The Perfect Bride (38 page)

Her gaze widened.

And he smiled, slowly easing his swollen length into her, watching her expression tighten, her eyes glaze.

She cried out, feeling the same hot, exquisite friction, cheeks turning pink, eyes losing all focus, and he could not stand it. He gave in, his sanity finally vanishing, and there was only the savage need to hear her climax and to find his own explosive release. Slick sensation and intense pleasure became a passionate frenzy. She gasped, eyes flying wide-open and he felt a terrible sense of triumph.

He was blinded by the sight of her climax. He drove deep into her wet heat and gave over to his manhood. The ecstasy was white-hot and consuming. He gasped again and again.
“Blanche.”

A long time passed and he held her, breathing harshly. When he had recovered somewhat, he moved to her side because she had become as small as a young girl and he truly feared hurting her accidentally. Cradling her in his arms, he kissed her temples and hair, still breathless.
My wife,
he thought.
My perfect, beautiful wife.

“I think I am the most fortunate man on this earth,” he murmured.

Her lashes lifted and she looked at him, the dazed expression on her face slowly receding. She smiled and he thrilled; she laid her small palm on his broad chest and pressed it there.

Unable to control himself, he reached for her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He was bursting with love. He had meant his every word. Dear God, they were wed now, and Blanche Harrington was his. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I am wonderful,” she said as softly. And then she shocked him, taking his hand and pressing her mouth to it. A beautiful and delicate flush covered her face.

He leaned up on one elbow. Finally breathing naturally, he had to admire her face and her figure. Although thin, he found her slender body impossibly attractive. “You are so beautiful, Blanche.” He slid his hand over one small breast.

Her eyes widened. “You must be the mad one,” she began, and when she realized what she had said, she tensed.

But he smiled. “And you are so modest!” He moved his hand down to her narrow waist.

Blanche hesitated, studying him. “I am glad you think me pretty.”

“I think you beautiful—and next time, do not attempt a refutation,” he said gently. Now he caressed the small mound of her belly where their child grew. He thrilled and smiled. And he could not help it; her pale curls drew his gaze.

A lovely smile began. “Only if I can be as bold.”

He grinned, tearing his eyes to her face. “How bold?”

“You are so handsome!” she cried, running her hand over his hard chest. “And talented,” she added, biting her lip.

Rex laughed, terribly pleased.

Blanche became still, her smile fading. She looked past him, as if expecting an intruder. In that instant, he knew. She was thinking about the riot. His concern knew no bounds. “Darling, you do not know the difference yet, but such speedy lovemaking is not desirable. However, I am glad you think me talented and I assure you, once some time has passed, you will be very pleased. I intend a long and enjoyable honeymoon.”

Her gaze moved back to his; she smiled. “But I wished for speedy lovemaking.”

He became still and entirely hard. “I'm glad,” he said roughly.

“You always know when I need you,” she said softly.

He bent over her and kissed her, comprehending exactly what she meant. “Do you wish to talk about it now?”

She hesitated, her gaze moving past him again. “No,” she breathed.

He stared closely and felt certain she was not in danger of slipping away. Although he could so easily shift his weight and do what he wished to do, he said, “I know you are exhausted now—”

She slid her hand down his belly. “Not really.”

And she gave him the most seductive look he had ever received.

B
LANCHE AWOKE
with her cheek on Sir Rex's naked chest, her body entirely pressed against his, one of her legs between his thighs. Sun was streaming into the bedroom, as no one had dared come in to pull the draperies. Her ivory-and-pink quilt was pulled to their waists but no higher. Joy swelled.

I love my husband so,
she thought, smiling. She inhaled his scent, relishing it, cherished the feel of his skin, muscles and even his hair, and she thought about the miraculous fact that they were man and wife. Last night he had made love to her twice. She had been exhausted, because she recalled his lovemaking, but not the aftermath—she must have dozed off immediately. Sir Rex was a wonderful lover as well as a wonderful man.

She loved him so much her heart ached in a delirium of emotion.

Her gaze moved past him, to the windows on the other side of the bedroom. Images began to form, images she hated, dreaded and wished would go forever away. At Land's End, after he had made love to her, she had been assailed with her memories—and she had been flung back into the horrible past.

She had been in love with Sir Rex then, too. She had realized that joy and passion also brought recollection and pain. Blanche tensed.

Her temples throbbed but not with knifelike intensity. The images were vivid—she would never forget the sight of that beaten horse, the monster-man, or her murdered mother. She waited for her mother's screams to sound, driving her from the bed and into another world.

“Blanche?”

Her mother's face was white and pinched with fear—an expression Blanche would never forget as the monster demanded she get out of the carriage. She knew the words by heart.
Get out of the carriage, lady.

