by Andrea Kane
"Yes—and no," Aurora replied truthfully. "I've read every book in Pembourne's library, some of which become quite detailed on the subject of coupling. I've also been to the barn enough times to see animals mate. So yes, I know what to expect. Or rather, I thought I did. But when Julian holds me, kisses me…" She shook her head in bewilderment. "I feel things I don't understand at all. So do I know what to expect? I think not."
"That's because what you understand are the mechanics," Courtney returned softly. "Unfortunately those are the easiest, perhaps the only, aspects of lovemaking one can truly explain. The rest you have to experience yourself. And you will. The pull between you and Julian is strong, so strong it's palpable. Let that pull guide you, and I suspect that tonight will be the most extraordinary night of your life, followed by countless others in its wake."
Aurora blinked in amazement. "Somehow I know you're right. How I know that is beyond my comprehension, given that Julian and I are virtual strangers. Courtney, I've been alone with the man but twice. Yet, both times I became someone else, behaved like a total wanton. I never imagined feeling so … acting so…"
"You needn't explain. Further, you're not a wanton. You're a warm, vibrant woman who's only just discovering what it's like to be attracted to an equally vibrant man." Courtney's expression turned impish. "I shall try to restrain myself from reminding you that 'twas I who predicted this very situation would someday occur. Further, I shall avoid mentioning that your response to my prediction was to insist you were never going to marry, never going to find a man interesting enough to spend your life with. Well, it appears I was right, doesn't it?"
"You didn't do a very good job of restraining yourself," Aurora commented, her lips twitching. "Nevertheless, yes, you were right. Tell me, how did you become so clever?"
"Simple. I met your brother. You, better than anyone, know how I feel about Slayde."
"And how he feels about you. Slayde makes you come alive in a way I'm only now beginning to understand."
"Yes. He does. And I have a nagging suspicion that Julian will do the same for you."
"I share that nagging suspicion." Aurora made a helpless gesture. "And to think I'm saying such a thing after sampling no more than the most cursory taste—a taste that nearly made me swoon."
Laughter bubbled up in Courtney's throat. "Then if I were you, I'd prepare to succumb, for the entire feast lies just ahead."
* * *
The trip to the chapel was uneventful, the guards having followed closely behind to ensure that nothing and no one disrupted the morning nuptials. Messengers had been dispatched to London days earlier with strict orders to deliver the wedding announcement in time for tomorrow's newspapers, then to travel to Lady Altec's estate and deliver Courtney's missive just before the ceremony commenced.
Thus the chapel was quiet and peaceful at half after eleven when Slayde escorted Aurora down the aisle to begin her new life.
Aurora's heart was pounding so wildly she could scarcely breathe, her gaze darting about the small pillared chapel, from Mr. Scollard's proud expression to Courtney's loving smile to Vicar Rawlins who stood ready to perform the ceremony.
Coming to rest upon the sinfully handsome man to whom she would soon be joined.
Clad in a formal dark cutaway coat and breeches, Julian turned toward her, his topaz eyes glittering more brilliantly than all the room's candles combined. As promised, he was the essence of protocol, his snow white cravat starched and crisply tied, his double-breasted waistcoat cut just so. Even his black hair had been trimmed, although it still hung longer at the nape than was fashionable, just brushing the collar of his frilled white shirt. Conventionally dressed or not, he still looked dangerous, formidable, like a reckless pirate in gentleman's attire.
He was devastating.
His bold stare met Aurora's, then swept her from head to toe, thorough, possessive, blazing with unmistakable approval and undisguised hunger.
She and Slayde stopped before him, and Aurora felt her brother hesitate, clearly questioning what he was about to do.
Julian sensed it, too, although the only overt sign he gave was the slight tensing of his body, the ever-so-subtle narrowing of his gaze. He stepped forward and held out his hand, addressing Slayde even as he waited for Aurora to place her fingers in his. "She belongs with me, Slayde."
From the corner of her eye, Aurora saw Slayde glance at Courtney, saw her friend's reassuring nod.
Slayde released his sister, stood by as she placed her hand in Julian's. "Be good to her," Slayde commanded quietly. "Make her happy."
"I intend to."
The very words, the fierce promise they contained, made Aurora's mouth go dry. She moved to stand beside her bridegroom, walked the remaining distance with him to the altar, wondering if her nerves—and her knees—would hold out to the ceremony's end.
"You're breathtaking, soleil," Julian murmured, a whisper of sound that flooded her body with heat. She didn't dare reply, didn't dare so much as look at him. If she did, whatever semblance of control she had left would shatter.
The vicar began speaking the timeless words, asking the age-old questions that would forever transform Aurora's life.
As if in a dream, she heard Julian speak his vows, heard herself utter her own. Julian turned to her, his hand steady as he slid the delicate gold band upon her trembling finger, the metal cool against her overheated skin.
