Already His (The Caversham Chronicles - Book Two) (48 page)

A collective sigh reached the men at the altar as everyone turned to watch the first bride stand in the doorway with her father.

Lord Hepplewhite and Beverly began their walk up the aisle and Michael heard Christopher’s intake of breath as he saw his bride for the first time in over twenty-four hours. Beverly was beautiful in her ice-blue watered silk gown. He knew that she and Christopher would be very happy together.

When Ren and Elise made their entrance in the doorway, it was his turn to gasp audibly. He smiled as he realized he should have suspected they’d do something like this. They always did everything together. And just as they had the night of the Riddlesworth ball, the friends wore their matching dresses. Elise wore the exact same gown of watered silk, only in the palest peach color, to match her creamy pink complexion. Around her neck rested perfectly-matching tiny seed pearls in a necklace that grazed just below the collar bone, and on her earlobes she wore the matching earrings.

Elise. His bride. Until a few months ago, he’d never have thought this would come to pass. But here she was. A vision of bridal loveliness. A simple, vivacious, yet ethereal beauty to which none could compare—and she was his. There’d never been a more exquisite and enchanting young lady ever created. He felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut as he watched her come toward him for the last time as an unmarried girl. From this moment on she would be his wife, the Countess of Camden. Michael held out his arm for her, and she placed a trembling hand on his, her brother having taken his place next to him as best man.

“You are breathtaking, minx,” he whispered.

Through a blushing and tremulous smile, she replied, “Thank you.”

The ceremony was blessedly short. He didn’t think he could take it if it had been any longer. As soon as the rite was done, Michael could barely recall anything about the entire service except for how radiant and lovely Elise looked. He obviously said and did the appropriate things at the appropriate times, else the Archbishop wouldn’t have pronounced them man and wife, which he blessedly did.

She was finally his, and he couldn’t wait to take her to his home, to their bed, and love her properly. As she should have been loved on that first night a month ago.

He held her close as they walked as man and wife together out of the room and into the great hall where a sumptuous dinner awaited them. Their families congratulated them with handshakes, hugs and kisses, everyone wishing them a lifetime of happiness as they walked by. Because family was so important to everyone in attendance, the older children were welcome at their celebratory dinner, with only the infants upstairs in the nursery.

Dinner seemed to take forever to Michael, who wanted nothing more than to spirit his wife away to Woodhenge, a good three hours carriage ride away, to begin their wedding night. They’d already sent Elise’s maid and his valet ahead, along with Elise’s belongings.

He noticed Elise barely touched any of the plates that were brought out, including dessert, which was usually her favorite course. “Are you nervous, minx?” She nodded her reply, not looking at him, but rather at the nut-covered spiced custard she pushed around the tiny plate. “I am, too.”

“You are?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course. I’ve never been married before.”

“Oh. I was thinking about what comes next, and you have done that before.”

“Yes, but never with my
wife
.” He stressed her newly changed status, a reminder that she was his truly now.

“Michael you’re making me blush,” she admonished, as she stared at her dessert.

He leaned in and whispered to her, “I’m about to take you to your new home and make you blush all over.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” she whispered in reply, “because this waiting is only making me more and more anxious.”

Minutes later, Michael stood and thanked everyone for attending, and thanked his friend for not only hosting the wedding, but giving him his sister. Michael also wished Christopher and Beverly well, and before leaving both girls went up to Elise’s rooms to have a few moments alone to say goodbye to each other and to Lia. Soon Elise and Michael were both enclosed in his carriage on the way to their new home.

T
he three hour ride to his home only served to tighten her already taught nerves. She didn’t know what she was so afraid of. There was nothing different about what she was about to do tonight than what she’d done the night she went to his town home. Still, the fact that she now knew what to expect didn’t ease her fears.

When she examined her worries earlier in the day, she realized they all came from wanting Michael to be happy with her in all ways. So she sought guidance from her insightful and wise sister-in-law, who enlightened her about several techniques sure to thoroughly please a man.

Now here she was, about to enter her husband’s home and her new bed. She decided then she would be mistress of both, giving him no reason to seek satisfaction elsewhere.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Michael’s home. No. Their home, Woodhenge. Michael assisted her down once the footman placed the steps beneath the vehicle. Upon entering the foyer Elise saw all the servants lined up, including Bridget, who chose to follow her to her new home. Turning her in his arms, he greeted the staff, then announced to all, “I present to your new mistress, my countess.” Cheers and clapping echoed under the stone ceiling, reverberated through her. As Michael led her past the line, he introduced her to each person, informing her of their position. She nodded and smiled, and hopefully said the appropriate things as they worked their way up the few steps slowly. Lastly, they came to her maid, who ushered her in and told her all was in readiness upstairs.

“Thank you, Bridget.”

Michael turned to her, and admitted, “There’s one thing I forgot to warn you about—a task I must now perform.”

“Which is?”

“There’s a tradition with the Earls Camden going back to the very first one.”

“What are you about Michael?” she asked as he scooped her into his arms and ran with her into the house and directly up the stairs as though she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

“Michael, stop. You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Not hardly, minx.”

Only after the door to his rooms had shut behind them did she hear the cheering continue, ringing through the hallways and corridors of the home. He set her down on his bed as though she were delicate and fragile, then straightened and stared at her in wonderment.

“Michael, you could have gotten hurt.”

“Afraid I’d be unable to perform my duties, minx?”

“No. More afraid that you’d drop me and I wouldn’t get to ride in the morning.” She sat up in the deep comfort of his mattress. “What was that about?”

