by Sharon Page
His blood felt colder than ice coating a northern lake. “Not exactly. Why don’t you go and see how Julia is feeling? Would you do that for me?”
It took some coaxing, but Isobel left him and he went over to O’Brien.
The bastard grinned. “Congratulations, Cal. But I bet your new wife doesn’t know where you come from.”
Cal didn’t answer. Julia knew—but not the things O’Brien could tell her. But he knew to never show fear.
“I need more cash, Cal.”
“Or you tell my wife?”
“I figured you might care what she knows about you.”
“We had this discussion before. You were supposed to go back to New York.”
“I hung around. Then heard you were getting hitched to a real fancy lady. That means things have changed, Cal. You’ve got something to lose now.”
He did. But coolly he said, “I need time to think about it.”
“Two days. Or I tell your precious wife everything about you.”
“A week, damn it.” His heart thundered. If O’Brien did it, he’d lose Julia forever. His hands shook and he fisted them by his side.
The man shrugged. “Okay. But I ain’t going nowhere. And don’t think you’re gonna get me bumped off quietly and buried somewhere. I’m too careful.”
O’Brien walked away then, toward the woods and the path that led down to the village.
Cal looked up toward the church. Only Zoe, Nigel and Julia were left, waiting to leave. Julia was going to wonder where in hell he was, why he was not with her. He started walking toward his new wife, when a hand touched his arm. He swung around, ready to slam his fist into O’Brien’s mug—
He was face-to-face with piercing black eyes. It was the older woman from the gypsy’s encampment. He forced himself to calm down. “Morning, Genevra. Are you coming to our wedding reception?”
Genevra cackled. “’Course not, yer lordship. I wouldn’t be welcome at the big house.”
“Why not?” he said stubbornly. “You live on the estate like anyone else.”
When she laughed again, he said, awkwardly, “If you’d like to take some food, there will be plenty. I could have the cook put together a basket for you to take back to the camp.”
“Ye’re kind, milord.” She was swathed in a black shawl and her eyes were unblinking, like a crow’s. “You shouldn’t have married her ladyship. You’ve condemned her to the curse.”
“I told you I don’t believe in curses. I’m going to take care of Lady Julia.”
“It might be your life that’s in danger, milord. For what would be a greater tragedy to the new countess than to lose the husband she loves?”
“If you’ve come to spread fear, you can leave my family alone.”
Genevra backed away.
Then he felt like a heel for scaring her. It was O’Brien he was mad at, not Genevra. Suddenly Cal realized when he’d said family he hadn’t only meant Julia and him. He’d meant his cousins and even the countess. Julia really had gotten under his skin.
“I’m sorry, Genevra,” he said. “But I don’t like threats.”
“There’s something you should know, milord. I were out walking yesterday and a fancy motorcar drove past me. Driving it was a man with a fedora pulled low. The girl beside him had blue-black hair.”
“Who was the man?”
Genevra shook her head. “I don’t know either of them and the man was driving fast. But it was near the road by Miss Lambert’s cottage, where a man attacked Lady Julia. And now you’ve married her.” With that, the gypsy turned and ran off.
He scowled, his mind racing at the possibility of the brute still out there, targeting young women.
“Cal?” Julia was walking toward him, puzzlement on her face.
He pushed aside the threats from O’Brien, his own lies and Genevra’s warning. This was his first day married to Julia, the only nice girl he’d known. If O’Brien talked, she would be gone, but this day was precious—he wanted this day, and he was committing a sin to have it. He tried to push aside the threats from O’Brien, his own lies and Genevra’s warning. But he couldn’t help looking at Julia’s neatly bobbed, shining blue-black hair.
* * *
In the center of a long table, the wedding cake stood.
Hannah had slipped up the servants’ stairs. She peeked through the rear doorway into the ballroom. No guests were inside, but footmen rushed in and out and Mr. Wiggins was overseeing.
Biting her lip, she studied the cake.
It was made of octagonal shapes. The wine-soaked fruitcake had been carefully measured, then shaved with a knife to make the shape even. Dowels had been used within to support the structure. Pure white royal icing covered each layer, decorated with fanciful icing shapes that were tinted rose, pale blue and mint green. Edible silver balls reflected the sunlight pouring into the room. The cake stood elevated on pillars, and real white-and cream-colored roses were heaped at the base.
Hannah felt a glow of pride. Mrs. Feathers had always accused her of being clumsy. Obviously she wasn’t. She truly had the skill to be a fine cook. She was glad she had made something beautiful for the earl and Lady Julia.
She no longer felt terrible jealousy for Tansy, who was so much prettier than she would ever be and who had Eustace wrapped around her—
A flurry of noise startled Hannah and she stepped back, closing the door until it was open just an inch. She peeped through. The earl’s family came in, the young ladies elegant in their hats with feathers and their flowing summer dresses. Lady Julia’s family also walked in, the gentlemen startlingly handsome in tailcoats. Then the earl came in himself with his new bride.
Holding her breath, Hannah watched the new Lady Worthington approach the cake. “Cal, look! It’s exquisite.”
