As Lucy was about to climb into the coach, raising her eyes to the crowd of people who had congregated in the street—weddings always attracted interest, especially society weddings—her attention was caught by a solitary man standing on the corner of the street. A coldness crept over her for she was almost certain it was Mr Barrington. She took her eyes off him for a moment and when she was seated inside the coach and looked again, he had gone. The mere thought that it had been Mr Barrington she had seen alarmed her.
Alone with her in his shiny black carriage, Christopher took her hand and raised it to his lips and kissed her fingertips lingeringly, one by one.
‘At last I have you to myself—if just for a few minutes.’ Seeing her sudden pallor, he looked at her with concern. ‘What is it, my love? You look as if someone has just walked over your grave.’
She laughed, striving to keep her unease to herself, determined to let nothing, not even Mark Barrington, spoil this day. ‘Nothing—nothing at all. I’m merely overwhelmed with everything and so very happy.’
‘You look beautiful,’ he uttered quietly, continuing to hold her hand in a firm clasp. His tone held an odd note of pride, and perhaps awe, that made her turn her head to him. With the dappled shade of light playing across her creamy skin and wisps of hair escaping from their pins caressing her cheek, she was the most beautiful woman Christopher had ever laid eyes on. He could not believe his good fortune that she as his wife at last. Whether due to the gently curving bosom beneath the confines of her gown, the satin softness of her skin, or the rosy blush that infused her cheeks, brightening her eyes until they seemed to glow with a brilliance of their own behind the thick, sooty lashes, or the way her lips were softly parted, his attention was firmly ensnared, such enticements being too much for any man to ignore.
* * *
Returning to Curzon Street, Lady Sutton served them a splendid meal. Course after course of exquisite, mouth-watering dishes were served, followed by a magnificent bride cake. They drank champagne and toasts were made, and as Lucy raised her glass she was acutely aware of the gold band on her finger that bound her to Christopher for ever. There was only one thing that marred the day and that was Mr Barrington’s threatening form which hovered on the perimeter of her mind like the spectre at the feast.
* * *
As the afternoon drew to a close giving way to the evening shadows heralding the night, the guests began to leave. To give the newly-weds some time alone, Lady Sutton had taken the Duke up on his invitation to spend the night at his town house with Amelia. Christopher and Lucy were to join them for luncheon the following day.
No sooner were they alone, in moments Christopher and Lucy were on the threshold of her room. The bed, where Lucy would lose her virtue, was hung with lustrous panels in lush green velvet. It was a welcome sight to them both. Without more ado, grinning broadly, Christopher swept his bride of a few hours off her feet and carried her inside, closing the door behind him with his foot. Giving her a long, lazy kiss, making her prey to all those delicious sensations that had never been so sweet, he placed her on her feet and did not let go of her until he had released her lips.
‘I’ve waited a long time for this,’ Christopher murmured, caressing her throat, his fingers exploring the softness. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, beginning to remove the pins from her hair himself, having dismissed her maid earlier.
She sighed and looked at him. ‘Oh—about our wedding and what a handsome husband I have. I never believed it possible that this could happen.’ A cloud crossed her eyes and a note of sadness and regret entered her voice. ‘My only regret is that my father is not with us.’
Christopher embraced her comfortingly. ‘He will not be far away. I am certain that he is watching you from the mysterious place where we all go to one day.’
‘I would like to think so.’
‘Me, too,’ he said softly, his eyes gleaming into hers, lazy and seductive, feeling a driving surge of desire at the sultriness of her soft mouth and the liquid depths of her eyes.
She stood quite still while he continued to unpin her hair, towering over her, his physical presence rendering her weak. In the soft glow of the candlelight her eyes were huge, like those of a wide-eyed kitten, luminous and infinitely lovely. Removing the last of the hairpins, he spread the gleaming raven mass over her shoulders. She ran her tongue over her lip, unconsciously teasing.
‘This,’ Christopher said, glorying in the tender passion in her eyes, feeling the heat flame in his belly as he drew aside her curtain of hair and placed a kiss on the warm, sweet-scented nape of her neck, ‘is the moment I’ve been thinking of ever since you entered the church.’
As his lips trailed over her flesh, with a gasp of exquisite pleasure Lucy threw her head back and closed her eyes. ‘I cannot believe this is happening to me,’ she breathed softly. ‘I feel that I am heading for something I cannot possibly know how to handle.’
‘Then I think it’s about time you learnt,’ he replied softly, seductively.
He touched her cheek in soft reassurance—then his gaze travelled down over her body. She followed his stare, glancing down at herself, still clad in her wedding finery. Smoothing her skirts, she looked at him again in rather helpless uncertainty.
Christopher gave her a gentle smile. ‘You look wonderful,’ he soothed, reading her thoughts, ‘but I would like you better without your wedding gown. I want to see you wearing nothing at all.’
Grinning lazily, he turned away, taking off his jacket.
