Unto Death

by Lena West

  This time, and this place, belonged entirely to the bewitching virgin on his arm; a virgin who unexpectedly aroused in him once more that sneaking, guilty desire. Desire; and an urgent wish for all the tedious rigmarole of the wedding day to be over and done with. A wish to escape being centre-stage, forced to enact the role of eager bridegroom.

  Involuntarily he glanced down at his bride, her upturned gaze meshing with his, causing the breath to catch in his throat. Who would have guessed little Lucy Gordon could tie him up in knots like this? But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. The marriage had to be consummated; that was an inescapable duty. One, as he'd already determined, that would be so much easier if he was attracted, even a little bit, to his bride. Surely, he could be forgiven if he was more than a little attracted?

  “Mmm … You smell so good Lu-lu.”

  Unconsciously, he used his old pet name for her. Yielding to impulse, Stephen turned Lucy in his arms, experimentally feathering a tender kiss across her lips. Heart beating faster, Lucy returned the pressure with her own, murmuring an incoherent protest when he drew back too soon.

  “I'm happy you like my perfume, Stephen, since it's my favourite,” she pouted.

  Not content with such tame wooing, Lucy wrapped her arms around Stephen's neck as she had earlier that evening, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling his body stir to life. Emboldened, she leaned into his chest, the gentle pressure starting up an ache in breasts which suddenly felt heavy and so much more sensitive than usual. Restlessly she moved against him, fingers stroking the smooth skin at his nape. Heat flowed through her veins and, marvelling at her daring, she turned her face up, inviting another kiss.

  Brain clouded with the scent of violets, and his enticing feminine armful, Stephen complied. One kiss led to another, and another, until they sat on the garden seat, a breathless Lucy comfortably ensconced on her fiancé’s lap.

  This is more like it, Lucy exulted. Grandmama was right; making love with the man you love is sheer bliss.

  “Lucy.”

  Struggling to stay in control of his wayward urgings, Stephen held her a little away from him, loosening her grip on his neck.

  “If I'd known how enjoyable kissing you is, I swear I would never have waited so long.”

  Surprising himself, he realised he'd just spoken the truth. Well, almost the truth, and, he was pleased to note, it served to put Lucy in charity with him. She giggled, and snuggled against his chest, one small hand spread over his rapidly beating heart, as if claiming it for her own.

  “I wish you hadn't, Dearest. I've discovered I have a positive hunger for your kisses.”

  Her lips grazed the pulse point in his neck, leading to more of the sweet delight she craved. This time, eager to taste more than just her lips, Stephen stroked his tongue across them, urging them apart.

  Excitement filling Lucy to the detriment of her self-control, she obeyed, discovering even greater delights. Giddy expectation swirled through her, and everything receded except the need to get even closer; to surrender to the wild, primitive demands her impatient body was making. She sighed her disappointment when Stephen once more nudged her away, mollified on discovering he was breathing as fast and urgently as herself.

  That she was not alone in her desire for fulfilment, reinforced her conviction that theirs was a love match.

  To think she'd come so close to letting malicious, unfounded gossip deny her this Heaven on Earth.

  “Lu, enough,” Stephen whispered, reining himself in. “We need to stop while we still can.”

  How fortuitous Lucy wasn't shy about lovemaking. Even better for him, she hadn't embarrassed him with outpourings of love he neither reciprocated nor wanted.

  As it was, they would deal famously together, enjoying the physical aspects of marriage without messy emotions complicating matters. He couldn't imagine how he would have coped with a stiff, frightened schoolgirl.

  The sort of bride Isabella envisioned me taking? He wondered. A cold shiver rippled down his spine, instinctively fearing this confident, self-assured Lucy would not please Isabella.

  “We daren't go further, Lu. Not here in the open where anyone at all could walk by and see us.”

  “Pooh. I don't care,” Lucy gasped, reluctant to call a halt. “You're right though,” she admitted a moment later. She leant her forehead against his until she regained her equilibrium.

