Wedding of the Year

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  After thoroughly delving into her mouth, Richard broke off their kiss, tilting his head to the side to capture her earlobe between his teeth. A murmur of delight whispered from her as she arched into him, her fingers burrowing into his thick, dark hair to hold him close.

  Slowly, he made his way down her body, pausing to lick her collarbone, tracing the hollow between her breasts, before moving on to capture her nipple with his lips. A cry broke from her as desire pulsed through her with every tug of his mouth. Restlessly, she entangled her legs with his, shifting her hip toward the turgid length pressing against her.

  Having grown up in the country, she knew well enough what the hardness was and, from her studies, even understood the technical aspects of making love. But what the books had failed to tell her was how she would glory in the sensations pounding through her, making her crave him like she would food or air. Nor had the book mentioned how the mere touch of his tumescence against her would make her core tingle with anticipation.

  Richard's hand moved from the outside of her thigh to trail along the inner flesh. Without direction, she let her leg fall to the side, opening to his touch, waiting breathlessly for his fingers to reach her aching womanhood.

  “Richard!” she cried, unable to hold in her cry when he boldly pressed his hand against her. Curving his fingers inward, he rubbed against her moistness. Her eyes closed as beautiful, rainbow-colored sensations cascaded through her, pushing her higher and higher toward an unknown pinnacle. Suddenly the rainbow burst into a cascade of color, sparkling and glorious, as she fell over the edge.

  Shivers racked her body as she wallowed in the wonder of it all. “Richard,” she murmured, surprised at the huskiness of her voice.

  “My beautiful, wonderful Elizabeth.”

  His words feathered over her breasts as Richard shifted further on top of her, moving until he lay between her legs and his manhood nudged at her core. Lifting her gaze onto his face, she saw the feverish light in his eyes, and it ignited the fire inside her that he'd so delectably doused moments before.

  “Will you take me into you?” he rasped, his muscles quivering with the effort he was making to hold back.

  “Oh, yes, my love,” she said, tilting her hips upward to accept him fully into her.

  Slowly, he eased forward, entering her body, becoming one with her. Her anticipation faded slightly as he joined them, his manhood stretching her beyond the point of comfort. Unconsciously, she tried to shift away, but Richard captured her hips beneath his hands.

  “It's all right, Elizabeth,” he said soothingly, though his voice was dark and deep with unsated passion. “It will only hurt for a short moment. I promise.” And with that, he thrust forward. When he lay, buried to the hilt inside her, Richard stilled again, looking down at her with concern. “Are you all right, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I think I am.”

  A strangled laugh rumbled through Richard. “Ah, the overwhelming praise.”

  The vibrations from Richard's laugh created an interesting friction where they were joined. She'd felt what he'd felt. That erotic realization made her think of how he'd made her feel with the touch of his hand. Experimentally, she shifted her hips, recreating the little jolt of friction that sent a glimmer of that delicious rainbow sensation through her.

  “Richard?”

  “Yes, love?”

  She arched her pelvis upward, the movement brightening the feeling inside of her. “Can you get on with it?”

  Again, his laugh went from him straight into her, binding them in a way she'd never imagined possible.

  Anticipating another intriguing flash of color inside her, Elizabeth found herself splashed into the heart of her desire when Richard stroked outward, then back in again. The explosion she'd experienced beneath his hands seemed like nothing when compared to the sensations bombarding her now. An intense burning, deep inside her, began to radiate outward, making her quiver with desperate longing as she clung to Richard.

  The whole world narrowed down until all that remained was them, locked together in a delicious dance of love. His beloved features began to blur as the sensations rocked through her at a furious pace, driving her higher and higher, before thrusting her over the edge with a grand explosion.

  A cry of fulfillment ripped from Elizabeth, frantically clutching at him as she embraced the wildness raging within her. Moments later, he stiffened beneath her hands as he drove forward with one last powerful surge and emptied himself inside her. Shaking with the intensity of his release, Richard slowly lowered himself onto her, shifting to the side to keep his full weight off her while remaining inside of her.

