The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (9 page)

Renewed fury blazed in his gray eyes, and a dark hunger. “I have not looked at—or touched—anyone else since I met you. I wish to God that you could say the same. But since you choose to act like a whore, I will treat you as one.”

Then he swept across the room and shattered her with a kiss.

Sunny had thought that her months of marriage had educated her about what happened between husband and wife, but nothing had prepared her for Justin's embrace. The quiet consideration to which she was accustomed had been replaced by blazing rage.

Trapped in the prison of his arms, she was acutely aware of his strength. Even if she wanted to resist, any effort on her part would be futile. Yet as they stood locked
together, his mouth devouring hers, she sensed that his fury was changing into something that was similar, but was not anger at all. And it called to her.

Her head tilted and the heavy tiara pulled loose and fell to the carpet, jerking sharply at her hair. When she winced, his crushing grip eased and he began stroking her head with one hand. His deft fingers found and soothed the hurt. She didn't realize that he was also removing the pins until coils of hair cascaded over her shoulders.

He buried his face in the silken mass, and she felt the beating of his heart and the soft exhalation of his breath against her cheek. “Oh, God, Sunny,” he said with anguish. “You are so beautiful—so painfully beautiful.”

Yet his expression was harsh when he straightened and turned her so that her back was to him. First he unhooked her sapphire necklace, throwing it aside as if it was a piece of cut-glass trumpery. Then he started to unfasten her gown.

She opened her mouth to object, but before she could, he pressed his mouth to the side of her throat. With lips and tongue, he found sensitivities she hadn't known she possessed. As he trailed tiny, nibbling kisses down her neck and along her shoulder, she released her breath in a shuddering sigh, all thoughts of protest chased from her mind. Potent awareness curled through her, pooling hotly in unmentionable places.

When the gown was undone, he pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms. The rough warmth of his fingers made an erotic contrast to the cool silk that skimmed her flesh in a feather-light caress, then slithered in a rush to the floor, leaving her in her underthings. Instinctively she raised her hands to cover her breasts, stammering, “Th-this is highly improper.”

“You have forfeited the right to talk about propriety.” He untied her layered crinolette petticoat and dragged
it down around her ankles. Then he began unlacing her blue satin corset. Stays were a lady's armor against impropriety, and she stood rigidly still, horribly aware that every inch of her newly liberated flesh burned with life and longing.

Then, shockingly, he slid his hands under the loose corset and cupped her breasts, using his thumbs to tease her nipples through the thin fabric of her chemise. It was like the time he had caressed her when he thought she slept, but a thousand times more intense. Unable to suppress her reaction, she shuddered and rolled her hips against him.

“You like that, my lady trollop?” he murmured in her ear.

She wanted to deny it, but couldn't. Her limbs weakened and she wilted against him, mindlessly reveling in the waves of sensation that flooded through her. The firm support of his broad chest, the silken tease of his tongue on the edge of her ear, the exquisite pleasure that expanded from her breasts to encompass her entire being, coiling tighter and tighter deep inside her…

She did not come to her senses until he tossed aside her corset and turned her to face him. Horrified by her lewd response and her near-nakedness, she stumbled away from the pile of crumpled clothing and retreated until her back was to the wall. “I have never shirked my wifely duty,” she said feebly, “but this…this isn't right.”

“Tonight, right is what I say it is.” His implacable gaze holding hers, he stripped off his own clothing with brusque, impatient movements. “And this time, I will have you naked and in the light.”

She could not take her eyes away as he removed his formal garments to reveal the hard, masculine body beneath. The well-defined muscles that rippled beneath his skin…the dark hair that patterned his chest and arrowed
down his belly…and the arrogant male organ, which she had felt but never seen.

She stared for an instant, both mortified and fascinated, then blushed violently and closed her eyes. No wonder decent couples had marital relations in the dark, for the sight of a man's body was profoundly disturbing.

A Vienna waltz was playing in the distance. She had trouble believing that under this same roof hundreds of people were laughing and flirting and playing society's games. Compared to the devastating reality of Justin, the outside world had no more substance than shadows.

