Royals Saga 3 Crown Me (14 page)

K
atherine Paige Couture was on lockdown. The posh bridal shop had practically become my second home over the last few months. But today the curtains blocked curious eyes from seeing inside the shop. Kate met me at the back door, her eyes bright as she guided me inside. Most people had been surprised when I’d chosen her to design my dress. What they didn’t know was that Edward had introduced us. Hardly older than me, Kate could have passed for a model instead of a lead designer with her curly brown hair and lithe figure. But her passion lay in the design business, which had earned her an exclusive, albeit small, clientele.

“We’ve spent all week kicking paparazzi out of here,” she explained when I shot her a questioning look.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. It seemed my marriage was actually becoming the spectacle of the century for all involved.

“Don’t be! How often do I get to design a wedding dress for the next Queen of England?” she gushed, pushing a loose curl behind her ear.

The next Queen of England.
A dizzying rush clouded my head and I caught her arm to steady myself. “I can’t get used to that. One of these days I’m going to get so nervous that I
will
faint.”

“As long as you don’t ruin your dress.” She winked mischievously, reminding me exactly why I felt so at ease with her. “If you’re light-headed, I suppose that champagne is a bad idea.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe later.”

The dressing room was nearly as beautiful as Kate’s gowns, managing to be lavish and welcoming at the same time. Warm ivory walls and soft lighting made the space glow. The gold leaf tables and mirror frames added a touch of sophistication.

But the calm atmosphere faded with the arrival of my bridal party. My mother and Lola fluttered into the room with Belle at their heels.

“Two days!” My mother caught me in a hug, pecking me on both cheeks.

I did my best not to look like I was about to throw up.

“Mother has been counting down the minutes all week.” Lola shot a
save-me-now
look over my mother’s shoulder.

“It is not every day that a mother marries off her daughter.” Mom plucked a champagne flute from a nearby tray and took a dainty sip.

“We’re set for the final rehearsal in the morning,” I told her, bypassing small talk in favor of direct action. I needed to focus if I was going to keep my sanity. I would give myself a list and not let my mind wander to the cameras and crowds already filling the streets that led from Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace. It was the only way to prevent getting caught in a cycle of disturbingly vivid fantasies about all the ways I was going to make an ass out of myself.

“Here are the shoes.” Kate bustled into the room with a pair of simple ivory silk pumps.

My mother grimaced, not bothering to hide her disapproval of my choice. “Are those heels tall enough?”

“I’d rather hoped not to fall on my face,” I told her.

“Your father is not going to let you fall.” She tilted her head and called into the adjoining lounge. “Are you, Harold?”

“Dad’s here?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

“Of course, he wants to see his little girl in her wedding gown.” My mother’s voice caught, but she looked away before I could see if she was crying. Tears weren’t in Madeline Bishop’s emotional repertoire. Sightings of them were rare enough to warrant study.

I couldn’t be certain if the show of emotions was maternal sentimentality or if she was strongly clinging to the last shreds of her marriage.

A hush fell over the group as two of the shop’s employees cautiously carried my gown into the room, holding it as I undressed and Kate helped me into a corset. I’d seen the dress at various stages, standing through numerous fittings until my feet ached and my skin throbbed from renegade dress pins. But I wasn’t prepared for the emotions that swept through me when I saw the final dress.

Decorum dictated a certain level of modesty for a church wedding, but somehow it was still the sexiest thing I’d ever owned. Even if it took four of them to lift it over my head.

“I hope it’s not this hard for Alexander to get it off,” Belle whispered.

“I have faith in his abilities,” I said in a low voice, reminding myself now wasn’t the time to fantasize about those skills.

My arms glided through the delicate lace sleeves, allowing the skirt and train to float down. Turning as they arranged my skirt, I drew in a deep, steadying breath. French lace rested gracefully off my shoulders, covering my décolletage where a silk bodice narrowed to my waistline and then widened into a full skirt trimmed along the hem with the same lace.

Thousands of tiny Swarovski crystals glittered delicately in the light. I pressed a hand to my stomach, absorbing the fact I was wearing my wedding gown as Kate began to fasten the zippers and buttons that ran from the back of my neck to my tailbone.

“Oh dear,” Kate muttered, heaving a sigh.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh dear
what
?”

She yanked the back of my dress tighter, struggling to get the zipper up.

“Breathe in,” she instructed, widening her stance for leverage.