  “This really isn't the time or place, is it? We should wait till tomorrow, when we're husband and wife. Then there will be no cause for denying our feelings.” A voluptuous sigh fell from her swollen, reddened lips. Relaxing in Stephen's arms, she snuggled against his chest once more.

  “Tomorrow there'll be no need to stop. Oh Stephen, I'm so looking forward to being your wife.” She took his gentle kiss on her brow as tacit agreement with the sentiments she had just expressed.

  A contented sigh issued from her lips, tempting Stephen to sample them once more. He resisted. Just. Mingled with his baser desires was the surprising wish to protect his Lucy from all harm; most especially harm originating with himself.

  And she was his, he realised. His responsibility.

  Her care, his duty.

  He really did like her very much, even if liking wasn't love. He always had. He uttered a silent prayer he'd not fail her.

  There was even a time, Stephen recalled, when he would have welcomed this marriage. A time before he fell deep in love with Isabella.

  He still loved Isabella, of course he did, and couldn't imagine giving her up; but kissing Lucy had stirred him more powerfully than he would have thought possible.

  His response to Lucy's attractions went far beyond the bounds of duty. What sort of scoundrel did that make him? Kissing Lucy had been wonderfully satisfying. A sweet balm to his troubled heart. Now he felt miserable; miserable and confused. And so very, very guilty.

  One thing he was sure of though, Lucy's innocence should not be despoiled by the sordid reality of his illicit affair with Isabella.

  If he was to survive with his sanity intact, he needed to learn to juggle two lives, he realised. His public life as a married man with a delightful young wife; and his secret life with his true love.

  The trick would lie in keeping his two lives separate.

  He began practising immediately by forcing himself to set aside thoughts of Isabella to concentrate on building a sound relationship with Lucy. However, there would be no more kisses tonight; he couldn't afford the distraction. This life of deliberate deceit was proving to be more difficult to manage than he'd anticipated. Picking up on Lucy's last comment, he thought of something else.

  “Lucy, has your mother told you what marriage entails?”

  Stephen blushed to ask such a question, but he didn't want to shock Lucy when he took her to his bed. Her giggle was reassuring. She sat up so she could see him eye to eye while they talked.

  “She did. And then Grandmama took me aside and filled in all the details Mama merely alluded to.” Serious all of a sudden, she shyly fiddled with the top button on his waistcoat.

  “Stephen, Grandmama said a good marriage begins in the marriage bed. She said lovemaking can be the greatest pleasure if it's done right. Can you teach me to do it right? I so much want us to have a good marriage.”

  She turned beseeching eyes to his, a delicious blush colouring satiny cheeks and descending all the way beneath the edge of her bodice, the vivid colour clearly visible in the dim glow from nearby windows.

  Looking down into Lucy's shy, earnest face, Stephen felt his heart quail.

  Taking a deep breath, he steeled his resolution. He wouldn't fail this innocent girl who was placing all her trust in him. Whatever it cost him in guilt and divided loyalties, he would make their marriage a pleasure for Lucy or die trying. It was the very least she deserved, having been cheated of a husband's untainted love.

  “I'll do my very best,” he promised, “and if that's not good enough the first time, we'll do better the next.”

 
Lucy's answering kiss was like a benediction, soothing his tormented soul.

  Before he could respond, they heard Mrs Gordon calling her daughter inside. Their brief time alone had come to an end, but both felt it time far from wasted.

  Both felt a surge of confidence in their futures and a readiness to take the next step.

  *****

  “Good morning my darling girl.”

  Lucy's mother bustled through the door bearing a breakfast tray adorned with a perfect pink rose from the garden.

  “Here you are, then. Sit up and enjoy your breakfast. Cook has excelled herself in your honour, and your father braved the early morning dew in his slippers and dressing gown to pluck that rose for you.”

  Laying the tray across her daughter's lap, Maggie plumped up the pillows and kissed Lucy on the brow.

  “This may be our last few moments alone today, my dear. Is there anything you need to ask? Do you have any concerns you'd like to talk over with me?”

  “No, Mama. I've not a care or worry in the world. Between you and Grandmama, I feel sure I'm fully prepared to become a married lady.”

