Chapter 22
The wedding was of startling magnificence.
Many of the guests had stayed after the dramatic ball; others had been invited especially for the wedding—people of social importance, and a sprinkling of avid gossips.
Prodded by Princess Augusta, the king and his new bride arrived to take part. George’s ostensible reason was to make sure that his beloved mother was recovered from her ordeal, but he and his plain German bride were quite obviously pleased to be present at the event of the year.
After careful consideration—for he was rather dull but very conscientious—George agreed to allow the Notorious Chastity Ware to be presented to him, and then laboriously quipped that she was clearly notorious for her beauty and virtue. His shy wife appeared agreeable, and commented on the keeper ring so like her own.
Chastity’s wedding gown was a cloud of purest white. She had hesitated about this, but Rothgar had firmly overruled her. Due to the shortness of time there was not a great deal of fancy needlework on the gown, but since it was composed of the most expensive silk Valenciennes lace, festooned with pearls and diamonds, that hardly mattered.
Rothgar had ordered it. Fort had paid for it, which could be another reason for enmity. It would have bankrupted a less wealthy family. Fort had returned—in severest black—to give his sister away. His manner to all the Mallorens was frigid. By comparison, Bryght Malloren was positively jovial, for he seemed to be recovering at last from Nerissa Trelyn’s spell.
Elf and Verity were Chastity’s attendants, but the mother and wife of the king insisted on sitting by for the robing. Chastity had the feeling that Princess Augusta hoped to see some sign of wantonness. She was deeply relieved that the stain had finally worn off her nipples.
Chastity’s very anxiety, her feeling that at any moment this bubble would burst and leave her naked again before the malice of the world, appeared to convince Augusta that she was a suitably nervous bride.
Augusta tapped her cheek as she left. “Perhaps you feel hurried into this match, my dear, but it is for the best. Some of the damage has been repaired, but as a well-married woman you will be safer, especially when part of the Malloren family. Few would risk offending there. And out of the country you will have time to settle into your new state. My son has appointed your husband aide to General Lawrence, the Governor of Acadia. I have included a message with the dispatches to reassure his lady in case any unfortunate rumors might have traveled there.”
The younger queen accepted the curtsies of all the ladies as she rose to leave. She raised Chastity and leaned close. “Truly,” she said in her heavy German accent, “you must not be afraid.” She turned pink. “It is all . . . it is rather nice, actually!” She then hurried off.
Chastity shared a hilarious look with her sister, but in truth, she was touched by the queen’s attempt to soothe her fears. If only someone would soothe her real fears.
That this would all turn out to be dream.
That her father would appear again to torment her.
That someone would stand at the ceremony to denounce her.
That someone would face her with the question—Have you ever made love to a man? She would not be able to lie convincingly.
She trembled slightly as Fort led her to the chapel in Rothgar Abbey.
He sensed her tension and stopped, frowning. “Do you not want to do this, Chastity? God knows, by any right you should marry him, but I failed you once, and I won’t a second time. If you wish, I’ll prevent it, Rothgar and all the Mallorens be damned.”
Chastity knew he’d be glad of a fight. She found a reassuring smile. “I want it, Fort. Truly. I’m just terrified something will prevent it.”
He smiled back, though bleakly. “Come on, then. Let’s have it done with.”
Cyn wore dull gold velvet trimmed with glittering braid. His hair was unpowdered. The gold seemed to leap into his eyes at the sight of her, as if he too had been afraid this event would never take place.
They had been busy these past few days and seen all too little of each other. In some ways that had been as well, however, as it had demanded less of their willpower.
Fort hesitated as he handed Chastity over to Cyn. “Hurt her, Malloren,” he said softly, “and I’ll destroy you.”
Cyn merely raised his brows. “The protective brother? A new tack for you.”
Chastity hastily put her hand in Cyn’s and moved between them. He smiled lazily down at her and kissed her hand. “Hello, Charles.”
Chastity felt the blush and turned her attention to the Abbey’s chaplain.
She hardly followed the ceremony for stretching every sense she possessed in search of the first sign of disruption, disruption that would indicate that someone was going to stop this marriage. She spoke by rote as prompted, and suddenly found herself facing Cyn, her husband.
“Oh,” she said. “But I didn’t do it right! Can we do it again?”
Laughter rippled through the chapel. Cyn’s lips twitched. “Why not?”