“It’s a work of art, that’s for sure,” he agreed.
Then, in front of them all, the earl swept his wife into a kiss. A kiss that could have melted all the ice in the icehouse, it was so wonderfully romantic.
20
Wedding Night at Worthington
With Cal at her side, Julia cut into the beautiful wedding cake. Laughter surrounded them, and cheers rang up as she made the first slice. Wishes flowed for their happiness, for a fruitful marriage. A string orchestra played and Cal put his hand on her lower back and led her into a waltz.
She was gloriously in love. It made her heart ache with the sheer joy of it.
Cal danced with her toward the terrace windows. They slipped outside—where they were alone. Cal led her into the shade. He held her hand, fingers entwined with hers. “Suddenly I have good memories of this place.”
“I’m so glad.” Worthington had been filled with poignant memories for her. The joy of having been in love with Anthony; the sorrow of losing him to the War. For her, those memories were as imbued into the estate as wax was worked into the woodwork. But now this would be the house where she had married. Where she built a future with Cal.
She had saved Worthington. But that mattered far less than the fact Cal must be healing. “I always loved it here.” Her voice wobbled. “But now it seems so much more precious—because I am here with you.”
“Julia—no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. And I feel like you mean it.”
“Of course I do.” He was the confident man who painted naked models, yet sometimes he was so vulnerable.
He grinned—more shyly than she’d ever seen. “I can’t wait for tonight,” he said softly.
Tonight. Their wedding night.
He drew her into his arms. Cal kissed her neck, right at the join with her shoulders. The day was warm, but this set her on fire. She was ready to dissolve...
“We should go back,” she said briskly. At least she tried to sound brisk. It came out
rather croaky. “The guests will think we’ve slipped away...to do things.”
“We can do things now, Sheba. Any wicked thing you want. I bet you’ve fantasized but made sure no one ever found out about it. Or do ladies not allow themselves to have erotic fantasies?”
She blushed fiercely. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m sorry. Just don’t ever forget how much I love you.”
“Of course, I won’t,” she promised. “And Paris opened my eyes to naughty ideas.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “We’ll go back to the crowd for now,” he said, his voice more hoarse. “But tonight I’m going to make you mine.”
“I already am yours.”
“I want to make sure I can never lose you.”
Julia caught her breath. Why would he fear losing her? Because he had lost people he loved? His smile had faded and he led her back to the glass terrace doors.
Later, as she was preparing for bed—for her wedding night!—Julia gazed in her mirror and she hurt for him as she remembered how nervous he’d sounded about losing her. She wanted this night to be special. Perfect. Ellen was behind her, brushing out her hair. “You do not need to do one hundred strokes tonight.” Cal, being sweet, had arranged for Ellen and Ben to move into the house that afternoon. His specialist was already helping Ellen, who had told Julia she was having fewer nightmares.
“It’s my wedding night. My husband will be here any minute,” she added.
Ellen smiled. “And you’ll bowl him over, I’m sure. You look lovely, my lady.”
Julia gazed at her reflection. Did she? She wore a new nightgown from her trousseau. There was barely anything to it. It looked like what a moving picture star would wear. Silk with tiny straps, a bodice of lace shaped to curve around each breast, so it was almost like having them bare. Although it was pure, pale white, she knew it certainly did not look virginal.
Cal was going to see her in this. And he might want to see her in much less.
“I will go, my lady.”
“Wait—”
Ellen stopped. “Yes, my lady?”
She’d realized that once Ellen left her, Cal could come in. Nerves gripped her. But this was the 1920s, not Victorian England. She was supposed to be brave about this.
But that was also what scared her. People talked about sex all the time—women and men. Everyone wanted passion and if it wasn’t to be had in marriage, they got it elsewhere. The women in the Parisian nightclub talked openly about sex, but she—she didn’t really know anything about it. For all she’d told Mother she did.
“What’s wrong, my lady?”
Really, she couldn’t stall all night. Or night after night. “Nothing at all. Thank you.”
“Yes, my lady,” Ellen said, and left.
Once she was alone, Julia got up from the vanity, pulled on her robe and tied it tight. She started to pace. She was in the countess’s room. Cal had vowed to hire an army of decorators to change it however she wished. The countess had gone to the dower house on the estate. And now the wedding was over, Diana must soon go to Switzerland to have her baby.
At the wedding reception, the Earl of Summerhay had been a true gentleman about losing her to Cal, wishing them happiness. The Duke of Bradstock, however, had said, “Julia, I am afraid he’s going to make you unhappy. He’s not one of us. But I will be there for you. I promise. I won’t let him break your heart.”
“How considerate of you to worry about me,” she had said, secretly rolling her eyes.
What was taking Cal so long?
On the other hand, was she ready for him? How did one go from being too ladylike, embarrassed and restrained to even address the subject, to actually doing it in a way that would please a man?
What if this part of their marriage didn’t work? Would he stray?
“Stop,” she said to her reflection. It was crazy to worry about losing him before they’d even started. She ached for his touch. Didn’t that promise it would be wonderful?
The door opened and Cal stepped into her room.
“Oh, er,” she said. Eloquently.
