Channel: Forbidden Pleasures Part 6

She felt him palpably. He was very big, thick, and long. He throbbed hungrily against the walls of her body. "I want to be f.u.c.ked, Devlin!" she told him without hesitation. Ob, yes! She did indeed want to be f.u.c.ked bent over the arm of Great-great-great-grandmother Mary Anne's velvet settee. "Do it to me!" Emily hissed, and then gasped. His p.e.n.i.s began to move, and it had touched something inside her that sent shock waves of sensation rolling through her body. "Oh, my G.o.d! What's happening?" Nothing had ever felt so good! "Don't stop! Don't you dare stop, Devlin! Ohh, G.o.d!"

He had found her G-spot, and he worked it hard. She was bucking and sobbing with the pa.s.sion that was beginning to roll over her. His p.e.n.i.s flashed back and forth, back and forth, driving her along. Her cries of delight increased his own l.u.s.t until he thought he would burst, but he held back, giving her time. And then it happened.

Emily felt herself close to losing consciousness. Her body seemed to explode from the inside out. Waves of tremors racked her body, filling her with the most incredible feelings, and she knew: So this was o.r.g.a.s.m! Wonderful! Wonderful! "Come, d.a.m.n you, Devlin!" she cried out. "I want us together this first time!"

"Ready?"

"Go!" she almost shrieked.

He did, and for a brief time it seemed as if it would go on forever for both of them. But at last he collapsed atop her. They were both gasping for breath. Then slowly he pulled himself off of her. "You all right?" he asked, his tone faintly concerned.

"I will never be all right again," Emily said. "That was incredible!" She pushed herself up. "G.o.d, what must my ancestors have thought of us?" And she laughed softly, gazing at three portraits on the parlor wall.

"I suspect the arm of this sofa has been used in the past for such sport, angel face," he told her. "Those Victorians were very l.u.s.ty people, despite their protestations otherwise. Well, if I wasn't hungry before I sure as h.e.l.l am now," he said.

"Me too," she admitted. "Give me a few minutes for a quick cleanup, and you might want to get rid of that," Emily said, pointing to the full condom on his p.e.n.i.s.

"Agreed," he said with a faint smile. "You do bring out the best in me, angel face."

"You're just a h.o.r.n.y fellow, Devlin," she told him, and then hurried off.

Fifteen minutes later they were tucked into his Healy and pulling out of her driveway. The porch light had been left on for their return. Following her directions he piloted them onto a lovely two-lane country road that ran along an expanse of blue water that was Egret Pointe Bay. The yellow-green May foliage was lush along one side of the road. He noted osprey platforms with nests already inhabited with tenants. It was lovely country, and he wondered if he could find a summer rental in Egret Pointe. It seemed a quieter place than Montauk was going to prove come summer.

They spoke very little as he drove. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for an editor who had spent the entire day f.u.c.king his author. And how quickly Emily was learning. She had understood his subtle prompts in that semibondage scene that they had just played out in the elegant little parlor of her house. He was intrigued with and fascinated by her. The thought of spending summer weekends working with her caused his c.o.c.k to twitch. He forced his thoughts to something less volatile.

"Better start slowing down," she suggested. "East Harbor Inn is on our right just around the next bend, Devlin. Parking lot is on the edge of the road."

The Healy banked around the curve and swung into the parking area. He got out and hurried around the low-slung sports car to open the door for her. East Harbor Inn was charming, very Colonial, with touches of Laura Ashley. The dining room had beamed ceilings, and lots of candles, from those in the pewter chandeliers hanging from the beams to those on the tables. To Emily's relief it was not crowded, and she didn't recognize anyone from Egret Pointe. So far, so good.

"Not busy tonight?" she said to the waiter who came to take their order.

"Heavy bookings late," he said. "First performance of the spring musical at the Egret Pointe Playhouse. We'll be crowded after ten thirty. May I suggest the lobster? They just came off the trawler at our dock in midafternoon."

They ordered. Devlin wanted raw oysters as a starter, and then the lobster and the baby field greens. Emily ordered a fruit compote with a miniscoop of homemade strawberry sherbert, a spinach-and-cheese ravioli, and salad. The waiter suggested a Lenz Blanc de Noir, and Devlin ordered a bottle. The service was leisurely, but they were never left waiting long between courses. When the dessert menu came they both ordered the homemade creme brlee and coffee.

