Page 42 of The Mister I Married

Chapter Twelve

Emmy had worried she would be much too nervous to eat dinner that evening, but when it came time to dine, she found she was famished. The meal was superb—she’d never had a more delicious almond cheesecake in her life—and the dining room was warm and comfortable, as was the conversation.

The elder Mr. Whitcomb was a man of few words, just as Tess had said he was, but when the gentleman did choose to speak, he was interesting and often amusing, and Emmy had enjoyed getting to know him better.

His love for his children was obvious and obviously reciprocated, and as she’d watched the three of them laugh together and tease each other, she was reminded of her own family.

Those two hours at dinner had been a lovely distraction from the momentous event looming over the evening.

That distraction, however, was over now.

As Emmy sat at the elegant dressing table in her new bedchamber, brushing the tangles from her still-damp hair, all she could think of was what lay ahead.

She was about to copulate with a man.

It was only natural that she should be nervous. She was a virgin, after all, and while she had some idea of the basic principles of coupling, actually participating in the act was a different beast entirely.

It helped a little that Alex was a virgin, too, though she had to admit the revelation still surprised her. It was commonplace for a woman to retain her virtue until she married—indeed, it was expected—but the same rules did not apply to single men, and she had taken for granted that Alex would bring some experience to their wedding night.

She didn’t know how she felt now that she knew he wouldn’t.

Setting the brush aside, Emmy studied her reflection in the looking glass, passing a critical eye over the cotton nightgown she wore. With its ruffled neckline and lace-edged sleeves, it was the prettiest one she owned, but she couldn’t help wishing she had a new one to wear tonight.

Perhaps not silk, as her mother had suggested, but at least something a bit more vibrant and daring than plain old cotton.

She sighed. Ah, well. This was all she had, and it would have to do. Most brides wore brand new nightclothes designed to please and entice, but then, most brides were given the time to assemble a proper trousseau, and she hadn’t.

Her new maid, Flossie, had helped her change, assuring her she looked lovely, but still, the butterflies in her belly refused to leave. A part of her worried that Alex would be disappointed by her appearance, but she shoved the thought away and reminded herself—again—of the wonderful things he’d said to her before dinner.

I lust for you.

I want to make love to you tonight.

If you wish to make love with me, I promise I will do everything in my power to make it a satisfying experience for you.

Her body flushed with heat, her skin prickling as she recalled the frank words, the warm sincerity in his eyes. He had not said those things to her with seduction in mind, and somehow, that made his confession all the more meaningful. And undeniably exciting.

Emmy shot an impatient glance at the door then surged to her feet, overcome with the urge to pace.

For heaven’s sake, what was taking him so long?

She whirled away from the door only to come face to face with the enormous mahogany four-poster bed covered in emerald green silk. She blanched.

Saints be.

Turning her back on the bed, she passed her gaze over the room, desperate for a distraction. There was no attached sitting room, as the mistress’s chambers no doubt possessed, but it was spacious and elegantly furnished with a large oak wardrobe and a rosewood escritoire with matching chair.

Every piece was well-made and designed for comfort, and she knew she would be happy here.

A low knock sounded at the door.

Emmy froze.

Oh, God. It’s time.

Scrubbing her damp palms down the front of her nightgown, she turned to face the door, her heart thudding in her ears.

“Come in,” she called out softly.