The ring reached its destination and Julian lingered, his thumb caressing her palm in a motion that both soothed and inflamed.
"…I now pronounce you man and wife."
The finality of the proclamation, suspended in the air, permeated the chapel with its significance. The unthinkable had just occurred. After four generations of relentless hatred, the Huntleys and the Bencrofts had been irrevocably joined.
With a gentleness that surprised her, Julian tipped Aurora's chin up, brushed her lips with his. "Hold on a little longer," he urged in a husky, teasing voice. "At least until there's a secluded spot for me to carry you to. Then you can collapse."
Despite the swooning sensation induced by his vow, Aurora smiled. "That's quite an incentive, Your Grace," she whispered back. "Why, I'm feeling steadier on my feet already."
Julian sucked in his breath, golden sparks igniting his eyes. "Careful, soleil. Else we'll miss the party you wanted so badly." With that he straightened, gripping Aurora's elbow and guiding her to the congratulations that awaited them.
The midday breakfast at Pembourne was perfect. Laid out in the spacious green salon, it boasted a buffet of delicacies ranging from potted salmon and lobster to turkey and ham in jelly, to pastry sandwiches with all different types of jams and marmalade, to a magnificent brides-cake adorned with a rainbow of wildflowers. Most of all, it encompassed all the people Aurora loved, from Courtney and Slayde to Mr. Scollard, to the servants who had raised her.
It was everything a bride could dream of.
Still, throughout the entire splendid event Aurora was acutely attuned to Julian's presence beside her—a fact that he was not only aware of, but hell-bent on intensifying. His glances were frequent, seductive, his movements orchestrated to ensure as much physical contact with his bride as possible—his fingers brushing her, his breath ruffling her hair, his arm anchoring her waist. By midafternoon, Aurora's head was swimming, the tension inside her having escalated to the point where she felt as if she were dangling at the edge of a tantalizing precipice.
She wondered how much more she could endure. "Shall we?"
She was standing at the window clutching her wineglass and watching the sun shift to the west when Julian's deep voice resounded behind her, asking the long-awaited question.
Nearly dropping the glass, she whirled about to face him. "Shall we what?" she blurted, sounding like a bloody ninny.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "And here I thought you were eager for tonight to begin."
"I am." She drew a calming breath. "Does this mean you're ready to leave?"
"Yes." There was no point in lying. She wanted to be alone with Julian as much as he wanted to be alone with her.
"Good." His smile applauded her candor. "Then go up and change. After that, you can say your good-byes and we'll be gone."
Aurora blinked as a sudden thought occurred to her. "Are we going to Morland?"
"No," he stated flatly. "Morland is not my home. We'll attend to business soon enough. For tonight, we're traveling to my manor in Polperro."
"Polperro! Is that where your Cornish manor is located? Mr. Scollard has told me so many legends that revolve around Polperro."
"I'm sure he has. And yes, that's the home of which I spoke. 'Tis a quiet manor nestled beneath the cliffs, right along the Channel. I think you'll find it infinitely more appealing than Morland's dreary walls. I know I do."
"I'm sure I will." Aurora fingered the lacy folds of her gown. "Since I'll see Courtney and Slayde tomorrow, I won't need to make any lengthy good-byes."
"Splendid. I'll have my carriage brought around. Your bags have already been placed inside. But I'll make sure everything is in order."
Aurora's brows rose. "You're very resourceful."
"You have no idea how resourceful—yet. But you will soon." With a provocative wink, Julian strolled off.
Her heart drumming, Aurora slipped from the room and sprinted up the stairs. Without assistance she unpinned her headpiece, then reached behind her, working free enough buttons of her wedding dress so she could squirm out of it. She lay both gown and headpiece on the bed, pausing to caress the gown's diaphanous lace, touch the rainbow-hued flowers that had crowned her veil.
Yes, her wedding day had indeed fulfilled all her dreams.
But she had a distinct feeling that her wedding night would surpass them.
With that in mind, she scooted about the bedchamber, readying herself for the trip to Polperro.
A quarter hour later, clad in a soft pearl-colored carriage dress, Aurora descended the stairs and made her way back to the salon. Standing at the threshold, she motioned to Courtney, who spied her friend at once.
Acknowledging Aurora's signal, she turned to Slayde, touching his arm to alert him to the situation.
Together they walked out and joined Aurora in the hallway.
"I thought I saw you disappear," Courtney said with a twinkle. "I assume you needed no assistance donning your gown?"
"No. I managed just fine. Besides, I didn't want to disturb the servants. They're all having such a lovely time."
"You're leaving, I presume," Slayde inserted.
"Yes." Aurora's heart accelerated yet another beat. "We're going to Julian's house in Polperro."
"Very well." Slayde didn't question the choice.
"Have your bags been loaded?" Courtney asked.
"Yes. Julian took care of everything. He's gone to summon his carriage, after which we can be off."
"Here he is." Slayde gestured toward the entranceway where Julian had just reentered the manor.
