by Kimberly Nee
“You don’t know that.”
“No.” Julian paused, razor in midair, and turned toward Garrett. “I don’t know that for certain. But they’d be mad if they didn’t, wouldn’t you think?”
He didn’t wait for Garrett to answer but set the razor down and bent to rinse his face. Yes, they’d be mad to approve of a union between him and Emma. How was he to know he wouldn’t go mad, just as his father and grandfather had before him? How could he promise he wouldn’t turn on Emma, just as his father turned on his mother, turned on him?
He couldn’t.
There was no promise.
The towel scratched against his freshly shaven skin and muffled his voice as he added, “I wouldn’t want me to court my daughter. Why shouldn’t they feel the same? I can’t fault them for it.”
“You don’t know that they do feel the same.”
“I don’t?”
“No.” Garrett shook his head. “You don’t. You thought it wise to sneak kisses from my sister in a darkened hallway instead of just coming forward and asking for her hand.”
“I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t. And now look where we are.”
“Look where we are. You’re keeping watch over me because you’re afraid I’ll scandalize your sister further by not showing up at my own wedding. That I’ll run like a whipped dog. I don’t run from my mistakes, and I don’t go back on my word. Ever. You, of all people, should know that.”
Garrett had the good grace to flush, and he pushed up from the wall. His easy countenance disappeared, his arms unfolding, his hands now hanging at his sides. “You win, Julian. I’ll wait below.”
Julian dressed. He knew Garrett remained one floor down, as he could hear the muffled thuds of Garrett’s boots on the marble floor. McKenzie was pacing, long strides from one side of the entrance to the other. Well, he didn’t care if Garrett wore a groove in the marble. He wasn’t hurrying. The wedding wasn’t for another hour. He had plenty of time.
Plenty of time to think. And wonder. What possessed him to break every rule he’d ever set for himself? He’d managed for almost ten years to resist the temptation of Emma McKenzie. And yet, it took only that one damn kiss for him to say to hell with that resistance.
And now she was to be his wife.
His trousers were almost blinding in their whiteness, while his royal blue waistcoat toned down the whiteness of his shirt. The frock coat wasn’t exactly suited for a wedding, but considering this wedding was taking place with such short notice, he wasn’t about to worry about it. His boots were freshly polished—thank you, Mrs. Pratt—and when he reached the bottom of the staircase, he managed a grin at Garrett’s look of relief. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I’d be down.” This came over his shoulder as he strode toward the doors.
Garrett hurried after him down the steps. “I’m not surprised you came down; I’m surprised you own anything remotely formal, that’s all.”
What started out as a sunny day was no longer quite so bright. Heavy gray clouds gathered to block out any patch of blue, and the air held a hint of rain to it. He squinted up at those gloomy clouds. Ominous. Foreboding. He tried to put it out of his mind as he followed the drive to the carriage house and called for Frederick, his driver.
Garrett was grinning as he climbed into the coach beside him. Julian scowled. “What is so amusing?”
“Nothing.”
But still Garrett smirked, which grated on Julian’s nerves more and more with each passing minute. But no matter how many times he questioned it, Garrett replied, “Nothing,” until Julian simply gave up.
The wedding was being held in the small chapel on Stonebridge’s grounds. Nestled between the rose gardens and a copse of white pine trees, the stone building fairly radiated peace and tranquility. It was built shortly after Patrick McKenzie’s death and sat beside the McKenzie family cemetery. Patrick was the first McKenzie to be interred there, but he wasn’t the last. Two smaller stones stood in the shadow of several lilac bushes. As he and Garrett passed by, his gaze was drawn to those stones. Emma would have had two more brothers, one older, one younger, only neither one survived their first week of life.