Even with her eyes closed, she was acutely aware of his nakedness when he drew her into his arms again, surrounding her with heat and maleness. Her breath came rapid and irregular as he peeled away the last frail protection of chemise, drawers and stockings. His fingers left trails of fire as they brushed her limbs and torso.

She inhaled sharply when he swept her into his arms and laid her across the bed, his taut frame pinning her to the mattress. Though she tried to control her shameful reactions, she moaned with pleasure when his mouth claimed her breast with arrant carnality.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not lie still as he caressed and kissed and tasted her, the velvet stroke of his tongue driving her to madness. His masterful touch abraded away every layer of decorum until she no longer remembered, or cared, how a lady should act. In the shameless turmoil of intimacy, she was tinder to his flame.

She was lovely beyond his dreams, and everything about her intoxicated him—the haunting lure of wild violets, her tangled sun-struck hair, the lush eroticism of removing layer after layer of clothing until finally her flawless body was revealed. Her lithe, feminine grace wrenched his heart.

Yet side by side with tenderness, he found savage satisfaction in her choked whimpers of pleasure. His wife might be a duchess and a lady, but for tonight, at least, she was a woman, and she was
his.

This time there would be no need of lotion to ease their joining. She was hotly ready, and she writhed against his hand as he caressed the moist, delicate folds of female flesh. Her moan gave him a deep sense of masculine pride, dissolving the aching emptiness he had known in their inhibited marriage bed.

When he could no longer bear his separateness, he entered her. The voluptuous welcome of her body was exquisite, both torment and homecoming. Trembling with strain, he forced himself to move with slow deliberation. This time he would not let their union end too quickly.

Vivid emotions rippled across her sweat-sheened face. But he wanted more; he wanted communion of the mind as well as the body. He wanted acknowledgment of the power he had over her. Hoarsely he asked, “Do you desire me?”

“You…you are my husband.” She turned her head to the side, as if trying to evade his question. “It is my duty to comply with your wishes.”

Mere obedience was not what he wanted from his wife. He repeated,
“Do you desire me?”
Slowly, by infinitesimal degrees, he began to withdraw. “If not, perhaps I should stop now.”

“No!” she gasped, her eyes flying open for an instant and her body arching sharply upward. “Don't leave me, please. I couldn't bear it….”

It was what he had longed to hear. He responded to her admission by surrendering to the fiery need that bound them. No longer passive, she was his partner in passion, her nails slashing his back as they thrust against each other. She cried out with ecstasy as long, shuddering
convulsions rocked them both, and in the culmination of desire he felt their soaring spirits blend.

In the tremulous aftermath, he gathered her pliant body into his arms and tucked the covers around them. As they dozed off together, he knew they had truly become husband and wife.

 

J
USTIN WAS NOT SURE HOW
long he had slept. The ball must have ended, for he could no longer hear music and laughter, but the sky outside was still dark. He lay on his side with Sunny nestled along him, her face against his shoulder.

Not wanting to wake her, he touched the luscious tangle of her hair with a gossamer caress. He had never known such happiness, or such peace. Not only was she the loveliest and sweetest of women, but she was blessed with an ardent nature. If he hadn't been so blasted deferential, he would have discovered that much sooner. But now that they had found each other, their lives would be different.

Her eyes opened and gazed into his. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. He stroked the elegant curve of her back and prepared to make the declaration of love that he had never made to any other woman.

But she spoke first, saying in a thin, exhausted voice, “Who are you?”

A chill touched his heart as he wondered if she was out of her senses, but she seemed lucid. Carefully he replied, “Your husband, of course.”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “You are more a stranger to me now than on the day we married.”

He looked away, unable to face the dazed bleakness in her aqua eyes. He had known that she had not yet been unfaithful; not only was she not the sort of woman to engage lightly in an affair, but buried at Swindon she hadn't even
had an opportunity. Yet seeing her in Curzon's arms had devastated Justin because it was a horrific preview of the possibility that he would lose her.

Despair had made him furiously determined to show her what fulfillment was. He had wanted to possess her, body and soul, to make her his own so profoundly that she would never look at another man. He realized that he had also hoped to win her love by demonstrating the depth of his passion.

