Their wedding was set for Monday, the twenty-first of May. They would be married in New Orleans, and as was custom, at the St. Louis Cathedral at four o'clock in the afternoon. And despite her wish to the contrary, at the appointed hour, Micaela found herself standing at the Américain's side before the priest, her family and friends seated solemnly in the pews behind them. Wearing a gown of rose silk decorated with pearls, her great-grandmother's wedding veil crowned with orange blossoms resting on her head, a bouquet of orange blossoms held in her hands, she heard herself exchange the vows which would make her Hugh Lancaster's wife. She watched numbly as he slipped on the two interlaced bands of gold which had been inscribed with both their initials and the date of their marriage. It was over. She was married.
The faces of the guests passed fuzzily before her, most were smiling and happy, but there were a few dour expressions amongst them—some of the most rigid Creoles, still not quite accepting the fact that a member of one of their finest families had aligned herself with a mongrel Américain. Alain Husson was among the latter.
His arm still in a sling, Alain forced himself to attend the wedding, as much to still any speculation about the state of his emotions as a penance for having not managed to kill the Américain. The rage, fury, and chagrin burning in his chest when Hugh slipped the rings on Micaela's finger were indescribable. Somehow he managed to keep his features composed, while every instinct urged him to surge to his feet, take his sword, and run the Américain through. Thinking of Hugh lying dead on the steps of the altar brought a genuine smile to his face. Anyone who saw it marveled at his generosity toward the man who had married the woman believed to be his own future bride.
As Hugh's best man, Jasper stood beaming at the Américain's side. When the newlyweds left the church, Jasper was the first to congratulate them and remind them again of his desire to be named godfather to their firstborn son.
Following the wedding there was a grand banquet held at the Dupree town house, the atmosphere, the wine, the food, and the music superb enough to satisfy even the most exacting European taste. The meal passed in a blur for Micaela, and she hardly tasted any of the spicy gumbo, delicate turtle soup, roast veal, baked ham, and golden brown pastries which were served to her.
When the dancing began, Lisette and Tante Marie, acting as a surrogate grand-mere, discreetly hustled her away upstairs to the suite of rooms that she would share with her new husband. The older women helped her undress and put on a charming nightgown of finest lawn, lavishly trimmed with lace and emerald green ribbons. In minutes she was settled beneath the bedclothes.
Micaela had spoken little. With a faint frown on her face, Lisette murmured, "It will not be so very bad, ma petite. Hugh seems a nice young man." She bit her lip. Creole brides were notoriously innocent about the physical side of marriage, and Lisette was uncertain how to approach the subject. It was her duty as a loving mother to give her daughter some warning of what was to come. What happened in the marriage bed was not something they ever discussed, and though, unlike many of her contemporaries, Micaela was much older, she was still very innocent. Lisette cleared her throat and muttered, "You know that you will share this bed with your husband?"
Micaela glanced at her and nodded, a quiver, half fright, half excitement going through her.
Heightened color in her cheeks, Lisette asked, "Do you understand that you must allow him to do what he wants with you? He now has the right to"—her flush deepened—"touch you as he pleases and do 'things' to you." Her discomfort growing, she muttered, "No matter what your husband does to you tonight, you are not to cry out or fight him—it may be painful the first time and embarrassing, but you will grow used to it. You are to submit to him like a good Creole bride."
Tante Marie spoke up. "You must remember," she said sternly, "to always be modest, always—even in your most intimate moments." Proudly, she added, "In forty years of marriage, my husband never saw me indecently attired and never without my clothes. You must remember that a husband does not want a crude, wanton creature in his bed. No matter what he does to you, you must submit quietly. Remain still, do not thrash around and cry out. Let him have his way. Accept without comment whatever he does to you. You must never, never do anything he might find offensive—no matter what he demands of you." She looked severe. "A Creole wife never embarrasses her husband with an outward, indecorous show of emotion." She wagged a bony finger under Micaela's nose. "You do not want to be like one Creole wife—it is said that she took such lewd and lascivious delight in her marriage bed that her husband was disgusted and repulsed by her and sought to divorce her. You do not," she ended, "want that fate, do you?"