  Lassitude overtook her as she curled against Richard. Lazily, she trailed her fingers through the hair on his chest. She almost purred when he began to gently run his hand along her back. She'd never realized just how much emotion could be demonstrated with a single touch. From passion to love, all it took was an easy touch to communicate.

  Capturing her hand, Richard lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss onto her palm. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

  The satiation deepening his voice made her smile. “I love you, too, Richard.”

  He hugged her closer, pressing her against his warmth. “Marry me,” he said simply.

  She gave him the answer in her heart. “Yes.”

  18

  Shifting her upward, Richard captured her lips.

  Elizabeth felt his excitement in the kiss he pressed upon her lips. “We shall have a wonderful life together.”

  “I believe we will,” she agreed happily, settling back onto his chest.

  Richard hugged her tightly. “I'm certain my mother would be thrilled to help you plan the wedding.”

  Just the thought of planning a wedding daunted Elizabeth, so she was relieved to hear that Lady Wykham might be willing to help. “I will welcome her assistance,” Elizabeth said truthfully. “I'm not even sure how one goes about arranging for one.”

  “Don't worry, love,” Richard murmured reassuringly. “My mother is the consummate hostess and can easily plan any affair . . . even one that begins with a wedding.”

  His remarks struck her as odd. “What do you mean by an affair that begins with a wedding? The wedding is the affair.”

  “I know,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss it again. “I meant the reception we'll have afterward.” His chest shook beneath her cheek as he laughed softly. “If the gossip we generated this past week is any indication, everyone will be vying for an invitation to our wedding.”

  Her blood chilled at the thought. “A reception?” she stammered, her nerves already jangling at the idea of hosting a large affair. It was difficult enough for her to attend a party; she couldn't imagine actually hosting one. “Couldn't we have a quiet, private ceremony, perhaps back at my family's country estate, with only our family in attendance?”

  “Not bloody likely if my mother has anything to say about it,” Richard returned easily.

  She shifted away from him. “But she doesn't have a say in this matter,” Elizabeth informed him quietly, lifting her head to gaze down at him. “This is our decision.”

  Richard tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “She's my mother, Elizabeth, and I have no wish to hurt her by excluding her from helping to plan the wedding.”

  “Neither do I,” she insisted, “but I don't want a huge reception afterward, nor do I wish to be married in town. The best times of my life were spent upon our country estate, attending Mass at the local parish, socializing with the local gentry who never looked down their noses at me or judged me and found me lacking.” She needed him to understand how she felt. “And whenever I imagined getting married, it was always before my childhood pastor, not by some stranger in a cold, foreign church here in town.”

  She drew a relieved breath at the compassion blazing from his eyes. “Very well, my love. We shall marry at your chapel,” he conceded without another word of protest. “Instead, I shall let my mother plan a large soi
ree here in town after we return to celebrate our nuptials.”

  Again, his statement confused her. “Return to town? Why would we wish to do that so soon?”

  “I'm afraid you've lost me,” he said with a laugh. “After our wedding, I can't spend more than a few days in the country before we must return to town.”

  “But I have no wish to return.”

  Richard frowned slightly at her emphatic statement. “But we must, Elizabeth.”

  “Why?” she asked insistently. “I've tried to fit into the ton, but I've failed miserably. Besides, once people find out about your business, we will be ostracized.”

  “Perhaps, but I'm afraid I have no choice. We must live in town so I can be close enough to run my business.”

  She met Richard's serious gaze. “And while you're off running your business, what shall I do? You know as well as I that we will be shunned and I won't be welcomed anywhere.”

  “But you've never enjoyed social functions,” he pointed out.

  “That's true, but if we remain in town, I won't even be able to shop on Bond Street without running into someone who will mock me.”

