A/N: This relates Bramwell and Daphne's wedding night, among other things, and it's rather ... shall I say mature, so if you don't like that sort of thing, give it a miss. Otherwise, enjoy!

After coming back to reality, Bramwell looked around and noted that Daphne had her bag open and was getting out her toiletries and the negligee she had bought especially for tonight. Despite his feelings for Catherine, the sight of Daphne's youth and femininity inflamed his desire once again and he knew he had to possess her, make her his own, before the evening got too much older.

He moved over behind her and slipped his arms around her, pressing himself tightly against her so that she was able to feel his arousal. He also kissed her left ear, blew into it, then nibbled the lobe before moving to kiss her throat and neck. Daphne moaned in pleasure, the feel of her husband's hands and arms all she had ever dreamed of...but she knew his desire was not for her. Even as much as she wanted to, she could not allow him to continue, not and still be able to resist him, even for a moment.

"Bramwell, please don't touch me like that. It's hard enough to resist you as it is." Her voice was a mixture of love and pain.

"Don't touch you? What kind of thing is that to say to your husband on our wedding night?"

He once again moved her hair, this time to kiss the nape of her neck. She shivered deliciously at his action, feeling lightning bolts of desire shoot out from the point of contact to all points on her body, choosing to end in her most sensitive parts. She once again stiffened and attempted to extricate herself.

"Bramwell, stop it! You know you don't really want me, so stop pretending that you do. I'm not the one in your mind and heart."

"Perhaps not," he purred. "But you are the one in my arms, and soon to be in my bed...in our bed." He then turned her around to pull her close and claim her lips in a fiery kiss, soon pry-ing her lips open to find her unbelievably hot, sweet tongue. Their undulating tongues dueled for an interminable time, then he began to undress her, first unbuttoning her blouse and untying her blue lace chemise to bare her small but perfectly formed breasts with deep pink nipples to his passionate gaze.

Her breath quickened and her pulse rate doubled when his dark head lowered and his mouth found one of her breasts, licking and suckling the sweetly hard nipples—first the right, then the left. Daphne's knees turned to jelly as she arched her back and held her husband's head in place. Only Bramwell's arms holding her up prevented her from falling at his feet.

"Bramwell, my darling...my darling..."

"Daphne, Daphne...you taste so sweet. I doubt I'll ever get enough of you..."

Only reluctantly did he release her, then moved the bag off the bed before taking her in his arms again and lowering her to the bed, the two of them lying across it. He continued to kiss her deeply even as his hands lifted her skirts to her waist and made short work of her petti- coats and undergarments, pulling them off to drop them on the floor. He then settled onto her after opening his shirt and pants, resting his weight on his forearms and knees, then shoved the latter down further to release his painfully hard and deliciously throbbing arousal from its confinement, his nose and lips nuzzling between her bare breasts upon spreading her slender white legs apart to better accommodate him.

Daphne no longer wanted to resist; she couldn't. She had wanted him for so long. In fact, she had been lost the moment he touched her. All that mattered now was that Bramwell continue to kiss and caress her, then ultimately possess her. Even the fact of his love for her sister was no longer important.

"Oh my God, Daphne...Daphne..." He settled himself further between her legs upon turning her beneath him again after they had turned on their sides, reaching a hand to stroke her painfully sensitive center. She moaned and cried out even as he brought her to a mind-boggling climax, bucking and writhing beneath him. He could scarcely believe how hot, tight and wet she was.

It wasn't much longer before he positioned himself at her opening and prepared to thrust inside. Bramwell sensed that his bride was a virgin, as every woman should be on her wedding night. No doubt his initial penetration would be painful for her, but he was determined that there would be only pleasure for them both after that, even as he tried to warn her of what to expect.

"Daphne, I can't wait much longer. I must be inside you soon—but must also warn you that it's going to hurt when you lose your virginity. I'll be as gentle as I can, but can make no guarantees..." His voice trailed off as he moved so that the head of his painfully hard cock slid into her sweetly tight, but hot and slick opening. He went as far as he dared, until he felt her flinch. "Wrap your legs around my hips. I'll try to make it one quick thrust. The pain should only be momentary. If not, I'll have to do it more than once. In that event, there won't be much I can do. Get ready now—brace yourself...I'm coming—now!"

