Serena leaned against the carved oak bedhead, the sheets folded at her waist. Her golden hair lay loose about her shoulders, and her sheer white nightgown reminded him of the dress she’d worn when she pledged herself to him.
Her breasts pressed wantonly against the frail silk. As he watched her nipples harden, his excitement mounted.
“I’m the luckiest man in England,” he murmured in a reverent tone.
Flickering candles lit the room, and a fire roared in the hearth. The golden light turned Serena into a mysterious, exotic creature. “Only in England?”
A fond laugh escaped. “Well, I can’t speak for the entire world. A Mogul in Rajasthan or a mandarin in Peking might vie for the title. Although I doubt it.”
Her slender hands plucked at the crisp white sheets. “It’s silly to be nervous.”
“Very silly.” Tenderness swamped his craving to take her. He strolled across to a carved Elizabethan chest where the servants had set out wine and plates of delicacies.
She observed him with a thoughtful expression. “After all, I love it when you kiss me.”
“I should hope so.” He poured two glasses of claret.
“And when we had the chance, we’ve gone beyond kisses.”
The memory of tasting her delicious nipples charged his mind with red heat. “We have.”
“And I’ve known you most of my life.”
“Yes.”
“So why am I worried?”
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Because you’ve never done this before.” He passed her a glass and summoned every ounce of heroism he could muster. “Would you rather wait? It’s been a long day, and you’re tired after crossing two counties.”
After the wedding breakfast, they’d traveled through a fairytale landscape of sparkling snow and trees laced with frost. When they’d arrived at Lanyon Castle, her awe at its rambling, medieval splendor had helped him view his home with kinder eyes. He’d always thought of the Farraday family seat as an uncongenial monstrosity, but from tonight, he meant to create new, happier memories here. In this house, he hoped to bring up his children and live into contented old age with his beloved wife. If the castle lacked soul now, by God, it would have a soul by the time he was done with it.
She frowned into her untouched wine as if she considered his offer, before she glanced up at him through her lashes. “I’m not that tired. Do you really want to wait?”
Good God, no. He’d already waited what felt like ten lifetimes. “I’ve wanted you for so long, another night won’t make much difference.”
Except it was his wedding night, and he burned for her. And the five weeks of temptation since she’d admitted she loved him had proven an excruciating mixture of rapture and frustration.
Her lush mouth curled in a wry smile. “You don’t sound like you mean that.”
Self-derision turned down his lips. “At least give me points for trying.”
“I do.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you, Giles.”
“I love you,” he said, when she drew away to taste her wine. “Would you like me to stay?”
Surprise widened her eyes. “Where else would you go?”
“The first night in a strange bed, you might prefer to sleep alone.”
Her laugh banished his scruples. “I most certainly do not. I want to sleep with my husband.” She set her glass on the night table with a purposeful gesture that belied the apprehension in her eyes. “And by sleep, I mean stay awake and discover everything you learned when you were chasing all those naughty London ladies.”
Elation flooded him, along with the desire he no longer had to strangle into obedience. “You do me too much honor.”
“I want this, Giles.” She swept the covers back to reveal her slender body in its sheath of snowy silk. “I think I’ve wanted it from the first time you kissed me under the mistletoe. From that moment, I was lost.”
He stood, setting his wine aside. “Serena…”
Her smile brimmed with love. “Show me, my darling.”