White Lace and Promises (20 page)

The refreshments beckoned like a lifeboat in a storm, especially the claret and the whisky.

A lady delicately sips punch at a wedding, especially her own.

Mrs Hazelwood’s sternly voiced reminder from earlier today echoed in her ears.

Well, hell’s bells, even if it did have to be sickly sweet punch, she needed a strong drink. Badly.

A thin, black-haired young man in a bottle-green jacket seemed to spring from the swarming crowd and inserted himself directly in her path. Silver eyes glared down at her in a disturbingly familiar fashion. The refined, almost beautiful features radiated pure disdain. He was so damned tall for a smooth-faced boy.

Jan de Lange Sexton, Grey’s seventeen-year-old son. A subtle sneer curved his sensual lips. “How old are you?”

A deep laugh made her whirl and put her back to the sideboard. Watson’s expression was pitiless. “Ah, Jan, you never ask a”—Watson’s eyes raked Beth’s body and he rolled his tongue inside his cheek—“
lady
her age.”

They were staring at her like a pair of bloodthirsty wolves—Grey’s closest friend and his son. She swallowed hard. How much of an uproar would it cause if she were to push that grinning, snickering boy aside and bolt up to her bedchamber in the attic?

“But I’d certainly like to know. Miss McConnell, you look at most nineteen.” His dark brows drew down in an expression of disgust. “What foundling cradle did Father snatch you from?”

Beth drew her spine as straight as it would go. It didn’t help. Her two antagonists still towered over her.

“I am Mrs Sexton now, and I am looking for my husband,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level, though her palms were sweating profusely.

He chuckled softly. “You’d best get used to being on your own and waiting, sweeting.”

“Have you seen him?” She wouldn’t let him goad her.

“He’s in the card room, discussing the terms of some idea he and Mr Hunter have for building a turnpike through the wilderness.” Jan laughed, an eerie echo of Grey’s cynical tones. “Even on his wedding day, he’s dealing with business. It shouldn’t have surprised me, of all people. But it did.” He allowed his eyes to drop to her bodice. “I would have thought such a prime piece of goods would have more influence over him.”

Under his open regard, her face heated. “Will you kindly let me through?”

Jan gave his haphazard cravat a straightening tug. “Pardon my despair, but if you can’t distract him for any length of time, what hope have the rest of us?”

She didn’t know what to say. “Excuse me.”

“Certainly, Mrs Sexton.” Jan placed mocking emphasis on the last two words, but he stepped out of the way.

Beth hurried away from him and made her way through the crowd to the side bar and helped herself to a cup of punch. She downed the sickly sweet concoction in one swallow, then helped herself to another.

“You want to be careful with that,” came the chiding tones.

She went rigid all over. Not this, too. “I’ve already had to cope with that maudlin letter you sent—I can’t tolerate any more from you today, Dr Wade.”

“I am only trying to advise you. After the supper, there shall be a prodigious amount of toasting, to your health and happiness. As unlikely as your happiness is to be, you will have to drink after each one. Mr Asahel Sexton’s beautiful young bride cannot be seen as rude.”

She whirled to face him. “Why are you here today? I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I couldn’t stay away. I just had to see it with own eyes. You—throwing yourself away.” His coffee-brown eyes were pools of aching emotion. Oh, he was so very good at projecting a romantic image. Thank goodness she was older and wiser now.

“Elizabeth, dear.”

Beth turned and saw Mrs Hazelwood at her side. “Thank you for such a lovely wedding celebration, Mrs Hazelwood.”

“Yes, my dear, it was my pleasure—and it does seem to be winding down.”

Beth glanced around the crowded room. “Does it?”

“Well, it shall as soon as you and Grey depart.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it shall.” Did Grey even remember he had a wife to collect before he departed?

Mrs Hazelwood’s small gloved hand touched her arm. “My darling girl, seeing as you have no mother to speak with you”—her gravelled voice dropped—“it falls to me to discuss certain matters…” Her voice broke off and she cleared her throat.

