by Lisa Kleypas
“To Daniel and Sally!” Everyone took up the cry and lifted their glasses in a toast.
Daniel and Sally.
I don’t believe it, Lucy thought as the dry, acrid wine passed over her lips and trickled down her throat. I’ll wake up any minute now, and be Lucy Caldwell again, and Daniel will still be mine, and Heath Rayne will never have come to town . . . Emerson’s house will still be standing . . . I’ll be in my own little bed at home and hear Father shuffling around in his room . . . She felt people staring at her, and their curious gazes caused cold, hard sense to enter her mind again. She would never be Lucy Caldwell again. She was Lucy Rayne. She paused in the act of sipping more wine, her eyes meeting with Sally’s soft, doelike gaze. The first few rays of adult understanding burned inside her head as she thought, It’s not your fault, Sally. I lost him because of the things I did. I can’t blame you for anything. Her hand trembled slightly and her fingers clenched around the stem of the glass as she raised the wine to Sally in a private toast and smiled at her. Sally’s eyes suddenly glistened with tears of gladness as she smiled back.
A prickle ran down the back of Lucy’s neck. Her eyes flew to the doorway at the side of the room. Heath stood there, having arrived a few minutes early to pick her up and take her home. His legs were crossed negligently as he leaned against the doorjamb. Someone had given him a glass of wine, which was held carelessly between his long fingers. His mouth quirked in an ironic half-smile.
And he raised his glass to her.
It could have been a compliment. Or the most sarcastic gesture anyone had ever made to her. Lucy didn’t know which. She stared at her husband in confusion, his name poised on her lips. His eyes slid down the slender line of her throat to the pale, generous curves of her bosom, lingered there boldly and traveled back up to her face. His stare was so warm and thorough that she flushed as if he had touched her intimately in public, and he kept on looking at her even while he drank from the delicate wineglass. Her heart raced wildly as an electric current of awareness raced over her skin.
“How remarkable,” Betta murmured speculatively, and Lucy jerked her glance away from Heath in order to gather up her gloves and tiny blue handbag.
“What’s remarkable?” she asked quietly, so thoroughly flustered that she dropped her program between the seats and couldn’t retrieve it.
“Your husband. To look at him I wouldn’t have thought he would be the marrying kind at all. I also find it remarkable that he should be staring at you in such a manner.”
“He is the marrying kind,” Lucy said. “I’m wearing a ring that proves it. And why shouldn’t he be staring at me? I’m his wife.”
“Husbands don’t stare at their wives that way.”
“Mine does,” Lucy said with automatic defensiveness, casting a guarded look at her handsome, perplexing husband.
“As I said . . . remarkable.”
Lucy turned away from Betta’s well-preserved, worldy-wise face and murmured her goodbyes to the other women of the Thursday Circle. Heath took Lucy’s black cape from the arms of a stout, white-aproned maid and pulled it around her shoulders. Her gloved hand rested on his arm as he took her out to the barouche.
“So it’s over,” he said when the barouche was on its way. The cheerful rhythm of the horse’s trot steadily underlined their conversation.
“Yes. Tonight was a success.”
“I wasn’t referring to the Thursday Circle’s musical evening.”
Lucy hesitated uncertainly before replying. “Then I guess you’re talking about Daniel and Sally.”
“I saw what you did for Sally. It struck me as an odd gesture for you to make . . . but every now and then, you do show backbone.”
“All I did was join in the toast—”
“A toast to the engagement of your former fiancé and your former best friend. Tell me, how hard did you have to grit your teeth?” As Lucy refused to answer, he laughed softly. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to detract from your noble gesture. But I am curious . . . are you surprised by the match?”
“I . . . I’ve never thought of them together,” Lucy said wonderingly, her gaze distant as she went over her recollections of the past. “The three of us were together many times, but Daniel never seemed to notice her.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. Not while you were around. You do tend to attract a man’s complete attention.”