Blanche was assailed with dread, even though she felt as if she were rehearsing the memory, not reliving it. The bed dipped. She glanced up and saw that Sir Rex was sitting up.

Her mother's face had become frozen with fear. The monster-man was waiting and Blanche waited to feel her mother's grip, hurting her own hand. She waited for her mother to be seized and dragged from the coach; she waited for fear to consume her.

A light caress drifted from her shoulder to her arm. Blanche jerked, looking up at Sir Rex.

“We're at Harrington Hall,” he said quietly. “We are man and wife.”

She sat up, now remarking his splendid torso, delineated with so much muscle, tendon and ligament that her body flushed with the stirrings of desire once again. It had been so long since she had been able to admire him in broad daylight. “I know,” she said as quietly.

The image of her mother's masklike face remained, as did the pale, manic eyes of the monster-man. The images whirled and changed into the dead horse and her equally dead and brutalized mother. Pain stabbed through Blanche, very much like a knife, but it was in her chest, not her head, and she recognized the pain as grief.

“Tell me what is happening, Blanche.”

She flinched. “I am remembering how my mother looked after they stabbed her to death.”

Sir Rex nodded, and he paled. “Can you stay with me?” he asked, moving a mass of her light hair back over her shoulder.

Blanche realized how naked she was and she dragged a cover up to her chin. “I am waiting for my mother's screams to erupt in my head,” she said. “I am waiting to become six years old again, but instead, there are these images, as clear as ghastly portraits, and there is so much grief.”

He clasped her shoulder. “You never had a chance to mourn your mother, as you forgot the riot and her murder, instead. Maybe it is time for you to grieve.”

Blanche was horrified when she realized she wished to weep over her mother's loss—and then, over her father's death, as well.

He amazed her by saying, “And you never grieved for Harrington. Do what you must, Blanche. Everyone must grieve for the loss of loved ones.”

She looked at him, her vision blurring. “I loved her so. She was the sweetest, kindest mother a child could have. I recall all of that now.”

“That is a good memory to have.”

“Why did they have to kill her? Why?”

He slid his arm around her. “When a crowd becomes a mob, it is like a pet dog becoming rabid. There is no rhyme, no reason. The mob becomes a savage, uncontrollable beast. There will never be an explanation for what happened that day, Blanche.”

She wiped her eyes, silently mourning her mother now. And Father, how well she recalled his grief, twenty-two years ago. “Father never recovered from that day. He loved my mother—I remember now, how grim and pale he was, how red his eyes were. I recall being confused.”

Sir Rex merely stroked her shoulder.

Blanche wiped her eyes. “I wasn't able to cry when Father died, but I told you that. It was like a dream. I knew he was gone, but I just couldn't feel.” She suddenly turned to Sir Rex. “It hurts so much now.”

“I know it does. But there is no avoiding this, Blanche. You are human and you must mourn your parents, sooner or later.”

“I think it is sooner,” she whispered, because the tears were streaming, and so was the grief. She hadn't realized how much she missed her father—and how much she had loved her mother.

Sir Rex pulled her into his arms.

 

B
LANCHE LEANED OUT
of the carriage window as the Harrington coach entered the short shell drive leading to Bodenick Castle. She started, for she saw the ruined tower had been restored, changing the castle's silhouette as it jutted into the cloudless, brilliantly blue sky. The moors beyond were awash in purple and gold and she saw a band of mares racing with their young foals. Ahead, past the far tower, she saw the ocean frothing below against the sheer black cliffs leading to the beach head. Three days ago Sir Rex had suddenly suggested they leave town and retire to the country for the summer. Blanche had been eager to agree.

But there had been apprehension as well as anticipation. She could not forget that her memory had started to return at Land's End, and subsequently, those fits hurling her backward in time had begun there, as well. In the past three days since becoming husband and wife, there had been many memories, but she had not been jettisoned into the past. Her husband, Blanche thought, had been a huge part of that. He had been doting on her the way a parent did an ill child. When she became consumed with her memories, he had a knack for distracting her. Blanche knew his concern for her was absolute. She didn't mind. He had become such an anchor, helping her though this difficult time.

Yet Sir Rex had also known when to vanish and leave her to her newfound grief. The grief would arise so suddenly it would surprise her, but it was far better than being swept back to the day of the riot. Before leaving town, Blanche had gone to visit both of her parents' graves. She had chosen to go alone.

Blanche sobered now. She was thrilled to have returned to Land's End but she wasn't sure what to expect. She turned and said softly, “I do love it here. The air is so clean and I can smell the ocean.”

He smiled, his eyes holding a very familiar gleam. “I am glad.”

Blanche warmed, a now familiar moisture gathering. She had never expected a honeymoon when she had agreed to marry Sir Rex, but Sir Rex was far more than her husband; he was her lover. He shared her bed every night since their wedding and she had encouraged his lovemaking. She anticipated the darkness with shameful intentions. And she was becoming somewhat familiar with him. From the intent, almost indolent gleam in his dark eyes, she had the feeling she might not have to wait for the coming evening to enjoy his passion.

