Frost Fire, page 19
"If I were a man, I would have called you out the first time we met," she snapped as her brother joined them from the hallway.
"Where's Tyler?" Gray asked without preamble, as if he feared she had fled.
Carlisle moved away from Chase, to a spot where Gray wouldn't notice the front of her gown. He wasn't looking at her anyway, she realized. All he thought about now was Tyler. And that would certainly keep him out of her hair. Poor Tyler, though. Now she would be the one to feel the brunt of his domineering ways.
Tyler chose that exact moment to appear on the threshold. Gray could only stare at her. He'd never seen her look so beautiful. He swallowed hard, sorely tempted to go to her, scoop her up in his arms, and carry her to his bed like some barbarian of old. With effort, he stopped himself from giving in to that fascinating urge, even though he knew he had every right to do just that. She was his wife now, under his care, protection, and authority. Blast the damned ball, he thought, irritated to have accepted an invitation on his wedding night.
He quickly crossed the room, his eyes lingering on his bride's low-cut golden gown. More than anything, he wanted to pull the hankie from between Tyler's tantalizing breasts and press his mouth to her smooth, fragrant flesh. His hands nearly trembled with desire.
"Does this dress meet with your approval?" Tyler asked coldly, her color heightened by his thorough and lengthy scrutiny of her bosom.
"Yes," he answered softly. "I'm pleased. You're more beautiful than I could ever have dreamed."
Something stirred in her cinnamon eyes, a softer expression perhaps. But his hopes for a smile were dashed by his sister's intruding voice.
"Well, come on, Gray! Javier and Arantxa will be wondering where I am!"
Tyler turned away from him, and Gray followed the women outside with Chase at his side, deciding then and there that he and his bride would not linger long at the ball.
14
An hour later, as Gray sat in the cavernous ballroom of the St. Charles Hotel, he was still thinking about his bride's smooth white flesh. He found it sheer torture to sit beside Tyler, especially when she was wearing that provocative dress, obviously worn with the sole intention of tormenting him. She totally ignored him, as she had done since they arrived, while he examined every inch of her lovely body—as yet unseen and untouched by any man. He shifted uneasily in his chair, thinking how it would be later that night when he would slowly undress her and make love to her for the first time.
A moment later he became so affected by his visualizations of their lovemaking that he knew he ought to distract himself. Summoning up all his willpower, he pulled his gaze from Tyler and watched Carlisle, who was being swept gracefully around the floor by Javier Perez. The young Mexican had been her partner for nearly every dance.
"I believe I'll step outside for a breath of air," Tyler said abruptly.
Gray displayed no reaction, but he was immediately wary. "I'll join you."
For a bare instant, Tyler's dismay showed clearly; then she glanced away.
"Never mind. The idea has suddenly lost its appeal."
Instinctively, Gray knew she had a trick in mind. She was just waiting for the right moment to implement it, which gave him even more reason not to let her out of his sight. There was no way she was going to evade him tonight. He had waited too long for the pleasure of having her in his bed. She was angry again, he thought, studying the rosy color staining her cheeks.
"You know, you really should smile once or twice this evening, Tyler, or someone might think you aren't exactly pleased to be my wife."
"Someone just might be right," Tyler snapped, but her sarcasm only brought a low, amused laugh from him.
"I don't know why you wanted to marry me anyway," she said, breaking her self-imposed silence. "You told me I was stupid and a liar. And a thief you wouldn't turn your back on."
Gray decided to see if he could bait her into a more communicative mood. "I never said you were stupid, Tyler."
Her fragile jaw clamped shut as he continued.
"I can't say I wanted to marry you because you're such a fine, honest lady, now can I, since we both know you're not."
Tyler turned her attention back to the swirling dancers without responding, and Gray gave in to his desire to touch her. He scraped back his chair and stood. "It's time we danced together, I suppose. For appearances. We'll be returning to the house soon."
His last words captured Tyler's undivided attention.
"But it's so early," she protested, her voice suddenly more civil. "The evening has barely begun."
"That, my dear," said Gray, lifting one dark brow in a significant way, "is why we're leaving."