Courtney gave Aurora a fierce hug. "Remember what I said," she whispered.
"I will." Aurora returned the hug, then leaned up to kiss her brother's cheek. "Thank you for this day," she said solemnly. "It was all I hoped for, and given the circumstances, more than I deserved."
"You deserve to be happy," Courtney countered. "And I believe your new husband is just the man to manage that." She cleared her throat as Julian approached, raising her voice to a normal tone. "When will we next see you?"
"Tomorrow," Aurora answered.
"Or the day after." Julian's expression was the picture of innocence. "After all, the ride to Polperro will take several hours; longer, since much of it will be under cover of darkness. Aurora will be exhausted by the time we arrive. She needs a chance to rest and settle in. So don't worry if our visit to Pembourne is delayed a day or two." So saying, he captured his bride's arm, drawing her gently—but determinedly—toward the door. "The day was memorable," he added, his gaze locked with Slayde's. "Thank you. And don't worry. Aurora is in the very best of hands."
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Pembourne's iron gates disappeared in the distance, the sun an orange glow on the horizon.
"At last," Aurora sighed, leaning back against the carriage seat. "Freedom."
Julian chuckled, crossing one long leg over the other. "An ironic proclamation. Most people would refer to marriage as confinement, not freedom."
"Are you one of those people?" Aurora inquired, feeling not the least bit threatened.
"I was once. Now? I think not." One dark brow rose in amusement. "Given your smug expression, I suspect you already knew what my answer would be."
"I did. Not because I'm smug, but because you're hardly a man who would commit himself to a life he expected to be confining."
"True. Nor are you a woman who would agree to marry such a man."
"Also true." Aurora smiled. "I suppose we both crave the same things."
"We do. What's more, we will. I'm counting on it."
There was no mistaking the suggestive gleam in Julian's eye, the husky note in his voice.
Aurora found herself wishing the journey ahead were not quite so long. Or, given that it was, that the message Julian was issuing were not quite so explicit or quite so effective.
Silence hovered—thick, charged.
Excruciating.
"Lady Altec must be racing about Devonshire with her news by now," Aurora blurted at last, unable to withstand the escalating tension.
"You're nervous," Julian stated in that same unbearably seductive tone.
"No, I'm searching for a topic of conversation."
"Don't." Julian yanked the carriage curtains shut, then swung across to sit beside his bride.
"Don't what?" Aurora managed. "Don't be nervous? Or don't search for a topic of conversation?"
"Either." He tipped her chin up, wrapping one red-gold tress about his forefinger. "We've waited an interminable fortnight—not to mention an unending day—for this." He brought the tress to his lips, savored its texture with his mouth. "Finally, finally, the wait is over."
"Not yet," Aurora reminded him, staring at the tanned column of his throat, her heart slamming against her ribs. "Polperro is still hours away."
"Exactly." Julian lowered his head, kissed her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the hollow behind her ear. "And I intend to make the most of every heated moonlit hour."
Aurora's eyes widened. "You're not suggesting…?"
"Indeed I am." He feathered kisses across her cheekbones, the delicate bridge of her nose, nibbled lightly at her lower lip. "Did you really expect me to wait hours longer? Never, soleil. I've been on fire for you from the instant we met, burning to be inside you. Now my ring is on your finger. And nothing is going to stop me from making you mine."
"But, Julian…" Aurora struggled for sanity. "In a carriage?"
"Um-hum." His tongue traced her lip. "Shockingly unconventional, wouldn't you say? A closed carriage, a cramped seat. Nothing but you, me, and the ecstasy of our joined bodies becoming one." He kissed her deeply.
"What if the driver should…"
"He won't." Julian was tugging pins from her hair, tossing them haphazardly to the carriage floor. "No one will." His molten gaze bore into hers, lush with promise. "No one will see how abandoned I make you. No one will hear your cries of pleasure. No one but me." He tunneled his fingers through her hair. "Adventure. Excitement. Passion. Everything I promised you. Say yes."
Aurora shivered, excitement flaring deep inside her.
"Tell me you want this," Julian breathed into her lips. "Tell me you've dreamed about having me inside you, filling you to bursting, moving until you shatter in my arms. Tell me, Aurora."
"I have," she whispered, her head swimming from the impact of his words, the graphic images they invoke
d. "Constantly."
"Then let's throw ourselves into the fire—douse it, reignite it. We have hours. Let me make you my wife. Here. Now. Then let me take you to bed and start all over again, make love to you until you beg me to stop."
Aurora's palms slid up his coat to his shoulders. "Somehow I doubt that will happen."
"Good. Then we'll make love until we die." Julian's arms closed around her, no longer coaxing but insistent. "Say yes."
She could barely speak. "Yes."
His mouth crushed down on hers—hot, hard—blazing with an unrelenting possessiveness that said there would be no turning back, no stopping until their passion was spent.
