Midnight Star by Catherine Coulter
She felt his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading the taut muscles. “Better?” he murmured, leaning to lightly kiss her temple. He slowly turned her to face him. “How do your ribs feel?”
“Just a bit sore,” Chauncey said, her voice sounding dry and crackly. Get a hold on yourself, you fool! She laughed, a completely artificial sound that didn’t fool Delaney for an instant. “Monsieur Daneau was quite voluble about my not wearing a corset.”
“Yes,” Delaney said gently, “you told me about it already. You really don’t have anything for a corset to contain. The man’s an idiot.”
“Fashion,” she said, tilting her chin upward. “If it weren’t for you blasted men, I daresay we wouldn’t be so confined, cramped, and otherwise encumbered.”
He smiled at her, understanding her nervousness and wishing he could lessen it somehow. Chauncey, in the short time he had known her, always resorted to argument when she was uncertain of herself. “I agree completely,” he said. “Shall I go fire Monsieur Daneau’s very fancy store?”
She moistened her lips with her tongue until she became aware that Delaney had grown very still, watching her. “My lips are dry,” she said sharply. Was that what coquettes did to attract men?
He cocked a mobile eyebrow. “It’s the champagne,” he said blandly. “It’s dark,” he added, as if to himself.
“Where is Mary?” Chauncey, for the first time in her short life, turned a cold shoulder to the beautiful star-studded sky.
“She, Lucas, and Lin are in the kitchen enjoying themselves. I’ll be your lady’s maid. Come, wife.”
Wife!
She stood as still as a statue. In a single lithe motion, Delaney scooped her into his arms. I feel like I’m carrying a soft board, he thought vaguely, smiling toward the top of the stairs. When he reached his bedroom—their bedroom now—he gently lowered her to the floor, turned, and firmly closed the door.
He watched her a moment, standing stiffly in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself as if in protection.
Delaney made no move toward her. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms across his chest. “Do you know, my dear,” he said after a moment, “I told you that I would never harm you. Do you remember?”
She nodded, her eyes fastened on the swirls of color in the carpet at her feet.
“Did I also tell you that you are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever had?”
Her head whipped up. “I am your only bride!”
“Excellent. I hate to see you acting like a frightened puppy. Now, wife, let me help you with that gown.”
She felt his fingers deftly unfastening the long row of satin-covered buttons down her back, and forced herself to stand still. I am his wife, she repeated over and over to herself. I must behave like a happy bride. He must never suspect . . .
The gown slipped from her shoulders.
“Turn around, love, and hold onto me. I can think of no other way to get you out of this thing without destroying it.”
Soon, her many petticoats tossed carelessly over a chair back, she was standing in her lawn shift, so femininely embroidered with yellow rosebuds, and her lace-trimmed drawers and silk stockings.
“You look utterly adorable,” Delaney said, gently cupping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Underthings and a veil. Yes, utterly adorable. Come sit down at the dressing table, Chauncey, and I’ll free your hair.”
While Delaney unfastened the long veil and gently pulled the many pins from her hair, he set himself to relaxing her and distracting her. “I heard some of the snide little remarks from Penelope. Were you so lucky?”
“Indeed, I would have had to be deaf not to! I think she would have liked to stick the cake knife into my ribs.”
“All’s well that ends well, I say,” he said, picking up her brush and slowly stroking through her thick hair. “I must thank you for rescuing me from that grubby little chit. Although I doubt now that I ever would have wed her. Even before you arrived, love, she was wearing on the nerves.”
Chauncey’s eyes flew to his face in the mirror. Not married her! Had she done all of this for naught? She shook her head, bemused. No, it was better this way. Despite all the husbandly demands she would have to endure, she would be living in his house, reading his business papers, and listening to his plans. And ruining him.
“You have beautiful hair, Chauncey. Perhaps I should initiate a Lady Godiva Day and place you in the starring role.”
He was so damned likable! “It is not long enough,” she said.