‘You would?’ The smile still on her lips, she kicked off her shoes and, sitting in a chair, proceeded to remove her ribbon garters and then the stockings without taking her eyes from his as he removed his neckcloth and began to unbutton his shirt. ‘I think you are going to have to assist me in removing my finery,’ she said, getting up and going to him, turning her back to give him access to the fastenings of her dress.
‘It will be my pleasure.’ Sweeping her long hair forward over her shoulder, he made short work of the fastenings down the back of her gown. ‘I’ve waited so long for this moment,’ he whispered as he slipped the bodice down off her shoulders, kissing the nape of her neck.
Lucy’s heart pounded as she stepped out of her gown. He continued to undress her slowly and with reverence, occasionally bending to kiss an exposed inch of flesh as her petticoats fluttered to the floor. When they were both naked, magnificent in their nudity, Lucy’s breath caught in her throat, fascinated by the play of light over his lean-muscled body. Happiness, joy and delight were welling inside her, filling her because this handsome, vital man belonged to her, every glorious inch of him. They almost fell on to the bed. Skin to skin, their chests pressed together, their hearts beating in unison, Christopher’s lips claimed hers. It was as she’d always dreamed of, this wild, sweet abandonment in his arms.
He aroused her slowly, with a skill that left her trembling. His kiss overwhelmed her while his hands beguiled her, running over her body, caressing and touching. She lay on her back while his lips explored every delectable inch of her, taking his time as he kissed her breasts and his hand ventured between her thighs. Trembling with pleasure, she reached for him, her fingers light and tentative, unsure. Staying her hand, his eyes flickering over her with desire, he covered her body with his own. His lips hovered inches from her own.
‘I love you, my darling,’ he whispered, ‘more than you will ever know.’
Arching her body, she wrapped her arms about him, urging him on, clutching, clinging. She moaned softly as he cradled her to him, throwing her head back against the pillow as he entered her, and after a few moments he began to move, soothing away her fears, bringing her close to the oblivion of bliss. The beauty of it was almost beyond endurance, a shimmering and a shattering that lifted them both into a realm of sheer enchantment. Slowly he became part of her and she felt the joy and wonder of it in her heart. Nothing she felt was suppress
ed or hidden from him.
As they twisted and rolled across the sheets, rocking together, locked as one for all time, she held him to her. There was exquisite joy in every plane and curve of her face. She was assailed by waves of lust and passion as he thrust her higher and higher to those dizzying heights that made her ache and burn with an ardour she had never felt before.
Then they slept, waking again to more loving, lazy, leisurely, and all the while Christopher watched her flushed face, the way her breath quickened and her dazed eyes widened with startled desire. He had awakened his young bride into a tantalising creature who breathed passion and sensuality.
There were times when words were unnecessary, when the body knew better, and neither of them was capable of holding back. Their lovemaking was stormy. Lucy had never experienced such intensity of feeling, nor such wanton abandonment to passion. They gave each other everything with their bodies, each possessing the other.
They slept again, with nothing but a sheet to cover them.
* * *
When Lucy awoke she was content to lay still, content to savour Christopher’s hard-muscled body pressed next to hers. How well he had taught her and how well she had come to know his body. She was as familiar with it now as she was her own. She knew the touch, the taste and the feel of him—never had she realised such depths of passion and feeling existed. Neither had she thought a man’s body could be so beautiful until she had known his and admired the perfect symmetry of flesh and muscle. How could any woman not want such a man?
With her head against her husband’s chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart, satiated and drowsy still with sleep, she nestled closer to him. A glow warmed her as she remembered everything they had done together. She opened her eyes. Now that she had recovered from the shattering passion of the night, the memory of the man she had seen when she had emerged from the church after the ceremony returned like a dog worrying a bone.
‘Christopher?’
‘Mmm, what is it?’ His voice was low and sleep-laden.
‘There is something I have to say. I might be wrong—indeed, I hope I am, but you should know.’
Christopher chuckled softly, tightening his arms about her and placing a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Whatever it is, can’t it wait? I have the urge to make love to you again now you are awake.’
‘You can still do that after I’ve told you what it is that’s bothering me.’
‘If you are going to tell me you regret marrying me, then it’s too late,’ he said sleepily. ‘This is for keeps, my love. There is no escape.’
‘I love you too much to leave you, Christopher. I think I proved that last night.’
‘Then what is it that is troubling you that is so important it takes precedence over my making love to you?’
‘Yesterday—when we left the church I—I saw someone watching us across the street.’
‘They were not alone, Lucy. I swear half of London came to witness our nuptials. What was so very different about the person you saw?’
‘I—I think it was Mr Barrington.’
Christopher’s relaxed state quietly vanished. ‘Are you certain about this?’
‘In truth—no, I’m not, but it did look like him. I saw him as I was getting into the coach. When I looked again he had gone.’
Christopher gave a heavy sigh. ‘Then if it was Barrington, if he means mischief we must wait for him to make his move.’ Wide awake now, he extricated himself from their tangled embrace.
