Wedding of the Century

Chapter Eight

Cottenham Manor

March

Tottenham Manor, seat of the Earl of Hopstead, was almost as grand and large as Swindon Palace. Lord and Lady Hopstead were famous for their entertainments, and Sunny had spent a long and happy weekend at Cottenham the previous summer. It was a pleasure to return, and as her maid fastened a sapphire and diamond necklace around her neck, she hummed softly to herself.

"Madame is happy tonight," Antoinette observed as she handed Sunny the matching eardrops.

Sunny put on the eardrops, then turned her head so she could see the play of light in the sapphire pendants. "I've been looking forward to this ball for weeks. What a silly custom it is for a bride to rusticate for months after the wedding."

"But think how much more you will appreciate society after wintering in the depths of the English countryside."

"That's true." Sunny rose with a rich whisper of taffeta petticoats. She was wearing a sumptuous blue brocade gown, one of Worth's finest, and she was ready to be admired.

"You must sit until I have put on your tiara," Antoinette said reprovingly.

Obediently Sunny sat again and braced herself for the weight of the Thornborough tiara. The massive, diamond-studded coronet would give her a headache, but it wouldn't be proper for a duchess to attend a ball without one, particularly since the Prince of Wales would be present.

Just as the maid was finishing, a hesitant knock sounded at the door. Antoinette crossed the room and admitted Alexandra. Dressed in a white silk gown that shimmered with every movement, the younger girl had a fairylike grace. Her dark hair had been swept up to show the delicate line of her throat, and her complexion glowed with youth and good health.

"You look marvelous," Sunny said warmly. "Turn around so I can see all of you."

Her sister-in-law colored prettily as she obeyed. "You were right about the gown. Even though this one wasn't made for me, it's so lovely that one can't help but feel beautiful."

"It looks better on you than it ever did on me. You'll be the belle of the ball."

"No, you will." Alexandra chuckled. "But at least I don't think that I'll be a wallflower."

Another knock sounded on the door. This time it was Justin, come to take his wife and sister down to the dinner that would precede the ball. Sunny had hoped that there would be so many people at Cottenham that they would be put in the same room, but such intimacy was unthinkable in the fashionable set. The previous night, she had slept alone. Perhaps tonight…

Hastily she suppressed the improper thought.

After he examined them both, Justin said gravely, "You will be the two most beautiful women at the ball. Alex, I shall have a dozen men clamoring for your hand before the evening is over."

As Alexandra beamed, he offered one arm to his wife and one to his sister, then led them into the hall. As they descended the broad stairs, Sunny asked, "Will you dance with me tonight?"

He gave her a quizzical glance. "You would dance with a mere husband?"

"Please." Afraid that she might sound pathetic, she added lightly, "I know that it's not fashionable to dance with one's spouse, but it isn't actually scandalous."

He gave her one of the rare smiles that took her breath away. "Then it will be my very great pleasure."

As they entered the salon where the other guests had gathered, Sunny's heart was already dancing.

The Hopsteads' ball was an excellent place to rejoin society, and Sunny enjoyed greeting people she had met the year before. During a break after the fourth dance, she came across her godmother, who was resplendent in coral-and-silver silk. "Aunt Katie!" Sunny gave her a hug. "I hoped you would be here. You're not staying at Cottenham, are you?"

"No, I'm at the Howards'. Every great house in the district is full of guests who have come for this ball." Katie affectionately tucked a tendril of Sunny's flyaway hair in place. "You're in fine looks. By any chance are you…?"

"Please, don't ask me if I'm expecting a blessed event! I swear, every female at the ball has inquired. I'm beginning to feel like a dreadful failure."

"Nonsense-you've only been married a few months." Katie chuckled. "It's just that we're all such gossips, and like it or not, you're a subject of great interest."

Sunny made a face. "Luckily there will soon be other heiresses to capture society's attention." The two women chatted for a few minutes and made an engagement for the next morning.

Then Sunny glanced beyond Katie, and her heart froze in her breast. On the far side of the room was Paul Curzon, tall and distinguished and heart-stoppingly handsome.

