Stephanie Laurens - The Lady's Command

This was one arena within their marriage in which she’d felt utterly confident from the first, and she knew she had his passion, his understanding, his honesty, and his expertise to thank for that. His own inner confidence in his manly attributes, too. He’d been so focused on her, so openly desirous, and so unwaveringly intent on claiming her—so committed and caught up in the moment—that he’d shown her all.

All he felt for her.

All she meant to him.

She’d sailed into passion with a questing heart, buoyed by confidence in her own desirability.

No woman could have asked for more on her wedding night.

And from that night on, they’d embarked on a joint exploration of what engagements such as this could bring them.

She’d devoted herself to learning all he would teach her and all she might of her own volition learn. And every night, although the destination remained blessedly the same, the journey was different, the road subtly altered, the revelations along it fresh and absorbing.

His lips supped from hers, his tongue teasing hers. She responded, using all she’d learned to tempt and lure. She hauled his shirt from his waistband and freed the last button closing it. Anchored in the kiss, in the heat and the passion that rose so strongly—with such reassuring hunger—between them, she blessed him for his innate elegance, which ensured he used a neat, simple knot in his cravat. The instant she unraveled it, she drew the long strip of linen free. With gay abandon, she flung it away.

Finally clear of obstacles, she pulled his shirt wide, set her hands to the sculpted planes of his chest and joyfully—greedily—claimed, then she pushed the garment up and over his shoulders. He refused to release her lips but broke from the embrace enough to shrug off his coat and waistcoat. Then he opened the shirt’s cuffs, stripped the garment off, and let it fall to the floor, and she fell on him, fell into his embrace, and gave herself up, heart and soul, to learning what tonight would bring.

Shivery sensation. Heat.

Knowing touches that claimed and incited, that excited and lured and drew them both along tonight’s path.

The whisper of silk. The rustle of the bedclothes.

Fingertips trailing over excruciatingly sensitive skin.

Muscles bunching and rippling, then turning as hard as steel.

Incoherent murmuring.

Naked skin to naked skin, body to body, they merged and, together, fingers linked and gripping, lips brushing, heated breaths mingling, followed the path on.

Journeyed on through the enthrallments of desire, through passion’s licking flames, faster and faster they rode and plunged, then surged toward the glorious end.

To where a cataclysm of feeling ripped through reality and sensation consumed them.

Then ecstasy erupted and fractured them, flinging them into oblivion’s void…

Until, at the last, spent, hearts racing, blinded by glory, they sank back to earth, to the pleasure of each other’s embrace, to the wonder of their discovery.

When her wits finally re-engaged and she could again think, she found she was still too buoyed on triumph—on multiple counts—to, as she usually did, slide into pleasured slumber. She wasn’t sure Declan was sleeping, either; wrapped in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder, she couldn’t see his face—couldn’t be sure if he was sleeping or not without lifting her head and disturbing them both.

In that moment, she was at peace, sated and safe, and felt no need to converse. And, it seemed, neither did he; the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek soothed and reassured.

Her mind wandered, instinctively cataloguing—where they now were, where she wished them to go.

The path she wanted them to follow—the marriage she was determined they would have.

Her assumption that it was up to her, her responsibility to steer them in the right direction, wasn’t one she questioned. She had her parents’ marriage and that of her late brother as vivid examples of how terribly wrong things could go if a lady didn’t institute and insist on the correct framework. And putting that correct framework in place was much easier if one acted from the first, before any unhelpful habits became ingrained.

She knew what she wanted; she had several shining examples to guide her—her sisters’ marriages, Julian and Miranda’s marriage, and, more recently, what she’d seen of the relationship between Declan’s parents, Fergus and Elaine.

That from his earliest years Declan had been exposed to such a marriage, one that was founded on a working personal partnership—that he would have absorbed the concept, seen its inherent strengths, and, she hoped, would now expect to find the same support in his own marriage—was infinitely encouraging.

Throughout their teens, she and her sisters had spent hours in their parlor at Ridgware discussing the elements of an acceptable-in-their-eyes marriage. Both Millie and Cassie, each in their own way, had set out to achieve that ideal in their marriages and had succeeded. Both Catervale and Elsbury openly doted on their wives, were strong and engaged fathers to their children, and shared everything; they included their wives in all areas of their lives.

Edwina was determined to have nothing less. Indeed, with Declan, she suspected she wanted more. Compared to Millie and Cassie, she was more outgoing, more curious and eager to engage with life and actively explore the full gamut of its possibilities.

She wanted their marriage to be a joint venture on all levels, first to last.

With their position within the ton now established and their physical union so vibrantly assured, she could now turn her mind and energies to all the other aspects that contributed to a modern marriage.

On the domestic front, she had all in hand. Together, she and Declan had chosen this house to rent for the Season, and perhaps longer, but he’d ceded the tiller entirely to her with respect to selecting and hiring their staff. She’d been lucky to find Humphrey, and Mrs. King, their housekeeper, and the new cook were settling in nicely. The small staff met their needs more than adequately; other than deciding menus, she needed to do little to keep everything running smoothly in that sphere.

Which left her with one outstanding issue, that of how to merge the rest of their lives—how to align their interests, activities, and energies when they weren’t in the bedroom, or at home, or socializing within the ton.

All the rest.

Thinking the words brought home just how little she knew of the details of Declan’s business—how he occupied himself, what role he played within his family’s shipping empire, or any particular causes he espoused. He’d told her he didn’t expect to sail again until July, or perhaps later; that left her with plenty of time to question and discover all she needed to learn so that she could work out the details of how he and she were going to work together. How she could and would contribute to his career.

A working partnership such as his parents had was what she wanted, one where she contributed as she could, where appropriate—a partnership that allowed her to understand the demands made on him and the pressures those brought to bear. Despite her predilection for active engagement, such a partnership didn’t necessarily require her to be actively involved in each and every facet, but rather to always be in a position to understand what was going on. She was immutably convinced that such an arrangement was critical to them having the marriage she was determined they would have.

Sleep drew nearer; her already relaxed muscles lost what little tension they’d regained.

Even as she surrendered to slumber’s insistent tug, she sensed a nascent swell of eagerness, optimism, and determination. She was free to start her campaign to create the marriage they needed first thing tomorrow morning.