“Perhaps in a year or so, then. Now, my dear,” he continued, turning to the armoire, “I have a surprise for you. And not from Monsieur Daneau’s shop.”
She watched him warily as he pulled down a gaily red-ribboned box and handed it to her. “I hope you will enjoy it as much as I will.” He kissed her lightly on her pursed lips and immediately straightened.
Chauncey pulled away the ribbon and lifted the lid. Nestled in layers of tissue paper was a silk nightgown and peignior that resembled nothing she had ever seen, much less worn. It was nothing but sheer nonsense, light yellow trimmed with swansdown. “It’s beautiful,” she managed. “But there’s not much to it.”
“No,” he agreed, “not much. But likely more than too much for me.” He kissed her cheek and turned to walk to the bedroom door. “Do put it on, Chauncey. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Chauncey rose when the door closed behind her husband, the flimsy nightgown clutched in her fists. Mechanically she smoothed out the material, her eyes falling to her wedding ring. It was a magnificent piece of jewelry, a single large diamond surrounded by three rubies held in a delicate gold setting. She stood silently, staring toward the warm embers in the fireplace. Suddenly she whirled about. He would return soon. The last thing she wanted was to be standing in the middle of the room still in her underwear! Quickly she stripped off the remainder of her things and slipped the nightgown over her head. It floated loosely about her body, the silk almost caressingly tender. She stared at herself in the cheval mirror, feeling like some sort of fluffy dessert.
She heard the door open and turned quickly, unaware that the light from the fireplace illuminated every curve of her slender body.
Delaney sucked in his breath. “My God,” he said softly. “You are exquisite.”
“You are too, Del,” she said lightly, forcing herself to remain still as he strode toward her. He was wearing a heavy dark blue velvet dressing gown. She hadn’t realized before how broad his shoulders were. “Except for your feet,” she added, trying to jest.
“Now that we are both shoeless, I’ll see exactly how you fit against me.”
He stood a moment in front of her, then slowly drew her against him. She felt his hand on the back of her head, pressing her face against his shoulder. “A perfect fit,” he said softly against her temple. She felt him trembling and wondered at it. “I’m going to make you very hungry tonight, Chauncey, very hungry. Now, I want you to wrap your arms around my shoulders and stand on your tiptoes.”
She did as he said, suddenly aware of the strength of him. She felt his hands stroke down her back to her hips, and stiffened, a soft uncertain cry breaking from her mouth. “Hush, sweetheart. Relax. That’s better. Can you feel me, Chauncey?”
How utterly odd, she thought vaguely, her lower regions beginning to tingle at the pressure from the hardness of his body. “Feel what?” she asked.
“My desire for you, love.” He cupped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her.
“Oh!” She flung her arms about his neck to steady herself, burying her face against his neck.
Slow down, he chided himself as he drew a deep, steadying breath. All night, you’ve the entire bloody night.
Delaney gently lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her on her back and straightened over her. “Do you know,” he said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, “I’m already quite tired of that bit of fluff you’re wearing.”
&nb
“Oh yes you do, sweetheart, more than you can possibly imagine.” He stepped back and untied the sash from about his waist. He heard her draw in a sharp breath and paused. Would she find his man’s body distasteful, repugnant? His manhood was swollen and hard, thrusting outward. Would she be shocked and frightened of him?
He was going too quickly, he decided, and dropped his hands. He gave her a rakish grin and gathered her into his arms again.
What was he going to do to her? Chauncey wondered frantically. When he eased himself down into a wing chair near to the fireplace, arranging her comfortably on his lap, she breathed a brief sigh of relief.
“You would like to talk?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course. I discovered I’m really not too tired. Tell me, wife, what you were thinking during our wedding this morning.”
Her mind willingly focused on his question, distracting her momentarily from the light touch of his hand on her shoulder.
“I was thinking that Agatha might burst into a mother’s tears at any moment.”
