"Trust me?"
"Yes. Always. Forever."
"I'm glad." He kissed the nape of her neck and then settled her back down on the carpet.
"It's just that I had not expected you to be quite so …»
"Quite so what?" he asked, nibbling at her throat.
"Quite so legendary in your proportions," she managed weakly.
Gabriel laughed. Phoebe felt herself turning a very bright shade of red.
"We shall spin ourselves a fine legend tonight, my sweet. One worthy of any medieval bard."
His mouth was like a warm drug on her skin. It soothed her, teased her, and then goaded her into a response. His hands moved over her, exploring her with a startling intimacy. Even though he was pressing her into the hard floor, she reveled in the weight of him as he sprawled across her.
Experimentally she stroked the contours of his strong back and then dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his hips. He was so strong, she thought, yet he shuddered every time she even grazed him with her fingertips.
Phoebe discovered she could not get enough of his response. No matter where she touched him, he reacted as if she had set fire to something deep inside him. His manhood pushed heavily against her inner thigh.
"I swear I cannot wait any longer." Gabriel's voice was thick with passion. "Open yourself for me, my sweet wife. I need to be inside you or I shall go mad."
She parted her trembling legs. He settled himself firmly between her thighs and eased himself upward until his shaft was pressing against her. Phoebe moved her head restlessly on the carpet as she realized just how large he was.
"Gabriel?"
"Wrap yourself around me, Phoebe." He put his hands under her knees and lifted them. Then he guided her legs into position. "Yes, like that. Now put your hands on my shoulders. Hold on tight, Phoebe. As tight as you can."
She clutched his sleek, powerful shoulders. She had never felt so vulnerable. But she loved him, she reminded herself, and she ached for this union as much as he did. They were as one in this passion, just as they were in their love of old medieval legends.
"That's it." Gabriel kissed her throat and pushed himself more insistently against her passage. "You're very tight, but you're also very wet. I don't know how stormy this first sailing will be, but you must trust me. All will be well."
"It's all right, Gabriel." She lifted herself tentatively against him. "I want you."
"I'm never going to get enough of you after this." He reached down, opened her with his fingers, and guided himself slowly into her snug channel.
Phoebe held her breath, not certain what to expect, but needing the feel of him inside her. She had to have him. Instinctively she tightened her legs around him.
"Phoebe, wait, I don't want to hurt you."
Gabriel's face was a stark mask of self-imposed restraint. But when Phoebe lifted her hips once more, something seemed to give way inside him. "Yes. Oh, God, yes." He surged into her in one powerful stroke.
Shock and surprise slammed through Phoebe. She was suddenly too full, too tight, too trapped beneath Gabriel's heavy weight. He was inside her.
She could not tell if there was any pain. She did not know what she was feeling. The sensation was literally indeseribable. She gave a soft exclamation and clutched Gabriel's shoulders.
Gabriel shuddered again. "Go ahead. Sink your little claws into me. God knows I have sunk myself so deeply into you I may never recover."
Phoebe swallowed quickly. "I think that is far enough," she said in a small voice. "Perhaps we should stop now."
"I could not stop now if the earth opened up and swallowed me alive." Gabriel eased himself partway out of her and then pushed slowly, relentlessly back into her. "You feel so incredibly good, my sweet. Nothing has ever felt this good."
Phoebe kept her legs wrapped around Gabriel's waist. The sensual spell she had been under earlier had been shattered. She was uncomfortable but not in any real pain. It was a very strange sensation having Gabriel inside her like this. He was obviously finding pleasure, however, and she loved him too much to deny him the satisfaction he sought.
"Hold me." Gabriel's voice was raw. "Hold me, Phoebe. I need you."
She tightened her arms around him, clinging to him, offering herself up to him until he suddenly gave a muffled shout and went absolutely rigid above her. The muscles of his back and buttocks were like steel beneath his skin as he pumped himself into her.
Then he collapsed along the length of her.
For a long while Phoebe lay quietly beneath Gabriel and listened as he recovered his breath. She stroked his back slowly and felt the dampness there. He was like a stallion after a hard race, she thought.
Her stallion.
After a while Gabriel groaned and eased himself reluctantly out of her. He rolled to one side, put his arm across his eyes, and gathered her against him.
"Next time it will be better for you, Phoebe. I promise."
"It was not bad this time," she said honestly. "Rather odd, but not bad."
He chuckled weakly. "Next time you will scream with pleasure. You have my oath on it. I shall make a quest out of the business and I shall not rest until I have successfully completed it."
Phoebe smiled and folded her arms on top of his damp chest. "I would never do anything so unladylike as to scream."
"Wait and see." He took his arm away from his eyes and threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. "The fire in your hair burns just as hot in the rest of you. You are an amazing creature, madam wife."
"Am I?"
"Most definitely." He closed his eyes again. "We shall rest for a few minutes and then we'll get dressed and go downstairs to my bedchamber."
"I like it up here," Phoebe said.
Gabriel did not open his eyes. "I have no intention of spending the rest of my wedding night on the floor of my study."
But he was asleep within a few seconds, his arm still locked around Phoebe.
She lay looking at him for a long while, vaguely aware of a host of new impressions. There was some soreness between her legs and the musky scent of his maleness was on her. She felt sticky and warm and a little restless.
So this was what it was like being married. She could deal with it, Phoebe decided. She rather liked the warm intimacy of it all, even if the actual act of lovemaking was nothing to get excited about. The preliminaries were certainly quite pleasant. But the real joy in the thing was the glorious knowledge that Gabriel was now hers.
She was married to the man she loved and he clearly loved her, even if he did have trouble saying the words. Many women, she knew, were not so lucky. For most people marriage was a practical matter entered into for the sake of property, social position, and inheritances.
She was one of the rare, fortunate women in her world who had married for love. And to think she had almost spoiled everything this morning by running off. Perhaps Gabriel had a point when he called her reckless.
Phoebe stretched carefully, aware that she was getting stiff. Gabriel's arm slid off her breast. He did not waken. The man was obviously exhausted. He'd had a hard day, to say the least.
She sat up slowly and gazed around the study. She was wide awake and strangely alert. The last thing she wanted to do right now was sleep. The contents of Gabriel's bookshelves beckoned.
She rose carefully from the quilt and slipped into the white lawn nightgown she had brought with her. Then she went over to the nearest bookcase.
She studied the row of leather-bound volumes behind the glass and was very impressed. When she reminded herself that this was only a small portion of his magnificent collection, she shook her head in amazement. One of the pleasures of being married to Gabriel, she thought smugly, was that she now had access to his library.
She stood on tiptoe to read the spines of the next row of books. The breath went out of her lungs when her gaze fell upon a familiar-looking volume. She stared, unwilling to believe her eyes. But there it was, inscribed in gilt: The Lady in the Tower.