The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (30 page)

“I have tried my best. Now, if I could only bring Edward to heel.”

“That, Papa, will take a miracle.”

Smiling, her father tweaked her nose. “Now run along and send your mother in here, if you please.”

As if on cue, her mother was waiting outside the library. With a smile she breezed by her.

“Ah, Jane.” Blossom heard the deep rumble of her father's voice. “Come and sit on my lap and hold me. I've just given our baby girl away.”

“Matthew,” her mother whispered, “is the pain so very bad?”

“Quite lethal, Jane. Make it go away.”

And then Blossom shut the door, allowing them their privacy. After all these years of marriage her parents were still so ardently, and passionately, in love.

I
N THE END,
B
LOSSOM HAD
seen very little of the man who was to be her husband. And when she did see him, their visit was supervised by her father or mother. Blossom was literally bursting to speak with him, and she could tell that Jase was just as eager. But her father demanded that they would not have a second alone until they departed for their honeymoon.

It took only two days for Jase to obtain a special license, and only one for her parents' houseguests to depart. They fled back to London amid a brewing scandal. Her mother had worried the tiniest bit; her father had laughed and reminded her that it was not a proper Torrington house party if there was not a hint of scandal.

It was her wedding day, and despite Jase's attempts to make it the wedding of her dreams, it did not happen that way. First was the rain. Second was the complete deluge that would not stop.

“I think it's a sign from God,” she whispered as the carriage jolted forward. She waved at her mother and father, who were huddled beneath an umbrella, and then again at Lord and Lady Weatherby.

“Nonsense,” Jase muttered, “it's good luck if it rains on your wedding day.”

“Not for the bride it's not,” she said as she lifted her leg and showed him her muddied boots and soaked stockings.

“Then let me make you comfortable. We have a bit of a journey to the train station.”

“Where are we going, exactly?”

“To the Lakes. My friend the Duke of Trevere has a cottage there.”

“Oh.”

Jase reached for her foot and began unlacing her boots. “Will you like that, do you think?”

Nodding, Blossom continued to look out the window. She hadn't expected to feel so awkward in his presence. It was as though they were strangers. He seemed to know it, because when he was done removing her boots, he slid himself to her bench and began to untie her bonnet. With a careless air he tossed it onto the now-empty bench and clutched her face in his palms.

“At last,” he whispered, “I can give my wife the proper kiss she deserves.”

Jase's mouth was warm and soft, his tongue sheer pleasure. They kissed for a long while, until Blossom could hardly breathe, and when they broke it off, Jase did not leave her, but rested his forehead against hers.

“I've missed you. Your smiles. Your cheeky little taunts. But mostly I missed this, just being beside you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled, the awkwardness slowly retreating. “A week ago I could never have dreamed I would be married to you.”

“I could say the same. Although, I've been fantasizing about our wedding night for what seems like years now.”

“You're fibbing.”

“Blossom.” He reached for her hand and placed it over his heart. “I can tell you with utmost sincerity that I've wanted you in my bed for years. I would stand back and
watch my brother with you and wish to strangle him. It's the whole reason why I was gone so much. It shattered my soul to see you so happy with him, because, you see, I wanted you to be happy with me. Blossom?” He pressed her hand hard against his chest, and held steady on to her gaze. “I love you. I have loved you silently and secretly from afar for so many years. And this—the fact you're now mine—is almost too surreal. When I look at you I'm afraid you're going fade into the mist and I will wake up to the realization that this is only another dream.”

“Oh, Jase.”

He held a finger to her lips. “This isn't the way I wished for it to happen. But it's what transpired and I'm not sorry for it. But I promise you, Blossom, I will worship you with my body for the rest of my life, and one day you'll realize that I'm not the man behind the reputation. One day, you'll feel safe enough with me to give me your love. And I will wait patiently for it, I promise you.”

He kissed her again, and when he ended it, she felt how hard and fast his heart was beating beneath her thumb. “Sleep, my love. Because tonight when we get into our little cottage, I will be keeping you very much awake.”

 

B
LOSSOM GLANCED UP FROM
her book to see a pair of birds dip low in the sky, squawking and singing as they landed on a thick branch of a pine tree. Heedless of her position below them, they cocked their heads to one side and addressed each other with a high-pitched warble.

