A Belated Bride

by Karen Hawkins

  The plump young peer grabbed his hand and shook it with enthusiasm. “Lud, no! I came looking for you. I’ve got a message from your aunt and I was determined to locate you and—” Edmund tilted his head to squint up at the swaying inn sign, the rain from his caped greatcoat dripping onto Lucien’s boots. “Is this Rosemont? My footman said this was a posting house.”

  “Your footman is correct. Rosemont is located on the coast just north of here.”

  Edmund’s brow cleared. “Couldn’t imagine you would stay at a common posting inn. A duke should—” He broke off, a look of concern crossing his face. “Luce, you aren’t on your way to London to see Liza, are you? I mean, if you are, you should know that…well, she isn’t precisely….” He stopped and drew himself together, eyeing Lucien with a suddenly wild expression. “Luce, I don’t know how to tell you this, but—”

  “Liza arrived at Rosemont this morning.”

  Edmund almost sagged with relief. “Thank goodness. Deuced uncomfortable business, having to tell you your sister had disappeared, even though we all know she is more than capable of taking care of herself, and I—” He frowned. “I say, if you aren’t going to London, what are you doing here?”

  “I had an errand,” Lucien said succinctly. “I was returning to Rosemont when the rain began and I didn’t wish to risk Satan slipping in all this mud.”

  “Oh! Well, if you mind waiting until Dotson has the horses changed, I would be glad to take you to Rosemont in my carriage. You can send a man after Satan tomorrow morning.”

  Lucien looked toward the stables. “How quickly can he get it done?”

  “Oh, Lud, he’ll be out in the wink of an eye, see if he don’t. I told him to make haste—wanted to reach you as soon as possible.”

  True to his word, the carriage returned a remarkably short time later and, after exchanging a few words with the innkeeper about Satan, Lucien climbed into the carriage behind Edmund.

  “Lud, but I’m glad I found you.” Edmund settled into his corner of the coach, withdrew a handkerchief, and began wiping the mud from his boots. “Poor Bottle will be in the sulks for weeks if I ruin these.”

  “Bottle?”

  “My new valet. Won him in a card game from Chambers. The fool bet his whole allowance and Bottle’s services that he could shoot a cigar out of someone’s mouth. He missed and put a bullet right through the window at White’s.”

  “Chambers is not as much a fool as the person who held the cigar for him. Who was the idiot?”

  A flush touched Edmund’s plump cheeks and he said defensively, “We’d been dipping rather deep, and I…well, it don’t signify. Bottle was worth getting shot at. I tell you, Luce, I’ve never had such a correct valet. Almost as bad as being married, only he doesn’t cry.” Edmund stuffed his muddy handkerchief under his seat and straightened with a relieved sigh. “There, that’s the dandy. I tell you, Luce, I’m deuced glad Liza made it here without mishap. Your aunt was in quite a taking when I left.”

  “I’m not surprised; Aunt Lavinia has a tendency for melodrama. I should have written her as soon as Liza arrived, but I was distracted. I am indebted to you for coming such a distance.”

  “Don’t be. I had other reasons for leaving town, you know.”

  “Oh? The watch after you again?”

  “No. Something worse.” Edmund shook his head sadly, his round face puckered in a frown. “Much worse.”

  “Ah. A woman, no doubt. With an angry husband, perhaps?”

  “Worse. It’s Aunt Maddie; she’s lost her mind and I’m to be made to pay for it.”

  Lucien hid a grin. Edmund’s Aunt Maddie was a bewigged harridan who loved nothing more than to shock those who loved her most. “What’s Mad Maddie done this time? Embarked on a torrid affair with the Prince Regent?”

  Edmund shuddered. “Lud, Luce! Don’t even suggest it.” He raked a hand through his hair, mussing the golden curls until they made a halo about his head. “My aunt’s decided it is time I was married.”

  “So you are on the fly, eh?”

  “You know what Aunt Maddie is, Luce. I had no choice. It was either that or marry some fudby-faced female with a mustache.”

  “Surely not!”