Tyler could feel the heated blood rushing up her neck into her cheeks. How she hated the way he could always make her blush! And his fingers holding lightly to her bare arm as he led her among the other couples sent chills over her skin.
She stared first at the buttons of his starched, ruffled shirtfront, and then at the other people around them while he led her in an expert waltz that circled the long, shiny floor.
"The way you're scanning faces leads me to believe you're afraid you'll discover another one of your victims here tonight, like poor John Mooney."
Tyler had been afraid of that very thing ever since they had entered the spacious hall with its polished oak floor and gleaming crystal chandeliers, and her guilty frown brought yet another low chuckle from her tall husband.
"I wonder how many duels I'll have to fight or bribes I'll have to pay defending our nonexistent honor, my love. How many men did you rob or seduce for your uncle anyway?"
"I seduced no one, and you know it!" Tyler retorted, then was furious at herself for letting him goad her into an argument. Every time he did, he bested her. She had learned that the hard way.
"Then perhaps tonight you will have an opportunity to try seduction for the first time," he whispered close to her ear.
Tyler wanted desperately to laugh contemptuously up at him, to tell him not to hold his breath on that count, but his mocking words brought home too sharply her own fear of the marriage bed. Plan B certainly was a dismal failure, since he refused to let her out of his sight. She bit her lip and looked away, and if Gray noticed her reaction, he made no comment.
Tyler was glad when the music died, and even more relieved when her handsome cousin appeared at her side to request the next dance. She smiled gratefully up at Chase as Gray handed her over.
"Are you still angry with me?" Chase asked, studying her flushed face.
"I'll never forgive you as long as I live, if that's what you mean," she returned bitterly. But as usual, Chase's wide, slow grin had a softening effect on her.
"Didn't Carlisle ever tell you that menfolk always know what's best for young female kin?" he asked, straight-faced.
Tyler relented enough to smile vaguely at the notion of those words coming from the lips of her flame-haired sister-in-law.
"Hardly. But she did say things would probably work out for the best."
"Indeed?" Chase remarked, his gaze finding Carlisle, where she stood in her bright red gown, sipping champagne with her Mexican friends and several other gentlemen admirers. "I have to admit I'm surprised. But she's right. Gray's a good man, whether you think so now or not. He won't mistreat you, so don't be afraid of him."
Tyler wished she could ask Chase exactly what would happen later if Gray did trap her in his bed-chamber, but the idea of broaching such an intimate subject with a male made her cringe. Only a married woman could tell her what to expect, and even they would probably faint dead away before engaging in such an indelicate discussion. She wished again that Carlisle had been able to point out a few specifics of the act; then Tyler could at least prepare herself. It just wasn't fair! Girls had to go blindly to their wedding night, like lambs to the slaughter. But she was sure men knew all about it before they went. She bet someone had coached Chase and Gray most thoroughly their first time!
As the lilting strains of the orchestra faded and the hubbub of hundreds of voices mingled together beneath the high frescoed ceiling, she walked with Chase back to the table. Gray stood at once, as if ready to leave, and Tyler went rigid with dread.
"Oh, I'm having such a wonderful time," she gushed nervously. "I do believe I could dance all night."
"I'm sure you could," Gray said dryly, "but you're not going to." He turned to Chase. "Since we're leaving early, would you see that Carlisle gets home safely?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," Chase said, and he again sought out a certain coppery head.
"Good. We'll see you in the morning, then," Gray said, taking a firm grip on Tyler's elbow. He led her outside, eager now to be home and alone with her.
Their carriage was waiting, and Gray sat across from her, content to look at her and savor the pleasures to come. The small lamp inside the coach sent a faint glow over her, making her diamond earrings twinkle. He disrobed her yet again in his mind, slowly unbuttoning the back of her gown, pushing it off her shoulders until it fell around her feet and he could finally see what he had wanted to possess for weeks. His gaze moved to her chignon, which was caught up with pins and glittering combs. He loved her hair, and mentally he pulled down the silky auburn softness and gathered the fragrant tresses in both his hands. Just a few minutes more, Tyler, he thought, and you'll be mine.