“How quickly they . . . discovered each other. Just three months after I married you.”
“Daniel could have done much worse for himself. She’s a little short on pluck, but she’s a sweet enough creature—just what he needs.”
“I suppose you think he’s better off with her than he would have been with me.”
“I suppose you don’t.”
“I could have been a good wife to him.”
“If you say so.”
She glared at his smooth, clean-cut profile. “And he would have been a good husband to me. At least he wouldn’t have left me all the time to go to some other . . .” She caught herself just in time, her hand fluttering up to her throat to keep down the accusation. Wild impulses darted inside her chest like trapped birds seeking escape. All at once she wanted to throw all of her complaints and frustrations and fears at him.
“Some other what?” Heath demanded, sliding her a narrow-eyed glance. “Finish what you were going to say.”
“Some other woman,” she said bluntly, her breath coming faster as she gave into the relief of telling him exactly what she thought. “You’re gone all the time, and you don’t come back until late at night sometimes, and . . . that’s what I think.”
“What the hell . . . you think I’ve been gallivanting around Boston with another woman instead of working?” he asked roughly.
“Haven’t you?” she countered in a small voice, while a flicker of hope was born inside her. For a second he had seemed so surprised, perhaps even a little hurt.
He was silent while she waited in agonized suspense for his answer. She had not expected that what he would say would matter so much, and yet she thought she would scream if he didn’t say something soon. “Would it matter to you if I’ve been taking my pleasures where and when I’ve found them?”
“So it’s true,” she said, while sudden anger coursed through her body in quick pulses. “You have been with other women—”
“I didn’t admit or deny that. I asked if it would matter to you.”
“Why should I care? Of course it wouldn’t matter to me,” she said sharply, longing for the power to hurt him as she saw the cool smile that touched his mouth. “Why have you changed so much?” she burst out. “You used to be so much nicer . . . gentler—”
“You don’t allow me to be gentle with you.”
“I don’t know what you want,” Lucy said, shaking with frustration. “I don’t know why you’re different now . . . I don’t know why . . . I thought when we were first married that we might be able to . . . but now . . .”
“That we might be able to do what?” he prompted, his mood changing rapidly. The moment before he had looked jeering, but now he was staring at her with perfect seriousness. She couldn’t answer. The words had jammed up in her throat, and she sat there looking at him mutely. Heath shook his head and returned his attention to the road while the tension between them leapt to an even higher pitch.
“I had hoped that we could find some way to get along with each other,” Lucy heard herself blurt out awkwardly. “I didn’t expect that you would want to see other women. I don’t want that. I don’t like it at all.” She hung her head and froze in shame, unable to believe she had admitted it. Now he would ridicule her, now he knew that she had been jealous. She watched as his hands tightened on the reins, then the barouche pulled over to the side of the road and the horse nickered gently. “Heath? What are you doing?”
He caught her in a bruising grip, one large hand wrapped around the back of her slender neck while his other arm hauled her body right against his. His lips were urging
hers apart, his mouth plundering hers with a violent eagerness that caused her to quiver in surprise. As he felt the pliancy of her body, the lack of struggle or fight in her, Heath eased the crushing pressure of his lips and kissed her slowly. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move away from the persuasive stroke of his tongue. His mouth was hot and sweet, drinking in the tenderness of hers, and his head bent further over hers until she collapsed weakly against his shoulder, her lips moving under his in response. His hand moved from her neck to her jaw, cradling the side of her face as he devoured her with relentless kisses. She clung to the lapels of his coat, surrendering herself completely to his demands. The wildness of it filled every pore until she was tingling with the overflow. His arms trembled with strain as he lifted his mouth from hers.
