The Bridegroom

by Joan Johnston

  Then she spied the net wedding veil hanging from the corner of the wardrobe. Reggie grabbed the veil and carefully separated the net from the rose-trimmed band. She then wrapped the net around her shoulders, crisscrossed it over her bosom and tucked it snugly into the bodice. She hurried to the looking glass to judge her efforts and gazed at herself in delight.

  Barring the faint bruise on her chin, she looked lovely. Or would, as soon as she repaired her hairdo, which looked as though it had been through a storm at sea. Reggie used what pins she found in the tangles to gather her long black hair up onto her crown. A few curls dangled at her brow and temples and at her nape, but that could not be helped.

  When Reggie finally opened the blue velvet box, she found a string of matched pearls and a pair of pendant pearl earrings. She put one of the earrings on but was startled into dropping the other by a knock on the door and Carlisle’s, “Reggie? The reverend has arrived. Are you ready?”

  “Come in, Clay,” she called as she stooped to pick up the second earring and attached it to her ear.

  When the earl stepped inside, her jaw dropped in surprise. Carlisle had changed his clothes for the wedding. He was dressed in a black tailcoat, tight-fitting black breeches with white stockings, and black patent leather shoes. He had made an attempt to tame his unruly hair, but a lock of it fell stubbornly onto his forehead.

  Reggie had never seen a more strikingly handsome man, and she wished that she was being married in a church with all of her friends present, so that they might see him. She held out the pearl necklace, and he crossed and took it from her. She turned to observe the pair of them in the looking glass as he clasped it around her neck.

  “I’m afraid my hair is still a wild tangle—”

  He brushed aside a dark curl at her nape and pressed his lips against her flesh. “It’s beautiful and untamed, like you.” He met her gaze in the looking glass and said, “You look beautiful to me, Reggie. And very desirable.”

  “I am barely a match for you, my lord,” she said, letting him see her admiration.

  He turned her in his arms and ran a finger along the edge of the bodice, where the net had been tucked in as a substitute fichu. “What is this?”

  “The gown did not … I mean … It is lovely, but—”

  “No matter,” he said, giving her a quick kiss.

  But their lips clung, and Reggie found herself leaning into Carlisle’s body as his arms closed around her, pressing their hips together, revealing the hard evidence of his arousal. Reggie’s heart was thundering in her breast with fear and excitement. She moaned deep in her throat as Carlisle tugged on her lower lip with his teeth and sucked it gently into his mouth.

  “Clay,” a gruff voice called through the door. “The reverend is waiting.”

  Carlisle reached up and eased her hands from around his neck—how had they gotten there?—and held them in his own. “Come, my dear. It is time to become husband and wife.”

  She allowed him to lead her from the cabin, but stopped abruptly in the companionway when she saw the giant waiting there.

  “This is my friend, Pegg,” Carlisle said. “He’s first mate on the Sea Witch.”

  Pegg nodded his head. “Pleased to meet ye, lass.”

  Reggie made herself smile at the intimidatingly large man, whose black eye-patch and peg leg and golden earring made him seem quite foreign. “Hello, Pegg. I hope you will be my friend, too.”

  Pegg eyed the earl askance before he said, “Maybe. Could be. We’ll see.”

  She had no time to puzzle out the meaning of his words because Carlisle was urging her up the steps to the upper deck.

  “Come, my dear. The reverend is waiting.”

  When Reggie saw the reverend waiting all alone on the quarterdeck, she was more aware than ever of the lack of any friendly faces to support her. “I wish Mick and Becky were here,” she murmured.

  “I have had a message delivered to Penrith’s town house informing your sister that we have been married by special license, and that we will be honeymooning at Castle Carlisle, my estate in Scotland.”

  “Maybe we could tell them ourselves tomorrow,” Reggie suggested.

  Carlisle shook his head. “The Sea Witch sails on the morning tide.”