What was it like, growing up in a family such as the McKenzies? For all of their bickering and bantering, there was no doubting the love shared within Stonebridge’s walls. It was loud and boisterous and rowdy, and a far cry from the dour, icy silences at Cheltenham. A far cry from the red-hot fury that melted those icy silences on a fairly regular occasion. And as much as he valued peace and quiet, there was also something to be said for a large, boisterous family as well. What did that kind of love, of devotion, feel like? As much as he was made to feel a part of the McKenzie family, he wasn’t one of them.
His heart lurched as he and Garrett neared the stone steps leading into the chapel. As the door squeaked open, a sense of peace rolled out like a runner. Everything felt so solemn, more like a funeral instead of a wedding.
Garrett steered him down the narrow aisle. The chapel was empty and smelled a bit musty from all of the rain. Although it wasn’t quite as cold as it had been, the windows remained shuttered tight, so little fresh air circulated through the damp building.
They were the only souls in the building. Not even the priest had arrived. Julian pulled the watch from his waistcoat pocket. Half past eleven. The ceremony was to take place at noon. Perhaps his bride was the one who needed the guardian to keep from bolting?
No. Carriage wheels creaked beyond the chapel windows, and voices floated through the seams of the shutters. He swallowed hard, his heart leaping to attention as he heard Mrs. McKenzie say, “Take care, Emma. Don’t trip going up the steps.”
“I can see the steps, Momma.” Julian grinned. She sounded exasperated and one more caution away from complete explosion.
The door creaked open, and the world fell away as Emma stepped into the chapel. Dressed in a gown of shimmering ivory silk that seemed to float around her, she looked like an angel. A beautiful, stunning angel.
His beautiful, stunning angel.
Garrett nudged him gently. “Close your mouth, McCallister. You’ll trip on your tongue.”
Julian ignored him. He didn’t care if he did trip over his tongue. Emma was a sight to behold. From the corner of his eye, he saw the priest emerge, looking somber as he moved before the altar. Everyone else faded into the background as Emma floated down the aisle toward him. All sound seemed to be sucked from the world, only returning in bits and pieces as she reached him and slipped her arm through his.
Then everything came rushing back at once in a low roll of thunder. That thunder increased in sound and speed, building to a crescendo that threatened to knock him right off his feet. The moment she touched him, it set off a ripple of heat that surged through him until even his skin vibrated from it. Her hand rested lightly upon his forearm, yet she might as well have been touching his bare skin for the way his body reacted to her.
There must have been a break in the clouds, for pale beams of sunlight slid through the windows that weren’t shuttered. Dust motes swirled in those beams, and as he gazed down at Emma, he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes glittered like cobalt glass. No, that wasn’t right. It sounded so silly inside his head, and he could never say it aloud, but her eyes sparkled like gemstones. Like the sapphire earbobs dangling from her earlobes. The dust motes were no longer dust motes but swirled about her like an aura. God damn, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“You’re staring,” she whispered.
The priest opened his Bible and cleared his throat.
Julian shook his head. “I can’t help it. You look stunning, Miss McKenzie.”
A pale pink flush swept up toward her hairline, and her gaze dropped modestly. Her fingers tightened on his arm, and in that moment, he didn’t regret a thing. Not one moment leading up to this, and especially not this particular moment.
Chapter Sixteen
SHE TREMBLED.
Actually trembled.
Emma stared down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. They shook. In fact, her entire body shook. And no matter how she clasped her hands, or how she locked her knees, the tremble wouldn’t stop.
She thought they would pass their wedding night at Stonebridge, never stopping to think that Julian had his residence in town. The house was cozy, and only sparsely furnished, but Julian’s room—or, more succinctly, their room—was tidy, with fresh candles flickering in their sconces. It felt so odd, being there, knowing her parents knew she was there. That everyone knew she was there. They knew Julian was there. They were there together. And everyone knew what a wedding night entailed. Her cheeks burned.
Julian stood in the far corner, before the heavy oak wardrobe that, aside from the bed and the bedside table, was the only furniture in the room. He’d shed his frock coat, it lay draped over the arm of the lone chair in the corner, but still wore his waistcoat as he unwound the stock from his neck.
