“No need for that. I’ve had the license for a while,” he said, his husky voice and loving gaze making her sigh. “A bit creased in one corner, but I’m confident it will suffice.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Three days later, Strathairn nervously raked his hand through his hair as he stood with Edward beside the salon hearth. Before them, Bartholomew looked suitably solemn as he held the family Bible. The rest of the family gathered in the room, the dowager marchioness in deep blue was seated on the sofa with Lavinia, Aida, and Cordelia, in their pretty, violet, yellow and blue gowns, while the men stood. The children were hushed by their nannies as the doors were flung open by a footman. Sibella entered, stunning in the white dress she’d worn to Maria’s wedding with lace at the neck and around the hem. White blossom graced her wealth of dark curls.
He caught his breath as she walked toward him on Chaloner’s arm. Maria in pale blue, followed holding the hand of a little blond gentleman. Five-year-old Randal took careful steps across the carpet as he carried the ring on a royal-blue velvet cushion, which wobbled in his chubby hands, while his father, Roland, Viscount Barthe, silently applauded.
Sibella took her place beside Strathairn and smiled tremulously at him. Her green eyes, tinged with blue like the finest of emeralds, were alight with unspoken emotion.
He squeezed her hand.
Edward took the lopsided pillow from Randal and winked at him, and his mother came to draw him away.
Bartholomew cleared his throat and began the ceremony.
Moments later, Strathairn slipped the diamond-studded wedding band he’d purchased from Rundell, Bridge & Rundell, jewelers, on her finger, relieved that the ring fitted, it’s size taken from one Edward had purloined from Sibella’s jewelry box.
“Darling.” She smiled up at him.
“My own.” He lowered his head to hers and kissed her as the room erupted in joyful clapping, the children released to run amok.
As Edward slapped him on the back and Chaloner shook his hand, Strathairn exhaled on a long sigh. He felt like he’d awoken from a long dream. He’d wanted this lovely woman from the first moment he saw her across a crowded ballroom before he went off to war, but never considered himself worthy of her and doubted this day would come.
She was his.
*
Their first night together was to be spent at the Crown Inn in Biggleswade on the way to Linden Hall. John often stayed there and introduced her to the proprietor, Job, and his wife, Mary. A splendid repast was served to them in their private parlor.
Sibella sipped her wine. It had occurred to her that John would have regretted his sisters not being at the wedding. Lady Georgina and the duke were on the Continent, and his sister, Lady Eleanor, had been unable to come from Devon to be with them.
“As your sisters could not attend our wedding, shall we hold a wedding ball?” she asked as he poured her another glass of wine.
“A splendid idea.”
“We could invite all our friends, too.”
“Indeed we could. But not until the cold weather has left us. Can’t expect them to brave the winter roads.”
“We’ll make it just before parliament sits? A weekend affair,” she mused. “An orchestra of course, and dancing.” She smiled at him. “Something for us to remember.”
He reached across and took her hand, running his thumb over her palm, his gaze as soft as a caress. He released her hand and pushed back his chair. “Shall we go?”
John left her to go to a separate chamber from hers to bathe and change.
Sibella slipped inside the one they were to share, with her maid.
The innkeeper’s wife had thoughtfully placed a bowl of yellow jasmine on the table. Its sweet perfume blended with the aroma of apple tree wood burning in the fireplace. Sibella washed as best she could with a basin of hot water and a towel, then Sarah helped her into her nightgown and dressing gown and brushed out her hair before the mirror.
She dismissed the maid and perched on a chair while she waited for John. Her big noisy family and the familiar homes that had made up her life ever since she could remember were no longer its center. She eagerly embraced her future but admitted to being nervous. Her skin tingled at the sight of the bed with its patterned cover. This was really where their marriage began. Where they truly became man and wife. She tried not to dwell on the fact that John would have known many women, but the thoughts crept in. Would she please him?
