“As any bride would be on her wedding day, when crowds of strangers are cheering and shouting her name.” They both waved simultaneously in the same direction. “Do not feel anxious, my dear. Tonight, it will be just the two of us, and we will celebrate in our own way.”
James stroked Sophia’s cheek with a finger, and with one small kiss, he knew he had successfully eased her concerns just in time for their arrival at Wentworth House.
Late in the afternoon, after Sophia had spent some time conversing with James’s younger brother Martin—who was a handsome young man at sixteen—her father took her by the arm and led her to a settee. She gazed lovingly at his bushy gray sideburns and mustache, his wild mane of gray hair. He looked so handsome in his wedding attire.
“My darling girl,” he said with his booming, American drawl, “I haven’t been able to steal a single moment alone with you—you’re such a beautiful bride—to congratulate you. Do you know how proud I am?”
Sophia wrapped her arms around her father’s big shoulders and hugged him tightly. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Now, now, don’t fret. We’re only a steamship ride away, and I’m sure your sisters will be writing to you constantly. I don’t doubt, after the pageantry they’ve witnessed today, they’ll be wanting to return in a year or two and catch a couple of English husbands for themselves.”
Sophia grabbed his nose and wiggled it. “Oh, Papa, I didn’t ‘catch’ anyone. James and I are in love.”
His voice grew more serious. “I know you love him, my sweet girl. I see it in your eyes. But do remember, this is a different world, and if you ever need me to come and fetch you.... I know your mother wouldn’t like it but—”
“I’ll be fine, Papa,” she replied, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “You needn’t worry. I’ll be the happiest woman on earth.”
He hugged her again. “Ah, my precious girls. You’re a horde of hopeless romantics.” He withdrew from the hug and squeezed her hand. “I know this is your wedding day, but I do need to speak to you privately about the marriage settlement. I want you to know what your situation will be, before you go off on your honeymoon.”
“Of course,” she replied, feeling her smile slowly drain away.
He spoke matter-of-factly, in the same tone he used with his business acquaintances. “The amount of the dowry was settled at one million pounds, five hundred thousand as a lump sum and the balance paid in installments for the first two years of your marriage….”
Sophia fought to catch her breath.
“…as well as two hundred thousand pounds worth of my railway stock,” he continued, “the yield payable annually. I’ve also agreed to pay all the country estate debts outstanding as of the date of the settlement, otherwise, half your dowry would have been gone before you’d even reached the castle.”
Sophia snapped her mouth shut. A surge of nausea flowed like a river into her belly. “I had no idea the settlement would be so large.”
Nor had she known that James’s estate was so deeply in debt.
Her father seemed to notice something change in her expression. He began to ramble with some further explanations. “James wasn’t present for the negotiations, of course, nor was I. Our lawyers hammered it out, and you know how cutthroat those people can be.”
She nodded, but inside, there was a painful, squeezing despair. It was like having her fairy-tale wedding bubble pricked with a gigantic knitting needle.
“In addition to that,” her father said, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, “I’ve arranged for you to have your own bank account and an annuity of fifty thousand pounds per year, payable quarterly.”
“Papa, that really wasn’t necessary.”
“Well, well, maybe not for you, but it’s more for my own peace of mind. I need to know that my little girl will never want for anything. Things are different here, my darling. Married women, according to law, have no control over their money. Dowries are absorbed into the husband’s estate, and wives are given an allowance, which depends solely on their husbands’ generosity. I’ll not have you going to James every time you want to buy something. That was the deal, and I said, ‘It’s the American way, so take it or leave it!’ and naturally the Langdon lawyers took it.” As an afterthought, he added, “Because, of course, James would never have allowed anything to keep him from marrying you.”
Sophia swallowed over a painful lump in her throat and hugged her father again. “Thank you, Papa, for everything you’ve done. You’ve made me very happy.” She rested her cheek on his broad shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut to keep him from seeing her tears.
“Congratulations, Duchess,” Lord Whitby said, appearing beside Sophia after the German soloist finished his set. “I do believe you are the most dazzling bride London has ever seen.” He raised his champagne glass to toast her before taking a sip.
“Thank you, Lord Whitby.”
“Please, you must call me Edward.”
Sophia smiled. “Edward, then. You are enjoying the festivities, I hope?”
“Immensely. And I am man enough to admit that I am envious of your husband—the lucky devil.” He glanced around the room, his eyes searching for James. “I have accepted that the better man won. He is a duke, after all. I shouldn’t take it too personally.”
Sophia would have liked to correct him on that point—that he should indeed take it very personally, for there was no other way to take it—but of course, she held her tongue.
“So, you’re off to Rome tomorrow,” Whitby said, and she was thankful he was changing the subject.
“Yes, we’ll spend a fortnight there, then return to Yorkshire.”
“You’ve not been there yet?”
“No, but I look forward to seeing the house and the countryside. I hear it’s lovely in the north.”
“Yes, there is a certain ‘oldness’ to the place. Lots of fog. It’s very damp. I hope you have a warm cloak.” He took another sip of champagne.
