The Colonel and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 4)

by Paullett Golden

  What was missing was Duncan’s other siblings, none of whom dared travel so far this close to the winter months, though they sent their congratulations. Mary’s cousin Lilith and her family also sent their congratulations, hoping to see the couple in London during the Season if they chose to accompany the family. The party was also missing Mary’s dearest friend Arabella who gave as her excuse the possibility of being with child. How happy Mary was for her if true. And how disappointing if Arabella conjured an untruth because she disapproved of Mary’s choice.

  Mrs. Miranda Starrett, the vicar’s wife, looked to Mary. “The girls will miss Bernard. They’ve been so happy to have a cousin with whom to play. If he’s lonely in that great big house, send him to stay for a few days.”

  Mary looked to Duncan before saying, “Such a generous offer. May I extend the same to your girls. I hope it’s not presumptuous to speak on behalf of Duncan, but I believe we would both be happy to have them any time and for any length.”

  Duncan, who sat next to her, reached for her hand, lacing their fingers. “Yes, please, you’re all welcome at any time. As it happens, Mr. McLarren, the steward, has two boys of his own. A few years older, granted. If he’s to be believed, the two are looking forward to making Bernard’s acquaintance. With any luck, our boy will have two new friends before the week ends.”

  Mrs. Miranda Starrett clasped her hands to her bosom. “How lovely! I do hope he likes them.”

  “You’ll meet them tomorrow,” Mary said. “That is, if we make good time to Durham.”

  She was relieved Duncan’s family would be coming to Sidwell Hall for the first visit. They would stay for a week before returning home, leaving the couple to start life together.

  “I’ve no doubt,” Duncan said, “this is a mad scheme to usurp my new estate. You’ve heard how grand it is and aim to conquer the land.”

  His brother laughed, as did they all. After all, no one knew what to expect from the hall aside from what the steward had described to Duncan. Was it in good condition? Did it need repairs? Was it a modest house, a small cottage, at least equal to Cois Greta Park? There was no way of knowing until they arrived. Duncan confessed to being as anxious as he was excited.

  To look at him now, no one would assume anything could make him anxious. He wore his Light Dragoon regimentals, his sword at his side. With such garb, he could make a lady swoon and a gentleman cower—blue jacket with white facing and silver lace, edged with white cord and looped upon the breast, gold cuffs and collar, and white breeches, finished with a crimson silk sash worn over his left shoulder. Earlier, he had worn boots of jacked leather with turned down cuff at the knee, but now he wore striking dress shoes that allowed her to admire his muscled calves. More than once, she licked her lips when looking at him, then hoped no one noticed.

  Good heavens. Tonight would be their wedding night. She could scarcely breathe each time she remembered. Was he thinking about it as much as she? It was fortunate she had all afternoon to build fortitude. As much as she wanted the wedding night now rather than later, her nerves were getting the better of her.

  The butler walked over to Duncan and whispered a private word. All eyes turned to Duncan as he rose from his chair.

  “If you’ll all excuse me. My horse has been readied. Best stay in where it’s warm. I shan’t be long.” With a wink to Mary, he followed the butler out of the room.

  All eyes now turned to Mary.

  “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what he’s doing.”

  Not long did they have to wait before the thunder of hoofs accompanied the squeals of delight from the children outside. The wee ones gathered together and stood still, watching as a white stallion cantered by the group and the dining room window. The seated guests stood to join those already standing, peering out the window in curiosity.

  Duncan, poised majestically on the stallion, turned the horse to do another canter before walking Caesar to the children. They clapped and hopped from leg to leg.

  “Who’s first?” he trumpeted over the din.

  Hands raised. Children clamored. The guests laughed.

  Pointing to a shy girl who hid behind an older boy, Duncan said, “Would my lady do me the honor of riding with me?”