John entered and shut the door. He smiled and turned the key in the lock. She rose from the chair and crossed to him, wanting to touch him.
Freshly shaved, his hair damp, he smelled of the woody soap he favored. He had discarded his coat and the crisp white linen shirt open at his neck displayed a tuft of dusky hair.
He smiled. “Hello.”
She smiled back and her nerves slipped away. “Hello.”
John leaned back against the door and held her loosely in his arms, searching her eyes. “We’ve come a long way today. Are you tired?”
“No. It’s just… I don’t know…a bit odd to have left my family.”
“You miss them?” A pulse beat in her throat. “Maybe I can help?” He brushed back a lock of her hair that coiled over her breast.
Her bottom lip trembled. “You already do.”
“Will you mind living so far away?”
“I’ll miss Maria. But I expect she will visit us often.”
“And your mother, too,” he said with a smile.
She laughed. “No doubt you will see more than enough of my exhausting family.”
“I’m on excellent terms with your family,” John said. “Even your mother has sought my advice on more than one occasion.”
“Has she, indeed?” She stroked his hair back from his forehead. “I want you to myself for a while,” she whispered, “to enjoy long quiet days when we can do as we please.”
“And the long nights,” he said gruffly.
He framed her face and pressed kisses over her cheeks, her chin, and then took her mouth in a passionate kiss, while she leaned into his hard body against the evidence of his desire pressing against her belly. “Your heart beats as fast as mine,” she whispered when he drew away.
“You aren’t too tired, are you, sweetheart?”
Sibella needed no gentle awakening to passion. She had yearned for this since the night she’d gone to his home and came away frustrated and saddened. She’d never believed this day would come. Joy bubbled up in her laugh. “A little. But I shall sleep later.”
“Sibella.” He tightened his arms around her and pressed his mouth in that sensitive spot below her ear. He eased her away from him, his eyes dark with emotion. “I love you.”
Her throat tightened and she could hardly speak. “I love you, too.”
His lips teased at hers, his breath smelling sweetly of wine. “I thought of this lying in my bed at night and ached from wanting you.” His voice took on a delicious raw and husky tone.
If only she had known it. “I had a few interesting dreams of my own,” she confessed, reaching up to trace the smooth edge of his jaw.
Amused eyebrows rose above heavy-lidded eyes. “Would you care to describe them?”
“Later perhaps, we can compare notes.” She swallowed. “But I’m sure yours will eclipse mine. My knowledge being somewhat limited.”
He drew in a sharp breath and lowered his head. His lips devoured her in a hard, possessive kiss, and his tongue invaded her mouth, tracing its interior. She stilled at the sensual pleasure of it, and curious, pushed his tongue aside to delve in to taste him. The startling effect shot erotic heat to her nether regions and made him groan.
He slid off her gown and threw it onto a chair. She stood in her nightgown while his hands framed her body. He traced the outline of a nipple through the thin fabric with a thumb and his broad shoulders heaved. “You eclipse my imagination.”
Her nipple firmed and deepened the throb between her legs as if some invisible thread
linked all the erotic parts of her body together.
John breathed raggedly, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear, while his hands skimmed over her bottom and down her legs, bunching up the material to bare her thighs. When he edged her legs apart, her face grew hot.
His warm gentle fingers parted the folds of her sex and she pushed against him as an almost maddening need built within her, just beyond her grasp. She shut her eyes as his clever fingers stroked her and his tongue invaded her mouth. Overwhelmed, she sagged against him.
With a murmured endearment, John lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. The hard ridge of his erection prodded her side. She was curious to discover more and breathy with excitement.
She knelt on the bed and tugged his shirt out of his trousers, exposing his rigid, flat stomach. He made an appreciative sound when she slid her arms around him and pressed her lips against satiny skin and the hard muscle beneath. He moved away and began to undress.