  She looked around forlornly. The only witnesses to their marriage would be the giant with the peg leg, a few sailors who lingered on deck, and the reverend who married them.

  Carlisle lifted her chin. “It will be better this way, my dear. It will give everyone time to accustom themselves to the fact that you are my wife.”

  The voice of reason inside Reggie’s head was shouting, “Stop! Wait!” But sometime in the past half hour she had laid her heart in Carlisle’s hands. If she fled now, she would be leaving without it.

  “Very well, my lord,” she said, turning to face the reverend. “Let us be wed.”

  Reggie had never before realized how short the actual ceremony of marriage was without the other public rituals that went along with it. It had taken an hour to seat all the guests for Becky’s wedding at St. Paul’s, and stirring musical themes by Bach and Beethoven had been played on the organ to entertain them during the wait.

  Becky’s walk down the aisle on Papa’s arm had taken only a matter of minutes, but she had been preceded by the Duke of Braddock’s two youngest daughters, Constance and Penelope. The three- and four-year-olds had the duty of scattering flower petals before the bride, a tradition apparently established at Uncle Marcus’s wedding. It had taken far longer than a few minutes and brought indulgent and delighted smiles to the faces of all in the congregation.

  Instead of beautiful music and the scent of flower petals, she had only the eerie creak of the ship and the smell of rotting refuse near the docks.

  “Do you, Clayton Giles Bannister, take this woman, Regina Allison Wharton, to be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” the reverend intoned.

  “I do.”

  “Do you, Regina Allison Wharton, take Clayton Giles Bannister to be your lawful wedded husband, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live.”

  “I do.”

  “Have you any rings?” the reverend asked.

  Reggie shook her head, realizing it would be one more thing that was missing at her wedding besides her family and her friends and scattered flowers.

  “I have them,” Carlisle said.

  To Reggie’s surprise, he handed the reverend two rings. One was a plain gold band. The other was inset with a large stone.

  “Is that a diamond?” Reggie asked.

  “The stone has been in my family for generations,” Carlisle said. “The ring is worn by all Carlisle brides.”

  Which meant it had been worn by the wife who had died, Reggie realized. She wondered what memories it conjured of his previous marriage. Judging by his grim expression, none of them was pleasant.

  The reverend handed Carlisle the ring with the stone and instructed him to put it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Carlisle’s eyes looked fierce and frightening as he repeated the words spoken by the reverend.

  “With this ring I thee wed. With my body I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Reggie croaked. Sometime during the words, her throat had swollen closed. But she was given no respite. The reverend handed her the plain band and instructed her to put it on Carlisle’s finger. She had no recollection whatsoever of what she said, only of Carlisle’s fierce dark eyes and his mouth as he said “Amen.”

  “Inasmuch as this man and this woman have pledged themselves to each other with the giving and receiving of rings, before God and these witnesses—” The reverend paused and said, “My lord, there is only one witness.”

  “There are sailors on deck,” Carlisle said.

  “Yes, my lord, but ordinarily—”

  “Continue,” Carlisle ordered.

  “Very well, my l
ord. Where was I?”

  “Before God and these witnesses,” Carlisle provided.

  “Before God and these witnesses,” the reverend repeated, “I hereby declare you to be man and wife. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Reggie and Carlisle said together.

  Carlisle was leaning down to kiss her when the reverend added, “What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  She felt Carlisle’s hands tighten briefly on her shoulders before she felt his lips on her own. When he lifted his head, she searched his face, wondering if he had been as moved by the simple ceremony as she had been.

  What she saw on his face alarmed her. Not joy. Not peace or pleasure. Only grim satisfaction.

  “It is done,” he said. “You are mine.”

  Reggie shivered as a chill ran down her spine. That stark statement of possession should have made her feel loved. Instead, she felt like a piece of chattel. She touched the cold metal ring that bound them together for life.

  Dear God. What had she done?