  The girl looked all around, eyes wide. When she seemed certain he meant her, she stepped forward. A groom Mary had not seen through the commotion walked over to pick up the girl and hoist her into Duncan’s outstretched arms. They took a moment to situate themselves securely, Duncan fanning out her dress so it looked pretty and covered her ankles. In a moment’s breath, they were off, walking at a snail’s speed that might as well have been a full charge if the girl’s exclamations were anything by which to judge. She giggled, shrieked, and bounced—much to the dismay of both Caesar and Duncan, Mary thought.

  He went as far as the orchard, turning short of the vista, and returned, exchanging the girl for a skipping lad. This continued from one child to another until only two remained, eager for their turn around the park with the gallant officer on his white stallion, or perhaps from their perspective it was the dashing man on the dapper stead.

  “If you’ll follow me, my lady,” said a voice behind her.

  Startled, she turned to see the butler, his expression blank, his demeanor expectant.

  “Me?” she asked, a hand to her bosom.

  “Yes, my lady. If you will.” He bowed and walked to the door, pausing to wait for her.

  Looking around at the guests, she gave a slight, though not entirely unladylike, shrug. Everyone looked to each other for answers. Mary’s eyes met Drake’s. He flashed her a sly grin.

  There was nothing to do but follow the butler. A footman had her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves at the ready. She snuggled into the fur when the butler opened a side door that led into the yard and around to the children. At her approach, Duncan lifted the last child in front of him, Bernard. The boy waved enthusiastically at her. Duncan nodded, then steered to the copse of trees west of the orchard.

  The children gathered around Mary, eager to share their excitement at riding the horse.

  “Was it not grand?”

  “Did I look a fine horseman?”

  “Did you see me?”

  “Did Mam see me?”

  “I wanta horse!”

  The voices converged in a babel of confusion.

  All Mary could do was laugh and repeat to the wind-chilled, pink faces, “Yes, we all saw. You each looked marvelous.”

  Soon, Duncan and Bernard made their return round to the group, only they looked from a distance to be far more festive than when they had left. Mary tilted her head to one side, trying to discern the colors mingled with the figures. The closer they came, the more she squinted.

  Not until they were some feet away did she realize what she was seeing. They were adorned with flowers. Around Caesar’s neck was a wreath of blue and white. Bernard’s arms cradled dusty pink clusters with silvery petals, piled so high he could not see over without careening his neck. In Duncan’s arms was a bouquet. Clad in a mischievous smile, he stopped before her and gave a shallow bow, his movement restricted by his son and the ridiculously wonderful flowers.

  Mary had not realized her hands were pressed to her mouth until the warmth of her breath heated her cheeks. With a laugh, she bounced and fanned her face.

  Two grooms stepped forward to help Bernard with his flowers and to assist him off the horse. Little hands reached up to take the bouquet from his papa. Spinning in a circle of excitement, he rushed over to Mary.

  “These are for you,” he said with a hasty bow.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  “Your turn.” Bernard spun in another circle and ran to his cousins, already bored with the chivalry.

  “My turn?” She looked about her, confused.

  Turning, she stared back at the window of onlookers only to
discover they were coming outside, each taking a rose or cluster of petals from the groom. Mary looked up at Duncan, questioning.

  “Do me the honor, my lady?” he asked, holding out a hand.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Alarmed, she stared, rooted in position.

  A groom stepped over to her. “My lady. If you please.” He sketched a bow then moved next to the horse, cupping his hands to serve as her foot lift.

  Oh dear. They were quite serious about this.

  Puffing her cheeks with a grand exhale, she tucked the bouquet into her left fist and propped her foot in the groom’s hands. She slipped her free hand into Duncan’s, and with a push off from the ground, she was hoisted by groom and gentleman onto the saddle before Duncan. Bouquet held firmly, she grinned at the onlookers.

  A warm arm snaked about her waist and pulled her against the hard chest, holding her firmly.

