more she was awed by the magnificent room, though Cam didn’t give her much time to admire it, or to fret over the ominous sight of the grand, brocade-hung bed. The door had barely shut behind them when he set down his candle and turned to drag her into his arms.
His lips on hers felt stunningly soft and tender as ever, but there was a new intensity underneath, a heat that warmed her to very toes. He kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, until she was breathless and tingling and floating somewhere up near heaven.
“I’ll make you forget them,” he promised when he finally pulled away. “The men who mistreated you.”
“I’ve forgotten them already,” she whispered dazedly.
“That’s not yet true,” he said, “but I’ll make it true. You shall feel so safe”—he took her face in his hands—“and so adored”—he placed a slow, sweet kiss on her forehead—“that all the past will simply fade away like a bad dream.”
When his mouth resettled on hers, she pressed against him with a sudden surge of wanting. Her hands found their way beneath his surcoat, roaming over his back, his chest, his hips, wherever they could reach. Slowly he backed her up, until Clarice felt her legs against the bed—distantly, for all she could attend to was her overpowering need to be close to him, closer. She slipped the surcoat down his shoulders.
“Clarice…” he groaned, stilling her hands. He raised them to his lips and kissed each of her palms. “I meant it when I said you are enough, aye? You don’t have to do this.”
She looked to the bed, with its brocade counterpane turned down invitingly, and back to Cam, with his breath coming quick and his eyes full of veiled hope.
And all her anxiety came flooding back.
She could refuse, she knew, without fear of punishment. Cameron would never hurt her physically—not on purpose, anyway. But it was his wedding night, and he had already given her so much. Surely she could give him this one small thing?
Despite her resolve, she couldn’t hide her trembling as she lowered herself to the bed and stretched out on the sheets. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she drew a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s all right,” she forced between gritted teeth. “You can do it now.”
She waited a few heartbeats, and when he didn’t touch her, she opened her eyes. Cameron stood in the same spot, his surcoat still halfway down his shoulders, his face an inscrutable mask.
She swallowed hard and frowned at him. “Do you not want to do it?”
“You bet I do.” His eyes seemed to glitter. “But not like this. Not until you’re ready.”
She bit her lip. “I’m ready now. Just…just do it.”
“Nay.” Shaking his head, he finished removing the surcoat and draped it over an elaborately gilded oak chest sitting at the foot of the bed. “We’ll both know when you’re ready. You needn’t announce it. Especially when it’s not true.”
“Please, Cameron, I’m ready,” she insisted, wanting nothing more than to have this part out of the way. This part wasn’t a fairytale, and she wanted to get back to the fairytale part of her exciting new life.
Tomorrow she and Mary would pack up their things and say good-bye to Gisela and Anne and all their other friends and neighbors. Then Sunday they’d be on their way to live in a castle…
“You’re not ready,” Cameron disagreed with staid calmness. His gaze was steady, his voice gentle and husky. “When you look up at me and speak my name with love, not resignation, and when your body trembles all over from longing, not fear…then you will be ready. And we’ll not be doing it until I know you want it just as much as I do.”
“Oh, Cam.” Her heart ached at the thought of disappointing him. “I thought I’d explained this to you—I thought you understood. I’ll never want it as much as you do. I’ll never want it at all.”
“Then we won’t do it,” he said simply.
Her jaw went slack, and a moment passed before her tongue could form any words. “You—you cannot mean that,” she finally stammered.
“I don’t lie, Clarice.”
“But never…” It was incomprehensible. “Do you mean to say that if I don’t want it, you will never do it at all?”
“Aye.”
She struggled up on her elbows to better see into his eyes. He truly looked sincere. And he’d never given her cause to distrust him. She felt a flood of relief, mixed with wonder and a rush of deep affection. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off one of his shoes. “I don’t think it will come down to never, though,” he said conversationally. “I reckon that not too long from now you’ll be ready.”