Just a few more minutes, Tyler was thinking, and I'll be gone. Plan C was nearing fruition. When he left her to prepare for bed, she would climb down the trellis outside her window. Often as a child at Rose Point she had climbed down the tree outside her bedroom window. Gray would never suspect such a ploy. Then she would catch a steamboat to St. Louis and go into hiding.
When they arrived home, only one lamp lit the foyer, and the silence between them drew out alarmingly as they climbed the staircase and walked to Tyler's bedroom door. She opened it quickly, eager to put her last plan into action. To her shocked dismay, Gray made as if to follow her inside.
"You don't think you're coming into my bedchamber with me, do you?" she asked indignantly.
"Yes, I think maybe I am."
"But I'm not ready for bed yet. I can't—I won't undress in front of you."
His voice was patient. "I believe you have a dressing screen to use, if you wish."
At that point, Tyler knew she was in trouble. There was no Plan D, and Gray had just thrown the bolt behind them in the most final way.
"I really prefer some time alone to prepare myself, if you don't mind," she said, hiding her desperation as he shrugged out of his dark frock coat and tossed it over a chair.
"Alas, I'm afraid I do mind," he answered, unbuttoning his waistcoat.
Tyler's eyes grew wider, and she turned to hurry toward the tall, louvered screen in the corner, but was stopped abruptly by Gray's hand on her arm.
"Wait, there's something I've been wanting to do for a long time."
She stood tense and wary as he reached out to pull the pins and jeweled combs from her hair. He dropped them carelessly to the floor, his eyes intent on his task. His hands went to the heavy coil at her nape and he threaded his fingers through the soft, silky strands as if he derived immense pleasure from simply touching it.
"You have beautiful hair, Tyler," he murmured softly as he arranged it in shimmering waves around her shoulders. "There, that's better. Now you can undress."
Tyler fled behind the screen, putting trembling hands over her mouth.
She couldn't go through with it, she thought wildly, listening to the sounds he was making on the other side of the barrier—shoes falling to the floor, fabric fluttering. She swallowed hard, wishing the windows weren't all the way across the room. But even if they were closer, he would stop her before she could reach the trellis. How could this be happening? She'd had three plans!
She struggled to pull herself together and muster what courage she could before it happened! She prided herself on her courage. Hadn't Uncle Burl called her his "brave little soldier"? She was caught fast, and there was no way to escape. At least, not until tomorrow.
Steeling herself, she unfastened the tiny row of buttons down her back, a difficult task without Carlisle's help; then she stepped out of the elegant gown and hung it carefully upon the hook on the back of the screen. She untied the satin ribbons holding her pannier around her waist, then removed several silk petticoats and pantalettes, until she stood in her thin chemise.
Slipping out of that, she pulled over her head the soft silk nightdress that Carlisle had chosen for her at Madame Broussard's. It was pure white with a modest scooped neckline trimmed with exquisite gossamer lace and narrow white satin ribbons. Then Tyler took a deep, fortifying breath and stepped outside to face her ordeal.
Gray was propped up in bed, the sheet covering him to his hard-muscled waist, but revealing his broad brown chest with its matting of black hair. All she could think was how big and manly he seemed in her delicate white four-poster bed with its pastel blue spread and canopy. She stood staring at him, rooted to the floor, not knowing what to do next.
"Come here, Tyler," he ordered.
She hesitated, then was afraid that if she didn't do what he said, he would stride unclothed across the room to get her. She moved slowly to the side of the mattress farthest away from him. She perched gingerly on the edge, her eyes averted from his very virile, very naked body; then, in one last-ditch attempt to stop whatever was about to happen, she launched desperately into a hastily concocted Plan D.
"If you touch me, I'll scream," she warned softly, not daring to look at him.
Gray only laughed. She didn't move, though, and his next words were tinged with impatience.
"Come over here right now, Tyler, and stop acting like a child. You're a grown woman, for God's sake."
