by Laura Landon
“I will.”
Allison listened to the minister’s words as if they echoed in a tunnel. Her soon-to-be husband answered with confidence, his voice strong and forceful, his demeanor filled with assurance. He wanted this marriage—because he wanted her dowry.
“Don’t you know, they’ll promise you anything. Until they get your money.”
“Allison Townsend, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
She hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could do it. Not step into the same shoes as her sisters. Not live a life of shame and embarrassment like they did and not know how to stop it.
“None of our husbands had half the reputation as a rake and womanizer as the man you are marrying.”
Yet, what choice did she have? She only had a few days until her twenty-fifth birthday.
Lynette’s words came back to haunt her, her plea for Allison to take a husband. If she didn’t marry, she’d lose it all. She’d be forever dependent on her sisters and brother for everything. She’d even be without a home of her own.
“My lady?”
She lifted her head. She knew he saw her hesitancy, her doubts and fears and uncertainty.
Without a word, he reached for her hand and held it in his own. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, as if trying to reassure her the only way he knew how.
The minister subtly cleared his throat and Allison turned to face him. What choice was left to her?
“I will.”
Her heart gave a lurch, her breath caught in her throat. The choice had been hers to make and she would live with the consequences of her decision.
“Join your right hands and repeat after me,” the minister instructed, and Montfort took her hand.
Allison heard the minister’s soft, gentle voice say the words and heard Montfort’s deep, confident voice repeat them. “I, Joshua Camden, ninth Marquess of Montfort,…take thee, Allison Townsend, to my wedded wife,… to have and to hold from this day forward…for better for worse…for richer for poorer,…in sickness and in health…to love and to cherish till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance—”
There was a pause, a pause long enough to make her lift her gaze. The look on his face was as serious as she’d ever seen.
“My lady,” he said, lifting her hand and clutching it to his chest, atop where his heart beat. “And thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Her eyes filled with tears, her heart hurt with an ache that threatened to bring her to her knees. Tess’s words came back to haunt her. “If you’re smart, you won’t let yourself fall in love. You won’t let yourself care.”
Allison repeated the minister’s words, promising to have and hold from this day forward a man who might destroy her in the end. Promising to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part.
Knowing it was already too late to heed her sister’s words. She perhaps did not love him, not yet.
But she more than cared for him.
Much more.
Chapter 10
It was over.
She sat on the window seat in the bedroom she would share with her husband, and stared out the window. She rested her chin on her bent knees and hugged her arms around her legs while she waited for him to come to her.
For nearly ten whole hours now she had been the Marchioness of Montfort, married to the Marquess of Montfort, one of the most renowned rakes in all of London. She should be terrified, filled with fear and regret and misapprehension. She thought she would be. But she was not. Instead, she felt a strange sense of…completeness.
A flurry of excitement swirled inside her, the elation and anticipation soaring with the same wild abandon as the tiny bubbles in the glasses of champagne David served following the ceremony.
She couldn’t explain the sense of fulfillment she’d experienced the minute the minister had pronounced them man and wife. Just as she couldn’t explain the happiness that erupted in a fiery explosion when he kissed her. For just a second it was as if a door opened and she knew her choice to marry had been right. She prayed she would remember that contentment forever.
She closed her eyes and relived every second of the day, from the time he’d entered the room where she’d gone to be by herself to the minute he’d brought her here, to his townhouse, as his wife. The day she’d dreaded her whole life had been—wonderful. Filled with special memories she would always cherish.
She wondered if it had been the same for him. She couldn’t tell. He remained as unreadable as a Greek scroll.
It wasn’t that he’d been hostile or antagonistic, or even distant and aloof. He hadn’t been. He’d been stunningly perfect. He’d smiled when David had toasted their happy union, and talked when he’d been spoken to. He’d laughed easily and often. But she couldn’t help but feel that at least part of it had been an act. That his every smile or laugh or gesture was a brilliant performance. That he conducted himself as was expected of him.
The ring he’d placed on her finger had been perfect. It was not large and ornate like she was afraid it would be. But small and delicate, a beautiful opal with tiny diamonds surrounding it.
When the ceremony finished and the guests toasted the happy couple, he’d pinned to her gown a delicate filigreed butterfly brooch made of the finest spun gold imaginable. The moment was heartwarming. Even now her eyes blurred with unshed tears.
He’d smiled at her, then cupped her cheek in his hand and explained that the ring was an heirloom passed down from his mother and from her mother before her. But the butterfly was a gift from a husband to his bride. He wanted her to have something made just for her, something special she would know he had picked out to give her on their wedding day.
Was that only an act?
