Belle's froze as she neared the stairs in fear her legs were so weak she might actually tumble down them. That'd be an impressive end to the day, she thought as she smoothed her hands down the soft yellow skirt of her dress. The boning of the bodice prohibited her from taking the deep breaths her nerves warranted. Her fingers fidgeted with the small pastel flowers along the front, as she did her best to steel herself for the night ahead.
She had fully expected the duke to address her behavior the night before. But he had barely spoken to her even when they stood before the civil officer to sign away their freedom. Cogsworth had attempted to make the moment as ceremonious as he could, despite the duke's fervent protests. It only took an instant and she was no longer Belle, the daughter of a merchant, but suddenly the duchess for all of Villeneuve.
Her stomach was still in knots.
"Deep breath," she told herself taking the stairs, the heavy satin layers of her dress gliding down with gentle swishes. Nearing the landing, her eyes found the duke's as he descended the opposite set. His expression unyielding as his eyes methodically traveled the length of her, no doubt making certain she was presentable.
Despite his indifference, he looked regal as he moved with hands clasping the hem of his sapphire-colored jacket. The suit was a considerable contrast to his normal blacks and grays. The waistcoat beneath an exact match to her dress. His hair and beard had been trimmed, though the curls still nearly reached his collar. She sincerely wondered what thoughts he might be thinking as they met simultaneously on the landing.
"Belle," he said, holding out his hand to her and she had to catch herself as she took it. He hadn't spoken her name the entire time she'd been at the castle, and with his deep, resonant voice it sounded like smoke and honey.
"I present to you, the Duke and Duchess of Villeneuve," someone called out as they turned toward the crowded entryway.
Hundreds of scrutinizing faces looked up at them, and Belle suddenly felt wildly on display. The applause roared in her ears. Swallowing hard, she worked hopelessly to steady her rushing breaths. She needed to run, she thought, trying to tug her hand free from the duke's grasp. She had to get away and hide from all the watching eyes.
The duke mumbled something she couldn't make out. A flicker of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. Did he find her apprehension comical?
"I can't," she said, but it came out faint and unsteady. She felt his grip tighten on her fingers that had gone cold in his.
"Just concentrate on your steps. Neither of us can get out of this now," he whispered in a firm but tender tone and he pulled her close, slipping his arm around her waist.
Why was he suddenly being cordial? She wondered, but the sea of arrogant faces he led her through was answer enough. He wouldn't want to make a fool of himself by marrying such a flighty bride.
The tables along the back of the ballroom might as well have been a world away and she wasn't sure she'd make it. Her surroundings swayed across her vision by the time she made it to her seat. How was she ever going to make it through the night?
0000000
"Cogsworth, I will not be led to my room like a child!" The duke growled, slamming his fist onto the table. It had been several hours and still, the party carried on. The guests scattered themselves about the ballroom, dancing, mingling, and drinking as though they hadn't long overstayed their welcome.
"But it is tradition, Your Grace," Cogsworth said drawing out the words of his petition.
"Why do you always feel the need to remind me as though I've no idea of what these silly wedding rituals are?" He pinched the ache growing across his forehead and briefly considered if he'd had too much wine, but decided his adviser was likely to blame.
"Well, if you aren't going to adhere to conventions, I suggest you find your bride and sneak away or else you'll have them all following along behind you.
The duke grumbled and eyed the room, but Belle was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't had a moment alone with her since the night before when she criticized him over his treatment of her. She wasn't wrong, but some part of him wanted to reprimand her for the blatant disobedience. He forced away his pride, it'd be a lesson for another night, he supposed. She hadn't had it easy in her short time at the castle. Not from him, the servants, or the guest at tonight's celebration.
He swallowed the last of his wine and got to his feet to search the crowd. He did his best to avoid conversation, but occasionally wound up in a drunken discussion or two. Several men commended his ability to snag such a young bride at his age. He couldn't have agreed more if only he'd actually snagged her in the first place. A few needlessly conveyed their jealousy of his night to come. He should have stopped the flow of wine hours ago, he thought as he left the ballroom and entered the entryway.
