by Sahara Kelly
Her attention was distracted by a touch on her shoulder. “I haven’t had the chance to ask about the gentleman who arrived this morning…” It was Letitia. “Sir James, I believe you called him?”
Rosaline nodded. “Yes. A long-time friend of my family. I’m so thankful he was able to be here for the wedding.” She turned to the other woman. “And I have to express my thanks to you as well, dear Letitia. I’m aware of how much you’ve done for today, the seating, the lovely decorations, and so many other little touches, right up to helping me dress.” She smiled. “I do thank you. I’m sure Edmund will, as well. It’s meant so much.”
Letitia blushed. “I was so happy to help, Rosaline. Sister, now.” She rested her hand briefly on her new sister-in-law’s shoulder. “Welcome to our family. I think you might be the making of it, but only time will tell.”
Struck by the slightly troubled look on her face, Rosaline leaned toward her. “Letitia, is everything well? Are you concerned about anything? I can assure you I don’t wish to usurp your brother’s affection, or come between any of you and Edmund. You are family. I honour that word most highly.”
Letitia shook her head. “No, no. I never imagined that at all. You will be good for us all, I believe. It’s just that…” she paused.
“Just what?”
At that precise moment, Lady Fincham—who had deigned to attend—walked to the table, and Rosaline was forced to rise as Letitia backed away and promptly vanished into the small gathering.
Lady Fincham’s slight curtsey came as a surprise, then Rosaline remembered that she now held the title of Baroness Ridlington, which outranked the Fincham’s small estate. For a moment she felt a twinge of pity for the older woman. After all, she had just been forced to acknowledge her former companion as her superior.
She smiled. “Lady Fincham. We’re so glad you were able to join us today and celebrate this happy occasion. Thank you for coming.” She received a frosty stare.
“Well, you’re good and married now. Much good may it do you. Everyone knows this place will be up for sale before long. The Ridlingtons are an odd lot, and by wedding you the new Baron just proved it.” She looked Rosaline up and down. “I doubt there’ll be an heir out of you. No looks to speak of, little presence and even less pedigree. This shows what to what level Society has sunk.”
And the moment of pity vanished in a flare of anger. Rosaline turned her head and caught Chidwell’s eye. He arrived at her side within seconds. “Chidwell, Lady Fincham is unwell and will be leaving now. Would you be kind enough to escort her to the hall and summon her carriage?”
He looked at his mistress and then at Lady Fincham. Turning back to Rosaline, he sighed. “Must I, my Lady?”
She ignored the old woman’s affronted gasp. “I’m afraid so, Chidwell. But you will be rewarded with champagne upon your return.”
“As you wish, my Lady.” He bowed and took a step toward the door. “If you will follow me, Lady Fincham? I will make sure your party is notified of your imminent departure.”
“Well, I never…” she snorted. “This is the outside of decent behavior.”
Rosaline smiled. “Of course. We try to accommodate everyone here at Ridlington by returning that which we receive. Good day, Lady Fincham. I doubt we’ll meet again.”
The flounce with which the woman departed was worthy of any spoiled Society beauty, though Rosaline as she watched the departure of the aggrieved and bad-tempered bitch.
“Was that entirely wise?” Edmund appeared at her shoulder. “I caught a little of it and almost intervened, but you appeared to have the situation under control.”
She sighed. “No, it probably wasn’t wise, but it was either that or hit her with something. So I took the less dangerous course.”
Chidwell returned. “The Fincham party has departed, my Lady.”
“Thank you, Chidwell. I’m in your debt.”
“And I think Lady Ridlington misspoke.” Edmund grinned at his butler. “There’ll be a bottle of brandy in your quarters, my lad. The hell with the champagne. That’s for girls.”
Chidwell’s deep bow was a thing of beauty. “A noble and generous gesture. It is an honour to serve the Ridlingtons, my Lord. I will appreciate the chance to end the day with a small glass raised to you both.”
