It was with a feeling of intense pride that his intense blue gaze locked on to hers, and when she was in front of him, and before his features settled back into their grim lines of cynical indifference, briefly his eyes smiled down at her, and he said, ‘You look extremely beautiful, Belle.’
The compliment was just what Belle needed to bolster her courage. Her heart swelled ready to burst as Rowland put her hand in Lance’s, and she felt his long, strong fingers close firmly round her own in a reassuring grasp. If she had any remaining doubts about marrying this man, they were dispelled in that moment, and as they turned to the minister and she took her place by his side, she knew that with or without Lance’s love, this was where she would remain for all time.
Everyone listened in breathless silence as the wedding ceremony was conducted. In muted, trembling tones, Belle replied to the questions the minister presented to her. The firm, deep voice of Lance echoed hauntingly in the stillness as he too made his responses, his voice deep and resonant echoing through the church, promising to love and cherish her, and endowing her with all his worldly goods. And then it was over and these two proud and beautiful people were pronounced man and wife.
‘You may kiss the bride,’ the minister said.
Lance turned and looked at her, his eyes gleaming with something that was so intense and so terrifying that Belle stiffened when he drew her towards him and his arms went round her, encircling her. Bending his head, he claimed her trembling lips in a long drawn-out kiss that brought a frown of disapproval to the minister’s brow and a smile to the lips of all those present. Then he released her and took her arm. After signing the documents that made their union legal in the eyes of the law as well as God, with the sound of congratulations ringing in their ears, Lance led his bride down the aisle and out of the church.
Everyone was there to see Lance’s shiny black carriage drive off, swaying gently along the road towards Harworth Hall. It was drawn by four prancing chestnut horses in magnificent silver harnesses. Two coachmen mounted in green velvet livery sat proudly erect in front.
Belle sank almost breathless with relief into the deep luxurious upholstery and looked down at the broad gold band which Lance had slid on to her slender finger—a bold statement, she thought, telling the whole world that she belonged to him.
When Rowland, in jovial mood, had leaned into the carriage and told him to go directly to Harworth, Lance had laughed, which went a long way to relaxing Belle. It was the first spark of humour she had seen from him in a long time. She cast a glance at her new husband as the carriage left the church and found his eyes assessing her. But then she caught the ironic flicker in his eyes and realised that perhaps nothing had changed. Trying to hide her disappointment, she turned away.
Seated beside her, Lance sensed her tension and her inner sadness, and realised, as if for the first time, just how difficult she must be finding this situation. This was her wedding day, the most important day in a girl’s life. She was leaving everything that was familiar to her in order to face a new way of life at the side of a husband who, through his restrained manner and avoidance of her, he thought with a twinge of regret, must have given her the impression that he didn’t want her.
Suddenly and without pausing to question the reason why, he wanted to make things easier for her, to show that he was willing to give their marriage a chance. Having a wife would be a great benefit to him at Ryhill. And Belle was undeniably lovely.
‘I meant what I said in church, Belle. You look lovely,’ he uttered quietly, taking her hand and holding it in a firm clasp. His tone held an odd note of pride, and perhaps awe, that made her turn her head to him. With the dappled shade of light playing across her creamy skin and wisps of hair escaping from their pins caressing her cheek, she was the most beautiful woman Lance had ever laid eyes on. Whether due to the gently curving bosom beneath the confines of her gown, the satin softness of her skin, or the rosy blush that infused her cheeks, brightening her eyes until they seemed to glow with a brilliance of their own behind the thick, sooty lashes, or the way her lips were softly parted, his attention was firmly ensnared, such enticements being too much for any man to ignore, much less one who had found himself hard pressed by a lengthened abstinence and ever-goading passions.
Something in his chest tightened. When she lowered her eyes he placed a gentle finger under her chin, compelling her to meet his gaze.
‘Kiss me, Belle.’ His senses alive to the elusive perfumed scent of her, and unable to resist the softness of her lips, he drew her close. Wordlessly she offered him her lips. Her kiss was tentative at first, as if she needed time to reconsider what she was doing, but when his mouth opened over hers, as his heat flowed into her she seemed to relax a little.
Taking her in his arms, covering her mouth with his own, he kissed her long and deep. It was the first since they had left London. Tonight was their night, when he would truly make her his wife in every sense, and his blood stirred hotly. Already he was mentally undressing and kissing her, caressing her with his hands and mouth until she was wild for him.
Having kissed her to near insensibility, he raised his head and looked at her flushed face. ‘Was that to your liking, madam?’
‘Mmm. It was so nice I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me again.’ She leaned forwards to steal another. Her husband readily accommodated her, this time making it far more sensual as his tongue slipped inwards to explore further. She moaned against him, and when he released her lips she pleaded for more.
‘You’re insatiable, my love, but I dare not continue lest I arrive at our wedding breakfast in a state of embarrassment.’
A shy but mischievous smile curved her lips. ‘I’ve never kissed a man before in an open carriage. I feel almost wanton.’
