Sensation

by Thea Devine

  And plated at Kyger's place at the table was the marriage li­cense dated three days before, and a handwritten invitation on a parchment card to the wedding of Miss Angilee Rosslyn and Mr. Kyger Galliard at three o'clock that afternoon at the village church, the Vicar Elsberry presiding.

  "Nice, big brother," Kyger murmured, turning the card over in the fingers of his good hand. "So we munch and marry."

  "And munch some more," Lujan said. "Mrs. Elsberry likes nothing more than to hold receptions for Galliard weddings." As she had for him and Jancie when they were wed in the church garden nearly three years before. She was busy even now cooking and baking, up to her elbows in food, flour and flowers. "Jancie?"

  Jancie turned to Angilee. "I hope you won't mind—the seam­stress is altering your gown to make it more appropriate for a wedding."

  Angilee blinked back tears. "I don't mind." The words nearly stuck in her throat. Mrroww. Emily was there suddenly, rubbing against her leg reassuringly.

  Jancie bent down to rub her ears, and Emily jumped up on her lap. Owww. Hungry.

  "That damned cat is always hungry," Lujan said good-naturedly, nipping off a piece of the kedgeree and feeding it to her. "That's it. We're all set. Jancie and I will stand up for you, and the whole thing will become legal as lunch not long after. So—eat your breakfast, children ... we have a long day ahead and a lotto do."

  He was like a general marshalling his forces. Kyger needed

  that crumpled tux taken care of. A good bath. To soak that hand. A nice two-hour nap. A ring—perhaps there was one among their mother's jewelry, all of which had come to Jancie in the end.

  Angilee, meantime, needed more sleep as well. A hot refresh­ing bath. And, Lujan said with a wink, the leisure to reflect on this horrible mistake she was making, marrying Kyger.

  Everything else, he and Jancie would take care of.

  So that at two-thirty that afternoon, it was he and Kyger who drove over alone to the church while Jancie helped Angilee with her gown, and Mrs. Ancrum, the housekeeper, took charge of the toddler, Gaunt.

  The dress makeover was sublime. The drape of chiffon had been removed to fashion a veil; the crystals had been reworked into a band to hold the veil, and the dress reconfigured so that now there were longer sleeves with just a hint of crystal sparkle at the wrists.,

  Jancie's feelings were in absolute turmoil as she fastened the long line of silk buttons down Angilee's perfect back and smoothed out the gown.

  The creature looked even more beautiful, if that were possible. This .., this Angilee... would be Kyger's wife within the hour. And all because of a situation. What situation? A situation with her father and a man she didn't wish to marry? Why should Kyger have gotten involved in that?

  And she hadn't heard a word about love. Nothing about car­ing or connection or feelings.

  Why hadn't she questioned that more carefully this morning? Said something. Held them back from doing something that sounded as if it would turn out disastrously. Marriage was hard; loving someone was hard. So to just walk into it recklessly be­cause of a situation ...

  This was Kyger; she loved Kyger. She should say something to Kyger.

  Emily sat down right in front of her. Mrrrooww. Don't be foolish; don't say anything.

  Jancie let out a deep breath. So, so wise Emily. She knew Jancie's secrets; she knew the feelings that Jancie continually sup­pressed.

  Qwww. Better that way.

  Probably so. Emily knew best; she always had.

  Ooowww. It will be fine.

  She had to believe it would be. Emily knew.

  "There—I think we're ready now. Are you ready?"

  Angilee looked down at Jancie, who was still smoothing and patting the skirt of her gown. How nice she was, and how kind. Not judgmental. So deeply in love with Lujan. And maybe just a little wary of this sudden and unusual marriage.

  She had a right to be. Because now the moment was at hand, Angilee was scared out of her wits she was doing the wrong thing.

  Mrrrroooowww. Emily, most emphatically, as if she were say­ing stop it. Emily, staring at her hard, with her bright golden eyes. The message was clear—get on with it.

  "I'm ready," Angilee said, with a tremor in her voice that she hoped only she heard.

