by Betina Krahn
* * *
Sarah felt his need, his hope, his promises of love and devotion reaching into her soul and searching out the same in her. It didn’t matter that it was half coerced—she knew it would have happened sooner or later. It didn’t matter that her family and his and half of Betancourt were now crowded into the bedchamber, gawking at what should have been a tender and private—
She was suddenly so full of love and joy and pleasure that she could have shouted it from the rooftop for all of Betancourt—all of the world—to hear. The hell with private!
“I don’t want to be a duchess, it’s true,” she said, placing her hands on the sides of his face. “But I very much want to be your duchess, Arthur Michael Randolph Graham. I want to marry you and live with you and make babies with you . . . and raise horses and cows and goats with you . . . and see Betancourt flourish and become the best place to live in the entire kingdom.” She lowered her face toward his, praying the intensity, the depths of her love for him were visible in her eyes, the way his love for her was in his.
“I love you with all my heart, with everything in me. I couldn’t be prouder to call you husband and share my life with you.”
He burst into a huge grin and threw his arms around her, kissing her with all the love and passion her acceptance created in him. She slid to her feet and he picked her up carefully, ignoring whatever proprieties he might be violating in this passionate display with his bride-to-be.
There was hugging and smiling and hand-shaking . . . a little crying . . . some puppy barking . . . all over the room. The chaos, the excitement, finally got through to Sarah and she took a couple of deep breaths, and pushed back so Arthur would put her down.
“Stay,” she said with a smoky rasp that said she meant business, and she turned to the group. “All right, everybody out!” She waved her arms, feeling a little light-headed, but determined.
Her mother managed to drag her into a teary-eyed hug on the way out. Red did the same, and of course Daisy had to have one. Reynard pulled Ash away, telling him he’d have to wait for a more appropriate time for a brotherly buss. She closed the door firmly behind them and turned the key in the lock.
“I want some time with you, Your Grace,” she said. “And another of those kisses you just gave me. Where on earth did you learn to kiss like that?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Banns, a wedding dress, a trousseau, a proper celebration. . . there were a thousand and one details to planning a wedding in only a month. Fortunately, Red’s beloved countess, Evelyn, arrived quickly and was overjoyed to finally help marry a Bumgarten and a duke. She and Elizabeth soon had matters in hand. Daisy’s wedding dress was still at Betancourt and with some alterations was made to fit Sarah nicely. Arthur was reunited with his long-lost shirts, and his trousers and jackets had been altered perfectly by the eagle-eyed seamstress who had retired to Betany. The same vicar who presided over Daisy’s and Ashton’s unusual nuptials eagerly agreed to finally perform the Duke of Meridian’s true wedding, and Bascom agreed to furnish tables and ale aplenty for the celebration of the duke’s marriage.
Daisy and Frankie would be their little sister’s attendants and Ash and Reynard would stand up with Arthur. Sir William made a quick trip to London to check on his clients’ cases and came back just before the wedding with a ring set with a beautiful ruby ringed with diamonds. It had been Arthur’s mother’s ring and was one of the few pieces of jewelry that escaped his uncles’ larceny . . . primarily because Sir William separated them from the rest of Betancourt’s treasure at the request of Arthur’s and Ashton’s father. Sir William told them that, even gravely ill, the former duke had tried to see to his beloved sons’ futures.
By her wedding day, Sarah was fully recovered from her ordeal; good food and fresh air had put color in her cheeks again. Her hair was a splendid mass of curls flowing down her back and her white satin gown was augmented with flowers of blush pink and white. Daisy asked if she was nervous and Sarah laughed.
“Not a bit. I can’t wait to see Arthur in his ducal best. And if he’s cut his hair, I’ll have to tie him up and hold him captive until it grows again.” She grinned at Daisy’s wicked laugh. “I don’t think he’ll complain.”
Arthur looked every inch the duke in his best morning clothes, and to Sarah’s relief, his long hair was full and flowing, just as she wanted it to be. From that day on, it would be his signature in society, though when he arrived in the House of Lords, he would likely have to wear it in a queue. With his broad shoulders, tanned skin, and smiling eyes, he was a walking dream for every young woman in attendance. And some not so young.
He burst into an exuberant smile when she and Red appeared at the rear of the sanctuary. That, guests whispered to each other, was a man in love.
For the life of them, neither Arthur or Sarah would remember later exactly what words they exchanged in the little church. It went so quickly and so smoothly that it had a surreal quality . . . out of time and place . . . just the two of them . . . already joined in their hearts and now joining in a way that would proclaim to the world their loving bond.
Soon they were exiting the little stone church to hugs and handshakes and not a few tears. Everyone was there: Frankie and Reynard, Daisy and Ashton, and even Cece and her husband Julian, who came all the way from Paris to see her wedded and to provide music that left hardly a dry eye in the little church.
Many of Betancourt’s tenants and Betany’s village folk attended the nuptials: Bascom and his wife, the Arnetts, the Crotons, the Millers, and Thomas Wrenn’s family. Of course Eddie, their newly appointed stable master, was there in his first-ever suit. Of special interest to the family was Sir William Drexel’s presence and his prominent seat next to the mother of the bride.