‘Kissing—or anything of an intimate nature—is not wantonness when it’s between a couple who has been bound by marriage. It is an honest desire—and right now I want you with a craving that will not be appeased by a mere kiss.’
‘Do you really want me, Lance?’ she asked, a slightly anxious frown creasing her brow.
Now that he was no longer kissing her and he could think more clearly, Lance realised how much he did want her, that no power on earth would persuade him to cast her out of his life—and to reassure her, he kissed her again.
The wedding breakfast was quite splendid. The Dowager Countess of Harworth had spared no expense. When the guests had all arrived and made their way up the grand staircase, which was flanked by footmen standing stiffly at attention in blue-and-gold Ainsley livery, beneath a huge chandelier in the ballroom decked with summer flowers, Belle stood beside Lance while the butler, in a stentorian tone, announced each individual.
Belle was assisted into her chair at the table by her husband.
The meal was a splendid affair, and when the endless toasts offered for the bride and groom’s health were over and the musicians struck up the first waltz, to the sound of hearty applause, blended with laughter, Lance led his bride on to the dance floor.
Relieved that he had lowered his guard at last and hoping it would continue, a sigh of relief slipped from Belle’s lips as he swept her smoothly around the ballroom, continually turning in ever-widening circles until the faces of those who watched became an indistinct blur beyond his broad shoulders.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Lance enquired softly.
Belle laughed, evidencing not only her relief, but her pleasure at being able to dance for the first time with her husband.
‘Better. I was worried about Grandmother.’
‘I thought you might be—but she looks as if she’s enjoying herself.’
‘I’m sorry your mother couldn’t make it back for the wedding. I look forward to meeting her.’
‘She is impatient to meet you. My sister has been delivered of her baby—a daughter—and Mother is on her way home.’ He looked at her upturned face, a teasing smile twitching at his lips. ‘You dance divinely, wife. You are as light as thistledown in my
arms.’
‘I feel as if I’m floating on a cloud.’
A wicked, devilish grin stretched across Lance’s lips. ‘I hope that’s the way you will feel when I make love to you—later.’
Before she could reply to his risqué remark, he had spun her round so that her feet almost left the floor. For Belle, nothing existed beyond her husband’s encircling arms and the endless glitter of blue eyes that held hers captive. They spoke in muted tones—an intimate sharing of comments about the wedding. There was a warm, underlying excitement within Belle that Lance had kindled with his earlier kiss—a promise and a tingle of anticipation of that moment when she would be alone with him.
Lance was completely entranced with the soft eyes that glowed with a shining lustre that radiated her happiness. Feeling immensely blessed to have found such devotion, and very much aware of her pliant body moving with his, as if their minds were joined in secret accord, he was impatient to whisk her away from the celebrations to Ryhill, for it was only there that they could be assured of adequate privacy.
Chapter Eight
It was close on midnight when they bade family and friends goodnight and left for Ryhill, half-an-hour’s drive away. When they arrived, welcoming lights shone from the windows. Climbing out of the coach, before she knew what was happening, Lance swept Belle up into his arms and carried her laughing into the house, where he set her to her feet.
‘Welcome to Ryhill,’ he said, kissing her lips. ‘Countess.’
She giggled, returning his kiss. ‘How very grand it sounds. It’s going to take some getting used to. I’ve only just got used to being addressed as Miss Isabelle.’
There was only Masters, the butler, to receive them. Having endured an agonising abstinence and wanting nothing to hinder his union with his wife, Lance told him to go to bed.
With a knowing smile Masters was happy to oblige.
Lance pulled his wife close. ‘Would you like a drink—or would you like to see our bedroom?’ he invited with a teasing smile.
Belle’s eyes shone as they swept over her handsome husband, and her lips curved in a sensual smile as she looked into his lusting eyes. ‘Only if you’ll come with me.’
‘You don’t think I’d let you go without me, do you?’ he answered her with a chuckle. ‘And the way my mind’s been working all day, it may be another week before I allow you to leave.’
He whisked her up the stairs to the master bedroom. Reluctant to release her, he kicked the door closed with his foot, glancing round quickly to make sure Belle’s maid had done as he instructed and not waited up for her mistress. If there was undressing to be done he would do it himself.
With all his self-control, his breath came quickly and his heart beat high in his throat as he gathered her into his arms and grasped her tightly to him. ‘Alone with you at last. I’ve wanted you for so long, hungered for you. For too long I’ve tried to avoid kissing you the way I’ve been yearning to for fear of where it would lead us. To put it bluntly, Belle, I’m almost starved for your kisses and all the other temptations I found myself facing whenever I was near you.’
Recalling the time he had made love to her and all the glorious things he had done to her, Belle grew heady with anticipation. Nothing he had done to her since had come equal to that exchange.
‘Is that the reason why you’ve been avoiding me of late?’
‘You noticed?’
‘How could I not? It made me wonder if you would go through with the ceremony—that you might have had second thoughts and come to regret your decision to marry me after all.’
‘I’m sorry if I gave you reason to think that. I did have reservations about our marriage—I told you that at the beginning—but now it is done I accept it.’
‘Then you don’t mean to avoid me any longer?’