I sucked in, contracting my belly against my ribs. Relief poured through me when I heard the zipper slide up, but it was short-lived as soon as I exhaled.

“Is it supposed to be this tight?” I asked, turning to get a side view.

The seamstress frowned, pins jutting from her teeth. She plucked them out and checked her notes. “It’s been tailored to your most recent measurements.” She sighed and circled me. “We’ll have to let it out a little.”

“Is that a problem?” my mother said, biting her nails. Never in all my life had I seen Madeline Bishop risk her manicure. If she had the choice between saving a baby seal and chipping a nail, it was a no-brainer for her.

“It shouldn’t be.” Kate patted my arm. “There’s room in the bodice to let it out, but it’s not that bad. We can always adjust your corset.”

I swallowed a groan. Said corset was already digging into my ribs, its boning stabbing me every few seconds. There was no way it was getting tightened.

As soon as Kate excused herself, my mother rounded on me. “This gown cost twenty thousand pounds. Every major media outlet has been speculating on it for months.”

“Mom!” Lola interjected.

She ignored her, pacing in front of the three-way mirror. “They are predicting millions of television viewers. I’m merely surprised that this is the time Clara chooses to let her weight go.”

As soon as she said it, she clamped a hand over her mouth, a look of horror descending over her elegant features. “Clara, I’m—”

I waved off her apology, locking my jaw to stop my trembling chin.

“Let’s go see about some tea,” Lola suggested, taking our mother by the shoulders and marching her into the lounge off the dressing room.

Belle exhaled loudly when they were out of sight, relaxing against the mirror. “Sometimes I think she actually studies thoughtlessness.”

“It comes naturally,” I assured her. Gesturing to my gown, I bit my lip. “Does it look terrible?”

“Clara, you look beautiful.” Belle straightened to face the mirror. Her grey eyes sparkled in its reflection. “Alexander isn’t going to know what hit him.”

I reached back and fluffed my train, allowing all twelve feet to cascade silkily from the raised platform I stood on. “He generally prefers me less clothed.”

“Clara’s new clothes.
Now that would surprise all the major media outlets
,” Belle said, tipping her nose in an excellent impression of my mother.

I fiddled with my hair, pulling it up and letting it down again. “Honestly, I wish it was all over with. I want to be married to Alexander. I could happily skip the wedding,” I admitted.

“Every girl dreams about her wedding.”

“I guess,” I said absently. “Maybe that would be true if mine weren’t a spectacle. If I had my way, we’d have gotten married with a couple of close friends standing by.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Belle’s smile tighten.

“Will you please tell me when I’m being a total bitch?” I groaned. “This is probably the last place you feel like being.”

“It’s okay. I keep forgetting, too.” Belle sank to the ground and crossed her legs.

It took some effort but I managed to maneuver around my train and join her. “I should warn you now. I’m not going to be able to get back up without your help, so I hope you’re still my best friend.”

“No,” Belle said sharply.

“Umm, okay. I’m not sure what to say.”

“Philip doesn’t get to ruin this,” she said, completely oblivious to the near heart attack she’d just given me. “This is your wedding, and I am happy for you. I swear I am. But I’m…”

“Hurting,” I finished for her. “I want to castrate him for what he did to you. But honestly, I can’t imagine getting through this without you, especially if it means dealing with my mother.”

“Lola seems to have her pretty well in hand,” Belle noted, “which suits me because I want to focus on you.”

“Are you sure?” I blinked against the tears swimming across my vision.

“Don’t cry,” she pleaded, her words hitching slightly. “If you cry, then I’ll cry—and oh, sod it! It’s too late.”

“Alexander knows people who can kill him for you.” The joke was out of my mouth before I remembered that it was actually true.

Belle’s lip curled, but she shook her head. “I think getting stuck with Pepper is punishment enough. She’ll take all of his money and then he’ll just be some wanker with a small prick.”

“Small?” I repeated.

She wagged her pinky finger, adding, “Aunt Jane is already discussing who I should take as my rebound lover.”

“Might I suggest someone with a substantial prick,” I whispered.

She laughed at this, wiping away tears with a sigh. “Clara Bishop, you are a fallen woman. To think, a year ago I was begging you to shag someone with wealth and power. Now you’re total vixen.”

“I took your suggestion very seriously,” I assured her.

“I love you,” Belle said, her expression growing serious.

“I love you, too.” I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, only to hear the sickening rip of lace.

