Bride Enchanted by Edith Layton Page A

no discomfort, only Aubrey filling her until they were as one.
    Her body, relaxed, then tensed and shuddered. As he began to move, she moved with him until she felt herself gathering toward some incredible storm. Then at last, she felt the long slow shudders of a pulsing release. She uttered a short cry against his shoulder, and clung to him as waves of pleasure washed over her, and brought her, at last, to herself again.
    Only then did he move more quickly, rocking into her, until he too shivered and groaned, and finally arching his back, released.
    They both sank to the softness of the bed, and lay entangled, too overcome to speak, too much in pleasure to move from each other.
    â€œOh my,” she finally said.
    She heard his laughter, silent and deep in his chest.
    â€œThat was wonderful,” she said.
    â€œYes,” he said.
    She bit her lip. “But there was no pain. Only joy. And a person who hasn’t done it isn’t supposed to feel such pleasure. That’s supposed to come in time. But Aubrey, I swear to you that I’ve never done this before.”
    â€œI know,” he said. “And pleasure comes when it will.”
    She disengaged from him slowly, and looked down at herself. “Oh!” she gasped, turning this way and that. “There’s blood,” she whispered, “but it didn’t hurt. I vow it isn’t my time of the month, I never knew a man before you.”
    â€œHush,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I know. And it doesn’t have to hurt. I would never let myself hurt you.”
    She sank to her elbows above him. “I’m surely the luckiest female in all England,” she whispered, gazing down at him.
    â€œSo I hope you will be,” he said, but there was a trace of sorrow in his voice that made her frown. “Who can tell the future?” he asked briskly, sitting up and laying her down again. “I’ll get some water, we’ll clean up, and then you can dream in my arms. What you heard was partly right, tomorrow will be even better for you.”
    â€œHow could it be?” she said.
    He laughed. Then he rose and stepped from the bed. “We shall see. You haven’t felt all we can do together. There’s more, much more.”
    Her grin was touched with a little nervousness. “Can I bear it?”
    â€œOh, yes,” he said. “You were made for me.”
    The night was at its height. Aubrey lay in bed with his bride asleep in his arms. The moonlight kept him wakeful until she’d fallen asleep. But she’d had question after question for him, as honest and eager as a child to know how she’d done, what did he think, was she what he’d wanted? The slice of moonlight that came through the window lit his smile. She was exactly what he wanted.
    He rose from the bed in one smooth move. He kissed his sleeping bride lightly and whispered one word—“sleep”—to her.
    Then he threw on a night robe, left the room and the house, and walked out into the broad moonlight at the back of his house. He stood basking in its cold glow. It was high midnight. The moon shone whole and full, white, and clear, and for those with eyes that could see there was sufficient light for living and dying. There were no sounds but those of the breeze-fluttering leaves in the trees in the forest; an occasional chirrup of late crickets, and the shivering sounds of those things that moved almost soundlessly on wing or feet through the night to devour them.
    Aubrey put his face up to the moon and let his night robe fall from his shoulders to puddle at his feet. In that moment he looked like any of the glorious statues Eve had seen in cold marble in the museum. But he was cool living flesh. He closed his eyes, and sought answers.
    She wasn’t with child yet. He’d never really thought she could be, even she, not this soon.
    But soon, he wordlessly promised to the moon.
    He’d waited for her for