by Helen Brooks
'You mean that?' Marianne searched his face helplessly.
'You have my word on it'
A deadly silence followed his promise. Marianne's mind was racing, spinning, her face lint-white with two spots of burning colour staining her cheekbones. He had gambled everything on his belief that she loved him, and she did, she did so much. He wasn't wrong, and he knew he wasn't wrong. She should never have let him know and then this wouldn't have happened. She stared at him, seeing the love and desire in his dear face.
She was trapped. If she refused him now it would mean humiliation of the worst kind in front of everyone he cared for—if she went through with the ceremony she would become the match that could light the fire which would consume his career, his good name, everything he stood for. Michael's business partners might never contact her, might never follow through—but the risk was too high. What should she do?
And then, like a little gleam of light at the end of a dark tunnel, it came to her. If she went through with the marriage as Marianne Harding Michael's colleagues might not recognise her for who she really was, certainly for a while. And before they had time to put two and two together, even perhaps before the marriage became public knowledge, she could leave. He had promised her she could; he'd promised. It was all her fuddled brain could think of. 'What about all the documentation?' she asked shakily. 'You can't just get married at the drop of a hat—'
'All taken care of,' he said quickly. 'lama lawyer, remember.'
'And my name?' She took a deep breath but her voice was still trembling so much, she could hardly get the words out 'I want to be called Harding,' she said. 'It must be Harding.'
'The certificate might say something else, but in all other respects it will be Harding if that's what you want. Marianne Harding marrying Hudson de Sance—yes?' His eyes became more darkly intent. 'Why does the name matter, Annie?' he asked softly.
'You said… you said you wouldn't ask me any more questions.' It wasn't fair, but then this wasn't fair either, she thought numbly. And she couldn't think, couldn't decide what was best to do.
'So I did.' He stopped talking, staring at her with smoky grey eyes she could drown in. 'Decision time, then.'
'Hudson, this isn't right.' She tried one more time, but it was useless and she knew it. 'You must see that?'
'No, Annie, I don't. Besides which—' He stopped, a small smile twisting his mouth before he continued, 'You're even dressed for a wedding.' He indicated her white suit with a wave of his hand.
'Yes, I suppose I am.' It was the only way out, and as long as she left Hudson before her real identity became known it wouldn't harm him. It must not. But how would she be able to do that?
'And that means?' He was speaking quietly, steadily, but the little tremor in his voice that he couldn't quite hide caught at her heartstrings. He didn't know if she was going to walk away and leave him to explain away this whole fiasco. As if she could. As if she could. He had gambled everything on believing in her—she had to go through with it. That was her answer.
'I'll marry you, Hudson.' She spoke woodenly and he knew better than to push her any further, merely nodding soberly and getting to his feet as he gave her his hand and helped her rise.
She was a beautiful bride. Everyone said so. Before they had joined the others Hudson had taken the pins out of her hair, his touch tender and gentle, arranging the glowing golden mass across her shoulders before fixing a delicate band of tiny fresh white and pink rosebuds across the silky curls, the colours reflected in the lavish bouquet he placed into her numb fingers.
It wasn't just her fingers that were numb—she felt frozen all over, stupefied, her mouth repeating the necessary phrases during the service, and afterwards too when receiving the congratulations from the forty or so guests who had been gathered in the huge, beautifully decorated room beyond the one where she had met Hudson.
She said all the right things, smiled, nodded graciously, but inside she was dead, paralysed with shock and an overwhelming fear that she had just let Hudson make the worst mistake of his life.
'There's a wedding luncheon to get through and then we can slip away to the hotel,' Hudson whispered in her ear as he took her arm to leave. 'I've booked the bridal suite in the hotel in which you are staying—your things will have already been moved there.'
'You were very sure of me.' She wasn't angry; the ice round her emotions wouldn't let her be.
'No, no, I wasn't.' An inflexion in his voice, a rawness, made her glance up at him sharply, and she caught agony in his eyes before a veil blanketed his expression. 'I was sure you loved me, but beyond that… ' His mouth twisted in the semblance of a smile. 'Beyond that I was sure of nothing.'