He blended into the crowd with astounding efficiency.
“If that’s the only hiccup today, I would say we’ve done rather well, wouldn’t you?”
Rosaline glanced at her husband as he surveyed the gathering. “I believe so, yes. You have a solid family, Edmund. In spite of everything, you all hold each other in affection. A triumph indeed, if I may be permitted to say so.”
“They are your family now, Rosaline.” He took her arm and linked it through his.
“It does take a little bit of getting used to.” She smiled at him. “But I have no objections at all.”
His gazed lingered on her face, her lips. “I’m glad to hear it. Families should be affectionate. Families should be a lot of things the Ridlingtons never were. Close, intimate, sharing…” He linked his arm with hers.
His words stroked something inside her, stirring feelings that made the hair on her skin rise with some kind of odd excitement, and she sensed a blush heating her cheeks. “Indeed.” It was all she could manage.
His fingers stroked the back of her hand, touching the small gold band wrapping her third finger. “I like your James. We had a good chat and he’s made an interesting proposition. I’ll tell you about it later, when we’re alone.”
“Ahh…you will?” Rosaline struggled to make sense of his words, which for some reason sounded rather garbled in her ears.
“Of course. You will be in the Baroness’s suite now. Next to mine. Your things were moved in there after we left for the church. We share a sitting room so we will be able to spend some time together alone—in private.”
She blinked at him, not sure whether to make some sort of maidenly protest, or grab him by the ears and drag him upstairs immediately.
What was wrong with her?
Simon chose that moment to walk up to them. “What a lovely day. And a delightful party to celebrate your joy.” He beamed from ear to ear.
“You still can’t hold your champagne, can you?” Edmund rolled his eyes.
“Bosh.” Simon looked offended. “This is only my third glass, brother.” He turned to Rosaline. “Defend me, dear sister. Am I not quite steady on my feet? Am I not speaking in full and coherent sentences?” He held his half-full glass aloft and executed a perfect pirouette, the tails of his dark coat flaring out behind him.
He came to a halt, grinned and lowered his hand. “See? Not a drop spilled.”
“Good thing too.” Edmund took the glass and tossed it back. “Thank you. I was quite thirsty. Now go and get a cup of tea from Chidwell. No more champagne or you’ll be the worse for it tomorrow, and you know it.”
Simon sighed and looked at Rosaline. “You have wed a sober wet-blanket, Rosaline. Not a lively bone in his body.”
“But is he right?” She lifted her eyebrows in question.
“Well of course he’s right. But that’s not the point.” A charmingly dressed young lady wandered past, distracting him. “I’ll explain it all later.”
Rosaline couldn’t hold in the laugh as Simon took off in hot pursuit of the damsel with the riotous blonde curls. “How drunk is he and should we make sure he doesn’t get into trouble? He is a vicar, but clearly there’s an active young man under those ecclesiastical garments.”
“He’s very slightly on-the-go, but he won’t do anything untoward. He has some sort of instinctive restraint. He’ll know exactly when to call a halt. He always did. Kept him out of a lot of the trouble the rest of us got into as children, I can assure you of that.”
“Interesting.” She watched Simon make the young woman laugh delightedly. “I wonder how he does it?”
“I have no idea. But when it came to invading the old Worsley orchard and stea
ling apples in the autumn, Simon would always manage to get the best ones and leave, just five minutes before Sir Badger himself came storming over the hill with his three dogs.”
“Good lord. What happened?” She turned to her husband, delighted to see him laughing down at her.
“Sir Badger—and his dogs—were all carrying a few too many good meals on ‘em. So they never caught us. But we’d arrive in the kitchens quite out of breath and having lost half our loot. Simon would already be there, with a full bag, sitting like the lord of the manor next to the fire. Very aggravating, as you may imagine.”