"If it were July I'd get the plum cake," Emily said. "It's outrageous. They make it only when the plums are fresh from one of the local farms."

"I'll have to try it then," he said. "I've been wondering, Emily, if you know of a summer rental around here. I was planning to go to Montauk, but Egret Pointe is more my style. Quiet. No faux celebrities, and no bother of getting through the Hamptons just to get there."

"Won't you be coming to me on the weekends?" she asked him.

"I'm taking most of August off," he said. "You've been making a very concerted effort all weekend not to be seen with me, and you're not going to be able to keep that up for too long. An editor coming on the weekends to work with you is one thing, and we can probably get away with that reasonable explanation even when one of your neighbors finally notices the Healy in your drive every weekend. But if I spend several weeks with you, your reputation is going to be compromised, angel face."

"I'll ask Rina," Emily replied. "She knows everything."

And Rina did. She came up with the perfect solution as she and Emily sat talking over coffee on Monday morning. "Aaron and Kirk's cottage," she said, reaching for a jelly stick. "The boys are going to Italy in August. They've rented a place in Tuscany for a couple of weeks on a friend's recommendation. And Aaron wants to go to Capri for a few days. Kirk says it's a zoo in August, but you know how he indulges my brother's little whims. I'll call Aaron today, and then he can call Mr. Hot Stuff. They can make their own arrangements. And speaking of your editor, when is he coming again?"

"He's coming every weekend for the time being. Not next weekend, though. It's the long one, and he's flying to London to check up on his tenant. He has a house there, and he's let it out to an American for a year," Emily explained.

"Will you miss the s.e.x?" Rina asked frankly. "Oh, Sam says you dodged the bullet this time, but to be careful, and start on the pill."

"I won't have time to miss anything," Emily told her friend. "I have to start writing. Today. And please thank Dr. Sam for me." She leaned over and hugged the older woman. "And thank you for not telling me what an idiot I am."

"The grans never said a thing to you?" Rina was surprised. Katya Shanski was, of course, a reserved woman, but Emily O hadn't seemed like that at all.

"s.e.x was definitely taboo in both houses. I think they were still trying to get past the fact that their kids had s.e.x once, and I was the result. They were both pushing fifty when I was born, and the grandfathers were over fifty. It had been a bad year too. Joe's big brother had been killed in 'Nam, and Grandpa Frank went into a decline that killed him before I was three. I don't even remember him."

"Yeah, Frank Shanski really loved his older son. Nothing Joe did after that pleased him either. I remember Frank was always saying, 'Well, Frankie would have done it better, or faster,' or whatever. The truth was, Frankie was a big dumb jock, and it was Joe who had all the brains. Water under the bridge." Rina sighed. "So how did you learn what little you knew about s.e.x?"

"We had to take a health ed cla.s.s in high school," Emily said. "I found it embarra.s.sing. I just learned what I needed to pa.s.s the course, and then forgot it."

"You weren't curious beyond that?" Rina was amazed. It had been all she could do to keep her kids from asking and reading about s.e.x. And doing a little hands on investigation as well.

Emily shook her head. "I was afraid of being like Katy and Joe and disappointing the grans," she admitted.

"Well," Rina said with a sigh, "they did a wonderful job raising you, even if they weren't perfect. And Michael Devlin must be one h.e.l.l of a lover, sweetie. I've never seen you glow like you are right now."

"Rina," Emily said slowly, "what if I fall in love with him?"

Rina shrugged. "Then you do," she said fatalistically. "What's the worst that could happen? You end up with a broken heart. Hearts mend. Trust me. I know."

"I don't think I could have s.e.x with him if I didn't like him. And, Rina, I really do like him so much," Emily said softly.

"Don't let him know that, sweetie. The second you go all mushy on a guy like your Mr. Devlin, he'll panic, bolt and run. He's a wily bachelor, a ladies' man. Only if he tells you that he likes you first can you suggest that the feeling might-just might-possibly be mutual," Rina advised.

