17
THE VERY SMALL WEDDING WAS PERFORMED BY MR. Byam, a vicar with a beautiful head of white hair and a deep resonant voice, who held his living from the Carrington family. He was the soul of discretion, had never been a hell-thumper, and ignored the array of gossip that came his way. He quite liked the present Baron Mountvale, despite his reputation. His drawing room was small, but finely appointed, thanks to Charlotte Carrington. He understood the need for secrecy, even with respect to the Carrington servants. Thus the wedding was held in the evening, a Sunday evening, when every family thereabouts was snug at home, secure in the knowledge that they had already performed their religious duties sufficiently.
Mr. Byam gave Toby a pat on his shoulder, whispering as he passed him, “Your sister is lovely. This is a wonderful day for the Carringtons. Just imagine, our baron is getting himself married.”
“Yes, indeed I am,” said Rohan. “Do you approve, sir?”
“Yes, I do, my lord. I had feared you would wed yourself at Hanover Square and I wouldn’t have the opportunity of seeing it, but now, this is beyond what I could have envisioned. None will ever learn of this. I do believe, my boy, that your dear father, once he got over his shock, would have applauded you. You are a good and generous man. Now, my lord, let us get you married before your bride bolts.”
She did look ready to hike up her skirts and run. Rohan moved quickly to stand beside her, taking her hand in a firm grip. It was a cold and damp hand.
Susannah, thanks to his mother, was gowned in a pale yellow silk with an even paler yellow lace lining the bodice and the banding beneath her breasts. It fell straight to the floor, with another narrow band of lace at the hem. The sleeves were long, and sewn with lace. Pale yellow ribbon was threaded through the fat braids atop her head. She looked exquisite.
Rohan swallowed. She was also very pale.
He smiled down at her, saw the strain, the wariness, and now found himself praying that she would go through with it. It was her second marriage to a Carrington. At least this one was real. His mother had sensed that Susannah was still more than uncertain about the union and had kept her so busy she hadn’t had time to draw breath, much less fidget and question herself more about what she had committed to.
It seemed to Rohan that the only thing Mr. Byam said was to ask Susannah if she would accept Baron Mountvale as her husband. In this Mr. Byam was a very shrewd man. A long service just might have left the bride in a dead faint or running from the vicarage. By placing the exchange of vows at the start of the service, Byam effectively forestalled either development. Nevertheless, both he and Rohan sighed with immense relief as Susannah responded with no hesitation at all: “I do.” Then they heard her swallow hard.
It was done in five minutes, if that. Mr. Byam beamed at them, saying, “This has given me great pleasure, my lord, my lady. Dear Lady Charlotte has provided us some champagne. But first, my lord, you may kiss your lovely bride.”
She was married, Susannah thought, staring down at the emerald and diamond ring, a very old ring that had been in the Carrington family since the seventeenth century, Rohan had told her. Married the second time, only this time the ceremony was real and her husband—her true husband—was very kind, she knew that was true. But he also had a reputation as one of the most lascivious men in England. Lovemaking twice a day! It was an unimaginable thought. Surely he wouldn’t expect that of her—no, certainly not. She was his wife, not his mistress. Men didn’t do that to their wives once they got them pregnant. George hadn’t forced himself on her after Marianne had been conceived. Indeed, he hadn’t forced himself upon her after Marianne had been born. Susannah hoped that mistresses made a great deal of money. Perhaps they even charged by the time. She knew that was what prostitutes did, so why not mistresses? Or perhaps a mistress negotiated at the beginning, taking into consideration the number of times per day or per week a man would want to do those things to her. Yes, that sounded the more reasonable.
“Whatever are you thinking? Your eyes are dilated. Your breathing has quickened. You looked ready to fly out of here, if you only had a broom.”
“You truly don’t want to know.”