“They can fix it,” she murmured, not letting me go. When she finally did, she smiled impishly. “Come on, let’s go toy with your mum’s blood pressure.”

I held out my hands, and she bounded to her feet gracefully. Struggling up from the mass of silk and tulle, I collapsed into her with a giggle.

“Hey, you’re getting married,” Belle said.

“I’m getting married,” I repeated, willing her words to sink in. In a few days I would no longer be Clara Bishop. I would be entirely his.

My father’s head poked into the dressing room. “Can I have a moment?”

“Of course.” She gave my hand a quick squeeze.

My father grinned sheepishly as she passed, running a hand over his thinning hair.

“You look stunning,” he said softly.

A girlish contentment settled over me. No matter what mistakes he’d made, he was still my father, and I wanted his approval. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I know these last few months have been hard on the family, and I know you’ve been less than thrilled with your mother and me.”

“With Mom?” I asked.

“You’ve been hard on her.” Dad wrung his hands together. “But your mother was doing the best she could. I know that’s difficult to understand. I’m not an easy man to live with.”

“Mom’s not exactly low maintenance,” I admitted, unsure whose side I was taking.

“That’s the thing about marriage, Clare-bear. Sometimes you mess it up. What matters is how you handle,” he added.

“I only want to know you two are going to be okay.” I couldn’t help but want my parents together. I was their daughter, after all. I couldn’t imagine any other scenario for either of them.

“This is going to shock you, but your mother is a very tolerant woman,” he told me.

“What about the other woman?”

“I ended that months ago. Your mother and I have been speaking to a counselor.” He held open his arms. “I couldn’t bear to cast a shadow over your day.”

“You won’t.”

We stood for a moment and regarded each other.

Dad cleared his throat, but his voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. “I hope Alexander knows how fortunate he is. I made certain that he knew I didn’t care who his father was. If he hurt my little girl—”

“Dad!” I laughed with shock.

“Let’s just say he knows what will happen.” He winked at me, drawing me close to him. My head dropped to his shoulder, and for the first time in a very long time, things were right between us.

B
elle let out a low whistle as I escorted her to one of the fifty or so guest rooms my new home boasted. “Our flat would have inferiority issues if it saw what you left it for.”

I snorted. Belle had been here before for our engagement gala, but then it had been crammed full of guests. Seeing it after hours, when the staff had largely left for their private apartments and the place was empty was a whole other experience. I pivoted around, walking backward and gesturing to the space around us. “This is the aptly named Horse Corridor, because, as you can see, someone liked horses.”

Like most of the house, the corridor skirted a thin line between the garish and the opulent. The walls were papered in crimson damask that matched the curtains and antique divans, but the showstopper was the equine portraiture that decorated the space.

“I imagine I’ll have to take up riding,” I said thoughtfully.

Belle giggled, her eyes darting across the extravagant space. “I thought you already had.”

If only she knew. Thinking back to the ill-fated country weekend I’d spent with Alexander last summer, I remembered just how pleasurable riding could be.

“Your cheeks match the drapery,” Belle continued to tease. “Thank God Alexander is making you an honest woman tomorrow.”

“Follow me,” I said, flourishing my arm toward a long staircase at the end of the corridor. I led her up the stairs, pointing out which rooms would comprise my private quarters as we made our way to the guest room I’d set aside for my best friend’s use.

“I’ll be across the hall,” I said as I showed her inside her room.

“What about your private quarters, Your Highness?” Belle dipped into a curtsy.

“Promise to never do that again,” I groaned and flopped onto her bed, not quite ready to be alone for the night. Butterflies had begun to circle in my stomach, each second that passed ratcheting up the anxious excitement I’d felt since I had woken up this morning. “I’m sleeping across the hall, because I told Alexander he couldn’t see me until morning.”

“Will he survive that long without shagging you?” She raised both her eyebrows and tapped her fingertips together. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“It’s tradition.”

“One of many,” Belle said as she inspected her surroundings. She drew a manicured fingertip over the top of nightstand. “They must clean all the time. So how do you really feel about your humble abode?”

“It’s…something,” I managed.

“That’s highly complimentary,” she said dryly, dropping onto the bed beside me.

“It’s not mine. Not yet. It might be eventually.” I already missed the house we’d left behind in Notting Hill. Not only because we’d made it our own, but because it had been our first home. “I feel out of place here. In every room some stuffy portrait glares at me and I get lost at least twice a day.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she said, dropping her voice to add, “especially once you start breaking in all the rooms.”