  Richard froze beneath her. “So what you're saying is that, while you might love me, you don't love me enough to weather the ton's disapproval.”

  “No, that's not what I'm saying at all.” Elizabeth searched for the words to explain her apprehensions to Richard. “I want to marry you, Richard, but I don't want to live in town. Perhaps we could live nearby, and you could visit your business every few days.”

  “It would never work. I need to be here every day,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you're worried about the ton's reaction and I don't think your fears are unfounded. Still, I do believe we can find a place for us, a place where we can be happy together.” His gaze grew intense, as if he were willing her to believe him. “Please trust me, Elizabeth.”

  Slowly, she nodded. “I shall.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted, easing the grimness of his expression. “You won't regret your trust.”

  “I better not,” she said teasingly.

  Lifting his hand, he gently traced the shape of her face, before rising. He retrieved her gown from the floor. Shaking out the hopelessly wrinkled gown, he laid it upon the foot of the divan, then picked up his own shirt and waistcoat. “Would you like me to help you dress?”

  “No, thank you. I'll be fine,” she murmured. Swiftly shrugging into his shirt and waistcoat, he paused to fasten them, then bent to pick up his cravat.

  When Richard turned away from her, Elizabeth rose from the settee and donned her dress. She twisted her arms awkwardly behind her to fasten as much of her gown as she possibly could, but she had to leave the last few fastenings undone, causing her gown to dip precariously low.

  Elizabeth stopped in surprise when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair had been ravaged by Richard's impassioned caresses, leaving it hanging loose to flow over her shoulders, the curled tips flirting with the sides of her breasts. Her lips were reddened from their heated kisses, and there was a mark at the base of her neck where Richard had pressed a particularly delicious kiss.

  Dear Heaven, Elizabeth thought in alarm. Anyone looking at her would know precisely what she'd been about. Searching the divan for her missing hair pins, Elizabeth twisted her hair into a bun and secured it as best she could. However, with her hair swept up, it made that mark upon her neck stand out even more. Carefully, she pulled a strand of hair from the bun, strategically placing it to cover the mark.

  “Elizabeth?” Richard said from behind her. “Do you need my assistance now?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied, thinking he could finish securing her gown, as she turned to face him.

  The sight of Richard, looking utterly dashing and impeccably well-groomed, made her breath catch, and an insidious thought whirled around in her head—this glorious man was her lover.

  Lover.

  Something about the word jarred Elizabeth's memory. Suddenly, she remembered the reason behind her call—gathering information about Lord Morrow. She'd opened her mouth to ask Richard about Lord Morrow when another thought dawned on her. Richard was now a merchant, running a successful business near the wharf. “Richard, do you know of a family named Burnbaum?”

  He lifted his brows at her question. “Quite a few of them. Why?”

  Presenting her back to him, Elizabeth sighed in disappointment. “I was afraid of that,” she admitted over her shoulder as Richard refastened the top of her gown. “I was just hopeful that you might know an Isaac Burnbaum.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Elizabeth whirled to face Richard. “You do?”

  “Three of them,” he clarified with a smile.

  The burst of excitement died. “Oh.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Telling him about the visit by Lady Serena, Elizabeth finished, “. . . so I'd hoped that you might know who his parents were.”

  “I might,” Richard said thoughtfully. “My friend, Aaron Burnbaum, mentioned that his son had become involved with a woman who wasn't Jewish and had begun sneaking around to meet this woman. However, last time I spoke with Aaron, he thought Isaac had run off with this woman to Gretna Green.”

  “What if that's what they'd intended, but poor Isaac was kidnapped before they could leave?” Elizabeth asked immediately.

  “That is a possibility,” Richard conceded as he shrugged into his jacket. “After I see you home, I shall call upon the Burnbaums and speak with them to see if they've heard from Isaac.”

  Elizabeth didn't budge an inch. “See me home first?” She shook her head. “I'd like to meet the Burnbaums.”

