Letty took in the familiar, lean lines of his face; the small creases on either side of his eyes, even in repose; the flexible quirk of his thin lips; all the infinitesimal, indefinable details that had become so familiar over the past few weeks, and which she had studied covertly across the length of London's ballrooms long before that. Whatever reservations she might have paled in comparison.
"We never did have a wedding night," she ventured.
"A lamentable oversight," Geoff agreed, solemnly enough, but there was a curious light in his eyes that sent a corresponding current straight through Letty.
His free hand was already moving through her hair, freeing it of its remaining three pins. The pins didn't make a sound as they fell, muffled by the thickly woven carpet. The last heavy coil gave way, brushing across Letty's back as it slid down.
"Shall we call this a belated one?" Letty asked, her voice strangely thick to her own ears. Geoff's hands were on her shoulders, burning through the sleeves of her gown.
"You can call it anything you like." Sweeping aside the clinging strands of hair, Geoff kissed the side of her neck. "Your hair smells like chamomile. And lemons."
"The lemon is for my freckles," Letty confessed breathlessly, distracted by the gentle brush of his fingers where his lips had been. She was having a very hard time focusing on what she was saying. "It's supposed to bleach them off over time."
Geoff turned his attentions to the other side of her neck, and Letty wondered if it was possible to simply dissolve into the coverlet in a blob of pink goo. "How long have you been trying to bleach them?"
"Since I was twelve," Letty admitted, wrinkling her nose.
Geoff lightly kissed the offending appendage. "I like your freckles."
Letty shook her head at him. "No one will ever write an ode to a freckle. It just isn't done."
"You certainly don't want me to," said Geoff, with a sudden boyish grin. "My odes are terrible and my sonnets are worse."
"I know. Mary showed me that last poem, the one that began—" Letty broke off, wishing she hadn't said anything.
"'O peerless jewel in Albion's crown'?" Geoff recited resignedly, banishing Mary's ghost as smoothly and deliberately as though the awkward moment had never been. "Is there anyone in London who hasn't seen that blasted poem?"
"I've read them all," declared Letty giddily. "Every last one."
"Oh, no." Geoff's head dropped in mock shame.
"Every heroic couplet. Every deathless stanza."
"You don't want to do that," Geoff warned.
Oh, but she did.
"'O Muse! O Fates! O Love Divine!'"
Letty abandoned her pose as Geoff began stalking her across the breadth of the pink bedspread. Scooting hastily backward, Letty declaimed, "'Lend strength to my…'"
"Right." Geoff pounced.
Rolling out of the way of Geoff's hands, Letty managed to gasp out, "'…enmetered line!'" just before she found herself caught up and rolled across several yards of pink satin coverlet, in breathless, laughing confusion. They fished up on the far side of the bed, with Geoff propped up on his elbows over her. Letty's dress was decidedly worse for the escapade, and she had hair in her mouth. Making a face, Letty swiped ineffectually at it.
"Serves you right," said Geoff smugly, grinning down at her. "Mocking my poetry like that."
"You wrote it." Letty's blue eyes glinted mischievously up at him. "Don't worry. Percy Ponsonby thought it was quite good."
"Ouch." It wasn't a very convincing complaint, since his mind was otherwise engaged in the complicated engineering dilemma of how to work the buttons down Letty's back free of their moorings while she was lying on them. Any man to come up with a mathematical theorem to explain that great quandary of nature would surely win the respect not only of his peers but of posterity.
Perhaps if he rolled her just a little bit to the right…
"Oh, it gets better!" It certainly did. The shift in angle worked as smoothly as anything devised by Newton, exposing a whole row of buttons ripe for the plucking. Or, rather, the unplucking. Geoff eased the first one free. "He called it 'corking good verse.'"
"Corking?" Geoff paused in his unbuttoning and cast Letty an incredulous look. "Is that even a word?"
Letty shrugged, which had the beneficial effect of shaking an extra button free of its casing. "I don't know; you're the poet."
"Someone ought to cork Percy Ponsonby," declared Geoff absently, thinking mostly of buttons.