Her cheeks red, Micaela muttered, "I will not disgrace our family. I married him to keep the family's honor intact, I will do nothing to sully our name. I will be a good Creole wife."
Relieved that the uncomfortable subject was behind them and feeling that she had done her duty as a proper surrogate grand-mire, Tante Marie said gently, "I know that you are unhappy, but really, there was no other choice. If you had not married him, you would have been thoroughly ruined, ma chérie."
Nodding to Lisette, Tante Marie left the room, certain she had done her best to ensure a happy marriage.
Lisette watched her go and then looked back at Micaela. "Do not take her words too seriously, petite, although much of what she said is true. Her views are old-fashioned, but she is right about one thing—you would have been ruined." She sighed. "It was unfortunate that so many people knew of your indiscretion, no matter how innocent it was. But I think," she went on briskly, "that we have avoided a terrible scandal, and you should be very glad."
"Maman! How can you say so? I am married to him!" Micaela protested. "It is easy for you to say. You do not know what it is like to be married to a man you do not like."
A look crossed Lisette's face, and Micaela sat up abruptly. Her expression shocked, she whispered, "You did not like Papa! But it was a love match! Everyone said so! Grand-pere always laughed and talked about how romantic it was, the way the pair of you could not wait to be married and talked him into letting you get married before the banns could even be called."
"Eh bien! That was a long time ago," Lisette said stiffly. "And we are talking about your marriage, not mine." Her face softened. "Are you so very certain that you do not like Hugh, ma chérie?"
Confusion evident in her dark eyes, Micaela muttered, "I do not know. One moment I hate him and the next..." An odd expression crept into her eyes.
Her cheeks suddenly stained rosy by her thoughts, Micaela's lashes dropped, and she said stoutly, "But mostly, I think he is an arrogant, wickedly scheming beast!"
As the "arrogant, wickedly scheming beast" was entering the room just then, her remark was ill timed, and Hugh's mouth tightened as he heard her words. Micaela's actions and attitude had baffled him these past weeks. She had gotten what she wanted, marriage to him. So why did she continue to act as if he was doing her a great wrong? He was the one who had been cleverly snared and forced to many a young woman who found his fortune far more interesting than she did him.
Nothing, he thought grimly, would ever convince him that Micaela's "rescue" of him had not been a case of seeing an opportunity and instantly seizing upon it. She had been clever, he would grant her that. And her continued performance since their betrothal had been superb—like a great actress, she had portrayed her reluctance to perfection. If he hadn't known better, he would have believed that she was innocent of any plotting. But he did know, he reminded himself, the conversation in the gazebo never far from his mind.
The women were unaware of his presence. When he cleared his throat, they both jumped, Lisette swinging around sharply and Micaela clutching the bedclothes to her chin. His mouth twisted. Such a delightful welcome to his marriage bed.
Lisette recovered first. "Monsieur! You startled us! We did not know you were there." Turning back to Micaela, she dropped a kiss on her cheek and exited the room, leaving the newlyweds alone t
ogether.
Even knowing that she had trapped him into this marriage, Hugh couldn't help the surge of tenderness that went through him as he stared at Micaela. She looked lovely. Her black hair flowing around her shoulders like silk, her eyes dark and mysterious, her softly curved mouth a rosy lure. She also, he admitted uneasily, looked scared to death.
His gaze softened. Did she, he wondered, know what to expect from tonight? Hugh did not doubt for a moment that he was facing a virgin bride.
At least, he thought, he and Micaela had some knowledge of each other. He was not a total stranger to her as was often the case in Creole marriages, especially if the vigilant chaperons had done their work well. Watching with interest the fluctuation of color across Micaela's revealing face, Hugh sighed. The next few hours were going to be critical for the future of their life together. God knew that he had never made love to a virgin before, and he was suddenly nervous.
He knew how to please a woman—past experience had made him confident of that—but would he be able to please his bride? His resentful, innocent bride?