With that, Bramwell thrust his hips forward sharply, feeling something give deep inside his wife's body even as she cried out softly in pain and clung tightly to him with both her arms and legs...then he felt himself sink hilt-deep within her. The couple lay thusly joined for a time, in order that Daphne accustom herself to the feel of him inside her and his body atop hers. Bramwell then began to move again, thrusting his hips back and forth several times, harder and faster with each passing moment, until his pelvis was molded to hers. He moaned with steadily increasing ecstasy as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching and sensed he would be unable to stop himself for a long time once it arrived.

When climax was imminent, Bram jammed himself as far as he could get inside Daphne's body before letting himself go. He began to kiss her passionately once again until he tensed a against her, flooding her body with his seed. A part of him hoped that Daphne would become pregnant from this encounter. It would serve Catherine right for denying him both herself and their child. Oh, but that would be such sweet revenge...

The initial pain of penetration was unbelievable, but Daphne bit her lip hard and held her husband tightly until the pain passed and become a warm, liquid feeling. Her bridegroom's arms were so strong yet gentle around her, his warm, bare body so wonderfully delicious against her own and his breath hot and sweet on her bare skin. Even so, she knew who he really wanted and he couldn't convince her otherwise—but that didn't stop her from wanting him, loving him, hungering for his kisses, his touch, his body.

Once Bramwell had recovered, he moved his wife to lie full-length on the bed, her dark hair spread around her face on the pillow like a halo. Daphne allowed her husband to undress her entirely and felt renewed desire as she lay watching him fully undress. His body was so incredibly beautiful...

She had intended to wear her white peignoir tonight, but Bramwell had been too sweetly insistent, far too passionate, to allow her to do so. He seemed to prefer his women naked. His wife, too, if tonight was any indication. And considering what they had just shared, she hardly minded. There should be other nights when she would have the chance, with any luck. For the time being, all that mattered was being here with him, in his bed, in his arms, loving and being loved by him—if only physically.

Once Bram rejoined his wife, he slid his arms around her from behind and pressed against her, his hardness resting between her sweetly rounded buttocks as he molded himself to her spoon-fashion. He rested his head on Daphne's bare shoulder, hands moving to cradle the warm rounded softness of her breasts.

"Would you be...agreeable to more sexual intimacy, my little tigress?" he crooned into her ear.

"Most definitely," she returned emphatically as she moved back to snuggle closer to him.

"Then we will do so, little wife. In the meantime, we must rest so that we will be fresh for our next interlude. Sleep well."

"Good night, my love," she whispered. "And thank you for the most wonderful night of my life."

A short time later she felt his head grow heavy on her back and knew he had fallen asleep—but remained molded against her all night long, his hands still cradling her breasts when she awakened the next morning.

On the morning of her first full day of married life, Daphne awoke hungry for a good, hearty breakfast—but her insatiable new bridegroom had other ideas. "Bramwell, don't you think we should have breakfast first?" she asked.

He made no verbal reply; instead, he pressed himself close to her, reaching to fondle her nipples once again even as he kissed the nape of her neck. She shivered at the feel of his lips on her skin...then one of his hands wandered south and slipped between her legs, stroking her intimately until she cried out in pleasure. He then turned her over and kissed her passionately, their tongues entwining as intricately as their bodies before he finally spoke.

"You are the only thing I'm hungry for at the moment." Bramwell's husky voice crooned to her before effectively silencing his wife by claiming her lips once again even as he opened her legs and positioned himself before passionately thrusting inside. Dephne locked her arms and legs around him even as his actions made her forget her need for food—indeed, everything but his nearness, for a long time to come.

It was only some hours later, after resting up from this last interlude that Daphne and Bram-well rose from their honeymoon bed to bathe and dress before heading down to the Inn's dining room for a late lunch. Of course, considering the time (four p.m.), it was more like an early dinner, which befitted both their large libidos and equally large appetites for food.

That night was no different, but this time Daphne took the initiative in their lovemaking. At one point she even sat astride her husband as he lay on his back on their bed, impaling her-self on his iron-hard shaft. Her hips moved deliciously and her small but perfect breasts bounced entrancingly as he held onto the bedposts. This time it was he who moaned and writhed beneath her even as he thrust upward inside her several times.

"Daphne...oh, my God...Daphne!" He finally cried out in pleasure, once again filling her body with his hot seed. This was what finally enervated them once and for all. After it was over, Daphne fell down limply beside her husband and he gathered her close to kiss her in mixed gratitude and satiation.

