by Zoe Blake
Corinne gasped as the man turned his attention to her. The impact of his gaze felt like a physical hand squeezing the breath from her body. His eyes! His eyes bore into her. They shone black as polished onyx. Their expression filled with the dark promise of destiny.
Stunned, Corinne tripped over the white marble step leading to the altar.
Large, warm hands spanned her ribcage, saving her from a fall. Lifting her high till the toes of her slippers skimmed the smooth floor, the man placed her before him. Craning her neck back, Corinne dared a glance at his eyes. Frightened of being pulled into their black depths, she quickly averted her own. Desperately she tried to pull air into her body, but the feel of his hands, the warmth radiating through the thin silk, prevented anything but a feeble gasp. His touch. The sensation of it. Her limited experience did not give her words to describe, could not prepare her, for such a soul baring emotion.
“Your Grace, may I present Corinne,” intoned Mother Superior with reverence.
Lord Lucian Talon, Duke of Ebonhurst. He was a wealthy peer with extensive landholdings throughout the British Isles in Northumberland, Devon, Somerset and Cumbria. His ancestral home was in the harsh, unforgiving lands of Cornwall. The ruthless rocky terrain and brackish winds forged a commanding lineage of powerful, influential men who never quite shook off the primal impulses of their conquering ancestors. Like his father before him and his father’s father, Lord Lucian took what he wanted without apology, did what he wanted without hesitation and demanded complete subservience without penitence.
Corinne felt a harsh pinch on her exposed upper arm. Jerking her head to the side, she saw Mother Superior’s angry glare as she gestured with a nod of her head.
Belatedly remembering her etiquette lessons, Corinne clumsily lowered her already weak knees into an awkward curtsy.
“Your Gra…” The rest of her greeting locked in her tightening throat.
His hands still loosely cupped her ribcage, and with Corinne’s movement downward, they had skimmed upwards to rest against the tender curve of each unfettered breast. Her cheeks flamed with mortification. Mother Superior had provided no underpinnings with her outfit. As it was the middle of the night and she had been provided with a nightgown not a proper dress, Corinne could never have known she would be the in presence of two men, so she had not dared to question the lack of a proper corset. Lowering her head in shame, she hid behind a curtain of luxurious, flaxen hair which shielded her cheeks, but she could not suppress a whimper of distress when she saw her nipples peeking through the delicate nightgown fabric and softly falling curls. Startled, her gaze swept to the duke’s own to see if he too had noticed her body’s disgraceful reaction.
One black wing eyebrow had raised over darkly amused eyes. His mouth was quirked up slightly at one corner. Refusing to release her gaze, Lucian slowly swept each long thumb over the highly sensitive nubs.
Corinne’s full pink lips opened on a gasp as her eyes widened. Her head swam, and she greatly feared she would faint dead away on the spot. Whether it was from his touch or her own humiliation, she could not say.
Lucian pressed the heel of his palms into her soft fullness as the pressure from his hands bade her to rise. Placing a bent finger under her chin, he forced her head back, seeming to peruse her more thoroughly in the candlelight.
Corinne wondered what he thought of her. She had always been told her eyes were much too large for what would be considered proper. Many a nun also objected to the moss green color, saying the hints of gold in their depths spoke to a defiant character. It was her mouth which had received the most criticism over the years. Soft and full, the color of crushed rose petals, the nuns whispered of its wantonness.
The handsome duke tilted her head from side to side, running the pad of his thumb over her full bottom lip. Corinne’s tongue instinctively flicked out to sweep where his thumb had been, tasting the slightly salty tang of his touch. His black eyes narrowed as he focused on her now glistening mouth. She watched in captive fascination as a muscle in his jaw clenched. His mouth formed a tight line, and he inhaled deeply through his nose…almost as if in anger.
His grace was obviously displeased with her gauche behavior and scandalous reaction to his presence. Tears pricked Corinne’s eyes. Mother Superior would never forgive her for embarrassing the abbey in front of such an exalted guest.
Lucian brushed the corner of her eye with the tip of his finger before raising his hand to his own lips, tasting her tears.
Then, he spoke.
Till the moment the rich, low timbre of his voice washed over her senses, Corinne had failed to notice he had not uttered a word since her entrance into the chapel. To captivate all around you with such enigmatic power and all without a word!
“Beautiful maiden.”
Ensnared by all that was him, listening only to his voice, not his words, Corinne did not understand. “Your Grace?”
“Your name, little one. It means beautiful maiden. A more appropriately named child I cannot imagine.”
Corinne could not summon the courage to respond.
“Your Grace,” interrupted the cardinal. “Would you like to proceed?”
“Yes. She will suit my needs nicely. I am pleased, Mother Superior.”
Astonished, Corinne watched as Mother Superior blushed as if still a young maid at his praise.
“Thank you, Your Grace. We did our best to follow your instructions. Since the moment of your beneficence, Corinne has been kept innocent of the outside world.”
“Excellent,” Lucian responded curtly.
Shifting confused eyes from one face to the other, Corinne tried to make sense of their words. Was he the reason why she had no longer been permitted to walk to the village after her seven and tenth birthday? Why she had been kept to only the abbey grounds and surrounding moors while the other girls housed under their protection had been allowed far more freedom?
The duke’s large, tanned hand covered her slight, pale one. She was led to stand before the altar. The cardinal’s words were only a murmur in the background of her mind. Corinne could only stare at their joined hands. His engulfed her own, dominated it. Only the tips of her fingertips could be seen past the strong sinew of his fist. On his ring finger there was a heavy, gold signet ring. It had a large, smooth black stone. Embedded in its hard depths was the image of a golden bird with its massive wings outstretched. Clutched in its vicious talons was a crushed rose. The family crest of Ebonhurst. An omen.
“In the presence of God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We are here this night to witness the marriage of Lord Lucian Talon, Duke of Ebonhurst to Corinne, orphan,” droned the cardinal.
Corinne’s mind snapped to attention. The horror of her situation crashed into her conscious mind. This could not possibly be happening. Upon her life! She couldn’t marry this man. He was too rich. Too powerful. Too frightening. There was a dark, seductiveness about him that would swallow her whole; body and soul. This was madness!
Shaking her head, her slippered feet slid backward.
His hand tightened on her own.
“Please! You cannot mean it. It cannot be me you want,” begged Corinne as her body leaned backward, foolishly trying to break his grasp.
Lucian turned hard eyes on her.
Only the sound of her own harsh breathing broke the silence in the small chapel as she waited. A trapped bird hoping for release.
His grip slackened. Corinne slipped from his grip and took a relieved step backward, pressing her hands to her pounding heart. Mother Superior would be furious, but she would rather face her wrath than a lifetime bound to this overwhelming man.
Lucian shrugged out of his frock coat, tossing it carelessly over the nearest pew. The thin lawn of his shirt stretched over heavily muscled arms. Nonchalantly releasing a cuff, Lucian began to slowly roll up one sleeve.
“Leave us,” he ordered through clenched teeth.
Both the cardinal and Mother Superior scurried out of the chapel witho
ut so much as a sympathetic glance toward Corinne. Lifting the long skirts of her nightgown, she moved to follow them.
“Not you,” he barked.
“Your Grace?” she asked timidly.
Lucian rolled up his other sleeve, exposing darkly tanned forearms touched with dark hair. “Your defiance merits a punishment.”
“Punishment?” Corinne choked out, more frightened than she had ever been in her entire young life.