* * *
It was Lucy who noticed Amelia’s absence. She thought little of it at first, but thought it strange that she had not been downstairs to welcome them along with Aunt Caroline and the Duke when they arrived for lunch. When Amelia failed to appear she went to her room, only to be told by one of the female servants that she had left the house with her maid one hour earlier on a private matter. Curious, she had looked out of the window and saw them get into a coach that was waiting across the road.
Becoming concerned when the servant informed her that Lady Amelia had not been her usual cheerful self when she had returned from the shops earlier, Lucy went in search of Christopher. An inner sense told her something was wrong. Where on earth could Amelia have gone and without informing anyone of her destination?
Christopher was just coming out of the study and looked at her when she came rushing down the stairs.
‘Lucy! What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Amelia. She’s gone out apparently and told no one where she was going. Where on earth can she be?’
Every muscle in Christopher’s body went rigid as he looked at her. ‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘I wish I knew. One of the maids told me that she hadn’t seemed herself since she returned from the shops earlier.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘No, she was accompanied by her maid.’
‘I cannot believe Amelia has done something so irresponsible as going out by herself. I’ll check and see if she’s taken the carriage.’
‘There’s no need. They were seen getting into a coach waiting across the street.’ Lucy went to him, gripping his arm. ‘It isn’t like Amelia to do something so inconsiderate and irresponsible as to leave the house so suddenly and without a word.’
Things became chaotic as they tried to find out where Amelia might have gone. It was when the maid who had seen her leave the house told them that her maid had mentioned that a gentleman had approached Lady Amelia when she had been leaving a shop on the Strand that they became seriously concerned. Not having seen him herself, she could give no description, only that he had appeared to be acquainted with Lady Amelia.’
As he listened, Christopher’s face became hard. His eyes were ice-cold and shining with a light that seemed to come from the depths of him. ‘Barrington. It has to be him.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘I am. You thought you had seen him yourself yesterday—it has to be him. Who else could it be? So—at last he shows his hand,’ Christopher said bitterly. ‘How dare he make Amelia the instrument of his vengeance? I do not intend letting him destroy her all over again because of all the real and imagined grievances he has for myself.’
‘But—how do we know where to look for her? We didn’t even know Mr Barrington was in London.’
‘I have to try. I’ll go and make some enquiries at his old haunts. He might have been there and even taken Amelia there. Thank God she had the presence of mind to take her maid with her.’ In the grip of an unnamed terror, Christopher wouldn’t let himself even imagine what Barrington might be subjecting Amelia to.
In a fever of apprehension Lucy watched him leave the house, praying he would find his sister and bring her back safely. She went to tell the Duke and Aunt Caroline what had happened. The three of them sat down to wait for Christopher to return. The longer Lucy waited, the tighter her nerves stretched. She listened to the clock on the mantelpiece chime two hours away.
* * *
Christopher finally returned, having scoured all the places he thought Mr Barrington might be, but his efforts had come to nothing.
Lucy was in despair when she looked with pain-filled eyes at Christopher’s drawn face as he paced back and forth across the room.
‘Where the devil is she? How dare she go her own way—defy me in this outrageous manner? I expressly told her not to go anywhere without notifying me first.’
Lucy knew that what he was feeling was rage at his own inadequacy to know where else to look and pure madness and cold murder flared in his eyes. ‘Well, what is clear is that she wasn’t forcibly abducted. She went with him of her own volition. They must have arranged to meet. Apparently she took nothing with her, which indicates that she had no intention of leaving the house for long.’
‘Barrington is devious, don’t forget. He might have other ideas. No doubt he had it all well planned.’
‘Perhaps I might make a suggestion.’
Christopher stopped pacing and looked at her with avid interest, willing to listen to anything that might throw some light on the whereabouts of Amelia.
‘I’ve had a thought,’ she said, ‘although it might come to nothing—but at the Skeffington ball he was in the company of a man called Sir Simon Bucklow. Perhaps he might have seen Mr Barrington.’
Christopher stared at her, absorbing her words. ‘Sir Simon Bucklow,’ he repeated. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of him? I know where he lives—in Kensington. I’ll go there right away.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
Christopher turned on her sharply. ‘You will do no such thing. I forbid it. You will wait here with my grandfather until I return.’
Lucy stood her ground, facing her husband with defiance in every line of her body, her face taut and determined. ‘Don’t try to stop me. I insist. I think we both know it isn’t Amelia that he’s interested in—that he’s only doing this to strike at you. In the meantime she might return. With any luck she’ll come back of her own volition.’
Seeing she was not to be deterred, and not wishing to lose any more time arguing, Christopher nodded. ‘Very well.’
* * *
On reaching Sir Simon Bucklow’s house in Kensington they were admitted immediately and shown into a large drawing room. Christopher walked in, his jaw hard and set, his face far more ominous than amiable. There were four people in the room, two men and two women. The women, seated on a stylish sofa, were Amelia and her maid and the men, Simon Bucklow and Mark Barrington, were standing a little way from Amelia. Sir Simon, who was most put out at having his friend accosted in his own drawing room, excused himself and quietly left the room. Christopher glanced at Amelia’s maid and she did likewise.
A Viscount to Save Her Reputation Page 21