He quickly scanned the nearly empty room before moving on. Maybe she'd decided to find food, he thought remembering she had merely picked at her meal earlier in the night. She had looked nervous, nearly sick, but he had warned her to prepare for the judging eyes and condemning attitudes of the partygoers. They'd not been easy on her either, reminding her of her lost fortune, asking of her parents' whereabouts, making passive-aggressive jokes at her expense. Maybe he had done her a grave disservice by agreeing to the engagement.
The dining room was empty and he briefly considered the lawn, but in their intoxication and obliviousness to the cold, many of the younger attendees had taken to kissing and groping each other in the torchlight. He rolled his eyes. They were if not already, seriously damaging their chance at future betrothals. To be young and in love, he thought, watching them with some minute desire to be reckless once again. The sound of movement behind him pulled him back to the moment at hand.
Surely Belle wouldn't be in the kitchen. He thought but entered to find her alone, sitting on a stool by the long worktop with an empty bottle of wine and a handful of grapes. Her hair pulled back only hours before, now fell in dark waves around her delicate face and her bare feet dangled above her discarded shoes. She looked up at him with listless eyes.
"Did you drink that entire bottle?" He asked, pulling a nearby stool beneath himself.
She shrugged as she lifted it and placed it back down. "I guess I did," she said with a laugh.
"Good thing it wasn't the good wine," The duke teased. "Why are you sitting in here?"
"I wanted to be alone for a bit," she said, stifling a yawn.
"Why didn't you go to your room?"
"I made it here and it seemed like the perfect place to hide."
"Hide? From what, me?" The duke raised a single eyebrow and took several grapes from her hand.
Belle shook her head and turned her reddening face away. "Ms. Garder said some of the guests are to… to lead us upstairs and watch us."
"Watch us do what?" he asked, though realization struck and he had to take a moment to quiet his rumbling laughter. Belle glowered at him, her eyes like daggers.
"Traditionally yes, some of the guests are to show the newlyweds to their room and draw the curtains, but they leave directly."
Belle still didn't look very relieved by his description.
"Is that not a tradition your family held to?"
Belle shrugged. "I'm the first to be married, and we didn't attend any wedding ceremonies that I remember. I'm not sure I want them taking us upstairs either."
"I've informed Cogsworth that we will not be holding to that particular tradition tonight. But we'll have to sneak away," he said, standing and gesturing toward the servant's stairs. Belle stood reluctantly, eyeing him for a long moment before stepping into the dark stairwell.
Upstairs and somehow crossing the balcony without being seen, the duke pushed open the door to his chambers. A fire blazed and lit the space in a soporific orange glow. A four-poster mahogany bed on a large platform divided the room with a massive stone hearth opposite. The night as dark as coal was picturesque beyond the expansive balcony windows. The room had changed little in the last decade, and he was suddenly gut punched with a memory of his first wedding night.
"Would you like anything?" he asked, seeing her eyes scan the room. She shook her head without looking his way. Her eyes sparkled like dark amber in the firelight as she took in the space. She was rather young and beautiful, and it was a shame her father's need for money had forced her into the marriage, he thought. Removing his jacket, he draped it over the chair of his writing desk and watched her move about the room with either an intense curiosity or nervous apprehension.
"The tales of Mademoiselle Marguerite de La Trémaux," Belle gasped, picking up the book on his bedside table.
"You know it?" he asked, a bit shocked given her family's financial predicament. He tugged off his waistcoat and tossed it over his jacket.
"There was a local merchant in the lower territory who knew I couldn't afford the books he carried, so he loaned them to me. Her stories are one of my favorites. I'm surprised you have it." She studied the book for a long moment before covering another yawn with the back of her hand and returning it to the table.
"It's not mine, actually." He stopped short as another memory attempted to come flooding back. He cursed himself. Why hadn't he removed the book?