'And you still went through with it,' she whispered shakily.
'I had no other option.' He shook his head slowly. 'I'd tried everything else. But if later you want a ceremony in church with all the trimmings—white dress, bridesmaids and so on—'
'I had the white dress—suit,' she corrected numbly. 'And the clothes don't mean anything, do they?'
'No, Annie, the clothes mean nothing at all,' he agreed evenly.
The marriage luncheon stretched on into late afternoon, the beautiful June weather New York was enjoying meaning the guests spilled out into a pretty little courtyard attached to the excellent restaurant where Hudson had arranged the wedding meal.
Champagne flowed like water and Marianne had several glassfuls but very little food, the effervescent liquid providing the shot in the arm she needed to get through the day without breaking down, or allowing herself to surface from the dull stupor her senses had taken refuge in. It was as though it were happening to someone else.
There was the odd moment—for instance when she caught herself glancing at the wide gold wedding band on the third finger of her left hand, its presence alien and strange, or when someone jokingly addressed her as Mrs de Sance—when her poise faltered and a dart of feeling burnt its way through the ice, but on the whole the numbness prevailed, and Marianne welcomed it. The luxury of feeling would come later—for now she was on view and had to act the part allotted to her. She couldn't—wouldn't—let Hudson down in front of everyone.
It was as they prepared to leave the luncheon that the ice began to melt, when she discovered Hudson had arranged for a party of professional bell-ringers to come and play one of her favourite pieces by Handel. 'I couldn't have the church bells ringing,' he whispered in her ear as they listened to the music, 'so these wedding bells are the next best thing.'
'They're beautiful,' Marianne said quietly, the burden on her increasing a hundred-fold. If only he had been rough or cruel or thoughtless this would have been so much easier. But then she wouldn't have loved him, she reminded herself bleakly, and none of it would have happened anyway. He was everything she could ever have wanted in a husband. Husband. The word hit her like a ten-ton truck. He was her husband… they had got married. What had she done? What had she done? What would happen when the wedding bells stopped and they were alone, as man and wife?
Once the thaw started Marianne found it impossible to stop the melting effect on her emotions. They left the restaurant amid a deluge of confetti and good wishes, Hudson enigmatic and cool in his dark morning suit and snowy-white shirt, and once inside the wedding car—a huge, great sedan covered in white ribbons—she found she was shaking uncontrollably.
'It's all right, darling, it's all right' Hudson drew her close as the car purred through the crowded busy streets and she didn't try to fight him; it felt so good to rest her head on his shoulder and let the rest of the world go by outside. 'You're exhausted, and you hardly ate a thing back there; we'll get something later at the hotel. Perhaps a meal in our suite—what do you think?' he asked tenderly. 'We needn't go down to dinner.'
She couldn't think about anything but how good it felt to be in the curve of his arm, pressed close to the big male body that had haunted her dreams for weeks. He was wearing a clean, sharp aftershave that smelt of lemon and musk
and something else she couldn't quite place, and in spite of her panic and fear at what she had done there was a fresh riot in her stomach that had nothing to do with her damning secret and everything to do with Hudson.
'I don't mind,' she said unsteadily, keeping her face hidden against his shoulder. 'Whatever you want.'
'A beautiful and submissive wife,' he drawled mockingly above her head. 'My cup runneth over.'
Oh, Hudson, Hudson… Her conscience smote her again at the vibrant note in his voice he couldn't quite hide in spite of the light, teasing approach. However this worked out, he was going to be hurt, and badly. Suddenly the future wasn't so clear-cut, the web of half-truths and things left unsaid becoming even more tangled in her tired mind. She didn't know what to do any more and she was frightened, and so very, very weary of it all.
'Bill is sending a telegram to Keith to let him know how things are.' Hudson was attempting to defuse the electric tension inside the car. 'I've said you'll contact him yourself at some point to let him know if you're taking the job for Major Promotions or if you want him to cover it, okay? We can always have a delayed honeymoon if necessary; I don't want to interfere with your career in any way,' he added levelly. 'I want you to understand that.'
