Dilemma in Yellow Silk (21 page)

Viola forgot her astonishment when he smiled into her eyes, his expression warm and understanding. He patted her hand when she laid it on his sleeve and murmured, “All over soon,” without moving his lips. An impressive feat, since she heard every word.

Their progress up the aisle was stately. She would have taken it at a run, if only to get it over with. But Julius held her back, like a strong hand on a skittish horse.

At the top of the aisle, Marcus took over. He gazed at her, but he did not smile. Instead, he smiled with his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, they were man and wife. Viola had tried, she truly had, to listen to everything the cleric said and concentrate on her vows, but her mind kept scampering off in odd directions.

She made the responses well enough and heard his sonorous tones as Marcus made his oaths. When he touched her, she blinked, startled, before she hurriedly dragged off her glove and gave him her hand. He pushed a ring—gold, with tiny diamonds that caught the light and sparkled—on the third finger.

The ring made the whole ceremony real for her. Blinking, she lifted her gaze and met his eyes. They blazed into hers. He was not just smiling. He was laughing.

Lightness filled his being as Marcus took his bride back down to the entrance. Someone flung open the doors, and they stood blinking at the sun. This day marked the beginning of a new phase of his life, one he had waited for a long time to begin. No doubt marked his emotions, but certainty filled him as a weight lifted from his mind. She was his now. Nothing short of death would take her from him, and neither of them would die today. He had determined that.

Outside, he and Julius had made their arrangements. The crowd stood at a distance, about thirty people by his reckoning, drawn by who knew what. Footmen dressed in ordinary clothes stood by. While Julius had pointed out one stray shot could cause his undoing, Marcus refused to skulk out of his own wedding like a thief in the night.

The carriage stood outside, the door open and the steps down. He led Viola to the steps and waited for her to climb in. Then he joined her. The footman in his best livery smartly let up the steps and they were off.

“So, Lady Malton, do you approve of your new husband?” He could smile properly now, and he did so.

She nodded. “The ring is lovely.”

“And yours. It is not an heirloom. It has no history, except that which we will give it.”

The carriage turned a corner, and she lost her balance. Taking his chance, he pulled her the rest of the way towards him and kissed her, cupping her cheek to hold her steady.

She tasted like heaven, like everything he had ever wanted. The toffee apples he’d craved as a child, desire, a summer day—he tasted all those in her kiss. He delighted in the way she responded, careless of the stares of passersby or any considerations of propriety.

The kiss lasted, on and off, all the way back to the house. He only stopped kissing her when the carriage slowed to a halt.

Breathless and laughing, she pulled away. “Goodness, Marcus, you will give us a reputation.”

“What for?”

“Wanton behavior in public. I will lose all my dignity, and people will be…very jealous.”

As the footman let the steps down, he kissed her again. If he could not kiss his bride on their wedding day, what hope was left for him?”

He was not so far gone he failed to check for anyone unusual loitering in the street. Only then did he hand her out of the carriage. But he did not go into the house immediately. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her. “That is yours.”

The footman closed the door, revealing the crest freshly painted on the shiny black panel.

“Oh!”

He loved she was lost for words. “But we shall leave it to another day to travel. Today we will enjoy our wedding breakfast, and then leave the company to its own devices.”

“Oh.”

That sounded more apprehensive than he liked. He would not stop, though. Last night he had longed to go to her, but she was not as grief-stricken or she had it under control. If he had gone to her, he would have anticipated the wedding. He had not waited this long to break his word to himself now. He would give her a proper wedding night. Wedding afternoon, if he could contrive it.

Taking her hand, he led her indoors and upstairs to the drawing room, where they were to receive the felicitations of their friends and family.

* * * *

Viola blinked, exhaustion sweeping over her. Her early morning combined with more wine than she was used to had spread weariness through her. But as the wedding breakfast wound on and on, she lost track of time, and almost place. She could be anywhere, and the people gathered for any other meeting.