"Can you ready yourself for bed?" he asked, changing the subject, but turned to see Belle staring back at him with a look of dread. She had likely been terrified of this moment since learning she was to marry someone she'd had no relationship with.
"I could call for Ms. Garder." He offered. She shook her head nervously. "Would you like me to help?" She shook her head again.
The duke sighed and went over to a small cart. "This is one tradition I think we could both use," he said, filling and handing her a small chalice. She took it with trembling fingers and turned it up with little inspection.
She blew out a long slow breath, and her already pink cheeks brightened.
"It has a bite to it." The duke said, lifting his own and emptying it. She nodded in agreement and finished the contents before handing it back.
"Turn around," he said, setting the cups aside.
Belle slowly turned her back toward him, pulling her hair around and out of the way. "If you could unlace me a bit? I can manage the rest."
His fingers fumbled as he tugged the knot at the small of her back free. He worked them far less adeptly than any woman would have, but soon they were loose enough she could pull the dress open.
He stood waiting while she clutched the dress to herself as though she expected something more. Feeling foolish, he quickly sat to remove his shoes. He was too experienced for this moment to be so awkward, he thought, tossing his boots aside.
Finally, she let the dress fall to the floor and it collapsed around her feet in a corona of yellow peaks. Even in the dim firelight, the chemise beneath was as sheer as water. Ms. Garder was due a hell of a raise for dressing her in such a delicate fabric, he thought. Her round hips and the curves of her bottom were impressively visible. She turned, stepped from the dress, and took several steps toward him, obviously unaware of its lack of coverage. She was so close he could smell the scented waters she had bathed in. Rose and Jasmin. The shoulder of the gown fell, exposing the curvature of a single breast. His body responded, nudging him to act. He stood, though a bit unsteady, and reached out for her.
Belle shuddered as his fingers slipped past the loose ties of the chemise and traveled further below the fabric to her partially exposed breast. Her skin was hot against his cold palm and her nipple hardened beneath his caressing thumb. He wanted her. He wanted to feel himself inside her, and a scourge of guilt bubbled to the surface. His eyes flicked to hers. They were wide and glassy. Was it the wine or was she on the verge of tears? Her full lips parted like she was about to speak, but no words came. Instead, he took her face in the palm of his hand, his thumb resting against her lips. Did she lean into him? He felt the sudden urge to feel those lips against his, warm and glistening against his body as he stroked her hair.
Six years, the words resounded in his consciousness. It had been six long years since he'd touched a woman in such a way and still the guilt of taking a new wife burrowed deep in his consciousness. He had been perfectly happy living in his grief until the queen demanded he marry and produce heirs. He'd been so close, he thought.
"More drink?" he asked, abruptly pulling his hand away.
"No, thank you." She stumbled over her words as the duke went back to the cart. In three gulps, the chalice was empty. The warmth of the spicy wine burned inside him.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, and he could hear the quiver in her voice.
"Dammit!" he cursed himself and slammed the cup onto the cart far harder than he'd meant to. Of course, she hadn't done anything wrong.
In his periphery, he could see Belle start to retreat toward the door. "Stop." He demanded, and she instantly obeyed. To see this lion of a girl as submissive as a kitten was exciting beyond reason.
He blew out a long breath, forcing away the self-reproach and indignant tone. "The guests will likely wait half the night or more for our consummation." He turned fully toward her. "Besides, your ass is completely visible in that gown."
She looked down at herself, instinctively using her hands to hide the intimate areas. It only made the image more provocative, he thought pouring one last glass of wine. He held it out and Belle looked between him and the glass.
"Trust me, this will help," he said, downing his own. She stared at him unwilling to expose herself. "Go ahead, I won't look," he teased.
Hastily, she reached out, turned up the cup, then immediately covered herself once again, her face twisted until the burn of the wine subsided.
Taking her glass and setting them aside, he moved on her, finding once again that little spark of recklessness.
