She brushed past him, the smell of her floating up to tease him. His new bride smelled lovely, like a soft spring flower that was just starting to bloom. Bright and fresh.
It made Archer want to lean into her. And then, with the thought of her being close to him dancing in his mind, his desires began to expand.
I need to get control of meself,he thought, pushing down the need for her that was coursing through him.
“It’s a lovely room,” Emilie said, walking to the center of their bedchamber and scanning the space.
Archer didn’t know if he’d ever given the room itself much thought. Just inside the door, there was a round, ornate rug thrown upon the floor with two high-backed reading chairs set upon it, and a low, stout table sat between them.
The chairs faced a fireplace that would often crackle merrily when the weather turned cold.
The room resided in the northernmost turrets of the castle, and it had more windows than most other rooms in the house, with the exception of the library.
A bookshelf sat under one of the windows, and Archer knew that when the sun came up, they would be able to see the expansive cliffs that gave way to the sea at the back of the castle beyond them.
“It’s nice enough,” he grunted, not wanting to get into the frills of it all with Emilie.
He stalked past her, walking to one of the small alcoves along the innermost wall where his armoire was located. Tugging the door open, Archer began to undress.
He busied himself with untying the strings of his tunic. Once they were sufficiently loosened, he tugged it over his head.
Behind him, Emilie let out a startled gasp.
“What are ye doin’?” she cried, and when Archer turned, he found her still standing in the center of the massive room, her hand pressed to her throat in horror.
Archer’s brow knit together in confusion.
“I’m gettin’ ready for bed,” he said in a tone that implied his bride had gone daft.
“But ye’re undressin’,” she continued.
A flush had begun creeping up Emilie’s neck, tracking a line over her jaw and into her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, darting around the room in a panic.
“Well, I’ll nae be sleepin’ in me weddin’ clothes.”
Even at a distance, Archer could see that she was trembling. He turned toward her, but apparently, being faced completely by hisnow naked chest was too much for her. Emilie’s hands darted up to cover her eyes.
“Relax, love,” Archer said, unable to stop his slight amusement from leaking into his voice. “I’ll nae be bitin’ ye. Ye’re perfectly safe within these walls.”
Emilie, however, did not drop her hands. She began shaking her head, as if the thought of looking at him was physically paining her.
“Surely ye’ve seen someone shirtless before,” Archer mused. “And, we are married, after all. Certainly, ye expected this.”
“I dinnae ken what to expect,” Emilie retorted, finally dropping her hands. “I told ye I’ve been at the nunnery most of me life. Do ye think we just have shirtless men runnin’ about the abbey?”
Despite himself, Archer smirked.
“That’s nae what yer parents had to say.”
Confusion flickered across Emilie’s face, her brow knitting together as she cocked her head to the side.
“What do ye mean?”
Her face was more animated than he’d seen it since meeting her earlier that day. The veneer of timid trepidation that had beencast over her since she’d first set foot down the aisle seemed to fall away.
Her blue eyes were blazing, lit with a fire that called to something within him. Something that Archer was not sure if he should entertain.
“Yer parents told me that ye were a ruined woman,” he explained. “It’s why they stated ye were still unmarried. So, for ye to be a ruined woman, ye would have had to have seen a man without his shirt at least once.”