As if feeling her gaze, he looked up, and for a paralyzing instant their eyes met. Shocked by the way her knees weakened, Sunny turned to Katie and stammered, "I must go now. Ill see you tomorrow."

Then she caught her train up with one hand and headed for the nearest door, scarcely noticing when she bumped into other guests. Sometimes escape was more important than manners.

One of the drawbacks of socializing was the number of people who hoped to enlist ducal support for some cause or other. This time, it was a junior government minister talking about an upcoming bill. Justin listened patiently, half of his attention on the minister, the other half anticipating the next dance, which would be with Sunny. Then, from the comer of his eye, he saw his wife leave the ballroom, her face pale. He frowned, wondering if she was feeling ill.

He was about to excuse himself when he saw Paul Curzon go out the same side door that Sunny had used. Justin's face stiffened as a horrible suspicion seized Mm.

Seeing his expression, the minister said earnestly, "I swear, your grace, the scheme is perfectly sound. If you wish, I'll show you the figures."

Justin realized that he couldn't even remember what the damned bill was about. Brusquely he said, "Send me the information and I'll give you my decision in a week."

Hoping desperately that he was wrong, he brushed aside the minister's thanks and made his way after his wife and the man whom she might still love.

Without conscious thought, Sunny chose the conservatory for her refuge. It was at the opposite end of the house from the ball, and as she had hoped, she had it to herself.

Cottenham was noted for its magnificent indoor garden, and scattered gaslights illuminated banks of flowers and lush tropical shrubbery. Though rain drummed on the glass panels far above her head, inside the air was balmy and richly scented.

She took a deep breath, then set out along one of the winding brick paths. It had been foolish to become upset at the sight of Paul Curzon, for she had known that inevitably they would meet. But she had not expected it to be tonight. If she had been mentally prepared, she would have been able to accept his presence with equanimity.

Yet honesty compelled her to admit that in the first instant, she had felt some of the excitement she had known in the days when she had loved him. In the days when she thought she loved him, before she had discovered his baseness.

As always, nature helped her regain her composure. If she hadn't been dressed in a ball gown, she would have looked for some plants to repot. Instead, she picked a gardenia blossom and inhaled the delicate perfume.

As she did, a familiar voice said huskily, "The conservatory was a perfect choice, darling. No one will see us here."

"Paul!" The shock was as great as when she had first seen him, and spasmodically she crushed the gardenia blossom in her palm. After a fierce struggle for control, she turned and said evenly, "I didn't come here to meet you, Paul, but to get away from you. We have nothing to say to each other."

Unfortunately the way out lay past him. As she tried to slip by without her broad skirts touching him, he caught her hand. "Sunny, don't go yet," he begged. "I'm sorry if I misunderstood why you came here, but I wanted so much to see you that hope warped my judgment. I made the worst mistake of my life with you. At least give me a chance to apologize."

Reluctantly she stopped, as much because of the narrow aisle as because of his words. "I'm not interested in your apologies." As she spoke, she looked into his face, which was a mistake. He didn't look base; he looked sincere, and sinfully handsome.

"If you won't let me apologize, then let me say how much I love you." A tremor sounded in his voice. "I truly didn't know how much until I lost you."

Reminding herself that he had looked equally honest before he had broken her heart, she tried to free her hand, saying tartly, "Perhaps you think that you love me because you lost me. Isn't that how people like you play at love?"

His grip tightened. "This is different! The fact that you were willing to marry me is the greatest honor I've ever known. But I let myself be blinded by worldly considerations, and now I'm paying for my folly. Both of us are."

"There's no point in talking like this! The past can't be changed, and I'm a married woman now."

"Perhaps the past can't be changed, but the future can be." He put his hand under her chin and turned her face to his. "Love is too precious to throw away."

His gaze holding hers, he pressed his heated lips to her gloved fingers. "You are so beautiful, Sunny. I have never loved a woman as much as I love you."

She knew that she should break away, for she didn't love him, didn't really trust his protestations of devotion. Yet her parched heart yearned for warmth, for words of love, even ones that might be false.