He reached out and stroked his long fingers over her gloved hand. Blanche had never expected such affection, either. She thrilled as the coach halted. Her postillions leaped to open the doors and a moment later, Blanche let Sir Rex help her down.

She glanced around, pleased to see the new stable finished, then turned back to admire the now-renovated tower. “Have you decorated the new tower rooms?”

He dimpled. “They shall be your rooms and you may do so.”

Blanche couldn't wait. She was also eager to expand the gardens and add flowers to every nook and cranny of the courtyard. Sir Rex limped over to her. “This is a rare moment, for I am regretting the loss of my leg,” he said softly.

She was entirely surprised.

“But only because I wish to carry my bride over the threshold.”

She touched his face. “Why don't you kiss your bride on the threshold, instead?” she murmured, but she wasn't thinking about his kisses. She was thinking about the night to come.

Sir Rex took her hand and once on the threshold, he pulled her close and kissed her, uncaring of their audience. Blanche forgot that the coachman and postillions were standing in the courtyard and she kissed him back. When she was breathless—when he was so clearly aroused—she whispered, “Maybe you can help me unpack my bags?”

He laughed at her. “I can unpack anything you wish, darling.”

Blanche felt her heart turn over with a joy she would never take for granted, when a shadow fell. She turned and all joy vanished.

Anne curtsied. “My lord, my lady,” she said.

Blanche stared at the buxom maid who had once been Sir Rex's mistress and instantly, she saw them entwined on the sofa in the tower room. She then thought of Paul Carter, who had taken her for a handsome sum, obviously put up to blackmail by his lover, and she was enraged.

“I am sorry.” Sir Rex said quietly. “There was no time to send word.”

Blanche didn't care. She walked over to Anne, who stiffened, a sly look coming to her eyes. Her head high, she said, “Get off of these grounds now.”

Anne jerked. Then she turned to look at Sir Rex. He simply stared.

“I am speaking to you,” Blanche said tightly.

Anne turned her gaze back. “I can hear you perfectly, my lady.” Her tone was insolent.

“Good, then hear this. You and your lover have profited handsomely from blackmailing me, therefore, you are dismissed without any references whatsoever. Do not bother to gather your things. I will send them along.”

Anne stared coldly. Hatred flickered in her eyes. “You can't dismiss me. But don't worry. I am leaving, because I know his lordship will dismiss me if I don't.”

Sir Rex started to speak but Blanche turned furiously to him, indicating that he must not interfere. He said nothing. She faced Anne. “You had every right to your affair with Sir Rex. I do not blame you for lusting after his lordship.”

Anne's eyes widened.

“I only blame you for your malicious intent to bring
me
down after I had left Bodenick. That was despicable and speaks of your true nature, which is base indeed. It is the nature of a woman who wants what her betters have—as if it is owed. I owe you
nothing.
You owe me
respect.
Get off
my
property now,” Blanche said furiously. “Before I have my coachman bodily remove you.”

“So you went and married him,” Anne spat at Blanche's feet. Then she shrugged and stared defiantly at her.

Blanche trembled, close to striking the maid. But she had never abused another human being in such a manner and she never would. “Good day, Anne.”

Anne stalked off.

Blanche trembled as Sir Rex approached. Then she whirled on him. “Were you bedding her these past two and a half months?” she cried. And she was aghast with herself the moment she spoke.

“No, I was not. I was too busy renovating the estate by day and drowning my sorrows by night.” He was terse.

“I am sorry,” she cried, seizing his hand. “I shouldn't have spoken to you in such an accusatory manner.” And she was terrified Sir Rex would hate her now.

But he smiled at her. “You had every right to be suspicious of me, Blanche. But I am not a liar and I will never lie to you. Anne remained here because I needed a housekeeper. My heart was too broken for me to even think of bedding her or any other woman.”

She was so relieved. “I
am
sorry.”

“Don't be.” Then, “I applaud your management of her.”

Blanche continued to hold his hand. “Aren't you angry with me now?”

“Even if I was—which I am not—that isn't going to change my feelings for you—or the vows we made.”

She stared at him, thinking about her friends, who were in love with their husbands one moment and taking lovers another, and then she thought about his exceptional family, where trust and loyalty defied all convention. She had not a doubt that his brothers and stepbrothers—and his father—remained faithful to their wives. In fact, she couldn't imagine any of the de Warenne or O'Neill men even thinking about straying.

“We will have arguments from time to time, it is human nature. There may be rousing arguments, if the passion I just witnessed was any indication. But that doesn't change the commitment which we have made to one another, and it will never change what is in my heart.”