  Jancie smiled and held out her hand. "Then let's get you mar­ried."

  It was a real ceremony in a real church with a real groom and herself, a real—dressed like a real—bride. The vicar was real and so kind, and his wife a gentle soul who adored Jancie and loved to host a wedding.

  Angilee could not have felt more welcome or wanted by any two people as Lujan escorted Kyger down the aisle, with a church full of neighbors looking on, and she and Jancie—and Emily— followed.

  The sight of Emily made her smile: her regal walk as she paced down the aisle, her elegance, the way she knew to move to the side, the emphatic way she sat herself down to watch, pinning Angilee again with those knowing golden eyes, as if to reassure her that everything would be fine.

  "Do you take .. ."

  "...lawfully wedded..."

  "... I do ..." Kyger—his voice strong, certain.

  "... I do ..." Angilee in a whisper. She held out her hand, and Kyger slipped on a ring. A beautiful diamond ring.

  ... a fortune in diamonds ...

  Oh, God—what had she gotten herself into .. .

  "... now pronounce you ..." "... kiss your bride ..."

  And then Kyger loomed over her, tilted her face up to his, slanted his mouth over hers, and then slowly and deliberately took her kiss, took her lips, took her tongue .. , took her forever just in that brief momentous kiss.

  She felt a moment's shame for how this had started, because in the end it turned out real. It should have been real. It was as real as it could be for the short time he would keep her as his wife. And then it would end, and all the real would evaporate into illu­sion ... because that really was what it would have been.

  And now, the celebration. Of the illusion and what might have been. All the kind neighbors, who'd known Kyger forever, wish­ing them well, eating the food, making conversation about small things, country things. Real things. And thinking this union was real.

  Kyger, with his injured hand held carefully, being fed by Jancie from the long lace-covered table full of a selection of salads, cold meats, cheeses, fruit, cakes, and a big bowl of wedding punch. Lujan, lord of the manor, greeting the neighbors, so kind, so so­ciable—no class differences here, at least at a wedding,

  Angilee drank it in, wishing it were real, and that it was she and Kyger who would be returning to Waybury. Forever. For real. But instead, they would spend the night, whatever the night would turn out to be, and in the morning, with all the proper documentation and papers in hand, they would return to London, and to Kyger's life there that she had so precipitately disrupted.

  She knew nothing about his life there except that he fre­quented the Bullhead and he turned up at all the right social events.

  Social events—

  Oh, God, Mrs. Geddes, whom she'd just left standing there with her father and Wroth—the worst bad manners ever, not to have said a word, not to have gone back and—

  And what? Nothing she could have said in the aftermath would have made it right...

  And then—and then ... her clothes, the money—oh, dear God—everything she'd left by just running off with the bull—not the bull now, she had to stop thinking of him like that—

  . .. and for all she knew, Mrs. Geddes was at the flat now, fuming and fussing about her betrayal, and searching all over for that little fortune with which she had been going to bribe some­one to marry her.

  She had turned everything upside down in that insane moment of panic that had led to this insane moment of union to Kyger Galliard.

  She had a lot to answer for in her insanely determined quest to foil her father and countermand his wishes.

  And she would. As she looked around her at everyone partici­pating in the joyf
ul celebration of her marriage, she knew she would.

  Angilee was exhausted, and Kyger insisted she just go to bed and that everything else could come later.

  That, however, was so much her way of thinking that she was shocked at her feeling she wanted everything resolved now. Even the things she couldn't do anything about: Mrs. Geddes, her fa­ther, Wroth. The mistake of this marriage.

  "We'll sort things out later," Kyger said again. "You need sleep, I need to talk to Lujan, and we both need not to be pres-sured by the circumstances. The thing is done. We made sure you were safe first; everything else can come later."

  He was too kind, and Angilee was feeling too guilty. His fam­ily was too kind, and she was a self-centered schemer, and she had to atone. "We'll start divorce proceedings immediately ..." she started to say, and he shushed her.