“That must be the female,” a deep voice resonated be hind her. “A right saucy wench, isn't she?”

Jase
. Her body tingled at the sound of his voice. She was a wife now, in every respect. Their first time had been magical, intimate. He had been very careful with her, and she had felt nothing more than a pinch and a burn. It had been a bit awkward and Blossom had been self-conscious.
But that had been three nights ago. Now she was eager. Gaining confidence and experience. Now she wanted what her husband had purposely kept hidden inside him. She wanted his passion—all that dark, beautiful rakish passion she knew he was hiding.

Shading her eyes, she looked up to see him standing before her, the sunlight acting as a halo, making his hair shine in the bright rays. His face was in shadow, but she could make out his lips, which were grinning wickedly. How she was coming to adore those lips. She could still feel them, soft and full as they covered her body, searching for her sensitive spots. She wanted that again. To feel him moving inside her. The deep connection of being together. She wanted his love—to hear him say it again. And God help her, she wanted to tell him of the love for him that was growing inside her.

“Come.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Let us get out of this heat. The cook at the pub has packed a bowl full of cream for the strawberries and she'll be horrified if I let it spoil. Join me for lunch and allow me to enjoy your company.”

“And that is all?” she asked in a teasing voice as they stood on the threshold of the cottage that they were using for their honeymoon.

“That, and you must allow me to feed you at least one strawberry.”

“Only one?” she said, ducking her head as he picked her up and carried her into the sunlit cottage. “Very well, then, but we are only to discuss books and fashion and weather as any newly courting couple would.”

“Agreed.” He put her down so that the tip of her half boots touched the floor, but the rest of her body was tightly held in his arms. “Of course, I'm flexible. I shall not hold you to the agreed-upon agenda if, shall we say,
the course of the afternoon takes a decidedly different turn.”

“It won't,” she said in a husky voice. After all, it had been Jase's idea to embark on a real courtship. Not hers.

“Well, then, here we are.” He stepped over the threshold and placed the basket atop a round table that sat before a blue brocade lounge, decorated in the airy Chinese style.

He released her wrist, only to capture her hand in his as he maneuvered her behind the lounge to where brocade curtains were drawn. He parted them, revealing brilliant sunlight filtering through the panes of a long bank of French doors, which he opened. A gust of rose-scented air washed over them, heavy and humid, tranquil and sensual. Below the cottage was a ha-ha, a valley that had been dammed and filled to resemble a lake. Beyond the dam lay sloping hills that reminded her of emerald velvet. The vista was a patchwork of squares, all symmetrical and outlined with stone walls or hedgerows winding down to the lake, and the mountain behind. Dotted on the green tapestry were sheep, cattle and horses all moving languidly in the midday heat, resembling tiny insects flickering on a felt cloth.

She hadn't any idea that something so basic in nature could be so breathtaking. When Jase wasn't making love to her, she was painting. In truth, they hadn't even begun to explore the beautiful landscape. They'd only gone as far as the inn and the pub when their stomachs protested in hunger.

His hands came up to rest on her shoulders and tiny tremors snaked down her spine when she felt his fingers play with her curls. He'd discarded his jacket and waistcoat and his cravat lay draped over the back of a nearby chair. He wore only his shirt, which was unbuttoned. She
refused to look him in the eye, but he wouldn't let her avoid him. Instead, he tilted her chin in order to make her meet his steady gaze. How very wicked it was of him to hold her entranced like this.

“Shall we not recline on the lounge?” he asked, strolling to the lounge and stretching his body on the brocade. “The breeze is lovely from here.” He pulled his shirttails over his shoulders and discarded his shirt onto the floor. “Come.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Recline with me.”

“I really don't think—”

She squeaked when he reached for her and pulled her down alongside him. “The trouble is, sweeting, you think far too much. Now, then,” he said after he had propped her with numerous pillows and ensured her comfort. “Shall we begin with a drink?”

Blossom nodded, unsure of her own voice. It would be weak and breathless she was certain, and if it wasn't, then it surely would be now that he was leaning over her. His chest was brushing hers, and she swore her bodice became five times too tight in the time it took him to remove the cork from the champagne and pour it.