  Reggie lifted her chin and stared into her husband’s eyes. “Yes, my lord, it is done. But there is no longer a yours or mine, there is only what is ours. Now and forever, we are one.”

  Carlisle looked shocked at her outburst. But Pegg threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  Chapter 8

  The bridegroom intended to stay on deck with his bride no longer than it took to be congratulated by the reverend. “Give every man a ration of rum,” Clay said to Pegg. “And make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  He laid his fingertips on Reggie’s back to urge her toward the steps that led belowdecks. She looked up at him with a smile that made his breath catch in his chest.

  “I would have liked to dance with you,” she said wistfully.

  “Ye can have your wish, lassie,” Pegg said. “If ye dinna mind me playin’ the tune.”

  Clay shot Pegg an aggrieved look, but the older man retrieved a hand organ from one of the other sailors, took a seat on an upturned barrel, and began to play a waltz.

  Reggie laughed delightedly and turned to face Clay. “I had no idea a shipboard wedding could be so romantic. We have the stars and the moon above us and music as beautiful as anything I have ever heard in church.”

  Romancing his wife had not been Clay’s intention, but he saw no reason to rob Reggie of whatever joy she might take in these few moments before he broached her. There would be little enough joy in her life from now on, if he had his way.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Reggie exclaimed. “Is that Freddy?”

  The boy swaggered up to her, grinning from ear to ear, and made a creditable bow. “It’s me right enough, Reggie.”

  “Whatever are you doing here?” she asked.

  “The earl says I’m to watch over his prime bits o’ blood in Scotland,” the boy said proudly. “I’m to have a home of my own someday near the castle and I—”

  Clay caught Freddy’s eye and made it clear the boy should take his leave.

  “I’ll be goin’ to my berth now—to get my ration of rum,” Freddy said.

  “But, Freddy—” Reggie protested.

  “Don’t say I’m too young to be drinkin’ rum,” Freddy said as he backed away. “I’m a man now, Reggie, with a man’s duties and—” He stumbled over a coil of rope, picked himself up with an embarrassed grin, and disappeared belowdecks.

  Once the boy was gone, Reggie looked up at Clay, her eyes soft and full of pride—in him. “My lord, you have managed to surprise me again with your thoughtfulness. I have always believed you were a kind man, but this is the best wedding present you could have given me.”

  Clay felt his insides squeeze tight in response to the adoration in her eyes. He did not want her admiration, her adoration, or anything else resembling approval. His bride would soon learn that where she was concerned, he intended to be neither thoughtful nor kind. He had brought Freddy along only because he had seen the light in the boy’s eyes when it became known he planned to take ship for Scotland.

  “I will need help with my cattle in Scotland,” he told Reggie, shrugging dismissively. “And the boy was willing to come.”

  She placed her palm on his heart. “Yes, my lord. I can see how such a young, inexperienced boy would be the perfect choice when you are setting up a new stable.” She laughed. “You cannot convince me that what you did was not a noble gesture, or keep me from loving you for making Freddy so happy.”

  His throat clogged with feeling, making it impossible to explain that he had brought the boy for his own comfort. Neither her feelings, nor the boy’s, had been any part of his decision.

  He noticed her frowning at one of his men and turned to see who had caught her eye this time. Bloody hell! It was Pike. He stepped into her range of vision, circled her waist with his arm, and drew her close.

  “That sailor looks exactly like—”

  His mouth covered hers to distract her, while he used his free hand to wave Pike away, behind her back. He found himself caught up in the kiss, unwilling to let her go. His tongue slipped inside to claim her, as he had wanted to do since he had first laid eyes on her in the decadent wedding gown he had provided. She was pliant and sweet. “Come below with me,” he murmured against her lips. “There is enough left of the night for me to make a wife of you.”

  Her eyes looked unfocused, and she seemed a little dazed. He had already taken another step toward the stairway with her before she remembered the forgotten waltz.