“Something I had to do. If I’d kept to the letter of the custom, I would have thrown you over my shoulder and ran with you, but I didn’t think that would be very dignified.”

“That’s not really a tradition, is it?”

“On my honor, it is. And, if I had not done so, then our marriage would be fated as unhappy and unfruitful. Just look at what happened with my uncle.”

“And how did you learn of this ‘tradition’?”

“I was informed by Uncle’s ancient butler, Renfro.”

She absorbed his words, and decided he was telling the truth. “You don’t seem winded in the least, have you been practicing?”

“Yes. I’ve been running up and down the stairs daily in town, carrying a scullery maid for practice.”

Even though his eyes crinkled in the corners from his broad grin, she had to ask, “Are you joking with me?”

“Of course I am.” he said, as he worked at the knot of his cravat. “Not about the tradition, for that is a fact, but the scullery maid bit, yes.”

“Michael?” Her voice cracked from her nerves, something she had no experience with until the past week.

“Yes, minx?”

She swallowed hard as he met her gaze in the mirror. His beauty did things to her insides, and she didn’t know to say that, so she told him the words that burst forth from her heart right then. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my sweet, gullible, wife.”

She threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the head.

Elise rose from the bed, looked about his bedroom. None of her belongings were here, nothing to show that his room was also hers. She didn’t want to keep separate rooms even though she knew it was an accepted custom among their peers. “Michael,” she met his gaze in the mirror, “I notice that my things are not here, and I was wondering... did you wish to keep separate rooms?”

“My wish is whatever you desire, minx.” Elise watched him lower his massive frame on the sofa before the marble hearth which had an inviting warm fire glowing within. He poured them two glasses of wine from the decanter on the tray table before him. Her husband held out her glass to her.

She took the glass and sipped, taking the opportunity for reinforcement. “I don’t want separate rooms Michael. I want to be with you every minute I possibly can.”

“Then we shall not keep that practice,” he replied. “I don’t wish to be separated from you any more than necessary either. But I did instruct that your things be placed in the countess’ suite simply because you have so many clothes, my dear. There isn’t enough space in here for my wardrobes
and
yours.”

She took another sip of her wine, suddenly too nervous to meet his gaze. “I should let Bridget help me change. She’ll be waiting.”

“And I’m sure my valet is waiting to assist me.”

He took her glass from her and set it on the tray for later, then showed her the door that connected their rooms, and the hidden door to her dressing room where Bridget waited. He left her in the capable hands of her maid, saying “When you’re done, come back.”

Michael returned to his room, to find his valet standing near the chifforobe, ready to do his bidding. “If you’ll just pour me a brandy, Connor, you may go. I’ll not require your assistance tonight.”

“If you’re sure, my lord.”

He nodded. More than anything Michael wanted time alone before Elise returned. He wanted Elise with an intensity he would never have imagined a mere four months ago. It would be his undoing, but he had to proceed slowly with her. Not just because of the ordeal she’d gone through two weeks prior, but also because of his own boorish behavior. If he held any hope of having a satisfying sexual relationship with her, he had to help her forget his actions from her first night with him.

She needed soft kisses, sweet words and gentle touches. And if it killed him, he’d be considerate of her needs tonight. Downing the last swallow of brandy, he glanced at the clock on the mantel and wondered what was keeping her. He rose and crossed the room, intending to check on her, to make sure she hadn’t suddenly grown fearful or unwilling. Before he reached her door, she’d turned the knob, drew the door open and stepped into his candle-lit suite. A tremor of nervous excitement surged through him as he got the first glimpse of her.

Michael felt the breath leave him. She wasn’t wearing what a man might think a newly-married young miss would wear on this most auspicious occasion. For his bride wore no typical
peignoir
. His beautiful minx was clad in the sheerest ivory silk pantalettes and tunic, with gold chain riding low on her waist and a fine gold bracelet on her left ankle above bare feet. She appeared more an Arab princess on her wedding night than a noble Englishwoman. The outfit was made to entice a lover, with strategic embroidery concealing her genitals and breasts. But the rest alluded to her flawless beauty, revealing the curves of her waist, hips, thighs and calves.

He forced himself to remember to be considerate of her needs. Her heightened color told him she was uncertain—either shy of revealing herself in the outfit, or of his approval of her appearance. With his own voice quivering, he reassured her immediately.

“Minx, you are so very lovely, I find myself speechless.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled, obviously relieved. “Thank you. I was afraid you might not....”

“I do,” he whispered. “Whatever you thought I didn’t,” he extended his hand to her, “I do.” Elise came forward into his embrace, and he just held her while he forced his boiling blood to cool before he frightened her.

He led her to the sofa before the fire, and handed her the glass of brandy he poured earlier. Lowering his frame onto the deep cushioned sofa, he made himself comfortable in the corner, then drew Elise down to sit on his lap. He lifted the glass from her fingers, and sipped before handing it back to her. She put her lips to the rim and took one, then two sips, and handed the snifter back to him to place on the table.

“Michael, I’m nervous.”

“So am I, minx,” he confessed, while his right hand lightly stroked her back. He could feel her entire body tense and quiver as his fingers feathered tiny circles on her flesh.

Her position made her face level with his, and he raised his hand to rest behind her head, twining his fingers in her short light-brown hair, and bringing her close for a kiss. He parted her lips with his tongue and coaxed her to open for him, which she did willingly. Their tongues mated and danced as they explored each other with hands as well as mouths.