Tears choked her throat again and she got up from the window seat and walked to where Emma had placed the brooch on the mirrored table. Even though the room was shadowed in darkness, she’d become accustomed enough to the dark that she could trace her fingers across the delicate strands.
Giving her something so special had been a beautiful thing to do. Almost too perfect. As if he’d followed a treatise outlining the perfect way to win her over, the perfect gift to endear her to him, the perfect words to say, the perfect smile, touch, gesture.
How much of what he’d done had been sincere?
Before they’d left, Lynette had served a wedding breakfast in celebration of their marriage. Montfort had joked and conversed and bantered with her family as if he’d known them his whole life. He’d especially included her in the conversation and often during the meal he’d reached over to give her fingers a gentle squeeze. As if he wanted to reassure her that she’d made the right choice in marrying him. As if he wanted to reassure her that he had, too.
How much of it had been an act?
When they finished eating, it was as if he knew she could not survive sitting through an hour of idle conversation. As if he knew she needed to escape the flushed cheeks and embarrassed looks each of her sisters wore because they knew what awaited her yet this evening. Or that she didn’t enjoy the sly looks she caught her brothers-in-law giving her husband because they knew, too. Whatever those looks were about, it would happen in this room. It would happen in that bed.
Allison turned and slowly scanned the room. The decor was his, all bold and masculine. There was no feminine softness to the furniture, no delicate touch in the knickknacks sitting around, and not a domestic scene in any of the pictures on the wall. Yet she felt perfectly at home here. Perfectly at ease and comfortable surrounded by everything that was his.
It couldn’t have been an act. It couldn’t have.
She made her way to the other side of the room and clasped her hand around one of the end posters on his bed. She stared at the maroon counterpane, then at
the covers Emma had thrown back after she’d helped her ready for bed.
A mighty whirlpool swirled deep in her stomach, a warm heat that turned hotter by the second. She tried not to think what would happen in that bed tonight. Tried to remember the instructions her sisters had given her.
Her cheeks burned hot as the raging heat raced from her face to low in her stomach. Had she ever heard of anyone who had not survived their wedding night? No, she didn’t think so. But it didn’t matter. Even if it was something ‘terribly embarrassing’ like Mary had said, she would not let him know she found it repulsive. She would suffer in silence. She would never do anything to drive him from her bed. That had been part of their agreement. She cupped her hands to her cheeks and leaned her forehead against the poster.
“Have I given you enough time, my lady?” he said from the doorway.
She couldn’t stop the tiny cry of surprise as she spun around to face him. “Perhaps too much,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. But he’d heard her.
A smile crossed his face before he stepped into the room.
His broad shoulders filled the doorway, the light from the hallway outlining his tall frame. He’d removed the black jacket, silver brocade waistcoat, and satin cravat that he’d worn for his wedding, and now wore only a burgundy night robe that tied at the waist.
His dark hair was slightly mussed and she fought the urge to brush an errant strand from his forehead. He was the most roguishly handsome man she had ever seen. He looked at her as if he could read her thoughts, and smiled. There were at least a thousand butterflies nestled in her stomach and they all took flight at once.
He took another step into the room and closed the door. They were in near darkness.
“Would you prefer to have a candle lit?” he asked, coming closer.
“No. It’s supposed to be dark.”
“It is?”
She nodded.
“Who told you that?”
“My sister. Tess.”
“Lady Hanbury?”
She nodded again.
He stepped closer until he was so near she could smell his masculine scent, feel the heat from his body. It seemed strange to stand so close to him wearing nothing but her thin silk nightgown. She felt naked because she knew he was aware she wore nothing beneath it. “What else did your sisters tell you?” He touched his hand to her face and cupped her cheek.
“Mary said that I shouldn’t open my eyes until it was over, although I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ is.”
He smiled. “She did?”
“Yes. She said it wouldn’t seem so…that it would be better if I didn’t look.”
He rubbed the pad of his thumb against her lips, then lowered his head and gently pressed his mouth to hers. The first kiss was light, like a gentle breeze. Her head buzzed, her blood roared against her ears.
“What else?” He brushed his lips against hers again, but this kiss was just as light and chaste as the kiss before, leaving her wanting more.
“That I shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Ah. A beacon of hope,” he said, pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead. “Which of your sisters told you that?”
“Phoebe. She said it was only painful the first time and after that, it was just uncomfortable.”
His eyebrows arched. “I see.”
“She said it would help to think of something else until it was over.”
“No wonder their marriages are such disasters.” He touched her lips lightly then left them again. “Were there any other pearls of wisdom your sisters felt it necessary to impart?”