  “I ain’t lying, Luce. She wanted me to court Marie Halford. Kept thrusting her in my face till I was afraid to leave my lodgings. When it wasn’t the Halford chit, she was forever inviting Margaret Yarrow to sit in the carriage with us, and you know what she is.”

  “I cannot seem to place…Oh, wait. A rather rotund female, if I remember, with brassy yellow hair.”

  “That’s her,” Edmund said glumly. “And she has a gap between her front teeth that gives me the shudders.”

  “Why on earth would Aunt Maddie want you to marry her?”

  Edmund flushed. “It ain’t polite, but you’re almost family, so I’ll tell you—m’aunt thinks the Yarrow chit has broad hips and would breed well.”

  “And often, most likely.”

  “Not with me for a husband, she wouldn’t. Lord, Luce, I’d rather put an end to my existence than have to look at that face across the breakfast table every morning. I tried to reason with Aunt Maddie, she just kept making remarks about how I was getting older….” Edmund turned an anxious face toward Lucien. “I am not getting older.”

  “Of course not. You look exactly the same now as you did five years ago when I met you.”

  That seemed to satisfy Edmund, for he subsided, only grumbling now and then. As they neared the long coastal road that led to Rosemont, he turned to Lucien. “I say, Luce, come with me to Bath. Aunt Maddie will never think to look for me there.”

  “As promising as Bath in the winter sounds, I cannot leave right now. I’ve plans for the next few weeks.” And the years following that. A strange desire to smile gripped Lucien, and all of his earlier impatience returned.

  Edmund looked at him and frowned. “Luce, been meaning to ask you, what brought you to Yorkshire?”

  “I came to look into a purchase.”

  “What? More land?”

  “No, a gem.”

  “I should have known. Only a sparkler could send you running out into the countryside. Did you find anything worthwhile?”

  “The trip has been most productive.” More than Edmund could imagine. Lucien glanced at his friend. Perhaps now was the time to announce his marriage. He intended to send a notice to the Gazette by the end of the week, but it would make Arabella’s entry into society smoother if the worst of the gossip died out before they arrived.

  Fortunately, there was no quicker way to spread word throughout the ton than to admit a secret to a Valmont; the whole family was known for their inability to keep a secret. Smiling to himself, Lucien said, “Edmund, I have found a wife.”

  Edmund’s jaw dropped. “But who—why didn’t you—where did you—I can’t believe—”

  “In fact,” Lucien continued in an inexorable tone, “I’ve just returned from procuring the license.”

  “License? When are you getting married?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “This tomorrow?”

  Lucien stifled a sigh. “I am to marry Miss Arabella Hadley tomorrow at ten.”

  Edmund leaned forward to grip Lucien’s arm. “Don’t do it, Luce! Ride with me to Bath. They won’t even know you are gone until—”

  Lucien shook off Edmund’s grip. “I have no wish to run away.”

  Edmund sagged against the squabs. “I would never have credited that you, of all people, would get caught in the parson’s trap. It’s almost enough to send a man to the brink.”

  “I was not caught in anything. It is simply time that I marry.”

  Edmund nodded wisely. “Being chivalrous, are you? Daresay you don’t want it breezed about that your wife caught you on the downside. But never fear, I won’t say a word to anyone, though this does remind me of poor Haversham. His wife—well, it wasn’t his wife then, but Lucinda Truckle. You remember her, don’t you? Red hair, sadly freckled? Bit
of a squint in one eye? Well, she invited Haversham on a picnic to Faulk Downs and then lured him into the maze and pretended to twist her ankle. He had to carry her for miles and got blisters because he’d had on his good riding boots. Then, when he finally staggered to her carriage, there stood her father, looking like a thundercloud and ready to slap the wedding shackles on him. Poor Haversham was so knocked up by the whole episode that he stayed in bed a week. We all feared he might put a period to his existence, but once he was wed, he rallied quite well and now he’s got a pretty little lady-bird who can—”

  “Damn it, Edmund,” Lucien burst out. “You cannot go about telling such tales. This case is entirely different. In fact, if anyone has been tricked, it is Arabella, because I—”

  A look of astonishment dawned on Edmund’s face. “You tricked her?”

