Moonlit Memoirs: The Tangled Ties of Regency Hearts

Chapter Five

The night was quiet now, the echoes of celebration long gone. Sam wandered through the dimly lit Sharma estate, the grandeur of the surroundings bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. As he walked, his mind was consumed by the events of the day, especially the moments at the altar beside Mira.
He couldn't help but ponder the anxiety he had sensed in her as they stood side by side. Her voice had trembled slightly during the vows, her eyes a mixture of firm determination and subtle unease. Was she worried, he wondered, or perhaps scared of what lay ahead, especially the wedding night?
His thoughts involuntarily drifted to the kiss they had shared earlier. It had been surprisingly pleasurable, he admitted to himself. Her lips had been soft and inviting, and he could still taste the memory of that fleeting connection. Her light, delicate fragrance still lingered in his mind, adding to the intoxication of the moment.
But it wasn't just the kiss that occupied his mind; it was the dance that had followed. As they moved together in the ballroom, her body pressed enticingly close to his, he couldn't ignore the heat that had ignited between them. It was a sensation he had never experienced before, a heady rush of desire that had him yearning for more.
Her curves had molded perfectly against him, her plumpness a delicious contrast to his own lean frame. The tension in the air had been palpable, an unspoken promise of what could be.
It was as if a door had been opened, revealing a world of possibilities that he hadn't considered in a long time. But he knew he had to tread carefully; their marriage was a complex arrangement born out of necessity. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder how long they could resist the magnetic pull that seemed to bind them together. The temptation was there, lurking in the shadows, aching to be indulged.
Interrupted from his reverie, Sam finally reached his bedroom. He took a deep breath, mentally readying himself for what lay ahead as he entered the room.

