Almost - Almost A Bride Part 12

Arabella allowed herself to be undressed and clothed in the peignoir. Fortunately the older woman seemed to require no responses to her stream of observations. "Now, you must await your husband in bed, my dear," Lady Barratt stated, once Arabella was arrayed in the peignoir.

Arabella was about to say she would sit by the fire, when there came a discreet tap on the door and Franklin's solemn tones. "Lady Barratt, your husband awaits belowstairs."

Jack had certainly moved matters along, Arabella reflected. They'd been upstairs barely half an hour. But now the time had come to put this marriage beyond the reach of annulment.

"I'm grateful for your kindness, Lady Barratt," she said with a warm smile, kissing her.

Lady Barratt returned the kiss and then turned back the coverlet. "There you are, dear." She smoothed out the pillow. Compliance was the quickest way to get her out of the room and Arabella climbed into the unfamiliar bed.

Lady Barratt tucked the coverlet in and then kissed Arabella again. "You are the image of your mother,"she said, misty-eyed. "Oh, dear, I remember my own wedding night so well." She hurried to the door. "Be happy, my dear."

As soon as the door closed, Arabella jumped from the bed. She had no intention of lying there like a staked goat awaiting her fate. She smoothed out the coverlet again, then sat down at the dresser. Two tall candles in silver sticks stood to either side of the mirror, their golden flames reflected in the gla.s.s. Her countenance had a soft glow in the flattering light, and her hair, well brushed, hung in a loose glossy mane down her back. Her eyes seemed larger than usual and she thought there was a spark in the tawny depths . . . a flicker of antic.i.p.ation, perhaps? Or was it apprehension? Dear G.o.d, she didn't know how she felt.

She heard sounds from the adjoining chamber, footsteps, a low murmur. Jack and his valet, the overly superior Louis. Surely he wouldn't stay next door throughout this ritual deflowering? She had an absurd urge to giggle at this description of what she was awaiting. Obviously a lunatic reaction, she thought distractedly. Perhaps she'd had too much wine.

She heard the door to Jack's room open onto the corridor and the sound of footsteps receding. Louis had finished attending his master. She remained at the mirror, watching the door behind her that connected her chamber to Jack's. She saw the k.n.o.b turn and her heart jumped, banged against her rib cage. She was aware of a novel sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Jack came in. He was wearing a dressing gown of richly embroidered midnight-blue silk and carried a decanter in one hand, two gla.s.ses between the fingers of the other.

He set his burdens on the low table beside the fire and came over to the dresser. He stood behind Arabella, his hands resting on her shoulders, his eyes looking into hers in the mirror. "Apprehensive?"he asked.

"I don't know," she said frankly. "Maybe . . . but curious too."

He smiled slowly, sliding one hand beneath the cascade of her hair to clasp her neck. "I trust I'll be able to satisfy your curiosity, madam."

"I trust so too," she said, hearing a husky note in her voice as his fingers played over her neck. The strange tightening in her belly grew stronger.

Jack swept the hair from her neck with one hand and bent to kiss her nape. A shiver went through her and she gave a little sigh that could only have been pleasure. He straightened, that slow smile spreading to his eyes. "Ah, you like that," he said. "That's a promising start. There's something about the back of a woman's neck that I find particularly arousing." He let her hair fall and ran his flat palms down her arms as she continued to sit at the dresser, her hands in her lap, her eyes watching his face in the mirror.

"I think we will take this very slowly," he murmured, bending to kiss her ear. "It takes time to learn someone. I want you to promise to tell me if I do anything you don't like, but also to tell me whatever you do like."

"I would learn you too," she said.

"That will come," he promised. "But this evening is for you." His hands on her upper arms encouraged her to stand up and she did so, turning into his arms as he urged her around to face him. He held her against him, running his hands down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin, the sharpness of her shoulder blades, the k.n.o.bs of her spine beneath the thin silk. He pa.s.sed his hands slowly over the flare of her hips, lingered on the swell of her backside.

Arabella stood very still, concentrating only on the sensation of this intimate caress. His skin smelled of lavender. Her own came alive under his hands, and when he brought his mouth to hers, flattening his hands on her bottom to press her against him, she partnered him in a kiss that was now familiar. And this time there was no need to harness the surge of desire that came with it. She put her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as she explored his mouth with her tongue. His hold grew tighter, his breathing quickened, as she pressed her loins insistently against the hard jut of his p.e.n.i.s with each darting thrust of her tongue.

He let his hands drop from her and raised his head, breaking the kiss. He looked down into her eyes. They were golden pools of light like liquid gold, he thought, caressing her mouth with his thumb. "Maybe we don't need to go too slowly," he said with a little smile.

