Page 70 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

It was scarcely less warm in the kitchen. A little sheen of sweat broke out across Luna’s brow as her shaking hands fetched the old, glazed teapot down from its place of honor on the hutch. She bit her lip, wishing she knew the secret to calming all the swooping butterflies in her gut.

Nigel’s shadow filled the doorway. Luna nearly yelped out loud. Gods, what was wrong with her? She’d just spent last night wrapped up in this man’s arms, and the kisses he’d given her had filled her with so much fire, she’d thought she would simply combust trying to wait for after the wedding! But now . . .

Well, now he could do whatever he liked, couldn’t he? They were married. She . . . shebelongedto him. And he knew things that she simply had no experience with, and what if he was disappointed in her? What if he didn’t like what she did or had or was? What if . . . what if . . . ?

“Would you pop the kettle on?” she called out brightly, even as she rooted through her aunties’ tea stash. “You can fill it right there at the sink, just let the water run for a moment, it sometimes starts out a bit brackish.”

Nigel obediently fetched the kettle, carried it to the sink, pumped the water. When she handed him a box of matches, he lit the stove as well, all very silent and gentlemanly and calm.

But when he was done, and the kettle was on the fire, he turned to her and said, “What’s wrong, my dear?”

“Hmmmm?” Luna glanced up at him briefly then focused on the tea tin in her hand. “Oh. I just thought we’d have the orange llarmi, but there doesn’t seem to be enough of it left. Maybe the taeral instead? What is an auspicious tea for weddings? I feel I once knew, but it all seems to have slipped my mind, and—”

He stepped over and took the tea tin from her hands, setting it to one side. Then he squeezed her fingers gently, trying to catch her eye. She couldn’t look at him. She fixated instead on the very old-fashioned cravat he wore, particularly the mother-of-pearl pin fixed in the center of its folds.

“Luna,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “I love you.”

She bit her lip. Swallowed.

“I love you so much. More than you could ever know.”

“I . . . I love you too,” she whispered.

“And I would never, ever do anything to cause you pain or anxiety. Not if I can help it.”

Luna flicked her gaze up to meet his at last. And she saw in his eyes such a shining, earnest, brilliant adoration, that the little icy chill around her heart began to melt. She licked her lips, dippingher chin once more. “Nigel, I . . . I don’t know if you realize this, but . . . I’ve never donethisbefore. I’m . . . I’m not sure how to go about it.”

“I know. And I’m here. And I will help you. And we will go very, very slowly.”

She nodded, but her throat still felt tight. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

He frowned. “Hurts?”

“I mean for women. The first time. I don’t know much, but I’ve picked up a little here and there, and . . . and I know it can be uncomfortable. Even painful. Some of . . . some of the girls at Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character weren’t always as good of characters as they let Mrs. Boggs believe, and they said . . . they said there could be . . . blood.”

Nigel’s hand touched her cheek, his fingers gently caressing. “Look at me,” he said.

She drew a shivery little breath. Then, steeling herself, she obeyed. His blue eyes gazed down into hers, full of softness and kindness which did not quite disguise the hot fire she knew burned in their depths.

“I willneverhurt you, Luna,” he said with emphasis.

Luna bit her lip. “I don’t know if it can be avoided. Not if we’re going to—”

“If your body is properly prepared,” he cut her off, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, “it shouldn’t hurt. And I intend to prepare your body. In fact, I intend to spend days preparing you, weeks if necessary.”

“What?”The word burst from her with surprise, and she blinked several times.

“Luna, my dearest girl.” He smiled then and kissed her forehead, and though his lips trembled, they were so very tender. “I’m not in any rush,” he murmured. “We will make sure you areperfectly ready, and we will take all the time you need. No matter how much time that is.”

“But our wedding night! Or our wedding mid-morning, I suppose we should call it.”

His smile grew. “Yes?”

“I mean, don’t you . . . don’t you want toconsummatethings?”

“Considering we no longer live in a feudal society, and our marriage is not the linchpin upon which some perilous alliance depends, I don’t think such old-fashioned ideas asconsummationneed apply to us.”

“But . . . but, you know.” She licked her dry lips. “What about yourmanly urges?”