“Does that feel like the kiss of a man who’s recently been serviced by his mistress?” he asked huskily, his breath caressing her moistened lips. Lucy blinked drowsily, her arms creeping around his neck. “I haven’t had a woman in months,” he continued in that same rough whisper, “not since before I married you. I haven’t wanted anyone else, and I won’t. Every night I promise myself you’re going to pay for the hours that I’ve wanted you and gone hungry. I swear I won’t go hungry anymore.” He bent his head again, his mouth seeking hers and absorbing her soft moan. Suddenly Lucy could not separate sounds and scents and textures from each other. She did not know if the faint taste of wine came from her mouth or his. She did not care if that rapid thudding was his heartbeat or her own. The sky was falling around her in brilliant ebony shards and little pinpoint stars, and time was shuddering to a halt. Words and thoughts vanished with lightning quickness while the only thing that remained was the pleasure of his lips and the hard strength of his body.
“There hasn’t been any other woman,” Heath said against her mouth, making her tremble. “There couldn’t be. I’m too obsessed with my own wife. There’s only one thing you can give me that no one else can . . . and heaven and hell be damned, I’ll get it from you no matter how long I have to wait, no matter how hard I have to ride you. No, I’m not talking solely about my husbandly rights, although that would be a good place to start.”
“Heath . . .” She made a small movement to free herself; her eyes dark and clouded with confusion. His arms tightened on her.
“I’ve given you the time you asked for. But I didn’t have too much patience to start with, Cin, and you’ve worn it threadbare. We’ve tried it your way and I’ve waited for you to come to me . . . and now there’s a bigger distance between us than I ever should have allowed.”
But she had been waiting for him to come to her! Lucy looked up at him speechlessly.
“From now on we’re going to do it my way,” he continued, framing her small face with his hands. “In case you have any doubts left . . . starting tonight we’re going to be husband and wife in every way. There are things we need to talk about . . . but they’ll hold until tomorrow.” His thumbs traced lightly over the dark, slanting lines of her eyebrows and rested at her temples. Unable to help himself, he lowered his mouth to hers again, the sensitive fire of his kiss penetrating down to her toes. She felt light-headed, as if too much wine had suddenly gone to her head, and she pulled at his wrists feebly in a plea for respite. The pressure on her lips stopped. Heath looked down at her and traced his fingertips along the moonlit gleam of her skin. In an unexpected movement he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and deposited her back in her seat, where she curled up and eyed him with bewilderment.
When they reached the little circular drive in front of the house, Heath got out of the barouche and helped her down, his hands fitting neatly around either side of her waist. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she twisted around to pull down the folds and draperies that flowed from the back of her dress. She straightened up as his hands remained on her waist, her heart jumping at the sight of him. In the darkness his eyes were midnight blue and his perfectly honed features were shadowed. He pulled her body up against his, forcing her to stand on her toes and lean into him. For all the differences in their respective sizes, they fit together quite snugly. Her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of his lips on hers, again and again, in light kisses that caused a river of heat to flow through her. The feelings were even stronger than before, drugging her with sweetness. She swayed against him when he stopped, and Heath stroked a tendril of hair away from her temple as he stared down at her. “Go and get ready for bed while I see to the horse,” he murmured. “I won’t be long.”
Lucy nodded jerkily. She turned after he released her and went into the house without a backward glance, raising her hand to her mouth as soon as the door was closed. Her lips felt tender and bruised. She went up the stairs with a frown creasing her forehead as different emotions pulled at her from every direction. Part of her was shaky and anxious; part of her was relieved that soon the waiting was going to be over, and there would no longer be anything to dread or wonder about. Part of her was alive with anticipation. Finally, finally it was going to happen, and she knew that it was right.
