Night of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Tightening his jaw, he mentally willed her to meet his gaze. If only once. If only to make this moment feel the way he needed it to. To make this moment real.

  Her lips tightened through the swaying veil as she continued to peruse pew after pew, letting her head pertly go left and right.

  Who the hell was she looking for?

  His chest tightened. What if…what if the prince showed up and objected to their vows? What if this had been planned? What if she was about to humiliate him before all of London in the name of a prince who owned an entire country?

  His nostrils flared in an effort to stay calm as he mentally chanted to himself to remain at the altar. Because the odds were not with either of them. There were three hundred and twenty-two people in the cathedral, not including the bishop, the musicians, or altar boys. If he walked out now, or reacted to anything he shouldn’t, every single person in London would know about it within less than forty-five minutes.

  Clementine arrived at the altar, still glancing toward the closest pews. Mr. Grey cleared his throat, bringing attention to the fact she wasn’t turning as expected.

  She winced and faced her father to allow him to lift the veil.

  Derek shifted his jaw and eyed the pews. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the people around them. Most of them were people he knew. One of his older female cousins, Mrs. Gangley, waved excitedly toward him over the bonnet of his mother who tilted herself away and glared at her for being so rude.

  He counterfeited a smile for them and returned his gaze to Clementine. “Looking for someone?” he coolly asked.

  She glanced toward the crowd again, clearly astounded. “I simply didn’t expect there to be this many people. This isn’t a wedding, this is a circus.”

  He coughed out a rough laugh. Shite. Leave it to Clementine to surprise him every single time. Now he felt like an arse instead of glorying in what he had: her. “You’re marrying a very popular man,” he chided.

  “Obviously. I hate to say it but you’re marrying a very unpopular woman.”

  He grinned. “Not in my opinion.”

  As the bishop commenced the ceremony and droned on and on about their duties and God and faith, Derek found he was no longer listening to words but reveling in all that was Clementine. This was going to be his life. He would spend day after day with a woman who would surprise him and make him feel special in those moments when he needed it most.

  The main doors suddenly opened and a figure strode down the aisle toward them.

  The bishop paused and whispers ensued.

  Clementine turned and her lips parted. “Heavens above. It’s…”

  Derek veered his gaze toward the figure, half-dreading he was about to kill a Persian prince in church. He froze, realizing that striding down the aisle toward them was none other than Andrew who wore a dapper morning coat and matching trousers announcing he was ready to attend a wedding. There was even a small flower tucked into the upper buttonhole of his coat. His wavy dark hair was fashionably brushed back with tonic and his face—

  Derek felt his breath cut off. The left side of his brother’s entire face was lacerated with scabs, one eye swollen and his jaw bruising. Jesus. His throat tightened in emotion. “Andrew.” He frantically stepped toward him. “Your face. Are you—”

  “I’m fine.” Andrew came to a halt before him at the altar. He met his gaze for a moment and then brokenly offered, “I gave up writing and took up boxing. It uh…pays better.” His roughened features twisted. “I know I’m not fit to stand here, but I…I needed to be here.”

  Swallowing hard, Derek stepped toward him and grabbed him hard, tugging him into an embrace. He hissed out a breath. He hadn’t lost his brother. He was here and he was all right. Face aside, he was all right. “You have no idea what this means to me. Father may not be here, but you are. And that is all I need.”

  His brother squeezed him back in turn. “I’m sorry. You were right. About me. About everything. I just wasn’t ready to listen.”

  He hadn’t seen his brother cry since their father died. It was too much. “Shhh.” He cradled that head, his eyes burning. “Shhh. It’s all right. I’m here for you. You know that. You’ve always known that.”

  With a hard sniff, Andrew pulled away and nodded. He scrubbed his good eye and cleared his throat. “Forgive me for being late. The streets were something awful. Full of traffic. The footmen are waving sticks at people to get away from the carriages.” Andrew glanced over at Clementine and smiled, despite the bruising and swelling and cuts to his face. Quickly approaching her, he grabbed her gloved hand and kissed it, holding his lips to her hand for a long moment before releasing it and straightening. “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity and assistance at a time I needed it most. And I agree with everything you wrote. My brother is the greatest man I will ever have the privilege to know. I’ve taken him for granted. I guess we both have.” Andrew stepped back.

  Her features twisted in anguish.

  Derek’s breath hitched, realizing she had gone to her brother about…him. He snapped his gaze to hers and managed, “Do you really think I’m a great man?”

  She peered up at him, fingering the bouquet. “Why do you think I’m standing here?”

  By God. The girl who had once wiped away his tears had come to wipe them away again when he least expected it. He wanted to grab her and kiss her and smother her with every emotion he’d ever held within.

  Only they were in a church and the violins had stopped and people were staring.

  “God love you,” he rasped. “God love you for astounding me.”

  Her blue eyes searched his face, tears rimming them.

  “I love you even though you never laugh or smile,” he added.

  A sob escaped her.

  Sweet meadows, it was like holding her heart. Not caring that the world was watching, he stepped toward her and cradled her face. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

  She sobbed harder. “You shouldn’t have been here waiting. Not for me. You shouldn’t have—”

  “Shhhh.” He tightened his hold on her face, forcing her to look up at him. “Shhh. It’s all right. Why do you think I came? That painting you left behind gave me hope.”