  She dropped her eyes, reminded of her time with her fiancé in the garden the night before, which had allayed the last of her fears, leaving her confident Stephen's emotions matched her own. He hadn't said he loved her; but really, when had there been time? They'd been so busy kissing, she hadn't said the words either, being too caught up exploring wonderful new experiences.

  She blushed, remembering Stephen's heart-stopping kisses. His actions told her of his love without the need for words. Besides, he was a reserved man; he didn't readily talk about his feelings. She'd wait patiently, confident now that her patience would be rewarded.

  “I am glad you're here, though, Mama.”

  Lucy met her mother's eyes, love sheening them with moisture.

  “I want you to know how very much I love you. You're the very best of mothers and I'm so glad you are mine.”

  Reaching out, she clasped Maggie's hand, bringing it to her lips. Looking up she glimpsed a tear trickling down her mother's cheek and gave the captive hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Now look what you've gone and done. I promised your father there would be no waterworks, and here I am, blubbering already, when there are so many things I have to attend to this morning.”

  Maggie jumped to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes. Giving her nose a brisk blow, she bent down to kiss Lucy once more.

  “You are the daughter of my heart, Lucy. You make me the happiest of mothers.”

  At the door, she called over her shoulder, “Your bath will be ready shortly, so don't dawdle over your breakfast.”

  Lucy was a little dewy-eyed herself at her pragmatic mother's rare expression of love.

  *****

  As the clock chimed the quarter before eleven o'clock, the house emptied. Everyone except Lucy and her father made a mass exodus for the church. Even Mama and cousin Amelia, Lucy's bridesmaid, departed, to meet them in a few minutes in the porch at St James's. When the way was clear, Lucy tripped blithely down the stairs to where her father waited, decked out in his new suit.

  “Lucy, my dearest girl. You're so beautiful my heart is bursting with pride.”

  He surreptitiously wiped moisture from his eye.

  “I'm going to miss you, you know. This house is going to seem so empty with just the three of us rattling around in it. I'll expect you to visit often; you and your fine, upstanding husband and all those grandchildren you're going to give your mother and I.”

  Lucy reached up to kiss his cheek, too choked up for speech. His unbuttoned coat fell open, displaying a rose-patterned waistcoat, resplendent in its pink perfection. The same waistcoat Mama had strenuously objected to, claiming the father of the bride should be more conservatively clad.

  “I like your waistcoat.”

  Nervous as she was, Lucy couldn't help giggling. Pink roses were her favourite flower, as Papa knew. He beamed, making her glad this was one argument Mama had lost.

  “Saucy miss. I wore it especially for you, I'll have you know. I waited till your mother turned her back, then swapped it with those boring stripes she told me to wear.” His eyes twinkled as he gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  “I'll earn a severe reprimand when she catches me alone for a moment, but my daughter's wedding day is not a day for sedate stripes.”

  Giving her hand a pat, he placed it on his arm, steering her towards the door and the gaily bedecked carriage waiting in the roadway.

  “Time to go, sweetheart. It wouldn't do to keep your young man waiting now, would it?”

  The sky outside was a rich blue, with a cooling breeze chasing puffy white clouds across its width. Grandmama's flowers filled the small front garden with a profusion of riotous colours, and honey eaters trilled a joyous song as Lucy and her father made their way to the carriage drawn up outside the gate.

  “Papa, isn't this just the most glorious day? Whenever I think of home in future, I'll think of it being the delightful picture it is today.”

  With one last look to fix the perfect image of her home in her mind, Lucy allowed her father to seat her, then the coachman shut the door behind him as he settled beside her.

  It seemed ridiculous to Lucy to use a carriage to cover the few short blocks along Tank Street separating their house from St James's on such a fine, sunny day, but Mama insisted. Everyone else could walk, but not the bride; she had to arrive and leave in style; and on this as on all other points of bridal protocol, Mama's had been the last word.

  *****

  “And Peter, be sure to keep in time with the music. Don't let Lucy gallop headlong down the aisle.”

  With a final tweak of her daughter's veil and a severe glance at the set of her train, Maggie turned and walked sedately to the place reserved for her in the foremost pew next to Grandmama, signalling to the organist enroute.

