Chapter Seven: Page One
Would she be doing this if she had a little less champagne inside her? The notion flitted through Selphie Tilmitt's mind while she and her "bridegroom" stole into the darkened house. Meanwhile, the masked ball to celebrate Lord Leonhart's engagement continued out on the south lawn. A few moments earlier the lovers had made private vows of marriage in the rose garden, under the stars. While all very romantic, those vows would not protect Selphie from scandal if her new husband declined to repeat them later in front of human witnesses. The moment she latched her bedroom door behind them and he folded her in his embrace, all her doubts fled. He was not the one who'd suggested this tryst. It was she who had been unwilling to wait. Having found true love at last, she was eager to explore all the delicious sensations he provoked in her while they were still so fresh and tender. Her heart and her honor were safe in his keeping. Champagne or no champagne, Selphie had never been more certain of anything in her life. Music wafted in through her half-opened window on the mild night air. A faint shimmer of star and lantern light bathed the darkened room, enough for Selphie to discern vague shapes and shadows. Her bridegroom nuzzled her neck. "If you change your mind at any time, please tell me and I will stop." He inhaled deeply, as if her scent was the only air that would sustain him. "I swear I will…if it kills me." Selphie subsided against him with a wanton chuckle. "Do not expect me to excuse you so easily from your duties as a husband." With that, she untied her mask and tossed it to the floor. Then she took his hand and led him toward the bed. On the way, she heard the quiver of arrows fall from his Robin Hood costume. He must have removed his mask, too. For when he eased Selphie onto the cool sheets and began to kiss her again, his upper face was as delightfully naked as the rest of him would soon be. For a while they reveled in kissing and touching through their clothes, murmuring endearments, not worrying that their knees might buckle when passion swept over them. And sweep it did, with a fluid force as powerful and inevitable as billows on the ocean.
Would she be doing this if she had a little less champagne inside her? The notion flitted through Selphie Tilmitt's mind while she and her "bridegroom" stole into the darkened house. Meanwhile, the masked ball to celebrate Lord Leonhart's engagement continued out on the south lawn. A few moments earlier the lovers had made private vows of marriage in the rose garden, under the stars. While all very romantic, those vows would not protect Selphie from scandal if her new husband declined to repeat them later in front of human witnesses. The moment she latched her bedroom door behind them and he folded her in his embrace, all her doubts fled. He was not the one who'd suggested this tryst. It was she who had been unwilling to wait. Having found true love at last, she was eager to explore all the delicious sensations he provoked in her while they were still so fresh and tender. Her heart and her honor were safe in his keeping. Champagne or no champagne, Selphie had never been more certain of anything in her life. Music wafted in through her half-opened window on the mild night air. A faint shimmer of star and lantern light bathed the darkened room, enough for Selphie to discern vague shapes and shadows. Her bridegroom nuzzled her neck. "If you change your mind at any time, please tell me and I will stop." He inhaled deeply, as if her scent was the only air that would sustain him. "I swear I will…if it kills me." Selphie subsided against him with a wanton chuckle. "Do not expect me to excuse you so easily from your duties as a husband." With that, she untied her mask and tossed it to the floor. Then she took his hand and led him toward the bed. On the way, she heard the quiver of arrows fall from his Robin Hood costume. He must have removed his mask, too. For when he eased Selphie onto the cool sheets and began to kiss her again, his upper face was as delightfully naked as the rest of him would soon be. For a while they reveled in kissing and touching through their clothes, murmuring endearments, not worrying that their knees might buckle when passion swept over them. And sweep it did, with a fluid force as powerful and inevitable as billows on the ocean.