"Your grace," she whispered, more breathy than panicked though she backed away as he advanced. She stumbled up the platform, then jolted to a stop as her thighs bumped into the raised bed behind her. She had nowhere else to retreat. Her arms and hands no longer covered her as she used them for balance, her fingers reaching out and clutching the sleeves of his white tunic.
"We're married. You can call me Adam," he said, pressing his lips to hers. They were as inviting as they looked and tasted of the spiced wine. Mad with want, he coaxed them open with his own, the tip of his tongue finding hers. A spark ignited inside him, and he reached back sliding a hand into her hair while the other heedlessly pulled the chemise up her body. His fingers raked against her thigh.
She moaned something resembling no and her hand snapped up to grasp his. He stopped only for a breath and continued when she applied no other force. The ache to feel her intensified and he knew he'd have to pace himself.
She inhaled sharply and yanked her hand away from his as it made a deliberate path to an area he guessed her own had never pleasurably explored. Gripping his forearms tight, she pressed her face into his chest as his fingers parted her. He took his time until her body facilitated his gentle touch. Belle let out a faint whimper when he stopped and twisted his hand to nudge her thighs apart. She submitted, giving him enough space to slip his finger inside and spread the wetness from within. Feeling her breathing quicken against him, he timed his strokes to the rhythm.
He embraced her tightly, so little space between them and he knew he had to be pressing painfully into her hip. He'd wished now he'd undressed as his trousers restricted him with an agonizing discomfort.
"Please," she moaned, so quiet he almost didn't hear.
"Please stop?" he questioned teasingly.
She shook her head against him and he could feel the growing wetness as he worked in and out, making certain to keep his hand firm against her as it moved. Her nails dug deep into his biceps, the pain only urging him on.
"I can't," she whispered but she pressed herself into his hand increasing the friction of his fingers and palm.
"You can. You will," the duke demanded gently, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. He could feel her body quake and he thought she might actually collapse when at last she released a low, guttural moan, her body stiffened against him, and the fount broke.
"Good girl," he whispered lowering her to the bed.
0000000
Belle's chemise was over her head on the floor in an instant. It took all her strength to remain upright as the wine and the torrent of the climax intoxicated her. She tried not to shy away from the duke's hungry eyes as he stared down at her, now completely naked, entirely vulnerable.
In a swift movement, the duke's shirt joined her chemise and his bare muscles rippled beneath a layer of course, dark hair. His thick arms flexed as he worked to remove his trousers. Belle let out an audible gasp as he stood before her. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but his size was shocking and she tried to crawl away only to open herself to him.
He took the invitation, grabbing her thighs and pulling her in close. Expertly, he lifted her sightly with one hand and used the other to guide himself inside. The pressure an odd mix of pleasure and pain. Belle clamped her eyes shut and cried out.
He moved achingly slow for several thrusts before slipping his thumb between her lips and again gliding it over her swollen nub. A sweet agony erupted inside her with each pass and a low moan escaped her. Flushing with embarrassment, she clamped her mouth tight fighting the passionate declarations.
The duke gave small throaty laugh increasing his speed and depth as though he took her refusal to release those little moans as a challenge. Again he brought her to a level of pleasure she'd never believed possible and it broke like a crashing wave undoing her resolve. Her eyes flitted open, meeting the duke's voracious stare and he held it commandingly. She couldn't bring herself to look away as her body rocked with his increasingly aggressive force. Emitting a low growl, his hands clutched her hips to pin her against him.
Oh God! She wound the blanket beneath her into tight fists and pulled, further anchoring herself as he drove into her. She could feel another surge building and thought she might lose her mind before the duke had finished with her.
"Adam," she cried as he seemed to suddenly swell inside her. His hips pushed further and faster for several thrusts until at last, he released a satisfied growl. His pace slowed as he fell forward onto his hands. His forearms were hot and humid against her sides.
"You want another?" he asked breathlessly, and she nodded languidly. Her whimpering grew into guttural moans as he made long, teasing strokes. She could feel his steady decline, but it took only moments to bring her to a final rush of euphoria.