Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 23

Fiona woke to the rhythm of rain pattering on the roof. The sound brought a sleepy smile to her face. Back in Boston rain came down in buckets, while here in the Pacific Northwest it tiptoed upon the rooftops like reindeer hooves. Since she’d lived here she’d learned to love the drip-drip cadence it made off the eaves, especially when it was still too early to start her day.

Snuggling deeper under the covers, she froze as she felt the sheets glide over her bare skin.

She was naked. In bed. She never slept nude—

Memory came flooding back, and with it little aches and pains in muscles she’d never used before. She felt the hot tide of embarrassment wash through her as she recalled how she’d come to have those sore muscles. And closed her eyes against the images, though they continued to parade across the backs of her eyelids. Recollections of what Edward had done to her, of what she’d done with him, scalded her brain until she wanted to hide beneath the covers. But the tell-tale stirrings deep within told her she wanted to revisit those pleasures. Again. With her husband.

Husband.

The word sped her heartbeat up. Caught her breath in wonder. And she turned her head to the side. Spied the shadowed shape next to her that represented her lawfully wedded husband. Forever. She nearly swooned at the blessed thought.

Looking back up at the ceiling, where she could still hear the pitter-patter of raindrops, Fiona marveled that Edward Townsend belonged to her and she belonged to him. She’d fallen in love with him as soon as she’d set eyes on him at the shore, he’d broken her heart when he’d backed out of their engagement, and, by a convoluted change of events she could only credit to the glorious God above, Edward was now married to her.

Did he love her? He hadn’t said the words, but the way he made love to her, the way he whispered to her while  he was inside her, spoke louder than any Shakespearean sonnet. He’d caressed her skin with his fingertips, he’d reached her very core with his body, and he’d claimed her heart with his entire being. She was his, body, heart, and soul.

The cadence of the rain picked up, along with the wind, for now little droplets pinged against the window panes of their upstairs cocoon, and a slight chill swept the room. The fire in the grate had long since died, having received no attention from them, and Fiona shifted under the bedcovering. One of her legs brushed Edward’s, and her breath hitched in instant anticipation. She glanced over at him again.

He still hadn’t moved, sprawled boneless on his stomach, head turned away from her upon his pillow. His hair, thick and unruly, splayed across the white pillow case, and she actually reached out to touch it before drawing her hand back under the sheet. She should let him sleep. He was exhausted, that much was plain. He’d taken her numerous times during the night, waking her with gentle kisses along her shoulders, down her back, even upon her derriere, until he’d whipped her desire into a froth and she’d welcomed him into her arms and body yet again.

Och, but she loved what he did to her. Now she knew what Muriel and Emmie blushed and smiled about when talk turned to their husbands. Now she knew that the marriage bed could be an erotic playground, that being with your husband in that way wasn’t only for making children, as her father had implied. As the widow Brown and Cecily Davis had bemoaned. She felt sorry for those women now, for never knowing the heaven a man could bring to his wife if he just tried.

Yes, she should let him sleep. He deserved it, and she could do with more slumber. But thoughts of his kisses and touches had aroused a hunger within her. Had awakened her desires till she shifted her legs beneath the covers restlessly. And bumped his leg yet again.