It was a funny little story, but seeing the pleasure in his eyes as he told her struck a chord within her heart. This was the kind of family he wanted, that was evident. She had never had anyone share a funny story before. She had none of her own. And she wanted some, hoping that she might try to provide such warmth in her new position.
She sighed and daringly moved closer to her husband, leaning against him for a few moments. “That was a lovely glimpse into a good moment from your past. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“I hope we can share many things with each other, Rosaline.” His arm slid around her in the most comforting manner.
“So do I.”
*~~*~~*
It seemed that the wedding breakfast might have been a little too good, mused Edmund, as he realized it was dark and the guests showed no signs of departing any time soon. Breakfast was turning into an all-day affair, and several of the villagers had brought instruments.
There was now dancing, in which his siblings were energetically participating. Simon continued to entertain, charm and amuse, Letitia took a turn with at least three local gentlemen who looked as if they were barely managing not to drool over her, and the twins were similarly occupied.
Hecate accepted a few invitations onto the floor, but—being Hecate—preferred to find a secluded spot and watch. She called it observing her fellow humans. Edmund put it down to shyness.
Rosaline came up to him with a sigh. “They’re dead set on dancing the night away, I’m thinking.”
“Yes, I agree.” He glanced at her. “You know there’s nothing that says we have to stay and watch them.”
“Really?” She returned his look. “I’ll confess that I am getting a little tired. It has been a long day.”
“I’m sure it has. You were up and about before most everyone else. So that’s it. We’ll quietly slip away and I doubt anyone will notice.”
He couldn’t miss her relieved smile. “You’ll ask Chidwell to lock up?”
“I will. They’ve their own little celebration planned downstairs. If we’ve gone up and no longer need them, they can enjoy it in peace.”
“Excellent.” Rosaline nodded. “The Baroness’s room, I think you said?”
“Yes. Next to mine. You know the one.”
“I’ve passed it. Never been inside, though.”
“No time like the present. Go.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands. “I’ll be up shortly.”
“Yes. Yes, I expect you will.” She turned and left.
He wasn’t sure how to take that comment, but now that the die was cast, he wanted nothing more than to join his new wife in their suite and close the door on the merriment. As long as they didn’t burn Ridlington to the ground, the guests could do whatever they wanted for as long as they wanted.
He waited for her to leave, noting her quiet movements and her eventual disappearance. Not a ripple or a comment…nobody had noticed.
Which pleased him. Now it was his turn to execute a vanishing maneuver. If there had been fog, and a ship, he could have sailed right into it; a trick he’d successfully pulled off on one of his voyages to the Colonies.
But these weren’t possible pirates and he wasn’t at sea.
It was his wedding night…a far riskier adventure than any he’d encountered while commanding the quarterdeck of a warship.
So he idled his way around the dancers, exchanging a word here and there, and finally reaching the side door which led downstairs to the kitchens. Slipping through, he paused to see if anyone called his name.
There was a burst of laughter, a renewed and energetic chorus of the country dance melody, and a smattering of applause. He realized nobody had noticed his departure either.
With a breath of relief, he headed down to the kitchens, thanked his staff, told them not to feed anyone anything else lest they stay for a week, and after the laughter had subsided he made sure they knew that the following day would be a light one for everybody.
Then he snagged one of the few remaining bottles of champagne, accepted their repeated congratulations, and hurried up the back stairs up to his suite.
And Rosaline.
Force of habit took him to his own door and he entered his chambers to find them blessedly empty of servants. They had taken him at his word when he’d said he would not need them for the rest of the night. In fact, he still found it difficult to allow his personal servant to undress him. He’d been doing it himself quite satisfactorily for many years. To stand idle while another unhooked, unsnapped and unbuttoned one’s clothing was…awkward. But Douglas had served his father and Edmund knew there was honor involved.
Honor he understood, so he patiently allowed the older man to assist him in disrobing. Some day he might get used to it, but that day was still far off.