Injured pride made her lift the satin-stitched comforter and slip into bed with him. One of his strong, sun-browned arms brought her quickly against him, and she lay stiffly in the curve of his arm, his long, hard body stretched out her entire length and well beyond.
Tyler's heart raced with terrified anticipation.
"Couldn't we at least douse the lamp?" she asked in a small voice after some time had passed. "I can't sleep with a light on."
She felt, rather than heard, Gray's chest rock with silent laughter.
"Not until I get my full of seeing you in bed with me."
"Well, I hope that's soon."
"Well, it won't be."
They lay quietly together, and Tyler waited and waited, terribly on edge as Gray's hand idly stroked her bare arm. Even after a quarter of an hour had passed with no threatening move on his part, Tyler remained so rigid and wary, she was afraid her muscles had turned to stone.
"Why are you so afraid?" he whispered at last, his lips moving atop her soft hair. "I intend to be very gentle with you."
So it is true—it is painful, she thought woefully. Gray's hand continued to caress her back. Tyler felt like a condemned prisoner.
"Do you know anything about what happens between a husband and a wife in bed, Tyler?"
She wet parched lips. "Only what Uncle Burl and Carlisle told me," she admitted reluctantly.
"Carlisle? What the devil does she know about it?"
"Only what the nuns taught her at the convent," Tyler murmured, filled with shame to be discussing it with him. "You know, about it being a terrible sin and all. And about submitting to your husband anyway."
"Submitting anyway?" Gray repeated almost angrily. "Good God, no wonder so many virgins feel as if they're laying themselves on a sacrificial altar."
Tyler looked up at him in surprise. "Shouldn't they?"
Gray's expression softened as he gazed deep into her wide, cinnamon-brown eyes. "No. Because it's not like that at all. It's sharing, between a man and a woman, not giving or taking. The marriage bed is just as pleasurable for a woman as it is for a man—or at least it's supposed to be," he amended. He smiled. "It will be for you. I promise you that."
Tyler was so relieved to hear this that she almost forgot how embarrassing the subject was. She relaxed a wee bit, not sure the languor overtaking her muscles was from his reassuring words or from the wonderful way his fingers were massaging her neck and shoulders.
"Then it won't hurt me as much as Uncle Burl said?" Tyler asked shyly, hiding her face against his smooth, broad shoulder.
Gray muttered what sounded like an oath. "I guess that's just one more thing I have to blame your uncle Burl for."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind. It isn't painful for a woman, if that's what he told you, except perhaps for a few moments the very first time. And even that isn't very bad." He lifted himself on one elbow, turning so he could look down into her face. "Trust me, my love. I don't want you to be afraid of me, not ever. Do you understand?"
Tyler wasn't fearful anymore, not with his sweet words and the incredibly tender look he was bestowing upon her. This was a new Gray Kincaid, another facet of the man who seemed to have a thousand different sides.
She felt him leaning toward her, felt the hard muscles of his chest press against her breasts, but she forgot about that as his lips came down on her mouth, so nice and gentle that she felt no threat at all. She relaxed completely for the first time since she had awakened that morning, her mind reeling under his long, thorough exploration. He kissed her slowly and expertly with deep, draining kisses, the kind that melted her bones and made her as pliant as clay in a sculptor's hands. Her eyes fluttered and opened slightly as his dark head moved to the side of her throat, his mouth inching warmly and tenderly along her arched neck. She no longer thought of plans to escape him, or of fear, or her resistance to marrying the big, strong, handsome man who was touching her body so intimately.
Her long lashes came together again as he pulled her gown off one shoulder so his lips could settle lightly on her bare skin. He lingered there for a long time, then moved across the silken flesh of her collarbone to the other shoulder, then suddenly back to her mouth as if he hungered for her lips. His tongue found entrance there as his hands slid beneath the soft folds of her gown. The feel of his long fingers upon her naked thigh was a shock she could hardly withstand, but as she squirmed, uttering a weak protest, his mouth hushed her speech, his kisses growing deeper and more urgent, until she couldn't lie passive another moment. Unbidden, instinctively, her arms came up to encircle his neck, and she was surprised that even that small response brought a muffled groan of pleasure from him.