  Uneven breaths escaped her. “I…I want that hope. I need that hope.”

  “And it is yours. It was always yours.”

  The Bishop cleared his throat. “Might we proceed, my lord? So that God may bless this union?”

  It was as if the doves had been released on cue for he felt like a man about to marry a woman on the brink of change. “Yes, Bishop,” he announced, still holding Clementine’s gaze out of fear that he was dreaming. “I ask that you bless this union.”

  Early Evening

  The Banfield House decorated in all its garland glory in honor of the Celebratory Masked Ball

  Whisking through the crowds, with her view of the world limited to the round slits of her Venetian mask, Clementine excitedly searched for Derek’s tall figure garbed in black and gold.

  For the first time in her life, she felt like the world had more than mere potential. It held magic. All because of one person: Derek. He had stood at the altar before all of London without even knowing if she would come. He hadn’t given up on her or them. It was something she would cherish for the rest of her days and she prayed what they shared would bloom into everything she imagined and more.

  “Cousin!” a masked female exclaimed, rushing toward her while tugging along a young masked boy who stumbled to keep up with the woman. “Do wait!”

  Clementine turned, realizing the woman was referring to her.

  The tall blond, whose features were hidden beneath a peacock mask, came to a halt before her and with bright blue eyes announced, “You have an admirer.” Grabbing the arm of the young boy who wore a carnival paper mask, she set him between them. “This is Mister Edward Peddler. The youngest male in Lord Banfield’s extensive family. He has been watching you from a distance and wondering if y
ou would grace him with a dance. I promised him I would ensure it.”

  Clementine lowered her chin to better see a boy whose smooth face and height indicated the boy was about twelve. He barely reached her shoulder. It was adorable. “Of course. A minuet is set to begin, Mr. Peddler. Can you manage?”

  The boy’s lips, which were visible beneath his mask, parted as large blue eyes stared up at her. “I don’t dance very well.”

  Clementine leaned down toward him. “Good. Because I don’t either.” She held out her gloved hand to the boy.

  He grabbed her hand and glanced up at her. “I rather like your accent.”

  She bit back a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Peddler.” Walking him to the line of masked dancers, she settled them into place and positioned them.

  He gripped her hand and stared directly at her bosom where his head was leveled. “Welcome to the family,” he offered, still staring at her bosom.

  He most certainly was related to Derek. “I’m up here, Mr. Peddler.”

  The boy veered his gaze upward. “Welcome to the family,” he said again.

  “Thank you.” When the violins commenced, cueing all dancers, she moved them in the direction everyone flowed.

  He scrambled to keep up, his half-boots barely managing to keep their distance from the hem of her skirts. He stumbled against her. “I’m so sorry!”

  She tightened her hold to keep him balanced and kept them moving to the rhythm of the music, pushing him in the direction he needed to go. “Don’t apologize. All I ask is that you try to lead. Because right now, I’m leading you.”

  He glanced down at his feet and glanced up. “I can’t see past my mask very well.”

  “Then push it up onto your head.”

  “I can do that?”

  “Of course. You’re a guest and family.”

  He released her hand to push up his mask onto his head and tripped mid-step, spilling to the ground with a thud.

  Coming to a halt to prevent herself from tumbling over him as he lay flat in the middle of the dance floor, the couple dancing behind them, bumped into her hard, jarring her into also spilling forward and over the boy. “Oh!” Rolling to the side, she sat up against her bundling skirts in an attempt to scramble over to her little dance partner who was still laying sprawled like a starfish out on a beach. “Dearest heaven, are you all right?”

  People rounded them and stopped.

  The boy rolled onto his back and sat up, groaning. “I told you I couldn’t dance.” He tugged down his mask over his face. “Don’t look at me. I’m a disgrace.”

  She laughed and no longer caring that she was sitting on the middle of the dance floor, she used her slippered feet to nudge his own booted feet to the left and right. “Look. We are still dancing. And quite beautifully, I might add.”

  He eyed their moving feet and then giggled. “I made you fall.”

  “No, actually, the couple behind us made me fall,” she pointed out.

  Muscled legs in well-fitted black trousers and polished boots suddenly came into view. “That was by far the best minuet ever danced,” a familiar male voice drawled.

  Clementine’s gaze veered up the length of those legs up past a black evening coat and gold embroidered waistcoat and white cravat, up toward the black velvet mask tied around Derek’s eyes and nose. Her stomach flipped as Derek grinned and held out a gloved hand. “I leave you for ten minutes and you’re already getting into trouble?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine what would have happened if you left me for fifteen?” She grabbed his hand, letting him pull her up onto her feet. “Be a gentleman and help poor Mr. Peddler, will you?” She tidied her skirts around herself.

  The boy scrambled onto his feet himself. “I’m going to go find a corner to hide in for the rest of my life.”

  Derek rounded Clementine, reached down and adjusted the boy’s mask. “My first dance looked a lot like yours. It gets better with practice. I promise.” He leaned in and covering his mouth with the back of his hand whispered something to the boy. He then pulled out his tin of candies and held it out to him.

