Whatever Gervase had expected to find when he opened the door, it was not this. He had imagined that his new bride would be long asleep, and to ensure this state of affairs he had delayed as long as possible over his supper. He was feeling strangely uncomfortable about the whole situation himself.

But he found himself greeted by a slim figure, the firelight behind her thin robe rendering it nearly transparent, which being the wanton she obviously was she did not seem to care about. He would have expected a more modest woman to have wrapped something around herself before admitting someone to her room.

Instead he could see every slender line of her body, nearly as though she were naked. He clenched his teeth, frustrated at his body for not being as indifferent to this sight as he would have liked. No wonder she had snared young Tom.

"You are not asleep?"

It was obvious that she was not but Lily did not draw attention to this. "No my Lord, I was reading."

Gervase noticed that she had been holding a book which she placed on the table as she stood up. He was surprised to find her reading anything: Tom's usual bits of muslin had little in their heads.

Doubtless it was some frippery romantic novel such that women always seemed to go wild over these days. He picked it up and was more than surprised to see "The Eclogues of Vergil" inscribed on the cover.

"You read Latin?" he asked.

"My father taught me Latin and Greek."

She saw his eyebrows rise in wonder and remembered that her father was supposed to be Sir Robert, who was the last man on earth to know or teach the Classics. "Through a tutor," she quickly added.

"And you enjoy Vergil?"

"Very much, my Lord."

Then we have something in common, he was about to say, but stopped himself.

Gervase found himself taken by a sudden fury that this girl, a girl intelligent enough to read Latin, should have let herself be seduced by his feckless cousin yet feign nervousness and reserve in his own presence. By rights she should have been as welcoming and willing as any tavern maid.

Not knowing what overcame him he strode over to her, gripped her shoulders and brought his mouth down on hers. She stiffened in shock for a moment then - as he had surely known she would - softened in his embrace. They were all the same, these hussies. A brief pretence of chastity and then the true wanton within was revealed.

Yet the embrace shook him. Her lips were sweet and soft and while he had invaded her mouth to assert some angry right, he now found himself deepening the kiss in a desire to explore her.

She had put her hands on him, at if to push him away, but now she held onto him as though for support.

Despite every effort of will, Gervase could not stop his own hands from running down her body. He felt the slender hollow of her waist, the curve of her buttocks.

He was on the point of crushing her against his unparallelled hardness when he managed to recover his senses. He broke off and stood back from her.

His bride - Tom's chit - stood there, her face flushed, her parted lips swollen from the force of his kiss, her grey eyes managing to display both confusion and arousal.

She was a brilliant little actress, he afforded her that much.

And as he drank in the figure he could see through the thin garment: the firm, rounded breasts, the graceful neck, the dark gold tendril of hair that had escaped its pins, Gervase knew only one thing.

He had to have her. She was legally his, but even if the curate had rushed up to declare the marriage void, he could not have held back.

*  *  *

Lily had been shocked to her core when the Marquess kissed her. First at the fact he did it and at the harsh force with which he bruised her lips.

But then - and this was the greater shock - with the way that her body had responded to him.

She had wanted his embrace.

Lily, who had never before danced with a man, never even flirted with a member of the male sex unless you counted fending off the creepy gropes of Aunt Maud's brother, found herself welcoming the touch of this man.

She knew what a kiss was. But she had had no idea that he would open her mouth and invade her with his tongue. Taste her and drink her in.

Nor that the actions of his lips would send strange bright throbs to the lower regions of her body.

Was this, then, why Betsy had done what she had done with Tom? Had she felt this powerless to resist?

For the moment the Marquess - her husband, she must remember - began to run his strong, warm hands over her body, she was helpless. Instead of trying to push him away she wanted him closer. She wanted the comfort and warmth of his skin, his masculine aroma of musk and bay.

Then he was standing back from her, a mocking glint in his eye.

"So, the charade of modesty vanishes as quickly as it came? There is no need to dissemble with me, my dear. We both know all too well the circumstances that led to our union."

