by Kim Lenox
Mina removed her dressing gown and stood in place while Lucinda, with the help of Astrid and Evangeline, lowered the skirts and the attached bodice over her ecru undergarments. Lucinda meticulously aligned the buttons, and the dress took its intended shape.
Lucinda stared over Mina’s shoulder, into the mirror.
“It fits you perfectly. Well, almost.” She dipped to her knees and adjusted the skirt. “If we had more time, I’d have the modiste take off a half inch.”
She fluffed the hem out and paused. “Mina, what is this? Don’t tell me it’s your old petticoat.” She pinched at a bit of lace.
Mina looked down. “It’s my something old. Besides, I like it. I think it has a nice shape.”
Lucinda stood. “I suppose we all have our own superstitions. It’s too late for you to change anyway. Everything but your traveling suit has been packed into your trunks. Now sit.” She pointed to the dressing table.
There, Lucinda lowered a veil of Brussels lace over Mina’s hair. The countess dipped to peer into the mirror beside her face.
“You’re a beautiful bride,” she complimented. Yet she didn’t smile.
A sob sounded behind them, and Astrid rushed from the room. Evangeline followed her, pausing at the door. “She’s terribly envious. She cried all night, saying over and over again that it was our debut Season and that it should be one of us getting married today.” She followed her sister.
“Oh, dear,” said Mina with a frown. “I hadn’t realized.”
Lucinda touched her cheek. “Don’t let Astrid make your eyes red and weepy on this, your special day.” She again met Mina’s eyes in the reflection. “Allow me to do that instead.”
Mina stared back at her, stunned. “Why would you say something like that?”
Lucinda’s eyes grew glittering and cruel. “I think you know the truth, Mina. You’re a perceptive young woman.”
Mina didn’t speak.
The countess repaired some nonexistent flaw in Mina’s hairstyle. “Your handsome husband to be . . . well, we had quite the passionate affair. But I married Trafford instead. Mark is using you, Mina. He’s using you to punish me for my choice. I want you to remember that today as you are standing beside him, taking your vows.”
The countess drew back. At the bed, she folded the tissue and lifted the box from the coverlet.
Mina remembered Mark and their brief time together in the study after his proposal. She remembered his deeply passionate kisses and his earnest words.
Lucinda paused at the door, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. “I’ll leave you to gather yourself for a few moments.”
“No, I’m ready now,” Mina answered evenly. She stood and squared her shoulders. She swept past the countess, her chin held high. “Ready and gathered.”
Mark took the stairs to the Trafford house. Behind him, Leeson clambered down from the hired town coach and followed at a slightly lesser pace. The footman pulled the door open. Mina stood at the top of the staircase. His chest tightened, even hurt a little, at the sight of her lustrous beauty. She smiled, appearing every bit as joyful to see him, and flew down the stairs to meet him.
Given the expediency of their nuptials, he hadn’t expected her to wear an actual wedding gown. Whether the gown had been borrowed, or purchased ready-made, the thick satin clung to her breasts, her narrow waist and flared hips, as if it had been designed especially for her. It was not until he took her hand that he realized Lucinda, wooden faced and pale, followed behind her, carrying a bundle of white roses.
“You’ve already got flowers,” he said. “I didn’t know, so I brought a bouquet as well.”
He indicated Leeson, who held a huge spray of white orchids and lily of the valley, trimmed with lace.
She grinned. “I like yours better.”
He’d also stopped by his banker’s office and retrieved his mother’s ring out of his safe box. The box presently burned a hole in his pocket. He hoped the gold band, which displayed an open lotus flower with a large turquoise stone at its center, would fit Mina’s slender finger.
Leeson presented the flowers to Mina with a flourish along the length of his forearm.
Mark said, “This is Mr. Leeson. He’ll be my official witness.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Leeson,” she said.
As Mark escorted her toward the drawing room, she whispered, “He looks familiar.”