Spying several decanters sitting on the top of a long mahogany sideboard on the other side of the room, Hugh fell upon them with relief. After pouring himself a small snifter of brandy, he turned back to look at Micaela, wondering at his next move.
Micaela watched him, her heart thumping in her chest. He looked very handsome in his wedding attire, the black-silk coat expertly fitting his broad shoulders, the starched and pristine white cravat neatly arranged at his throat. He wore black-silk breeches and white-silk stockings, and as her gaze slid innocently along the long length of him, admiring him, a strange emotion unfurled low in her belly.
The silence grew more awkward by the moment, and Hugh said abruptly, "You made a lovely bride. Orange blossoms become you."
Feeling silly still clutching the bedclothes to her chin, Micaela slowly dropped them, and replied, "Merci beaucoup, monsieur. You made a handsome bridegroom."
Hugh laughed aloud, his uneasiness vanishing. Amusement dancing in his gray eyes, he asked, "Aren't we being very formal with each other? Considering we are now man and wife?"
"You forget, monsieur," Micaela said stiffly, "the circumstances of our marriage."
Hugh's laughter faded. "Indeed I have not," he said, "but since we are married, I suggest that we start making the best of a bad bargain."
Micaela's eyes flashed. "I do not," she muttered, "like being called a 'bad bargain'!"
"My apologies, Madame Wife, I should have said a bargain not of my own choosing." His gaze crossed her face. "But it does not change the fact," he said softly, "that we are married."
Something in his tone of voice, the look in his eyes, made Micaela very aware of the fact that they were alone together, that only a thin garment covered her nakedness, and that no matter what happened, no one was going to interrupt them. He was her husband, and he could do with her what he wanted. The conversation with her mother flitted through her mind, and, to her horror, she found herself intensely curious about the "things" he would do to her.
Hugh took another sip of his brandy, noting the flush in her cheeks. His gaze dropped, traveling with appreciation over the soft curves mistily revealed by the delicate nightgown. Heat flooded his loins, and desire, swift and sure, spiraled through him. Micaela might have trapped him, but there was one thing that he could never deny—he wanted her. He always had. And now, he thought with a dizzying surge of anticipation, she was his wife.
"I do not," he said quietly, "believe that further conversation will accomplish much, do you? You have gained what you wanted." A frankly carnal expression leaped to his eyes, and he muttered, "And soon I shall have what I want...."
Her breathing constricted, Micaela watched as he set down his brandy snifter. His eyes on hers, he slowly undid his cravat and tossed it on a nearby chair. His jacket followed, and her mouth grew dry as she stared at the powerful muscles of his arms and chest which were revealed when he shrugged out of his linen shirt. His skin gleamed like polished bronze in the candlelight, the thick, curly black hair on his chest coming as a shock to Micaela, but she could not look away from him. Odd new sensations were flowing through her as she stared at his near nakedness. He was beautiful, tall and muscular. The thought of those strong arms closing around her caused a sharp cramp, half-painful, half-pleasurable, between her thighs.
Apparently undisturbed by Micaela's riveted stare, almost as if he had done it countless times previously, Hugh sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped off his footwear and silk stockings. It was only when he stood up, his hands going to the fastening of his breeches that Micaela's courage broke.
"Monsieur!" she cried in agitated accents.
Hugh crooked a brow at her.
Her color high, she choked out, "The candles? Could you not blow them out? Please?"
Wordlessly they looked at each other and to her great relief, a moment later, the room was in darkness. There was the rustle of clothing, then Hugh was beside her in bed. She jumped when his arms closed around her and he gently pulled her next to him. His mouth inches from her ear, he murmured, "Believe me, sweetheart, there is nothing at this moment, that I want to do more than please you."
Chapter 9
Hugh's mouth settled warmly and persuasively on hers. Micaela remembered the touch of his lips on hers, but memory could not compare to the actual act. She marveled at how something so simple could be so exciting, so pleasurable. He kissed her a long time, many times, his mouth moving gently over her lips, her temples, her closed lids, the tingling lobe of her ear. His touch was light and languorous.