Oh God, surely not. “The
wedding night
?” Beth whispered.

As far as Beth knew, it’d been over forty years since Mrs Hazelwood had had a man warm her bed. What could the woman possibly even remember about it?

Mrs Hazelwood nodded, allowing her forehead to wrinkle a little. “Oh, you really are so set on your independent mind and the liberty of your person. This connubial business will not be easy for you. You cannot be prepared for certain…invasive aspects of it.”

Beth smothered a choked cry.

Oh, dear God, get me through the rest of this evening…somehow.

Mrs Hazelwood squeezed her hand. “Shall we adjourn to my study?”

Beth turned back and seized another cup of punch. She was going to need it.

* * * *

“A lady lies passively and accepts her husband’s will.”

Mrs Hazelwood’s pleasant voice held a rare edge. Beth buried her flaming face in her punch cup.

“Are you listening, my girl?”

Beth lowered the cup to her lap and focused her eyes on it. “Yes.”

“I wanted a different life for you.”

Beth traced a finger around the empty cup’s rim. God, she ought to have brought two cups. Or three. The whole damned punch bowl. “Yes, I know.”

“A minister or a schoolteacher would have suited you better. You could have helped him with his work and kept busy. You tend to hold too tightly to your own will.”

“Grey says I may occupy myself. He says he will found a charity school where I can teach the piano.”

Mrs Hazelwood scoffed. The uncharacteristic utterance brought Beth’s head up and she gaped at the older woman.

“Well, you must put it right out of your mind.” Mrs Hazelwood’s voice was firm.

“But why?”

“Because a New York society lady does not work.”

“Grey says he does not mind.”

Mrs Hazelwood waved, a sharp, cutting gesture. “What does a man know of what he wants in a wife? Nothing. He wants his wife to be a special, fragile creature. Someone softer, purer than his life in the world. He doesn’t want her coarsened by working. If he cannot place her on a pedestal, then he will lose respect for her. Once he loses respect, the loss of his affection shall soon follow.”

“I can’t believe it is that way. Not for Grey.”

“He was born into a society family. His mother was a de Grijs—a true, genteel lady. He will have the same inner expectations as any gentleman. Maybe he is not aware of it now, but it is there, believe me. And if you fall short, God help you, girl. You’ll shame him to the core and he’ll resent you for it. This is why I didn’t want you to marry him. You’re ill suited for his life. I can’t even imagine a girl more unsuited to be Mrs Asahel de Grijs Sexton. But now you have made your choice and you must play your role to the best of your honest ability. You will not shame him or this house you were born into.”

* * * *

In the carriage, Beth became aware of a throbbing in her head and realised it had been there, at a lower level, for quite some time—since that moment with Jan at the side bar. The tiara weighed on her head like lead and she longed to take it off but did not, lest Grey think she was rejecting his extravagant gift.

They were riding from Mrs Hazelwood’s house to the mansion Grey had rented for the next week on the banks of the Schuylkill River.

“What’s the matter?” Grey asked, tracing a finger down her forehead and between her eyes. “You are frowning.”

“I am simply tired. It has been a long day.” She rubbed her temples.

“Here,” he whispered in his deep, smooth voice. He lifted the tiara off her head and set it on the seat beside them. Then he shifted his position and urged her to lie down. She put her head on his muscular thigh, the velveteen softness of his dove-coloured knee breeches caressing her cheek.

“You were a vision today.” He threaded his fingers into her hair and moved them in slow circles. “A vision of beauty spun from pure, white sugar and champagne.”

His words, so reverently uttered, made her laugh, but the sensation of his fingers on her scalp lulled her. She sank deep into dark, warm waters. She swam, the waves lightly bouncing her. Vibrations came from deep within—laughter from the merworld maybe? She tried to look deeper into the darkness.

“Yes, a very long and tiring day.” Grey’s voice drifted to her from a distance.