But the fact that he had been able to arouse her latent ardor did not mean that she suddenly, miraculously loved him. With sickening clarity, he saw that in his anger he had ruthlessly stripped away her dignity and modesty. Instead of liberating her passion, he had ravished her spirit, turning her into a broken shadow of the happy girl who had first captured his heart.

His unspoken words of love withered and died. Instead he said painfully, “I am no different now from what I was then.”

He wanted to say more, to apologize and beg her forgiveness, but she turned away and buried her face in the pillows.

Feeling that he would shatter if he moved too suddenly, he slid from the bed and numbly dragged on enough clothing to make his way the short distance to his room.

As he left, he wondered despairingly if he would ever be able to face his wife again.

S
UNNY AWOKE THE NEXT
morning churning with tangled emotions. The only thing she knew for certain was that she could not bear to face a house full of avid-eyed, curious people. With a groan, she rolled over, buried her head under a pillow and did her best not to think.

But her mind refused to cooperate. She could not stop herself from wondering where Justin was and what he thought of the events of the previous night. She was mortified by memories of her wantonness, and angry with her husband for making her behave so badly. But though she tried to cling to anger over his disrespect, other things kept seeping into her mind—memories of heartwarming closeness, and shattering excitement….

At that point in her thoughts, her throat always tightened. Justin had said he would treat her as a whore, and her response had confirmed his furious accusation.

For the first time in her life, Sunny understood why a woman might choose to go into a nunnery. A world with no men would be infinitely simpler.

Eventually Antoinette tiptoed into the dim, heavily curtained room. “Madame is not feeling well this morning?”

“Madame has a ghastly headache. I wish to be left alone.” Remembering her obligations, Sunny added, “Tell Lady Alexandra not to be concerned about me. I'm sure I'll be fine by dinner.”

There was a long silence. Even with her eyes closed,
Sunny knew that her maid was surveying the disordered bedchamber and probably drawing accurate conclusions. But tactful Antoinette said only, “After I straighten the room, I shall leave. Perhaps later you would like tea and toast?”

“Perhaps.”

As the maid quietly tidied up the evidence of debauchery, someone knocked on the door and handed in a message. After the footman left, Antoinette said, “
Monsieur le Duc
has sent a note.”

Sunny came tensely awake. “Leave it on the table.”

After the maid left, Sunny sat up in bed and stared at the letter as if it were a poisonous serpent. Then she swung her feet to the floor. Only then did she realize that she was stark naked. Worse, her body showed unaccustomed marks where sensitive skin had been nipped, or rasped by a whiskered masculine face. And her body would not be the only one marked this morning….

Face flushed, she darted to the armoire and grabbed the first nightgown and wrapper she saw. After she was decently covered, she brushed her wild hair into submission and pulled it into a severe knot. When she could delay no longer, she opened the waiting envelope.

She was not sure what she expected, but the scrawled words,
I'm sorry. Thornborough
were a painful letdown. What was her husband sorry about—their marriage? His wife's appallingly wanton nature? His own disproportionate rage, which had led him to humiliate her? The use of his title rather than his Christian name was blunt proof that the moments of intimacy she had imagined the night before were an illusion.

Crumpling the note in one hand, she buried her face in her hands and struggled against tears. The wretched circle of her thoughts was interrupted by another knock.
Though she called out, “I do not wish for company,” the door swung open anyhow.

In walked Katie Westron, immaculately dressed in a morning gown and with a tray in her hands. “It's past noon, and you and I were engaged to take a drive an hour ago.” She set the tray down, then surveyed her goddaughter. “You look quite dreadful, my dear, and they say that Thornborough left Cottenham this morning at dawn, looking like death.”

So he was gone. Apparently he couldn't bear being under the same roof with her any longer. Trying to mask the pain of that thought, Sunny asked, “Are people talking?”

“Some, though not as much as they were before I said that Thornborough had always intended to leave today because he had business at Swindon.” Briskly Katie opened the draperies so that light flooded the room. “And as I pointed out, who wouldn't look exhausted after a late night at such a delightful ball?”

“He
was
planning to leave early, but not until tomorrow.” Sunny managed a wry half smile. “You lie beautifully.”