Honeymoon? Honeymoon… Deep waters washed over her head. 'Did you put my name forward?' she asked tremulously, moving out of the warmth and security of his embrace and immediately feeling bereft as the physical contact ceased. To Major Promotions?'
'Bill's family owns the company,' Hudson admitted, before adding quickly, 'But Bill did some investigation of his own before he went along with the idea. He's a businessman first and foremost, believe me. He thought you were a first-rate photographer, Keith too, so he knew he wouldn't lose out. The job begins this time next week so nothing's lost, Annie.'
She couldn't care less about the wonderful job, or her career, and even less about Bill Truscott losing out, she thought guiltily. The only thing she cared about was sitting right by the side of her, and she still found it hard to believe they were together.
Once they arrived at the hotel the VIP treatment was out in full force, right down to roses and champagne in their suite. Marianne had never seen anything quite like the wedding suite, the bed easily eclipsing the one in Hassan's home in both size and splendour. It was sunk into the floor, the thick ivory-coloured carpet reaching down into its massive circle, and the huge, billowy duvet and scattered pillows and cushions reflecting the same varying shades of gold as the full-length curtains.
The rest of the suite was equally luxurious and unusual, the exotic mirrored bathroom having a small sauna room leading off its rear, and the sitting and dining area big enough to swallow Marianne's flat in London whole. There were bowls of fresh flowers everywhere, along with the latest books, magazines, baskets of fruit and all manner of chocolates and candies.
'Well?' Marianne was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, her stunned gaze riveted on the bed, as Hudson came up behind her after tipping the bellboy. 'Some pad, eh Mrs de Sance?'
'Don't… don't call me that.' It wasn't the most tactful thing she had ever said, and she followed it immediately with, 'I'm sorry, Hudson, but I can't take this in yet' But not before she had seen the mask he normally wore to the world fall into place, covering the tenderness that had been there a moment before.
'Sure, take your time.' His voice was cold, uninterested. 'Why don't we take a shower? Individually, of course,' he added with cool sarcasm as he noticed the quick glance she flashed his way. 'And then go down for something to eat? You could eat something now, I take it?'
'Yes, I'll… I'll be quick,' she stammered nervously, the thought of a shower with Hudson still sending delicious chills down her spine.
Marianne cried in the shower; she couldn't help it, despite telling herself she had to be strong, in control. If Michael had never entered her mother's life she would be the happiest woman on the planet at this moment, she told herself wretchedly—married to the man she loved with all her heart and who—she knew—loved her.
As it was… She shut her eyes, but the scalding-hot tears continued to flow. She didn't know what to do, and that bed… Would he expect to consummate the marriage immediately? Her heart leapt and raced, her confusion increasing still more. There was nothing she wanted more, but would it make it harder for Hudson when she left, or easier? How did men view these things? She really didn't know. She sank down onto the floor of the shower, her misery swamping her along with the silky warm water.
She heard Hudson call her name, a concerned note in his voice that told her she had been in the shower far too long, and she tried to answer him but her tears strangled the words in her throat And then he was there, in the bathroom, his outline visible through the heavy plastic cubicle. He had stripped in anticipation of his own shower and was naked but for the small towel draped about his hips; that much registered as he slid back the door of the cubicle with a force that spoke of his panic.
'What the hell… ?' And then he had gathered her into his arms as the water continued to cascade over both of them, lifting her weight as easily as if she were a tiny child.
She continued to sob against the muscled warmth of his body, all her efforts to control the weeping useless, and he carried her over to the big basket chair in one corner of the room, sitting down with her on his lap and wrapping a huge fluffy bath towel around her shaking body as he held her against his chest.
'Enough, enough, my love; you are making yourself ill.' She heard him but she couldn't respond, the exhaustion and desolation of weeks, if not years, culminating in a release of emotion that was unstoppable, and she abandoned herself to the flow.
