Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed (16 page)

“I think you’ll be happy with Lord Gresham.”

“Do you?”

“He loves you, you know, a very great deal.”

Loves me? Yes, of course, as a friend, the same way I love him. As for anything else…

An odd sensation formed in her stomach, a funny tingling that made her wonder what it would be like to be truly, passionately, violently loved by Adam Gresham. To be wanted with the full force of his personality, the great depths of his heart and soul.

But she was only being foolish, and Esme was reading far too much into her unexpected nuptials. Her and Adam’s marriage was a union of circumstance, a joining of like minds and willing spirits. They would do well together, she knew. But passionate, romantic love…she’d had that once for far too brief a time, and she didn’t want to have it again. Never more did she want to experience the giddy highs and desolate lows that came with such intense emotions.

Being friends was better.

Being friends and lovers was even better still.

Smiling, she gestured toward the door. “Off we go then before they send someone to find us. There is still so much to do before tomorrow.”

Chapter 15

T
he next morning, Adam stood at the altar of the Byron family chapel, attired in his best dark blue coat and fawn trousers. His waistcoat was cream with a reserved gold key pattern, his shirt snowy white, his cravat tied in an intricate trone d’Amour. On his feet, he wore black dress shoes that were polished to an almost blinding gleam, courtesy of his valet.

He’d pleased and surprised Finley by permitting the man to assist him today, initially by letting the servant hand him one pressed neckcloth after another until Adam finally achieved the look he wanted. Next, he allowed the valet to help him into his tight-fitting coat, then stood still while the man ran a brush over his back and shoulders to remove any stray specks of lint.

But this was his wedding day, and the minor intrusion on his privacy seemed a small price to pay. For Mallory’s sake, he wanted to look his best. When she saw him standing in the chapel, he wished her to be proud, to be pleased, that he was the man she was marrying.

He resisted the temptation to check his pocket watch, knowing the hour must be nearly at hand. Conversation from the dozens of seated guests reverberated inside the elegant chamber, echoing off the high, domed ceiling, with its beautifully painted angels, cerulean blue skies and pristine pale clouds, before dropping low to skim across the smooth white marble floors.

Drawing a deep breath, he caught the sweet scents of flowers from the large vases filled to overflowing with sprays of white jasmine and pale apricot musk roses.

Next to him, he saw Jack check his watch, his best man obviously sharing his own earlier impulse. On Jack’s far side, also serving as his groomsmen, stood Cade, Drake, and Niall Faversham, who had apparently recovered from his brief infatuation with Mallory.

A good thing, too,
Adam thought,
since Mallory belongs to me.
No other man would ever possess her. After the wedding night, she would irrevocably be his.

“Five minutes,” Jack said. “Nervous?”

“No,” he answered, realizing it was the truth. If anything, he was impatient to proceed. Unlike most men, he happened to be eager to marry. Mallory Byron was the woman he loved above all others, and he could barely wait to join his life with hers. “You have the ring, I presume?”

Jack grinned and patted a pocket in his waistcoat. “Right here, safe and sound.”

Adam nodded and stared down at his shoes, doing his utmost not to think again about tonight and the pleasure he knew he would find with Mallory in his bed. With very little prompting, he could imagine the scene—Mallory lying warm and naked against the sheets, her hair rippling in a dark wave over the pillows, her lips red and swollen from the kisses he’d given her as she beckoned him closer for more…

Abruptly returning to his senses, he stopped and shook the fantasy clear. As he well knew, there’d been enough scandal already without his causing more. Only imagine the reaction were he to become visibly aroused in front of more than a hundred guests, and at his own wedding to boot.

His lips quirked at the notion, and he glanced up.

Suddenly there stood Mallory, framed by the chapel’s wide, oak double doors. For an instant, he forgot to breathe, forgot
how
to breathe, his senses overwhelmed by her sheer beauty, an ethereal loveliness that quite put the angels overhead to shame. Dressed all in white, she was stunning.

Pure.

Perfect.

Absolutely innocent.

With her attendants, Grace, India, Meg, and Claire beginning their procession up the aisle, Edward stepped to Mallory’s side and bent to whisper something in her ear. She smiled slightly, then took his arm. Soon, they began the traditional march, moving gradually forward.

As they did, Adam became aware of his heart beating in deep, powerful strokes as though it were trying to escape from his chest. Inhaling as fully as he was able, he strove to calm himself, to clear his mind so he could make it through the next few minutes of the ceremony.