  “I didn’t trick her, precisely, but her aunt and I decided the marriage needed to take place.”

  “But…why?”

  “Because I compromised her,” Lucien said grimly.

  Edmund gawked.

  “Ten years ago,” Lucien said, “just before my father died, I met Arabella Hadley, and I was…well, I was a fool. But now I am going to set things right. Tomorrow she will become my wife.”

  After a long moment, Edmund let his breath out in a whoosh. “So that’s how it is, eh?”

  Lucien nodded.

  “Don’t worry, Luce. I’m sure there is a way out of this fix.”

  “I don’t want out. I want to marry Arabella.”

  “Of course,” Edmund replied with a broad wink.

  “Well, I’ll put m’mind to it and see what I can come up with. Ain’t the most brilliant thinker, but I’m steady.” He scrunched his eyes closed and leaned back in the corner.

  After a few moments, his soft snoring filled the carriage and Lucien was left to watch in frustration and amusement as his friend slept the rest of the way to Rosemont.

  When they arrived, Lucien stopped only long enough to invite Edmund to the wedding, before he jumped out of the carriage and waved the coachman on.

  It was now well past midnight and the house was shrouded in darkness. Only one light gleamed in the upper windows, and Lucien took heart when he realized it was Arabella’s.

  Hastings opened the front door the instant Lucien set foot on the front step. “There you are, Your Grace. Did the weather catch you?”

  “Yes, you’ll need to send Wilson after Satan.”

  The valet took Lucien’s wet coat and hat. “I will do so first thing in the morning.”

  Lucien sat down on a small chair and yanked off his muddy boots, his gaze drawn to the stairs. “Is everyone abed?”

  “I believe so. Master Hadley retired to his room but a few moments ago.”

  “And Miss Hadley?”

  Hastings paused delicately. “Miss Hadley is not feeling well. She retired directly after dinner and has been in her room ever since.”

  Just as Lucien had suspected; Arabella had succumbed to an attack of prewedding jitters. Fortunately for her, he knew just the cure. Lucien stood and handed his boots to Hastings.

  “Will you be retiring directly, Your Grace?”

  Lucien nodded and turned toward the stairs, untying his cravat as he went. “I plan on being in bed within the minute, Hastings, if not sooner.”

  “Very good, sir. I shall bring a hot brick to warm the sheets.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” He had his own plans for warming the bed. And warm it would be. And passionate. And thoroughly exhausting. Oh, yes, they would both sleep well tonight.

  Smiling, Lucien took the last steps two at a time.

  Chapter 24

  A soft knock sounded. Startled, Arabella sat bolt upright in her chair, her heart pounding. Surely Lucien wouldn’t come to her room. Surely he wouldn’t—Stop that, she told herself severely. He isn’t even here. It is probably just Aunt Emma, wishing for some company to raid the larder.

  Sighing, Arabella stood and pulled her robe over her gown as she crossed to the door. Before she reached it, it was thrown open and she was enveloped in a warm, masculine embrace.

  “Bella mia,” a rich, husky voice whispered in her ear, “I couldn’t wait.”

  “Lucien! What are you—”

  He kissed her hungrily, his mouth plundering hers so thoroughly that she would have fallen if he hadn’t held her so tightly, his hands cupping her against him. Time swirled to a halt as his mouth covered hers, his tongue teasing her lips open and sending shivers of hot fire through her. As he kissed her, he was pulling at his shirt, loosening the ties. He broke the kiss only long enough to yank his shirt over his head and then he was against her again, his familiar warm skin heating her through her robe and gown.

  His kiss deepened and she felt as if he devoured her with his passion. Unable to stop herself, she returned his embrace, threading her hands through his damp hair in a desperate bid to get closer.

  He broke the kiss with a moan, his breathing harsh as he whispered in her ear, “I have thought of nothing but this all day.”

  He lifted her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Did you miss me?” he asked unsteadily, his rumbling voice sending tremors through her body.

  She was lost and she knew it, her carefully planned speech fading with every touch. Desperate to say the words before she forgot them, she tried to draw back. “Lucien, we must talk.”