  "Tomorrow. We'll take care of all that tomorrow."

  He meant it, too. He meant to protect her, he'd always wanted to protect her, and now, after all his resistance, he finally could. His chocolate virgin was his, as legal as the law and church could make it, and he was content to just savor that fact and not think of the ramifications beyond it.

  Or the things he had learned and things he must connect to fi­nally fulfill the mission.

  Everything later.

  He looked up to see Jancie at the door, which he'd left slightly

  ajar.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Absolutely. I think some hot chocolate would be good"—for my chocolate virgin—"and ... is Lujan around?"

  "In the library. I'll see to the chocolate." And as Jancie turned from the doorway, Emily walked in, jumped on the bed, and set­tled down beside Angilee's left hand.

  Mrrrrowww. I'll stay here.

  Angilee stroked her ears.

  She slanted a look up at them with her golden eyes. Oww. You all can go now,

  Jancie and Kyger withdrew. Jancie said, "Angilee will be asleep before I get back with the chocolate."

  "I know." Kyger touched her shoulder. "Thank you." She grasped his hand, perhaps for the last time. But she wouldn't think about that. "No thanks needed. I'll get the choco­late."

  Kyger nodded, and went downstairs to the library where Lujan was lounging in one of two recently purchased leather chairs with a leather account book.

  It was a strange picture. Lujan, who had never cared five far­things about Waybury, and had spent years living in a debauched fog in London, was now the meticulous and scrupulous gentle­man farmer, taking over the running of Waybury House and its farms as though he had been born in the fields, and watching every ha'penny like a mother hen.

  Thank God, he'd reformed for the love of a good woman, or where would Kyger be now? Still running the estate, resenting his brother and still being the one that Jancie could never love. God, why think about that now? "So, baby brother ... congratulations." "Thanks for your help." Kyger settled himself into a chair op­posite his brother. "I could not have done it without you."

  "Oh, now, you could pull the same strings," Lujan said, set­ting his account book aside. "A country town is a country town. You don't stop being a son of the soil just because you defected to London."

  "I guess not." That was for sure, judging how they had taken to Lujan after the fact. Kyger closed his eyes to blot out the mem­ories. There were too many in this house, in this room.

  Maybe they'd never get over the exposure of the secrets and betrayals of their fathers. Maybe things like that lived in the soul of a house. Whatever it was, he felt something sitting in that room, and all the new paint, new wallpaper and new furniture could not suppress it.

  "Jancie's with the tot," Lujan said. "I don't know. They reach the age they can walk and just about talk and you'd think that would make things easier. Cute little fellow, though. A man should have a son," Lujan thought about it a moment. "At least one. If not—oh, a half dozen." "Like you?" Kyger murmured. Lujan sighed. "A man can reverse a reputation." "And so you have," Kyger said generously. They fell into silence for a few minutes. And then: "You can tell me now, old son. What's the real story?" "The real story about what?" "You and Angilee." "Pretty much what I outlined to you." "Didn't say where you'd met her." "No, I didn't," Kyger said.

  Lujan waited for the confession, but Kyger wasn't giving one. "Who's the father, then?"

  "I doubt if you'd know him." Silence on Lujan's end, and Kyger gave in. "An American investor named Zabel Rosslyn." Did he imagine it, or did Lujan recognize the name? "Oh, yes," Lujan said. "Yes, he's been introduced around in certain circles. I know the name. A little bit too fast and forward for most people's taste, given the caliber of wealth that's hit the shores this year. Not quite in the Vanderbilt class, Mr. Rosslyn, but very ambitious. Don't know it's going to take him anywhere, but—is Angilee the only child?" "Yes."

  "Then I take it he's not a happy man tonight, given you wrecked up his plans pretty thoroughly." "I wouldn't think so."

  Another silence. And then: "You're a credit to the Galliards, baby brother. I could not have done better myself." "Exactly what I thought," Kyger murmured.

  A beat. "What about Wyland?" "Doesn't know yet." "Anything to tell?"