She smiled tenderly, but with a wickedness in her eyes that he had not thought her capable of. She said as if reading his mind, "Oh, I assure you that I am, beloved—but only here and now, and only with you! By the way, wouldn't you say that I have proven myself every bit as passionate as my sister?"

Bramwell smiled and put a finger to his wife's lips, which Daphne promptly kissed. "She is unimportant now. All that matters is this moment, you and I, and what we feel for each other." He then kissed her deeply one last time and said, "I didn't think it possible, little wife, but you have actually worn me out! In which case, we're going to need considerably more sleep before we return home in the morning."

The couple had just enough energy to snuggle close to one another, arms around each other, before falling asleep. Daphne smiled inwardly at her husband's unexpected but most welcome compliments, wishing that Catherine could have heard them. She was also certain that her sister's night with her own husband had not been nearly as active nor as much fun as her own.

Mainly because Morgan Collins was the original cold fish...and she seriously questioned her sister's sanity, not to mention her taste, in dumping Bramwell for him. Of course, that was all the better for her, since she could show him, show all of them, what it was like for a man to be loved by a woman who truly appreciated him.

Meanwhile, back at Collinwood, the rest of the Collins clan was gathered in the drawing room, all discussing the wedding which had taken place the previous day. Quentin Collins was sitting in his favorite chair by the fireplace, a brandy at his elbow. On the adjoining couch sat Flora and Melanie, with Kendrick Young in a straight-backed chair next to the latter, his paramour. Morgan and Catherine were on the other couch facing Flora and Melanie; Julia had elected to stand on Flora's right, one hand resting on the back of the couch.

"Daphne looked radiant, don't you think?" Quentin remarked before taking a swig of brandy and setting his glass down again. "I've never seen her so happy."

"She surely did," Josette Collins agreed, situated in another straight-backed chair next to Catherine. "I never saw anyone so much in love." Josette only hoped that her son would eventually feel the same toward his wife as his mother knew Daphne felt toward him.

"She's simply a lovesick fool," Morgan opined. "Bramwell is going to use her, abuse her and eventually break her heart. Just you wait and see."

Catherine gave her husband a cold glare, purely out of loyalty to her sister, even though she secretly agreed with him, believing she knew how Bramwell would treat Daphne, simply on the basis of how he had supposedly treated her...and wishing she had been able to talk some sense into her. Since she had been unable to, Catherine could only pray that things would work out between Daphne and Bramwell. If he didn't treat her right, she vowed she would take him apart and take pleasure in doing it, no matter what the depth of her lingering feel-ings for him.

Daphne had always been stubborn; Catherine didn't want her sister to have to learn the hard way, as she had...but it seemed that there was nothing she could do to stop it. She knew also that it would be a long time before Bramwell forgave her for marrying Morgan—if he ever did. He was not one to forget or forgive easily, and with a part of her she couldn't blame him for seeking revenge on her. She simply disliked the idea of Bramwell using Daphne's feelings for him in order to exact revenge on her, Catherine, for rejecting him.

"Morgan, that is a most unkind thing to say," Melanie put in. "Daphne is a grown woman. Who she chooses to marry is her own business, however any of us may feel about it." Melanie reached to squeeze Kendrick's hand and smiled tenderly at him.

"Forgive me. I always seem to forget that the truth isn't always kind," Morgan returned in a condescending tone. "I simply believe that Daphne has made the most colossal mistake of her life—and am sure that I'm not the only one who thinks so, even if they aren't saying so." He looked pointedly at his wife, then Julia, who nodded in agreement.

"Even at that, the least we can do is be civil to them, however we may feel about the situation. It's not our place to judge them or tell them how to live," Flora opined, taking a sip of her favorite apple-cinnamon tea in a delicate, rose-decorated porcelain cup which she held with two fingers and the rest extended, as befitted an aristocrat—as befitted a Collins.

"Mother, you've always been far too much of an idealistic dreamer, far too much of a dyed-in-the-wool romantic for your own good." This came from Morgan.

"And you're being entirely too pessimistic, Morgan," his mother retorted. "For all we know, Daphne and Bramwell could turn out to be the happiest couple of all of us."

"I hope so, if only for Daphne's sake," Morgan reluctantly conceded, never having been able to win an argument with his mother. "I just can't help having my doubts, however, considering the troubles Catherine and I endured because of Bramwell before we finally managed to get married."

