It Started at Waterloo Read online

  So her mother’s attention had turned to Mary. “I should accept him quickly,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. “Then at least you won’t have to sit through Charlotte Darblay singing folk songs more than once.”

  Mary giggled while her mother nudged her in the ribs. “Miss Darblay sings charmingly.”

  “Indeed,” said Amelia, secure in the knowledge that she never had to hear another note, if she didn’t want to. “Mary, you must please yourself in your marriage.”

  “As you did?”

  “Yes,” she said. “As I did.”

  Without Will she’d be part of her mother’s schemes yet again. She had made the right choice. Now she had to work out a way to resist his potent charm and yet perform the duties expected of a wife.

  Difficult, maybe impossible, but she had to make the effort.

  The gentlemen entered the room and Will came straight to her. He glanced at the wine in her hand, but made no comment. He bowed to her mother. “Would you excuse us?”

  When he held his hand to her, Amelia didn’t hesitate to take it. “We have business, I’m afraid.”

  After bowing to the company, he led her from the room.

  Instead of taking her down the stairs to a waiting carriage, as she’d expected, he took her up another flight. “Do we leave for the hospital after all, then?” she asked.

  “No. I told you, Wellington expressly forbade us to go there today.” Outside a closed door, he took her hands. “I could not bear another round of small talk. I’d rather spend time with you. And tomorrow,” he added as he threw the last door open, “We may go back to what we do best.”

  Chapter Five

  Amelia entered the finest bedroom she’d seen in—forever. Although her father was a ranking officer, it had taken him the whole of his military career to reach the rank of major, and he wasn’t likely to get higher. His service was appropriate, adequate. He was never mentioned in dispatches or selected for a mission requiring anything above the ordinary.

  As a consequence, his share of captured booty was severely limited and his family, being a large one, subsisted on his modest pay. Out of that had to come the expenses for his mounts and his uniform, so they had always lived at less than the level most supposed they did. Which was not much at all.

  Amelia had spent her life in a succession of rented houses and inn rooms. She had never slept alone, except when she found a spare bed at the hospital to snatch an hour before returning to her duties.

  This room was larger than any bedroom she’d ever slept in. It was elegantly furnished, the floor highly polished, a few rugs enhancing the shine. “They can’t want us to stay here!”

  “Why not?” Taking her shoulders, he propelled her farther into the room.

  Amelia cast a glance at the large, draped bed and swallowed, hastily averting her gaze. “Last night…”

  “Last night you were tired. And yes, I did undress you, but I retained your modesty, did I not?”

  “Barely.” She gazed at him, drinking in his good looks. “I have no clear recollection.”

  A wry smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “Neither do I. I merely made you comfortable and slid in beside you. Perhaps I should have slept on the floor, but I was too weary to think properly. Do you object to my presence tonight?”

  She glanced out the window, where the sun streamed through the glass, a respite from the dreary rain that hadn’t stopped falling for more than an hour at a time. It seemed an omen that it had stopped just at this moment.

  She imagined too much. “Tonight?”

  “This afternoon, then.” He moved his hands to her waist. “Here’s what I propose. We are man and wife and nobody can stop us doing what we want to. Why don’t we undress and climb into bed like an old married couple, and just sleep?”

  Shocked, she stared at him.

  “We have gone too long without sleep. While people think we are joining our bodies, we can rest, and they will not expect to see us before tomorrow.”

  His proposal sounded blissful. Her anxiety slipped away and she could smile with true happiness for the first time that day. Her concerns that she would not be enough for him—that she would disappoint him, her body and face not being the kind that poets drooled over—slid away.

  Her stomach relaxed. If the meal had been in front of her now, she could have partaken gladly. “That sounds wonderful,” she said.

  He leaned forward, but only to press a gentle kiss to her brow. “I’ll use the powder room. Take your time.”

  When he left, he didn’t look back.