Letty's face went stiff, and she lurched upright so abruptly that her dress slid drunkenly off one shoulder. As Letty grabbed for it, the impact of Geoff's mistake thudded home. Since Percy was the one who had found them…Damn. Cursing himself for his carelessness, Geoff hastened to make amends.
"Not that," he said softly, cupping Letty's face in both hands. "I didn't mean that."
For a moment, Letty's lips parted as though to speak. Whatever she might have said, she thought better of it. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Geoff's with a determination that might have meant that she believed him, or might equally well have meant that she didn't. Geoff was vaguely aware that he ought to inquire, but what with one thing and another, his body deemed external considerations irrelevant.
Geoff's hands slid to where her dress gaped invitingly, narrowing to a point at the base of her spine. His hands roamed over the exposed area, the fine fabric of her chemise bunching beneath his fingers. "Is there a hem to this?" he asked huskily, his lips barely leaving hers.
"It would be a little odd if it hadn't," began Letty, but her philosophical meditations on the finite nature of fabric ended in an indrawn breath. Geoff had found the edge of the chemise all by himself, and was involved in exploring under it.
The sensation of her husband's ungloved hands stroking the length of her spine made their previous kisses seem practically proper in comparison. There was something more than a little decadent about sitting side by side, in the glare of a dozen candles, fully clothed except for the secret caress of his hands against her bare back, hidden from view by the specious propriety of her gown. In a mirror of the movement of his hands on her back, Geoff's tongue slid across her lips. Driven by pure instinct, Letty leaned into the kiss, matching his tongue with hers. There was nothing delicate or courtly about the kiss; it was an open-mouthed expression of pure passion, the sort that might have persuaded Lancelot to forsake his allegiance to Arthur, or Helen to run off with Paris.
"For that," commented Geoff hoarsely, when they could speak again, "I'll even forgive your mocking my verse."
"For that," replied Letty cheekily, "I'll even forgive you writing it."
Their eyes locked, glittering with heightened awareness. Geoff could feel a cockeyed grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, echoed by an answering expression on Letty's face, the same sort of expression he had seen on agents before they set out on a particularly exciting mission, flush with high spirits and ready to dare the devil himself. But no agent he had ever known had looked anything like Letty. With her color heightened, and her gown slipping from one shoulder, she looked like a Renaissance painter's depiction of Susanna bathing, all pink curves and unconscious sensuality.
Geoff drew in his breath at the sight.
When he spoke, it was with a certain amount of difficulty. "This is your last chance. If you want me to sleep on the divan, tell me now."
She couldn't choose the divan. It might be fitting punishment for his sins, but he wasn't sure he could survive it.
Letty ran her tongue over her lips in a gesture that was nearly Geoff's undoing.
"I couldn't make you sleep on the divan," she said breathlessly, her eyes never leaving Geoff's. "It's short. You're tall."
Geoff favored her with a decidedly rakish smile. "How fortunate."
"For the divan?"
"For me."
His hands slid over her shoulders, drawing the sleeves of her gown with them. He paused by the same freckle that had taunted him on their wedding day, perched on one dimpled collarbone. Bending over, Geoff pressed his lips to the spot, following it down to another tiny brown dot, conveniently placed just above the swell of Letty's breast, a whisper away from the deep pink barely veiled by her chemise.
"I told you I liked your freckles."
Letty's hands clutched at Geoff's hair as he eased the fabric aside for better access.
"I don't think that's a freckle," gasped Letty.
"Does it matter?" inquired Geoff, doing his best to make sure it didn't.
His tongue circled the rosy skin of her breast, closing in narrowing spirals around the tender nub.
"No."
Letty had lost all interest in semantic distinctions. She didn't care what they called it as long as he didn't stop whatever it was that he was doing.
"I thought not."
Letty shivered as his breath coasted over her dampened skin.
His lips closed and tugged, sending little quivers jolting through her. The fabric of her chemise bunched beneath her breast, pushing it into prominence and magnifying the sensation. Letty squirmed restlessly, arching away from the pressure—or toward it, she wasn't quite sure which.