  The boy grinned, grabbed the tin and shoved it into his own pocket. “Thank you, my lord! I’ll be sure to try it.” He then darted from sight, pushing through the masses.

  Clementine veered over to Derek and tapped his arm. “Dare I even ask?”

  He grabbed her hand, tugging her close and strode them off the dance floor. “I told him the best way to impress women is to offer them ginger candy. Not dances.”

  Clementine playfully hit his arm. “Hardly good advice.”

  “So says the woman who almost left me at the altar.” He brought them to a halt and waved over one of the passing footmen who held a silver tray of champagne glasses. “Are you up to playing a game I used to play when I was his age?” He grabbed two glasses off the tray and turned toward her.

  She eyed the glasses. Why did she have a feeling Derek was looking to get them into trouble? “What sort of game?”

  “Whoever can balance this glass the longest on the palm of their hand wins.”

  “Wins what?”

  He stared. “Nothing. You simply win. It’s a game.”

  She bit back a smile, sensing that he really wanted to play. It was like finding the playmate she never had as a child. It was…charming. “All right. I can play that.” She carefully took the glass from his hand, trying not to spill it. “Maybe we should drink a little before we…?”

  “And ruin the ultimate challenge? Never.” He stepped back, glancing around himself to ensure he had room and holding up his palm, carefully set his glass onto it. Despite a slight tremor of the champagne within the glass, it stayed. He grinned. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine—” The glass tilted and tumbled to the side, spraying champagne as glass shattered.

  She cringed.

  He popped up both hands into the air. “Nine!” he yelled out. “I dare my wife to beat nine! Let everyone in masks know of it!”

  People gathered around them, laughing.

  She had never been one to willingly play games, even as a child, for she considered most of them pointless. But she had to admit, pointless games led to something more meaningful. Getting to know a person through simple and mindless entertainment.

  This was going to be fun. Clementine sipped the champagne, eyeing Derek. “I’ve never played before, so permit me to cheat.”

  He groaned. “That isn’t fair. Stop drinking the game!”

  She tsked. “You always set the rules whenever we played your games back in ’23, so permit me to set this one.” She took a few more sips, lowering the level of champagne to about half and then daintily set it on her gloved hand, trying to balance it. It stayed. She couldn’t believe it. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five—” The glass tilted and tumbled to the side, spraying champagne as glass shattered.

  She scrambled back and then yelled, “Six, seven, eight, nine and ten! Ten! Let it be known to all in masks that I won! I made it to ten!” Yes. She had a sense of humor.

  Men and women clapped and laughed.

  Derek lowered his chin and smirked. “I’m asking for a second opinion on that win.”

  She pointed at him. “I’d be more than happy to do it again.”

  He jumped over the broken glass. Skidding next to her, he leaned in. He hesitated then said in a soft, genuine tone, “How is your night so far?”

  Knowing people were watching them, she shyly offered, “Absolutely wonderful. How is your night?”

  “Even better than yours.” He stepped back and gestured toward the dance floor. “Might I interest you in a tamer version of the minuet that won’t involve you landing on the floor? For it would be an honor to dance with my wife.” He paused and eyed her. “Do you know that I have waited seven long years to call you my wife?”

  Her heart squeezed and in that moment, Clementine realized this was her life-long companion. Not the one who had forever tried to seduce her and frisk her, but the on
e who simply wanted to adore her and share a life with her. It was a beautiful feeling. One she had been waiting to feel.

  Taking his arm, she said, “Thank you for waiting seven years.”

  He captured her gaze and lingered. “Say that again.”

  It was like he needed assurance after everything she had put him through. She tightened her hold on his arm and offered, “Thank you for waiting seven years.”

  He smiled. “You are most welcome.”

  Later that evening, well past midnight

  Her father hadn’t touched a single finger of liquor or champagne all night. Without her even having to ask him to. It made her remember why she had always loved her father. Because when it mattered most, he was always willing to prove the strength of his heart. A heart that had been beaten out of his chest so many times. And even though he normally never danced, he danced with not only Derek’s mother but every woman wanting a dance partner.

  She knew he was dancing out of happiness.

  The world had become so achingly lovely. After she had danced all night with Derek, who laughed and grinned in a way that made her glimpse that crazy boy of seventeen, they became silly and snatched more flutes of champagne from passing trays and dared each other to balance the filled glasses on their arms, instead of their palms. Other guests had also joined in on trying to balance glasses on their hands. It was stupid but so much fun.

  Not that there were any more glasses to break or any guests left to get stupid with.

  Even her father, Lady Banfield, and Andrew had departed for the night.

  “No more wine for any of you!” a woman sternly scolded. “You ought to be ashamed. Between the four of you, I believe you’ve emptied every last bottle in this house. Now come along!”

  Muffled giggles escaped a group of four young women as they stumbled and bustled by with their chaperone in tow, their feathered peacock masks wagging and only revealing their bright playful eyes.

  “Congratulations, cousin dearest!” one of them called, flopping a gloved wrist. “Thank you for all the…wine!” They burst into uncontrollable giggles.