After greetings and well wishes, Sarah and Arthur ran through a shower of rice to their flower-draped carriage and climbed in for the ride back to Betancourt. They gazed at each other and held hands, filled with such joy they could only laugh and hug and beam with pleasure.
It was a beautiful summer day and the front lawn was set with tables and benches, and food was trundled out on handcarts and set up. Cece and Julian joined with local musicians in providing wonderful music for the fête, while Red presided in his booming voice and welcomed one and all. Food was plentiful, wine and ale flowed, and when the dancing began, all were surprised to see Duke Arthur take the first turn on the lawn with his duchess.
He was quite a good dancer, it seemed, with Sarah in his arms and in his heart. He led her into a waltz that Cece and Julian played just for them, and kissed her so lustily afterward that the men in the crowd raised a roar of approval and the women all laughed slyly and clapped. Afterward everyone danced and drank and made merry.
The party would go on for hours, but without the happy couple. They slipped out of the crowd, ran to the makeshift barn that now held their horses, where Eddie had Fancy saddled and waiting for them. Arthur removed his coat and she pinned up her train into a bustle. They climbed aboard Fancy and rode out into the countryside to walk hand in hand through wheat fields and cherry orchards, beside streams and alongside pastures filled with sheep. This was their home, their duty, and their deep and mutual joy. Their vow, on this day of days, was that they would tend it and care for it together, making the land prosperous and the people safe.
They removed their shoes and slipped out of stockings to wade in a creek and lie out on a large rock afterward to dry off. While they stared up at the sky through the swaying branches, a butterfly landed nearby and as they watched, it came to investigate the flowers on her bodice.
“It’s a sign,” she said softly.
“A blessing,” he agreed, threading his fingers through hers.
They watched until it flew away, then he rose onto an elbow and kissed her. His lips were as gentle as the stroke of a butterfly’s wings as he showered unbearably light kisses down her chest to the rim of her bodice. By the time he reached her breast she was aching inside, hungr
y for the pleasure she knew could be hers with him now.
She pulled him back up to face her.
“Now,” she said. “Here.”
“I am not a man to take a nuptial outing unprepared,” he said with a wicked laugh. “Wait here.”
He returned with a blanket, spread it out in some soft grass, and escorted her to it. The row of tiny satin-covered buttons down her back was an unexpected challenge.
“Your mother planned this dress, didn’t she?” Arthur said with a groan. “So damned many buttons.”
Sarah laughed. “It was Daisy’s wedding dress first—I suspect that if she did it on purpose, it was to annoy Ashton. He was not exactly her first choice for a son-in-law.”
“No.” He chuckled. “I was.”
“And she finally landed you. With my help, of course.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I should have asked Daisy for the secret to getting out of this dress quickly.”
He groaned, said, “Brace yourself,” and there was a terrific rending sound.
“Oh my gosh—what did you—oh. Ohhh.” She was all but freed from the heavy satin. He had ripped the lower part of the button closure apart, which was no small feat considering the number of buttons and the strength of the satin and taping. She shimmied out of her gown and turned to him in corset and petticoats. “I love your vest, it’s quite elegant. But it has to go.” She attacked his buttons and soon he was shedding both vest and shirt.
Her petticoats came next and then her laces.
He traced the slope of her back and stroked the breadth of her shoulders as her corset slipped away. His lips replaced his hands and she sank back against him, holding her breath. This pleasure, this access to his body was hers from now on, as hers was his. She turned in his arms and he kissed her deeply, evoking a response that had been building in her for weeks, months. She rocked up onto her toes, sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him down into a kiss so fierce it took his breath and hers.
He staggered as she pressed her body hungrily against him and in a moment they were on the blanket, in a sea of frothy lace and gleaming satin, shedding the last of their clothes. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, and his chest as he tantalized her breasts with his palm and then filled his hands with her buttocks, her thighs.
“You are so beautiful. I am such a lucky man.”
“Ummmm,” she murmured against his lips. “Such a good man.” She raked the side of his neck with her teeth and he shivered. “With such tasty kisses.”
“As good as raspberry trifle?” he murmured, kissing and nibbling his way down to her breasts. Taking her nipple in his mouth, he pulled invisible cords of sensation in her that reached all the way to her sex. Her body responded, tightening, preparing, moving against him.
“Better. Oh, Arthur . . . much, much better.”
He paused for a moment and pushed up to absorb the sight of her nestled in a tangle of lace and shimmering satin. “Tell me you won’t regret that the first time isn’t in our bed.”
“I won’t. There will be plenty of other times in that bed, I promise you.” Her gaze softened as she studied his handsome body and beloved face. He was hers, to love, to pleasure, to care for. It was pure grace that had brought them together. “What better place to complete our loving than here, on the land we love . . . in the shade of these gracious trees . . . to the music of nearby water. I will always remember this, my sweet Arthur, with joy.”