He locked gazes with his wife, then looked around at everyone else in the room. All others present knew what he was referring to, the several times Bramwell had attempted to pre- vent their marriage from taking place. The only way they had managed to do it was by sneaking off together and doing it without telling anyone until after it was over.

"I can understand why he would do it," Josette remarked. "After all, he has loved Catherine for many years and was hoping to marry her himself one day." Josette took a deep breath before continuing. "However, since both she and Bramwell have been compelled to choose otherwise, I believe it best that we simply bide our time, see how matters stand between Bramwell and Daphne once they return from their honeymoon and settle down into married life."

Her tone was quiet and firm, brooking no argument, even though there were those who wanted to. In fact, it was fortunate that Morgan Collins had chosen to remain silent this time. Otherwise Catherine would have jumped to her sister's defense, regardless of her own opinion regarding the marriage—something she still saw as a marriage of convenience on Bramwell's part and was convinced that he saw as a means to an end—that end being revenge on her, Catherine. She was also certain that he would do anything and everything within his power to accomplish that end, even if it meant ensnaring the totally smitten Daphne in his tangled web of love and deceit.

"I agree," Quentin finally concurred. "After all, it's what we would expect them to do for us in the same situation."

"Which reminds me—we should finish up the preparations for the wedding reception, since Bramwell and Daphne are due back tomorrow."

Flora stood up, her actions prompting the other women who were seated to follow her, even the ones who disagreed with Daphne's decision to marry Bramwell. This left only Quentin, Morgan and Kendrick in the Collinwood drawing room upon the departure of the Collins females.

By themselves, of course, the three men found little to discuss—so Kendrick eventually excused himself to go join the women, since he and Melanie were the next couple due to get married and he wanted to have some idea what to expect at their upcoming nuptials.

"So, Quentin, when is Samantha due to return from Boston?" Morgan asked his brother after Kendrick had left the room in search of Melanie and the others.

"Last I heard, tomorrow afternoon," Quentin replied, taking another swig of brandy.

"Is she bringing Tad back with her?" Morgan wondered, aware of the illness which had prompted the boy's being taken to Boston to be examined and treated by a specialist in his particular illness. He had been there for the past several weeks and Samantha had gone to Boston to be with her son, keeping his father informed of the boy's progress.

However, her last communication had been nearly a week ago, so he had no way of knowing what Tad's current condition was. He could only hope that she would have some good news of him upon her return. As it was, all Quentin could do was shake his head in response to his brother's inquiry.

"He's still not quite well enough. Samantha said it'll probably be at least another two weeks."

"Then why doesn't she stay with him until he's fully recovered and bring him back then, instead if making another unnecessary round trip to Boston again?"

Quentin shrugged. "I have no idea—but I have learned that it's easiest to just let Sam do as she sees fit, at least where Tad is concerned. The last time I disagreed with her, she nearly cut me off at the knees. One thing you must never forget, Morgan, is to never come between a mother and her child, even if you're the father of that child."

"I'll keep it in mind," Morgan promised, although he was privately dubious as to the likeli-hood of himself and Catherine having children any time soon. He knew his older brother was simply trying to give him the benefit of his experience as a husband and father, but despite Catherine's claim that she very much desired children, he had so far seen no indica- tion that she wanted to take the first, most important step toward achieving that goal—regular physical joinings.

Instead, she was constantly putting him off, claiming either fatigue or a headache, if not both. Sometimes he would even swear that she looked physically ill, although she always insisted she was fine whenever he happened to mention it. He was frankly getting tired of being kept at arm's length and intended to give her an ultimatum—either they take steps to have the children she claimed to want or annul their marriage.

But Morgan didn't like the idea of having Catherine once again free to pursue Bramwell, not after all the trouble he had gone to to win her...and never mind that Bramwell was married to her sister now. This was getting ridiculous, and he intended to see that it ended once and for all—whatever he had to do.

"Well, let's go see if we can do anything to help the women," Quentin suggested, setting down his now-empty brandy glass and standing up to stretch, getting the kinks out of his back before heading for the drawing room doors. After a brief hesitation, Morgan finally sighed, shrugged and followed his brother out to join him and Kendrick in seeking out the womenfolk, unable to think of anything else to do to pass the time until bedtime and his intended talk with Catherine.