“Later, yes I do, but I want more to kiss you at this moment.” Just as Rohan prepared to kiss her, Susannah drew back and said, “You said anyone who was at all suspicious could find out very quickly that my marriage to George was a fraud. Anyone who is suspicious also need only ask Mr. Byam to find out how recently we’ve wed. I hadn’t thought of this before. Goodness, it won’t work, Rohan, it—”
“It’s done,” he said and kissed her. He said quietly against her mouth, “Mr. Byam assures me that he could have his fingernails drawn out and he wouldn’t say a word. You’re mine now, Susannah. It’s legal. And our secret is safe.”
His. Her eyes closed as he kissed her. A soft kiss, not at all demanding, just a strange sort of recognition. She didn’t try to draw away. She knew it would embarrass both of them if she did. She stood very still, letting him kiss her, feeling his hands resting lightly on her arms.
It wasn’t unpleasant. Indeed, she felt something rather stimulating begin to warm her belly. It was an odd sort of stimulation, gone immediately when he raised his mouth from hers.
He smiled down at her and tweaked her nose with his finger. “You did well. Your ‘I do’ was a bit on the terrified side, but you did get it out quickly. I didn’t have time to chew my fingernails. I’m proud of you. Now, Lady Mountvale, would you like some champagne?”
She nodded. Lady Mountvale. Now it was real. She saw Mr. Byam smiling at something Charlotte was saying. She saw Toby playing with Mr. Byam’s old lame terrier, Bushy. She slowly backed away from him. From her husband.
Not even two weeks before, she had been weeding her garden, her hands as black as the sweet earth she’d been digging, worrying about money, worrying about her candytuft, worrying about her father, always worrying about something, it seemed, but still, she had been her own mistress, she had been in charge of her own life. She had been the one responsible for both Toby and Marianne. Truth be told, she’d also been responsible for her father. And she had slept alone.
But now she was a ladyship with no more money worries at all. All she’d had to do was vow herself over to a man she scarcely knew. He now owned her and all the responsibilities as well. It seemed to her that Rohan had gotten the worst end of this bargain, yet he was smiling. He seemed quite pleased about the whole thing. Why? Not only had she brought him endless responsibilities, she’d also brought him danger. Was he mad to look so pleased with himself?
She wasn’t so naive as to believe he truly admired her. Perhaps he found her on the palatable side, but surely not more than that. He’d been surrounded by beautiful women his entire life. No, he had done this to save his family honor. Everything else he’d said to her . . . no, she couldn’t afford to believe any of it.
He handed her a glass of champagne, then turned and said aloud, “Here’s to my beautiful bride, Susannah Carrington, who makes me very happy.”
“Hear, hear!”
That was from Toby, who was drinking two sips of champagne, slipped to him by his goddess, Charlotte.
They left the vicarage soon thereafter. They watched Mr. Byam snuff out the candles, plunging the vicarage into darkness. The candlelight had been lovely as well as practical. Rohan didn’t want anyone who happened to see them wondering what they were doing there. “It’s done,” he said to the carriage at large. “Well, Mother, what did you think?”
“I thought, dearest, that you have carried this off quite nicely. A splendid job, worthy of your dear father. He would have come around to being pleased, once he had gotten to know Susannah and Toby. Not to mention the little pumpkin.”
“Marianne the pumpkin,” Toby said and yawned. “I like that.”
“Yes, I did carry this off well. We must just remember that all we did was accept Mr. Byam’s invitation to dine with him at the vicarage. It was a dandy dinner. We all agree on that
. Now, it is a bit on the unusual side. But not so unusual that Fitz gave me that I know you’re up to something look of his when I informed him, thank God. Susannah, you must stop jumping when one of our people calls you ‘my lady.’ It is what you are now. No more playacting. It’s quite real. All right?”
She shrugged, not wanting to even think about what had just happened, about what she was now. And what she wasn’t. She said instead, clearing her throat, “Ozzy promised to bring me my racing kitten tomorrow.”
“I believe the monthly race is next Saturday. We might not be here for it.”
We. He was going to let her come with him to Oxford?
Her eyes flew to his face. He was giving her a fat smile. But he said nothing more.
“I told Mother not to let Sabine near you.”
