The Virgin s Wedding Night

by Sara Craven

  She said numbly, ‘He loved me and he could let me go—just like that?’

  Mr Flint stirred uncomfortably. ‘Give him his due, he didn’t want to, in spite of his father’s urging. Begged me for more time, which I guarantee he doesn’t do every day. Even tried to call off the deal altogether. In the end, I had to tell him that unless he kept his word to set you free, I’d sell Gracemead over your head, and see if you’d still want to love him after that.’

  He added, ‘And that, naturally, was the clincher.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can see that it—might be.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, God, what’s the Greek for—Turn the car round?’ She leaned forward, tapping the driver’s shoulder. ‘Yanni—stop.’ She gestured frantically. ‘Go back—back to Militos. To Kyrios Roan. I swear I’ll start language lessons tomorrow if you’ll just understand me now.’

  ‘Harriet,’ her grandfather said sternly. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Just the opposite. Oh, thank heavens,’ she added, as Yanni, muttering, turned the car in the opposite direction. ‘Now—hurry.’

  ‘I wasn’t joking.’ Gregory Flint’s tone was grim. ‘Unless you come home with me now, I shall indeed sell the house. I’ve had several good offers.’

  ‘Then take one of them. Take them all, if you want. I don’t care any more.’ Her voice cracked. ‘The only home I want is here, with my husband, and somehow I have to make him believe that.’

  When they reached the house, Harriet was out of the car almost before it had stopped. She flew into the house, calling Roan’s name, running into the saloni, but the figure standing by the window was her father-in-law, and she halted, gasping with disappointment.

  ‘Harriet.’ Constantine Zandros gave her a long look. ‘I thought we had seen the last of you. What have you done with your grandfather?’

  ‘He’s in the car, and I’m sure you hoped you were rid of me.’ She lifted her chin, glaring at him. ‘But you’re going to be disappointed, Kyrios Zandros. I’m back to stay, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.’

  She swallowed. ‘I’m your son’s wife, and I’ll camp on the doorstep if I have to until he takes me back. Because I love him—do you hear me?’ She almost sobbed the words. ‘Oh, God, I love him more than anything in the world, and I’m going to tell him so.’

  His glance went past her. He said dryly, ‘I think, my child, that he already knows.’

  Harriet whirled round, and saw Roan standing in the doorway behind her. He was dressed for travel in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, and he was staring at her, his dark face haggard, blank with shock. For a moment, he did not move or speak, then he said hoarsely, ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said passionately. ‘Yes, it is. I was just too stupid to realise it at first, and then I was too scared to say it. Because you were always walking away.’

  ‘I did not trust myself to stay,’ he said. ‘Not if you did not love me.’

  ‘But you loved me,’ she said. ‘Enough to let me go, so that I could have my dream.’ She looked at him, her heart in her eyes. ‘Oh, darling, how could you think I would ever want a pile of stones in the country more than you?’

  Constantine Zandros cleared his throat. ‘I think I shall find Kyrios Flint,’ he remarked to the room at large. ‘Attend to his comfort. I will see you both later. Perhaps in a few days.’ He smiled at Harriet quite gently. ‘Maybe then, pedhi mou, you may feel able to call me Papa.’

  And he went, leaving them together.

  Roan took a step towards her, and she flung up a hand, halting him. She said quickly, the words falling over themselves, ‘Darling, there’s something I’ve got to say, before I—we…’ She gave a little gasp. ‘I—I don’t blame you for anything you’ve done, because I’ve been such a bitch, and you must have been so lonely. But I can’t—share you. Not if we have a real marriage. It would destroy me.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said reflectively. ‘My girl in Athens and everywhere else.’ He took out his wallet and extracted a piece of paper, folded small. ‘You may recognise her.’

  It was a sheet from a sketch block. A drawing of someone, lying in bed, the coverlet drawn loosely over her hips. Her head was resting on her arm, her hair a cloud on the pillow. Her face was softened, beautiful, and she was smiling in her sleep.

  She said huskily, ‘When did you do this?’

  ‘After our wedding night. I woke early, and all I could think of was your voice telling me you would never love me. I was so scared it might be true, and I needed a talisman to keep with me—to give me hope. It has been my salvation.’

  She glanced at the drawing again. She said shyly, ‘I don’t—really look like this.’

  ‘You did,’ he said gently. ‘And you will again. Each morning of our lives, my sweet one.’

  Her lips trembled into a smile. ‘You can’t call me that. I’m not remotely sweet.’

  ‘You are to me.’ The look in his eyes brought the colour to her face. ‘My sweet, lost, lonely, difficult love.’

  ‘All the times I told you I didn’t want you,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll make them up to you, I swear it.’

  ‘I am delighted to hear it.’ He came to her, lifting her into his arms, and carrying her down the passage towards their bedroom. ‘Perhaps you should start now while this repentant mood lasts.’

  He undressed her slowly, and with immense care, as if he was unwrapping a precious treasure. Smiled into her enraptured eyes as he took her, as he moved with her in deepening intensity until, at the last, all control deserted them both and the searing delight of their mutual rapture brought a healing beyond all words.

  A long time later, she said dreamily, ‘This is such a wonderful bed. You’re always within my reach.’

  ‘At last a plan that works.’ His lips were against her hair, his hands beginning a new adventure. ‘But I think we will have to spend some time in other beds, agapi mou. I want to take you on honeymoon.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She tried a few enticements of her own. ‘Anywhere in particular, kyrie?’

  He hesitated, his face suddenly serious. ‘I thought—South America. That is why I saw my lawyers in Athens yesterday. They think their enquiry agents may have traced your mother.’

  For a long moment, she could not speak. ‘You—you’ve done all that—for me? Oh, my love.’ She paused, swallowing back her tears. ‘You do realise she may not want to see me, after all this time.’

  ‘I think she will,’ he said. ‘But we will find out together.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harriet said with a sigh of pure happiness. ‘Together.’ And lifted her mouth to his.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-1101-2

  THE VIRGIN’S WEDDING NIGHT

  First North American Publication 2008.

  Copyright © 2007 by Sara Craven.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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