She stared up. Wooden beams moved by in her vision, making her slightly dizzy. She was turning. She reached out and grasped handfuls of superfine cloth. Warm, firm muscles rippled beneath. Grey’s scent surrounded her. He was carrying her. They must have arrived at their destination. Had she slept through being carried from the carriage to here?

“I want hot water to fill the brass tub, and have them send some cheese and bread and claret. Then you may go to bed, Will.”

“Aye, Mr Sexton.”

A soft squeak of hinges, then the soft glow of light. They were entering a bedchamber. “Grey?” she murmured.

“Shh, my darling.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. He lowered her and a plush feather bed seemed to rise up and welcome her limp body. It was pure bliss after such a long, exhausting day. She moaned softly and rolled onto her belly, nuzzling her face into a soft, woollen blanket. She rode a cloud, staring out at the vivid blue sky passing overhead. She looked down and saw miles and miles of green meadow passing beneath.

“There are so many pretty flowers. Poppies, buttercups, daisies…all in bloom. If I only had a basket I could pick them all and make chains. Miles and miles of them.”

Grey’s laugh echoed to her. “I didn’t realise you’d had so much to drink but, of course, all the toasting to our health, and the heat…” He spanned her waist with his hands. “You’re actually a very petite person—it would take very little to intoxicate you.”

She raised her head and peeked around with one eye at the strange bedchamber. She lay on a large bed with a dark walnut frame hung with wine-red velvet curtains and sheer, snow-white mosquito netting. “I don’t
think
I am drunk.”

He laughed softly. “I think you might be quite thoroughly foxed.” He stroked her bottom, his hand gliding smoothly over the rich satin dress. “You’d better stay right there.”

“You won’t…won’t leave me because I am drunk?”

His hand paused on her buttock. “Good heavens, why would I ever leave you?”

“Because you said before a gentleman never beds a woman when she’s intoxicated.”

“I think an exception can be made for one’s own wife on one’s wedding night. Especially,” he leaned into her ear and lowered his voice, “when her husband is just about as drunk.”

She smelt his breath, heavy with spirits.

“They were toasting me in the card room long before we ever saw the cutting of the cake,” he said.

She laughed. “I wasn’t aware you ever got drunk.”

“Well, now you know, vixen.” He gave her behind a quick, harsh slap.

Sudden, sharp desire flooded her, tingling low in her belly and drenching the folds of her cunt. He traced a finger between her buttocks and her hips arched up seeking greater contact. But he withdrew his finger. She moaned, low and longingly.

Oh, God help her. Only Joshua had known her like that. She’d kept her secret tight ever since. No true lady would ever allow this, much less feel she was dying of pleasure. But after yearning for this for so long, she had no will to demand he stop. She sank her face into the bed, feigning a deeper drunken delirium than she felt.

The bed rocked. Cool air touched the backs of her legs, her ass, followed by the warmth of his hand on her buttocks. He traced his finger between them again, ending at her quim’s entrance. She lifted backwards and arched as he slid his fingers in. He unerringly found the most sensitive spot. His breath blew against the base of her spine, then velvet slickness traced from there downwards as he parted her bottom. From where the crease of her buttocks began, his tongue traced a line of wet warmth, moving lower by gradual degrees.

All her internal muscles clenched hard, but surely he wouldn’t—

No, he wouldn’t. No one would possibly do something so debauched, especially not a gentleman like Grey.

Her heart pounded in anticipation anyway.

His tongue brushed her anus in soft, feathery strokes, circling the sensitive, puckered ring. She caught her breath, helpless as dark delight swept over her. Even Joshua had never been so daring. So wicked. So sublimely sinful. She’d never known a sensation like this. Cries forced themselves up her throat and she shoved her fist into her mouth.

His thumb circled her nub and his fingers thrust within her channel. His mouth lifted and a finger from his other hand touched her anus and gently pressed into her, entering slowly until the tight ring of flesh finally gave way. He pulled out, then pushed two fingers back into her anus and held them there while his other hand worked inside her channel, pressing that sweet place within. Her cunt and anal muscles contracted over and over in a swift, fierce storm of intense pleasure that left her gasping and weak.