He continued to cradle her close, saying nothing more beyond soft, soothing sounds as he stroked the hair back from her forehead and hot cheeks. She cried until there were no more tears left and her misery had settled into the odd hiccuping sob as she lay spent and still in his arms.
'I have to say, in all my years of adulthood, I have never had a woman so distressed at the thought of sharing my bed.' His voice was gentle and deep, and it was meant to be playful, but she couldn't bear him thinking that and turned blindly into his chest, nuzzling her head against his throat as her arms went round his neck.
'Listen, Annie, listen.' His voice was husky but controlled. 'I don't know what's wrong, but I can wait, do you understand me? If this is anything physical, if you're frightened or you've been hurt in the past in some way, there's no need to do anything you don't want to do merely because of a ceremony and a few words spoken over us. I wanted to marry you because I want you; get that into your head. All of you—heart, soul and body—and if that means waiting until you're ready for the physical side of marriage I'll wait. There's nothing, absolutely nothing, to be scared of.'
Oh, if only he knew, she thought wretchedly. 'Hudson—'
'I mean it, Annie. Nothing can hurt you now; I won't let it.'
Marianne could feel his heart slamming against the solid wall of his chest like a sledge-hammer, the bunched muscles in his arms as he held her, while restraining her too, hard and strong.
'You don't understand.' She raised her head to look into his face, her eyes swollen and drowning pools of pain. 'It's all so complicated.' She shifted in his arms, her hands lifting to his shoulders again. 'But I do want you; I do, I do.'
'Annie… ' His voice was a groan. I want to give you time, damn it, but, holding you like this, I can't think straight.' He made to put her away from him but she clung all the tighter.
'I don't want to talk.' She lifted her mouth to his. 'I want you. I'm not frightened; I could never be frightened of you.'
'Annie, this is no game. If I start to make love to you now I shan't be able to stop; do you understand that? Hell, I've waited so long—'
'I know, I know.' His tenderness, his effort at understanding while not understanding a thing had melted the last of her resistance, and she was powerless against the flood of love and desire that was carrying her along in its
path. She wanted him, she needed him, and whether it was right or wrong this was their wedding night 'I want you, Hudson, so much. I love you so much… '
He stood up with her in his arms, the towels falling from their bodies, and as she saw their reflection in the mirrored walls she saw the huge arousal he had been trying to control. He kissed her as he carried her back into the bedroom, filling her with the thrusting taste of his tongue as he crushed her softness against him and biting her lips with tiny little nips that caused her to moan and arch in his arms as she sought greater intimacy.
When he stepped down onto the bed and sank down with her into the scented, billowy mass she opened her eyes to meet his, the expression in the smoky grey depths causing her to murmur his name lovingly. 'You're beautiful, so, so beautiful,' he whispered softly. 'Your first time should be gentle and slow, but I want you so much… '
But then, as he stretched out beside her, the control was back, his kisses tender and erotic as he touched and tasted her with a delicate sensuality that roused her to fever pitch. She couldn't believe what was happening to her body, the way his lovemaking was making her feel, so bewildered by the mounting pleasure his intimate, experienced assault was causing that time and reason stood still.
He explored every inch of her, his mouth and hands dealing a dizzyingly hot desire that expressed itself in little whimpers of frustration, the core of her becoming meltingly moist and ripe. And still he resisted the urge to take her fully, bringing her to the brink of fulfilment time and time again only to draw back at the last moment as she moved restlessly, urgently against him.
Marianne was too inexperienced to appreciate the extent of the restraint his love had placed on him as he sought to put her pleasure before his; she only knew that if the world stopped at that moment—if the universe exploded in a million tiny pieces—it wouldn't matter. All that mattered was Hudson and what his hands and mouth were doing to her.
The dusky shadows of evening were darkening the room when he at last lifted her hips up to meet the hard power of his manhood, but even then he eased his way into the tight, warm, secret place with a finesse that made his swollen fullness easy to accept. He caught her brief gasp of pain with his lips, stilling instantly and allowing her body time to adjust to the alien presence inside it, and then he began to move slowly, smoothly, his body dark and muscled against her soft fairness.