“I do, Edward, thank you.” She sipped from her own glass and gazed across the room to where James was conversing with a man she did not know.
Please, come and rescue me, she thought.
At that precise moment, their gazes locked and held, and her husband noticed the earl beside her. Without a second’s hesitation, he approached.
“Whitby,” James said, reaching them, “you’re not trying to charm my wife, are you? You wouldn’t try to steal her away from me.”
The two gentlemen laughed, but Sophia sensed a tension between them. Had her marriage to James caused a rift in their friendship?
The moment grew awkward, and the earl politely took his leave. Sophia was left alone with James in the crowded reception hall. He touched her under the chin.
“Clearly I’ve married a heartbreaker,” he said with a touch of humor.
Sophia smiled guiltily. “I hope Edward didn’t hold any unrealistic hopes that there might have been a match between us.”
“How could any man refrain from hoping where you are concerned?”
If she hadn’t had such a firm head on her shoulders, she might have kissed him right there in front of everyone. Passionately.
Sophia gazed into her husband’s eyes. “I’ve never known a man more charming and handsome than you.”
“Nor I a more fascinating woman. We are a good match, then.”
“Indeed, we are.” She tasted another sip of champagne and anticipated the night ahead with a wave of indulgent expectation.
Chapter 12
James dismissed his valet early. Still in his wedding clothes—and impatient to see his new wife—he picked up a candelabra and walked down the dimly lit corridor of his London house. He reached his wife’s boudoir and knocked.
“Come in,” he heard, from inside.
He opened the door to find So
phia in a white nightdress, sitting up in her large, canopied bed, her legs crossed at the ankles on top of the covers. She looked quite happy to see him.
Slowly, he moved inside and set the candles on her dressing table. “You’re not too tired, I hope, after such a long day.”
“Not at all.”
“Well, then,” he said with a smile, sauntering toward the bed, tugging his neckcloth from side to side. “Perhaps we can come to know each other in a more intimate fashion this evening.”
“I would like that very much.”
He shrugged out of his waistcoat and began to unbutton his shirt. “Has everything been to your liking here? Your maid was satisfactory, I hope?”
“Mildred?” Sophia paused. “She was fine, but I sent her out. I hope that was not too wrong of me.”
He paused at the bottom button and inclined his head. “What do you mean, you sent her out?”
“She wanted to bathe me, James.” She said it as if that were something strange.
“You weren’t comfortable with that?”
“No. I haven’t had anyone bathe me since I was a child.”
He pulled off his shirt and climbed onto the bed beside Sophia. “But duchesses are always bathed by their maids.”
“That’s exactly what Mildred said, but she sounded like she was scolding me, and I didn’t like that. That’s why I sent her out.” Sophia twisted her wedding ring around on her finger.
He covered her hands with his own. “You’ll become accustomed to the way of things in time.”
His touch seemed to appease her. “I hope so. But let us not talk about Mildred. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad, too,” he replied. “Would you like me to put out the candles?”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “No, James. I want to be able to see you. I want to see all of you.”
The comment shook him inwardly, perhaps because his wife was so outspoken about her emotions. Looking into her eyes, he sensed an entire world of expectations—expectations very different from what he was accustomed to in a bed partner.
He felt a great weight upon his shoulders suddenly. This was new territory.
“We shall let them burn all night, then,” he said nonetheless, because in that moment, his desire to please his wife outweighed his misgivings.
He leaned close and touched his mouth to hers. She tasted like paradise, and again he felt as if he were being carried away on that potent wave of passion, forgetting his objectives of control and temperance, and instead, enjoying the journey to wherever the current took him. He was now completely immersed in the indulgence of being near this provocative woman, discovering the soft texture of her skin and the rapturous scent of her perfume….
Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and a whimper escaped her, so he eased her onto the soft pillows, his hands sliding across the soft linen of her nightgown. He kissed her deeply and devouringly, first her mouth, then down the length of her warm, slender neck.
Sophia ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since that night in the conservatory. I didn’t know the true meaning of passion before then.”
His head was swimming. Searching for the will to take things slow, he leaned up on one elbow and gazed down at her in the dim candlelight while she began to unbutton her nightdress, then sat up and pulled it off over her head. Leaning back to make way, James realized he’d married an uncommonly assertive woman. Assertive, at least, in the bedroom, and he was not sorry for that.
She was naked now, cupping his face in her hands. She pulled him down for another openmouthed kiss. His own passions bucked wildly again, and he rolled on top of her and thrust his hips against hers, let his hand move over her breasts and down to her long, slender legs, which she wrapped tightly around his hips.
“This feels so good, James.” Her voice was breathless.
His hand worked its way down her belly and for a long, leisurely while he pleasured her intimately, preparing her for what was to come.
“What are you doing to me?” she asked him in a way that revealed her surprise that such delights were possible.
He watched her face intently, his own body hot with need, and with the barrier of her virginity loosening around his finger, an urgent heat began to ignite in his core.