For answer, Arabella stepped back and unfastened the tie of his robe. It fell open, revealing the naked body beneath. Deliberately she laid her hand on his belly, holding his gaze with her own, watching fire leap into the gray eyes. She touched her lips with her tongue, then moved her hand down to enclose his p.e.n.i.s in a warm clasp.

He watched her face even as his body responded to her touch. She had a little frown of concentration between her brows that he found both entrancing and endearing. She was learning new territory and giving the exploration all her attention.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, we're going to enjoy each other, you and I," he said in musing tones. He moved too quickly for her to antic.i.p.ate, swinging her off her feet and onto her back on the bed. He stood over her, hands on his hips, his robe still hanging open. His eyes ran over her and she didn't move, merely lay still under the intent, hooded gaze. Her heart was juddering, her skin on fire, and there was a deep pulse of expectation in her belly, a moist fullness in her loins.

He came down to the bed beside her and smoothed the silk of the peignoir over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, molding their shape. Her nipples crested, a dark crown under the delicate material, and he ran a leisurely finger over them, keeping his eyes on her face. "Tell me," he said quietly, "is this truly the first time for you?"

"Yes."

"I was beginning to wonder," he said, starting to unfasten the tiny pearl b.u.t.tons of the peignoir. "But then, of course, you're no ingenue either."

Whatever response she might have made was lost as she felt the air on her bared skin now as he spread the sides of the gown, revealing her body. He bent and kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his tongue flicking the nipples, and she shifted on the bed with an inarticulate murmur.

"Your b.r.e.a.s.t.s are even more magnificent than I'd guessed," he said, running his tongue into the deep cleft between them, then up into the hollow of her throat, where the pulse beat wildly.

He stroked down her body, spreading his hand across her belly, holding it there for a long minute. Arabella held her breath. She moved her thighs apart in involuntary invitation and he slid his hand down, the fingers moving knowingly through the damp dark curls at the base of her belly, finding the little nub of flesh that was now hard and erect.

She bit her lip at the surge of pleasure, her thighs falling open. His fingers, gentle and unerring, slid inside her, opening her body. And when he felt her to be ready, he moved over her, sliding his flat palms beneath her b.u.t.tocks, lifting her to meet the single deep thrust of penetration. She felt for a second as if she was being split apart, but then it was over and there was only a liquid sensation of pleasure as he moved inside her, watching her face.

There was something on the periphery of this sensation that she knew she wanted, that she must strive for, but then Jack's body convulsed suddenly. He threw his head back with a sharp cry and his climax throbbed within her. She gripped his b.u.t.tocks hard, digging her fingers into the firm, muscled flesh, and raised her hips. His gaze focused on her face again and he continued to move inside her, as fast as her own movements dictated, and the something that she was striving for burst upon her with all the glory of a meteor shower.

She fell back to the bed, lying sprawled in wanton abandonment beneath him as he rested his head on her bosom and gasped for breath. Finally he moved off her, stretching out beside her, one hand resting damply on her belly, his head still on her breast. Somehow he hadn't expected to feel this sense of completion. And yet he did. And what did that mean for this marriage of revenge and convenience?

Arabella gazed up at the bed canopy as her breath slowed at last. Jack's head was heavy on her breast and weakly she laid a hand on his turned cheek. That had been a revelation and she felt a physical surge of elation. One most definitely could not live the life of a chaste spinster. This marriage had some murky roots, but the fruit was remarkably sweet.

Chapter 10.

The duke of St. Jules strolled into the main salon at Brooke's gaming club at noon on a crisp November morning. He stood for a moment unnoticed in the doorway, taking snuff as he looked around the room's spa.r.s.e occupants. It was a little early in the day for any serious play.

"Jack! Good G.o.d, man, where have you been all these weeks?" George Cavenaugh called out, tossing his cards to the table. "It's a fine way to treat your friends," he grumbled, jumping to his feet. "Disappearing without a word."

"I'm flattered you missed me, my dear," Jack said with a lazy smile, dropping his snuffbox into his pocket and extending his hand. "Don't let me interrupt your play."

"Oh, 'tis no matter. I was losing anyway." George shook hands heartily, then flung an arm around the other's shoulders and propelled him towards the decanters on a sideboard. "Where have you been? There've been any number of rumors flying about Town. I even heard that you'd taken a wife. What kind of nonsense is that?" He filled two gla.s.ses with sherry and pa.s.sed one to the duke.

"No nonsense, as it happens," Jack said, raising his gla.s.s in a toast before drinking. "Nothing but the truth, my dear George."

"You jest, surely?" George stared at his friend, his gla.s.s lifted to his lips but as yet untasted.

"Not so," Jack said calmly. "Drink, George. I am to be congratulated, you know."

George drank with automatic obedience, his astonished gaze still riveted to the duke's countenance. "Who?" he finally got out. "Why?"