“It's a prime social skill.” Katie prepared two cups of coffee and handed one to Sunny, then took the other and perched on the window seat. “There's nothing like coffee to put one's troubles in perspective. Have a ginger cake, too, they're very good.” After daintily biting one, Katie continued, “Would you like to tell me why you and Thornborough both look so miserable?”

The scalding coffee did clear Sunny's mind. She was in dire need of the advice of an older and wiser woman, and she would find no kinder or more tolerant listener than her godmother.

Haltingly she described her marriage—the distance between her and her husband, her loneliness, her encounter
with Paul Curzon and the shocking result. Of the last she said very little, and that with her face burning, but she suspected that her godmother could make a shrewd guess about what went unsaid.

At the end, she asked, “What do you think?”

“Exactly why are you so upset?”

After long thought, Sunny said slowly, “I don't understand my marriage, my husband or myself. In particular, I find Justin incomprehensible. Before, I thought he was polite but basically indifferent to me. Now I think he must despise me, or he would never have treated me with such disrespect.”

Katie took another cake. “Do you wish to end the marriage?”

“Of course I don't want a divorce!”

“Why ‘of course'? There would be a ghastly scandal, and some social circles exclude all divorced women, but as a Vangelder, you would be able to weather that.”

“It…it would be humiliating for Thornborough. If I left him, people would think that he mistreated me horribly.”

Katie's brows arched. “Aren't you saying that he did exactly that?”

“In most ways, he's been very considerate.” She thought of the bathroom that he had had installed for her, and almost smiled. Not the most romantic gift, perhaps, but one that gave her daily pleasure.

“You'd be a fool to live in misery simply to save Thornborough embarrassment,” Katie said tartly. “A little singed pride will be good for him, and as a duke he will certainly not be ruined socially. He can find another wife with a snap of his fingers. The next one might not be able to match your dowry, but that's all right—the Swindon roof has already been replaced, and you can hardly take
it back. What matters is that you'll be free to find a more congenial husband.”

The thought of Justin with another wife made Sunny's hackles rise. “I don't want another husband.” She bit her lip. “In fact, I can't imagine being married to anyone else. It would seem wrong. Immoral.”

“Oh?” Katie said with interest. “What is so special about Thornborough? From what you say, he's a dull sort of fellow, and he's not particularly good-looking.”

“He's
not
dull! He's kind, intelligent and very witty, even though he's quiet. He has a sense of responsibility, which many men in his position don't. And he's really quite attractive. Not in a sleek, fashionable way, but very…manly.”

Her godmother smiled gently. “You sound like a woman who is in love with her husband.”

“I do?” Sunny tried the idea on, and was shocked to realize that it was true. She was happy in Justin's presence; on some deep level that had nothing to do with their current problems, she trusted him. “But he doesn't love me—he doesn't even respect me. Last night he said that since I had behaved like a…a woman of no virtue, he would treat me like one.” A vivid memory of his mouth on her breast caused her to blush again.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, but he…offended my modesty.” Sunny stared at her hands, unable to meet her godmother's gaze. “In fairness, I must admit that I did not behave as properly as I should. In fact…I was shocked to discover how wantonly I could behave.”

“In other words, your husband made passionate love to you, you found it entrancing as well as alarming, and are now ashamed of yourself.”

The color drained from Sunny's face, leaving her white. “How did you know?”

Setting aside her coffee cup, Katie said, “The time has come to speak frankly. I suppose that your mother told you that no decent woman ever enjoyed her marriage bed, and that discreet suffering was the mark of a lady.”

After seeing her goddaughter nod, she continued, “There are many who agree with her, but another school of opinion says that there is nothing wrong with taking pleasure in the bodies that the good Lord gave us. What is the Song of Solomon but a hymn to the joy of physical and spiritual love?”

Weakly Sunny said, “Mother would say you're talking blasphemy.”