Emily went home. She climbed up into the widow's walk of the house, where she had her office and library. She used a computer as a word processor, but wasn't connected to the Internet. Now she sat in front of the large flat-paneled screen and stared. Finally, knowing that the only way to start a novel was to put her fingers on the keyboard of her PC and write, she did so. She centered the t.i.tle: The Defiant d.u.c.h.ess. Then she scrolled down and typed out on the lower left side of her paper, A novel by Emilie Shann, c/o Aaron Fischer, Browne and Fischer, 500A Park Avenue, New York City 10022. (212) 477-1548, She went to the next page. Prologue. And then she began the backstory of how Caroline, d.u.c.h.ess of Malincourt, became Lavender, a daring woman who rescued the oppressed from the Reign of Terror in Revolutionary France. It was dark before she had finished.

For the entire week and into the first official weekend of the summer, Emily worked. Essie, her housekeeper, saw that she was fed, and even left food in the freezer for the weekend. To her annoyance Devlin called only twice: on Monday morning to thank her for the weekend, and on Thursday to tell her he was off to England and would give her a ring on Tuesday when he was back in the office. He told her to thank Rina for her suggestion: He had rented Aaron and Kirk's cottage August through Labor Day, when they would be away in Italy.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing?" she asked him Thursday.

"Working that cute little b.u.t.t off on your book, I hope," he said.

"I'm in bikini panties, and a lace bra," she said teasingly. "The ones you made me take off last Sat.u.r.day before we went out to eat. Remember?"

"Umm, I have a faint recollection," he admitted. "Pull the panties down, Emily." They were on his cell, and he felt safe speaking with her this way.

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Because I want you to play with that naughty little c.l.i.t of yours, and tell me exactly what you are doing and how it feels," he said in a husky voice.

"I've got them off, Devlin," she murmured low. "I'm brushing my right hand over my pubic curls. It's almost, but not quite, as if you were here."

"Touch yourself," he told her. "Tell me which finger you're using."

"The middle finger. Ohh, I'm getting wet already, Devlin. I wish it were your tongue there. Ohh. Ohhh, that is so nice. Are you getting a hard-on?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"And I'm not there to soothe it away," she murmured. "Will you teach me to suck your c.o.c.k next time, Devlin? Ohhhhh. Ummmm. That feels soooo good. Not quite as good as your tongue, but it will do for now."

He groaned. "When I get my hands on you, Emily, you will regret teasing me like this," he threatened.

"I've taken my bra off, Devlin. I'm totally naked up here in my office. I'm cupping my t.i.ts in my hands, and the nipples are all puckered because I'm imagining you sucking on them."

"Put your hands back on your c.u.n.t," he said. "Play with yourself again, Emily. I want you to come. I want you to think about my c.o.c.k inside of you, thrusting and thrusting, hitting that little spot that sets you afire, making you scream. I'm going to bring you a present from England to help you relax when I'm away from you. There's a shop in London that carries some very wicked s.e.x toys, and I'm going to find a special one just for you, Emily."

"Ummmmmm." She sighed into the telephone as she gave herself a delicious little c.l.i.toral o.r.g.a.s.m. "Nice, Devlin, but not as nice as you," she told him. "Yes, bring me a toy. I've never had one."

"Good-bye, angel face," he said, and the line went dead.

Irritation had raced through her. She had wanted more dirty talk from him. She hoped his hard-on lasted for half an hour, Emily thought, piqued. And now it was two a.m. Sunday morning, and she missed Devlin. And she missed the unbridled s.e.x that they had enjoyed last weekend. Getting up, she went downstairs to her bedroom and, finding the channel changer, picked it up. She had ordered the Channel for the entire weekend earlier in the day. Because she was a single woman she could get it like that. There was no danger of some young girl flicking it on and finding her fantasy in her face before she was ready for it. Emily hit the correct numbers and clicked enter. She was immediately within the candlelit bedroom.

Yes, it was perfect, she thought, but shouldn't the velvet curtains be green, and not red? And with the thought the curtains and bed hangings were a perfect forest green, with heavy ta.s.seled gold ropes holding them back. She was wearing pants and riding boots, and her cape was wet with the rain outside the windows.

"Oh, m'lady!" The d.u.c.h.ess's maid ran into the room. She was a young girl, as opposed to an older, more seasoned woman. "The duke arrived an hour ago. I told him I didn't know if you would be down to dinner, as you weren't feeling well."

"Well-done, Mary!" the d.u.c.h.ess replied. "Help me out of these wet garments."

