Wicked Pleasures

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘And Father?’

  ‘Was let in on the secret when he arrived. He has no objections—have you?’

  ‘What possible objections could I have? Although I am surprised Father didn’t tell me. He doesn’t normally tolerate deceit in anyone.’

  Grant was standing close, looking at her with grave eyes, his cheekbones taut, his firm lips parted. ‘Will you marry me now, Adeline—here, in this church? The vicar is waiting inside.’

  Something caught at Adeline’s heart—a warming hope that all would be well between them and they would enjoy each other without restrictions. Tilting her head to one side, she slanted him an adoring look. ‘Well—I have nothing better to do today, so we might as well.’

  ‘In your riding habit?’

  ‘I would marry you in rags, Grant Leighton.’

  One corner of his mouth quirked into something that was suspiciously like a grin. ‘I don’t think we need go quite that far.’

  Taking her hand, he linked it through the crook of his arm and together they walked towards those who were patiently waiting, worried frowns on their faces, wondering what Adeline would do, what she would say, hoping Grant had managed to persuade her. It wasn’t until Adeline smiled, a smile of such radiance, that they knew he’d succeeded.

  ‘So,’ she said, laughing, ‘this is why there have been so many whisperings and sudden silences when I entered a room. Shame on all of you.’

  ‘Grant planned all this very carefully,’ Lettie explained. ‘But it was never intended to embarrass you.’ Her eyes misted with tears. ‘I’m so glad you’re going to be my sister-in-law.’ She was holding a little posy, which she handed to Adeline. ‘This is for you.’

  Adeline gazed down at it in wonder. ‘Snowdrops? In December?’

  ‘From Grant’s hothouses.’

  ‘Oh, but they’re beautiful.’

  ‘Like you, my darling,’ Grant murmured.

  ‘I would like a word with my daughter before she enters the church.’ Taking Adeline’s arm, Horace drew her aside.

  Adeline searched for some hint of displeasure or contempt in her father’s shadowed face, but only a gentle smile met her enquiring eyes. ‘Father, I hope you will be happy for me?’

  His reply was slow, but then he asked, ‘Are you happy, Adeline? Will marriage to Grant please you after all?’

  ‘Yes, it will please me very well. I love him—I have loved him for a long time.’ Her whisper was soft and happy.

  ‘Then that is all I ask. I shall be glad to see you properly wed.’

  ‘But what of you? Rosehill will be a lonely place. Perhaps you should sell it and live in London as you intended before—before Paul and I separated.’

  ‘I have no intention of selling Rosehill—especially now.’

  Adeline followed his gaze, which had fallen on Mrs Leighton, who was smiling back at him with her ever-tolerant knowing gaze. ‘Oh—I see.’ And she did see. She smiled delightedly. ‘So that’s the way of things.’

  Horace’s grin was almost boyish. ‘So it is. Now, I believe Grant is waiting for you inside the church.’ He offered her his arm, looking at her as he had never looked at her before. ‘This is a proud moment for me. Come—you don’t want to keep him waiting. Are you ready?’

  Taking his arm, and holding the snowdrops to her waist, Adeline looked at the church, her heart thundering with dread, hope, uncertainty—and love. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I’m ready.’

  The day was one of immense celebration, culminating in the staff ball. But before that Grant and Adeline had found time to be alone, to seal their union in the best way possible.

  Entering the ballroom with Adeline on his arm, his eyes glowed warmly into hers. Fresh from their lovemaking, ecstatic bliss glowed inside her like golden ashes, long after the explosion was over. Turning to all those present, he introduced her, immensely proud to say in a loud, clear voice, ‘Ladies and gentlemen—my wife, Adeline.’

  Immediately all those who had just arrived pressed eagerly forward, bestowing good wishes on the newly wedded couple. Grant’s arm remained about Adeline’s waist, claiming her as his possession, as he light-heartedly conversed with friends.

  In a break with tradition, Cook was happy to let the newlyweds open the dancing. Grant brought Adeline into his embrace and they took to the floor, surrounded by family, friends and staff, Adeline resplendent in a gown of cream satin that bared her shoulders sublimely, and Grant darkly handsome. A thunder of applause broke and shook the rafters.

  Grant looked down into the eyes of his wife of eight hours, unable to imagine a future without her by his side. She was smiling up at him, a smile that brightened the room and warmed his heart, and the closeness and sweet scent of her heated his blood.

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Ecstatic.’ She ached with the happiness she felt.

  ‘Your cheeks are pink. You look radiant.’

  ‘Because of you.’

  He lifted a brow. ‘I love you, Mrs Leighton, and if we were alone I would quickly prove the ardour you have stirred in me.’ The heat of his stare lent the weight of truth to his words.

  ‘The feeling is mutual, Mr Leighton. You are a wonderful man.’

  ‘A very lucky man.’ Grant looked at her for a long moment, caught up by emotions he could no longer conceal. ‘I will love you until I die—and even after that, God willing.’