The first time he takes her is on their wedding night. He has made some comments to the effect that he will understand if she's tired after their long day, thinly veiled invitations to refuse him, at least for the night, but she sucks it up and declines politely. This is her choice, and she has promised herself she will be a good and dutiful wife to him. Anyway, she will have to do it sooner or later, and if she leaves it too long, the servants will talk. They have a way of finding things out. They undress in silence and crawl between the sheets, and she doesn't look at him until he blows out the candle and takes her stiffly in his arms. He's gentle in his own way, but it's still awkward and uncomfortable and it hurts when he enters her, so much so that she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Afterwards, she waits until he falls asleep and then allows herself to think of Will, crying the tears she can't hold in.
The second night, she remembers a piece of advice given to her days before the wedding by Lady Madding, who was notoriously forced to wed the porcine Lord Geoffrey to save her family from the poorhouse. 'Just close your eyes and think of England', she had said, and Elizabeth hadn't know quite what she meant then, but now she does. She can't think of England, though, because England is her husband, so instead she thinks of Will, his soft, dark eyes infused with all the warmth of the Caribbean. It works, and the pain is dulled and the ache not as strong as it was the first time.
The next day is quite exceptionally hot, and he comes home early and suggests they take a walk. The heat convinces him to remove his wig, and they stroll down to the waterfront with him in just his uniform hat, dark hair tied back in a short queue at the nape of his neck. Although she says nothing, secretly she is shocked at him: Her father would rather have died from sunstroke than remove his wig of office. It is windy by the sea, and by the time they get back to the house, a handful of dark locks have freed themselves from the ribbon and hang messily around his face. Elizabeth finds herself wanting to smooth them.
That night, he seems more patient than before, less desperate as he reaches out to touch her. He pulls off the covers, exposing her naked body, and sets to exploring her as meticulously as he would a map he is expected to chart a course through. Elizabeth lies still and lets him, unable to hide her acute embarrassment as he stares at her in something like awed fascination. When he discovers how force little, breathy moans from her throat by rubbing her breast just so, she closes her eyes and holds Will's gentle smile in her mind, a shield as she carefully ignores the vague, nameless ache in her gut.
On the fourth night, she is already undressed and in bed, reading, when he comes up. Or pretending to read, anyway. She watches him over the top of her book as he sits at the foot of their bed, pulling off his boots. He has already removed his shirt, and she finds herself following the lines of his broad shoulders with her eyes, watching the muscle shift beneath the smooth, tanned skin. Later, his touch leaves her quivering, breathless, and when he thrusts into her, panting, she grips the image of Will so tightly it might shatter, fearing that if she lets go of it now she may never retrieve it. When he is asleep, she finds herself having to take a walk down the darkened corridor outside their bedroom in order to calm herself enough to sleep.
The fifth night, she spends alone. There has been trouble on the other side of the island, arguments about land, and James rides over with a handful of men to investigate the situation. Although it is not his domain, and there is not much he can do besides offering arbitration, he is a much respected man in the Caribbean, and his presence gives comfort to the locals. Sleep is elusive that night, partly because the air is uncomfortably hot and sticky, and partly because she keeps having to remind herself that the eyes she pictures as she dozes are brown, not green.
The sixth night is the night she gives herself over to him. She does not mean to, but even before he crawls beneath the sheets, her traitorous body is tense, wanting him, needing him in a way she hasn't thought possible. The past few nights have been an education to him, and James is a swift learner. When he presses his weight into her, mouth nipping at her throat while strong, clever hands roam her body, finding all the right spots, she finds she can no longer keep herself still. Her body arches violently against him, thighs clenching tight around his hips as she grips his shoulders and holds him to her. A moan escapes her, his name deep in her throat, and then it comes, washing over her like a wave crashing against the shore, and there is just James. Her body is no longer hers to control, and for a moment, she is sure she is dying, or having some kind of fit, and he will have to call the doctor for her, but then she stops thinking, because it's good, oh so good, better than she could ever have imagined.
Afterwards, when she is boneless and sated and wondering how she will ever walk again, she finds that she still longs for his touch. She turns her head on the pillow, searching for the words to call him, but he is one step ahead of her. Gently, he scoops her into his arms and cradles her against him, letting his fingers tangle in her hair as he softly kisses her face. As she settles against him, nose pressed into the hollow of his throat, she finds it difficult to regret the broken picture.