Chapter 9: Ashes
Meg couldn't help the tightening ball of fear in her stomach as Raoul led her up the winding staircase to his bedchamber. He opened the door for her and let her inside, then shut it carefully and turned the lock, as though he feared she might escape. He leaned against the door, and just looked at her for a moment, taking in her wide blue eyes and shivering form.
"I'll be gentle, Meg," he promised, and opened his arms for her as she came to seek refuge in his embrace.
His hands smoothed down the back of her satin gown, fingers toying with the buttons, and Meg drew back from their embrace to look at his face.
His lips met hers suddenly, and Meg returned the kiss, doing her best to banish her fear. His tongue played at the seam of her lips, and she parted them briefly, remembering all that Christine had told her the night before.
His tongue slipped into her mouth, warm and seeking, and Meg recoiled slightly from the intimacy of the gesture. He felt her stiffen, but didn't stop, his fingers beginning to deftly undo the buttons on the back of her gown.
Meg forced herself to remain still, though she wanted to scream, to run, to slap his hands away from the closures of her dress and escape somewhere, anywhere.
You are his wife now. He is your husband. This is his right.
She felt him free the last button, and the dress fell away from her shoulders to pool about her feet in a lake of midnight blue silk. She felt naked already, clothed in nothing but her corset, chemise and undergarments.
"Let me take my jewelry off." She surprised herself with how calm her voice sounded, as she turned away from him to remove the necklace, diamond clips, and earrings. She did it as much to steady her nerves as to remove the jewels, breathing deeply as she laid the precious items aside. Her hair fell down as she removed the clips one by one, entirely unaware of how seductive the simple actions were. She turned back to face Raoul, and looked at him, standing in his shirtsleeves and trousers, having divested himself of his jacket, waistcoat and cravat. Her eyes fell, unbidden, below his waist, and she blushed furiously when she saw the evidence of his desire.
Raoul smiled at her discomfiture, and pulled her close to him, running his hands through her silky hair. His hands fell to her corset, and he tugged the laces free, tossing the restrictive garment aside.
Meg's hands went nervously to his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one, fumbling in her nervousness. Eventually, she had the garment undone, and she tossed it onto a nearby chair, smoothing her hands down his chest.
Raoul shuddered a little at her touch, and Meg reached for the buttons of his trousers, shaking inwardly, but determined not to show it. He undid the ties of her chemise, and drew the garment off, followed by her drawers. He picked her nude body up then, and laid her on the bed, finishing the job of undoing his trousers himself.
Meg's eyes went wide at the sight of him, completely divested of clothing. She felt an unfamiliar jolt at the picture his naked body made, slender and muscular, with a broad, if boyish, chest, his fashionably long hair falling about his shoulders, and his narrow hips tapering into long legs. He lay on the bed next to her, touching her face for a moment, then rolled over to lean above her, his eyes raking over her body.
"You're beautiful, Meg," he whispered throatily. "Very, very beautiful." But not Christine.
He forced thoughts of the dark-haired, voluptuous beauty from his mind, focusing only on the woman beneath him. She was beautiful, a princess sculpted from fine china, her delicate body spread out on the velvet coverlet, cornsilk hair falling across her face and shoulders.
Her eyes jerked back and forth between his face and his erection, her cheeks blushing furiously each time her gaze fell below his waist. She was obviously both aroused and discomfited by the sight, and he kissed her again, trying to soothe her nerves.
"It is not so frightening, Meg. Here, see?" He took her hand and guided it to him, gently wrapping her fingers about him. He groaned with the sensation as her hand tightened and moved fractionally.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Did I hurt you?"
"Oh, God, no." He let his hands rest on her body, moving slowly from her throat to her breasts, fingers trailing gently over her warming skin.
"Oh." She moaned softly, surprised at the small dart of pleasure when his hands found her breasts. "Raoul…" she whispered, moving under him and moaning again when his lips replaced his hands.
She was beautiful, no doubt, but when he sought for the fierce desire, the primal urges that had possessed him with Christine and even Giselle, he could not find them. He was aroused by her beauty and her willing body, but there was no passion. His hands moved lower, teasing, testing her, and he found that she was ready for him. He leaned over her, taking her mouth in another kiss as he pressed forwards, thrusting into her slowly.
Her virgin body resisted him strongly at first, and he kissed her again, hands moving over her breasts in an attempt to soothe her pain. Her muscles at long last gave in to him, and he slid forwards, possessing her entirely.
After such a long period of abstinence, his body trembled with the sensation of her, enveloping him, and when she arched up and sought his mouth for another kiss, he groaned loudly.
"Oh, God." He moaned, hands sliding roughly down her body and gripping her hips as her arms locked around his neck, pleasure and a tinge of fear in her eyes as he, gauging her reactions, began to thrust more swiftly.
He was nearly finished, and he looked down, seeing for a startling moment not Meg, but Christine lying beneath him. He focused his mind, detracting from his pleasure, but he was not about to cry out another woman's name on his wedding night, in bed with his wife!
"Meg…" he groaned, eyes closing as he increased his pace. He drove deeply into her suddenly, and she moaned a little, whether in pain or pleasure he was not sure. He groaned loudly as he climaxed, fingers digging into her hips. In a matter of moments he was finished, and he withdrew carefully, rolling over to lay next to Meg in the bed.
Meg lay silent for a moment, little flutters remaining in her body, ghosts of a pleasure she had barely experienced. Christine had spoken of a raging fire that spun sometimes out of control, a passion beyond imagining, lust and desire that Meg had only seen hints of onstage. But there had been no fire tonight.
Only ashes.
She looked for a moment as though she might fall asleep, and Raoul slid off of the bed and knotted a robe about him. Holding out another robe for Meg, he gestured for her to come with him. "Come, Meg. I'll show you to your room."
The shock on her face pained him—how could she not have known that noble husbands and wives often shared separate rooms? No doubt Christine had led her to believe otherwise. Of course she and Erik, being common, would share a bedroom.
Meg fought back tears as Raoul led her through the double doors into the adjoining bedroom.
"You have an entire suite of rooms here—bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room, at your disposal, as well as maids, who will come whenever you are in need." He gestured to a velvet bellpull. "When I require your company, you need only come in and exit through those doors." He gestured to the solid mahogany portal separating their bedrooms.
He touched her cheek briefly, and leaned down to give her a kiss, far warmer than any she had received previously. "Thank you, Meg."
Before she could reply, he had left the room.
A fresh nightrail was laid out on the bed, and Meg dressed hurriedly, then crawled under the covers. When all the lights were out, she buried her face in the pillow, and cried.
No, there was no fire tonight.
Only ashes.