Her gaze met his as she drew to a halt at his side, nerves and some other indefinable emotion shimmering in the ocean-hued depths of her eyes. Edward released her into his care, but Adam barely noticed the duke, his every thought centered on Mallory as the two of them turned to face Vicar Thoms.

Dearly beloved…

As if from a distance, he heard the clergyman begin the ceremony, the solemn words resonating inside the chapel that had grown quiet save for an occasional cough or rustling of fabric as someone shifted in their seat.

Adam tried to concentrate, aware that he needed to follow along so he would know when it was time for him to say his vows. But it wasn’t easy, not with Mallory standing barely two inches away, not when he wanted to touch her and kiss her and tell her how very much he adored her.

Instead, he kept his hands loose at his sides, his shoulders straight, his gaze focused ahead. From the corner of his eye, he could see her, noticing the way her fingers were clasped, white and strained, around her bouquet of apricot roses.

He sent her a look, wanting to reassure her that she needn’t be so nervous. Before he could catch her gaze, the vicar was asking him to take the first of his vows.

In a strong, clear voice he said the words that would bind him to Mallory, knowing as he did that he meant each and every one. Then it was Mallory’s turn, her own iteration soft and low, her gaze cast down beneath her lashes.

When the clergyman asked
who so giveth this woman…
Edward stepped forward to respond, laying her hand in Adam’s in a final affirmation of his blessing and consent. Claire took Mallory’s bouquet, then it was just he and Mallory, the rest of the wedding party and the guests seeming to fade away.

Her fingers were cool and trembled ever so slightly within his own warm grasp. Holding them tighter, he silently urged her to look up. But her eyes moved no higher than his cravat as he spoke the next of his vows, then she hers.

Then it was time for the rings, Jack passing him the oval cut aquamarine he’d purchased when he’d made the quick trip to London in order to procure the special license. He’d chosen the gemstone, set in gold with a surround of small diamonds, because the color reminded him of Mallory’s eyes. Now, if only she would glance up, he would be able to judge again how well it matched.

Her fingers shook once more as he slid the ring in place, a sensation of wonder sweeping through him at the realization that Mallory was now truly his wife.

Until death us do part,
he thought with another fierce beat of his heart.

Moments later, she fit a wide gold band on his finger, an act not required by the ceremony but a visible commitment he wished to accept nonetheless. Then, the vicar spoke the final words that pronounced them husband and wife, and the ceremony was over.

Or nearly.

Smiling, Adam curved his palms around her arms in a gentle clasp and pulled her close. She glanced up, her eyes wide and glazed with nerves.

Bending near, he brushed his lips against her cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered for her ears alone. “It’s only me, Adam, whom you’ve known since you were a girl.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, a measure of the anxiety fading from her gaze.

“You’re mine to cherish and protect now, and as long as we’re together, there is nothing you will ever need fear again.”

Then, ignoring the dictates of convention and the gazes of all of the people watching, he folded her close and sealed his vows with a kiss.

At the first touch of Adam’s lips, Mallory thought she heard church bells ringing. But the chapel had no bells, so she supposed she must be hearing the wild rhythm of her heart clamoring between her ears. As for the chill that had permeated her skin from the time she’d awakened this morning, it melted like so much ice under a warm summer sun—Adam’s strong arms holding her too close not to absorb the heat from his robust body.

She knew the two of them were being watched as though they were players on a stage, and yet beneath the sweet pressure of his kiss, everyone else ceased to matter, ceased even to exist.

This was Adam, who had always been her friend.

This was Adam, who was as familiar to her as breathing.

So why had she been so nervous?

Why had the idea of marriage left her so afraid?

Trembling beneath the intoxicating delight of his mouth moving over hers, she no longer had the faintest idea. Then, just as she was about to slide her arms around his neck to pull him even closer, he broke their kiss.

The world returned in a blinding rush—the scent of roses drifting on the air, shafts of golden September sunlight gleaming through the chapel windows, the press of over a hundred pair of eyes watching with avid, open-mouthed interest.

Heat and color burst to life in her cheeks as she dipped her head, a smattering of laughter breaking out among the assembled company. Peering up through her lashes, she met Adam’s rich, chocolate brown gaze and read the boyish pleasure there and in his wide, white-toothed grin.

A laugh escaped her own mouth, and without entirely realizing how, she found herself smiling. After planting another quick kiss on her lips, Adam drew her arm through his and led her back down the aisle.