Jack set down his gla.s.s and took out his snuffbox again. He flipped the lid and offered it to George before taking a delicate pinch himself. "I can answer the whom," he said. "As to the why." He shrugged. "Marriage becomes a man when he reaches a certain age, don't you agree?"

"Yes, but not you," George said bluntly. "What of Lilly?"

"Lilly, my friend, already has a husband, if you recall," Jack reminded him gently.

"Stop playing games, Jack. Who is she?"

"Dunston's sister." Jack took up his gla.s.s again. "Arabella Lacey, now my d.u.c.h.ess, Arabella Fortescu."George stared at him in frowning silence. "I don't understand," he said finally. Jack laughed. "What is there to understand, my dear? It's simple enough. I needed a wife, I found a wife. Lady Arabella suits me very well.""But you loathed Dunston.""I did not marry Dunston, George."Again, George stared at him in silence. Jack had a certain look in his eye that George both recognized and disliked. It contained a warning, a flicker of danger, that even Jack's closest friends knew to heed.

And yet he couldn't help himself. "Dunston's sister . . . she can't be a suitable match for you, Jack. She's been on the shelf these five years and more. She never leaves the countryside. Why would you marry such a one?"

"Is that any of your business, my friend?" Jack asked quietly, turning back to the decanter to refill his gla.s.s. "d.a.m.n you, Jack, you can't snub me the way you do others," George exclaimed, stung. "You forget I've known you since we were snotty-nosed schoolboys together."

There was a moment's tense silence, then Jack laughed. "No, George, I haven't forgotten." He refilled the other man's gla.s.s, and his eyes were now amused, his expression once more good-humored. He said in his usual easy tones, "You shall meet my wife in a few days and you may judge for yourself."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to cast aspersions on the lady," George said. "It was a grave discourtesy."

Jack inclined his head in acknowledgment of the apology and said, "So tell me what's been happening in my absence."George welcomed the change of subject. "Very little. You know what it's like in Town in the summer.

People are only just coming back. The news from France gets worse with each new flood of emigres."He saw Jack's expression darken and knew the reason. Everyone knew that Jack's sister had been married to a French aristocrat. He asked rather hesitantly, "Do you have any news of Charlotte?"

Jack had told no one of his sister's imprisonment and death in La Force. Prying commiseration would interfere with his need for vengeance on the man who had put her there. Now his vengeance was complete, and its outcome if anything was even more satisfying than he'd envisaged. He now held Lacey's t.i.tle, and he had the sole enjoyment of the Lacey fortune, but, to gild the lily, he was also enjoying Dunston's sister. How that would play out in the long run, he wasn't sure, but for the moment he was content to wait and see. George's question, however, brought back the bitter taste of loathing that he thought had been a.s.suaged by the completion of his vendetta.

"I believe her to be lost," he said distantly, but managing nevertheless to convey the message that the subject ended there. "Ah, there's Fox. Excuse me, George." He bowed a farewell and strolled across the room to greet Charles James Fox, who had entered the salon from one of the side parlors.

George made no attempt to follow. As so often his friend had shut him out without explanation. But if Charlotte was indeed lost in that blood-soaked mayhem, then George didn't need an explanation. He knew how close Jack had been to his sister, just as he knew his friend never wore his heart on his sleeve.

Fox, looking as haggard and red-eyed as any man would after sixteen straight hours at the tables, gazed blearily around the room. The violent purple of his wig did nothing to help his appearance. His gaze focused on the man approaching him. "Jack, m'dear fellow." He waved a greeting. "You're back."

"As you see." Jack bowed with a flourish. "And you look sick as a dog, Charles. How much did you lose last night?"

"Upwards of ten thousand," Fox said vaguely. "Can't quite remember." He blinked. "Devil take it, but it's daylight already." He beckoned a waiter over and took a gla.s.s of wine from the tray.

"It's past noon," Jack pointed out. "Where's the prince these days? I've been away so long, I'm quite out of touch."

"Gone to Brunswick to look at the princess," Fox said, draining his gla.s.s. "Seems that marriage is going to take place." His bloodshot eyes were suddenly sharp. "What's this about you getting wed? Heard someone talk of it the other night. Nonsense, of course."

Jack looked pained. "Why is it that everyone a.s.sumes that talk of my marriage has to be nonsense. Do I have such a reputation for confirmed bachelordom?"

Fox stared at him. "It's not true, Jack. Tell me it's not true."

Jack bowed. "Indeed, it is true. A man must settle down one day, you know."

"You . . . settle down?" Fox scoffed. "Who is she?"

His eyes narrowed when he was told, but he said only, "Dunston's sister, eh? Well, I wish you happy. I must call upon her grace."