Within the hour the ceremony had been concluded and all the necessary papers signed and witnessed. They’d also enjoyed a small but elegant luncheon. Rather, he and Mina had enjoyed the meal, while Lucinda, Astrid and Evangeline sat rigid in their chairs, picking at their food. Trafford had appeared noticeably embarrassed. Mark opened up his immortal senses and picked up all sorts of envious and spiteful thoughts, most of them directed toward Mina, but Mina, for her part, appeared blissfully oblivious. Best yet, she couldn’t stop glancing down at her ring.
The ladies’ disregard for Mina inspired a sharp glint of anger in his chest, but all he cared about on this day was that she was happy—and that they got to the Thais early enough to make their way down the Thames before nightfall. If they could get out of the house without any confrontations, or any food being thrown, he’d count their wedding day a success.
He could not help but view with foreboding the window of time before they departed. There were too many things that could go wrong. If he suffered a spell, he would delay their departure. Leeson, who would accompany them on their voyage, had been given instructions to discreetly interfere and draw attention from any abnormal behavior on Mark’s part.
At present, Mark paced the base of the stairs, waiting for Mina to come down. Trafford waited with him, attempting to make conversation. Servants had already carried down her trunks and at present Leeson supervised their loading onto the town coach. Finally she appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a black traveling suit. No one had ever been more beautiful in black, but he could not wait to spoil her with all the gowns and jewels and female accoutrements her loveliness deserved.
After a cordial round of farewells, Mark escorted Mina to the town coach he had rented for the afternoon. Leeson climbed into the bench beside the driver. Once the door closed and they were alone, Mark pulled Mina close against his side. All day he’d waited for this moment. The muscles along the sides of his stomach tautened in an awareness that extended into his groin.
“Lady Alexander.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “I can’t wait until we are alone tonight, in our stateroom, when I can pull all that luxurious hair from its pins.”
Her dark eyes went limpid. “Mark . . .”
He lifted her chin and leaned down—
She drew back sharply, a distance in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I must speak to you about something.”
“Go on.” He released her chin, but kept her close, within the possessive curl of his arm.
“Moments before the ceremony . . .”
“Yes?”
She swallowed. “The countess informed me you were marrying me only to punish her.”
“She said that to you?” Anger stormed his cheeks, and his nostrils flared. “This morning? Just before we were married?”
He’d never suspected Lucinda to be so malicious.
“Is it true?” she asked solemnly. “I’m not going to cry or curse or hit you. I just need to know.”
“No. It’s not true. What is true is that she and I shared a flirtation last Season, before she was betrothed to Trafford. We kissed, but that is all.”
She examined his face. “And that’s all there is to her claim?”
“I swear it.”
Mina reached out and touched her fingertips against the center of his chest. Her eyes went sultry. Grasping his tie, she pulled him close and kissed him full on the mouth, her lush lips staking their claim on his.
Turning her face slightly aside, she whispered, “What were you say
ing about tonight?”
All too soon they arrived at Cadogan Pier. The Thais gleamed in the sunlight, its hull freshly scraped and painted, and every brass and nickel-plated fixture polished to a brilliant shine. His newly acquired crew made ready on the deck. Mark led Mina along the boardwalk, taking pride in the way she easily walked the narrow gangplank, as if she’d done it a thousand times before. The new captain and ten crewmen, dressed in crisp white uniforms, awaited them. Introductions were made all down the row.
While Mina’s trunks were being brought aboard, Mark took her on a brief tour of the ship. They began in the main saloon, an expansive room with emerald green walls, large mirrors, artwork and moldings.
“How many staterooms?” she asked.
“Outside of the crew’s accommodations, there are six singles and four doubles. Enough to house fifteen to twenty guests.”
“It’s marvelous,” Mina breathed. “I can’t believe I’m here.”
By way of interior stairs, he took her below deck to the master cabin.