Her inner struggle held her paralyzed as he put his arms around her and bent his head for a kiss. In a moment, she would push him away and leave. Yet even though it was wrong, for just an instant she would let him hold her…

The conservatory seemed like the most likely spot for dalliance, but Justin had only been there once, and he lost precious time with a wrong turn. His heart was pounding with fear when he finally reached his destination and threw open the door. He paused on the threshold and scanned the shadowy garden, praying that he was wrong.

But through the dense vegetation, he saw a shimmering patch of blue the shade of Sunny's gown. Down a brick path, around a bend… and he found his wife in Paul Curzon's arms.

The pain was worse than anything Justin had ever known. For a moment he stood stock-still as nausea pulsed through him.

Then came rage. Stalking forward, he snarled, "If you expect me to be a complaisant husband, you're both fools."

The two broke apart instantly, and Sunny whirled to him, her face white. Justin grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from Curzon. Then he looked his rival in the eye and said with lethal precision,' 'If you ever come near my wife again, I will destroy you."

"No need to carry on so, old man," Curzon said hastily. "It was merely a friendly kiss between acquaintances."

Justin's free hand knotted into a fist. "I will destroy you."

As Curzon paled, Justin turned and swept his wife away, heedless of the difficulty that she had keeping up in her high-heeled kid slippers. When she stumbled, his grip tightened to keep her from falling, but he did not slow down.

Wanting to ease the rage in his face, she said desperately, "Justin, that wasn't what you think."

He gave her a piercing glance. "It looked very much like a kiss to me. Am I wrong?"

"Yes, but… but it didn't really mean anything."

"If kisses mean nothing to you, does that mean you'll give them to any man?" he asked bitterly. "Or only those with whom you have assignations?"

"You're deliberately misunderstanding me! I went to the conservatory to avoid Paul, not to meet him. I know that I shouldn't have let him kiss me, but it was just a… a temporary aberration that happened only because there were once… warmer feelings between us."

"And if I hadn't come, they would have become warmer yet. If I had been ten minutes later…" His voice broke.

Guilt rose in a choking wave. Though she had not sought the encounter with Paul, she had not left when she should, and she had allowed him to kiss her. Might the warmth of Paul's embrace have dissolved her knowledge of right and wrong? She wanted to believe that morality would have triumphed-but treacherous doubt gnawed at her. Since she had discovered her wanton nature, she could no longer trust herself.

They reached the hallway below the main staircase. Several couples were enjoying the cooler air there, and they all turned to stare at the duke and duchess. Dropping her voice, Sunny hissed, "Let go of me! What will people think?"

"I don't give a tinker's dam what anyone thinks." He began climbing the staircase* still holding tightly to her wrist to keep her at his side. "Your behavior is what concerns me."

He followed the upstairs corridor to her bedchamber, pulled her inside, then slammed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock. The room was empty, lit only by the soft glow of a gas lamp. She edged uneasily away, for this furious man was a stranger, and he was starting to frighten her.

They stared at each other across the width of the room. With the same lethal intensity he had directed at Paul, Justin growled, "In the Middle Ages, I could have locked you in a tower or a chastity belt. A century ago, I could have challenged any man who came near you to a duel. But what can a man do about a faithless wife in these modern times?"

His words triggered her secret fear. "What about faithless husbands?" she retorted. "I've been told that men like you always have mistresses. Is the real reason for your trips to London another woman-one that you couldn't have because you had to marry for money?"

Renewed fury blazed in his gray eyes, and a dark hunger. "I have not looked at-or touched-anyone else since I met you. I wish to God that you could say the same. But since you choose to act like a whore, I will treat you as one."

Then he swept across the room and shattered her with a kiss.

Sunny had thought that her months of marriage had educated her about what happened between husband and wife, but nothing had prepared her for Justin's embrace. The quiet consideration to which she was accustomed had been replaced by blazing rage.

Trapped in the prison of his arms, she was acutely aware of his strength. Even if she wanted to resist, any effort on her part would be futile. Yet as they stood locked together, his mouth devouring hers, she sensed that his fury was changing into something that was similar, but was not anger at all. And it called to her.

