Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(38)

She colored under his hungry gaze and glanced away. “Could you... would you turn the lamps out?”

Though he yearned to see her unclothed, he said, “As you wish.”

As he put out the lights, she drew the curtains so that the windows were covered and the room became suffocatingly dark. Then she climbed into the bed with a faint creak of springs.

After removing his robe, he located the bed by touch and slid in beside her. He would have liked to take his nightshirt off, as well, but a man’s naked body might upset her more, even in the dark and under blankets.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her with all the tenderness he had been yearning to lavish on her. Though she did not reject him, her mouth was locked shut and her whole frame was tense and unyielding. No amount of patient skill on his part could soften her. In fact, his feather kisses and gentle stroking seemed to make her more rigid. He felt as if he was trying to ravish a vestal virgin.

Despairing, he pushed himself up with one arm and said hoarsely, “This isn’t right.”

“Please, just do it,” she said, an edge of hysteria in her voice.

His better nature surrendered, for despite his doubts, his body was hotly ready, burning for completion. He reached for the lotion he had provided to ease this first union.

She gasped when he raised the hem of her gown, separated her legs and touched her intimately. He hoped that she might respond positively to his sensual application of the lotion, but there was no change. She simply endured, her limbs like iron, her breath coming in short, frightened gulps.

Though his blood pounded in his temples, he forced himself to go slowly when he moved to possess her. Her body resisted and he heard the scratch of her nails digging into the sheets, but she made no protest.

When the frail membrane sundered and he thrust deeply into her, she gave a sharp, pain-filled cry. He held still, waves of exquisite sensation sweeping through him, until her breathing was less ragged.

Then he began to move, and his control shattered instantly. He loved her and she was his, and he groaned with delirious pleasure as he thrust into her again and again.

His mindless abandon had the advantage of swiftness, for he could not have prolonged their coupling even if he tried. After the fiery culmination, he disengaged and lay down beside her, trembling with reaction. He yearned to hold her close and soothe her distress, but hesitated to touch her. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he panted. “It won’t be this painful again.”

“I’m all right, Justin,” she said, voice shaking. “It...wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

It was a lie, but a gallant one. No longer able to restrain his impulse to cradle her in his arms, he reached out. If she would let him comfort her, something good would come of this night. But she rolled away into a tight little ball, and his searching fingers found only her taut spine.

The silence that descended was broken by the anguished sound of her muffled sobs. He lay still, drenched with self-loathing at the knowledge that he had found intoxicating pleasure in an act that had distressed her so profoundly.

After a long, long time, her tears faded and her breathing took on the slow rhythm of sleep. Quietly he slid from the bed and felt his way to the door that led to the sitting room, cracking his shin on a stool as he went.

A gas lamp burned in the sitting room, and he saw his haunted reflection in a mirror on the far wall. He turned away, unable to bear the sight of his own misery.

The suite was the most luxurious in the hotel, though not as richly furnished as the Vangelder houses. A porcelain bowl filled with potpourri sat on a side table. He sifted it through his fingers, and the air filled with a tangy fragrance.

He had reached for heaven and landed in hell. Their disastrous wedding night had not been the result of anything simple, like shyness on her part or ineptness on his part. It had been total rejection. The woman of his dreams couldn’t bear his touch, and there seemed little chance that she would change in the future.

Vases of flowers were set all over the room. Some he had ordered, others were courtesy of the hotel, which was embarrassingly grateful to have the Duke and Duchess of Thornborough as guests. He pulled a white rose from an elegant cut-glass vase. It was just starting to open, at the perfect moment when promise met fulfillment.

Inevitably, he thought of Sunny when he had first seen her at Swindon. Exquisite, laughing, without flaw.

And now she lay weeping in the next room, her bright gaiety gone. He supposed that part of the blame for that could be laid to a false lover, and part to Augusta, who loved her daughter with utter ruthlessness.

But most of the fault was his. By the simple act of wanting to marry her, he might have destroyed her blithe sweetness forever.

He began plucking out the satiny white petals, letting them drop one by one. She loved him, she loved him not, over and over, like a litany, as the scent of rose wafted around him.

The last petal drifted to the floor. She loved him not.

He lifted the vase and studied the artistry of the cut glass. Then, in one smooth, raging gesture, he hurled it across the room, where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

She loved him not.





Chapter 6





Justin glanced out the train window at the rolling English landscape. “We’ll reach Swindon station in about five minutes.”

Sunny lifted her hat from the opposite seat and secured it to her coiled hair with a pearl-headed hat pin. Since they were traveling in the luxurious solitude of the Thornborough private car, she had had ample space for her possessions.