Spellmaker (Spellbreaker Duology #2) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,97
the opus gingerly on top of one.
Bacchus rubbed the back of his neck. “John got drapes that matched the coverlet. I hardly mind if you change them.”
Elsie crossed the room and ran her hand down the drapes, which were closed over the window. “Fortunately I know a spellmaker who can easily change the color for me. It’s one of his favorite pastimes.”
Bacchus chuckled. “He sounds like a dandy.”
When he said nothing more, Elsie turned around. His expression had grown serious, and he absentmindedly traced his beard.
Before she could say anything, he dropped his hand and said, “Elsie, I’m more than aware that our union has not been . . . ordinary, or at all conventional. Of course there are expectations between a man and wife . . . What I mean to say is that I will not require anything of you, if you want time to acclimate.”
Elsie’s nerves danced under her skin like fairies. She felt her pulse in her stomach. “How utterly respectful of you, Bacchus.” Her chest felt too light as she garnered courage. “But you cannot kiss a woman the way you have and then not expect her to be fully prepared for her wedding night, even eager for it.” She feigned interest in the windows, ignoring the burning of her cheeks. “Even if it is still daylight.”
“I see.” His voice was lower, seductively rich. She dared a glance at him and saw his eyes looked darker than usual.
Elsie ran her hands down her bodice. The secret page was not beneath her corset today, but stowed in the lining of her smaller trunk. She turned her back to him. “I would greatly appreciate your help with this dress.”
Her heart flipped when Bacchus crossed the room, his fingers grazing the base of her neck, pushing aside a few curls there. She could feel his breath in her hair as his fingers deftly unhooked the first button, then the second, then the third. For better or worse, the dressmaker had sewn a great many buttons onto this dress.
Elsie pressed her hands to her chest, both holding up her dress as it loosened and attempting to calm her racing heart, which seemed to quicken with each brush of his fingers against her chemise. Surely Bacchus could feel it. This time it wasn’t anxiety that made it race, but excitement. Not once since arriving in London had she worried about Merton or Master Raven or any of it.
She clung to her courage as Bacchus reached the small of her back. Squeezing her eyes shut, she murmured, “I love you.”
His fingers stilled. Silence settled.
Panic rose.
Elsie held her breath, keeping the anxiety at bay. Waiting, listening, hoping. It was hardly wrong, making such a confession now, of all times! Yet the seconds felt like minutes, felt like hours, and her stomach tightened in fear and anticipation, so much so that they quickly became unbearable.
“Bacchus?” she whispered.
His strong arms encircled her, pulling her against him. His mouth found the groove of her neck, its presence shooting shivers up her skull. His hair tickled her cheek.
“Of course I love you, you precious, wonderful woman.”
Tears sprang to Elsie’s eyes.
“I love you more than Barbados, more than magic, more than myself. You are all I think about. And now you are mine. I love you, Elsie.”
With those words, he helped her out of her dress, out of her corset, and out of her chemise.
And showed her.
CHAPTER 22
There would be no honeymoon, of course. Not yet. Not while everything else in their lives was so unsure.
But they certainly made the best of their first night together. Enough so that had they employed servants—that was, servants besides the men Bacchus had brought from Barbados—Elsie might never have left the bedroom. But such was not the case, and things needed to be done. The world would still turn even if Elsie didn’t want it to.
She wanted to hold on to this intoxicating bliss for as long as the universe would allow it.
Bacchus, ever the responsible one, faced the day first. Watching him dress was nearly as tantalizing as watching him undress. It was evident he’d made a full recovery from whatever the siphoning spell had taken from him. With his hair still loose and his cravat dangling on either side of his neck, he returned to the edge of the bed and kissed her, slowly and sweetly. All of it was genuine, for true to his word, he had not a single spell on him. Elsie had checked. Thoroughly.