There was an aura of quiet anticipation as Sam stepped across the threshold. The soft, flickering candlelight danced playfully over the room's plush furnishings. His eyes immediately found Mira, sitting at the edge of the bed. She looked ethereal in the remnants of her wedding gown, the veil now absent. Candlelight cast flickering shadows, creating an atmosphere of both intimacy and unease.
Mira rose to her feet abruptly as he entered, her gaze fixed on him. Feeling the weight of the moment, Sam made his way to the sofa with deliberate movements. There, he began removing his jacket in a slow, almost hesitant manner. Turning to face her, he observed that she had remained near the bed, her eyes locked onto him with a thoughtful intensity.
His voice broke the silence, carrying an air of forced composure. "Your belongings have already been moved here," he informed her, hating his explanatory tone. "We will be sharing the room, as my mother believed that there would be no need for a separate bedchamber, given the nature of our marriage, or so she thinks."
Mira's response was low and measured. "Of course."
Feeling the awkwardness hanging in the air, Sam pressed on with his explications. "Through that door behind you, there is the privy," he began, gesturing discretely towards her. He then indicated another door located beside the sofa. "And this," he continued, "leads to my study. I spend most of my time there, managing my work and the estate affairs."
Mira remained silent, her gaze unwavering as it fixed upon him. Her quietude, in the midst of this unfamiliar room and situation, only served to amplify his discomfort. The nervousness that had been simmering beneath the surface began to bubble up, and he grew increasingly uncertain about how he was handling the situation.
He cleared his throat, the sound seeming oddly loud in the stillness. "Feel free to freshen up and get some rest," he suggested, his tone indicating his intention to leave her be for a while. "I shall be in my study. I have some matters to attend to." With that, he turned and began to move in the direction of the study door.
However, just as he took a step, her voice, hesitant and barely more than a whisper, called him back. "Your grace."
Sam turned to face her, his lips curving into a slight smile. "We are married now," he reminded her gently, his eyes locked onto hers. "I think you can call me by my name."
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her gaze searching his, and then, in that barely audible voice, she said "Sam."
For some reason, the sound of his name on her lips sent a subtle wave of pleasure coursing through his body. "Yes?" he prompted, his curiosity piqued.
"Are we not... Uhm..." She started, her words faltering amidst her nervousness.
He maintained his patient silence, encouraging her to continue. The air in the room seemed to crackle with anticipation.
"We are supposed to..." She tried again, her voice a soft murmur, but then her gaze dropped, and she lightly bit her lower lip, a gesture that sent a jolt of desire coursing through him.
He quickly averted his gaze form her mouth, then raising an eyebrow, he asked "Supposed to what?" Although he already knew what she was trying to say, judging by her anxious stammer.
Sam noted a certain defiance in her eyes now. She knew he was challenging her to say it. So she did. "Consummate the marriage," she replied, her tone surprisingly confident despite her flushing cheeks.
He fought to suppress a smile, taking a few steps in her direction. "I guess we are," he agreed, his voice low and husky.
As he drew closer, he couldn't help but notice just how nervous she was. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, and her breaths came in heavy, her chest rising and falling with each inhale.
Coming to a stop in front of her, two steps apart, he tried to sound reassuring. "But we don't have to right now", he said gently. "It can wait until you're ready for... that."
"I am," she replied hurriedly, but the tone of her voice and the way she swallowed nervously told him otherwise.
Taking another step closer, Sam found himself in dangerously close proximity to Mira. The warmth of her body and the subtle fragrance that clung to her were tantalizing. His voice, low and filled with an unexpected yearning to touch her, to feel her lips on his once more, rumbled as he spoke, "Are you?"
"It is my duty," she replied solemnly, her eyes locked with his.
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. "And do you truly understand the full extent of your duty?" He asked. He wanted to be sure before he went on. After all, he was aware that many women entered their wedding night without a clear idea of the physical aspects of marriage.
Sam observed Mira's initial confusion and then the gradual realization that washed over her. "I am aware of what marital relations entail," she eventually replied, her gaze shifting down to the floor. "I know my duty as your wife."
His voice carried a tinge of concern as he gently lifted her chin with a finger, compelling her to meet his eyes once more. "But are you truly prepared for that?" he inquired, delving deep into her brown irises.
She remained silent, but the fear that swam within those dark pools spoke volumes. In that moment, he realised he longed to hear a resounding "yes," to sense her desire mirroring his own. Yet, he understood that her reticence was her true response, and it spoke more than words ever could.
Reluctantly, Sam took a step back, severing the charged connection between them.
"I will not force myself upon you, Mira," Sam declared solemnly. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the surprise that momentarily flickered across her features. Did she genuinely believe he was capable of such callousness?
Relief washed over her as she averted her gaze and whispered, "Forgive me." Her voice, a soft and contrite murmur, melted away his lingering irritation.
"You don't have to apologize," he reassured her gently. "It's alright. Get some rest; it's been a long day."
He met her eyes one last time, before turning to leave the room. With a quiet "goodnight," he closed the door to his study behind him, leaving her to make herself home and find some comfort in solitude.
As he settled into his study, Sam attempted to focus on the stack of paperwork that demanded his attention. However, the subtle noises from the bedroom next door, the rustle of fabric and her quiet movements, filtered through the closed door and disrupted his concentration. He couldn't help but wonder if this marriage, and his new wife, would constantly occupy so much of his attention and focus.
With the weight of his duties as Marquess pressing down on him and an ongoing case that demanded his expertise as commissioner, Sam couldn't afford to be easily distracted. He had a duty to uphold, not just to his family but to the community at large.
He reluctantly turned his attention back to the notes regarding the recent murder of a young boy found in a dark alley just a fortnight ago. The reports from his investigators were less than satisfying; they lacked solid leads or reliable testimonies. The victim had been a lowly servant, a mere twenty-year-old carriage driver, but his tragic end had sparked unrest among the community, especially within his family.
Sam's brows furrowed as he delved into one of the witness testimonies, struggling to immerse himself in the details. Yet, his mind repeatedly drifted back to the events of the day, to the presence of Mira in his bedroom.
With a deep sigh, Sam realized that it was going to be a long and arduous night.
After hours of battling the dual distractions of his responsibilities and his increasingly complex personal life, his weariness finally overcame him. With a resigned sigh, he abandoned his work, extinguished the lantern's flickering light, and quietly made his way back to the bedroom, ready to surrender to the embrace of sleep.
Inside the bedroom, the room was bathed in a gentle, silvery glow cast by the delicate light filtering through the window. Sam moved with a sense of practiced silence, his years as a detective having honed his ability to move quietly and unnoticed.
His gaze was drawn to the bed, where Mira lay soundly asleep under the light covers. He could see the delicate curves of her form beneath the sheets. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically with each peaceful breath, and her long hair, finally released from its confines, spilled like a dark, silken waterfall across the pillow. In the soft lunar illumination, she appeared mesmerizing, the shadows playing upon her delicate features. But, he reminded himself, she had always been beautiful in his eyes, a fact he had recognized even before this union.
With the same quiet grace, Sam began the nightly ritual of disrobing, slipping out of his shirt and boots before exchanging them for comfortable sleeping pants. It was unusual for him to sleep in clothing, but given the circumstances, he decided it was a prudent choice for the time being, for her sake. After all, this was a marriage born out of misunderstandings, and while he had no romantic inclinations, he did possess a sense of propriety.
As he stood beside the bed, the desire to join her under the covers and find rest was strong. Yet, a nagging uncertainty crept into his mind. What if she didn't want to share the bed with him? What if the idea made her uncomfortable? And what about him? Would he be able to control his desire with her body so close to his? The last thing he wanted was to make her feel trapped or pressured in any way.
No, he decided, it would be best to avoid more awkwardness at all costs. And probably waking up with her right next to him wouldn't help. After all, he had no control on his body in that regard, especially in the morning.
So, with a sigh, he resigned himself to the idea and made his way to the nearby sofa. There, he settled in adjusting the cushions beneath him, and closed his eyes, hoping that the embrace of sleep would swiftly overtake him.