Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

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

sp; “But I’ve nothing else!” she exclaimed, drawing her legs up.

“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.