  Telling herself she should be glad he showed such restraint, Amelia undressed. Grand ladies couldn’t undress without the help of a maid. She wouldn’t know what to do with a maid. Someone, probably Robinson, had brought her trunk to the inn, so she found a night-rail and crossed the floor to the washbasin.

  Someone else far grander than her should be using this room, but she would not complain. Tonight she would discover what it was like to have all she needed. Just for a small time. As far as she knew, Will was as indigent as her parents. He owned a little land, he’d told her, currently leased to tenants. That gave her a certain level of stability.

  She wasn’t used to that, but she could certainly become accustomed to it.

  Apprehension gripped her when she realized her new husband could come in at any moment, but she bravely stripped and washed. The water was hot, the soap a fine white one.

  The washcloth slid over her skin like satin, and she moaned at the ecstasy of being clean. Then she unwound the braids from her head, but left them alone. They fell to halfway down her back. When they lashed her as she turned, she recalled her resolution—she would crop it. Many ladies had done so. It would be far more practical in her position, but her mother had never allowed it. Gentlemen, she’d said, did not favor short hair. And of course they had to strive to please the gentlemen.

  Why they tried so hard escaped Amelia, but she had the luxury of knowing she was a married woman.

  Once clean, she scrubbed her teeth and then pulled her night-rail on. It covered her from neck to ankle, the long sleeves buttoned at the cuff. She tied on the nightcap with its modest frill of linen.

  Easy in her mind, as she had not been for days, she folded her clothes and stowed them neatly in the chest. Already she had one extra advantage. She shared a personal servant. That made a comfortable change. Robinson would ensure her meager belongings followed her. She need never scramble back to the lodging house to make certain that the carrier did not overlook her trunk, as had happened in the past.

  She climbed into bed. It was not a crude rope-bed, and it did not have a prickly horsehair mattress. Soft goose-down met her aching limbs. She sank into the cocoon with a sigh of happiness.

  The door to the powder room opened. Wearing a dark red robe, the frill of his nightshirt peeking over the top, her husband came into the room. He removed his robe and dropped it casually on a chair.

  Amelia caught her breath. Without his outer clothing, the sheer strength of his form became even more apparent. Possessed of a height most men had to look up to and a width of shoulder many would envy, he also had long legs and powerful, well-shaped feet. Although she should not find herself aroused by a part of his body so prosaic, she found the intimacy more than she had ever known before. Even the night before, although he was probably barefooted then as well.

  She watched as he walked to the bed and gazed down at her. A smile curved his mobile mouth. “You look cozy. Is the bed comfortable?”

  “Yes.” She wet her lips, which had gone suddenly dry. “We should sleep well.”

  “Some nights I’ve slept on hard ground and not known a thing for six hours.” He swept back the covers on his side. His nightshirt barely came to his knees, and when he climbed in Amelia nearly caught a glimpse of what she was coming to think of as forbidden territory.

  Perhaps he meant their union to be what the French called a “white” one. After all, she couldn’t ever remem
ber seeing him with a woman. Perhaps he was celibate—or women didn’t appeal to him.

  She cursed herself. Of course that was not the case. He’d pinned her to the bed that morning with the evidence pressing into her stomach. But today, he’d said, they’d sleep.

  When he held out his arm, it seemed natural to move closer, to allow him to hold her. At first she didn’t know what to do with her hands, but then she laid one on his chest. He sighed, as if relaxing, and covered her hand with his.

  “I should kiss my wife goodnight. Or good day,” he said with a smile. “After all, I have not kissed her all day. Nobody gave me the opportunity.”

  Yes, she could kiss him.

  He lifted up on one elbow and bent his head, taking her mouth with a mastery that melted her.

  When he touched his tongue to her lips, she opened her mouth. Will licked into her, the tip of his tongue stroking the roof of her mouth, increasing her sensitivity. Then he caressed her, and she softened.