She leaned back against the door, the slender gold band on her left hand rapping smartly against the wood. “Where did this come from?” she asked, bringing that hand before her to stare down at it. It was simple and lovely, but heavy and unfamiliar.
“It was my grandmother’s,” Julian replied without turning about. He shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it back to land atop his frock coat.
“She wasn’t buried with it?”
“No. My grandfather came home from the shipyard one day and found she’d left. The ring was on the dining room table, and it was the only thing of hers left in all the house.”
This was a story she’d never heard before. “What happened to her?”
“My grandfather was a madman, or hadn’t you heard?”
“I’ve heard, but I don’t believe it. He never killed anyone.” She waited to see the familiar hardness to come into his eyes. She’d never heard tell of his grandmother being murdered, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. “Did he?”
“No.” Julian let out a wry chuckle. “At least, not that anyone’s ever proven. One of my family’s whispered secrets is that Grandmother did not leave, but fell victim to the first McCallister madman. All that was left of her was her ring. His story was only a good cover-up.”
A shiver trickled down her spine. “And you thought her wedding ring would be a good ring for your bride?” She stared down at the band again, this time fighting the urge to slip it from her finger.
“I don’t believe that nonsense. No body’s ever been found. I’ve always thought she simply left.”
She managed to smile. “We say the same thing about my grandmother McKenzie. She went out one afternoon and just never came back.”
“Ah, but does anyone suspect the Commodore killed her?”
“No, just as I didn’t suspect you knew my grandfather was known as the Commodore.”
He grinned. “Garrett, or maybe it was Drew, must’ve made mention of it at some point. But anyway—” he gestured to her hand “—that was her ring and she left it here for me, according to the note she left with it.”
He turned away from the wardrobe, and she nearly bit a whole through her bottom lip. His shirt was open, his sleeves were rolled back, his stock hung limply about his neck.
He was adorable in his dishevelment, her husband.
Her husband.
And as her husband, he’d only bestowed one kiss upon her. And that one only because the priest compelled him to. And even then, it was a dry, chaste kiss, nothing like the steamy, deep kisses they’d shared before.
He crossed over to her. “Turn around, Mrs. McCallister, and I will help you undress for the evening.”
Those softly-spoken words sent a bolt of fire splitting right through her. This was her wedding night, the night where she had everyone’s permission, everyone’s expectations, to make love with Julian. And to do so more than once. Quite possibly all night, although that thought frightened her a little. That knowledge jarred her more than being addressed as Mrs. McCallister did.
So when she offered him her back and he went to work unlacing the silk cords, she bit down hard on her bottom lip again. Ow. She bit the same spot as before, only this time, she tasted blood. Wonderful.
Her lip puffed beneath her teeth, but the swelling didn’t last long, and by the time Julian finished with the laces, he still had her corset and chemise to contend with.
When the corset fell free, she turned to face him. “Julian, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know. And neither did I.” He stroked her cheek with the gentle tip of his forefinger. “But I’m not complaining.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
He grinned, but she noticed it never went higher than his lips. However, he didn’t stop stroking her cheek, and with each touch, she leaned a little closer into him. She could smell the tobacco clinging to him, and the cold air, and a hint of snow. Delicious, manly scents.
He bent toward her and his lips closed over hers as gentle as the fluff on a dandelion. And the spark shot through her entire body to set embers glowing. His fingertips, roughened from leather horse reins, sent a rush of goose bumps over the skin of her collarbone. Her shivers worsened as he eased a hand beneath the lacy edge of her chemise. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her to meet his kiss.
Her head fell back, eyes closed, lips parted in anticipation of his sweet kiss. When it came, she murmured low in her throat and her back arched on its own to press into the solid wall of his chest. Everything about him was solid. Her hands practically itched to slide over him, beneath his fine clothes, to his hot skin.
