* * *
The three weeks leading up to the wedding had been filled with activity and unfortunately a large amount of tradition, which from Evie’s point of view, seemed ironic coming from a man who apparently liked unexpected endings. Dimitri had insisted on having the banns read, just as he’d insisted on a traditional wedding in the Little Westbury church where she and all her family had been christened. She could tolerate those foibles, as she called them. The third foible was less tolerable. He’d also insisted on celibacy before the wedding night, something Evie didn’t understand the reason for, especially now when they were to marry and it could not be considered compromising even if they were caught. But he had insisted and they had stuck to it. Mostly.
It hardly mattered. In less than an hour, she’d be Mrs Petrovich and they could have all the sex they wanted for the rest of their lives. There was a knock on her bedroom door and May poked her head in. ‘Are you ready? The carriage is coming.’ May had made the trip south for her, one reason why she’d even considered tolerating the three-week wait. Even then, May had barely arrived in time.
Evie nodded and smoothed her skirts with a final look in the mirror. The dress was another reason she’d consented to the wait. She wanted a wedding dress of her own design and this one was hers down to the final stitch, with its full skirts that rustled delightfully when she walked. The ecru silk had been specially ordered from London, the deep off-white shade perfect for a harvest wedding. A border of autumn-coloured flowers was embroidered around the hem and the bodice had been a work of art with its matching profusion of flowers. May had helped sew the remaining bit of trim last night.
‘I’m going to be bride. At last.’ Evie sighed.
‘And a very beautiful one, Evie. You’re radiant.’ May reached for the veil lying on the bed, a long sheer confection crowned with a wreath of autumn leaves that matched the dress. She set it on Evie’s head. ‘I wish Claire and Bea could be here. You know they’re happy for you.’ Claire was too far away in Vienna and there was no question of Beatrice travelling at this late stage of pregnancy even if she could be seen in public.
‘It’s enough you’re here. More than enough,’ Evie assured her. May would stand up with her today as her witness. Stefon would stand up with Dimitri. She grabbed her bouquet from the vanity and gave her room one last look, her throat squeezing. Evie Milham would never come back here again. She wondered how Dimitri was handling the morning. It was emotional enough for her and she was surrounded by friends and family for support. Suddenly, she wanted to get to the church, wanted to be next to him so he wouldn’t be alone.
The church was filled to capacity, not being all that large to begin with. Everyone from town must be stuffed inside. She knew her family would be in the front pews; her mother, her sisters and their husbands and Diana’s little baby. She knew too that the aisle would be festooned in a rich ivory ribbon with nosegays of flowers attached at each pew. She’d helped with the decorating yesterday. It was a good thing, or else she wouldn’t have noticed any of that today. As soon as the heavy oak doors of the church were opened and her father took her arm, she had eyes for nothing except the man waiting at the end of the aisle for her.
Dimitri was dressed in an English morning coat of blue superfine with perfectly pressed buff trousers, with pleats, she noted. His shirt was starched, white perfection, his cravat a simple, elegant navy blue, his waistcoat a tiny blue-and-white stripe. But no one would mistake him for an Englishman. No one ever would. His dark hair was sleek and immaculate, pulled back in his usual style, and his eyes were on her. She might have walked down the aisle a little too quickly, she might have smiled too broadly. She would not be a solemn bride. A girl had only one wedding day.
If her decorum wasn’t all it should have been she had a good excuse. The most handsome man in the world was waiting for her. Dimitri took her hand, kissed her knuckles and lifted her veil. She remembered that much. There would be other highlights too. She would recall, emotionally, Dimitri slipping his mother’s wedding ring on her finger and she would recall, vividly, Dimitri kissing her at the end.
The wedding breakfast awaited at her parents’ home, they would honeymoon at home in their new house in the valley but before any of that happened, there was the carriage ride, her chance to be alone with him. She could hardly wait.
She pulled off her veil the moment the door was closed behind them and Dimitri kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘There, now I can kiss you properly the way I want to.’
She smiled at him and sank back against the leather squabs. She let out a little groan. ‘Do we have to go?’ She’d rather skip straight to the wedding night, or the wedding afternoon, as the case may be.
‘Yes, we do.’ His eyes danced mischievously. ‘But not just yet. How much are you wearing under that skirt?’ He eyed the voluminous dress.
‘Hmm.’ Her eyes flicked to his pleats. ‘Maybe the better question is how much are you wearing under those trousers?’ She slid her hand over him, cupping him through the fabric, running her tongue over her teeth in contemplation as she undid the fall of his trousers.
‘Why, Mrs Petrovich, you are full of good ideas.’ Dimitri grinned and spread his legs as she closed her hand over him.