The Emperors were a rowdy group, taken as a whole. Lord Ripley and his wife had sent their apologies. Connie was pregnant and sickly, so Alex had taken her into the country. She had met Alexander only a few times and did not know him as well as some of the others. Maximilian and his wife were there, her hair almost as dark as Viola’s own. Lord Augustus Vernon, Julius’s brother, was still abroad. He had gone on the Grand Tour and now only came back to England for short periods. He’d been a scholarly boy, with the face of an angel, but she had not seen him for some years. Perhaps he had changed in the intervening period. She certainly had.

The ladies found plenty to discuss, their arguments as rational as the men’s. They put Viola’s meager knowledge of certain topics to shame. She would have to read more of the Greek poets if she wanted to keep up with them. In translation, although Livia could quote the original, and did, once or twice.

For once Viola was glad of the hours she’d spent with Drusilla, ploughing through the books the governess had made them study.

And all the time Marcus sat next to her, accepting toasts, ensuring she had enough to eat, and watching her. Every time she looked at him, he was looking back at her. Had he taken his attention from her once?

He leaned over to murmur to her, ignoring the, “Oho! Love talk!” that came from several directions.

“When my mother leads the way to the drawing room, go upstairs instead. Wait for me. I will not be long.”

She opened her eyes wider. “Why?”

“It’s either that or a public bedding. I heard my brothers plotting.”

So this was it. A public bedding would be humiliating. They’d put the bride and groom to bed, so they could make a sham of their first joining. These days they did not actually do the deed, but a great deal of raucous jesting would go on.

Relief and apprehension mixed in her while she considered what could have been—and what would be.

Did he mean his room or hers? How long would he be? Should she send for her maid?

When Lady Strenshall got to her feet and indicated the ladies should leave, all the gentlemen stood. Marcus kissed Viola’s hand and glanced at her meaningfully. She nodded, lingered until nearly all the ladies had left, and then glided out in their wake. Instead of following them to the drawing room, she slipped up the stairs and into her room.

She was alone. Her maid was not there, but the room was in perfect order. She drifted across to the window. A gardener was just visible in the distance, making himself busy among the bushes at the end of the garden. A back door next to him led to the mews at the back of the house. For two pins she’d run down there and find a horse to take her away from all this.

Viola was terrified. She had lain with him before, but not as his wife. It was not so much the prospect of that, but the ordeal she had just gone through. She hated being the center of attention. The bawdy jokes from some quarters had worried her. Where had this streak of cowardice come from? She stamped her foot, annoyed with herself. She had faced so much so far. Surely this would be easy?

Would she prove a disappointment to him?

Oh, how weak of her! He would have to take her as he found her.

She would prepare. Going to the dressing table set before one of the two windows, she stepped on the dais and reached behind her neck to unfasten the pearl necklace.

“No, leave it on. I have an idea.”

“Goodness!” Too intent on her thoughts, she had not heard him come in. But here he was in his wedding finery, walking across the room to her. Viola froze, her hands still on the clasp.

He closed his fingers over hers and guided her hands away, circling her waist and lacing their fingers together. He bent his head to kiss the bare skin at the base of her throat. His mouth lingered there, warm and firm. He lifted his head. “You looked utterly lovely today,” he said. Over the top of her head, he gazed at their reflection in the mirror. “I will never forget it. And you remembered the yellow.”

“It’s not the same shade as the other gown, but it’s much better quality.”

“It looks the same to me.”

Was he teasing? Indignantly she began to outline why this gown was superior to the other, but he stopped her by the simple expedient of kissing her throat again. “They are both lovely because you are in them,” he said.

That compliment stopped her completely. “I’m not a society beauty.”

“Yes, you are. Everyone will say so. You are the only woman I could see today.” He lifted his head.

Once she saw his eyes, she could not doubt his sincerity. He burned for her.

“I could take you to bed and deflower you with all decorum and modesty, or I could show you another way.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“I want this marriage to be of equals, in the bedroom as everywhere else. I have always wanted a partner, just like my parents.”