He thought she was Betsy of course, and he needed to keep thinking that at least for now. What would Betsy have done? Was there something Lily was failing to do that might give the game away?

"The man takes care of all that" Betsy had told her.

"I am at your disposal, my Lord," Lily said and instantly knew it was the wrong thing when the Marquess's eyes widened and for a second he looked as if he might laugh.

But her response seemed to have defused the veiled aggression in his previous remark. "That's a novel way of putting it." He seemed almost amused. "Your cooperation will be significantly less tiresome than a continued semblance of prudishness."

When the Marquess had pressed her to him, Lily had felt the outline of a hardness that was not his thigh. She had pieced together what she knew of men and stallions and mares, and her own body, and was coming to some worrying yet surely absurd conclusions.

Did her cooperation mean that...? But surely, no, women were not built like horses. Such a thing could not be possibly be accommodated. But women also gave birth, Lily thought. Albeit she had assumed that doctors and midwives did something to facilitate this, though she knew not what.

Inwardly she cursed her ignorance. She would have no choice but to let him take care of everything and hope that he did not guess it was entirely new to her.

She shivered although the room was warm. The Marquess was pulling off his cravat. Lily wondered for a moment that he had not travelled with a valet. Sir Robert's man was indispensable to his toilette and she remembered with fondness her father's man, William.

The Marquess stood before her. He had loosened his shirt and she could see the hard, flat planes of his chest. "It's not what I had in mind for a bridal bed, but I am sure you will find it adequate."

Once again he gripped her shoulders and put his mouth on hers. He pulled at the ribbons on her gown, widening the neckline, causing it to slip down off her shoulders. Lily gasped and made a move to cover herself.

"Come, come. There's no need to act the blushing maiden. You are a more than married woman."

If only he had known the truth. But she must not reveal it. So she yielded to his caresses which was not difficult, since the mere brush of his fingers over her flesh left a trail of fire.

In a swift move he scooped her up and laid her on the bed. He pulled down her nightgown and the thin slip beneath it, exposing her nakedness to him.

Lily heard the Marquess draw in his breath. Did something about her appearance offend him? But he had moved over her, his hands taking much greater liberties.

Then his lips were kissing down her neck, over her breastbone. Towards her... Lily had to muffle her response as he enclosed her right breast in his mouth, suckling on it.

At the same time she felt his hand slip between her thighs. She was astonished to feel him reaching for the very core of her modesty yet finding that her body wanted his touch there, her hips involuntarily moving towards him.

"More than ready. To be expected perhaps, given your past experience."

Not fully understanding what he meant, Lily was shocked as the Marquess moved directly over her, pushing his own breeches aside, and feeling a long hardness press against her upper leg.

"My lord..." She wasn't quite sure what she was frightened of, though she knew she was frightened.

For a second he paused and she imagined she saw a flicker of concern in his eyes, of doubt, even. But his hands pushed her thighs apart and she felt him position his maleness at the place where his fingers had just been.

In one long, smooth move he plunged inside her and she cried out in genuine discomfort, closing her eyes and clinging to him because she had nothing else else to hold on to.

Again he paused but if he looked down at her she could not tell, for her eyes were closed and she bit her lip to bear the sharp pain.

Fortunately, as he moved in and out of her, the edge wore off to be replaced by a dull throb, abating into a sense of heat and fullness. The more he slid himself in and out of her, the more it seemed to ease the discomfort and change it to something quite different.

The Marquess shifted and the new feelings intensified. His hand cupped her breast, his mouth silenced her murmurs, and her body was in the complete control of her new husband. Unable to do anything else she gave herself into the sensations, until something built and built within her. Bright and tender and sharp all at once.

Then, fearing at the back of her mind that she may be dying, that her body was having some kind of fit, she found herself spasming uncontrollably as he ground into her.

Finally she knew no more. Exhausted from all the physical exertions and emotion of the day, Lily passed out into slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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