  "Not much. The probem of Venable is still a slippery slide with not much to grab on to."

  "Still? I would have thought you'd uncovered something by now."

  "Didn't say I hadn't. Proving it is the sticking point."

  "Anything you can tell me?"

  "Not yet."

  "But you're close—"

  "Close."

  "Good."

  That was too self-satisfied a comment for Kyger's peace of mind, "And why is that, big brother?"

  Another silence.

  "I have some news myself," Lujan said at length.

  Kyger opened his eyes. "Good news?"

  "I think so."

  "All right, then—"

  A beat. "They've asked me to stand for Parliament."

  Kyger jolted upright. "Well, hell..."

  Another beat. "Venable's seat."

  "What?"

  "You heard me,"

  "Who?"

  "What do you mean, who? Who do you think?" Oh, he knew who he thought—it was obvious: Venable's fol­lowers, his faction, his idolaters ... Goddamn—his own brother— being used by those fanatics ...

  He jacked himself out of the chair. "Who?" "God, stop that—you're like a madman. Wyland's people, who did you think?"

  Kyger stopped dead in his tracks. "... Wyland?"

  "Wyland. It's time. He's been dead long enough."

  "That's debatable," Kyger threw in bitterly.

  "What? Oh, the body—well, nothing to be done about that that Wyland isn't doing. The point is—they've got to get someone favorable to them in there, and not some half-baked demagogue.

  Simple equation—it's been nearly three months, the furor hasn't died down, and someone of Venable's faction will snap up that seat if Wyland doesn't get someone viable up in opposition now. So ... baby brother—it's going to happen, so fix the idea of it in your mind right now—you're looking at Lujan Galliard, M. P."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lujan an up-and-coming M. P., and the chocolate virgin, his wife, in his bed—? There were two impossible things before breakfast, and yet both were no illusion. Both were real in the way that things that seemed upside down really proved to be right side up when you looked past the fog obscuring the details.

  Or had he fallen down a rabbit hole?

  No. The chocolate virgin was there, in his bed and sound asleep, and just as beautiful and luscious as when she'd first bluffed her way into his room at the Bullhead.

  And now she was in his room at Waybury House.

  Back around in a circle, nearly where they had begun.

  And he hadn't come very far since then. He'd made headway by inches, and the end result was this—he had very little to take back to Wyland except his incredulity that Lujan was about to be their candidate to stand for Venable's seat.
<
br />   Upside down. The last thing he ever expected to hear.

  How could it make sense that he'd actually offered to wed the woman who'd tried to bribe him to marry her, and his brother was suddenly on the verge of a political career after a lifetime of libertine lassitude?

  Reality, obscured by the fog of illusion. A rabbit hole.

  And the vanishing virgin, as if by magic, reappearing in his life, and in his bed.

  That should be his focus, not the fog, not the illusion. She, of everything, was the most real. The question was how real did she want this marriage to be?

  Not real. Not as real as he was thinking he wanted ... but then, he wanted even now to sink himself into her. His body tightened, hardened and elongated just looking at her sprawled in

  his bed.

  Now he was avid to have everything because he had noth­ing—no home, no family, no love, no answers. But he had her for as long as it would be, and he had in her everything a wife em­bodied: the sex, the connection, the companionship and, in the most abstract way, a home.

  But what did she want? He knew some of it: independence, freedom, the ability to live her life how she wished and with whom she wished, but those were all theoretical ideas and ideals that weren't possible with all the constraints that would be put

  on her.

  So what did she want? What would she settle for?

  Him.

  Right now—him.

  Because he wanted her no less than he had from the moment she barged into his brothel bedroom. There was something about her—that iron strength, that indomitable nature, that quality of innocence in a woman of some small experience, his unholy and overwhelming desire to protect her... all those things still in­fused his feelings about this woman who was now his wife.

  And that was over and above his pure naked desire to fuck her—endlessly, forever.

  Right now.

  Not right now. The chocolate virgin slept.