pulse at her wrist, then the tender heart of her palm, his gaze as intimate as a caress. "No, of course I'm not afraid of you." A tremor of arousal traveled downward to the place between her legs.
"I know." Understanding and playfulness mingled in Andrew's smile. Now he merely held her hand and looked into her eyes. "In the past, our lovemaking was unexpected. Perhaps you're feeling uneasy because tonight it's inevitable... and you're my wife."
She nodded mutely.
"Fondling, try to remember that our love is all that really matters. This"—Sandhurst drew her against him and kissed her with frank desire, then murmured against her cheek—"this is just a physical expression of that love. As long as our feelings are genuine, we cannot disappoint each other."
Micheline warmed to his tender, eloquent words yet a part of her remained afraid. It was as if the past were trying to pull her back, back into the safety of solitary existence. The responsibility of loving Andrew suddenly seemed overwhelming. Could she possibly make him happy? Already she feared that he might be disappointed on this first night of their marriage; how could she be enough for him year after year, for the rest of their lives? The future stretched out ahead of them in her mind, fraught with risks and possibilities for failure.
Inevitably Micheline thought back to the day she had married Bernard Tevoulere. It had become apparent to her lately that she hadn't known then the true possibilities love held, yet she had been more confident on that first wedding day than she was now. She realized that she had been far more naive at seventeen; that fact alone gave her pause. But if she hadn't been able to fulfill Bernard, how could she possibly be enough for someone like Andrew?
As usual, Sandhurst gazed into her troubled eyes and guessed her thoughts.
"Michelle," he said quietly, "put aside the past and future. Let us deal with the present, moment by moment."
She sighed heavily. "But—"
Putting a forefinger under her chin, he tilted her face up so that she could not avoid his penetrating eyes. "I love you." He touched his mouth to hers and their lips clung. "I want you."
Those poignant words were her undoing. Micheline's doubts fell away as she gave in to the magic of his nearness. He affected all her senses. There were moments when just the sound of his low masculine laughter could set the embers of desire aflame inside her. Now, her worries were lost under a rising tide of arousal.
"I want you, too, Andrew," she said shakily. Reaching out, Micheline caressed the muscles that tapered down to his narrow waist. Even through the velvet doublet she could feel the vital warmth of his skin. "I love you."
"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there." His tone held a gentle note of finality.
Micheline watched as his fingers, strong and graceful all at once, unlaced her gown. She could feel the heat and moisture between her legs, and then she was reaching to unfasten his doublet. Andrew lowered the bodice of her gown with tantalizing slowness, bringing her chemise with it, until her breasts were bared, round and glowing in the firelight. Dark rose nipples stood out and he bent to kiss each one in turn, lingeringly, until Micheline moaned with pleasure.
Slowly he removed her clothing, savoring each precious inch of her as it was revealed to him. His fingertips traced the lines of her throat, the edges of her breasts, and down over her hips and belly, trailing fire. A hungering throb came then between her legs.
His doublet came off, revealing the powerful contours of his torso to her. Micheline slid her arms around him and drew near to press her cheek to his warm chest. An unexpected wave of emotion swelled within her and she blinked back tears as she listened to the beating of his heart. Andrew lifted her higher, into his embrace, and kissed her in earnest. His tongue told her all that he wanted to do. The last of their clothing fell away until they both were naked and he reached out to pull back the green velvet counterpane.
Micheline looked over to discover that the sheets were strewn with tiny colorful flowers: yellow primroses, violets, and lily-of-the-valley bells. Her eyes swam with tears.
Sandhurst drew her into his embrace and they knelt pressed together for long minutes, exploring and tasting each other's mouths. He fit himself between her legs so that she could feel the power of