I glanced out her bedroom door to the expansive hall. “That will take forever.”

“Not with the way you two go at it. There’s even a bet going around about when you two will get caught. ” She pulled her mobile out of her bag and turned on the screen. “I gave it a week, but Edward gave it five days.”

I snatched the mobile from her hands only to discover a blank screen.

“You’re shameless, Annabelle Stuart,” I said, handing it back to her.

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me.” She lay down on the bed and I rolled over onto my back, resting my head against hers.

“Do you think Philip will come?” she asked quietly.

“His invitation has been rescinded. I also asked Norris to place a shoot on sight order for Pepper.”

Belle’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “If only.”

“If only,” I agreed.

“Hey,” Belle said, “you should get some sleep. I hear you have something to do in the morning.”

I rocked to my feet with a sigh and blew her a kiss.

“Very regal,” she assured me.

I tossed a pillow at her head.

“Sweet dreams to you, too!” she called as I padded across the hall.

The bedroom was a massive reminder that I’d spend my last night as a single woman alone. The few objects that belonged to me were scattered on an antique dresser, but the centerpiece of the unfamiliar space hung from the wardrobe.

My wedding gown stared mockingly at me from within its protective bag. Tomorrow I would put that dress on, I’d be escorted to Westminster Abbey, walk down an aisle, and be married. It didn’t seem possible that a year ago I’d been feverishly studying and taking final exams.

“How did this happen?” I asked the empty room.

Damn me and my tradition. My strange surroundings only reinforced his absence while reminding me just how far I’d landed from my own league. Maybe it was my nerves kicking into overdrive, but I needed Alexander and the reassurance his touch provided.

A knock called me from my memories, as if someone had arrived to answer that very question, and I hurried to the door, keeping my hand over the lock.

“Yes?”

“I was informed there’s a woman inside who’s about to make a terrible mistake, and I came to see if I could talk her out of it.” Alexander’s muffled voice answered from the other side.

“You can’t see me until morning,” I reminded him. I had been the one who had insisted on taking separate quarters for the night, wanting to ensure he didn’t see me before the ceremony. That had seemed like a brilliant idea until I’d wound up alone in a strange room talking to my wedding dress.

“My watch says it’s only ten o’clock, poppet. Open the door.”

Two hours until the day of our wedding. That should be just enough time. It also would prevent me from staying up all night staring at the ceiling.

“Hold on.” Scrambling over to the wardrobe, I tucked the bag inside and closed it.

When I opened the door, Alexander filled the doorframe. His arms hung overhead, clutching the wood. The biting scent of bourbon hit my nostrils and I stared at him. “Have you been drinking?”

“I had a drink with Edward. Unofficial stag night.” He stalked forward. “Nothing wild, poppet.”

I relaxed a little knowing Edward had the good sense to cut his brother off the night before his wedding.

“My king bed is missing its queen.” He moved closer and his scent reminded me of the day we’d met, spicy and sharp. I’d wanted to kiss him then—to know what he tasted like. But one taste wasn’t enough. It never would be.

“I have something for you,” I said coyly.

“Poppet, I thought you’d never offer.”

“Keep it in your pants, X.” I darted to the dresser before he could grab me and picked up a small red box. “I found this when we were moving. I’d bought it months ago and never gave it to you.”

“Can I open it?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“It’s silly,” I warned as I handed it over to him. “I thought I’d give it to you tomorrow, but then I realized I’ll hardly get you alone.”

“Oh, you’ll get me alone.” He smirked as he lifted the box lid. He drew out the small wax stamp and studied it, a grin tugging at his lips when he saw what it said.

X

“For when you write me letters,” I whispered. “There’s sealing wax as well. I know you have your own, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he stopped me as he dropped it back in the box and took out the wax. “Do you like my letters?”

I nodded, my eyes closing temporarily as his wicked words drifted to mind, accompanied by flames of all the times he turned them into reality.

“Yes,” I breathed as he circled around me, tapping the thick bar of sealing wax against his palm. “Write me one now.”

He pressed against my back, his lips dropping to the curve of my neck. “Poppet.”

“Hmmm,” I murmured dreamily.

“I’ve been picturing you all night with white silk shoved up to your waist.” One hand snaked around my waist, capturing my breast. Alexander’s fingers kneaded through the fabric of my dress until my nipple stiffened sharply. My breasts grew heavier as he massaged them until they were swollen and hot. “Tomorrow I’m going to take your luscious tits into my mouth, claim them right through your wedding gown, and suck them until you come.”