Her head tilted and the heavy tiara pulled loose and fell to the carpet, jerking sharply at her hair. When she winced, his crushing grip eased and he began stroking her head with one hand. His deft fingers found and soothed the hurt. She didn't realize that he was also removing the pins until coils of hair cascaded over her shoulders.

He buried his face in the silken mass, and she felt the beating of his heart and the soft exhalation of his breath against her cheek. "Oh, God, Sunny," he said with anguish. "You are so beautiful-so painfully beautiful."

Yet his expression was harsh when he straightened and tamed her so that her back was to him. First he unhooked her sapphire necklace, throwing it aside as if it was a piece of cut-glass trumpery. Then he started to unfasten her gown.

She opened her mouth to object, but before she could, he pressed his mouth to the side of her throat. With lips and tongue, he found sensitivities she hadn't known she possessed. As he trailed tiny, nibbling kisses down her neck and along her shoulder, she released her breath in a shuddering sigh, all thoughts of protest chased from her mind. Potent awareness curled through her, pooling hotly in unmentionable places.

When the gown was undone, he pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms. The rough warmth of his fingers made an erotic contrast to the cool silk that skimmed her flesh in a feather-light caress, then slithered in a rush to the floor, leaving her in her underthings. Instinctively she raised her hands to cover her breasts, stammering, ' 'Th-this is highly improper.''

"You have forfeited the right to talk about propriety." He untied her layered crinnolette petticoat and dragged it down around her ankles. Then he began unlacing her blue satin corset. Stays were a lady's armor against impropriety, and she stood rigidly still, horribly aware that every inch of her newly liberated flesh burned with life and longing.

Then, shockingly, he slid his hands under the loose corset and cupped her breasts, using his thumbs to tease her nipples through the thin fabric of her chemise. It was like the time he had caressed her when he thought she slept, but a thousand times more intense. Unable to suppress her reaction, she shuddered and rolled her hips against him.

"You like that, my lady trollop?" he murmured in her ear.

She wanted to deny it, but couldn't. Her limbs weakened and she wilted against him, mindlessly reveling in the waves of sensation that flooded through her. The firm support of his broad chest, the silken tease of his tongue on the edge of her ear, the exquisite pleasure that expanded from her breasts to encompass her entire being, coiling tighter and tighter deep inside her…

She did not come to her senses until he tossed aside her corset and turned her to face him. Horrified by her lewd response and her near-nakedness, she stumbled away from the pile of crumpled clothing and retreated until her back was to the wall. "I have never shirked my wifely duty," she said feebly, "but this… this isn't right."

"Tonight, right is what I say it is." His implacable gaze holding hers, he stripped off his own clothing with brusque, impatient movements. "And this time, I will have you naked and in the light."

She could not take her eyes away as he removed his formal garments to reveal the hard, masculine body beneath. The well-defined muscles that rippled beneath his skin… the dark hair that patterned his chest and arrowed down his belly… and the arrogant male organ, which she had felt but never seen.

She stared for an instant, both mortified and fascinated, then blushed violently and closed her eyes. No wonder decent couples had marital relations in the dark, for the sight of a man's body was profoundly disturbing.

A Vienna waltz was playing in the distance. She had trouble believing that under this same roof hundreds of people were laughing and flirting and playing society's games. Compared to the devastating reality of Justin, the outside world had no more substance than shadows.

Even with her eyes closed, she was acutely aware of his nakedness when he drew her into his arms again, surrounding her with heat and maleness. Her breath came rapid and irregular as he peeled away the last frail protection of chemise, drawers and stockings. His fingers left trails of fire as they brushed her limbs and torso.

She inhaled sharply when he swept her into his arms and laid her across the bed, his taut frame pinning her to the mattress. Though she tried to control her shameful reactions, she moaned with pleasure when his mouth claimed her breast with arrant carnality.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not lie still as he caressed and kissed and tasted her, the velvet stroke of his tongue driving her to madness. His masterful touch abraded away every layer of decorum until she no longer remembered, or cared, how a lady should act. In the shameless turmoil of intimacy, she was tinder to his flame.

