Mr. James Bell. Who’d taught the bird to say “Mr. James Bell”? Tartuffe must have been nearby when he came to escort Lily to the theater. Bloody hell.

What a fool he’d been just a minute ago, thinking there was no room for his past to intrude. He hadn’t even been married an hour, and already the perfect future he’d imagined for himself and Lily threatened to crumble around him, all thanks to a loose-beaked, decrepit bird. Panic closed in, clammy and oppressive, sending rivulets of cold perspiration down his back.

“Now you listen to me,” Julian said, crouching low and leveling a finger at the impudent creature. “You’re going to forget you ever heard that name. Otherwise for tomorrow’s dinner, I will specially request parrot fricassee.”

The bird cocked its head and regarded him with an accusing eye.

“I mean it. I will endanger you and your entire species.”

The parrot turned away in indignant silence.

Julian threw the blanket over the cage. “Wise bird.”

As he made his way back to Lily’s chambers, he tried to convince himself this was no cause for concern. So the parrot had learned the name “Mr. James Bell.” It signified nothing. Lily couldn’t even hear it. None of the servants would ascribe any meaning to it. The bird had been passed from gentleman to gentleman for years now. He might have picked up the name anywhere.

Julian paused with his hand on the bedchamber door latch, letting the cool brass calm his nerves. He would not allow the ravings of a deranged parrot to ruin his wedding day. This was what he’d been waiting for all his life.

This was love. This was Lily.

Resolving to banish all worries, he flung open the door. And halted mid-step.

Because this was Lily, naked.

Lily paused, one foot propped on the bed steps, arrested in the act of rolling her stocking over her knee.

Aside from that half-unrolled stocking, and its untouched counterpart on her other leg, she was bare to the skin. And Julian was standing in the doorway, utterly entranced.

Oh, drat.

“You …” she stammered. “Er, that was fast.”

He didn’t respond. Merely … tilted his head a fraction. His gaze roamed every part of her except her face. Fortunately, her bent leg and a fall of unbound hair served to conceal her most private places from his view. She didn’t dare move a muscle, for fear of exposing herself completely. Her hastily discarded gown, stays, and shift lay in an unhelpful heap on the floor.

“I meant to finish undressing before you returned,” she explained, “and wait for you in bed, under the covers. To surprise you.”

He remained silent, considering.

Lily blushed from head to toe. Now that she’d explained herself, she hoped he would do her the courtesy of ducking back into the corridor, counting ten, and allowing her to finish. But he showed no sign of moving at all.

“This is better,” he finally said, nodding in agreement with himself. “Much better.”

Still, he made no move.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at me?”

“Not for long.” He stayed her with an open palm. “Hold right there.” Then he leaned against the doorjamb and began to work at removing his boots.

Hold right there, indeed. Wherever would she go? She could act missish, she supposed. Blush, squeal, and grab for her chemise. Make an ungainly scramble up these low steps and dive under the bedclothes.

But as vulnerable as she was in her nakedness, she wasn’t afraid. She had power over him. The evidence was prominent indeed, where it pressed against his trouser fall. His obvious arousal told her he had needs. And the determined look in his eyes told her he had plans.

She wanted to learn what they were.

So she remained still, foot propped on the step and torso arched over her bent knee, watching him as he set his boots aside and shrugged out of his topcoat and waistcoat. Stripped down to shirt and trousers, he crossed to her in smooth, confident strides. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as he advanced.

He stopped at her side. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

The stark hunger in his gaze revealed the truth of his statement. And that unsettled Lily. He’d wanted this for a long time. Perhaps imagined it in vivid, shocking detail. What if the actual experience didn’t live up to his expectations? She wanted so much to please him. To reward his patience.

“Do you trust me?” His touch grazed her cheek.

“Always.”

Cat-like, he slid around her body, coming to stand behind her. She felt the flutter of linen against her back, then caught sight of his discarded shirt as it joined her garments on the floor. A moment later, his trousers topped the pile. She closed her eyes on a smile, knowing better than to wait for smallclothes.

His hands smoothed over her shoulders and came to rest on her upper arms. He tugged, drawing her torso upright and pulling her back flush against his naked chest.

Ah, warmth. Delicious heat slid over her chilled skin and sank deeper, permeating muscle and bone. He ironed her back with the hard planes of his chest, while his hands stroked up and down her arms. He bent his head, and his breath warmed her ear. His hips nestled against her backside, and she felt the springy hair on his thigh tease against her smoother flesh. He held her surrounded, captive. The heat of his body relaxed and aroused her, all at once. She was melting in his arms, becoming languid and wet.

She started to pivot in his arms and face him, but he held her fast, forbidding her to turn.

He trailed one hand up her arm, then across, skimming his fingertips along her collarbone. Then his touch dipped, tracing the line of her sternum and continuing around to caress the underside of her breast. She felt his breath catch. Lily looked down, entranced by the way he balanced the soft, slight weight in his palm and circled her areola with his thumb. Her nipple puckered to a taut peak, seeking his touch.

He didn’t oblige, the teasing cad. Instead he drew his fingers back up her chest. She stretched her neck, reclining her head against his shoulder as he feathered light touches up her throat, surrendering to the lovely ripples of sensation.