"In a week or so," Jack said. "I have it in my mind to introduce my wife at a moment of my choosing."He bowed again, and strolled away. He circled the room greeting acquaintances, allowing the talk of his marriage to roll around the club. It would be all over London by the evening and the talk of every dinner and supper table for the next few days, until the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Jules burst upon the scene in person to end speculation.

After a suitable length of time, and a few careless throws of the dice, he left the club and walked down Piccadilly, making several stops at certain establishments on the way, before turning his steps towards Fortescu House on Cavendish Square. He and Arabella had arrived in London only the previous day, but since Jack kept a permanent full staff and expected the house to be run at all times as if he was in residence, the sudden arrival of the duke and d.u.c.h.ess had caused barely a ripple in the household.

"Your grace." His steward bowed and took his employer's high crowned hat and silver-headed cane.

"Where's the d.u.c.h.ess, Tidmouth?"

"Her grace is supervising the unloading of some flowers," the steward informed him in wooden accents that nevertheless managed to convey how unsuitable he considered such an activity for a d.u.c.h.ess. What might be all very well in the country would not do in Town. "In the new conservatory. Her grace seemed to find some aspects of the conservatory unsuitable for these flowers, so Marsh was sent for."

"Ah, I see." Jack drew off his gauntleted doeskin gloves. "I trust Marsh was able to allay her grace's anxieties?"

Tidmouth bowed again, taking the gloves. "I wouldn't know, your grace. Her grace has not come out of the conservatory as yet, and neither, I believe, has Marsh."

Jack nodded, his lips slightly pursed. Marsh was both architect and building manager and had been instructed at the end of September to design and construct a hothouse at the side of the mansion to house Arabella's orchids. The specimens had accompanied them to London, packed with all the care a woman might afford her infants. It sounded as if the building project had not met Arabella's exacting standards in such matters.

He sauntered to the conservatory, to be greeted with ecstasy by Boris and Oscar, who had lost no time in making themselves at home. They pranced around him, emitting little barks of delight. Absently he pulled their ears in a caress that set their feathery tails wagging and brought them up on their hind legs, pawing at his coat of dark gray superfine.

"Down," he instructed sharply. "You are the most badly behaved pair it's been my misfortune to house. Arabella, I wish you had taught these dogs some manners."

Arabella was bending over a packing crate with a worried frown and straightened as he spoke. "They're just excited because it's a new place," she said. "They behave beautifully at home."

"You forget that I've seen them there," he observed a shade acidly. "I understand there's a problem here."

"Yes, it's most vexing," she said, brushing at her now dusty skirts with hands caked with potting soil. "The trellises that Marsh designed won't catch the early-morning light. They're in full sunlight, and the orchids won't survive. They need shade. I'm certain I explained that when you were sending instructions to Marsh."

"I'm sorry, your grace." Marsh was looking harried. He wore the black stuff coat and britches of the professional man and twisted his tricorne hat between his hands. "It was not made clear to me."

"Mea culpa, Marsh," Jack said with his easy smile. "I'm sure the situation can be remedied."

"Oh, yes, your grace. Very easily, your grace. But her grace needs to situate her flowers immediately and it will take a few hours to move the trellises."

"Then they must wait a few hours," Jack stated.

"But Jack-" Arabella began.

Jack interrupted her. When it came to her pa.s.sion for her orchids, Arabella could be unreasonable. "My dear ma'am, we can't achieve the impossible. If the orchids must stay in their packing cases for a while longer, then they must. I suggest we leave Marsh and his men to get on with the work without interruption."

Arabella frowned. She had set her mind on having the precious specimens reestablished in a stable environment by nightfall and it went against the grain to accept a delay. "If I must, I must," she said in grudging tones. "But I expect I shall lose some of them."

"We'll work fast, your grace," Marsh said in appeas.e.m.e.nt. "With six men I'll have the changes made by late afternoon. We'll set up the flowers for you as well."

"No, you won't," Arabella almost shrieked. "And they are not flowers. They're orchids."

"Not flowers?" Marsh murmured, looking at the exotic blooms surrounding him.

"Well," she conceded, "I suppose they are. But they're very precious, very special, Marsh, and they need the most delicate treatment. You are to make sure that n.o.body touches them. If you need to move a crate, please treat it like the most fragile piece of china. Any shock will kill them."

"Yes, madam." Marsh gazed at the flowers with bemus.e.m.e.nt. He could see they weren't ordinary chrysanthemums or daffodils, but they were still flowers. Flowers didn't die of shock.

"Come, Arabella, we have work to do," Jack said, taking her wrist in a firm clasp.

"I have work to do here," she protested. "I should supervise."

"No, you shouldn't," he declared. "You'll be in the way. Marsh understands what's necessary now, so let us leave him to get on with it."

"What do you mean, we have work to do?" she asked, allowing herself to be led away, the dogs bounding ahead. "What kind of work?"