Loving Lord Bridgerton

Chapter Eighteen

The wedding was small with mainly just our families. I was fine with that. I preferred that. I didn't need a lot of people there. It didn't even feel real. It felt like I was going to wake up any moment and this would all be a dream. I didn't realize how nervous I was until Anthony and I were alone in the carriage officially as man and wife. I tried my best to hide how nervous I was, but the second Anthony mumbled, "We need privacy." I did trust that the letter wasn't going to be my reality, but it was floating in the back of my mind.

We reached his chamber-a richly appointed, masculine room exquisitely decorated in shades of burgundy and gold- he planted his hand on his hips and demanded, "Didn't your mother tell you about...ah...about..."

I would have laughed at his flailing if I hadn't been do nervous. Instead of laughing, I felt as if I was only seconds away from bursting into terrified tears. "Y-yes in a way she did."

"Then what the hell is the problem?" He cursed again, then apologized. "I beg your pardon," He said stiffly. "That certainly is not the way to set you are ease."

"I just..." I looked down at my hands, trying my best not to pick at my nails. It was hard to even look at him. My heart was pounding do loud that I could hear it in my ears.

Then I heard it. A strange, horrible choking noise emerged from Anthony's throat that made me snap up towards him. "Charlotte?" He asked hoarsely. "Did someone...has a man...ever forced unwelcome attentions on you?"

The concern and terror on his face nearly made my heart melt. "No!" I cried out. "I just...I need time...I need...maybe we should just a wait...a week. A reprieve sounds like a good option."

Anthony let out a deep breath, stepping closer to him. I was drowning in his smell of soap and whiskey. If my brain wasn't cluttered now, it was now. He put his hands on my cheek, his lips moving down. "Tell me," he whispered, his lips pressing against her ear. "Tell me how to make it right. I don't think I can grant you your reprieve." He molded his body against mine. His strong arms holding me close as he groaned, "I can't wait a week, Charlotte. I simply cannot do it."

"I..." I made a mistake of looking up into his eyes, and I forgot everything I meant to say. He was staring at me with a burning intensity that forged a fire in the very center of my being, leaving me breathless, hungry, and desperate for something I did not quite understand. All the nights in his office were safe with the reality he would never let it go too far. All the feelings I had these nights were no match to the feeling I had now.

I know I could not make him wait. If I looked into my own soul, and looked with honesty and without delusion, I was forced to admit that I did not wish to wait, either. Letter be damned.

What would be the point of my reprieve? He would never love me. But I could pretend. And when he held me in his arms and pressed his lips to my skin, it was so, so easy to pretend.

"Anthony," I whispered, his name a benediction, a plea, a prayer all in one.

"Anything," he replied raggedly, dropping to his knees before her, his lips trailing a hot path along my skin as his fingers frantically worked to release me from my gown. "Ask me anything," he groaned. "Anything in my power, I give to you."

I felt my head fall back, felt the last of my resistance melting away. "Just love me," I whispered, the words leaving me before I could think to stop them. "Just love me."

His only answer was a low growl of need, slowly pulling my hair out of their pins. The loose curls fell over my shoulders and watching his eyes glow with hunger. Anthony put his hand back on my cheek, pressing his lips against mine. "I need you," He growled against my lips. "I need you now." He lifted me in his arms, taking remarkably few steps to reach the large four-poster bed that dominated his bedroom. I started to wonder what this bed could have seen. "What are you thinking?" Anthony asked.