So they said their vows again, and this time they looked at each other, and made their vows solemnly to each other. Then they kissed, the lightest touching of lips.
Hand in hand, they mingled as the guests took wine and cake. Chastity saw some close and even cynical looks—especially at her waistline—but in view of the overwhelming acceptance, especially by royalty, none turned their back.
Already, she knew, coyly in news-sheet, frankly in letters and gossip, the story of poor Chastity Ware flew about the country, made even more sensational by the scandalous deaths of Henry Vernham and the Earl of Walgrave.
Then Cyn drew her into the hall. Even though it was still afternoon and daylight, Chastity looked toward the stairs.
“No,” said Cyn. “I have something else in mind. Your portmanteaux are in the coach.” He held out a beautiful white velvet cloak, lined with white ermine. “Will you come, wife?”
“Anywhere,” she said, and he wrapped it around her.
They climbed into the handsome coach, one she knew rather well. She noted the escutcheon was restored to glory, and Hoskins and a groom were on the box.
A plain coach was following.
“Jerome and your new maid,” Cyn said in explanation. “We are a respectable married couple, and must act as such.”
“Respectable?” she teased. “That sounds dull.”
He grinned. “O ye of little faith.”
They passed the journey remembering their strange adventures, retasting the pain and joy, confirming for each other that this dream was true. Chastity paid little attention to the road until they entered a busy town. She looked out. “But this is . . .” She looked at him. “Winchester?”
They pulled into the Three Balls.
Chastity glowed at Cyn. “The same room?”
He nodded.
“When we were there, I thought . . . I wanted it to be our wedding night.”
“So did I.”
He handed her down and led her into the inn. The innkeeper bowed low, and it soon became clear Lord Cynric Malloren had taken the whole inn for his use. They were shown up to the familiar, small, beautiful room. Someone had found fresh roses and a bowl of them sat before the window, scenting the air.
The servants brought up their baggage, but were then dismissed. A cold collation and wine were laid on the table. A fire made the room cozy.
Cyn shrugged out of his greatcoat. Chastity removed her cloak. She stroked the fur. “This is a lovely thing. It must have cost the earth.”
“Rothgar’s wedding present to you. I couldn’t have afforded it. Do you mind marrying the poorer end of the family?”
She could see the twinkle in his eyes, and sighed. “Alas, I had no choice, sir.”
He held out his hand and she walked forward to put hers trustingly into it. He kissed her palms, by now unblemished, then pulled her closer to kiss her lips, his hands on her sides.
“Whalebone and hoops,” he commented. “I warned you. Off
with ’em.”
“But sir,” she protested, “you threatened . . . er, promised to strip them off me.”
He assessed her expensive gown and found it was in one piece and fastened down the back. Soon it was pooled carelessly on the floor. He smiled at her hoop-frame. “These things look damn silly with nothing over them.” Then it too was gone, and her laced corset followed.
She turned to face him, clad only in her sheer silk chemise and her clocked stockings. She pushed his coat off his shoulders and unbuttoned his brocade waistcoat. This time her fingers made it to the end without failing. She even managed to unknot his cravat and slowly pull it off.
Soon he wore only his gold velvet breeches and open-necked shirt. Chastity waited, her mouth dry with anticipation.
He looked at the table. “Food,” he said.
“Cyn!”
He took her hand and pulled her to the table, sat down, and tugged her into his lap. His nimble fingers found her garters and untied them. He looked at them and grinned. They were a pair they knew well. “Do you remember . . . ?” he asked.
Trembling, she hid her face in his shoulder. “Yes.”
He slid the silk stockings off her legs, then his hand traveled up her naked leg, but up the outside, all the way to her hip. She twisted, but he wouldn’t touch where she wanted him to touch.
Instead, his hand came out from under her chemise and picked up a tart, a golden apple tart with a frill of rich cream.
“Do you remember?” he asked.
She laughed. “I remember! Heavens above, Cyn, are we to relive our time together, moment by moment, meal by meal?”
“What a lovely idea,” he said. “I wonder where I can find some Shrewsbury biscuits . . .”
Chastity grabbed the pie and took a large bite.
“A wench of truly ferocious appetites,” he said, and licked some cream and crumbs from around her mouth. When she swallowed, he kissed her, full and deep. “Mmm,” he said. “Delicious.”
“You only love me for my apples.”
With a hoot of laughter, he set his lips to first one nipple and then the other. “And your cherries,” he murmured.
