Part 13 (1/2)
Chapter Fourteen.
Their wedding made it more difficult for Elias to enjoy a quiet minute with his new wife than courts.h.i.+p ever had. He'd hardly shared a private word with Marianne since returning from London late last night. By the time he entered the bedroom Sidonie and Jonas had a.s.signed them, he was ready to explode with frustration.
That morning, he and Marianne had been married in Barstowe's chapel. She'd chosen a pretty sky-blue gown, and Jonas had stood up in her absent father's place. They'd returned to Ferney in brilliant suns.h.i.+ne for a spectacular breakfast. All day, happy people had surrounded the bride and groom. Happy people he cared about, but the company had soon lost its charm when all he wanted was to have his wife to himself.
Then he saw Marianne standing by the fire and she smiled with a welcome he'd waited his entire life to find. The day's minor vexations melted away like snow in the summer sun.
”You're so lovely,” he said in a hushed voice. ”I don't deserve you.”
A gold and vermillion dressing gown covered his nakedness. Given how edgy he felt, he wasn't sure this was the wisest choice of clothing. Perhaps he should have pulled on a suit of armor.
She extended one slender hand in his direction. He was disgustingly pleased and proprietorial to catch the glint of her wedding band on the fourth finger. ”I thought they'd never leave us. I've longed to be alone with you all day.”
Much as he relished it, he didn't immediately accept her invitation. Instead he lingered to savor the moment, to etch it into his memory. He'd spent so long convinced she'd never marry him. This occasion needed its full due. When he was old, he'd remember the night he claimed Marianne Seaton as his. And he'd know that his life had been worthwhile.
His stumbling praise of her beauty had been inadequate. His wife looked like a G.o.ddess or a sensual angel. Her white satin nightdress clung to her luscious curves. The sleeve dipped back from her outstretched forearm, revealing the pale perfect skin and graceful wrist. Her l.u.s.trous hair, rich mink, flowed down her back.
She was the answer to every erotic fantasy. She looked pure and untouched, a pearl. He swallowed to s.h.i.+ft the emotion crammed into his chest. He loved her so much.
He attempted to lighten the atmosphere. Tonight should be joyous, not weighted with past troubles. ”Are you sure Sidonie isn't hiding behind the curtains? No Genevieve under the bed? No Nell lurking in the dressing room?”
Her lips quirked. ”They all left ten minutes ago.”
”What about Pen and Sophie?”
”Downstairs as far as I know.”
”I don't want them pouncing when I kiss you,” he said, although he was overwhelmed at the effort his friends had made to turn this hurried wedding into a celebration. Harry and Sophie, James and Nell, Cam and Pen had all traveled miles to attend the ceremony. Sidonie and Jonas, with Richard and Genevieve's help, had mounted a lavish party.
Marianne's blue eyes were deeper than the ocean. ”I thought you were glad to see your brother and sister.”
”I am.” At last he crossed the room to take her hand. Satisfaction filled him at how readily her fingers curled around his. ”But I've suffered nearly a week without you. Right now, my family can go to the devil. The whole world, with the exception of you, my darling, can go to the devil with them.”
Amus.e.m.e.nt lit her eyes. He'd worried about her today, that she'd miss her father or shrink from the boisterous well-wishers. But he'd been beguiled and moved to watch her reserve disappear under the waves of open affection.
In London, he'd been outraged at the caricatures featuring a melting half-naked ice princess in the arms of an insipid blond nitwit. Now, he dismissed the world's clamor as meaningless noise. n.o.body who saw his bride tonight could doubt that she was anything but vital, generous woman. And a wife any man would be proud to call his own.
”We're alone now. If you lock the door, we'll stay that way.”
”Excellent suggestion.” He leaned in to kiss her. His circ.u.mspect peck during the ceremony had merely stoked raging hunger. Ever since that breathtaking interval in Jonas's music room a week ago, he'd burned.
Her lips were soft and parted sweetly to his, but he raised his head before the kiss deepened into pa.s.sion. He meant to be careful with her tonight, no matter how fiercely he wanted her.
”After I've kissed you.”
Her eyes slowly opened. She looked gratifyingly dazed. ”You just did.”
”Again then.”
This time he briefly slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. When he turned away and crossed to turn the key, he nearly stumbled. She wasn't the only one knocked silly by their kisses.
When he turned back, she was at the sideboard pouring two brandies. He heard a clink as her unsteady hand b.u.mped the decanter against the rim of a gla.s.s.
”Is my gallant bride afraid?” he asked softly.
Ravis.h.i.+ng color tinged her cheeks as she pa.s.sed him a gla.s.s. ”No.”
He tilted his eyebrows at her. ”Really?”
She picked up her brandy. ”Perhaps a little nervous. But that's not the same as afraid.”
”Do you remember the night in the music room?” He took a sip, although he already felt intoxicated with the knowledge that this marvelous creature had consented to be his wife.
The pink in her cheeks intensified. ”Of course.”
He recognized that antic.i.p.ation sparked her jumpiness. ”Tonight will be like that.”
”What we did then was wonderful.” Her voice lowered to seriousness. ”That next night, I hoped we'd do it again. When I received that note asking me to go to the conservatory, I was sure you'd sent it.”
He paused, gla.s.s halfway to his mouth. ”The idea that you met Tranter willingly never crossed my mind.”
He watched her tension ease as she sipped her brandy. ”You trusted me more than I trusted you. I should have always known that you weren't a liar.”
After his second-thank G.o.d, successful-proposal, they'd parted so abruptly that they needed to clarify some issues. He took her hand. It rested trembling in his grasp. His thumb brushed the gold ring, that tangible symbol of their triumph over the obstacles separating them.
”You were just a bit muddleheaded. And Cam's defection had hit your confidence. No wonder you feared I was a fortune hunter.” Cam's defection and her father's subtle tyranny, convincing her that unless she was an obedient cipher, she had no value. But wisdom kept him silent on that subject. He wasn't nave enough to hope the scars Lord Baildon had inflicted had healed.
Mischief brightened her face. ”Cam who?”
He laughed and slid his gla.s.s onto the sideboard. ”Shall we proceed or do you need more Dutch courage, my love?”
Without s.h.i.+fting her concentration from him, she placed her gla.s.s next to his. ”Am I your love?”
He regarded her, standing tall and proud for all her uncertainty. She was so brave. He'd noted that from the first. Fate had granted him a bride in a million. ”I told you I loved you in London.”
”And I was so awful to you.”
He smiled. Astonis.h.i.+ng how that wound no longer pained him, now that she was his. ”You were rather cruel.”
She frowned, although she must hear the teasing in his voice. ”I'll make amends.”
”You'd better.”