  “I think you'll like them,” Richard predicted as he finished fastening her dress. “After you, my lady,” he said gallantly, sweeping his hand toward the door while bowing.

  Praying the Burnbaums wouldn't notice that her gown was completely inappropriate for this early in the day . . . or that it was a mass of wrinkles, Elizabeth drew back her shoulders and headed out the door.

  The Burnbaums lived in a charming Georgian home on the outskirts of town. Having never been in this section, Elizabeth looked around, overcome with curiosity. “This is a beautiful area,” she remarked, appreciating the beauty of the imposing homes separated by large, manicured lawns. “Why have I never been here before?”

  “Because these homes are owned by merchants and other commoners who have made their wealth,” Richard explained, jumping down from his phaeton to hand the reins to a waiting groomsman. Reaching up, he placed his hands upon her waist and swung her down from the carriage. “No self-respecting aristocrat would ever frequent this part of town.” As he lowered her to the ground, he stood for a moment with his hands at her waist. “Luckily, I've never considered myself an aristocrat . . . much less self-respecting.”

  She laughed as he'd undoubtedly intended. Laying a hand on his chest, she smiled up at him, knowing full well that he'd purposely been putting her at ease by acting like her friend once more. The funny thing was—it was working. With every laugh, every smile, every jest, he eased her fears, making them seem inconsequential and foolish. “Thank you,” she murmured softly.

  Wordlessly, he cradled her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss. Still clasping her hand, he led her up the stone walkway to the elaborate front door. A moment after he sounded the knocker, a butler opened the door and bade them enter.

  Richard and Elizabeth were shown into a spacious parlor to wait to be announced. “This is a beautiful home,” Elizabeth whispered to Richard as she scanned the rich furnishings, marble fireplace, and brocade draperies.

  Before Richard could reply, they heard footsteps heading toward them and, a minute later, a gentleman with dark, curling hair and deep brown eyes entered the room with his hand outstretched. “Richard!” he exclaimed, a wealth of pleasure in the single word. “Welcome to my home.”

  Shaking his hand, R
ichard returned the warm greeting. “I promised I'd come by, didn't I, Aaron?”

  “True, but I'd hoped for a little more notice,” he replied, his voice light and teasing.

  Still smiling, Richard held out his hand for Elizabeth, who accepted it and glided forward. “Might I present my fiancée, Lady Elizabeth Everley?”

  Richard's bold announcement robbed her of her breath for a moment, but, not wanting to make a scene in Mr. Burnbaum's house, she squeezed Richard's hand, silently promising retribution. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Burnbaum,” Elizabeth said politely, curtseying as best she could with only one hand.

  Surprise widened Mr. Burnbaum's eyes. “Please, my lady,” he exclaimed, moving to lift her upward, but stopping inches away from touching her. “There is no need to curtsey to me.”

  “Of course there is,” she replied as she straightened. “I am a guest in your home and, in my mind, it is far more important to honor matters of polite courtesies than worrying about all those silly rules on class distinction.” She tilted her head. “Don't you agree, Mr. Burnbaum?”

  “Y-y-yes, my lady, I do, and from the scolding I got from Richard the last time I tried to refer to him by his proper title, he does as well.” He gave Richard a wry glance. “You are well-matched, my friend.”

  Richard stroked his thumb along the back of her hand. “I couldn't agree more.”

  Nodding, Mr. Burnbaum gestured toward the sideboard. “May I offer you some refreshments? Tea perhaps?”

  “No, thank you, Aaron. We've come to ask you . . .”

  “Aaron!”

  The female voice echoing down the hall cut off Richard's explanation. Stepping toward the doorway, Mr. Burnbaum reached the threshold just as a lovely woman appeared. With her dark curls caught up in an elegant coiffure and her brown, almond-shaped eyes, she was one of the most beautiful women Elizabeth had ever seen. The warmth of the smile she gave Mr. Burnbaum made her seem even more beautiful.