My hips moved against his and he continued to compose his sinful promises. “I’m going to take you to church and then I’m going to find the first dark corridor and worship you.”

I moaned, needing his devotion now, longing for his hands to continue to tease and torment.

“Thinking of claiming you as my bride is making me so fucking hard. All I can think about is watching my wife sink onto my cock.” He abandoned my breasts and pressed a hand to the mound between my thighs. “Do you want to be claimed?”

“Yes,” I murmured, my hips writhing against his hand.

He nipped my earlobe. “I’m writing a letter, poppet, but if you insist.”

Drawing my zipper down my back, he peeled my dress off my shoulders as he unhooked my bra until my swollen breasts were free. Then he slowly pushed it over my hips until it puddled at my feet, leaving me in my garter belt and stockings. His fingers traced the straps before he plucked them free one by one and jerked down my panties.

“Crawl up on the bed and inspire me,” he ordered, stroking his cock through his trousers.

I climbed onto the bed slowly and spread my knees, giving him his first glimpse of the surprise I’d planned for our wedding night. Belle had escorted me to the salon the day before and I’d braved the wax room. I’d never gone completely bare before but the low hiss of his exhale told me he approved.

“That is very inspiring.” He drew his hand down my slick sex, murmuring his approval. A moment later I tensed as I heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling. Silence fell between us. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll never strike you like that again.”

“I know,” I said in a small voice.

“Turn over onto your back,” he instructed.

Rolling over, his gaze smoldered into me as he carefully removed the belt and laid it on the bed. “This will never hurt you again.”

“I know,” I repeated, wishing I could control the reaction I had to it.

“I’m going to show you that,” he said, picking it up and moving to the side of the bed. “Put your hands over your head.”

Taking a deep breath, I lifted my arms and crossed them.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Brimstone,” I whispered.

“If it’s too much or you want me to stop, use it.” He slid the leather strap under my wrists and wrapped it around them, gently binding my hands. My breathing sped up with each coil until finally he pulled the belt tightly through its buckle. “I love when you obey me, poppet. When you show me you trust me with your pleasure.”

Alexander returned to the foot of the bed, running a hand through his black hair as his eyes raked over me. Leaning down, he urged me to bend my knees, opening myself to him.

“Spread your legs. Show me how wet your cunt is for me.”

I widened my thighs until my hips ached. The pulse in my clit throbbed as the sensitive nub met with air.

“Pain and pleasure,” he murmured as he stripped off his clothes. I was captive to his gaze, held in place by more than the belt he’d used to restrain me. Tiny emissaries of pleasure rippled along my skin as he stood over me, stroking the wide shaft of his cock. “If I was writing a letter to you, I’d sign my name.” His finger wrote an X across my inner thigh before it descended to my drenched folds and thrust inside me.

“Then I would slide it into the envelope,” he continued as he pumped his finger leisurely. “Do you know what I would do next?”

My head twisted against my bindings, and I bit the tender flesh of my upper arm, trying to contain the orgasm clawing its way free.

“You can’t come yet. I haven’t finished with my letter.”

His finger withdrew, leaving my hole pulsating against the sudden emptiness.

“Look at me,” Alexander said a moment later, but I shook my head. “Look at me now or I’ll go back to my room until I’m sure you’ve learned your lessons.”

I forced my eyes to open and meet his.

“Very good.” His fingers flicked and a moment later a match blazed to life. The flame traveled along its thin path until it died at his fingertips. “It’s very important to me that my letter remains private. It belongs to me just like your beautiful cunt. Tell me who it belongs to, Clara.”

“You,” I panted, my hands wiggling against the leather strap. I needed to get free—needed to pull him into me.

“You’ll want to hold still for this,” he warned as he lit another match and held the flame to the wick of the sealing wax. “Otherwise this could get messy.”

My teeth sank into my lip, my body going rigid with the expectation of pain as I watched the fire claim the base of the wax. Alexander held it over my breasts patiently. A thick bead of paraffin formed at the tip, drooping lower as it bloated until it seared across my stiff nipples. Its heat faded quickly, but it fed the slow burn growing inside me. Another scorching drop spilled across my left breast, and I cried out as the tension at my core mounted.

“You look so fucking gorgeous right now. I love watching you squirm until it hits and then you melt along with it.” He dripped a path down the valley of my breasts to my navel. “Lift your ass in the air.”