  Between her legs, her private parts were dampening, spreading liquid desire over her thighs. Acting on instinct, she rubbed her thighs together.

  Will slid one powerful leg between hers, pressing his thigh to her sex. He still kissed her, but rather than draw away and protest, she curved her arm around his neck and kissed him back.

  Will touched his lips to her nose, her cheek and her earlobe. Somehow, her nightcap had come undone. When she lifted her hand to place it on his shoulder, he turned them enough for it to fall away.

  Dotting small kisses over her face and her neck, he continued to caress her. When he placed his hand on her breast, Amelia didn’t object. It felt too good. He plucked at her nipple, sending tingles of arousal down her spine, making her wetter, and hotter.

  He raised his mouth from her throat and gazed at her.

  “Will?” she said, not knowing what he wanted.

  “Let go, Amelia. Let it happen. We have only ourselves to please now.”

  He desired her. Joy spread through her in a great wave when she realized he did not intend to lie next to her and placidly go to sleep. She’d tried to suppress her discontent, because it didn’t make sense that she should want something that made her so nervous, but she could admit it. If he hadn’t tried to kiss her, she’d have been disappointed.

  Now he was more than kissing her. Eagerly she reached for him, and he groaned low, breathing her name as he slowly moved over her.

  His erection had returned, pressing against her belly as it had before. Pushing back seemed to give him some relief. As he returned to kiss her once more, a drop of wetness seeped through his nightshirt and hers to her bare skin. She shivered, but not from cold.

  She didn’t realize he was inching her night-rail up until his hand grazed her bare thigh. He stroked her, as if gentling a wild animal, afraid she’d escape him.

  He ravished her mouth, as if hungry for her taste, teaching her how to respond. She was a fast learner. Soon she was thrusting her tongue into his mouth, tasting him all around her. With his big body over her, his weight kept off her by leaning on his elbows, she felt surrounded. Cared for.

  Cupping her cheek, he raised his head. “Are you ready for the next part?”

  He would take her now. Her position, legs spread with him lying between them, felt lascivious, almost wrong, but with a wickedness that only served to drive her higher.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Then let’s rid ourselves of the encumbrances.” Rearing up, he rested on her thighs, unashamedly displaying his body to her. Swiftly he unfastened the buttons at his cuffs, and dragged his nightshirt over his head.

  He had a broad chest, sprinkled lightly with dark hair, a shade darker than the chestnut hair on his head. The hair at his groin almost matched, though, the glint of red easily discernible in the bright daylight streaming through the windows. He gazed at her, and let her return the favor. By rights he should have intimidated her, his form so much larger than hers. But as he helped her off with her night-rail, she could only stare at him in frank wonder.

  Although he wasn’t smiling, his eyes held heat, and it was all for her.

  Amelia took her courage in both hands. “You’re beautiful,” she said.

  He shook his head slowly. “Oh no. You are mistaken. While I might be any number of things, beautiful isn’t one of them. But you are, my wife.”

  He touched her breast, cupped it as he had that morning, and slowly drew his thumb over her nipple. When she gasped and jerked, he bent and sucked it.

  She had not dreamed of such a thing. Neither had she imagined the sensations his actions would send rioting through her body. She jerked up, and he stroked her, in a soothing motion.

  After kissing around her areola, he moved to the other, rendering it the same treatment. All she could do was gasp.

  His stroking hand slid further down, around her thigh. He gently insinuated a finger into the cleft at the apex of her thighs.

  Of course she’d known people did this, but not how such intimacy would make her feel. His caresses drove her toward an unknown goal at the apex of a very high mountain. She must be near the summit, surely.

  When he tweaked the fold of flesh at the top, she cried out, turned her head and bit down on her knuckles.

  Immediately Will touched her hand. “No, do not. Let me hear you. It excites me when you make those little sounds deep in your throat.”

  “This feels wrong. Sinful.” How could she bear any more?

  “It is not. This is the sanctity of the marriage bed. We are expected to do this. Now let me take care of you.”