  “The dance, my lord,” she reminded him.

  It would cause only a small delay in his plans. And he would still be holding her in his arms—indecently close, if he had his way. He took her palm in his, tightened his hold on her waist, and swept her into the dance. Pegg slowed the tune as it became necessary to waltz Reggie around the mast, under the boom, and across the hatches. He used his artful maneuvering around the ship as an excuse to pull her snugly against him, so that her soft, full breasts were crushed against his chest. He could feel her breathy laughter against his cheek as he danced her toward the companionway steps, intending to slip away even before the dance was done.

  Pegg thwarted him by ending the tune abruptly. Clay turned to find out why he had stopped playing.

  “I’ve forgotten the rest,” he said with a grin. He rose and headed belowdecks. “I’ll leave the night to the two of ye,” he said with a wink at Clay.

  Clay looked around and realized they were alone. He had his hand on Reggie’s back, urging her toward the stairs, when she edged out of his grasp and headed for the ship’s rail. She leaned so far over the rail, she was in danger of falling off the ship—and out of her dress. His body responded with violence to the brief glance he got of her nipples before she leaned back a little, and they were hidden from sight again beneath the square neckline of her gown and the makeshift fichu.

  He joined her at the rail, standing beside her without touching. He searched for whatever had caught her eye and saw the lights of London on the opposite bank of the Thames.

  “The city looks so beautiful at night,” she said, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

  “The dark does a great deal to conceal the poverty and filth,” he said dryly.

  “Your ship is certainly beautiful,” she said, undaunted by his sarcasm. She turned to face the mainmast and laid her arms along the ship’s rail. “Where did you get it?”

  “I won it.”

  “I thought you did not wager for great stakes,” she said, eyeing him askance.

  “I never said that.”

  “What did you risk in return for such a great prize?” she asked.

  “My life. Or, rather, my services for life.”

  “You wagered your freedom?” she said, aghast.

  “At the time, it was all I had. I wanted—I needed—this ship, and a life spent sailing the Seven Seas did not seem such an awful fate if I lost.”

  “I am glad you won,” she said fiercely, letting go of t
he rail and turning to face him. “And came back home to find me.”

  Clay looked down at the small, delicate hand covering his own, then back up at her intense gaze. She was pleased for him. Proud of him. In love with him. He felt his breath hitch in his chest. Time to get her below. Time to finish what he had started. He slid his arm around her waist. “Shall we go below?”

  “Not yet,” she said, resisting him with a coy glance. “Tell me about our new home. Is it very beautiful?”

  He hesitated, wondering whether to force her to go with him. He could see from the way she peeked at him from beneath lowered lashes and then looked away, that she was nervous, anxious perhaps in the way a maiden would be on her wedding night. One more brief delay would not make any difference.

  “Castle Carlisle is perched on a cliff above the sea,” he said in answer to her question. “You can hear the waves crashing on the rocks far below if you try hard enough. I always imagined I could, anyway. As a boy, I used to stand on that cliff and look out to sea and wonder what was beyond the horizon.”

  “So you came by your love of the sea honestly,” she said with a shy smile.

  “I would never have chosen to see it the way I did,” he said brusquely. He needed to remind her—and himself—of the passage he had made in chains. And finish what he had set out to do. “Come, my love, it is time—”

  “Not yet. Please,” she said, sliding farther down along the rail. “Tell me about your family.”

  “They are all dead.”

  She turned to stare at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, and he felt desire rise like a dragon inside him, talons ripping at his insides. He fought the fierce need, struggled to subdue it. He had only one use for her. He could not afford to indulge the dragon.

  She stepped back when he reached for her and babbled, “I lost my mother when I was only six. A tragic fall down the stairs at Blackthorne Abbey.”

  “Gossip says she was drunk,” he said ruthlessly. “And that your father pushed her.”

  “What a wretched thing to say! Especially when it isn’t true!” She glared at him in indignation.