‘Just try to keep me away. I want our marriage to work, Belle, and I can see no reason why it shouldn’t.’
His eyes looked down into hers and Belle saw he was sincere. Her lips curved in a gentle smile. ‘Then what are you waiting for? Please, Lance—wait no longer.’
Looping her arms around his neck, she drew his head down to hers. His mouth eagerly sought hers and their bodies strained together hungrily. When they pulled apart, she kicked off her shoes and stepped back to slip out of her dress, tossing it over a chair. Raising her petticoat to reveal her long, sleek legs encased in silk stockings, held in place by white ribbons above her knees, she unfastened the ties. Suddenly she glanced at her husband. Had she issued an invitation to ogle the sights, he couldn’t have been more eager to respond. With his shoulder leaning against one of the ornate posts of the huge bed, his expression was one of admiration. Already he had stored within his memory diverse views of her—this one he would install as the most tempting.
Ensnaring his gaze, Belle felt her lips curve in a smile. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?’ she teased, seeing where his gaze was fastened.
‘I can’t help it. The sight of you enslaves me. I’ve never seen so much perfection wrapped up in one woman.’ When she bent over to remove her stockings, providing him with a generous view of her ripe, creamy breasts, he halted her. ‘Leave them on.’
Making a pretence of being shocked, she giggled. ‘Really, you have the strangest quirks, Lance Bingham.’
‘You’ll have a lifetime to become familiar with them, but I prefer to be about more serious pleasures now.’
‘And what would they be?’ she queried with her head tilted to one side and a provocative smile on her lips.
‘I’ll show you.’ When she raised her arms to let down her hair, he relinquished his stance. ‘Here, let me.’
His fingers freed her hair, which cascaded down her spine in a silken mass. His hungering eyes swept over her alluring form in a long, lingering caress. Then he was lifting her in his arms and carrying her towards the bed, where he stood her on her feet. They were both hit by a frenzy to undress completely—apart from Belle’s stockings—and in naked splendour they caressed each other, Lance covering her body in greedy kisses, before tumbling her on to the bed.
Soon Lance’s mouth was tracing over his wife’s body, claiming a soft peak, his hand searching out the secret softness of her, and the fires of passion in Belle rose higher still, sweeping away her restraints until they blended with his in an erotic exchange that left them both heady with desire.
Lance’s naked body covered hers and the probing of his maleness she willingly accepted. Then his narrow hips were passing over hers in long leisurely strokes. Deep within her, Belle could feel a heat overflowing her womanly ardour.
Luxuriating in the joy of being one with her, and consumed by her womanly warmth, Lance was thoroughly engorged with lust. A hot, pulsating flame quickened Belle’s blood as his movements became more concentrated and increasingly forceful, igniting her fervour. Soon their passions were soaring out; Lance’s control shattering and his own reservations shattering with it as he claimed her fully and filled her with the urgent desire he’d been keeping so tight in check since his first possession of her that moonlit night in the garden of Schofield House.
It was only when his shuddering release was over that he remembered why he had harboured any reservations at all. And by then, he couldn’t find the will or the energy for regret. Their gasps were finally silenced, becoming soft, blissful sighs of contentment.
They lay in each other’s arms, kissing, touching and whispering, Belle already luxuriating in her new wifely state. She existed in a warm glow. Never had she felt so happy or felt the way she felt now for another human being. But what did Lance feel for her? He wanted her body, that was clear—but desire and need were not love. Whatever interpretation she put on it, she was greedy to savour it all again. This time Lance made love to her in a most physical way, snatching her breath in a fierce ardour and forcing every pleasurable sensation that could be wrenched from her.
Everything outside that room had ceased to exist for her, for it was all her
e in her husband’s encompassing arms. The intensifying hunger within her became almost insatiable, driving her to a kind of wildness that had her digging her nails into the flesh on his back. Then she caught her breath as pulsing waves of bliss washed over her. Feeling a feverish warmth filling her, she welcomed it, clasping her husband’s tautly flexing body as he relaxed against her and rolled on to his side, taking her with him.
‘The way you make love leaves my head in a whirl,’ Belle murmured with a trembling sigh, resting her cheek on his furred chest.
His hand slid over her breast, causing her to catch her breath at the scintillating shock of pleasure he elicited as the tips of his finger passed over her nipple.
Lance was certain he had never experienced such exquisite fulfilment. He also knew he wouldn’t have traded his freedom for what he had now. Belle was different from any other woman, a delightful creature in her innocence, and he could imagine that with a little more tuition from him, she would enslave his mind so completely that he’d willingly yield her anything.
‘You’re beautiful, my love,’ he murmured huskily.
‘I recall you telling me that the joining of our bodies in the ritual of making love would do wonders for relaxing me. How right you were. I feel as if I could float away. It’s the same feeling I experienced when you made love to me before—only this time, as your wife and in your bed, it was so much better.’
‘And your reputation is no longer in question. Now you are my wife, it will be more pleasurable,’ he breathed as his hand slid down her smooth belly.
A Wayward Woman Page 18