‘Do you want to know another good idea?’ She leaned close with a wicked whisper. ‘I know a long cut.’
He furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar term and she laughed. ‘We can take the back route to the house. It will take longer.’
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Then by all means.’
It might have taken them a little longer than usual to make the ten-minute drive from the church to the wedding breakfast and the groom might have looked just slightly less immaculate than when he’d left, but no less satisfied.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story,
make sure you don’t miss the
first book in Bronwyn Scott’s
WALLFLOWERS TO WIVES miniseries,
UNBUTTONING THE INNOCENT MISS.
And watch out for two more books
in this series, coming soon!
Keep reading for an excerpt from GOVERNESS TO THE SHEIKH by Laura Martin.
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Governess to the Sheikh
by
Laura Martin
Chapter One
Rachel flicked open her fan and wafted it close to her face. She wasn’t sure if moving the warm air around helped to keep her cool, but at this point anything was worth a try. She was hot, hotter than she had ever been before, and she was loving it. For the last four days, ever since she had first entered the desert Kingdom of Huria, Rachel had been overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds, but most of all by the heat.
‘Not far to the palace now.’ Wahid’s voice came from outside the carrying chair.
Pushing back the thin cotton curtain that surrounded her, she gazed over the landscape. They were currently following a well-worn route, winding through the dunes, every minute taking them closer to Rachel’s new life.
‘Please be careful of the sun, sayeda,’ Wahid said in perfect English, using sayeda to address her formally.
Wahid and his small band of guards had been there to meet her four days ago when she had crossed the border into Huria. He had helped her off her weary horse and ushered her into the luxurious carrying chair. Ever since then Rachel had been treated like royalty and every care had been taken for her comfort. When she had accepted the job in a foreign country Rachel had mainly felt excitement, but there had been some anxiety, too. Naturally there had been worries that she might be moving to a country that was less civilised than England, but so far she had experienced a culture and environment that was worlds apart, but certainly not inferior to her homeland.
Rachel took a moment to turn her face up to the sun and enjoy the warmth on her skin. She hadn’t been blessed with a porcelain complexion, her skin was naturally just a shade darker than was considered perfection, but it did mean she could enjoy odd moments in the sunshine without having to worry about turning a horrible red colour or developing freckles.
‘You’ll be able to see the palace once we reach the top of this dune,’ Wahid said.
Rachel fixed her eyes on the horizon and waited. She had been travelling for weeks to reach Huria and during that time she had imagined a thousand different things—sumptuous palaces and whitewashed buildings, arid deserts and dusty plains—but none of her imaginings had prepared her for the sight that confronted her.
Rachel let out a gasp of pleasure. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
For four days Rachel had travelled through the desert and had seen no evidence of any water. When they stopped Wahid had passed her a water bladder filled with lovely, cool liquid, but never had she seen a single spring or stream or lake. There hadn’t been one drop of rain, or even a cloud in the sky. Rachel had begun to think the whole kingdom must exist without water. The sight before her proved her wrong.
There was a wide, flat valley stretching out for a few miles in front of them, and the entire area was a lush paradise. Trees and plants covered the valley floor and the greens of the vegetation contrasted beautifully with the orange sands. Right through the centre of the valley was a vivid slash of blue, a narrow river that supplied this little oasis.
‘The Great Oasis of Huria,’ Wahid said, gesturing to the area before them.
‘There’s so much life, so much vegetation.’
Wahid gave a little chuckle. ‘It’s as though all the plants in Huria are squeezed into this little area.’
The palace itself was built amongst the trees. From the outside it was nowhere near as magnificent as some of the English stately homes Rachel had visited with school, but even from this distance there were clues that the real luxury was reserved for inside the palace. From their vantage point above the oasis Rachel could see magnificent courtyards with bubbling fountains and cool colonnaded passages, all surrounded by vibrant exotic flowers.
As they descended the hill Rachel pulled her head back inside the cotton curtain of the carrying chair and tried to compose herself. For as long as she could remember she had wished for this day. Ever since she was a little girl and her parents had been sending her letters detailing their adventures in far-flung lands Rachel had wanted an adventure of her own. She wanted to experience a different culture, a different way of living, and now was her time.
Rachel badly wanted to make a good impression; she wanted the Sheikh to be impressed with the English governess he had sent for and she wanted to make a difference to his children’s lives. Unlike many of the girls graduating from Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies, Rachel had been excited to take up her position as governess, to start her life after school. Whereas other young women dreamed of marriage and a domestic life, Rachel had always wanted to see the world and experience the exotic. As the daughter of a baron, Rachel’s natural position in life would be as wife to a titled gentleman, but she’d always dreamed of more. She wanted freedom and adventure, and to bring some love and affection into the lives of the children in her care.
