“Oh, and I suppose you have experience in that regard.”
“Some. My father was a poet. My mother was happy to live frugally to allow him to pursue his life’s work. They found beauty in each other, in nature. Never in wealth or title. They cared nothing for other people’s lofty opinions, had nothing to prove.” A long, drawn-out sigh left her lips. “To love someone is to accept them for who they are. To love someone is to nurture their soul as much as your own. While there are varying degrees of affection, there is only one love like my parents shared.”
To him, such a love was inconceivable.
“I doubt that sort of love is possible for everyone. Perhaps time will prove otherwise.” Her idea of love spoke of self-sacrifice, of surrendering oneself to another. It went beyond his capabilities. It was a step too far on a road he’d not intended to travel. “As I’ve said before, I live for the moment. A need to celebrate our undeniable attraction is the only thought currently plaguing my mind.”
Priscilla smiled. “I think you use lustful activities to eradicate the pain of the past.” With a shrug, she added, “It is just my honest opinion.”
Matthew inclined his head. “Then I must respect it.” To give any thought to the comment would only distract him from the only thing he wanted. “Perhaps we should go inside and test your theory.”
As always a nervous energy filled the air whenever one mentioned indulging their desires.
Priscilla shuffled forward and touched his knee. “Then take me to bed, Matthew. Love me in the only way you know how.”
Chapter 16
They parted ways on the landing, each heading to their prospective bedchambers to wash and change into nightclothes. Priscilla glanced over her shoulder, noted Matthew’s self-assured strides, the certainty in every movement.
So why were her hands shaking?
Why did it feel as though her heart and stomach had swapped places?
She had been intimate with him before. Heavens, she had just performed an act considered lewd by most matrons’ standards. The advice to all newly married ladies was clear. Never deny one’s husband his conjugal rights else he shall seek fulfilment elsewhere. Nevertheless, some activities he may ask a lady to perform are commonplace in brothels, not the marriage bed. Once one lowers one’s standards, it’s impossible to regain one’s dignity.
Oh, well.
When one married a scoundrel, partaking in sinful deeds was inevitable.
Drawing in a deep breath, Priscilla entered her chamber.
Illuminated by the golden glow of the fire burning low in the grate and the two candle lamps positioned on the night tables, the scene spoke of seduction. The soothing ambience did little to settle her nerves. The dark shadows flickering on the wall seemed to perform a wild and erotic dance. Tonight, she would be at her husband’s mercy. She would be a slave to his wicked fingers. The feel of his naked body, skin pressed against skin, would feed her growing addiction to him.
Lost in a vision of romantic whimsy, Priscilla tugged at the ribbons on her cloak. Marriage to a stranger should have been a cold, emotionless affair. Yet a host of feelings swirled around in her chest whenever she looked at her husband. Like a precious object on a high shelf, love was within her grasp. She could see it, almost touch it. All she needed to do was stand on tiptoes and reach higher, believe it was possible.
The light knock on the door disturbed her reverie.
Anne peered around the jamb. “I thought you might need my help.” The maid crept into the room and closed the door.
The chime of midnight had passed, and so Priscilla wouldn’t keep the maid too long. “Just loosen my stays, and I can do the rest.”
“I’ll help you undress.” Determined to be of service, Anne stood behind Priscilla and unfastened the buttons on her dress. “The hour is late. No doubt you’re eager to get to your bed.”
Eager was an understatement.
For days she’d waited for Matthew to come to her room. But what if she proved to be a disappointment? Perhaps if she wore something to excite him, something to heat his blood, it might help. But what? She had nothing suitable. Nothing other than the clothes of her birth. The thought of him walking in to find her stretched naked on the bed caused a fluttering sensation in her belly.
Anne helped her out of her dress and undergarments and shook out the plain cotton nightgown with ruffled sleeves and buttons that fastened up to the throat.
“Wait.” Priscilla raised her hand as Anne gathered the nightgown up ready to place it over Priscilla’s head. “Are all my nightclothes as plain and simple?” Women like Lucinda Pearce probably wore diaphanous silk to bed.
Anne’s lips drew thin. A look of pity flashed across her face. “There was no time to purchase anything new, and your uncle refused to accept you needed a trousseau.”
It had nothing to do with acceptance. Uncle Henry lacked the funds to pay. Besides, he was a person who despised extravagance and saw it as her husband’s duty to provide more than the basics.
“Then a cotton sack it is.” With a sigh of resignation, Priscilla held her arms up and shrugged into the unflattering garment.
With pursed lips and a compassionate gaze, Anne stepped back. “Do you remember the time when your aunt brought you the pink kid gloves presented in that ugly box? The shop had run out of fine tissue and so had covered them in brown paper.”