“This can be your stateroom.” Appointed in gold and white, the room, while intimate of scale, reeked of comfort and elegance. Two portals offered a view of the riverside scenery. “Or it can be . . . our stateroom.”
Her brown eyes glowed in clear invitation. “Our stateroom, Mark. I didn’t get married to have separate rooms.”
He backed her against the wall, slid his fingertips into the thick hair along her nape and bent to kiss her. When she responded, he turned his face, deepening the intimacy. The other hand slid up her torso to cup her breast. She sighed and gave a small moan.
No doubt, at any moment, they’d be interrupted by a crew member delivering her trunks.
He pulled back, then placed one more kiss on her mouth. He ran his thumb over her damp lower lip. “I’ve been told there’s champagne to enjoy up top as we make way.”
Above deck, they watched from the rail as the Thais drifted away from the dock. Along the foreshore, two Thames River Police galleys dragged the river.
Mina frowned. “They are looking for the rest of that poor girl, aren’t they?”
Mark nodded. On Sunday, just two days before, another of Elizabeth’s thighs had been discovered within the ornamental railings of the private estate of Sir Percy Florence Shelley, the son of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley—an author whose legacy included a dark piece of fiction about a creature fashioned from body parts stolen from corpses. The Dark Bride clearly had a morbid sense of humor.
Over the next two hours, they watched the Parliament buildings and Big Ben go by, as well as the Tower and all the rest of London’s recognizable monuments. Behind them, a small table had been set between two high-backed deck chairs. The porter produced two crystal flutes and poured them half full of sparkling gold liquid before presenting them to Mark.
Mark handed one to Mina, and raised his in toast. “To this new adventure together.”
Her brown eyes shone with anticipation. “Where are we going first?”
“I told you—that is your decision.”
“Do you have maps?” She looked out over the water. “I’ll decide by the time we leave the Thames.”
Return to me. The voice exploded inside Mark’s skull, and with it, a shattering explosion of pain. The air left his lungs.
The deck tilted. He seized the rail.
Mina looked up. The smile dropped from her lips. “Mark, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Nothing? the voice shrieked.
His champagne glass fell to the deck and shattered. Pain ripped through his brain and down into his spine, as if the poison in his head sought to invade the rest of his body. He legs weakened, and with all his strength he fought to stand.
“It’s all right. Lean on me.” Grasping his arm, she guided him to a chair. Leeson appeared and rushed forward to assist. Mina knelt beside him, pressing her palm to his face. To the porter, she said, “Could you please bring his lordship some water?”
Once the man rushed off, she said, “This has happened before, hasn’t it? That night at the party. You are ill. Something you contracted on your travels? Is it malaria?”
Mark closed his eyes, unable to answer, or even nod. Already the next round of agony flayed his insides.
“You’re so pale,” Mina said worriedly. Concern lined her brow. “I’m going to take care of you.”
Leeson hovered behind her, grim faced.
Mark pressed back into the chair, grinding his teeth against the pain.
You belong to me.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Leeson asked, but his words faded off.
Mark saw Mina speak his name, but he could no longer hear her voice for the scream inside his head.
Suddenly, the vessel jerked and vibrated. He felt the groan of the engines, up through the soles of his feet. The engines stopped, and the ship slowed.
A black plume of smoke poured out from the side of the ship.
Chapter Eleven
In the dim light of a solitary lamp, Mina bustled around her room at the Trafford house. She placed the leather bag that contained Mark’s comb and his shaving articles on her dressing table. Admittedly, she had fantasized about his being here in her bed, but not under these circumstances—not stricken with some as of yet unnamed affliction. Thankfully, Trafford had escorted Lucinda and the girls out to a fete, so there had been no prying questions.
He lay on the bed, his hand pressed over his eyes. She proceeded to hang his coat in the dressing room. By the time the Thais had finally been towed into dock, it was already very late. For simplicity’s sake Mina had instructed the driver to bring them here. There was no need to subject Mark to the ordeal of a hotel lobby and prying eyes.
