The coach waited outside for her, Matilda waited downstairs to accompany her and John was at the church. Everything was in readiness for her. She reached for her cloak.
“I came to wish you well.”
Billie swerved around, almost toppling herself. “Max . . .”
Her smile faded briefly when she watched Oran fully materialize before her. Recovering her composure, she showered a brilliant smile on him. “Oran, I’m so pleased you came.” And she was; he was almost like a father to her, offering advice and caring like only a parent could.
He walked over to her and gave her a fatherly hug and kiss on the forehead. “I could not allow you to marry without my best wishes.”
“I’m so happy you are pleased with my decision.”
“More pleased than you realize.” His smile was genuine.
“I am a bit nervous,” she confessed, hugging his cold hand.
“Only natural, my dear. Why, the day I married I had the chills and shivers. I was afraid my teeth would rattle when I spoke my vows.”
She laughed. “Did they rattle?”
He shook his head. “No, I took one look at my lovely bride and realized how very lucky I was to have her as my wife and how very much I cared for her. The shivers ceased and I spoke my vows loudly and clearly.”
“I am lucky to have found John,” she said, though a hint of doubt trailed her words.
Oran cupped her hands in his. “You are very lucky, Billie. He will be a good husband to you and he will love you deeply like no other man could. He is a special man, always remember that, no matter what happens. Always.”
Billie felt a chill race through her. “I’ll remember,” she promised. “I was wondering if you’ve seen Maximillian.”
“Pay him no mind, he sulks.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because he cannot have that which he wants,” Oran said and reached for her cloak. “Now hurry before you are late for your own wedding.” He rushed her into her cloak, gave her one last quick kiss and hurried her out the door with a whispered, “Good luck, my daughter.”
o0o
The small stone church was overflowing with villagers and neighboring friends. Everyone was decked out in their Sunday finery waiting for the lady of Radborne Manor to arrive.
Cheers sounded when she descended from the coach and she waved to the sea of smiling faces. Once she was inside the church foyer, her stomach began to quiver. Claudia assisted her in removing her cloak and handed her a beautiful bouquet of a variety of white flowers speared with dark green ferns.
Billie clung to the beribboned stems, the music sounded and Claudia urged her forward. She walked down the aisle alone, not familiar enough with anyone to request such a personal favor.
She caught sight of John, resplendent in black, standing poised and ready, his glasses balanced perfectly on his nose, his smile wide and his hand extended out to her.
She walked forward and grasped his fingers.
“I love you so very much,” he whispered and gently pulled her forward to take her place beside him.
The ceremony was splendid and over with before Billie realized it had passed so quickly. She and John were soon receiving well-wishers at the entrance of the church and she stared in disbelief at the plain gold band that circled her marriage finger.
It was over. She was now Mistress John Bosworth.
With a hail of good wishes following them, the newlyweds hurried inside the coach and headed back to the manor to receive their wedding guests.
“You are happy?” John asked, taking her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to her palm.
A tingle rushed over her and she smiled. “Very happy.”
“Good,” he said followed by a sigh of relief. “I feared that you might reconsider at the last minute.”
She had, but didn’t wish to upset him, so she kept her last-minute doubts to herself. “We are now husband and wife,” she confirmed.
“Forever,” he whispered and leaned over to brush her lips with his.
She ached for more as he eased away, carrying his kiss no further than a simple, delicate touch of their lips. She hoped this evening he would prove to be more passionate.
The manor soon overflowed with guests. Food and drink were served in abundance. People laughed and raised their voices in well wishes. Billie received a generous number of comments on how bright and lovely the manor looked; “so much more welcoming” was the most often heard compliment.
She had hoped to have work started on the master bedchamber this week but with the wedding she postponed the work, instead having the workers finish all the rooms on the first floor. From the many compliments she received, she was pleased with her decision.
John and she were rarely together during the entire reception. The men kept him occupied and the women fussed over Billie, sharing wifely tales with her that made her blush on more than one occasion and brought good-hearted laughter to the women.
Matilda and Pembrooke had seen to the hiring of staff for the day so the serving and clearing away was going smoothly. And Pembrooke was in his prime, issuing orders to the small army of servants.
Billie smiled with contentment, taking in the scene before her. Her home was filled with friends who came to help her celebrate this special day and she had a husband who loved her. She was deeply blessed.
John glanced her way, catching her eye with a hasty wave. She waved back and he smiled.
Yes, all was good and could only get better. She looked forward to this evening and the intimacy she and John would share.
The hour grew late and guests began to take their leave, again bestowing meaningful best wishes on the happy, wedded couple. Claudia was the last to take her leave. With a tearful embrace she bid them good night and wished them a long and fruitful marriage.
The couple was finally alone. They stood hand in hand, smiling at each other.
“M’lady, shall I assist you?” Matilda asked from the doorway of the receiving parlor.