"Was the trip to France successful, m'lady?" Mary asked. She was in on the secret of what her mistress did to aid others, and admired her tremendously for it. Indeed, she helped her mistress with the refugees when they arrived in England, dealing with any servants who might have been rescued with them, comforting the children.

"Indeed it was," her mistress replied. "We rescued the d.u.c.h.esse d'Almay, her sister, and their children right from under the nose of Madame la Guillotine. Monsieur Robespierre will have some explaining to do to his citizens committee." She laughed as she pulled off her boots and wet stockings.

"I have a hot bath ready for you, m'lady," Mary said. "You're always punctual, even when the roads are bad."

The d.u.c.h.ess removed her garments and climbed into the tub that her maid had set up before the fire in her bedchamber. She was no sooner ensconced than the door to the room opened and the duke walked in, lifting his quizzing gla.s.s to gaze at her curiously.

"Mary said you were not feeling up to par, madam, yet I find you in your bath," Justin Trahern remarked, his green eyes flicking over her lazily.

"I have been quite fatigued most of the week, milord," the d.u.c.h.ess answered him. "But it does not prevent me from keeping myself clean. Actually, I shall feel better for a bath, and may even join you for dinner. How are things in London?"

"Dull," he replied, and then he feigned a yawn. "We might have dinner here in your chambers, madam. I should not like to tax your strength. Is there a chance you might be breeding? Malincourt could use an heir, as I have none."

"That is not entirely so," the d.u.c.h.ess replied. "There is your sister's son."

"He will not do," the duke told her. "Mary! That is your name, isn't it?"

"Yes, milord," Mary said, bobbing a curtsy.

"Go and tell Cook her ladyship and I shall dine here. But not for an hour. No one is to disturb us until then. Do you understand, Mary?"

"Yes, milord," Mary said, blushing to the roots of her yellow hair. Then she turned and ran out of the room.

"Really, Trahern, that was not particularly subtle," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"I am not of a mind to be subtle, madam. The most delicious women in London have been importuning me, yet I want no woman but my wife. I am forced to return home to Malincourt. A shocking state of affairs, madam, wouldn't you agree?" He removed his bottle-green linen tailcoat and laid it aside. He undid his wide white cravat and laid it atop the coat. Then he slowly undid his frilled shirt and set it with the coat and cravat. Sitting down, he pulled off his beautifully polished riding boots, then stood again.

"Trahern, what are you about?" the d.u.c.h.ess demanded of her husband.

"I mean to f.u.c.k you, my dear," he answered pleasantly, undoing his tight riding breeches, pulling them down and off along with his drawers. "I am not ready to keep a mistress yet, and you have not given me an heir. Once you have produced two sons, Caro, I shall leave you to your own devices, if that is what you wish. Until then I will curtail my own social life, devoting myself to you and the production of our nursery.

"I know why your father married you to my late uncle. It was to protect you and your fortune from his own impecunious brother. And it was my uncle's wish that I take you for my own wife when he died and I inherited. As there was no other woman in my life I felt suited to be my d.u.c.h.ess, I agreed. I waited through a year of mourning, Caro, and we wed. Your first marriage was a celibate one. But this union is not, nor is it meant to be such a marriage. In an effort to consider your sensibilities I have been patient. I do not mean to be patient any longer. Now, get out of that tub, madam!"

"I have not denied you your rights, milord," the d.u.c.h.ess said coolly.

"But neither have you joined into our bed sport with any enthusiasm," he complained to her. "You lie beneath me like a board. Do you feel nothing of pa.s.sion? Is your heart a stone? Do you even have a heart?"

The d.u.c.h.ess arose from her porcelain tub. The water sluiced down her lush body. "I have a heart, milord," she told him. "I am just not ready to fill a nursery. The three years I was married to your uncle I spent nursing him. Then I spent another year mourning him. I was married to you but a month after my mourning ended. We have been wed but six months. You spend much of your time in London. I prefer the country. Am I not ent.i.tled to a few months of peace for myself, milord, before I must take on the great responsibility of our family? And how, she wondered silently, can I allow myself to become enceinte when I spend my time traveling back and forth between England and France in order to rescue the innocent?