The light quilt and sheets seemed to resist her efforts to pull them down, but she accomplished the task with a determined tug. Then she turned the lamp down almost all the way, so that it gave off a low, inviting light. Heath would be up here soon, and this time she wanted everything to be different from their disastrous wedding night. Like a madwoman, she tore at the fastenings of her dress and kicked off her slippers, plucking pins out of her hair at the same time. Button after button—why did her dress seem to grow buttons faster than she could unfasten them? Yanking off her stiff silk petticoat, which was padded at the rear with a multitude of small ruffles, she let it drop to the floor in a billowing heap. Underneath the petticoat was a narrow crinoline, made of watchspring steel with a white cotton bustle attached. The whole affair collapsed into a huge, lumpy pancake, which she resolved to kick out of sight as soon as the rest of her things were off. Pins flew everywhere as she tugged more out of her hair. Oh, where was the hairbrush? She hopped on one foot, then the other as she stripped off her garters and stockings.
Flying to the mirror in her corset and pantalets, Lucy dragged a comb through her long hair until the chestnut locks fell thick and smooth over her shoulders. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered as the clock seemed to tick faster. Heath would be here any minute. There was still her corset to take off, and that would take up a lot of time. It was made of thick white cloth that was starched, steam-molded over metal and whalebone stays, and laced tightly up the front. Usually she pulled the laces as tightly as she could by herself and tied them in a bow. This morning she had been in a hurry and had left them in a knot. Futilely she picked at the hard little knot with her fingernails, but it showed no signs of loosening. She could have wept with frustration as she heard Heath’s footsteps on the stairs. Why was everything going wrong? “I’m not ready yet!” she called out, her voice tight and much higher than usual.
“Fine. I’m going to take a few minutes to wash up.”
Lucy put her hands to her boned and stayed midriff, taking a deep, calming breath. Then she tore at the laces with renewed energy before giving up and hunting for a pair of nail scissors. The contents of a drawer rattled like thunder as she pulled it open and pawed through it frantically. Everything was there except the scissors.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
She whirled around, flustered and overwrought, her eyes bright with anxiety and exasperation. Heath stood before her in a dark blue robe, looking calm and collected, faintly amused by the sight of her flurry. “Don’t make any jokes,” she said tautly.
“I’m not about to.”
She turned away and resumed her impatient search through the drawer, flinching as she felt the touch of his hand on her bare shoulders. “What is it?” he asked quietly. She gave up her search for the scissors and sighed tremulously, knowing that she was far more agitated than a pair of knotted corset laces should have warranted.
“
I . . . oh, I knew something was going to go wrong . . . it’s this corset, this horrible . . . thing . . . I can’t undo the knot, and I was looking for something to cut the laces—”
“Is that all? Turn around. Well, you do know how to tie an impressive knot, but it’s nothing to stew over.” His fingers went to the laces, and he began to work at the tangle.
“It’s impossible. You might as well help me find the scissors,” she said, biting her lower lip, and he smiled.
“Give me a few minutes. We have a long night ahead of us.” His head bent lower as he concentrated on the knot. The fragrances of soap and his skin combined in a subtly attractive scent that drifted to her nostrils. Lucy felt a light fluttering in her stomach at his nearness. “Why are you wearing a rough coutil corset? I thought that along with your new clothes you must have ordered new underclothes—”
“My old ones are just fine—”
“I beg to differ. Plain white doesn’t suit you. And besides, I have a fancy to see you in colored satin and silk. I can see I’ll have to take care of it.”
“Colored satin underthings?” Lucy had never heard of well-bred women wearing anything but white, gray, or tan underneath their dresses. “You wouldn’t dare buy me any of those . . . would you?”
“Dozens . . . including black pantalets with frilly ruffles and pink bows.” He grinned down at her, and despite all of her jitters she felt a responsive smile tugging at her lips. Just then the knot came undone, and Heath unwound the laces from the metal studs of the corset. Lucy closed her eyes and breathed deeply with relief. As her rib cage expanded and her lungs filled with oxygen, familiar tendrils of dizziness curled through her head. “Feel better?” he murmured. She nodded, raising her eyes to his as he peeled the corset away from her. The tips of her bare breasts brushed against the soft blue material of his robe. How oddly exciting it was to have him undress her so slowly, treating her like a precious object that would shatter from rough handling.