His free hand slid down over her backside to cup it, to lift it, to maneuver her hips until she pressed right up into his rigid erection. Oh God…how wonderful. How amazing that felt, even through so much fabric. Pleasure sparked all along where they met. Embers rained over her, stinging in the most wonderful way possible. It wasn’t so different from Christmas night. If anything, the pleasure was even sweeter because she knew no pain would follow. Now, she just wanted him. All of him. Now.
She wanted to wrap her legs about his hips, but the tight sheath of her chemise about her thighs wouldn’t allow it.
He made it easier by shoving her chemise up and lifting her. Her legs snapped about his waist, and they groaned in unison as his hardness met with the warmth of her softness. A small starburst erupted, one that hit hard enough to make her gasp for air.
His mouth devoured hers. Teased her. Tortured her with sensual caresses of his tongue on hers, tangling with hers into a slow dance that enflamed her blood and fired her senses until her entire body hummed with smoky desire. He seduced her with fiery kisses, exploring the depths of her mouth as if she was the sweetest of nectar and he was a starving man. It was sinful, wicked, and delightful, almost as sensuous as his hands on her body.
Her head fell back as Julian’s silky lips teased their way down the front of her throat, into the hollow at its base, and into her décolletage.
He seemed impatient, his hands whisking over her, tugging at any clothing that came between them. And that was fine. She wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin, his palms curving about her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples into aching points of pleasure. This night would fulfill her every expectation and then some.
Little by little, her chemise made its way past her ribs, over her hips, to pool at her feet on the floor. Her chemise, her corset, the tulle, her stockings, her garters—they all ended up somewhere in the circle of clothing at her feet. Leaving her naked before his eyes. Naked and shy.
“Beautiful.” Julian’s whisper was husky and thick. He stepped back and fire sparked his eyes as they leisurely stroked over her body. His heavy-lidded stare feasted on every inch of her bared flesh. Fire leaped from his eyes, fired all over her pale skin, and she had to fight the initial urge to cover herself. Her breasts. Her belly. That triangle of dark hair between her legs. They were all being devoured by his lust-filled gaze.
&
nbsp; When she tried to cover up, tried to protect her modesty, he caught her wrists and whispered, “Not tonight, sweetheart. Not tonight. I’m not about to let you hide this from me.”
She managed to remain still, busying her hands by thrusting them into her hair in search of pins to remove. As each pin slid free, another curl tumbled over her shoulders. And as each new curl fell free, Julian’s eyes darkened a little more. Her hair spilled down over her breasts, the curled ends perfectly camouflaging her nipples.
Julian tore his gaze from them to meet hers, and his smile was filled with sensual promise. “So damned beautiful.”
The chilly air wafting in around the windowpanes nipped at her skin, and for a moment, she wanted to tug the quilt over her bared skin. Then, she sucked in a sharp breath as he traced a small circle about her nipple. Dear God, that felt amazing. He knew where to touch, but he had quite the gift for how to touch. And that touch was so gentle, it was almost hesitant. At least, it was until she slid her hand down beneath the waist of his breeches to curl her fingers about him. His male flesh was sleek, as smooth as polished silver, and she shivered at the first contact. Then his hand tightened on her breast as he sucked in a hard breath.
“Emma…” Their lips still locked, his voice emerged as a low rumble, and he shuddered against her. No, it wasn’t a shudder. It was a thrust. He was arching against her, slow and easy, and a strange knot formed in the pit of her belly.
He seized her lips in a fiery kiss, his thumb now rubbing hard circles over her nipple, filling her entire breast with pleasure that spilled through her body. Hot and sweet, that pleasure swirled through her, concentrating on that tight knot. Only the knot dipped. No longer in her belly, it sank lower, and she arched into him, tightening her grip on him.
She gasped as he slid his hand along her inner thigh, then pleasure spiked through her as he curved his hand against her. His fingers worked magic on her, leaving her head spinning and her pulse pounding. The knots were gone, replaced with an ache that was a sweet as it was maddening.