"d.a.m.n it, Caro, I am in love with you," the duke said. "I always have been, since the day my uncle introduced you to me as his new wife. The old duke knew how I felt. And he also knew that neither of us would ever betray him. We never did. He realized that you would be safe with me after he was gone. That was why he gained our promise to wed then. He wanted you to have a normal life. The kind of life a woman should have. And he wanted me to have you." The duke lifted a large towel from the rack by the fire and, coming close to the d.u.c.h.ess, wrapped her in it, lifting her from the water. "It has been almost two years since my uncle died. I want children, and I want them now!" He dried her roughly and then, picking her up, carried her to her bed.

"Trahern!" she protested. "You are behaving like a barbarian.

"I am behaving like a husband who desires his wife," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you dare to refuse me, madam?"

Do I want to write the scene like that? Emily wondered to herself, and then she awakened to find herself in her bed. Should he admit to being in love with her? She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was just four a.m. Well, so much for the Channel. She would have to clock in earlier tonight. Yes, the duke should admit to loving his wife. It had to be her pa.s.sion to revenge herself that kept her from admitting that she was in love with him. Yes, that felt right. Turning over, she punched her pillow and attempted to sleep.

She had slipped out of the Channel just as Trahern was about to make love to his d.u.c.h.ess. But for the first time she had not simply been an observer. She had been in the d.u.c.h.ess's skin. She had been Caroline Trahern. It had been an interesting experience. It had been exciting, and yet she had not been ready to make love with the duke. It was ridiculous to think as she was, but she felt as if it would have been cheating on Devlin. But the duke looked just like Devlin. And the Channel was a fantasy, not reality, wasn't it? Or was it that she was just a little shy about making love within the confines of the Channel, and then transcribing the experience onto the pages of her book? Yet she certainly could write what she and Devlin had been doing.

He wasn't due back in New York until Tuesday. He wouldn't be in Egret Pointe until Friday night. She had plenty of time to write her first explicit love scene before he wanted to see what she was doing. But no! The story line wouldn't be to that point by Friday night. But perhaps she could show some of the early s.e.xual tension between Caro and Trahern by then. Give Devlin an idea of where she was going with it. And make love with him. Emily hadn't realized that, once she had savored s.e.x with a man she liked, how much more she would want to keep repeating that same experience. But she did.

She missed the feel of his bulk against her in the night. She missed his weight on her, the incredible sensation of his p.e.n.i.s inside of her, his mouth exploring her sensitive flesh. Emily shivered. She needed to sleep. She needed to escape her thoughts of their naked bodies against each other. Did all women feel like this with their first affair? She climbed out of her bed and, going into the bathroom, opened the narrow floor-to-ceiling medicine closet to pull out the aspirin bottle. Dumping two of the extra-strength tablets into her hand, she gulped them down with some water. She was obviously too keyed up to sleep. The aspirin would soothe her jangled nerves. Taking two antacid tablets to buffer her stomach against the aspirin, Emily went back to bed, lying on her back, her palms open and flat so the tension in her would drain out.

When she awoke it was almost noon, and the rain was coming down in sheets outside of her bedroom window. It was obviously a day to hole up in bed. But first she needed sustenance. Climbing out of bed she went down to her kitchen. She opened a can of meat ravioli in sauce, dumped it into a grab-it, and nuked it. Essie kept the ravioli for when her grandchildren stopped by. However, comfort food was comfort food. If Emily couldn't have wild s.e.x with Devlin, then ravioli and marshmallow cookies would have to suffice. Putting the bowl on a tray, she rifled through her pantry closet and found the greatest sin of all-something she always hid away for an emergency. She set the double box of Mallomars on the tray, and pulled two small bottles of Pellegrino from her fridge. Napkins. Fork. A little shaker of Parmesan. She carried the tray upstairs.

As she sat in bed consuming the contents of the tray, she wondered if Devlin liked eating in bed. She would serve them an outrageous meal to be eaten here in her bedroom when he came out next weekend. Raw oysters on the half sh.e.l.l, all briney with hot sauce. Lamb chops with asparagus vinaigrette. Fresh local strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and a bowl of whipped cream for dipping. And they would drink a bottle of Pindar Long Island Spring Splendor, and then make love. Oh, G.o.d! She was off on that tangent again. How long until the Channel opened up again? Almost eight hours-worse luck. She'd sleep, and when she woke up again she'd consume the other box of Mallomars for supper, along with her other bottle of Pellegrino. It was a plan.