"Mmph," she said, which Geoff correctly interpreted as, "Do go on."
"Let's get you out of these clothes," murmured Geoff, reaching for the edge of her chemise.
Letty was only too happy to oblige, lifting her arms obediently in the air as he drew the garment off over them. In the strange pink room, with Aphrodite beaming down from above—and various nymphs far less clad than Letty—it was hard to feel self-conscious. At least, until her husband's gaze replaced the chemise, with an unmistakable appreciation that sent delirious warmth creeping across Letty's skin. Resisting the urge to fold her arms across her chest, she scooted forward instead, closing the gap between them.
"What about you?" she asked hastily, tugging at his cravat. "You're wearing far more than me."
"An excellent point." Shrugging out of his coat, Geoff let his nimble fingers make short work of a cravat that had taken half an hour to tie. The white fabric joined Letty's chemise on the carpet, rapidly followed by his waistcoat.
As Geoff tore his loose shirt off over his head, Letty wriggled her loosened dress down over her hips, kicking it off the edge of the bed. She stilled, reverting to awkwardness as she realized that Geoff's shirt was off his head and he was staring rather fixedly. At her.
Suddenly self-conscious, Letty scooted back along the pink satin coverlet, trying to put as much space between them as possible. Geoff's eyes followed.
He shook his head. "You look…"
With rapidly sinking spirits, Letty wished she had thought to blow out the candles. She knew how she looked. She was too short, too plump, too round…just too. Too everything. Nothing like Mary's perfect willowy elegance. The sight of her unclothed was probably enough to kill any tender feelings Geoff might have had for her—at least until she was discreetly swathed in a gown again.
Biting her lip, Letty grabbed for the edge of the sheet. "You don't need to say it."
"…unbelievable." He didn't sound disgusted, just dazed. His hand reached out to still Letty's before she could drag the covers across her legs. "And incredibly alluring."
"Alluring?" Letty was quite sure she must have misheard.
His hands moved up her arms, stretching them up over her head. "Sensual. Seductive. Desirable."
It was so ridiculous that Letty produced a shaky laugh. "I think you have the wrong person. Or the wrong words. Or both."
"No." Geoff gazed down at her, his gray eyes as steady as Gibraltar. "They're both just right."
There was nothing Letty could say to that, not without sounding churlish. But Geoff correctly read the slight tightening of her lips, and the way her eyes slid away from his.
"You really have no idea, have you?"
Letty bristled. "I have a mirror. And eyes."
"And no idea how to use either," muttered Geoff, before realizing that probably wasn't quite fair of him.
He looked down into her flushed face, framed with its tangle of hair that alternated between copper and gold in the candlelight, and knew that no number of compliments would convince her. With her sturdy common sense, she would write them off as pure flummery. To a certain extent, she would be right. She would never be a beauty by the accepted standards. Pretty, yes. Even lovely. But she lacked the stateliness and symmetry society demanded of its chosen goddesses.
She made up for it, in Geoff's opinion, with something far more valuable, something that went past the mere prettiness of her features, a candid appeal that her more conventionally beautiful counterparts lacked. Even her sister. It was, Geoff realized, the difference between admiration and genuine desire. One might admire a well-carved statue, but it would be deuced uncomfortable to cuddle up with at night.
He also realized that there was no way to impress any of that upon Letty. Especially, he thought guiltily, not after he had done his part to reinforce her belief that she came a poor second.
Other methods of conviction would have to be found.
"Right." He raised one brow in an unspoken challenge. His voice dropped seductively. "Then I'll just have to show you."
"Show me what?" Letty asked warily.
His breath was warm against her ear. "Just how desirable I find you."
His tongue traced the delicate shape of her ear, eroding Letty's defenses, forestalling the tart comment just on the tip of her tongue.
"Like this…"
His lips slid down her throat to her collarbone, while his hands explored the shape of her waist and the curve of her hips, tracing them as reverently as any sculptor shaping his masterpiece.