  At last!

  Lucy breathed a nervous sigh of relief. She could see Stephen standing tall and straight, eyes to the front, beside his best man, Adam Merton; his closest friend of his own age, who now resided in the port of Newcastle. Eager to take her place at his other side, she began to fidget.

  “Now, now. Only a few more seconds till our cue.”

  Peter gave her arm an admonitory shake.

  “There. Off you go Amelia. Lead the way, slow and steady.”

  He began a sotto voce countdown, stepping out on exactly the right note, in a slow march to the strains of Mr Mendelssohn's glorious bridal music.

  When the organist segued into the Bridal March, Stephen heard the hush from the congregation closely followed by a massed “Ahh ...”

  His heart quaked. This was the point of no return. Half a dozen times that morning he'd contemplated turning tail; and each time his courage had failed him. Hearing the rustle of silk and lace he turned at last to receive his bride from her father's hand, his mind going blank, eyes widening. Surely this vision couldn't be Lucy?

  Lucy was pretty.

  The woman at his side glowed, lit from within to a luminous beauty which rendered him breathless.

  His mind whirled till Reverend Marchant cleared his throat. Stephen stole another peep.

  Eyes meeting eyes, Lucy's radiant smile threw his mind into utter confusion. That smile spoke so strongly of love; but Lucy didn't love him. Did she? No more than he loved her. This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Surely all Lucy felt for him was mere liking?

  He didn't want her love, he thought, near to panic. That precious gift was too heavy a burden for his duplicitous heart to bear.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to celebrate the marriage of …” Trepidation filled his mind as Stephen forced his wretched thoughts to attention. It was too late; there was no backing out now.

  He'd made his choice. Now he had to find the strength and courage to live with it.

  It was only when Stephen slipped the simple gold band onto her finger, next to the sparkling hoop of di
amonds which his father had given to his mother on their betrothal, and which he in turn had given to her, that Lucy began to relax.

  Caught up in the solemnity of the occasion, she had listened, intent on every single one of the beautiful words falling from Reverend Marchant's lips. She gave a nervous start when Stephen took her in his arms on being given permission to kiss his bride.

  The very public kiss, no more than a token peck, still made her every inch the archetypal blushing bride, to the delight of all.

  She really was Stephen Fortescue's wife. Mrs Stephen Fortescue. Lucille Margo Susannah Fortescue.

  Lucy's heart pounded out a song of pure joy in time to the triumphal music being thumped out on the church organ.

  In the carriage as she and her new husband took the long way home to allow their guests to amble back to the house before them, she leaned close to whisper in her bridegroom's ear.

  “I meant every word I said in there, Stephen darling. I told you once before, in a letter; now I'm telling you to your face. I'm going to be the best wife you could possibly wish for.”

  Lucy deserves the best of husbands, Stephen thought, although he was quite unable to articulate a lie to reciprocate her promise. Lucy deserved a husband who loved her wholeheartedly.

  What she'd got was him.

  It would break his heart, let alone hers, if she ever discovered the truth.

  Several hours later, after the feasting, the speeches, the dancing and the countless embraces from their well-wishers, they were once again alone in the carriage, on the way to the Newcastle hotel where they were spending the first night of their life together. Compelled to do what was expected of him, Stephen took his bride in his arms, kissing her gently. As on the previous night, Lucy responded with reckless abandon.

  Reckless abandon which rapidly reduced him to a state of painful arousal. Daring to caress the plump breast pressed hard against his chest, he felt the nipple curl tightly. Stroking the sensitive bud through its silk covering, he felt Lucy's heart thud hard and fast beneath his hand; echoing the wild drumbeat of his own.

  A fleeting image of Isabella's pouting beauty flashed into his mind, only to be summarily dismissed. This was Lucy's time. Her wedding day. No other image could be permitted a place in his mind today. He prayed for the strength to maintain the charade. For the rest of his miserable life. He deserved eternal damnation for tricking Lucy into this travesty of marriage. Stephen drew in a deep breath and resolutely kissed Lucy again.