Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “It would be nice to have a new gown, I suppose,” Mallory admitted.

  “Of course it will. You haven’t bought anything since you were last in London. You’re sadly overdue, my dear.”

  A slow smile curved Mallory’s lips. “When you put it that way, it seems almost an obligation.”

  “Exactly. Edward will be delighted to buy you whatever you like, I am certain.”

  Particularly since it would be the last time he was obliged to do so. Once married, Adam would assume responsibility for her, financially and otherwise. She knew that he had come into a great deal of money recently. Fleetingly, she wondered how much it was. She supposed the vast majority of the funds were being used to repair his estate, precisely as they should be. And of course there was her dowry, which would not be an insubstantial sum. But whatever amount remained, she vowed she would live within their means. Despite what he said about wanting to marry her, she never wished to be a burden to Adam. She never wanted him to have regrets.

  “Now,” her mother said, interrupting Mallory’s thoughts. “About the guest list. Whom shall we invite? Not too many more than the guests already in residence, but a few additional, don’t you think? Here, let me find a pen and paper, and we will decide.”

  Inviting Charlemagne back onto her lap, Mallory relaxed in her chair and began helping her mother plan.

  After dinner that night, Mallory strolled into the drawing room, her head still spinning with talk of wedding preparations—not to mention all the hugs and best wishes she’d received from friends and family throughout the day.

  Accepting a cup of tea from Claire, she located what she hoped would be a quiet spot on the sofa. She’d just taken her first sip when Daphne sat down next to her.

  “Well, aren’t you the sly boots?” Daphne said with a twinkle in her eyes. “As I distinctly recall, you said you didn’t have any interest in Lord Gresham, and now here you are engaged to him. What happened to the two of you being nothing more than friends?”

  Mallory set her cup back onto its saucer. “We are friends. But circumstances have changed.”

  “They most certainly have. Only imagine my amazement when I heard all the shouting the other morning and learned that Adam Gresham was in your bed! You certainly are the clever minx, aren’t you?”

  “There was nothing clever about it,” Mallory defended with a frown. “Surely you aren’t implying that I orchestrated the matter?”

  “Not a bit. I’m only saying that fate conspired to toss you together, and you took advantage of the situation. You’d have been a fool not to do so considering how elusive Gresham has always been. And now that he has money, well, it makes him that much more tempting, does it not?”

  “His money is of no consequence to me,” Mallory retorted. “I would esteem him just the same were he as poor as the village ragman.”

  “That’s reassuring to know, sweetheart,” Adam said, appearing suddenly behind the sofa. “Although no matter the circumstances, I believe I could do better than selling rags.”

  “Well, of course, you could.” Mallory set her cup and saucer on a nearby table, having very nearly spilled tea on her dress as a result of his abrupt arrival. “It was only a metaphor. To use another, you really are as silent as a cat, my lord, sneaking up on people without warning.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you like felines.” Walking around the sofa, he eased onto the seat next to her and leaned close. “Meow,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

  Her pulse quickened to a frantic pace, her nipples tightening into peaks as a delicious shudder chased over her skin. Only through sheer force of will did she keep from crossing her arms over her chest. Striving to compose herself, she cast a glance upward from beneath her lashes and noticed that he was plainly unconcerned whether or not his remark had been overheard. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “Lady Damson, forgive me,” Adam drawled as if he had only just noticed the other woman. “You were saying something to Lady Mallory before I interrupted. Pray continue.”

  Daphne stared for a long, silent moment. “I was only saying that…well, that is…I was just wishing Mallory happy in her coming marriage.”

  “Is that what you were doing? I couldn’t tell from the tone of the conversation, but then I try never to eavesdrop.”

  A flush rose on Daphne’s cheeks. “I truly do wish nothing but happiness for Mallory, my lord. She deserves no less after everything she’s suffered.”

  Reaching over, Adam took Mallory’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You are right. She deserves to be cherished. I am only grateful that I will be the man lucky enough to do so.”