“Stop busying about,” he said from under the canopy. He lay in the shadows, watching her, propped on one elbow. “We’re only staying one night. It’s not like we’re setting up house.”
“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” she responded.
“I have not.”
He was so handsome, with his streaked hair messily tucked back over his ear. She’d always considered her bed to be inordinately large, but he lay diagonally across the mattress and his booted feet jutted off the end.
Mina sat on the edge of the mattress beside him. “Are you feeling better?”
“Embarrassingly so.” He scowled. Clearly, he suffered a foul mood. She knew he was frustrated by the occurrence of his illness, and the delay to their trip. Perhaps his health condition had been one of the deep dark secrets he’d referred to in Trafford’s study. But she’d meant her words—she would take care of him. He was her husband now.
She smiled. “I, for one, am glad the engine blew out. I know it will cost you a pretty penny to have repaired, but it’s important that you see a doctor about these spells before we travel to an isolated area where there is no medical care to speak of.”
He didn’t respond. He frowned like a sullen boy.
“Mark.”
“All right. I’ll see a doctor if it pleases you.”
“It will please me. And afterward, we’ll get back on the Thais and have our beautiful voyage. For now, it’s late.” She loosened and untied his necktie, feeling very wifely. “I know you’ve got to be exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.”
She unfastened the first button, the one over his throat, and revealed a triangle of firm, golden skin. She bit into her lower lip, and proceeded to the second button.
Abruptly Mark plucked her bodice, releasing the button at the center of her breasts. She looked down. The fabric gaped, revealing a glimpse of her linen corset cover, beneath.
“What are you doing?” she laughed softly. But of course . . . she knew.
“You need to go to bed too, don’t you?” Dark mischief sparked in his eyes.
She unbuttoned his third. Mark plucked another of hers. His scowl lessened and he grew very intent on her bosom. Another volley of button plucking and both their garments hung op
en to the waist. Mina’s breath came faster. Mark wasn’t even touching her, but his intensity, his riveted, hot attention, awakened her still fully clothed body to every sensation . . . to the delicious abrasion of her chemise against her nipples, and the satin band of her stockings, tied round each thigh. Long, square-tipped fingers slipped beneath her chemise strap to caress the swells of flesh created by the stricture of her corset. Mina swayed toward him, dizzied by a feverish heat.
Mark knew Mina would be even more beautiful without her clothes than she was in them. She perched beside him, a mysterious gift, wrapped in layers and layers of fragrant, feminine packaging. He could not wait to divest her of every stitch. Every sinew in his body roared alive in anticipation of making love to her—almost drowning out the staggering realization that he was trapped in the city, a virtual prisoner of the Dark Bride. With a raging intensity, he wanted nothing more than to spiral into the mindless sensual oblivion of Mina’s body. Hooking two fingers into the loveliest display of décolletage he had ever seen, he pulled her by the corset, down for a kiss.
Her mouth was soft, open and eager. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss, his hunger ravenous and all consuming.
“I’ve wanted you . . . like this . . . from the start.” Since the cemetery. Hell, since seeing her in that tiny drawing room in Manchester, six months before. That they should be together now felt something like destiny.
Taking her beneath the arms, he fell back onto the pillows, dragging her half on top of him. God, she was soft and lush—a willing, hazy-eyed beauty painted in black. Greedily, he thrust his fingers into the cool, smooth hair at her nape, and drew her down. He plundered her mouth, his thumb pressed against her full lower lip, more determined than ever to bind her to him, to have some measure of progress toward his ultimate goal.
“Mark . . . ,” she whispered against his lips.
His fingers curled into the front of her corset. He tugged the stiff fabric down. Freed from their confines, her breasts spilled out. He paused in their kiss to boldly glimpse down. They jutted, full and youthful, framed by the constriction of her manipulated undergarments. Pink raspberry nipples grazed his shirt.