Billie was about to tell her that she required no help, wanting only to be alone with her husband, when John answered, “By all means, Matilda, please see to my lady.”
Billie moved to protest, but a tug of her hand brought her attention to her husband’s face. “It is only proper she see to your needs this evening.”
“It isn’t necessary,” she said and boldly added. “I have you.”
He shut his eyes tightly and his jaw grew firm. She wondered if she had angered him.
His eyes opened and he spoke softly, “Matilda should see to you. It is only proper.”
She nodded, her disappointment evident. “If you wish.”
He held her close as she moved to leave. “I wish many things, Billie. Give us time.”
His soft plea tugged at her heart and she kissed him softly on the cheek and whispered, “I’ll be waiting.”
She hurried from the room to follow Matilda, hoping her words had been the cause of his barely audible moan.
Matilda fussed over her, talking incessantly and telling her not to be nervous that the vicar was a kind and good man.
Billie sat on her vanity bench, dressed in a white linen night rail with ties of white silk ribbons crisscrossing her breasts. She brushed her hair, smiling at the older woman who was attempting, most endearingly, to ease Billie’s bridal nerves.
“I’ll be fine,” Billie said, hoping to ease her concern.
Matilda rushed over to her and embraced her to her ample bosom. “Of course you will, m’lady.” She stepped back. “Now I’ll be off and a good night to you.” She blushed profusely and hurried out the door.
Billie laughed and ran her hands through her hair, shaking the shiny strands so that they rushed around her face wild and free. She walked over to the end of the bed, toying with the ribbons at her breasts.
Would she appear shameful if she loosened a few?
Better not to, she decided. John was probably nervous enough about this evening. She didn’t wish to
add to his anxiousness and she didn’t want to appear improper.
A soft knock alerted her to John’s entrance as he pushed the door open. He stood on the threshold of the room, uncertain, his hand tightly fixed on the metal latch.
“Do come in and join me, dear husband,” Billie invited with a smile and patted the spot on the bed beside her.
John cleared his throat with a rough cough and entered, shutting the door behind him.
“Shall I help you undress?” she asked, about to stand.
He halted her with a brisk, “No, that won’t be necessary.”
She hid her disappointment behind her forced smile.
John took his coat off and folded it neatly on the back of the chair near the hearth. He fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat, his fingers visibly trembling.
Billie took her courage in hand and walked over to him, gently brushing his hands aside. “Let me be a proper wife and see to my husband’s needs.”
“I-I-I c-ca-can—”
She hushed his nervous stutter with her finger to his lips. “Shhh, let me,” she whispered.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
She unbuttoned one, then two and before she could release the last button, his hand captured hers. She looked up at him and he raised her hand to his lips, tenderly kissing her wrist, her palm, her fingers . . . She closed her eyes, lingering in the sensual pleasure.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured and released her hand to capture her lips. Short, light kisses were followed by probing gentleness and culminated with his tongue slipping with haste between her lips to finally mate with hers.
It was a serene blending, both enjoying the simple sensuality of their foraging tongues. Tingles shot through Billie, radiating along her sensitive flesh and settling intimately between her legs.
He moved his hand to the ribbon ties at her breasts and tugged gently, freeing them. His hand slipped in and his fingers brushed her already hardened nipples. His hand shook as he attempted to intimately acquaint himself and accidentally squeezed the puckered bud too hard, causing Billie to jump.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered near her ear.
She steadied her uneven breath. “It’s all right; I like it when you touch me.”
Encouraged by her words, he continued, only to once again cause Billie discomfort. He tried to further loosen the ties but fumbled and accidentally knotted them.
Abandoning his unskillful efforts, he returned to kissing her while easing her night rail up and running his hands over her bare bottom.
They felt so good to Billie; warm, tender and intimate. Thinking to help him, she reached down and further lifted her night rail up. John, seeking to assist her, joined her hands in ridding her of the garment only to become entangled in the ribbons and cloth.
Billie, lost in a world of white linen, finally cried, “Stop, John, please, let me do it.”
He immediately ceased his help and stepped back. Instead of taking the night rail off, she eased it down over herself. Flushed from her ordeal and having lost the tingle of sensuality he had first stirred in her, she looked at her husband.
He fumbled with his glasses, his fingers attempting to catch them before they fell off his nose. Righting them, he admitted, “I am not very good at this. I lack experience.”
She couldn’t very well confess her own experience and at the moment she felt guilty for wishing he was more widely educated in the way of women. She had not thought that she would need to instruct her husband in the ways of making love.
She kept her disappointment to herself and offered encouragement. “We have time to learn together.” She held her hand out to him, intending to guide him in his next attempt at passion.
He stared at her for several silent moments, his strange look unreadable and then he took a step back, fastening his waistcoat buttons. “I think perhaps we should give ourselves time to become better acquainted.”
Billie shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. He had no intentions of consummating their marriage and the thought chilled her. “We are acquainted.”
He avoided direct eye contact with her. “Not enough, I fear.”