  Daphne glanced between the two of them, her expression softening at whatever it was she saw. “So it really is a love match then? Mallory, you should have told me. You ought not to have been so shy.”

  Mallory opened her mouth to contradict the remark, but Adam spoke before she could form the first word. “We were trying to keep things quiet, but circumstances conspired against us. You understand.”

  “Oh, of course,” Daphne said, a hand fluttering to her chest. “True love cannot be contained, nor can real passion. It’s so dreadfully romantic. Just wait until I tell Jessica. You don’t mind if I tell Jessica, do you? Considering we’re all such bosom beaux.”

  Without waiting for Mallory’s answer, Daphne sprang to her feet, bid them a quick farewell, then hurried across the room.

  Adam waited until she was out of earshot before leaning close again. “No one will imagine I was compelled to marry you now. You may rest assured your reputation is back on its old solid foundation.”

  “But Adam, she thinks we were having a passionate love affair when that isn’t the case. Well, not actually,” she amended, remembering what had happened between them that night in her bed.

  “What she believes is that I had already proposed and just couldn’t wait for the wedding night,” Adam stated. “As she said, everyone will think it’s romantic. Even Society’s most rigid sticklers will unbend and forgive you. You’ll probably get twice the presents for the wedding.”

  “I don’t want twice the presents, not if that’s the reason.”

  “So you’d prefer to be thought of as a ruined woman whose family made sure your groom was forced to the altar?”

  “No, and do not be obtuse, my lord.”

  He laughed. “Is that what I’m being? I thought I was being gallant.”

  “Now you really are being obtuse.” Their gazes met, and suddenly she smiled, tension she hadn’t realized she felt easing from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. I shall do my best to make you a good wife.”

  His expression sobered, a gleam shining deep in his eyes. “I know you will, Mallory.”

  He looked as if he was going to say more, when from across the room, Edward tapped a spoon against a wineglass in order to gain everyone’s attention.

  “If I might have a moment of your time,” the duke said, smiling as he looked around the room. “As you all know, my sister has agreed to marry Adam Gresham, a fine man and a long-time friend of our family. I want to welcome him to the fold and propose a toast to the couple.”

  “Hear, hear!” piped Jack and Cade and several others.

  “So please join me in wishing them every health and happiness.” He raised his glass. “To Adam and Mallory!”

  All those in the room lifted their glasses, a few of the ladies hoisting teacups instead. “To Adam and Mallory!”

  Huzzahs filled the room, and a fresh flood of congratulations came her and Adam’s way. She didn’t have time to talk to him alone again the rest of the evening.

  It was only as she was climbing into bed hours later that she wondered again what he’d been on the verge of saying. Deciding he would tell her later if it was important, she curled under the sheets and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  The next two weeks sped past in a flurr
y of preparations, the entire household buzzing with anticipation and excitement over the coming nuptials. All of the house-party guests had elected to remain for the ceremony, while neighbours from near and far began to pay impromptu calls in hopes of eliciting an invitation.

  For Mallory it seemed as if she’d been tossed into the eye of a storm, the world spinning around her at a whirlwind pace while she did her best to keep up. At least the burst of activity kept her occupied from morning tonight, leaving her so weary by day’s end that she fell asleep almost instantly.

  At first she’d worried about having more nightmares, but to her relief none arrived, her dreams filled instead with seating charts and invitation cards, colour schemes, table settings and menus.

  At the beginning of the second week, Madame Morelle and her assistants arrived to complete her wedding dress. Mallory dreamed of that as well—imagining herself drowning in yards of silk and being prodded by a thousand and one fitting pins.

  But no dreams caught her attention like the ones she had of Adam. Perhaps that, more than any other, was the reason the nightmares did not return.

  In her imaginings, he held her in his arms, kissed and caressed her with a slow pleasure that sent her pulse racing in fantasy as well as fact. More than once she awakened to find herself clutching her pillow to her chest, disappointed to realize it was made of feathers instead of flesh and blood.