  As Caesar took his first steps, the crowd rushed at them to toss petals into the air. The rose shower rained pink, petals landing on hair, mane, and dress. She shrieked as Duncan traversed the storm of flowers. From her precarious position, all she could do was wave to the crowd as Duncan held her fast, though when the pace quickened, she latched onto his arm with a squeal.

  “You’re mad!” she said.

  “You mean besotted.” He kissed her temple.

  When Caesar turned away from the park rather than returning, Mary braved a glance to Duncan. He chuckled but said nothing.

  “You have to tell me at some point, you know. Where are we going?”

  “To the bedchamber, my lady.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You have gone mad!”

  “Between the wedding breakfast and the wedding bed, I choose the latter.”

  Caesar quickened his gait.

  “But what about the guests? What about Bernard? It’s barely afternoon! We can’t retire now!”

  “The guests are happy entertaining themselves alongside my parents and your relations. Bernard is to stay at Cois Greta Park for the evening. If I can’t make love to my wife in the afternoon on our wedding day, all is lost. We can go to bed now, and we will. Any more protests?”

  He was laughing at her! Crinkles formed in the corners of his eyes, and the cleft in his chin deepened. The rumble of his chuckle tickled her arm.

  “But it’s only afternoon! What will we do for the rest of the day?”

  She ought not to have looked up then. His expression answered the question aptly.

  “Oh,” she mouthed.

  The chilly air meant nothing to the flame her body produced. She was all but perspiring in her bridal dress from the flood of heat ravishing her limbs. Even her thighs throbbed.

  Oh, was all she thought for the ride to Lyonn Manor where they would stay in the State Rooms for the evening. Or the afternoon rather.

  Sharp, the blade glided against Duncan’s cheek. In the dressing room of the State Rooms, he sat still, enduring Peter’s careful ministrations—a fresh shave, a thorough cleaning, a splash of cologne, a new robe. The shave had been a necessity. It was frustrating how quickly his stubble grew, bristles darkening his jaw only just passed noon on most days. Too often he had seen the evidence on Mary, the red around her lips where his stubble pricked her skin. Today she would meet with smooth cheeks. Not a bristle would she feel.

  Task completed, Duncan stood for Peter to slip the dressing robe over his shoulder, securing it around the nightshirt. The valet stood back to inspect his handywork.

  Fisting the rug with his toes, Duncan admired the reflection in the mirror. Perfect—no shadows on the chin, hair brushed into place, teeth clean. Ready, Duncan dismissed his valet and walked the length of the room to the chamber door.

  It was not every day he stayed in a king’s suite. Days earlier, when he had arranged today with meticulous care, he had a thorough look about the State Rooms at Lyonn Manor. In addition to the bedchamber, the suite had its own drawing room, dining room, and small library, ready at all times for a visit from the Royal Family should they travel north. The suite dated from the sixteenth century, the duke had explained. The bedchamber was adorned with a carved stone chimney piece, silk wall coverings, gilded ribbing and molded pendants on the ceiling, and a crowned four-poster bed. With the sweeping bedcurtains tied back, one could admire the exquisite plasterwork above the bed.

  However chilly was the outside, it would not be so in the bedroom. All had been readied by his instructions. The fire would be roaring in the hearth, the bed warmed by a bed warmer, and soon the body heated by the consummation.

  With a hand to the chamber door, he paused, closing his eyes. After all these years, they would be together. He would know the feel of her body beneath his, her eyes gazing into his, darkened with pleasure. And after all these months, he would be able to feel divinity, no longer inhibited by a lack of sensation. He had lost sleep worrying if he would be able to perform. Even if he could, he worried he would not be able to feel. More than once he had wished they had made love at the lake before he joined the Army. Now, he was pleased they had not. Now, he had a newfound appreciation for what it was to feel pleasure.

  Two deep breaths later, he knocked on the chamber door.

  He thought he heard a faint squeak, but he could not be sure. He opened the door.