His hand traveled lightly over her chemise, exciting where it touched. He produced a vial she remembered and tenderly anointed secret places.
“I wondered where that had gone,” she whispered.
“I bought it with this moment in mind, though perhaps I did not know it then . . .”
Chastity snatched the vial and anointed him in turn. After a laughing struggle, he recaptured it. The musky perfume swirled around them as they wrestled for it. As her hand ran down his body, she found something else. “Cucumber!” she declared, and they dissolved into laughter.
Then he slid from under her so she sat alone in the chair. He put the remains of the tart in her hand and slowly stripped off his clothes, watching her with darkened eyes.
Chastity was frozen in breathless delight, the tart ignored in her hand. He was so beautiful, her husband, that tears sprang to her eyes.
“I thought you were hungry,” he said.
She looked at the tart, then threw it at him. He just stood there as golden fruit and juices and rich yellow cream slid slowly down his lithe torso. It landed on his penis, hovered there for a moment, then dropped off, leaving him well decorated.
He looked down and grinned. “I do believe dinner is served, milady.”
Chastity felt somehow this wasn’t the way a proper married couple was supposed to behave, but she rose and advanced on him. He retreated until he fell back across the bed. “I surrender!” he declared. “Have your wicked way with me, wench.”
Chastity was mesmerized by a big blob of cream on the tip of his penis and she leant down and sucked it off. He bucked. “ ’Struth!”
When she looked up, though, it was clear he wasn’t angry. She slowly but gently cleaned him with her tongue. She could see his chest moving with mighty breaths, hear his breathing, sense the tremors running through him. She slid on top and impaled herself on him.
“No!” he gasped, but then rolled them and surrendered, loving her with fevered intensity. Chastity burned with joy to be able to do this to him, for him, with him. They roared into flame.
They were damp with sweet-odored sweat when Cyn pushed himself up from her, frowning. “I didn’t mean our first time to be like that.”
Chastity’s heart sank. She’d known, hadn’t she, that proper married people didn’t behave like that. “I’m sorry . . .”
He silenced her with a kiss, a long drowning kiss. “I’m not,” he assured her. “I just wanted it to be perfect for you this first time.”
“It was perfect, but I’m sorry . . .”
He covered her lips gently with his hand. “Don’t be. You can ravish me anytime you want. But now, dear wife, let me ravish you . . .”
Through silk, then under silk, he teased her pleasure points to heat, until she writhed under his hands and lips, longing for release. Then he entered her with infinite, tantalizing slowness and set her free.
The next day Cyn and Chastity wandered the ancient streets of Winchester in a private world of joy. But in time they came to a certain crossing-boy.
“I remember you, Captain,” the lad said with a grin, then quickly added, “Milord.”
Cyn laughed and tossed him a golden guinea. “That for your memory, and because I’m newly wed.”
The boy whooped, then remembered to make a bow. “And best wishes to you both.”
As they strolled on, though, Chastity’s smile faded and she pulled her fur cloak closer around her. “People do have long memories, don’t they?”
Cyn glanced at her then steered her toward a familiar building—Darby’s Bank.
They walked in and were both quickly ushered into Mr. Darby’s paneled sanctum and plied with sherry.
“And what can I do for you, Lord Cynric?” the banker asked.
“I am here to make financial arrangements for my bride, Darby,” said Cyn. He turned to Chastity. “My dear, this is Mr. Darby. I will arrange for you to draw funds here while we are in England.”
Mr. Darby bowed and kissed her hand. “Lady Cynric, this is indeed an honor. Please accept my warmest felicitations . . .”
Soon they emerged into the crisp air again and Cyn smiled at Chastity. “You see? The reputation of the Notorious Chastity Ware is being put to right, but she has also disappeared. From now on you are Lady Cynric Malloren and safe, I assure you, from all distress.”
Chastity turned with a shining smile. “I was new-born from the day I met you . . . Oh, Cyn! It’s really going to be all right, isn’t it?”
He pulled her into his arms, there on the street. “It is, and always will be perfect, my beloved. But I think we should create a new notoriety. Let’s become notorious for our unfashionable contentment and fidelity. And for the amount of time we spend in private. As I recall,” he said, his eyes already darkening with desire, “we have a delightful private room awaiting us . . .”
Chastity’s happy laughter lingered as they hurried back to the sweet privacy of the room at the Three Balls.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Jo Beverley - [Malloren 01] Page 37