  As for any real kisses from Adam, there had only been a few, always stolen and far too brief to be truly satisfying. For although she saw him every day, they spent little time alone. The wedding plans kept her busy during the day, while the guests monopolized both of their evenings. And with everyone scrutinizing her and Adam, the two of them agreed that he shouldn’t come to her room again before they wed.

  Not that she was sure she was ready for him to do so. For in spite of their engagement and the undeniable passion she experienced in his arms, as well as her dreams, she was still getting used to the changes in their relationship. After years of friendship, it sometimes seemed odd to think of him as her fiancé.

  As she stood in her sitting room, being fitted for her wedding gown, it was even more astonishing to realize that in only one day’s time, he would be her husband. A mere twenty-four hours from now, Adam would be sanctioned by God and man to come to her bed, and more, to have complete carnal knowledge of her body.

  “Ow!” Mallory cried, a jab of pain rousing her from her wool-gathering.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” Madame Morelle said, a length of pins set in paper draped around her neck, “but it is difficult to fit you properly if you will not hold still.”

  “O-of course. My apologies,” Mallory said, promising herself that she wouldn’t let her mind wander again, especially not onto the dangerous subject of Adam. “I shall endeavour to be as still as a statue.”

  “You may certainly continue to breathe,” the modiste said as she pinched a length of fabric underneath Mallory’s raised arm. “When I say you can, that is. Breathe and hold, please.”

  Doing as she was ordered, Mallory inhaled and waited, the mantua maker securing a pin with a quick pair of thrusts.

  “There, all done,” Madame said. “You may lower your arm again, my lady.”

  Mallory did so gratefully, wondering how much longer the fitting was going to take.

  As if Madame had heard her—or perhaps it was the heavens taking pity instead—the seamstress stepped back and reviewed her work with an appraising eye. “Et voilà!Fini!” With an elaborate sweep of her arm, she motioned toward Mallory. “Your Graces, your ladyships, may I present you with the bride.”

  The five Byron women, who were arranged in a semicircle of chairs, looked up and gave collective sighs of approval.

  “Oh, you look exquisite,” Ava declared.

  “Beautiful,” Grace agreed.

  “Perfection.” India smiled.

  Claire clasped her hands against her chest. “Only wait until Adam sees you coming down the aisle. He’ll be dazzled.”

  “He won’t be able to tear his eyes away.” Meg shifted baby Zachary to her opposite arm, then re-draped the shawl around her shoulders so he could continue nursing.

  Esme, who was the only Byron female not seated in a chair, looked up from where she sat in the window seat, a sketch pad in hand. “You look lovelier than a princess.”

  “A duke’s daughter shall have to suffice, but thank you, dear heart,” Mallory said, sending her younger sister a smile. “Thank you everyone, especially you, Madame.”

  The modiste gave a Gallic shrug, clearly confident in her own talent. “But come, you have not seen the dress.” Striding forward on a swish of poplin skirts, Madame turned Mallory so that she faced the floor-length mirror, two of Madame’s assistants scurrying to adjust the angle.

  Mallory stared, not quite recognizing herself for a moment. It had been so long since she’d done more than cast a quick glance in a mirror that it was as if she were gazing at a stranger. But a very fashionable stranger, she had to admit, the gown made in a style Madame assured her would be all the rage come the new Season.

  Made of snowy white silk organza, the dress billowed around her like a gossamer breeze. The sheer, almost transparent half sleeves were stitched with tiny seed pearls that caught the light to cast a creamy glow. Encircling her torso just beneath her breasts was a satin ribbon adorned with small, delicate white silk rosebuds. The ribbon was tied in a bow at her back, the ends left to trail down amid two sweeping double lines of white leaves that cascaded to the hem. Matching leaves swept around the hem, where they intermingled with another scattering of seed pearls.