A slight sound emanated from the adjoining rooms. Those now inhabited by the new Baroness, Lady Rosaline Ridlington.
It had rather a sensual ring to it, thought Edmund as he removed his clothing and slipped into his dressing gown, looping the cord around his waist. The “R”s rolled off one’s tongue in a most pleasant manner.
The fire was burning nicely in the grate and he wondered if there was one in her room as well. Knowing there was only one way to find out, he took a deep breath, walked across the room and tapped softly on the connecting door.
It opened almost immediately, but his polite inquiry as to the warmth of her room died a sudden death before it was uttered. His first good look at his new wife drove everything out of his mind.
She was a vision, silhouetted against the few candles behind her, the fragile silk of her night things no match for the light. Her body, her curves, her long, long legs, all revealed through the pale froth of soft blue stuff that swathed her. And there were more curves than he could have imagined.
“Oh my.” A poor beginning, but all he could manage at that moment.
She bit her lip. “Apparently this is de riguer for the new bride on her wedding night.” She shook her head. “One has to assume that brides in warmer climes are quite comfortable, but I do admit to a bit of a chill here at Ridlington.”
His eyes drifted downward, noting the hard buds of her nipples thrusting against the silk. He’d love to believe that he had caused that reaction, but practicality suggested otherwise. “You are cold. Dammit. I’d hoped that the servants would make sure to light a fire in your room as well as mine.”
She walked toward him, a slow and measured step, only stopping when she was near enough to touch him. He hoped she would.
“I believe the servants are working on a certain assumption.” Her hand reached out and gently stroked the velvet of his lapels.
He cleared his throat of some obstruction that had suddenly filled it with sand. “What would that be?”
“I think they are expecting us to spend the night in your room.” She glanced up, a wicked little smile dancing behind her eyes. “They are country folk. Things are simple and direct in the country.”
He caught his breath at the look of her, the lack of any kind of embarrassment or misplaced modesty. Her hair—her hair was amazing, tumbling down her back in a waterfall of colors that might look brown in daylight, but here in the candlelight they reflected a myriad of shades, none of which deserved the mundane description of “brown”.
He found himself returning her smile as he reached for a lock and used it to tug her gently closer.
“So, my Lady, do you think we should be as the simple country folk? Would you spend your night here with me, warm and behaving as expected?”
She came into his arms willingly. “I think that would be our best course of action, my Lord. Warm, yes, definitely. But expected?” She lifted her arms and linked them behind his neck, her face close to his, her long eyelashes hiding some of her gaze as she looked at his lips. “No, not expected. I think we should do the unexpected.”
“You do?” He breathed in her scent, fresh and womanly. “What do you have in mind?”
Her hands tightened, pulling them even closer, her breasts crushing against him, his leg between hers. “This.”
She kissed him.
Once again she took the initiative and he responded—how could he not? His arms surrounded her, gripping her like a tightly wound rope. She was soft and yielding as he took her mouth, tasting her fully for the first time, relishing the slick plump lips and then the pleasure of her tongue as she opened for him and they shared the first intimacy of lovers.
Her grip on him tightened, as his held her firmly and it was almost as if neither would relinquish their hold until the kiss was finished by mutual consent. She was as engaged as he, moving, sighing, biting him gently, and moaning a little deep in her throat when he moved his thigh further between hers, rubbing it deliberately against her woman’s flesh.
She was hungry, as hungry as he for this moment and the moments to come. She made that so very clear. Parting her legs, she rode his thigh, tearing her mouth from his and leaning backward to derive every ounce of pleasure.
He was hard to the point of pain, just from these few initial touches, and wondered if he should apologize beforehand. He was going to go off like one of Whinyates’ rockets as soon as he got inside her, he knew.
As her eyes closed and she let herself relax into his arms and his embrace, he slid his hands beneath her nightgown and found the satin of her skin, warm to his touch, firm, the muscles of her leg moving a little as he gripped behind her knee to lift it higher.