The wedding breakfast came next, a far more elaborate affair than she had originally envisioned. With so many people in attendance, the formal dining room had been arrayed with dozens of chairs and tables, each spread with a crisp white cloth and flowered Meissen china edged in gold.

She and Adam took their places at the head table with her family and his groomsmen on either side. The meal had barely started when she was handed a glass of champagne. She took a sip, the wine tasting sweet and cool on her tongue, frothy bubbles tickling her nose.

The servants brought forth a sumptuous variety of food, platters arranged with a selection designed to tempt any palate. There were coddled eggs with buttered toast points, tiny pancakes drizzled with sweet treacle and whipped cream, smoked salmon, rare roast beef, ham, pasties, puddings, cheese, juicy hothouse berries, succulent golden peaches and crisp red apples.

Adam made sure she ate, tempting her with one delicious morsel after another that he offered to her on his fork. Meanwhile, the champagne continued to flow, the servants so efficient that the level in her glass never seemed to grow lower no matter how much she drank.

“Open up,” Adam said, holding out a plump, sugar-dipped strawberry that sparkled like a jewel beneath its sweet coating.

Obediently, she parted her lips and sank her teeth into the berry, flavor bursting in her mouth as a tiny drop of juice trickled toward her chin. She giggled and reached for her napkin.

“Allow me.” Using the edge of his thumb, he wiped away the errant drop. Instead of drying his fingers on his own napkin, though, he licked away the drop. Then, without losing eye contact, he slowly ate the rest of the strawberry.

A shiver ran like an invisible caress along her spine.

Mercy, I hope no one is watching us,
she thought,
since Adam looks as if it’s me he’d rather be nibbling on instead of that strawberry.

Taking up her champagne, she hid her reaction to the astonishing thought in a long, cool swallow. The room gave a slight spin, and her glass bobbled in her hand, wine sloshing dangerously near the rim. Ever so carefully, she returned the drink to the table, another giggle escaping her throat as she did.

“If I don’t mistake the matter, I believe you’re just this side of being foxed, Lady Gresham.”

She peered at him, lines wrinkling her forehead. “Lady who?”

“Gresham,” he repeated.

“Who’s that?”

He sent her an amused glance. “Why you are, sweetheart.”

She puzzled over the matter for a moment, then laughed. “La, and so I am. I’d quite forgot; I’m a countess now. How very singular.”

Lifting her hand, he kissed her palm, stroking a fingertip over her wedding ring as he did. “How very delightful, my dear Mallory Gresham.”

“Oh, heavens, that’s right. I’m not a Byron any longer.”

“No. Now you’re mine.”

Her stomach gave a flip at the intense expression in his eyes, a look she decided must be the alcohol talking. “I suppose I oughtn’t have anything else to drink.”

“Very likely not,” he agreed. “But go ahead anyway.”

“Really? Why?”

A slow smile moved over his sensual lips. “Because I like you like this.”

“Foxed, you mean?” She hiccuped, then covered her mouth with a hand, as a fresh giggle rose up like the champagne bubbles in her glass.

He shook his head. “No, happy. I like hearing you laugh.”

Before she had time to consider the truth of his statement, he plucked another sugar-coated piece of fruit off her plate—a blackberry this time—and popped it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, then took another imprudent sip of wine.

Mallory was still floating on a surfeit of food, wine and wedding cake as she let Penny finish helping her into her traveling dress three hours later.

The gown—another of Madame’s last-minute creations—was fashioned of buttercup yellow sarcenet with a matching, short-sleeved pelisse. An adorable cottage bonnet of pale chip straw, that was shaped rather like an inverted bucket, curved along her cheekbones, its ribbons tied in a saucy bow beneath her chin.

Charlemagne regarded her from a nearby chair, his ears angled as if he knew something unusual was afoot. Crossing to the cat, she stroked his velvety head. “You shall be fine here with Esme until I return from my honeymoon next month. Then you’re coming with me to Gresham Park. It shall be an adventure for us both.”

The cat purred.

An adventure.

That’s how she had decided to regard her marriage. Anything else was…well, she wasn’t sure what it was. Which was why sometime between her first glass of champagne and the laughter she’d elicited among the guests as she’d playfully crammed wedding cake into Adam’s mouth, she’d chosen to regard her marriage as an interesting new escapade on which she was embarking.