It was still raining hard when Emily awoke again. The light outside of her bedroom windows was gray. Rolling over, she looked at her clock. Just after seven. Less than an hour until the Channel kicked in. Was she brave enough to let the story flow tonight? She would set her mind to the month before Trahern and Caro married. No. That wouldn't do. She could write a scene like that with her eyes closed. She would set the scene for their wedding night. Caro's first s.e.xual encounter with the sophisticated Trahern. Yes! That would allow her a s.e.xual experience to take the edge off of her own l.u.s.t for Michael Devlin. But would it? Well, she would soon find out, Emily decided.

Trahern looked like her editor. Emily's subconscious had made him so. But there was just the faintest sense of roughness about the duke that wasn't at all like the smooth and elegant Michael Devlin. The duke was very much a man of his own time period, which was as it should be. There was a hint of danger in the green eyes. He was a man who was very comfortable with who and what he was. And he was a man who would have his own way. Emily shivered. But that was as it should be too. She had made all of her previous heroes far more civilized and urbane than Trahern was. Trahern was almost a throwback to another century. But she liked him, and she knew her readers would fall in love with him to a woman. Bad boys were always far more interesting than good men. Michael Devlin certainly was, she thought with a little grin as she finished consuming the second narrow container of Mallomars. They were half the size Mallomars used to be, she thought, annoyed. But then, she had to suffer only half the guilt because of it.

Emily got up and took the tray downstairs, rinsed the grab-it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. She dumped the evidence of her Mallomar consumption in the garbage, and recycled the two green bottles. Then, returning upstairs, she took a lavish bubble bath, pulled on a clean sleep shirt, and, grabbing the channel changer as the upstairs hall clock struck eight o'clock, she turned on the television. Almost at once she saw a gray stone country church. The scenery about the church proclaimed it full high autumn. The oak and the ash trees were gold and red. The ducal coach drew up before the church. A footman jumped from his perch and hurried to open the door on the right side of the vehicle and let down the steps. Then he handed out Caro Trahern.

She was dressed in a gown of pale blue watered silk. The full skirt had a pleated hemline that hung just off the ground. The fitted bodice and skirt formed a single garment. While the neckline was low, the bride wore a delicate lace fichu that was fastened in front with a beautiful brooch of pearls and gold. The sleeves of the dress were fitted to the elbow, and from them hung the same delicate lace as the fichu. Her shoes were flat-heeled and embroidered with rounded toes. On her head she wore a broad-brimmed hat trimmed in lace and ribbons. And in her hand she carried a posy of rosebuds and lavender tied with matching blue ribbons and lace.

Emily reached out and pressed the enter b.u.t.ton on the channel changer as the d.u.c.h.ess began to walk into the small church. Music swelled from the small organ that was being vigorously pumped by a rather beefy lad she recognized as the blacksmith's son. Once again she had put herself into the skin of her heroine. The duke awaited her inside the church vestibule. Their eyes met. She took his arm, and together they traversed the center aisle of the little church to where the Reverend Mr. Playfair awaited them. The congregation, Emily noted, was made up of villagers and servants. Caro's second marriage would not be a grand affair, given the fact that she had been widowed for only thirteen months. The ceremony was the simple Anglican one, and over quickly. The bridal couple traversed the aisle.

Outside the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Malincourt greeted their villagers, who cheered them off as the open coach awaiting them took them back to Malincourt Hall. The day was so beautiful that Emily felt her eyes fill with tears. Her new husband noticed, said nothing, but put his hand on hers. She looked at him and smiled a weak smile.

"What are you thinking?" he finally asked her.

"Of the day I wed your uncle at St. George's in London," the d.u.c.h.ess answered him. "It was June, and the king and queen came. My father hadn't even given me a season, but he and your uncle insisted upon a grand society wedding. They were making a very strong public statement so that my uncle Richard would have no basis for a claim on my inheritance. Of course, I didn't know then that my father intended to kill himself. Your uncle G.o.dric was very good to me, Trahern. But I think if I am to be honest with you, I must say I prefer this wedding day to the other. I am not a woman for show."

"I hope you also prefer this groom to the other," he replied. "And tonight you will have a true wedding night. Something you did not have with my uncle, I know."