At a loss to answer, she remained silent. How did a bride react when her husband rejected her? She had no idea what to do.
“It is for the best,” he assured her.
Hiding her disappointment behind her courage, she nodded. “As you wish.”
John stepped around her, sweeping his coat off the back of the chair. He slipped it on, walked back beside her, kissed her cheek and walked to the door. “I shall sleep down the hall in the lady’s bedchamber. Good night.”
She didn’t respond, and she barely heard the click of the closing door that shut her husband away from her. Tears filled her eyes and she fiercely fought them, but their persistence prevailed and they soon broke loose to roll one after another down her flushed cheeks.
Alone with the crackling fire, the only sound in the empty room, she gave in to her tears and wept. Not loud sobbing cries, but soft whimpers that no one heard but her.
Powerful arms suddenly slipped around her, turning her, pressing her against the warmth of a solid naked chest and her own arms broke free, wrapping around the man who knew her all too intimately.
“Max,” she cried and buried her head against his chest to shed her tears.
“It’s all right, I’m here.”
His embrace was filled with a power that protected and his voice soothed like an old, familiar lullaby. He held her, rocking her gently from side to side, whispering words she barely heard but understood completely. He was there for her when no one else was and he always would be.
He let her cry, never once insisting she stop and when she finally finished he walked her to the bed, freshly laundered and turned down in preparation of her wedding night. He tucked her beneath the counterpane, sat beside her and with his finger gently wiped the remnant of her tears off her cheeks.
“Your eyes are much too beautiful to shed so many tears.”
“What did I do wrong, Max?” she asked between heaving sobs.
“Hush,” he ordered sternly. “You did nothing wrong. He is a fool to wait to bed a wife as lovely and willing as you.”
“He doesn’t know how,” she offered in defense of her husband’s odd actions.
His devilish grin set Billie’s heart to palpitating and her guilt to rise several degrees.
“It isn’t that hard to learn.”
Her own wicked grin surfaced. “No, it isn’t.”
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, much too directly.
Her grin faded and she caught the spark of passion in his eyes. She noticed, too, that he wore only a pair of black breeches, no shirt, no stockings and his hair was loose about his shoulders. He looked as if he had rushed into the one garment, having been disturbed in the middle of . . . what?
“Where have you been?” It was her turn to be direct.
“I thought it best I stay away for a while, but I see now that it doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?” She struggled out from beneath the covers bracing herself up against her pillows.
He bluntly informed her, “You want me as much as I want you and your marriage doesn’t change that. Why it probably only worsened matters since your husband is an inadequate lover.”
“He lacks experience.”
“Courage is more like it.”
“He feels we should—”
Max snapped at her. “He should feel like a man unable to keep his hands off you. He should be hungry for your naked flesh, not fumble like a young schoolboy.”
She was about to take umbrage of his opinion when she suddenly shouted, “You were here in the room with us!”
He hastily vacated the bed.
She jumped out herself, racing up to him where he stood in front of the hearth and poked him hard in his chest. “You spied on us.”
“I did not spy,” he said, casting a warning glance at her jabbing
finger.
“Were you here?” She shot him another jab.
“This is my bedchamber.” He spoke in calm and controlled tone.
“It is mine and my husband’s and what goes on in here is no concern of yours.” She stressed with several pointed jabs.
He had enough. He grabbed her finger. “Nothing goes on in here, so I have nothing to concern myself with.”
“He’ll come to my bed,” she told him with a defiant lift of her chin.
He grabbed her jaw. “And disappoint you. I, on the other hand, will always be here and always make you burn with the want of me.”
She attempted to argue, but his tight grasp wouldn’t allow her to speak.
“Are you going to try to deny the truth?” His voice was soft and his grip slipped away, his fingers moving languidly down her neck.
His touch devastated as always and she couldn’t deny it. He set a fire in her blood and he soon would have it raging out of control.
“Your skin is so soft, so silky, so touchable,” he whispered and ran one finger down her chest, beneath the loose ribbons.
She forced herself to remain as still as a statue when his finger brushed her nipple.
“And the taste of you.” He moaned like a man deprived too long, then lowered his head, his fingers expertly and quickly untying the ribbons, pushing them aside and covering the semi-hard orb with his mouth.
She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, drawing him closer, her ache unbearable.
He feasted hungrily, his need as unbearable as hers.
She groaned with unquenched passion. His tongue, teeth and lips skillfully tormented her to breathlessness. She wanted this, needed this, expected this . . . tonight was her wedding night.
The realization struck her like an unexpected blow and she shoved him away, stumbling backward.
He reached out, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Don’t deny us.”
“I’m married.”
“To a fool,” he snapped and shook her. “You won’t find passion with him.”
“I will,” she insisted and struggled to free herself.
He released her and she rushed around him to jump back in the bed beneath the covers. “Don’t enter my bedchamber again.”
Donna Fletcher Page 21