Tingling with desire, Sophia rolled to her side. James reached for her hand and gently wrapped it around him to help her understand his body. He taught her how to stroke him and she enjoyed watching how the pleasure carried him away.
Then he moved on top of her and kissed her breasts and drove her mad with fresh yearnings.
“I can’t wait much longer,” he finally said in a low, husky voice, gazing down at her, his expression almost pained in its intensity.
Sophia’s heart quickened with both fear and excitement. All at once, she felt as if she were floating in a dream. She was eager to feel him inside her. She wanted him to reach into her depths. Her husband, her mate, the man of her dreams.... They were about to create a bond that would last forever, a bond of both body and spirit.
“Try to relax,” he whispered in her ear as he reached down with his hand to guide himself to the place he needed to be, then slowly but firmly, pushed forward.
The pressure was invasive and discomforting, but then he kissed her and Sophia parted her lips for him and felt the heat of his mouth and the heat of her own desire. A wave of moisture down below brought relief where he was pushing deeper, still.
He thrust ever so gently, and she forced herself to relax as he drove forward and finally broke through her maidenhead. Crying out, Sophia held him tightly and he went still.
“We’re not there yet, darling.” He pushed again and drove more deeply inside. She cried out again.
“I promise it won’t hurt after this,” he whispered in her ear, dropping apologetic, affectionate kisses on her cheeks and nose and eyelids. “My darling wife.”
She felt a lump form in her throat with the urge to cry from the pain, but another part of her felt the most extraordinary, dreamlike joy and yearning.
Soon, a rhythm of movement began and continued until all the pain was gone and she was slick with moisture, feeling dazed with delight as he moved inside of her.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Sophia felt as if she were about to reach heaven.
The approach of his own climax centered deep in James’s core and dimmed all rational awareness. When it finally crashed over him, he experienced an ecstasy so electrifying, so rich and new, he felt like a virgin himself. A low groan escaped him. He could not, for the life of him, fathom the euphoria that reached him from all directions.
Sophia hugged him. “Oh, James.”
He realized with some unease that a part of him relished the sound of his name spoken so lovingly on his wife’s lips, while another part of him tensed at her emotional abandon.
His breathing slowed and he carefully rolled off her. Sophia lay there with her head on his shoulder, sighing with contentment, rubbing her fingers lightly across his chest. Before long, she fell asleep.
James lay very still, trying not to think, trying only to sleep like he did every other night of his life, but this was not, by any means, every other night, and he did not want to sleep. He wanted to do one of two things—make love to his wife again and experience another brilliant, blazing pinnacle of pleasure, or make haste to leave her bed.
He opened his eyes and watched Sophia resting peacefully beside him, then sat up and reached for his trousers.
Chapter 13
James was just reaching for his shirt on the chair when he heard the bed creak and knew that Sophia had awakened. Dread flooded through him. He had hoped to sneak away unnoticed.
“Where are you going?” she asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
With his back to her, he breathed deeply, then turned and faced her with a s
mile. She was naked on the bed, lying on her side and resting her cheek on her hand. She looked like an ancient goddess in the flickering, golden firelight. The curvaceous line of her waist and hips and legs distracted him for a few seconds, but he quickly corralled his thoughts. “Back to my bedchamber, of course,” he explained.
“Your bedchamber?” She sat up. “But I thought this was your bedchamber. Our bedchamber.”
James stared at her wordlessly in disbelief. Perhaps, in his mad haste to marry Sophia, he had not realized the full extent of her innocence. He had known of course that she would have much to learn regarding the running of his house here in Yorkshire, but this—not knowing that they would maintain separate rooms—was a surprise.
He buttoned his shirt as he spoke. “The duke and duchess have always had separate rooms. Did no one tell you that?”
She continued to gaze up at him with confusion, as if she didn’t want to believe what he was telling her. “But we’re man and wife. I thought....” She hesitated, as if considering this. “But you’ll sleep here with me, won’t you? I mean, after our servants have retired.”
“You mean Mildred and Thompson.”
“Is Thompson your...?”
“My valet, yes.” She seemed to find it unsettling that she had not known the man’s name.
“All right then, after Mildred and Thompson have retired,” she repeated for clarification. “You will be sleeping with me, won’t you?” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
James took in the graceful way she moved, the beguiling length of her legs, the perfect fullness of her breasts now that she was no longer lying down. He noticed with a resounding report of desire that her pink nipples were soft, and he remembered how they had tasted when they were hard, how he had enjoyed feeling her soft, warm body melt and wiggle beneath him.
A violent compulsion to touch her again and bend to all her whims overpowered him as he gazed at her, as if he wished to adapt himself to her customs and expectations instead of the other way around. For a moment, the very common idea of sharing a bed with his wife night after night seemed intriguing. What a curious thought it was. Imagine how comfortable two people would become with each other. There would be no pretenses, no secrets—only an intimate connection that would surely deepen through the years, and a coinciding confidence in the other person’s affections.
To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