He wore a robe of indigo silk, belted at the waist. His feet were bare. His tousled blond hair fell over his brow.
A lady took charge of all situations—she greeted visitors, knew how to engage in polite conversation, knew how to address the myriad details that went into running a house.
How on earth did one greet a man before getting into bed with him? Julia tried what any social hostess would do—bright and innocuous remarks. “The wedding was lovely, wasn’t it?”
“All I needed was to hear you say, ‘I do,’ doll. The rest of it just got in the way.”
“In the way of what?”
“Making love to you.”
The intense way he looked at her—all blue eyes and heat—made her feel she was melting. There was such naughtiness in his gaze. She focused on his wrists, of all things. Bare under the sleeves of his robe. He had elegant, long fingers.
“Perhaps we should slip into the bed. Which side would you prefer?” she asked politely.
That ignited one of his naughtiest grins.
He came to her, tipped up her chin, slanted his mouth over hers. His tongue teased hers. He tasted of brandy, but mostly of Cal—the warm, sensuous flavor she knew from kissing him.
He slipped his hand in her robe, cupped her breast through the filmy bodice of her scandalous nightdress.
“Oh,” she gasped.
His palm caressed her nipple, then his fingers lightly closed around it. He gently pinched.
“Oh!” It came out much louder.
His fingers did wicked things to her nipple and, through the satin of her nightdress, to the private place between her legs.
She felt the familiar flare of nerves over doing something naughty. But she could now be as wicked with Cal as she wanted to be.
“I want to watch you come, Julia. I want to see you in ecstasy, hear you scream my name.”
She stared, not comprehending a thing.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Julia. I used to dream I could escape New York’s slums and touch the stars. Holding you in my arms is as magical as touching all the stars in the universe.”
Hands trembling, she undid his robe. He murmured, “Yes, Julia,” as the dark blue silk parted, revealing his lean body. She’d never seen a whole naked male body. Statues always had fig leaves; illustrations in books had some kind of demure covering added.
She giggled.
Cal stopped kissing her and his hands stopped caressing. “I look funny?”
Oh goodness, he was pouting. “No. You’re just so lean and firm. And then there’s that part that sticks out. Like a baton. I just didn’t know it looked like that.” Her cheeks burned.
Cal grinned. “You’re more than lovely. You’re like a drug I can’t get enough of.” He opened her robe. She knew it was going to happen but she felt nervous, standing before him in her skimpy gown. His eyes went wide, met hers, glowing a fiery blue. “Julia—you aren’t just as lovely as a star, you’re the sexiest Sheba I’ve ever seen.”
She blushed. A lady should be shocked to be described so, but she felt a thrill. She moved to close the robe again, but he pushed it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor. Cal lifted her up, her silk skirts spilling over his arms. He carried her to her bed. Then he whisked up the skirt of her nightgown and—to her absolute shock—buried his face between her bare legs, kissing her in that most intimate place.
“Cal! What are you doing?”
He couldn’t answer, of course—
Oooh. His tongue moved over her private place, caressing her. This was stunningly wonderful. Julia closed her eyes, too ladylike to look as he did things to her. He tasted her in such an intimate way that she was blu
shing. He didn’t seem to mind. Or be shocked.
Oh!
She’d never dreamed Cal would put his mouth to her sex and would caress her, nibble her. Or that it would feel so good. Julia stretched her arms over her head. Pleasure made her want to moan. She felt so sensuous. So thoroughly feminine.
His hands pressed to her naked bottom, making her gasp as he lifted her.
She opened her eyes and saw Cal’s heavy-lidded blue eyes watching her. A bit of blond stubble graced his jaw and cheeks. She couldn’t resist—she reached out and rubbed her palm against it. It tickled and the light stab sent a shot of desire right between her legs.
“Oh!”
He was hers now. She could touch him in any way she liked. She couldn’t quite believe it.
He bent to her sex again and caressed with his tongue. He flicked a place that sent a bolt of lightning through her.
Pleasure grew and grew. She rocked her hips, driven to satisfy this need building in her. A need that made her hands curl into the bed. That made her moan his name. She’d never known anything like it.
“Oooooh!”
The most unladylike things happened. Her hips launched up and smacked him. Her arms flailed on the bed. She cried out. She was in a maelstrom of pulsing muscles and pleasure.
She reached a peak, almost flying off the bed. It began to loosen its grip and she flopped back to the mattress feeling as if she was floating, as if she weighed nothing at all.
Cal moved up and kissed her. She tasted ripeness and blushed. Perspiration prickled on her and she was panting for breath.
“Good?” he asked.
“The bee’s knees. I had no idea. I mean—I’ve felt desire for you that is so strong it made me rather desperate. But I had no idea it made one feel this wonderful.”
His grin would have melted icebergs. “Once you’ve had an explosive climax, Julia, you’re driven to seek it again. Now, let me give you another.”
Julia looked down and saw he was still erect. “Oh yes. Of course. That is my duty—”
“The hell with duty,” he said roughly. He moved over her, naked. His legs were spread to rest on either side of hers. “I just want to make you feel good.”