  To complete the ensemble, her dark hair would be pinned high and twined with a double strand of round pearls. She would wear a pair of long white kid gloves, and delicate creamy satin pumps would grace her feet.

  “So? What do you think, Mallory?” Ava said, coming to stand at her side.

  “I think Madame has outdone herself once again. My appreciation for making me a beautiful bride and with so little time in which to accomplish it.”

  The modiste bustled forward. “You would be a beautiful bride no matter what you chose to wear, Lady Mallory, but I am most gratified that you approve. And that you selected my establishment to create your gown.”

  “I would go nowhere else.”

  Madame beamed. Then, turning abruptly, she clapped her hands. “Hurry, girls! Let us help Lady Mallory out of her gown so that we may work. There is much yet to be done before tomorrow.”

  Taking care not to stab her with any of the pins that held the dress together, Madame’s assistants extracted Mallory from the garment. Left standing in her shift and a single petticoat, she stood mute as the women departed in a swirl of energy and skirts.

  Her maid, who had been keeping a quiet watch from the nearby dressing room, came forward, a peach day dress draped over her arm. Lifting her arms, Mallory let Penny help her into the gown.

  After her maid departed again, Mallory joined the others. As was generally the case these days, they were reviewing plans for the ceremony and the elaborate wedding breakfast that would follow. Rather than join the debate about whether to substitute local apples for a variety of hothouse fruits being transported from London, Mallory slid into an empty chair next to Meg.

  “Is he asleep?” Mallory asked in a soft voice as she regarded the infant held in her friend’s arms.

  Meg nodded. “With his tummy full, he dozed straight off. I’m thinking about taking him up to the nursery, but the instant I lay him in his cradle, he’ll probably wake again. On the other hand, I need to be going up soon anyway. I promised Maximillian that I would read him a story before his afternoon nap. If I plan things correctly, they’ll both be asleep by the time I need to come downstairs for a nap of my own before dinner.”

  “May I hold him?”

  “Of course. Careful now, or he’ll take exception to being passed about and make all of us sorry.” She shared a smile with Meg as her sister-in-law leaned ac
ross so they could make the transfer. For a moment the baby scrunched his face tight at the disturbance, but as soon as he settled against Mallory’s warm bosom, he quieted.

  “He’s lovely,” Mallory said, stroking a finger lightly over the paper-thin skin of one of his rosy cheeks.

  “Just wait until you have your own. Who knows, mayhap we’ll be sitting here together next year admiring your new baby.”

  Warmth spread through Mallory like a rising sun, a shy smile playing over her lips at the notion. “Yes, mayhap.”

  She held Zachary for several minutes as the others continued to review the arrangements for the next day. She made no comment, content merely to listen. Then it was time for Meg to take the baby up to the nursery, time as well for Mallory to go downstairs to greet the latest influx of guests and family members who had arrived for the wedding.

  What had begun as a modest list of forty had swelled to more than a hundred, with another seventy-five invited for the wedding breakfast. As things now stood, she would much rather be married with only her family and a few of Adam’s closest friends in attendance. With his father and sister deceased, he had few relations—only an elderly aunt too frail to travel and a few cousins with whom he exchanged letters at Christmas and little else.

  At one time, Mallory knew she would have adored the hullabaloo of a large Society wedding. Now, she rather envied Ned and Claire, who’d run off to marry in a small parish church with only the vicar’s wife and daughter there to serve as witnesses. How exquisitely peaceful that must have been, how beautifully romantic.

  But as tempting as an elopement might be, everyone was counting on tomorrow’s ceremony. The entire household had put so much work into the preparations—cleaning, cooking and arranging the various rooms that would be used for the festivities. Madame Morelle and her assistants had been sewing, often long into the night, in order to complete her wedding gown and a couple of new dresses for her honeymoon. Her family and friends had helped wherever they could. And then there was Mama, who had done everything possible to make sure tomorrow would be the most special event in Mallory’s life.