She lay back, amazed at the play of his muscles across powerful shoulders as he stripped off his shirt and tossed his boots to the floor. A dusting of hair arrowed down from his broad chest to disappear into his trousers. She gasped. “I never thought…”
“Thought what?” he prompted, as his fingers worked at his buttons.
“That you’d look like Michelangelo’s David.”
With a surprised grin, he dropped his trousers. His erection burst free from a nest of dusky hair.
She eyed the size of him with a nervous giggle as his stockings joined his boots. “Well perhaps not so much.”
He walked unashamedly naked to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. She became aware of his big body lying beside her, so powerful he made her feel safe. In one swift movement, her nightgown was gone and she was naked. He threw it on the floor. Not so safe.
“Mmm.” He trailed soft kisses along her shoulder, while his hands glided over her back, her waist, and hip. By his reaction and his murmured response, he appeared to like her body. His held a total fascination for her and she reached out to touch him.
He groaned and with a strained smile, took her hands away. “Later, sweetheart.” He held her hands on the counterpane above her head as his hungry, lustful gaze swept over her body, stretched out before him and he lowered his head to her breast.
Chapter Thirty
John cupped her perfectly shaped breast in his hand and took a nipple in his mouth. Sibella gave a mew of approval. Her obvious pleasure set him on fire, and his balls tightened. He gave equal attention to the other breast, then as she wriggled and gasped, kissed his way down over the soft skin of her belly to the vee shape of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs.
Her thighs tensed beneath his hands. “Oh, John, no!” she protested. With a ragged breath, she seized fistfuls of his hair.
Ignoring her protestations, he swirled his tongue over her sensitive button, until he got the reaction he sought. She wriggled, fought him, shivered, and with a moan of surrender, pulled him to her. He slipped a finger inside her while gently thumbing the hard pearl of flesh, the center of a woman’s pleasure. She drew in a sobbing breath and thrust up her hips as the climax took her. “Oh, how lovely,” she whispered.
“Yes.” It was pure heaven to watch her.
She was wet and ready for him, and he would go mad if he couldn’t enter her soon. But he had never deflowered a virgin and discovered he was nervous. He wasn’t small, and she was so slender. What if he hurt her? It would have to be quick this time. And, perhaps in a day or two…
*
A pulse beat a tattoo at the base of his throat. That she could have such an effect on him quite robbed her of breath. She gave herself up to him. She was his, in her heart, mind, and body, and longed to please him. “I want you inside me,” she whispered. She buried her face against his neck, flushed by her boldness.
“My love, I want that, too.”
“I am not made of delicate china, John.”
He grinned and cupped her breasts. “Strange that I’m not thinking of Wedgewood right now.” He pushed her legs apart and settled between her thighs. “It might be uncomfortable at first.”
“My sisters told me to expect it,” she said with an anxious swallow. “But only at first.”
“Yes, only at first.”
Her breath hitched when his erection nudged her entrance, warm, hard, and insistent. She grasped his shoulders as he eased his way inside her with a deep groan of ecstasy.
A flash of pain made her gasp. She was tight and uncomfortable as he stretched her, and she couldn’t hold back the small mew of protest that escaped her lips.
It was enough to make him pause. “Shall I go on?”
“Yes.” She hugged him closer. There was no stopping now. He wanted her. Even if it hurt dreadfully, she wasn’t about to fail them both.
He pushed deep inside her and withdrew, continuing with rhythmic thrusts. The discomfort began to ease. She loved that they were together, perfectly connected. The pleasure increased, erotically charged, amazing sensations raced through her. “Ooh, John.”
“Yes.” He breathed the words. She pressed her lips to the cords of strain in his neck. He grasped her bottom, and his thrusts grew harder, going deeper, his gaze sliding somewhere away from her, his breath ragged. The raw urgency of his passion and the friction of his body, moving deeply within hers, overwhelmed her. Completed her. The room filled with the slap of their bodies coming together and their rasping breaths.