She turned around slowly. All her things had been moved into the baron’s master suite, and he had just walked through the connecting door into her new room, wearing a blue dressing gown that looked old and comfortable, his feet bare, and she knew he was quite naked beneath it. But he seemed so easy, his voice so light, so unthreatening.
“Why wouldn’t I want Sabine here?”
She was still wearing her lovely gown, the one Charlotte had given her.
“Turn around,” he said, “and I’ll get you out of this thing.”
“Why?”
“What? Oh, Sabine.” He was staring at the back of her white neck, at the several lazy curls that lay against her flesh. His fingers were tanned, looking so very dark and alien next to that white skin of hers. “Sabine would have given you advice—that, or she would have told you that you wouldn’t be able to pleasure me properly.”
“What?”
“Well,” he said slowly, pausing but a moment, to lean down and kiss her neck, “Sabine likes me. She wants to have her way with me. In short, she would like to bed me.”
She turned stiffer than the oak sapling he’d planted just last year in the place of a dead maple at the foot of the gardens.
He kissed the new patch of white flesh he’d just uncovered as he unfastened another one of those tiny buttons. If he wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t—she shivered, just a bit, but enough to make him kiss her again and smile.
“Naturally, I would never sleep with one of our people. It is not done.”
“Naturally. Even if that person was quite lovely and French?”
“Oh, being French has little to do with anything. It is English ladies who delight in calling French ladies sluts. It isn’t true and English ladies know it. It’s just this game they enjoy playing.”
Three more buttons opened. He was down to her chemise—actually it had to belong to his mother. It was all lace and satin and slick and soft and a very pale yellow. Goodness, this was a feast for the senses.
He parted the gown, gently easing it off her shoulders. But he didn’t pull her free of the sleeves. No, he just let the gown hang low at her elbows, holding her prisoner. Then he lightly shoved the thin straps of the chemise, one and then the other, off her shoulders. He kissed every inch of flesh each of those soft straps had covered.
“Rohan?”
“Hmmm?”
“If you would unfasten a few more buttons then I could see to the rest myself.”
“No.”
“I can’t move. It’s disconcerting, what with you kissing me everywhere.”
He wanted to tell her he hadn’t even begun to kiss her, but he didn’t. Not yet. “Don’t you like me to kiss you?”
There was pained silence, then, “It’s not too bad. Actually, it’s not bad at all, but it makes me nervous. It’s a prelude to other things that I know are horrid.”
“Hmmm,” he said, and the chemise straps joined the gown at her elbows. He pulled down the chemise. Unfortunately he couldn’t get it past her waist, but that was just fine. For now. He eased his hands around her, and without touching her breasts, he slipped the chemise down to her waist.
The breath whooshed out of her and she jerked away from him.
She whirled to face him, struggling desperately to pull the chemise and gown back up, but she couldn’t manage it. She could only cross her arms over her breasts.
“You look delicious.”
She was shaking her head. She took one step away from him, then another.
“I’m not going to rape you, Susannah.”
Her back was nearly against the wall now. He just smiled at her and walked toward her, saying nothing. When he reached her, he said, “I just want to put my arms around you. Lower your hands. I’m not even looking at your breasts. I’m not embarrassing you. Come closer, Susannah, and let me hold you. That’s all I want to do.” That was a lie of great tonnage, but who cared?
She didn’t move. He took hold of her wrists and lightly tugged until her arms were again at her sides. He didn’t look down. It was important that he keep looking her right in the eye. Then he drew her slowly against him. His arms were around her back. The feel of her was incredible. There was only his dressing gown between them, but it didn’t matter. He could feel the softness of her, the giving of her flesh. He wished he could rip off his dressing gown this minute. To feel her breasts against his chest—he shuddered, but held on.
“Kiss me, Susannah. Just a small kiss, just a kiss to tell me that you’re not too worried about all this, just a kiss to tell me that you like being my wife.”
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
He stared at those pursed lips. Hadn’t George even kissed her properly? He felt an odd moment of utter contempt, then even greater relief. He touched his fingertip to her mouth.
