Lessons in Pleasure

“Oh. Mine also.”

Mary nodded, subsiding into silence. Sarah could not fault her. She had valued the girl’s silence all these weeks. It was not Mary’s fault that Sarah felt so odd and restless tonight. The wine should have left her exhausted, but while she felt sleepy, her muscles were buzzing beneath her skin, her mind falling over itself with too many thoughts. But she let Mary be, and soon found herself tucked into bed and staring wide-eyed into the dark.

James would join her soon. They shared a bed, and that was, without a doubt, the very strangest part of being a married woman. She, who before marriage had never even seen a man’s bare arms, slept in a man’s bed every night. Felt his skin and his muscle against her. Breathed in the scent of his body. Eased him with her own.

Kicking her legs restlessly beneath the covers, Sarah flipped over and buried her face in the pillow. Sleep felt so far away, despite her weariness. And each minute that passed, a new thought of James spun through her mind.

Their wedding night. Lying alone in this very bed, awaiting him. His first careful touches. The strange texture of the hair on his body. The warmth of his mouth, his hands. The knowledge that he could do as he pleased.

Her absolute mortification.

But he’d been gentle and patient and kind, and she’d tried very hard not to be afraid.

She’d grown accustomed to the idea now, but it still did not feel natural. It still felt . . . strange.

But not as str

ange as her body felt tonight.

Her mind could not rest. Anxious thoughts skittered through her head, frightening sleep away. She loved him, or wanted to, and the more fond she grew of him, the more worried she became.

She had a secret. A secret she should have revealed to James before they’d married, before she’d even accepted his suit. Now her lie of omission sat between them like a fence, and Sarah was on one side, pacing and alone.

All she wanted now was to throw herself over that fence and into his strong arms, but fear kept her feet glued to the ground.

Sighing, Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will herself to relax enough to sleep.

* * *

James Hood handed his coat and hat to the butler and rolled his weary shoulders. By God, he was tired. The hours he’d spent fighting for this damned agricultural measure over the past weeks had finally caught up with him. But it was done for now, and the next fight wouldn’t start for . . . oh, probably three or four days.

He headed straight for his library, then paused at the threshold. Normally, he’d spend another hour there, gathering his thoughts, taking notes, and writing letters. But tonight . . . tonight his neck ached and his throat felt raw from too many days spent breathing in the cigar smoke of his colleagues. Tonight he wanted sleep.

Or . . . perhaps not just sleep. His gaze shifted toward the dark oak of the wide stairway. His wife was upstairs. His sweet, shy wife. Sarah had likely retired hours ago, and he wasn’t brutish enough to wake her just to sate his needs.

He’d always thought himself practical and decent. He’d known that when he took a wife he would honor and care for her. Still, he hadn’t really expected that he’d spend whole days thinking of her.

There was something about Sarah. Something serene and soft that drew him close, though he never quite reached her. She was inscrutable. A mysterious feminine creature. Surely time would change that. Time to know her and let himself be known. Time to ease into the comfort of marriage.

A spark of recognition had struck him at their first meeting. And what a relief to find that the pretty girl with the peaceful smile was not only fair but also generous and keen-witted. Now that they were married, he loved to watch her read in the evenings in front of the fire. Loved to watch the emotions flit across her face as she sped through the pages.

Her soft brown hair seemed always to choose that moment to start escaping its knot, her brown eyes would sparkle with excitement, and James would watch her. He could not observe her enough during the day, when she would notice and blush and grow flustered. But when she read, she forgot his gaze.

Perhaps someday she would let him stare whenever he liked.

Smiling, James turned and took the stairs two at a time, though he slowed his step at the door to their chambers and slipped quietly into his dressing room. Once undressed, he started to reach for a nightshirt, but even in the nude the June air felt heavy tonight. Warm and humid.

No nightshirt. Sarah was too reserved to say a word even if she did notice, and it would only get hotter in July. He’d be damned if he’d sleep in a nightshirt during the hottest part of summer. She would get past it.

Decision made, he opened the door to the bedchamber and eased into bed as carefully as he could. The mattress absorbed him, the feathers easing his tired muscles even as they surrounded his skin with heat. Tossing off the covers, he spread out and closed his eyes, but a soft sound floated to his ears.

A sigh. Sarah shifted and sighed again as she settled into a new position.

Perhaps she wasn’t asleep after all.

Feeling a cad, James reached slowly out until he touched bare flesh. Her arm, probably. He rolled toward her, rising up to his elbow to see her better.

Yes, her arm, pale and bare, curved back toward her body, her fingers twisted into the fabric of her gown. Shifting, she frowned, her fist tightening in the muslin.