  Light spilled across the room from the fireplace, all curtains barring the grey outside. Never did his eyes have to roam the room to find her. She sat on her knees on the bed covers, hair cascading over her shoulders, adorned in a lacy nightdress that did little to conceal her silhouette.

  As soon as he laid eyes on her, his body responded. He could feel everything. The nightshirt rubbed his erection, intensifying the throb. Everything seemed far more sensitive than it had ever been, so aware he was of what it was to feel again.

  His body ached for her. He approached the bed without a word, just a slow smile that accompanied his disrobing into only the nightshirt.

  She scrambled to the head of the bed and tugged at the covers until she could pull them about her. Then she smiled. A smile punctuated by two darkening red blotches on her cheeks.

  “Nervous?” he teased, lifting the covers so he could climb in beside her.

  “Ha ha. Not a bit. What would you give that idea? I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what happens. Do I seem nervous? I’m not at all nervous.” Her words ran together in a hasty jumble, her voice shaky.

  All he could do was chuckle as he settled into the bed next to her and pulled the sheets over his legs. His eyes roamed her lacy confection. She was most certainly not wearing stays. His breath hitched at the generous glimpses of figure he could see beneath the fabric, made more visible by the fire glow.

  “I do admit I was most embarrassed when I had to explain to my maid that the wedding night would begin this afternoon. She assured me she knew, but I don’t see how that’s possible; so clearly, she was trying to placate my embarrassment, but how mortifying to have her ready me, knowing full well what was about to happen! I think all future marital time should be away from the eyes of servants. In the forest where they can’t see, perhaps. Or maybe if it’s too cold outside we could send them all on holiday for a day, but then no, they’ll know why. Will there be many servants at Sidwell Hall, do you think?” she rambled, her sentences running together.

  Duncan studied her as she chattered on, talking nonsense. Was this the same woman who had climbed onto his lap in the drawing room? He could scarcely believe it.

  Once upon a time, before he left for the campaign, she had made her interest in bedding him known, though at the time it had been on the grassy bank of the lake. He never could understand her desire to spoil the marriage bed by anticipating her vows. As much as he had wanted her, he refused to shame her, force her family’s hand, or elope, thus estranging her from the family. He had known that the only way to ensure she was not ostracized by her family was to court
her openly as a man deserving of her, as a decorated officer. Duncan would earn their respect and earn the right to court her.

  He found it difficult to believe this was the same woman. Mary, a skittish colt on her wedding day? Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he tugged her to him. The chatter accelerated, increasing an octave.

  Ignoring the growing soreness of his unattended desire, he leaned himself against the headboard, his arm still around her. His thumb drew exaggerated circles around her shoulder. She continued to babble. With his free hand, he trailed his fingertips down the sleeve of her night-rail, feeling her tremble at his touch. When his fingers reached her hand, he slid his thumb into her palm and drew tight circles in the center. And the babble continued.

  “I hope they changed the sheets since the King’s last visit,” he said, interrupting her.

  Mary stopped talking. She turned her head to him, her brows drawn together. It took a moment, but at last she laughed.

  “I should think,” she said, “the concern would be in changing the sheets before his next visit.” She giggled until she realized what she had said, then lapsed into a bashful silence.

  Bashful would never have been a word Duncan would use to describe Mary. Never. Even in their youth, she was the one initiating the physical contact.

  This would be a day he would not soon forget.

  “Do you suppose we’re the first newlyweds to make use of the room?” he asked, his thumb returning to its sensual caress of her shoulder, followed soon by his fingertips playing a scale on her arm.

  “Yes, I believe so. At least in my lifetime. To my knowledge, the King only stayed when my father was alive, before I was born even. The prince, on the other hand, has stayed countless times. He and Drake are friends, you know.”

  And off she went again, talking about who knew what at galloping speed.

  While she talked, he smoothed her hair behind her ear and leaned in, pressing his lips to her neck just below her earlobe.