"Oh, I intend to," he declared, and with a swift adjustment tossed her over his shoulder. "It will be a great deal quicker in this fashion, I believe."
Ignoring her vociferous protests at this undignified method of transport, he strode up the steps and into the house.
Theo reared up against his shoulder as they entered the hall. The house felt very strange. "Where is everyone?"
"Out," he said. "Celebrating our wedding. Either in the courtyard or in the Hare and Hounds. And they'll be doing so for many hours."
"You mean the house is empty?" she exclaimed.
"In a manner of speaking," he agreed, a chuckle in his voice, as he took the stairs two at a time, despite his burden.
He kicked open the door of his bedchamber and unceremoniously tossed his bride onto the bed in a swirl of silk and gauze.
"Now, Lady Stoneridge, let us put this marriage beyond all possibility of annulment."
Chapter Eleven
"So what happens now?" Theo lay back on her elbows, regarding her husband with a quizzical smile. The clock on the mantelpiece struck four o'clock. Her wedding night was beginning rather early.
"For a start, you stay where you are and do nothing," Sylvester said. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth a firm, straight line, as he stood by the bed looking down at her as she lay in a cloud of virginal white.
"Shouldn't I at least take my shoes off?" She wriggled her feet, clad in ivory satin slippers, by way of demonstration.
"No, I don't wish you to remove a single garment." He eased the snug-fitting silk coat off his shoulders without taking his eyes from her.
There was such intensity of purpose in the hooded gray gaze that Theo shivered, and all desire to joke vanished. It had only been a way of lessening her own tension, she realized.
She watched as he unfastened his cravat and tossed it to join his coat on the chaise longue. The white waistcoat followed it. With slow deliberation he unfastened the tiny pearl buttons hidden in the ruffled sleeves of his shirt before shrugging out of the garment. It joined the others.
Theo had felt the warmth of his skin, the power in his chest and shoulders, but she'd never seen his naked torso. The muscles in his back moved beneath the taut skin as he turned to throw his shirt onto the chaise. There was not an ounce of spare flesh, and when he turned back, she saw a thin white scar running down his rib cage, curving around the narrow waist, following the thin line of black hair down beneath the waistband of his satin knee britches.
In leisurely fashion he pulled off his shoes and his striped stockings. Theo found that she was holding her breath as the buttons of his britches flew undone. He pushed them off his hips, stepped out of them, and turned to throw them onto the chaise.
Theo's eyes stretched wide as they slid down his back, over the firm buttocks, the long, muscular thighs, the hard calves.
He turned slowly to the bed. The scar was etched into the flat belly, finishing just above one slim hip. Theo stared at his aroused flesh and felt the first faint stirring of alarm, imagining that jutting shaft entering her, becoming a vital part of her own soft body, invading her.
But she couldn't take her eyes from him. He was beautiful in his nakedness… beautiful and terrifying.
Sylvester leaned over her, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, bringing his mouth gently to hers. "There's nothing to fear," he said as if he understood the wild complexity of her emotions. "There may be a little pain at first, but it will soon pass."
Theo only nodded, for once in her life unable to find words. Tentatively, she placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the smooth round bone fitting her palm before sliding her hand down his arm, over the hard swordsman's biceps, her fingers rustling through the thick dark hair on his forearm. After the barest hesitation, she laid her hand flat on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the skin. Boldly, she touched one nipple with the tip of her finger, and he smiled, holding himself still, leaning over her as she continued her exploration.
She traced the scar with a fingertip, running over the clear outline of his ribs and down to his hip, feeling the sharp jutting bone of his pelvis. She wanted to go further but suddenly found she couldn't. She looked up and saw he was still smiling.
"All in good time," he said softly as if he perfectly understood this sudden shyness. "Let's divest you of some of these bridal trappings."
Bringing one knee onto the bed, he deftly removed the pearl fillet that held her veil in place and lifted the filmy white cloud from her head. Her hair beneath was braided into a coronet around her small head. It was a style that gave a neatness and maturity to her face that was a far cry from her usual gypsy dishevelment or the uncompromising plainness of the one long plait.
He let his hand roam over her body as she lay back on the bed, over the swell of her breasts against the laced bodice of her gown, over her belly, pressing the white silk against her skin into the concave hollow, and down over her thighs, molding them with the rich material. His fingers braceleted her ankles, remembering of their own accord that very first time when he'd clasped the slender bony ankles in the same way and dragged her into the mud.
His smile broadened and he looked up her body. "Any memories, gypsy?"
For answer she kicked in mock petulance against his grip, and he laughed, sliding the slippers off her feet, before running his flat hand up her silk-stockinged leg, beneath her skirt.
His fingers found her lace-trimmed garters. Deciding that he would like to see what he was doing, he took the hem of her gown and slowly drew it up over her thighs.
Theo quivered as she felt the air through the thin silk of her stockings. He slid the garters down her leg and then rolled her stockings down, easing them off her feet. Now the air fell directly onto her bared skin, and a wash of vulnerability swept through her. Her hands fluttered to push down her raised skirt, to cover her exposed limbs, and then fell to her sides as the string of her drawers was loosened.
"Lift your bottom, love," he commanded quietly, peeling the undergarment over her hips.
Theo bit her lip hard and did as she was told. Suddenly she was lost and fearful in a strange landscape, and she forgot how she'd been dreaming about this moment, forgot about the strange surges of longing, about the moments of passion they'd already experienced. She wanted to cover herself, push down her skirt, and flee from the room. The man whose hands were on her with such devastating intimacy was a stranger who now had absolute rights to her body. Whenever and wherever he chose to exercise those rights.
Sylvester felt the change in her when the muscles of her thighs suddenly clenched and she was rigid beneath his hand. A puzzled frown crossed his face. He was doing no more to her now than he'd done that evening by the stream, and she'd been wild with passion then.
He took his hands from her and immediately she relaxed. "What is it?" He looked into her face and read the bewildered apprehension in her eyes. "What do you fear, Theo?"
She moved her head against the coverlet in inarticulate denial, closing her eyes tightly as she pushed her skirt down over the top of her thighs.
"Come," he said with a hint of firmness in his voice. "Stand up and let me take off your gown." Taking her by the waist, he lifted her into a sitting position and then drew her to her feet.
He towered above her, and his nakedness was now a threat. Theo wondered how she had ever longed for this moment. How could she long to be possessed, taken, invaded? And yet what she had feared the most was that very longing that swept all rational thought from her mind. But now she was more coldly rational than she could ever remember being, and she didn't want this. Her body belonged only to her.