Despite the pleasure of his kisses, Micaela lay stiff and unmoving in the bed, her body half-braced as if for an attack. Hugh was, after all, nearly a virtual stranger to her, and the circumstances surrounding their marriage were not the sort to instill confidence in a bride. She did resent the fact that he believed that she had trapped him into marriage. And there was the added fact that he was an Américain, a foreigner, and a man the men of her own family viewed as an interloper, an arrogant usurper of their rights in the family business. Yet, Micaela acknowledged that there was something about Hugh Lancaster that drew her. There had always been that spark between them, and she admitted, rather shamefully, that if she had had to choose a husband between Alain or Hugh, without hesitation she would have chosen the Américain.
It never occurred to Micaela to stop Hugh from consummating their marriage. She was too well brought up to envision such a shocking thing, and Lisette and Tante Marie's words were still ringing in her ears. But considering all of that, there was the undeniable fact that he aroused a powerful emotion within her. She was eager to find out what happened between a man and a woman in the marriage bed. She admitted with a guilty start that she could not imagine any man other than Hugh teaching her those mysteries—even if he was an arrogant beast!
She was understandably nervous and uncertain about what would happen. Just the knowledge that a naked man was lying next to her in bed was astonishing. Knowing that he could touch her and kiss her at will made her mouth go dry and her heart beat rapidly. She told herself firmly that she was not afraid of what he would do despite the tiny quiver of unease that lingered at the back of her mind. But as the minutes passed and Hugh did nothing more unsettling than press those sweetly exploring kisses upon her, she relaxed and became aware of just how enjoyable kissing could be.
Micaela had no conception of the restraint her husband was showering upon her. While pleased with her acceptance of his caresses, Hugh struggled against a primitive urge to ravage all the sweet loveliness before him. He had wanted her a long time, and the knowledge that she was his wife, his to do with as he wished, was a powerful aphrodisiac. His body flooded with erotic longing, his manhood hard and aching between his legs. But aware of her innocence, aware of how little she knew about what was to come, he tried to pace himself, to awaken her to the pleasure that could be found between them. A time would come when he could unleash
all his hungers and lose himself in her soft body, but not now, not tonight. Tonight she needed gentleness and he was determined to give it to her.
In spite of his displeasure and anger at the way she had tricked him into marriage, he saw no point in making their marriage bed a battleground. He wanted this first joining to be as pleasurable for her as he could make it. He knew, though he would try hard not to, that he would probably give her pain. That was inevitable, but if he could give her some pleasurable moments, too... He half smiled to himself. If he gave her pleasure, might he engender a liking for the act? Arouse within her an eagerness, a delight in their marriage bed?
Just the idea of Micaela ardently responding to his lovemaking made the ache between his thighs more insistent. Finally unable to control the urge to taste her, his mouth found her once more, this time, his lips demanding entrance. A shocked exclamation came from Micaela, and she stiffened when his tongue surged into her mouth. Instinctively her hands came up to push him away, but he said softly, "No. You must let me, sweetheart." His voice thickened. "Let me teach you, show you...."
Mindful of Tante Marie's warnings and her mother's words about the "things" he would do to her, when his mouth took hers again and he deepened the kiss once more, she did not push him away. Instead, to her amazement, as his tongue probed and explored, her breathing quickened, her nipples tingled, and hot, honeyed heat flared between her legs. He tasted of the brandy he had drunk earlier, and she found that oddly exciting, but not nearly as exciting as the sensation of his tongue brushing erotically against hers. Her whole body reacted wildly to his intimate kisses, her nipples now burning and throbbing, the heat between her legs streaking through her entire body. As he continued to drink deeply of her, Micaela trembled with the force of the emotions he roused within her.
She was hardly aware of her hands clenching and unclenching like a kitten's contented kneading on his shoulders, hardly conscious of the inviting arch of her body against him. But Hugh was, very. Her unexpected response was so open, so generous, so damned arousing, that only by the greatest of restraint was he able to prevent himself from jerking up her nightgown and taking what he most desperately wanted.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 13
