He turned around to Mared. She’d lit two candles and was standing in the middle of the room, looking, all of a sudden, rather small. The willful and playful smile she’d used when tugging him along, the bravado with which she’d laughed and rushed headlong into this bliss, was gone.
This was not right, his conscience told him. Mared was so much more than a tryst. He’d been captivated by the exhilaration of her wanting him and his overwhelming desire to make love to her that he’d not really considered what she was suggesting.
Like him, she’d been caught up in the thrill of the wedding celebration, for she was a passionate woman—but she was not usually a foolish woman. And he thought, as he stood there gazing at her by the light of two single candles, his hands on his hips, that she regretted her impetuosity now.
“Ye need no’ fear,” he said quietly, prepared to be a gentleman, no matter how much it pained him.
Mared blinked; her silk shawl slid, unnoticed by her, to the ground. “Take off yer clothes, then,” she murmured.
Payton started, and then he laughed. “Never one to mince words, are ye, leannan?”
“I donna pretend to know…how, precisely,” she said, her voice a little stronger, and she swallowed as her gaze flicked over him. “But I am rather certain that ye must remove yer clothing.”
Aye, the grit of the gods she had in her. Payton strolled toward her, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it aside. “It can be achieved with clothing, but it is much more satisfying without,” he agreed.
She gave him a small, self-satisfied smile. “What of the waistcoat?” she asked, gesturing to him.
He untied his neckcloth and threw it over his shoulder, and then divested himself of his waistcoat and tossed it aside, too. And then he reached her, straddled her skirts and put his hands on her arms, ran up them lightly, feeling her satin skin. “’Tis customary for a man to direct the proceedings, if ye donna mind.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because that is the way of it, particularly when a woman has no experience and a man has quite enough.”
“Is that a rule?” she asked, frowning up at him.
“No’ a rule, Mared. But men prefer to be the one in pursuit, not the one to be pursued.”
“That scarcely makes any sense at—”
He silenced her with a kiss. Mared sighed into his mouth and curved into him, tilting her head up, opening her mouth to him.
But Payton lifted his head and gave her a gentle shake to make her open her eyes. “Tell me why,” he softly demanded.
“Why?” she asked dreamily, looking at his lips. “Why what?”
“Why this. Why now?”
The question sobered her; she straightened, fixed her gaze on the open collar of his shirt. Shrugged a little. Bit her lower lip. And winced. “Because…”
“Because?” he prompted.
“Because…I have determined that ye are no’ as…repugnant…as I once believed.”
He snorted. “How ye flatter me,” he said and leaned his head down, took in the scent of her hair—lilac and roses.
She caught the fabric of his shirt and held on as if she feared she might fall. “I only mean to say,” she tried again, her grip of his shirt tightening as his mouth grazed her temple, “that ye are—”
As he touched his lips to her eye, she gasped softly.
“Ye were saying?” he murmured, feathering her skin with light kisses to her neck.
“Th-that perhaps I have feelings for ye I didna…concede,” she said shakily, and twisted the fabric of his shirt as he moved, dipping down, to kiss the curve of her neck into her collarbone.
“Mmm,” he said. “Go on, then.”
She drew a shaky breath and slowly released it as he moved to the other side of her neck. “I have come to understand that the…the Douglas in ye doesna matter.”
Whoa. Didn’t matter? Payton stopped his attentions to look at her, to see if she teased him.
“It seems rather unimportant now,” she admitted, blushing.
He refrained from shouting victory and tossing her on the bed in triumph and thought, as he resumed his feast of her neck, that those were possibly the sweetest words he’d ever heard.
“Ye seem to be less Douglas and more…man,” she murmured breathlessly.
“I assure ye, I am both Douglas and man.” He dipped to kiss the hollow of her throat.
“My heart has tilted, Payton,” she whispered. “It heard yer heart call and it has tilted toward ye, and I donna even know when it happened.”
Her admission galvanized his adoration of her. He’d longed to hear her say she esteemed him in some small measure, and her words squeezed hard around his heart, lifted it up, and gave him a joy he’d never felt in his life. He raised his head, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her lips, her nose, her forehead, then wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. “Criosd, Mared, ye donna know how I’ve desired to hear ye say it,” he said, and then reluctantly let go of her. And made himself step back.
She looked at him with confusion. “What are ye doing, then?”