He slid his hands up to the top of her bodice, shaping her curves as he went. “Lovely though this gown is, I want it off.” He unfastened the first hook. Her gown unhooked on both sides, and slowly he undid each one, her gown loosening as he went.

She watched their reflections in the mirror. After every hook he glanced up and met her gaze, as if reassuring her.

The gown fell undone. Stepping back, off the dais the dressing table stood on, he drew the gorgeous yellow silk off her and tossed it over a nearby chair. It sighed its surrender, as did she.

He unfastened her stomacher next, pulling the tapes that fastened it around her body. Gently, he drew the panel of white bows off her, and it joined the gown. Then he removed his heavy blue coat. It thumped on top of the silk. His casual discarding of the garments betrayed his excitement as much as the heat in his eyes. Marcus was an orderly man, taking care with his garments. Now he tossed them aside as if they were of no value to him.

Her petticoat came next. Once he’d loosened the drawstring, it slid down the silk under-petticoat to land in a flowing river of silk around her. He bent. “Lift your feet, sweetheart.”

She did so. He supported her ankles and removed the petticoat, not even looking as he shoved it aside. “I have missed you,” he said, standing. He made himself busy with her under-petticoat and hooped skirt.

“I thought of calling my maid.”

“I’m glad you did not. This is delicious torture.” Quickly he undid the gleaming buttons fastening his waistcoat from throat to thigh. His neckcloth and stock followed.

Torture it was indeed. With every garment, part of her was stripped away. “You know how to deal with women’s garments,” she said, keeping her voice low to stop it trembling.

“Watch,” he said. “They’re like the outer petals of a flower. All I’m doing is revealing the true beauty beneath.”

He undid the laces on her stays, the swish of the tapes through the eyelets the only sound in the room. She held her breath. He pulled it away and she was left in her shift, stockings, and shoes. And the jewelry. Bending once more, he undid the buckles and helped her to step out of her shoes. When he unknotted her garters, his fingers brushed her thigh. Viola gasped.

“Soft,” he murmured, his voice a whisper above a breath.

But he did not venture further. Instead, he straightened, bringing her final garment with him, pulling it up over her head.

She was naked but for her stockings and jewelry. She could see down to her hips in the mirror.

“Take a step back.”

That brought her to the edge of the dais, where her maid would stand to do her hair. She saw all of her torso now, from the top of her head down to her thighs and everything in between. Her nipples were furled, the tips rosy and prominent.

He gazed at her without touching. “Stay there.” His voice was tight. He finished undressing, tossing everything aside hurriedly, and then stood behind her and circled her waist. The step brought her up to his brows, so he was only just taller than she was in this position. “Another time I’ll take you here,” he said. He kissed her throat, while bringing up his hands to cup her breasts, teasing them into high, blatant prominence. When he brushed his thumbs across her sensitive nipples she caught her breath. Her head went back against his shoulder and she closed her eyes.

“No, Viola. Watch.” His voice gained a stern tone of command that sent shivers through her. When he pulled her back against the heat of his body, she did as he told her.

They were pressed together, his bigger body surrounding hers. His hands cupped her breasts, caressing them, tugging gently at her nipples. “That looks so good. It feels even better,” he murmured against her throat. The heat of his breath feathered across her skin.

Watching them in the mirror added a new dimension to an experience she had expected to be embarrassing, but which had proved nothing of the kind. The sensations pouring through her body increased when he caressed her. He slid his big male hands over her skin and into the cluster of curls at the top of her legs. Watching what he was doing made her deeply conscious of their intimacy, and when he pushed one finger through her crease, she whimpered in reaction.

“You are wonderfully sensitive,” he said. “Trust me now. Just watch.”

He had not even kissed her mouth. But here they were, naked, just a string of pearls between them. He kissed down her spine and moved his finger deeper, touching that part of her he would enter before too long.

Here, time slowed down. He kept his movements deliberate, taking his time, but he murmured to her, praising her. “You are so wet, sweetheart. That will ease my way and make it better for you. Do you remember that time at the inn? When I did this?” He tweaked the hard knot of flesh at the front of her crease.