He handed her a glass, then slid back beside her, his elbow propped along the rolled arm of the lounge, his green eyes glistening with amusement as he peered down his long lashes at her.

“To a beautiful afternoon.” He held out his glass so that it chinked with hers. “Strawberry?” he asked, holding out a plump, red specimen for her perusal.

“No, thank you,” she croaked, taking far too big a sip of her champagne. Not a sip, really, more like a gulp. It was cool and bubbly, refreshing in the humid heat, and just what she needed to put her addled wits in order.

He shrugged, then leaned across her once more, dipping the berry into a bowl of clotted cream. Without
preamble he popped it into his mouth, licking a dollop of cream from his lip. “I adore clotted cream. I vow I could eat it with anything.” He looked her over and grinned lazily. “Strawberries, blueberries, you.”

Blossom took that opportunity to take another gulp from her champagne, this time finishing it.

“Let me get you another.”

“No really, I hardly ever imbibe,” she protested, feeling her head already starting to become fuzzy. She fanned herself, suddenly feeling overheated.

“Unseasonably warm weather we're having, is it not?” he asked, reaching for another strawberry and offering it to her. “One would wonder what changes will occur in fashion if this is a glimpse of what our summers are to be like.”

He dipped the strawberry into the cream and she watched in fascination as he softly squeezed it, the juice trickling out in red drops that landed on the cleft of her bosom. His tongue followed, licking every red bead in little strokes.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she gasped, wishing her breasts would stop inching above her bodice.

“Eating.”

It was uttered in the darkest of tones and Blossom did suck in her breath then. He reached for another strawberry and bit a portion of the soft flesh, letting the juice drip—drop by red, glistening drop—onto her lips. Her heart skipped when she felt his tongue, soft and light, licking away the sweet juice from her lips. “You really should think of joining me,” he whispered against her mouth.

She tried to focus on the conversation, tried to ignore the heat infusing her veins, attempted not to notice how Jase's eyes kept roaming over the expanse of her breasts. Breasts that were pushed up into high mounds in her
current semirecumbent position. It was she who was supposed to be teasing him. Not the other way around.

“Shall we continue our discussion of fashion?” he drawled, tracing the curve of her breasts over her bodice. “What do you think the ladies will be wearing next year?”

“I…I…” Lord, she was rendered mute. Her brain was fuzzy and her heart was pounding much faster than what was good for her.

“Perhaps they will be wearing nothing but a chemise and bare feet, hmm?” He grinned while his finger dipped beneath the lace edging her gown.

“I doubt that.”

“No? Perhaps they'll wear nothing at all.”

“My lord, we are to be talking about the weather and books.”

“And fashion.”

A strangled sound escaped her pursed lips when his fingers raked through her hair, dispelling the blue ribbon she'd used to manage her riotous curls. His lips grazed her cheek, then throat, as he reached over, setting his glass atop the table. “Speaking of weather, you look a trifle warm, Blossom. Might I entreat you to refresh yourself by removing some of these heavy layers? I could assist you, you know.”

“Lord Raeburn,” she warned as her breasts firmed beneath the stroke of his finger. “You're not supposed to be doing this.”

“Doing what?” he asked innocently while fiddling with the tapes of her gown with anything less than innocence. “You are my wife. Is it not right that I see to your every comfort?”

“Jase,” she said, trying to muster up the appropriate amount of reproof to make him cease his attentions, but the set-down came out as a breathless entreaty.

“I'm the most attentive of hosts, Blossom, and I assure you I shall not rest until I see you in a state of comfort.”

Her gown came off and he tossed it aside in a rustling, crinkling lump of blue satin.

“Now, then, your stockings.”

The fight, or whatever fight she pretended to have, left her. She could only smile and nestle her head deeper into the cushions as his wicked fingers set about stroking her calves, working their magic up past her knees to the inner facings of her thighs.

“Such a garment is unnecessary in this heat, don't you think? Let us start a new craze—bare legs. Yes, this will most definitely be all the rage,” he said appreciatively as his hands and eyes roamed over her. “Lovely alabaster legs. What man could resist stealing a glimpse?”