He smiled and lowered himself to her kiss. Together they sank deeper, deeper into unexplored desires. Their hands moved at the urging of impatient hearts and rising passions. By the time he nibbled his way down her stomach and back up to her other breast, she was open to him completely, nothing held back. He covered her with his body and the sheer physicality of that contact was breathtaking. She undulated against him in ways that she had never imagined herself moving, stimulating a hunger in her skin that seeped through her muscles and sinews, all the way to her very bones. She welcomed him between her legs and discovered even sharper, more focused pleasure as they began to move against each other together.
By the time he joined their bodies, she received him eagerly, relishing every delicious sensation of fullness and completion. He paused to kiss her tenderly, reading her response and letting it guide his movement and his own response.
He moved slowly at first, giving her time to adjust and himself time to maintain control. But before long, she was moving in counterpoint to him and felt herself tensing, moving more forcefully, pushing beyond the limits of her experience to a realm of pure discovery. Her boundaries began to melt and mingle with his so that she sensed they shared feelings, even as she experienced wave after wave of luscious new sensations.
She rode a mounting spiral of pleasure, sensing something building in her, a voluptuous bloom of heat and urgency that made her moan and wrap her legs around him, taking him deeper, holding him tighter. Then reality erupted all around and within her in a brilliant, shuddering climax that broke bounds of time and place. She held him tightly as she sank back into her time and place . . . back into a body that had just amazed her with its wisdom and daring.
He nuzzled her ear and kissed her hair and blew across her overheated skin. “Are you all right?” he whispered with that seductive rasp to his voice.
“I am wonderful,” she said, not sure why she suddenly felt like crying. Tears rolled back from her eyes into her hair and he kissed those, too. “I’m not sure why there are tears. I’m so happy.” But still the tears came and he laughed softly and shifted to lie beside her and pull her into his arms.
“It’s no small thing, marrying and discovering pleasure with the one you love.” There was an odd huskiness to his voice that made her look up. There were prisms of tears in his eyes, too, even though he was smiling. “When you’re this full, something has to overflow.”
“Happy tears,” she said with unabashed wonder. “I thought they were an old wives’ tale.” She wiped her tears and stared at her damp fingers.
He gathered her against him and they lay together for a while, drowsy and luxuriating in the closeness their loving had created between them.
“I don’t want to go back,” she said. “I just want to stay here all evening, all night.”
“You do have a romantic streak in you.” He touched her nose playfully. “But about two in the morning, I think you’d be wishing you were in a comfortable bed. And it just happens that I know one that is empty.”
“Oooh. Is it a big bed?”
“It is.”
“And is it soft?”
“As a cloud.”
“What are we waiting for?”
They kissed between garments, and tickled and laughed. It took a long time to make themselves presentable. And they were going to have to make up a story about the buttons on her dress . . . which no one in their right mind would believe. But it wouldn’t matter. Such things were winked at for newly married couples on their wedding night.
As they rode Fancy back to Betancourt House, they resigned themselves to making rounds of their guests and delaying their retreat to the big, comfortable bed in Arthur’s chambers. But by the time they reached the celebration on the lawn, everyone was tipsy and spouses were canoodling and young people were getting frisky. Someone had inadvertently let Sarah’s dogs out of the house and they were running all around and snitching food from abandoned plates and stealing shoes that had been shed for dancing.
In short, no one really expected the happy couple to spend the rest of the evening with them. And if anyone noticed the significant hole in the back of her gown, they didn’t mention it. Not even Elizabeth, who apparently had imbibed quite a bit of wine and was giggling with Sir William over . . . who knew what.
So, as the sun set and lanterns were lighted, they hugged those who had to be hugged and thanked those who had to be thanked, and disappeared up the main stairs of Betancourt House.
For luck he carried her across the threshold of their bedchamber and deposit
ed her on the bed. She stretched like a cat caught in a sunbeam, reveling in the vibrant joy of being alive and in love. Dolly had opened the windows to cool the room for them and the bed had been freshened with clean linen. Flowers from the garden outside and from bouquets inside the bedchamber perfumed the air. It couldn’t have been more perfect.
He came to the bed and stood looking down at her with such love, such pleasure visible in his face that she sighed in utter contentment.
“Now it’s time for your wedding gift,” he said.
She bolted upright on the bed.
“What wedding gift? I didn’t know you were . . . Were we supposed to get each other gifts?”
“I’ve chosen something I know you’ve wanted for a long time.” He stepped back into the moonlight streaming through the open window, took a deep breath and began to sing.
“Oh my darlin’ . . . oh my darlin’ . . . oh my darlin’ Clementine . . . you are lost and gone forever . . . dreadful sorry, Clementine.”
She went from a grin to a laugh as he sang—surprised by how full and pleasant his voice was. But it was his choice of song that filled her heart with joy. It was not only the duck-calming song that he’d finally learned, it was a nod to her American heritage.
She started to go to him, but he held out his hand to stop her.
“Wait! I learned all the verses, just for you.” He continued: “In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine . . . dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter Clementine. Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’ Clementine . . .”
By the time he reached the part about Clementine’s sandals being “boxes without topses,” her face hurt from grinning, but she couldn’t stop.