  Goodness. Nobody had done that to her before, not in any sense of the word. Amelia did as he asked. Every gasp, every cry, she let him hear, and as he kissed around her breasts, he moaned his appreciation.

  “These are lovely,” he told her. “So are you. Your skin is soft and warm, the finest I ever saw.”

  Smiling, he eased his way between her legs. “Lift your knees, sweetheart.”

  The endearment almost undid her. The day she’d bade him call her by her given name, she’d felt daring and dangerous. This was so much more. And yet he was right. They were expected to do this.

  She did as he asked and felt him guide his member—his cock, for no other word adequately described this large, blunt shaft between his legs—to her. He slid through her folds, her wetness reducing any friction, until he touched her opening. That part of her remained a mystery.

  She had never helped a woman birth a child, having dedicated herself to the surgeons, who dealt with the men. The women stayed elsewhere. Most gave birth in their tents or lodgings. In theory, a baby could emerge from that part of her body. So how foolish, to be wary of a man’s cock!

  And yet she was.

  Will kissed her, his movements slow and gentle. “This may hurt a little,” he warned her. “But only this one time.”

  He worked around her opening, easing his way, but he did not enter her. Reaching down, he used his fingers to caress and tease in ways Amelia had never considered possible before. Her reaction was just as unbelievable. With every touch he increased her sensitivity and her pleasure. Ripples coursed through her, and she sighed, allowing him to do whatever he desired.

  He stretched her, firmly inserting a finger and easing it around. When he had done, he came back to her, and his cock nudged her. “You are as ready as I can make you,” he said.

  For the first time, apprehension tightened Amelia’s throat. She had no time to speculate, for with one hard, powerful thrust, he drove through the barrier of her maidenhead and into her body.

  A pain like a slice from a sword swept through her, then was gone, leaving only its memory in its wake. Amelia clutched him, finding his shoulders a firm and strong support, as he watched her and waited.

  “We will give you time to adjust to this part.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  Unexpected laughter ran through him. She was so close she felt it, the vibrations adding to her increasingly su
pple body. “What a question to ask! Only you, Amelia, sweetheart, would ask that at a time like this. And because I know you like answers to your questions, I’ll tell you. I am not a virgin, although I haven’t indulged in the pleasures of the bedchamber for some time.” He kissed her, still smiling.

  Then he moved. Amelia’s world shifted as he nudged a part of her she had never been aware of before. Her whole body came alive. She forgot her pain as he withdrew.

  Was that all? That one shaft of sweet delight what people fought for, risked their reputations for?

  It seemed not, for he came back, forging a path inside her wet channel.

  It happened again, that feeling, that response to him. And when he did it another time, Amelia forgot everything except the pleasure Will brought to her. He thrust deeply. His eyes were pools of desire, but the lines bracketing his mouth told their own story. He was taking great care with her, watching her for her least reaction.

  Amelia gave it. “I like this part,” she told him. “You are doing things—oooh!”

  Her back arched and she pressed against him, tilting her hips to accept all of him. With a groan, he gave it to her, his thrusts becoming deeper and more encompassing.

  She gripped his hips with her knees as he drove into her body. The sounds—wet slapping and their groans and sighs—added a symphony much more engrossing than any musicale.

  At one point she nearly screamed as the ripples coursing through her turned to positive tidal waves of delight. They gathered, paused, and then crashed.

  And she knew what lay at the top of the mountain, as she called his name and held on to him as tightly as she could.

  Will followed a few moments later. Thrusting into her one last time, he kissed her. His cock pulsed, releasing his seed into her in a series of hard spasms that sent her into paroxysms of her own.

  Breathing heavily, he sank his head into the pillow. Still the gentleman, he kept his weight from pressing her into the mattress and with a grunt rolled on to his side. Curling his arm around her, he took her with him, so she nestled into him, her head on his shoulder, their bodies still locked together.