Emily cried out and her hand tightened convulsively around his shaft. Simon sucked in his breath as his control cracked and fractured without further warning. It was then he realized he could not wait another minute. Her effect on him was too powerful. He would not humiliate himself by climaxing in her fingers, spewing his seed over her soft belly.

"Emily, 'tis time. God help me, I cannot wait." He rolled on top of her, reaching down to spread her thighs wide apart. He guided his shaft to her small, humid hearth.

"Simon?"

"Do you trust me, little one?"

"Oh, yes, Simon. I trust you completely." She looked up at him through her lashes, her arms wound around his back.

"I vow I will always protect you, Emily. Remember that. Whatever else happens, know that I will always take care of you."

"Yes, Simon."

Simon gazed down at her for a few seconds thinking he had never seen anything so wonderful as the sight of Emily hovering on the brink of her own passion. The tip of her tongue ran across the fullness of her lower lip. There was a lovely flush on her cheeks. Her body felt firm and resilient and amazingly erotic. He must be careful with her, he reminded himself. She was a virgin and he did not want to hurt her.

But his need to bury himself within Emily's warmth was overwhelming his senses. He parted her with his fingers, stretching her slightly before he pushed himself slowly into her. Then he was fighting to control the surging forces of his own body. Sweat broke out on his brow and dampened his chest.

"Simon?" Emily sounded confused. There was a different sort of tension gripping her body now, one based on trepidation rather than sensual anticipation.

"This first time may not be easy for you," he managed. "You are so small and tight."

"I am not sure I like this part, Simon."

He groaned. "Try to relax. Trust me, little one. Hold on to me and give yourself over to me."

"Do you really believe this will enhance our communication on a higher plane?" she asked with a touch of desperation.

"Yes. God, yes." He could not hold back any longer. With a sharp, strong, thrusting movement, he surged deeply into her. Simultaneously he locked her close and his mouth covered hers, drinking the small gasp of astonishment from her lips. He felt her nails dig into his back.

"Bloody hell, Simon." Emily's eyes were squeezed shut. She was breathing rapidly and her whole body was trembling.

Simon willed himself to hold still for a moment, drawing in great gulps of air while he waited for Emily to adjust herself to the invasion. She did not move. It was obvious she was afraid to do so.

"Emily. Emily, my sweet, look at me," Simon pleaded. He was at the ragged edge of his control. "Did I hurt you?"

Her lashes fluttered and lifted. All traces of sensuality were gone from her gemlike eyes. They had been replaced with a brave, determined look. "Is it over?"

Simon swore softly. She was so small and slender and soft. He felt big and heavy and awkward and he could not seem to stop shuddering as he struggled to hold himself in check.

"No," he muttered. "It is not quite over."

"That is…" she licked her lips, "unfortunate."

"Damnation, Emily. I have not managed this well. I am sorry. I should have gone more slowly."

"That might have helped," she agreed breathlessly. "But you must not blame yourself, my dearest Simon." She stroked his back experimentally. "This sort of communication apparently takes a bit of practice."

Simon choked back an exclamation that might have been either a laugh or a groan. He was not sure which. His senses were straining like a team of blooded stallions under the reins.

"Yes. Practice," Simon said. "We shall practice a great deal, you and I." Cautiously, exerting every ounce of willpower he could still summon, he began to move within her. He eased himself almost all the way out of her tight passage and then he forged slowly back into her.

Simon felt Emily wriggle hesitantly beneath him, trying to accommodate herself to the strangeness of having a man inside her. The small, delicious movement was too much. It sent him over the edge.

"Emily, no, love. Hold still…"

It was too late. With a harsh, muffled shout, he was pumping himself into her, crushing her into the carpet, holding her as though he would never let her go. The heat from the dancing flames on the hearth seemed to combine with the warmth of Emily herself. Simon surrendered to the overpowering climax, lost in a woman's body as he had never been lost before.

For an endless moment he hovered in midair and then, with a low groan, he collapsed on top of Emily. For a long time he lay there, his body slick with perspiration, every muscle relaxed. He was vaguely aware he had never felt so utterly replete and satisfied in his life. Slowly he caught his breath and opened his eyes.

Emily was smiling tentatively up at him, her gaze full of curiosity and questioning wonder. "Well?" she demanded when she saw his lashes lift.

Simon stared down at her, feeling extremely dull-witted. "Well, what?"

"Did it work, do you think?"

Simon realized he had lost the thread of the conversation. He tried to concentrate. "Did what work?"

"Our experiment in enhancing metaphysical communication. Do you feel any closer to me now on the transcendental plane, Simon?"

"Good God." He blinked and slowly rolled to the side, wrapping her against his bare chest. For a few seconds he stared at the high ceiling, trying to clear his mind.

"Simon?" She shyly touched the hair on his chest.

"Hell and damnation, yes," he growled, thinking that metaphysical communication was the last thing he wanted to contemplate at the moment.

"I am glad," she said simply, putting her head down on his shoulder.

Simon looked at her red curls glowing in the reflected heat of the fire. Like polished copper, he thought. Then reality hit him full force. "This is our wedding night."

"Yes."

"Our wedding night and I just bedded you on the floor of the library. The library, for God's sake."

"I prefer to think that you just made love to me on the floor of the library," Emily said, yawning hugely.

"I must have taken leave of my senses." Simon sat up abruptly, running his fingers through his hair. "We should be upstairs in your bed. Or my bed."

"Do not fret, Simon. It does not particularly matter to me where we spent our wedding night." Emily smiled sleepily. "I can leave the details out of my journal, if you like."

"Good God. By all means leave the details out of your damn journal." He got to his feet and hastily donned his dressing gown. Then he reached down, tugged Emily to her feet, and dropped the muslin nightdress over her head. He saw that it was stained with the results of their lovemaking and the evidence of her virginity and he realized she must have been lying on the garment when he had taken her. He quickly tucked her into her chintz wrapper. A vague flicker of guilt washed over him.

"Emily, are you all right?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I feel sticky. And a bit sore. But otherwise I am fine. What about you? Are you feeling all right, Simon?"

"Yes, I am quite all right," he told her gruffly. He swung her up into his arms and started toward the door.

But he was not all right. He was feeling very strange and he did not like the sensation. He had completely lost his self-control with this woman.

That had never happened to him before. He should have been in command of the situation from start to finish. He ought to have handled the whole business with far more finesse. Instead he had been swept up into the vortex of a passion that had swamped his control.

Simon acknowledged grimly that his redheaded elf of a wife had been the one in command tonight, whether she knew it or not. She had led him a pretty dance from the moment he had found the note on her pillow. Simon wondered if she had any inkling of just how much power she had wielded this evening. Women were never slow to comprehend their own power and a Faringdon female would be quicker than most to take advantage.