Part 15 (2/2)
No. Carriage wheels creaked beyond the chapel windows, and voices floated through the seams of the shutters. He swallowed hard, his heart leaping to attention as he heard Mrs. McKenzie say, ”Take care, Emma. Don't trip going up the steps.”
”I can see the steps, Momma.” Julian grinned. She sounded exasperated and one more caution away from complete explosion.
The door creaked open, and the world fell away as Emma stepped into the chapel. Dressed in a gown of s.h.i.+mmering ivory silk that seemed to float around her, she looked like an angel. A beautiful, stunning angel.
His beautiful, stunning angel.
Garrett nudged him gently. ”Close your mouth, McCallister. You'll trip on your tongue.”
Julian ignored him. He didn't care if he did trip over his tongue. Emma was a sight to behold. From the corner of his eye, he saw the priest emerge, looking somber as he moved before the altar. Everyone else faded into the background as Emma floated down the aisle toward him. All sound seemed to be sucked from the world, only returning in bits and pieces as she reached him and slipped her arm through his.
Then everything came rus.h.i.+ng back at once in a low roll of thunder. That thunder increased in sound and speed, building to a crescendo that threatened to knock him right off his feet. The moment she touched him, it set off a ripple of heat that surged through him until even his skin vibrated from it. Her hand rested lightly upon his forearm, yet she might as well have been touching his bare skin for the way his body reacted to her.
There must have been a break in the clouds, for pale beams of sunlight slid through the windows that weren't shuttered. Dust motes swirled in those beams, and as he gazed down at Emma, he couldn't help but notice how her eyes glittered like cobalt gla.s.s. No, that wasn't right. It sounded so silly inside his head, and he could never say it aloud, but her eyes sparkled like gemstones. Like the sapphire earbobs dangling from her earlobes. The dust motes were no longer dust motes but swirled about her like an aura. G.o.d d.a.m.n, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
”You're staring,” she whispered.
The priest opened his Bible and cleared his throat.
Julian shook his head. ”I can't help it. You look stunning, Miss McKenzie.”
A pale pink flush swept up toward her hairline, and her gaze dropped modestly. Her fingers tightened on his arm, and in that moment, he didn't regret a thing. Not one moment leading up to this, and especially not this particular moment.
Chapter Sixteen.
SHE TREMBLED.
Actually trembled.
Emma stared down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. They shook. In fact, her entire body shook. And no matter how she clasped her hands, or how she locked her knees, the tremble wouldn't stop.
She thought they would pa.s.s their wedding night at Stonebridge, never stopping to think that Julian had his residence in town. The house was cozy, and only spa.r.s.ely furnished, but Julian's room-or, more succinctly, their room-was tidy, with fresh candles flickering in their sconces. It felt so odd, being there, knowing her parents knew she was there. That everyone knew she was there. They knew Julian was there. They were there together. And everyone knew what a wedding night entailed. Her cheeks burned.
Julian stood in the far corner, before the heavy oak wardrobe that, aside from the bed and the bedside table, was the only furniture in the room. He'd shed his frock coat, it lay draped over the arm of the lone chair in the corner, but still wore his waistcoat as he unwound the stock from his neck.
She leaned back against the door, the slender gold band on her left hand rapping smartly against the wood. ”Where did this come from?” she asked, bringing that hand before her to stare down at it. It was simple and lovely, but heavy and unfamiliar.
”It was my grandmother's,” Julian replied without turning about. He shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it back to land atop his frock coat.
”She wasn't buried with it?”
”No. My grandfather came home from the s.h.i.+pyard one day and found she'd left. The ring was on the dining room table, and it was the only thing of hers left in all the house.”
This was a story she'd never heard before. ”What happened to her?”
”My grandfather was a madman, or hadn't you heard?”
”I've heard, but I don't believe it. He never killed anyone.” She waited to see the familiar hardness to come into his eyes. She'd never heard tell of his grandmother being murdered, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. ”Did he?”
”No.” Julian let out a wry chuckle. ”At least, not that anyone's ever proven. One of my family's whispered secrets is that Grandmother did not leave, but fell victim to the first McCallister madman. All that was left of her was her ring. His story was only a good cover-up.”
A s.h.i.+ver trickled down her spine. ”And you thought her wedding ring would be a good ring for your bride?” She stared down at the band again, this time fighting the urge to slip it from her finger.
”I don't believe that nonsense. No body's ever been found. I've always thought she simply left.”
She managed to smile. ”We say the same thing about my grandmother McKenzie. She went out one afternoon and just never came back.”
”Ah, but does anyone suspect the Commodore killed her?”
”No, just as I didn't suspect you knew my grandfather was known as the Commodore.”
He grinned. ”Garrett, or maybe it was Drew, must've made mention of it at some point. But anyway-” he gestured to her hand ”-that was her ring and she left it here for me, according to the note she left with it.”
He turned away from the wardrobe, and she nearly bit a whole through her bottom lip. His s.h.i.+rt was open, his sleeves were rolled back, his stock hung limply about his neck.
He was adorable in his dishevelment, her husband.
Her husband.
And as her husband, he'd only bestowed one kiss upon her. And that one only because the priest compelled him to. And even then, it was a dry, chaste kiss, nothing like the steamy, deep kisses they'd shared before.
He crossed over to her. ”Turn around, Mrs. McCallister, and I will help you undress for the evening.”
Those softly-spoken words sent a bolt of fire splitting right through her. This was her wedding night, the night where she had everyone's permission, everyone's expectations, to make love with Julian. And to do so more than once. Quite possibly all night, although that thought frightened her a little. That knowledge jarred her more than being addressed as Mrs. McCallister did.
So when she offered him her back and he went to work unlacing the silk cords, she bit down hard on her bottom lip again. Ow. She bit the same spot as before, only this time, she tasted blood. Wonderful.
Her lip puffed beneath her teeth, but the swelling didn't last long, and by the time Julian finished with the laces, he still had her corset and chemise to contend with.
When the corset fell free, she turned to face him. ”Julian, I didn't mean for this to happen.”
”I know. And neither did I.” He stroked her cheek with the gentle tip of his forefinger. ”But I'm not complaining.”
”Not yet, anyway.”
He grinned, but she noticed it never went higher than his lips. However, he didn't stop stroking her cheek, and with each touch, she leaned a little closer into him. She could smell the tobacco clinging to him, and the cold air, and a hint of snow. Delicious, manly scents.
He bent toward her and his lips closed over hers as gentle as the fluff on a dandelion. And the spark shot through her entire body to set embers glowing. His fingertips, roughened from leather horse reins, sent a rush of goose b.u.mps over the skin of her collarbone. Her s.h.i.+vers worsened as he eased a hand beneath the lacy edge of her chemise. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her to meet his kiss.
Her head fell back, eyes closed, lips parted in antic.i.p.ation of his sweet kiss. When it came, she murmured low in her throat and her back arched on its own to press into the solid wall of his chest. Everything about him was solid. Her hands practically itched to slide over him, beneath his fine clothes, to his hot skin.
His free hand slid down over her backside to cup it, to lift it, to maneuver her hips until she pressed right up into his rigid erection. Oh G.o.d...how wonderful. How amazing that felt, even through so much fabric. Pleasure sparked all along where they met. Embers rained over her, stinging in the most wonderful way possible. It wasn't so different from Christmas night. If anything, the pleasure was even sweeter because she knew no pain would follow. Now, she just wanted him. All of him. Now.
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