Crimson Rapture (44 page)

"I'll
make arrangements with Mr. Paton as soon as possible," he said finally and
evenly. "But there's another thing I have to say before you leave. Richard
sent the annulment papers." Richard was actually waiting in town to
surprise her with a visit after they were married, which would be tomorrow.
"We're to be married tomorrow," he said softly. "I've made the
arrangements. It will be an understandably small ceremony with only Jacob as
witness. Make what preparations are necessary. That's all."

He
heard no sound or comment or anything and he turned back around to find her
staring at him. "I said that's all. You can leave now."

The
harsh tone startled her into motion. She nodded, rose, and quickly took her
leave. Lifting the skirts of her dress, she raced up the stairs. He heard her
bedroom door open and shut and he imagined she flung herself on her bed in
tears.

He
imagined the reality.

Damn.
He slammed his fist against the mantel. Every blessed time he saw her he came
closer. Closer to forgetting. Forgetting that she had left him, forgetting the
implicit statement that single act said about what he had known as love,
forgetting the purgatory of agony it caused.

He
had come so close to sweeping her in his arms, forcing her lips to his, all in
a masochistic demand that she alter an unalterable truth. She might have plenty
of gratitude, as though the glad fact that she drew breath was the result of
his whim but she did not love him. So, God, when would he stop loving her?
Wanting her so?

He
wondered what he would find in her on the wedding night. Reluctance, no doubt.
The necessity of consummation served as both an excuse and justification for
taking her one last time. But after that, he'd not force her again, not as long
as he drew breath.

Due
to her father's occupation, Christina had attended numerous weddings but none
with as dolorous an air as her own. It might have been a funeral. Even nature
reflected dismally by providing a steady downpour. Bleak gray skies that were
but a shade lighter than the groom's own dark mood.

Seemingly
unable to bear her company, Justin chose to ride alongside the carriage,
despite the rains. Despondency shrouded her throughout the long ride to the
church. A good mile from the church the carriage got stuck in a mud hole and,
wordlessly, Justin helped her out of the carriage, lifted her to his saddle,
and pressed the horse to gallop. Even so, the lovely off-white gown she had so
carefully chosen for the auspicious occasion was soaked through her cloak, the
skirt splattered with mud. She had spent over two hours painstakingly fixing
her hair into a pretty style and by the time she walked through doors of the small
church, it hung in miserable wet clumps. She looked almost as bad as she felt.

Jacob
already waited inside. While she had not really expected Hanna to attend, there
had always been a small glimmer of hope. Hope was crushed the moment she saw
him standing alone with the reverend.

The
small brick church was as nondescript as its caretaker. She did not think she'd
be able to recall it on the morrow. Wearing the traditional black cloth, the
small, serious man quickly got to the point. It was the shortest possible
ceremony and throughout the duration she frantically searched the empty
surroundings for one thing, something, anything—a single flower would do—that
could signal there was joy in the world.

She
found none.

Justin
placed a thin gold band on her finger. Unlike the one she had pawned, it was
not plain. The tiniest diamonds swirled in a delicate pattern around the band,
so tiny it looked like fluid sparkles flowing over gold. It was the most
beautiful ring she had ever seen. Had he had the ring made for her? Or was it a
family treasure?

The
minister concluded and she closed her eyes as Justin leaned over to kiss her.
The first kiss in over a year and half again but he barely touched her lips
with a quick, circumspect manner as though he found this small token taxing.
She opened her eyes with but the smallest, hurt gasp and turned instantly away
from his dark and watchful gaze.

Justin
could not believe this. If she found such small token of affection unbearable,
even painful— what then would she do with the wedding night? Reluctance seemed
suddenly an understatement.

God,
he had had it with her.

"Wait
outside, Christina."

The
anger in his command brought a quick withdrawal. The carriage waited out front
and she entered, so distraught that she never wondered what business Justin had
with the minister that he had not wanted her to overhear.

Justin
asked that the date of their marriage as shown in the small church record book
be changed to the very first night he had forced Christina to give herself to
him. The minister thought such a generous sum was unnecessary for the commonly
provided service but when Justin insisted he use it for one of his many
charities, the reverend did not argue. The date was changed and with a warm
smile and gratitude.

The
carriage finally made its way around the huge circular drive shortly after
nightfall. Jacob had turned off the road leading back to town without a word of
congratulations. Justin dismounted and entered the house without ceremony, not
even bothering to wait for her. It was Chessy who helped her descend. He
apologized for ruining her dress and hair, never giving on that he had any idea
what the day's proceedings were about. Justin had already warned him and Chessy
had promised not to tell a soul—not even his sweet wife, who happened to be one
of the few women he knew could be trusted with a secret.

Christina
hardly listened, barely managed to mutter that it wasn't his fault and didn't
matter anyway. She had only one thought. She wanted to see her son. He would be
asleep, she knew, but didn't care. She just wanted to see him, to reassure
herself it had all been worth this pain, that she had not just made the second
biggest mistake of her life.

An
hour or so later, she still sat in the nursery, staring at her child's sleeping
face through the soft light of a single candle. How she loved him! For him she
would endure anything. She would endure the pain of a loveless marriage, the
indignity of his father's animosity.

A
light rap on the door and Rosarn entered, and after discerning the somehow
lovely and touching sight of her mistress just staring at the boy—a boy who had
kept her running all day—she asked, "Is everything well? He's not ill, is
he?"

"Oh
no. I just missed him." She smiled. "Why is it I never tire of
studying his sweet face?"