“Augusta is one of my oldest and dearest friends, but she and your father were ill-suited, and naturally that has affected her views on marital relations.” Katie leaned forward earnestly. “Satisfaction in the marriage bed binds a couple together, and the better a woman pleases her husband, the less likely he is to stray. And vice versa, I might add.” She cocked her head. “If you hadn't been raised to believe that conjugal pleasure was immodest, would you have enjoyed the passion and intimacy that you experienced last night?”

The idea of reveling in carnality was so shocking that it took Sunny's breath away—yet it was also powerfully compelling. She had come to look forward to Justin's visits and to long for more of his company. The idea that her response was natural, not wanton, was heady indeed.

More memories of the previous night's explosive passion burned across her brain. Though the episode had been upsetting, there had also been moments of stunning emotional intimacy, when she and her husband had seemed to be one flesh and one spirit. If such intensity could be woven into the fabric of a marriage, it would bind a man and woman together for as long as they lived. And
if passion made a marriage stronger, surely fulfillment could not be truly wicked.

There was only one problem. “I'd like to think that you're right, but what does it matter if I love my husband and he holds me in contempt? Justin has never said a single word of love.”

Katie smiled wryly. “Englishmen are taught to conceal their emotions in the nursery, and the more deeply they care, the harder it is for them to speak. In my experience, the men who talk most easily of love are those who have had entirely too much practice. The more sparingly a man gives his heart, the more precious the gift, and the less adept he is at declarations of love. But deeds matter more than words, and an ounce of genuine caring is worth a pound of smooth, insincere compliments.”

Abruptly Sunny remembered that Justin had said that he hadn't looked at another woman since meeting her. She had thought that was merely a riposte in their argument, but if true, it might be an oblique declaration of love. Hesitantly she said, “Do you think it's possible that Justin loves me?”

“You would know that better than I. But he seems the sort who would be more of a doer than a talker.” Katie's brows drew together. “Men are simple creatures, and for them, love and passion often get knotted up together. If he does love you in a passionate way, the kind of restrained marriage you have described must be difficult for him.”

And if he was finding the marriage difficult, he would withdraw; that much Sunny knew about her husband. She had regretted the fact that he had never reached out to her with affection—yet neither had she ever reached out to him. Perhaps she was as much responsible for the distance between them as he was. Attempting lightness, she said, “I suppose that the way to find out how he feels
is to hand him my heart on a platter, then see whether he accepts it or chops it into little pieces.”

“I'm afraid so.” Katie shook her head ruefully. “All marriages have ups and downs, particularly in the early years. I was once in a situation a bit like yours, where I had to risk what could have been a humiliating rejection. It wasn't easy to humble myself, but the results were worth it.” She smiled. “A witty vicar once said that a good marriage is like a pair of scissors with the couple inseparably joined, often moving in opposite directions, yet always destroying anyone who comes between them. The trick is for the blades to learn to work smoothly together, so as not to cut each other.”

That's what she and Justin had been doing: cutting each other. Feeling a century older than she had the day before, Sunny gave a shaky smile. “Apparently I must learn to speak with American bluntness.”

“That's the spirit. But first, you might want to ask yourself what you want out of your marriage.”

“Love, companionship, children. I certainly don't want to withdraw entirely from society, but the fashionable world will never be the center of my life, the way it is for my mother.” Her brow wrinkled. “Perhaps if my parents had been happier together, my father would not have worked so hard, and my mother would not have cared as much about society.”

“I've often suspected that many of the world's most dazzling achievements are a result of a miserable domestic situation.” Katie considered. “You might want to wait until both you and Thornborough have had time to recover from what was obviously a distressing episode. You were about to take Alexandra to Paris, weren't you? In your place, I would carry on with my original plans. That will give you time to think and decide exactly how to proceed.”

“I'm going to need it.” Sunny rose and hugged her godmother. “Thank you, Aunt Katie. What can I do to repay you?”

“When you're old and wise like me, you can give worldly advice to other confused young ladies.” Katie smiled reminiscently. “Which is exactly what I was told by an eccentric, sharp-tongued Westron aunt who sent me back to my husband when I was a bewildered bride.”

Sunny nodded gravely. “I promise to pass on whatever womanly wisdom I acquire.”

But before she was in a position to give good advice, she must fix her own frayed marriage. And that, she knew, would be easier said than done.