“Open your mouth just a little bit and bite the end of my finger. Not hard, just a little nip.”
Her eyes flew open. “Why?”
“No, that’s too wide. Just enough so you can get the end of my finger with your teeth. Why, you ask? Well, I doubt you’ll find it disgusting, and I would enjoy it.” His fingertip was soothing her bottom lip, light, easy, when she closed her eyes again, opened her mouth just a crack, and bit him.
It wasn’t a nip. On the other hand, he didn’t bleed. He laughed. “That was a start. Now, just a bit easier. Don’t try to draw blood, all right?”
He laid his finger on her mouth, waiting. Finally, she parted her lips, not far enough, but it was a start.
“Just a little bit more, Susannah.”
She nipped it just like he’d told her to. He felt a nice bolt of pleasure and wondered if perhaps she had as well. Then to his astonishment, she sucked on the end of his finger. He thought he would die right in that very instant, simply sprawl in a heap to the floor. He looked at his own finger in her mouth and thought he would go into convulsions.
She must have noticed how he stiffened, how his eyes had glazed over, because she immediately released him.
“Is that what you wanted?”
Her mouth was wet. It was very hard not to stare at her mouth. “It was a beginning,” he said. “Now I want to kiss you—nothing profane, Susannah, nothing threatening—just a light little kiss, but I want you to open your mouth a bit, just like you did to bite my fingertip.”
He didn’t give her time to protest, merely leaned down and found her mouth. “Part your lips,” he said against her mouth. She did, just a bit. Very slowly, he slid his tongue along her lower lip, then entered her mouth, just a very little bit.
She jumped, pressing her hands against his chest. But she couldn’t pull back because she was naked to the waist. He saw her dilemma in her eyes—such very expressive, beautiful eyes she had.
He slid his hands up her back, until he could reach his fingers around and lightly touch her earlobe. He pushed her hair away from her ear, always touching her warm flesh, and now he looked at her ear, then leaned down and kissed her, then slowly tugged on her earlobe. When he let his tongue trace the outline of her ear, she jumped again, only this time it was from surprise and, perhaps, from a bit of interest.
“Why are you doing that?” Her voice was sof
t and warm and thin as a plume of smoke against his neck.
“Don’t you like it?”
“I don’t know. It’s very strange. Your tongue—I never knew that a tongue could be so very warm and, well, perhaps it’s also a bit stimulating. I remember feeling a bit stimulated when you kissed me right after the ceremony.”
“Stimulating, such a big word for what I’m doing and what I did in all innocence.” But this wasn’t at all innocent. This was seduction. His breath whispered into her ear. She actually clutched him, her fingers moving on his upper arms.
He was in a sorry state. Seduction was a trying business, and success was measured in such small steps. He left her ear, tangling his hands now in her hair, pulling the pins out and strewing them on the floor. He massaged her scalp, enjoying the feel of her, feeling her slowly ease. He began to wrap her hair around his hands, enjoying the softness of it, the thickness. He went back to her mouth, and to his utter pleasure, she opened her mouth for him.
He moaned into her mouth. He hadn’t meant to, but he did. The warmth of her, the sudden yielding and giving, it had done him in.
It had done her in as well. She leapt back, her hands over her breasts again, and she was as pale as a cleric’s collar. Then when she saw that he was looking at her breasts, she flushed, that lovely flush of hers that sent color to her hairline.
He’d scared her. He’d embarrassed her.
Well, hell.
He gave her a crooked grin, praying she wouldn’t look down his body because if she did she would see that he was quite ready to throw her on the bed and come into her. But she didn’t. She just stared at him, still scared witless, saying nothing, not moving, nothing.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he managed to get out of his mouth at last. “You opened your mouth to me freely and naturally, and it delighted me so much I couldn’t help myself. A moan was the natural sequence of things after you did that. I didn’t tell myself to moan. It just happened. Surely a simple moan isn’t all that bad?”
She swallowed, shaking her head.
“If you turn around I will help you out of that gown.”