Read Online The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) by Ava Archer Payne - Free Book Online Page B

uncomfortable situations. Naturally, he played the evening out for all it was worth.”
    Calla studied him in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought the food was delicious.”
    “ India isn’t done. Not in London, and certainly not among the peerage.”
    “But, I thought—”
    “It doesn’t matter. You’ll learn.”
    “I see.”
    Calla toyed with her glass, swallowing past a lump of abject dismay. Days ago, she had mentioned she would like to help plan their wedding menu, and Derek had given his consent. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that their guests wouldn’t enjoy the same foods she did: spicy chicken curry, a succulent prawn pepper fry, saffron rice pudding, vegetables cooked in yogurt, flour dumplings, then ending the meal with sweet laddu and fried jalebi for dessert.
    No wonder Derek’s friends had looked at her with such fascination, such tittering condescension and amusement. A wave of mortified embarrassment swept over her. She turned away, feigning a sudden fascination in the furnishings of her bedchamber. Despite its luxury, the room, like the estate itself, was completely barren of any semblance of warmth.
    “Come here.”
    Derek’s voice, soft but firm, startled her from her reverie. Calla hesitated, then obeyed his command, moving to stand before him. He reached for her glass—she was stunned to find she’d drained it completely—and set it aside.
    Then he lifted her left hand and removed her wedding ring.
    He stared at her finger for a long moment, gently rubbing his thumb over the spot where her ring had been. “I thought I had just imagined it,” he said.
    It was customary for Hindu women to apply elaborate tattoos to their hands and forearms on the occasion of their wedding. Calla had been tempted to do the same, but upon further consideration had decided upon something more intimate and discreet. Before the ceremony Mrs. Singh had applied an intricate design to her ring finger, a lacy vine that wrapped between her third knuckle and her palm, so that only she and Derek would see it. “It’s a henna dye,” she told him. “It will wear off in a few weeks.”
    “ Pity.”
    A note of pleasant surprise warmed her. She felt her lips curve upward in a small, hesitant smile. “You like it?”
    “Yes. I do.”
    Calla searched her husband’s face, trying to read some deeper meaning in his words, but his features were dark, inscrutable. “Now what do we do?” she asked.
    “Now I slip this ring back on your finger,” he paused, doing exactly that, “and then I take off everything else.”
    “ Now?”
    His lips quirked. “Nervous, jaanu ?”
    “Yes.”
    He studied her in silence for a moment, as though caught off-guard by her blunt honesty. Then he propped one hip upon her writing desk, assuming a half-sitting position so that they were eye-level. In a tone that conveyed nothing but polite curiosity, he asked, “Why?”
    “We’re virtually strangers. We hardly know one another.”
    Derek gave an indifferent shrug. “That doesn’t signify. Performing sexual acts with a stranger can be deeply satisfying.” 
    Calla swallowed past the note of hysterical laughter that threatened to burst from her lips. His words were so nonsensical he might as well have been speaking another language. Her two elder sisters, both of whom were married, had informed her how the conjugal act was performed. In addition, she had some experience of her own. Her dear friend Philip, in a rush of wild abandon after an open-air concert during which they’d both imbibed too much wine, had kissed her passionately and been so bold as to touch her breasts through the fabric of her gown. It had been a sloppy moment that had embarrassed them both and ruined their friendship. She said as much to Derek.
    The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. He shook his head. “I intend to do far more than simply kiss you, and I can assure you I won’t be embarrassed about it.”
    Calla dragged her teeth against