"Sweet
while he sleeps, the devil when he's awake," Rosarn laughed lightly.
"But I know what you mean. I used to stare at my own for hours on end,
too. Enjoy it while you can; they grow so quickly."

Christina
already knew this.

"I
just came to tell you your bath is ready and I laid out your nightclothes. Are
you sure you want to skip supper? I could still get a tray sent up."

"No,
I'm fine. Thank you."

The
nursery was conveniently placed between her bedroom and the master bedroom and
so Christina merely passed through her dressing room into her bedchambers.

A
fire danced in the hearth and a lamp was lit, the windows closed against the
rain, and the plush, dark rose-colored curtains drawn against that. The heavy
rose-colored quilt was turned down and a hot bath waited by the fire. The
lovely room looked warm and inviting.

She
removed her clothes, hung them neatly over a chair, and climbed into the hot
water, careful to keep her hair over the rim to dry before the fire. The sweet
scent of lavender filled the air. Rosarn or Aggie must have used half a bottle
of the precious lavender oil.

The
bath water cooled too quickly and before she felt the day's tension leave her,
she reluctantly climbed out, suddenly cold. She dried off quickly, and
discarding the frilly, lacy nightclothes laid out on the bed, she went to the
chest of drawers. She opened the bottom one and lifted the neat pile of
chemises and handkerchiefs to find what she kept hidden there.

Tonight
she would wear it. One day shortly after she had arrived, Aggie had passed her
carrying a bundle of Justin's clothes for laundry. She had caught the faintest
trace of his scent as the maid passed. That was all it had taken. She waited
until Aggie busied herself with another task, snuck into the pantry, and stole
his shirt.

Tonight
was her wedding night and while he would have no part of her, she would have
some small part of him throughout what she knew would be a sleepless night.

No
sooner had she climbed into bed than a knock sounded at the door.

"Yes?"

Rosarn
pushed the door open just a fraction and remained outside, thinking her
mistress was still in the bath. Christina was the only woman she knew who did
not find it necessary to bathe in a chemise. She did not want to embarrass her,
even though she— like all the house maids—had noticed her mistress's
inexplicable lack of modesty despite her obvious sweet goodness and shyness of
person.

"It's
the master," she whispered, glad too that she wouldn't have to see her
mistress's reaction to the first night he sent for her to perform her wifely
duties. "He wants you to attend him. That's all. Good night."

Christina
watched the door close quickly before she could read the maid's expression for
information. Though Rosarn was not like Aggie. Aggie's face always told her
what she should expect from Justin— indifference or anger.

Trying
to guess what he might want at this hour, she climbed out of bed and swung the
long rose-colored robe over the shirt. She held it tight about her and glanced
quickly into the looking glass to make certain he couldn't tell what she had on
beneath. Then she descended the stairs and with a pounding heart that signaled
no small amount of apprehension.

The
study was vacant. She looked in both the parlor and the dining room but found
them vacant as well. He must have changed his mind or forgotten and then
retired without waiting for her. She felt a sudden flood of relief and she
quickly returned to her bedroom.

She
tossed the robe to a sitting chair and flew into the bed like a child, burying
herself in the warm quilts and almost immediately losing herself to the faint,
ever so pleasant scent of his shirt. The small remnant of days long lost sent
her swiftly to the distant shores of her memories, where she wandered
restlessly for some time.

With
her pulse racing, her face flushed, she sat up, as far from the peaceful state
conducive to sleep as she might be. How could mere memories stir that sweet
warmth through her loins? How could she want him so? Wanting him shamelessly
like... like—

She
wouldn't admit the shockingly unchaste thought even to herself.

Anxiously
she looked around the quiet room in search of something innocuous to rest her
gaze on. The lantern still burned; she had forgotten to extinguish it. The
small brass gilt clock ticked softly on the mantel, rain fell in a soft patter
against the window panes, and she listened with intense concentration to these
but in a near desperate attempt to quiet her thoughts.

Justin
waited in his bedchambers until her message became perfectly clear. She would
not come to him; he would have to go to her. Fine. She could have it her way.
He stormed from his room, slamming the door behind him.

Christina
bolted up, alert and as still as a doe with the scent of a hunter. His
footsteps warned of his anger even before he reached the door of her room. The
door opened and she scrambled up to the bedpost, holding on with both hands for
some false sense of security. Justin entered and stood with his hands on his
hips, his long legs spread apart and ever so obviously furious about something.

"What
game is this?" he demanded.

Game?
She didn't know what he meant, but he seemed to suddenly take notice of his
shirt. Now he would be angry about that too. Like all times of uncertainty, she
bit her lip, looking every bit like the guilty child she felt.

Had
he wanted to torment himself, he would have created the exact picture of her
that he now stared at. A light shining from behind to silhouette the slender
shape covered in a man's shirt—his shirt, he realized. The long loosened hair
cascaded carelessly around her and her face was shadowed in darkness. A picture
of provocative innocence.

His
anger simmered with desire and even he recognized the danger of such a potion.
"Do I have to carry you kicking and screaming to my bed?"

"What?"
She glanced at the bed. "I... I don't understand?"

"You
don't?" He wondered if this could be true. "This is our wedding
night." He stated the blunt fact. "Surely you don't expect me to make
the same mistake as your first husband and leave our marriage
unconsummated?"

After
precious long seconds of true bewilderment, the reality crashed into her
consciousness. She couldn't believe it. He could not bear to kiss her and yet
he thought to consummate their marriage. She shook her head and all she could
think was, "you don't mean it..."