John groaned, and a burst of heat warmed her deep inside. He lay panting for a moment before easing himself off her. “I hope you’re not hurting, sweetheart.”
There had been very little pain. Utterly content, she shook her head and curled into the curve of his body with her eyes closed as sleep hovered close. She was quite taken with the fact that she was now truly a woman. That she was possessed with a womanly power which made John moan. It opened up all sorts of fascinating avenues of exploration. “How often does one make love?”
With a deep chuckle, he dragged the covers up over them, tucking them around her shoulders. “As often as possible and as soon as your body recovers.”
“I’m quite all right, really, just a little sleepy.”
He leaned over, ran a gentle finger down her cheek, and pressed a feather-light kiss on her lips. “Sleep then, darling.”
“Mmm. I love you, John.”
Almost asleep, a sudden thought brought her awake. She propped her head up with her elbow. “We arrive at Linden Hall the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He opened his heavy-lidded gray eyes, so sensual she drew breath.
“Do you have a good staff at Linden Hall?”
“I do.”
“I’m glad.” She laid her head on the pillow. Another quiet moment passed as she listened to his even breathing. They would always share a bed, no separate bedchambers for them. “Are any rooms in need of renovation?”
“I’m sure you’ll discover them. Sibella, will you go to sleep? We have a full day of travel ahead. We can discuss this in the carriage.”
“I’ve always wanted a bedchamber papered in cerise moiré. Do you think you could bear it?”
He shut his eyes. “I suspect I may have to.”
Her lips curved in a smile and suddenly sleep deserted her. This gorgeous man lay beside her and she wasn’t done touching him. She leaned over him and traced the bump on the bridge of his nose. “How did you get this?”
He raised dusky lashes to reveal a gleam in his eyes. “A disagreement.”
“Pooh. What sort of explanation is that? And the scar on your thigh?” She lifted the blankets.
He gave a gasp of exasperation and pulled her atop him. She lay there, skin-to-skin, looking at him in surprise. “What?” His erection nudged her belly, and she smiled into his eyes.
Epilogue
Linden Hall, York
Late spring, 1819
Sibella descended the staircase to the marble hall where John waited, a hand o
n the banister smiling up at her, his dark evening clothes and crisp cravat a perfect foil for his fair hair. Their recent stolen moments still warmed her as she smiled back at him.
“You are beautiful, my love,” he said, tucking her arm through his. “Shall we await the arrival of our guests?”
“I am assured everything is ready, but you did distract me from making a final inspection,” she scolded.
“You weren’t complaining at the time,” he said with a wicked smile.
Sibella raised her eyebrows. “You are far too good at distraction, my lord.” A smile tugged her lips as she picked up her emerald green silk skirts and crossed the marble floor to Rhodes who stood in his black butler’s garb casting a stern eye over the footmen and the tittering maids.
The first to arrive were John’s sisters. Sibella kissed Georgina’s cheek. “How radiant you seem. You are well?” The exquisite cream lace gown perfectly concealed the early stages of her pregnancy.
“I am, thank you. You should always wear that shade of green to highlight your eyes.”
“A little too much artifice, perhaps?” She curtsied to Broadstairs. “Your Grace.”
“I quite agree with my wife, Lady Sibella. You’re stunning in green,” he said with his gentle smile.
Sibella greeted John’s older sister, Eleanor dressed in lavender. Sibella was pleased to find she’d cast aside her mourning clothes.
“How do you find Devon?”
“Suitably quiet,” Eleanor said. “I miss of the hubbub of London at times, however.”
Sibella was tempted to play matchmaker, for a woman as lovely and interesting as Eleanor should not languish as a widow forever.
The rattle of carriage wheels sounded on the driveway, and a moment later, bright chatter flooded into the hall as Hetty and her husband, Guy, Baron Fortescue, entered.
“How good to see you both,” Sibella said, as John shook Guy’s hand. “Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. What did you call her?”
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