His right hand paused a moment, then continued trailing down her arm. “Ah, Chauncey,” he said in a complaining tone, “did I not tell you that I’m a romantic? Here I was expecting you to confide that it was the happiest moment in your life.”
His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were gazing at the outline of her breasts, at the smooth nipples. He realized that he wanted to caress her through the flimsy silk until her nipples were taut. Without his mind’s permission, his fingers lightly touched her breast, sliding over the smooth roundness to cup it in his hand.
She was very still, holding her breath. She wanted to yell at him to stop, but of course she could not. He was her husband; her body was his, legally. And she was his, willingly, to his mind. She felt him squeeze her breast very gently and jumped. “Contraception!” she burst out.
Delaney’s hand quieted and he cocked his head sideways to better see her face. “I do not believe you are endangered by my hand,” he said in a teasing voice.
“But men and women never do this . . . sort of thing unless they’re married.”
Ah, such innocence, he thought. In truth, he had forgotten to speak to Marie about preventing conception. Indeed, he had spent an entire evening with her, trying to explain about Chauncey. He had been a trifle amused at her smug assumption that he would be returning to her soon enough.
“My dear, trust me for this evening. It takes time to make a baby, so I’m told. No need tonight to resort to artificial methods.”
Trust him? That was impossible. She shook her head, a frown marring her forehead with the realization that when she was not thinking directly about her reasons for marrying him, she automatically did trust him. She felt his hand caressing her breast again, circling closer to her nipple. She drew in her breath, utterly chagrined when she looked down to see that part of her body rising pertly even before he touched her.
“You’re seducing me,” she said in an accusing voice, willing her body to show no enthusiasm for him.
“I decided,” Delaney said, “that if I did not, I might well spend the next twenty years as a virgin.” His fingers touched her now taut nipple and he smiled. “Perhaps I was wrong. You are quite responsive, my dear.”
“I don’t mean to be! Truly I . . . You are wretched, Delaney Saxton, to tease me so. And you aren’t a virgin!”
His hand glided smoothly from her arcing breast downward over her ribs. “Actually,” he said softly, tightening his hold on her, “the last thing I want to do right now is tease you. Kiss me, Chauncey.”
She lifted her face and felt his warm mouth touch hers. He tasted of champagne and lobster and a very sweet man taste. “Just relax, love,” he murmured against her lips.
She felt his tongue glide smoothly over her closed lips, and she felt a rush of warmth deep in her stomach. “Oh,” she said in soft surprise. His tongue slipped into her mouth. It was the oddest feeling, and for a moment she let herself react to his exploration. His fingers were splayed over her belly, gently kneading. She arched upward against him, sending his fingers lower.
Delaney felt her reaction and gloried in it. His mouth left hers and he kissed her nose, her chin, her high cheekbones. His hand pressed down against her, and he could feel the warmth rising from her body. “Let’s go to bed, Chauncey,” he said hoarsely against her ear.
“I am not certain that I want to,” she said in a shrill voice, wishing he would move his damned hand. She had the embarrassing feeling that she was growing damp beneath his probing fingers, and was unnerved by it. Surely it wasn’t natural!
“We will go very slowly, I promise.” He hoisted her up high in his arms and carried her to the bed.
“You are very strong,” Chauncey said, her voice a high nervous squeak, knowing that the moment of reckoning was quite near. It can’t be too bad, she thought wildly. So many people are married!
“And you, my love, are adorably soft,” he said as he laid her on her back in the middle of the bed and eased down beside her.
“This bed is so small,” Chauncey gasped, feeling the heat from his body even though he wasn’t touching her.
Delaney smiled ruefully. He wasn’t a randy young boy, but his control was sorely tried. And his bride was very nervous. Well, he decided, ignorance definitely wasn’t bliss, particularly in the marriage bed. He said slowly, “Chauncey, the size of the bed isn’t at all important at this moment. I’m going to make love to you now. Just relax and trust me. All right?”