"…and this…"
He followed the line of her cleavage down to her breasts, taking his time, lavishing attention on each one in turn, making Letty feel as pampered and desired as any sultan's favorite houri.
By the time his lips moved lower, Letty was having difficulty remembering what they had argued about in the first place.
"…and this."
The words were barely a breath of air, scarcely audible, skimming along the coppery curls at the join of her thighs.
"Oh," said Letty inadequately, only the word seemed to have attained several extra syllables. She hadn't known—she hadn't thought—Her fingers tugged at Geoff's dark hair as she gasped, her breathing coming raggedly through her lips. Above, Aphrodite beamed contentedly down. Letty's back arched as her husband's clever tongue plied bits of her body she hadn't known existed, twisting and turning in a complicated form of torture that had her begging him to stop…and not to stop…and several less coherent pleas that scarcely registered in her own ears and didn't mean anything at all, as a series of painfully pleasurable tremors overtook her, reducing her from murmurs to moans.
Rapidly divesting himself of his breeches, Geoff rejoined Letty on the pink satin coverlet. "Convinced yet?" he asked huskily, as Letty wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing up against him in a way that wore his already tattered self-control to mere shreds.
"Mmm," said Letty, running her hands along Geoff's chest in a way that rendered questions and answers entirely immaterial.
Her mouth sought his in a kiss that was part gratitude, part raw passion. She twined her arms and legs around him in an instinctive need to press closer, to feel him against her, skin to skin, from her shoulders all the way down to her toes. Her bare leg slid between his, and she felt the muscles in the arms wrapped around her go taut as corded iron.
Emulating what he had done for her, she pressed her lips to the base of his neck, thrilling at the way his body trembled at the touch.
"Letty." Geoff barely managed to force out the two syllables of her name. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her nipples rubbing against him with every moan, every movement. Her scent filled his nostrils, drowning his senses. Using every ounce of will remaining to him, trying very hard to go slowly, he stroked gently between the moist curls at her thighs, and felt her quiver in response. With a clumsy movement, she nudged closer to him, instinctively trying to aid him.
Geoff's arms tightened around her in a convulsive embrace. His breath came out in a ragged laugh. "I don't deserve you."
"I know," murmured Letty indistinctly, pressing closer as he carefully positioned himself between her legs. "But you can—"
The rest of the sentence was lost, her fingers biting into his back as he entered her. There was a slight soreness, but it scarcely seemed to matter, not when Geoff was kissing her as though it were the last thing that mattered in the world, and she could feel a delightful tension beginning to build at the base of her stomach. Threading her fingers through his hair, Letty gave herself up to the spiral of sensation, locking her legs tightly around him as he cried out his release.
Together, they lay there, damp, disheveled, and entirely content. Opening her eyes, Letty saw the gilded nymphs and satyrs dancing along the wall through a happy haze. They, she felt quite sure, would approve.
Rolling them both sideways, Geoff brushed back the damp hair from her brow and somewhat haphazardly kissed her temple. "Thank you," he said simply, adding, with a crooked grin, "Happy wedding night. Somewhat belated."
"But worth waiting for," decreed Letty, spoiling the effect with a yawn. She cuddled sleepily against Geoff. So they were truly married now, she mused fuzzily. It didn't seem quite real, any more than anything else had since that night in High Holborn, but at the moment she was too deliciously exhausted to fret about it.
"Tired?" Geoff ruined his otherwise ideal pose as pillow by speaking.
Oh, well, a man had to have some faults, Letty concluded generously.
"A bit," she admitted, scooting to the side as Geoff extracted the coverlet from beneath her legs so it could be used for its proper purpose. He draped it over her before scooting down next to her, rearranging her hair so he wouldn't accidentally tug on it during the night.
"Mm-hmm," agreed Geoff, leaning over her to blow out the candles, and dropping an absentminded kiss to her lips in passing. There was something husbandly about the very inattention of it.
Perhaps they might really be married after all.
Letty drifted off into slumber with a smile on her face.