She was lovely beyond his dreams, and everything about her intoxicated him-the haunting lure of wild violets, her tangled sun-struck hair, the lush eroticism of removing layer after layer of clothing until finally her flawless body was revealed. Her lithe, feminine grace wrenched his heart.

Yet side by side with tenderness, he found savage satisfaction in her choked whimpers of pleasure. His wife might be a duchess and a lady, but for tonight, at least, she was a woman, and she was his.

This time there would be no need of lotion to ease their joining. She was hotly ready, and she writhed against his hand as he caressed the moist, delicate folds of female flesh. Her moan gave him a deep sense of masculine pride, dissolving the aching emptiness he had known in their inhibited marriage bed.

When he could no longer bear his separateness, he entered her. The voluptuous welcome of her body was exquisite, both torment and homecoming. Trembling with strain, he forced himself to move with slow deliberation. This time he would not let their union end too quickly.

Vivid emotions rippled across her sweat-sheened face. But he wanted more; he wanted communion of the mind as well as the body. He wanted acknowledgment of the power he had over her. Hoarsely he asked, "Do you desire me?"

"You… you are my husband." She turned her head to the side, as if trying to evade his question. "It is my duty to comply with your wishes."

Mere obedience was not what he wanted from his wife. He repeated, "Do you desire me?" Slowly, by infinitesimal degrees, he began to withdraw. "If not, perhaps I should stop now."

"No!" she gasped, her eyes flying open for an instant and her body arching sharply upward. "Don't leave me, please. I couldn't bear it…"

It was what he had longed to hear. He responded to her admission by surrendering to the fiery need that bound them. No longer passive, she was his partner in passion, her nails slashing his back as they thrust against each other. She cried out with ecstasy as long, shuddering convulsions rocked them both, and in the culmination of desire he felt their soaring spirits blend.

In the tremulous aftermath, he gathered her pliant body into his arms and tucked the covers around them. As they dozed off together, he knew they had truly become husband and wife.

Justin was not sure how long he had slept. The ball must have ended, for he could no longer hear music and laughter, but the sky outside was still dark. He lay on his side with Sunny nestled along him, her face against his shoulder.

Not wanting to wake her, he touched the luscious tangle of her hair with a gossamer caress. He had never known such happiness, or such peace. Not only was she the loveliest and sweetest of women, but she was blessed with an ardent nature. If he hadn't been so blasted deferential, he would have discovered that much sooner. But now that they had found each other, their lives would be different.

Her eyes opened and gazed into his. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. He stroked the elegant curve of her back and prepared to make the declaration of love that he had never made to any other woman.

But she spoke first, saying in a thin, exhausted voice, "Who are you?"

A chill touched his heart as he wondered if she was out of her senses, but she seemed lucid. Carefully he replied, "Your husband, of course."

She gave a tiny shake of her head. "You are more a stranger to me now than on the day we married."

He looked away, unable to face the dazed bleakness in her aqua eyes. He had known that she had not yet been unfaithful; not only was she not the sort of woman to engage lightly in an affair, but buried at Swindon she hadn't even had an opportunity. Yet seeing her in Curzon's arms had devastated Justin because it was a horrific preview of the possibility that he would lose her.

Despair had made him furiously determined to show her what fulfillment was. He had wanted to possess her, body and soul, to make her his own so profoundly that she would never look at another man. He realized that he had also hoped to win her love by demonstrating the depth of his passion.

But the fact that he had been able to arouse her latent ardor did not mean that she suddenly, miraculously loved him. With sickening clarity, he saw that in his anger he had ruthlessly stripped away her dignity and modesty. Instead of liberating her passion, he had ravished her spirit, turning her into a broken shadow of the happy girl who had first captured his heart.

His unspoken words of love withered and died. Instead he said painfully, "I am no different now from what I was then."

He wanted to say more, to apologize and beg her forgiveness, but she turned away and buried her face in the pillows.

Feeling that he would shatter if he moved too suddenly, he slid from the bed and numbly dragged on enough clothing to make his way the short distance to his room.

As he left, he wondered despairingly if he would ever be able to face his wife again.