“Maybe,” she said doubtfully, not wanting to argue. “In a few years.”
“Or perhaps a few days.” His second shoe hit the floor, and he shifted on the bed to look at her as his long fingers went to work on his cravat. “Or hours.”
Her elbows slid out from under her, and she lay flat, staring up at him. His eyes darkened. Thinking of the way he talked—when your body trembles all over from longing—made the heat rush to her cheeks and her mouth go dry.
She licked her lips. No man had ever talked to her like that. In fact, her first husband had never talked in bed at all—he’d either yelled or taken his pleasure in stony silence.
Cam leaned across her to place the cravat, neatly folded, on the oak chest. When he dipped his head to brush a kiss over her lips, a little whimper rose from her throat. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was a sign of fear or longing.
“Hush,” he soothed, and sat up. In a businesslike way, he slipped his hands behind her neck and unclasped the pearls. They glistened in the candlelight as he slowly laid them on the chest with a series of soft clicks. “Do you like your wedding present?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
He was already removing her shoes. “Your wedding present. The pearls.”
She gasped, and it wasn’t only because his hands were moving up her stockinged legs. “But…when? How? I thought they were borrowed. It’s too much—”
“Don’t be silly, Clarice,” he said, plucking off a garter. “Lady Leslie should own a nice set of pearls.” The second garter joined the first on the floor. “Did you know your new cousin Amy is a jeweler?”
“Amy? Oh, you mean Lady Greystone? Yes. She gave Mary a locket for Christmas.”
“Well, she asked a mere pittance for those pearls. Having a jeweler in the family proves to be mighty convenient.”
The thought of lords and ladies as family made her head spin. Or maybe it was his fingers slowly rolling her stockings down and off, making her toes curl and her skin tingle.
Will had never touched her with his hands, only with his fists.
Leaning on his forearms, Cam moved over her with a gentle smile. “I promise I won’t do anything you don’t like.”
He smelled like soap, and he felt warm, and because she believed him, his weight on her was more comforting than frightening. “Anything?”
“Anything. For now, I’ll just kiss you.” He cradled her cheek with a hand and skimmed his thumb over her lips. “You like kissing, aye?”
“Aye,” she breathed. “I mean, yes. Kiss me. Please.”
When his mouth met hers, she let herself slide into the sensation, feeling perfectly safe and content. She trusted him, and he’d said he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t like.
She definitely liked kissing him.
She still wondered that a man’s mouth could be so soft. And when it turned firmer, more insistent, she liked that, too. He tasted spicy and sweet, like the wine that had flowed freely at the ball. When at last he lifted his head, she looked into deep, hazel-blue eyes filled with love, and knew their expression mirrored her own.
“Cam,” she whispered on a tender sigh, and pulled his head back down.
His lips trailed down to press a soft, shivery kiss in the hollow of her throat. “Do you like this, love?”
“Mmm, yes.” It was a wonder that a kiss, not even on the mouth, could feel so good. She began to tremble.
He was making her tremble all over.
Lud, it was just like he’d said it would be…
This, Clarice thought later, was more than a fairytale come true. Making love. It was the perfect—the only—way to describe it. In Cam’s arms, her old world had melted away, replaced by a new and wondrous existence brimming with shining promise.
Across the room, the last candle sputtered and died. Pressed together in the darkness, as close as two people could be, their hearts beat a matching rhythm. She reached for his face and took it between her hands. His cheeks were slightly rough beneath her fingers, just enough to remind her that, incredible though it seemed, this breathtaking man was real, and he was hers.
And it was glorious.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you for who you are, and who you’ve magically made me to be.”
“It isn’t magic, love. Or if it is,” he mused, his words warm against her lips, “it’s simply the magic of the two of us together.” He fit his mouth to hers in a long, languorous demonstration.
“Together,” she whispered back when they finally settled down to sleep. Never had she imagined that word would apply to her and a man. But from this moment forward, it did.
For a year and a day and forevermore.