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.
But his fingers were deftly unlacing the bodice of her gown, pushing it away from her shoulders so it fell in a puddle around her bare feet. Now only her thin chemise stood between her own nakedness and her husband's, and it was removed with the same efficiency.
He drew her body against his and kissed her eyelids and then her mouth, before saying quietly, "We're going to get the hard part out of the way quickly, Theo. I will do my best not to hurt you, but it will be easier if you try to relax."
She wanted to scream at him that she wouldn't let him do this, but the words wouldn't form themselves. She'd agreed to this by agreeing to marry him… she'd agreed to marry him because of this. She was married to Sylvester Gilbraith, and this was what that meant.
She lay back on the bed, closing her eyes tightly. It wasn't pain she feared; it was possession.
Sylvester's mouth took a grim turn as he realized she wasn't going to help either of them. He parted her thighs and stroked softly upwards, opening her tight petaled center, brushing his fingers across the sensitive bud. There was no reaction. His fingers slid into her body, feeling how tight and unprepared she was.
Kneeling between her thighs, he stroked her eyelids until she opened her eyes. His flat thumb ran over her mouth. "Sweetheart, I'm going to hurt you if you can't relax."
"I'm not afraid of being hurt," she said, staring up into his eyes, reading the concern behind the intent.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm afraid of you… of losing my body to you," she whispered.
The candid response, so open and so very like Theo, brought Sylvester a surge of relief. If he knew what he was facing, he could overcome it. He continued to stroke her cheek before saying, "You will lose your body to mine, and mine will be lost in yours. It's a partnership, Theo. This act more than any other."
"I'm not stopping you," she said. "Please, just finish it."
He nodded, reached above her head for the bolster, and slipped it beneath her bottom, angling her body to facilitate his entry. His flesh drove into hers in one determined thrust that breached her maidenhead.
Theo gasped with the tearing pain, but she didn't cry out, simply lay as still as she could beneath him as he began to move within her and her body opened and moistened of its own accord, so that the rhythmic movements ceased to hurt and began to set up a strange response deep in the pit of her belly. But before the response could be more than an intimation of pleasure, Sylvester allowed his climactic explosion to burst upon them both, filling her body with his seed, his flesh throbbing deep within her. And Theo found a curious sense of physical release and no sense of invasion, more of fusion, as she felt the pulsing of his body in hers.
Sylvester fell forward and his heart thudded against her breast. Theo laid a hand on his sweat-slick back; it felt like an acknowledgment she was supposed to make.
Sylvester disengaged slowly and looked down at her with a rueful expression. "I'm sorry, Theo. I thought you'd prefer me to finish it quickly."
"But I think I missed something," she said, sounding slightly aggrieved. "I did, didn't I?"
Sylvester fell on the bed, laughing with relief. "Yes, my dear gypsy. You missed a great deal. But you won't the next time."
"Can we do it again now?"
"There are a few things you need to understand about male anatomy," he said, still laughing as he sat up. "It takes a while to recover its strength."
"Am I bleeding?" Neither the personal question nor the delicate examination it invited troubled her now.
"A little," Sylvester said. "It's only to be expected. Lie still, and when it's stopped, we'll try this again."
He lay back, drawing her head onto his shoulder, and idly began to take out the pins securing the braided coronet. Theo found his fingers in her hair both soothing and arousing in their intimacy. It was a proprietorial intimacy, she realized vaguely, the very thing a few moments before she had feared.
Her hair was the most amazing color, Sylvester thought as he drew his fingers through the long tresses, arranging them over her breasts with deliberate artistry so that the glossy blue-black offered a startling contrast with the milk-white skin visible between the strands. She was as physically different from her sisters as she was temperamentally, although Rosie had some Theo-like quirks in both areas.
Smiling, he moved a strand aside to reveal the rosy crown of one breast. His finger circled slowly around the nipple feeling it grow small and hard. Theo stirred, a little sigh escaping her. Her leg moved against his with an urgent pressure.