Now she knew why he wouldn’t allow her to turn. If they faced each other, he would be the focus of her concentration. Was he saying something?, she would continually ask herself, scanning his expressions. Had she missed some important direction or cue? But standing like this, he freed her from incessant questioning and allowed her to simply respond.

His tongue flicked and swirled against her neck, raising the little hairs on her nape. He cupped her jaw, pressing his thumb to the corner of her lips. Her mouth fell open, and she panted as he traced the shape of her lips, then insinuated his thumb between them. He rubbed her tongue, and Lily knew a moment of uncertainty. Did he wish her to lick his thumb? To suckle it?

Obeying the urges of her own desire, she let her tongue flicker against the tip of his thumb. His growl of approval rumbled through her. But before she could continue, he withdrew his thumb from her mouth. In the next instant, he pressed that moistened pad against her erect nipple, shocking her with the brisk sensation.

Who could have suspected bliss to be so cold? With every frosty lick of his wet thumb over the sensitive bud, she envied the intimate lives of seals and Laplanders. The exquisite chill had her shivering with desire, and growing ever more aware of the hot ridge branding the small of her back.

His manhood ground against her, hard and insistent, as he plucked at both her nipples now, cupping and shaping the mounds of her breasts. He nuzzled and kissed her neck and ear. The air surrounding them grew rich with musk, and Lily dragged it in and out of her lungs in open-mouth gasps. She writhed her hips, hoping to lure those talented fingers lower. She needed his touch there, down between her legs.

When he brought his first and second fingers to her mouth, this time she opened for them readily, sucked them hungrily. Another surprise, how the simple act of suckling aroused her beyond measure. She pulled his fingers deeper into her mouth, tracing their full length with her tongue and thrilling to his palpable groan.

She fought his retreat, pursing her lips tight and whimpering around his fingers as they slid from her mouth. But all complaining ended when he applied the wet tips to her intimate flesh, parting her folds with one confident sweep and centering on the sensitive nub at their crest.

She cried out. Nearly faltered, but he held her fast with one arm cinched just below her breasts, binding her to him as he worked that needy, aching bit of flesh. Her posture, with one foot propped on the step, eased his exploration. Just a few skillful swipes of his fingertips, and he had her on the brink of ecstasy. Her thighs quivered as she approached release.

Suddenly, she felt him shift behind her. The hard, muscular thigh that had bracketed hers now moved between her legs, spreading her wide. And the erection that had pressed against her back now sprang up snug between her legs. His hardness worked back and forth against her aroused flesh, stroking in delicious counterpoint to the steady motion of his fingertips.

She was so close. Teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Julian,” she gasped. “I need …”

But he knew what she needed. He pressed the tip of his arousal against her opening, nudging just inside. Not so much as to hurt her. Just enough to give her that full, tight sense of completion she craved. Her inner muscles stretched around his girth, and his fingers made feverish circles over her pearl.

She came apart, wracked by blissful shudders and inarticulate cries. He thrust, allowing her body to draw him in, steadily sheathing himself in her climax. The invasion hurt, but the pain dimmed in comparison to the bright, overwhelming pleasure. In the same way the cold against her nipple had only made her more aware of his heat.

She was aware of all of him now. Every hot, hard, powerful inch. He was inside her. He was hers.

After a few motionless moments, his grip on her waist slackened. He withdrew from her body, then helped her up the bed steps and onto the mattress, rolling her onto her back. Pillows bunched beneath her head as he arranged her limbs to his satisfaction and knelt between her thighs. After all this, she still had her stockings on. He didn’t seem to care. If a man could drink a woman in with his eyes, then Julian was taking great, thirsty gulps of her bosom.

His body fascinated her, too. His small, flat nipples and smooth chest, the trail of dark hair that led down to his groin.

He balanced his weight on one arm and angled her hips with the other, preparing to enter her again. His every muscle and tendon tensed.

“Wait.”

He waited. Reluctantly. She looked up, into a gaze razor-sharp with yearning. His eyes let her know just how much sanity this delay would cost him. But he waited, because she’d asked.

His erect, ruddy manhood lay heavy on her stomach. At last, here was some facet of Julian she could fully know. When it came to this most elemental expression, a man could have no disguises, no complexities. This part of her husband was simple, honest, and currently very straightforward. She wanted to explore and understand him, from tip to root.

So, just as a lady should do with any new acquaintance, Lily began by offering her hand.

She brushed a fingertip against his swollen, dusky crown. The entire organ flinched. Startled, she pulled her hand away.

He retrieved it, curling her fingers around his thick, veined shaft and showing her how to slide down to the base, then up again. His breath heaved in his chest as she cautiously stroked, testing his girth and length with her fingers, swirling her thumb around the broad, plum-like head. Her hand came away wet with an iridescent shimmer and streaks of her virgin’s blood. So raw; so wildly arousing. She felt unhinged from this pristine, white-linen world.

“Go on.” She stretched her arms above her head, lifting her breasts and offering herself for the taking.

And he took.

Spreading her thighs with his own, he sank into her in a slow, powerful glide. He set a steady rhythm, working a bit deeper with each thrust. As he stroked into her again and again, he covered her body with hot, desperate kisses, interspersed with words. Lily wished she could catch them all. She recognized the double flicker of her name, a few phrases here and there. Comprehension came and went in little thrusts of carnality.