  He tightened his hold, smiling down into her eyes. “Then talk. But first…” He turned and kicked the door closed, then lifted her and carried her to the wide bed.

  “I can’t talk in bed!” she protested.

  Lucien quirked a brow and laid her gently on the cover.

  “I won’t ask you to.”

  She clutched at the throat of her robe with nervous fingers. “This is very important, Lucien. Perhaps if we—”

  The bed sank as he placed his knee on the side and leaned over her. A sensual curve to his mouth, he took her hands and pulled them over her head, the movement thrusting her breasts against the thin material of her wrap. His gaze deepened as her nipples peaked. She could feel the heat of him through her robe, through the gown beneath, seeking, searching, touching her as surely as his hands.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, trying desperately to collect her thoughts.

  “Listening to you.” He slid a hand to cup her breasts, his thumb swirling along the crest of her nipple, teasing it mercilessly. He trailed his mouth across her cheek, past her ear, his breath hot and sweet.

  “Lucien,” she said, finding it difficult to breathe, “I want to talk about tomorrow.”

  “Hm,” he murmured, sliding down so that he could taste her neck, his tongue leaving a trail of moist tingles.

  “We are making a mis—” She gasped as his teeth scraped along the delicate skin below her ear. His mouth moved lower, over her robe, as he found the beaded point of her breast. His tongue laved the material, wetting it until the cold-hot sensations sent her writhing against him, the heat in her belly building with each stroke.

  He tormented her more before he lifted his head and used his teeth to pull free the ties that held her robe. Then he slowly undid each button of her gown, pushing the material aside bit by bit. She watched him, breathless with need when he shot her a look brimming with promise. She twisted restlessly, wanting more, seeking more.

  “Easy, love,” he murmured, his eyes glinting green fire in the candlelight. “We have all the time in the world.”

  His words reminded her of why she had to talk with him now, before it was too late. “Lucien, I must tell you—”

  He released her hands to push open her gown and free her breasts. “So beautiful,” he breathed. With one swift move, he cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs flicking the vulnerable peaks. Arabella’s fingers sank into the counterpane on either side of her as sensations exploded through her. Her breasts swelled in response to his onslaught, the nipples puckering to a delicate point.

  “You can ha
ve anything you want,” he whispered, his gaze locked with hers. “Just tell me.”

  She thought she would drown in the passion she saw reflected in his eyes. One of his hands slid down past her breast, down the slope of her stomach, over her hip. There, he began pulling her gown upward. Steadily, without moving his gaze from hers, he gathered the cloth until his fingers grazed the top of her thigh.

  She caught her breath. “Lucien, I…”

  He smiled as her voice trailed away, her eyes glazing as his fingers found the damp sable curls. He parted them gently, looking for the folds beneath. She was so ready for him, responded so quickly, that it was all he could do to rein in his own emotions, his own passions. But rein them in he would.

  Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he found her center and pressed gently. She moaned and tossed her head, trying to deny him even as her hips writhed in rhythm with his light touch. God, but she was beautiful, so curved and womanly. Every inch of her begged to be explored, tasted, worshiped.

  Lucien’s lips met hers, and his tongue entered her mouth. She opened wider and gently sucked him, urging him on as her hips lifted and her thighs spread ever so slightly. She wanted him, desired him. It was the one thing she could not deny.

  And it was almost more than he could take. He withdrew his hand to undo the buttons of his breeches, keeping his lips on hers. She moaned into his mouth, the sound as sweet and wanton as her hands that threaded through his hair, stroked his shoulders, ran lightly over his arms and chest. Each touch was as delicate as the brush of a feather.

  Lucien returned his fingers to her, bringing her closer and closer to the pinnacle of desire, but he stopped just short of allowing her release.

  He lifted himself on his elbow to stare at her flushed face, her kiss-swollen lips. “Tell me what you want, Bella. I want to hear you say it.”

  She shook her head and turned away, fighting him with every move. He looped an arm about her waist, pulled her against him, and turned, lifting her. She gasped when she realized she was now astride him.