She loved children. Her one regret about her determination never to marry was that she would never have a brood of her own, but her position as governess at least meant she would be surrounded by little ones her entire life.
As they entered the oasis Rachel took one last deep breath and smiled. This was what all the years of hard work had been leading to; she would not let nerves ruin this experience for her.
As soon as the carrying chair was set down the curtain was pulled back and a hand reached in to take Rachel’s. Effortlessly Rachel was pulled out of the chair and she found herself being ushered up a wide set of stone steps and into a cool chamber.
‘This way, sayeda. Watch your step.’
Rachel’s eyes took a moment to recover from the bright sunlight, but when she had regained her vision she had to stifle a gasp. The room, although not large in size, was beautiful. Beneath her feet was an intricate mosaic that covered the entire floor. The coloured stones made a vibrant picture of what Rachel had to assume was the entire Kingdom of Huria. Deep oranges showed the vast desert and bright splashes of colour the scattered oases.
The beauty of the room did not end with the mosaic. Although the walls were plain they were more than made up for by the numerous plants and flowers that were arranged lovingly around the chamber. Rachel’s eyes were drawn to a plant that had been coaxed to climb up one wall with stunning flowers of vivid pink.
Rachel felt her whole body suffuse with pleasure. Although she had hoped Huria would be the exotic paradise of her dreams, she had never imagined anything as magnificent as this. In all the letters her parents had sent her from their travels they had never described seeing anywhere like this small desert kingdom. A smile spread across Rachel’s lips; she knew she was going to be happy here.
Slowly Rachel stepped further into the room, taking her time to soak up every little detail, not caring that people were probably staring and wondering why she was quite so enamoured with a sight they saw every day. She started to turn towards one of the archways, wanting to catch a glimpse of the courtyard beyond, when a man stepped through the opening and into the chamber. Their eyes met and Rachel felt her heart begin pounding in her chest.
It was the Sheikh, there was no doubt in her mind. He wasn’t dressed richly and he didn’t wear a crown or any jewellery that Rachel could see—in fact, there were other men in the room far more expensively adorned than he was—but Rachel knew he was royalty purely because of his bearing.
As he entered the room he didn’t look from side to side to see who was there—he strode with purpose and vitality. It was the walk of a man who always got what he wanted. His back was straight, his eyes focused, and Rachel knew immediately he would be a hard man to deny anything.
He started to move towards her and Rachel found herself momentarily frozen. His eyes were still locked on hers and for a second she was mesmerised. It was only when he came to a halt before her that Rachel remembered herself and dropped hastily into a low curtsy, lowering her eyes to the floor.
As she rose from the curtsy she couldn’t help but look up at the Sheikh, but as
she did so she felt her mouth go dry and her lips quiver slightly. Up close he didn’t just have a regal bearing, he was also disconcertingly handsome. Rachel thought it was probably his eyes that made most ladies swoon—they were a deep, dark brown, inviting and forbidding at the same time. Rachel felt herself swallowing nervously as she took in his perfectly shaped lips, caramel-coloured skin tone and short black hair. The Sheikh was a handsome man and a powerful one—it was a potent combination.
‘Miss Talbot, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ The Sheikh’s voice was smooth and confident and Rachel was surprised to find he spoke English with only the mildest hint of an accent. ‘I hope your journey was not too arduous.’
‘You have such a beautiful country,’ Rachel said with a smile. ‘It was a wonderful opportunity to see so much of it.’
The Sheikh studied her as she spoke, and Rachel had to suppress a shiver that ran over her skin. Confidence and power emanated out of him and Rachel felt her pulse begin to quicken as he moved in closer towards her. She had an inexplicable urge to reach out and place a hand on his chest, to feel the hard muscles under her fingers and the heat of his body on her fingertips.
‘We do not have many visitors to our small kingdom, but most who do come cannot see past the barrenness of the desert and stifling heat. They do not see the beauty in the rolling sand dunes and the fortitude of the people who can live under such a burning sun.’
Even though Rachel had only just met the Sheikh, there was enough passion in the few sentences he had spoken to her to show her he truly loved his country. She could tell he was proud of Huria and wanted everyone to view his kingdom with the same love and respect as he did.
‘But enough of that for now,’ the Sheikh said with a small smile that lit up his face. ‘Wahid is always telling me I am far too serious when I speak about the merits of our country.’
‘You cannot browbeat people into loving Huria as you do, Your Majesty,’ Wahid said.
AWAKENING THE SHY MISS Page 23