She nodded, swallowing convulsively. Make love! What an odd thing to say. His lowering head blocked out the light from the single lamp. She felt his mouth caressing hers, felt his hand stroking down her body, learning every inch of her. “Damned thing,” he muttered, and rose to a sitting position. “Enough of this nonsense.”
She wanted to protest, but instead tightly closed her mouth. In but a moment she felt the cool air touching her flesh, saw him toss the nightgown to the floor. Her hands went instinctively to cover her breasts.
Delaney said nothing, merely turned and shrugged out of his dressing gown. When he looked back at Chauncey, he saw that her eyes were tightly closed. He pressed his body against her side, balancing himself on an elbow above her.
He drew in his breath at her beauty. “Lord,” he muttered softly.
“Lord?” Her eyes flew open. “You are praying?”
“No, I am admiring you. You are lovely. No, don’t try to hide yourself from me. I’m your husband, remember?”
He laid his hand on neutral territory at her waist. “Shall I tell you what I’m seeing?”
He didn’t await a reply. “Your incredible eyes are the color of my waxed mahogany desk, and in this dim light your hair is like rippling waves of thick reddish, brownish, blondish—”
She giggled. “It is a stupid color, and you are running out of ‘ishes’!”
Her mirth died in her throat when his gaze shifted suddenly downward, and she gasped slightly, her hands fisting.
“Your breasts, my dear, are your high point, so to speak. I wonder if your nipples taste pink?” He lowered his head and gently circled a nipple, then took it into his mouth.
Chauncey lurched upward. “Oh no! Please, Delaney, you mustn’t. You can’t—”
“Hush,” he whispered, his warm breath making her shudder. “You mustn’t interrupt my study.” His tongue lapped and her nipple throbbed. He raised his head and looked into her dazed, very bewildered eyes. “I think you like that. There is much more, love. No, don’t pull away. Forget any foolishness you’ve heard about lovemaking from prune-faced old biddies, and let your body react naturally.”
His eyes returned to their study. “Now, as for your ribs, they’re colorful still. The dull purple is most enchanting.” Lightly his fingertips outlined her ribs. “A bit skinny, but I’m not complaining, mind you. You don’t strain my back when I’m carrying you.” He realized that his voice w
“I can feel the length of you against me,” Chauncey said, and Delaney trembled. “You feel very hard and hairy.” Just the sound of her voice, not to mention the words, shook him terribly.
“You can explore me later,” he managed. He laid his hand on her belly. “So white, like the snow in the Sierras before men’s boots tromp over it.” Lord, you fool, that was about as seductive as an emetic! “Do you know, Chauncey, what lies beneath this soft thatch of hair?”
“Please,” she gasped, so embarrassed that she tried to jerk away from him. She drew suddenly still, for his fingers were gently probing through the soft tangle of curls, touching her wetness. She sucked in a shuddering breath. “This is awful,” she said, more to herself than to him.
He stroked her swollen flesh, reveling in the softness. “Ah, love,” he whispered, lowering his head, “it is a wonderful awfulness, for both of us.” He kissed her deeply, forcing her lips to part as his fingers rhythmically stroked her. He felt her hips move briefly against his fingers, then still. Damned repressive way girls were raised, he thought, frustrated. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer. Surely she could feel him pressing painfully against her thigh, throbbing and hungry for her.
His fingers left her a moment, and he was delighted to hear her moan of disappointment—at least he chose to think it disappointment. He circled her small entrance, and could feel her flesh pulsating, warm and inviting. Slowly he inserted his forefinger, testing her, stretching her to ease his way.
“Delaney!” she burst out, lurching up and trying to expel his probing finger. “I cannot believe that you would . . . No, ’tis impossible!”
He knew he should begin again, ease her, make her relax and want him once more, but he feared he would release his seed before he entered her. “Hush,” he ground out. He pressed her back and rolled over on top of her. He balanced himself on his elbows and looked down into her wild eyes. “Feel me, Chauncey. I want you. Just close down that active mind of yours and let yourself respond.”