“No,” she whispered on a ragged breath. “Except that this part of being married...” she glanced down at the bed, “...isn’t very important and that after awhile you will tire of it.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“Was that funny?” She didn’t understand what struck him as so amusing.
“You have no idea,” he answered, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her with more fervor. Every inch of her body tingled. “No wonder their husbands have mistresses.”
“What does that have to do with it?” She was confused about more than just his words.
He kissed her again. “Every man needs not only a wife, but a mistress. It’s a rare wife who can become both.”
The breath caught in her throat as she considered his words.
He deepened his kiss and held her close. “I’m sure you will make a fine wife, my lady. Now, I will teach you to be an excellent mistress.”
He kissed her again, then again. Until she was desperate for something more.
She knew he intended to take his time, to teach her what to do without frightening her but he’d teased her enough. She wanted him to kiss her like he’d done before.
When she couldn’t control her desire any longer, she moved against him, urging him without words to kiss her with that certain possessiveness she’d come to anticipate.
He angled his head and deepened his kiss, then moved from her lips to her cheek, then to a spot just below her ear.
She sucked in a breath. Oh, she couldn’t think when he kissed her there. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making love to you, and attempting to prove that every piece of advice your sisters gave you was a lie.”
He kissed her there again, just beneath her ear, then moved his attention lower, down her neck and to the front.
She gasped for air. With a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head back and to the side and kissed the hollow spot at the base of her throat.
She sucked in a breath and reached out to clasp her hands on the silky material at his shoulders. Soft little whimpers echoed in the darkness. They were hers and she couldn’t stop them. Then he lifted his head and covered her mouth with his lips.
His kisses were long, and deep, and demanding. He pressed his lips against hers then opened them, touching her lips with his tongue. His message was clear. He wanted her to follow his lead, wanted her to meet his demands and answer them with demands of her own. She did.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m not.” She tried to say the words with confidence, but couldn’t. “I don’t want to be,” she finished.
“I’ll take care of you.” His voice was a raspy whisper, his breathing uneven and labored. “Always, Allie. I promise.”
She looked into his eyes, struck by the concern in his gaze, the gentleness in his voice, the tenderness in his touch. She answered the only way she knew. “Love me. Please. Show me what to do.”
He breathed a heavy sigh and pulled her back into his embrace.
With slow intensity, he kissed her until she feared she might drown. He ran one hand over her body, while the fingers of his other hand worked at the buttons on her gown. When the placket was open nearly to her waist, he lifted his mouth from hers and pushed the material from her shoulders. Cool air hit her flesh but she welcomed it. Her flesh was on fire.
With his gaze locked with hers, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly let his palms move downward.
This was not what she’d thought it would be like. Not the torture her sisters had led her to believe.
“Look at me, Allie. Don’t close your eyes. Watch me as I love you.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
“What we share as husband and wife is beautiful. There will be no shame or embarrassment between us.”
With her gaze locked with his, she gave in to his lovemaking.
Chapter 11
Joshua thought he was going to die when she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself to him. He’d never wanted a woman like he wanted her, a thought totally alien to him. Was it just because she was his? His wife?
With his lips still pressed to hers, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
She was lighter than he expected, smaller, more delicate. That realization shocked him. He hadn’t thought of her as fragile. She’d seeme
d stronger somehow, more forceful. Perhaps it was because of the way she carried herself. Her self confidence. Her inner strength.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, lifting his mouth from hers.
“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”
He laughed as he lay down beside her. “Men are not beautiful, wife. They are handsome.”
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, letting her fingers roam over his cheekbone and down the side of his face. With tentative movements, she traced the cut of his jaw then outlined the shape of his lips.
“You are beautiful,” she said, then wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.
He kissed her thoroughly, then lifted his head. “Do you know what will happen between us?”
“No.”
“Then I will teach you.”
“If I do something wrong—“
“You won’t do anything wrong. You will make love to me as I make love to you, giving as much of yourself as I intend to give to you.”
“I don’t want to be a disappointment to you.”
“You won’t be.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because it will be my fault if you are. It will mean I was not an adequate lover. And I assure you, I am.”
Before she had time to realize what he’d meant by his boast, he covered her mouth again and kissed her with wild abandon. While his mouth paid homage to her lips, his hands moved over her body, touching her, caressing her, stroking her until she writhed beneath him.
“Please,” she moaned. She clamped her fingers down on the muscles of his shoulders and held him.
“Please, what, Allison?”
“I don’t…know. Just…please.” Her breathing was as ragged as his, her eyes glazed with passion.
Joshua dropped the robe from his body and lowered himself onto her. He braced his elbows on either side of her and made love to her.