by TYNER, LIZ
‘She doesn’t know me.’
The man turned around, wiping his hands on a cloth from beside the basin. ‘I would say she doesn’t.’ He peered at William’s face and reached under the shelf and pulled out another bottle from the dark recesses. He popped the cork and put the bottle on the table between them. ‘Drink up and tell why I should perform this ceremony.’
Chapter Five
Isabel examined her patched dress and stained shoes. She’d once wondered what she’d choose to be married in. It wasn’t this.
Her invisible groom’s father, Viscount Langford, sat in Sophia’s overstuffed chair as if it were his throne. He patted a chair arm and stared, emotionless.
‘It’ll just be a few minutes more,’ Sophia said, perching at the end of the sofa and resting one hand on the brocade between them. The other hand held a fan that flitted more than any butterfly wings. ‘And William will be here. He’s not really late yet.’
Isabel raised her head in acknowledgement.
‘If he doesn’t appear, I will find him and drag him here myself.’ Langford stood, walked behind the sofa and patted his daughter’s shoulder.
‘This almost reminds me of the day—’ Sophia stopped fanning, glanced at her hand, then spoke to Isabel. ‘One day, in the past, my sisters and I waited for Father and William to return. It was in August, too, and a much warmer day than this.’
‘Do not speak of your mother today,’ the Viscount commanded. ‘If she were here, William would have married long before now.’
Isabel stood, turned to the Viscount, gave a small bow of her head, and put a smile on her face. ‘William—’ she fluttered her hand over her heart and paused ‘—was waiting for me. His whole lifetime. So it will not concern me to wait a few moments for him.’
Thoughts flickered in his eyes. ‘Welcome to the family. I do beg your pardon if anything I have said this morning offended you and I beg forgiveness for the errors I have made in bringing up my son, which I feel are about to be visited on your head.’
She gave the assured blink she used for the audience before she sang. ‘Then when my husband does not do quite as I expect, I will keep my words kind to him and my ire will be directed in your direction.’
He turned halfway from her. His voice was soft. ‘Do as you must.’ Then he turned back to her. ‘Isabel, I will be prepared for your visits.’
Laughter sounded as a door on the lower floor opened. A scattershot of noises sounded.
Sophia and the Viscount looked around as if a gunshot had landed nearby and no one knew which direction it came from.
Sophia’s words were a whisper and she looked to the ceiling. ‘Thank you.’
The Viscount turned to the wall and sighed, then said, ‘What did I do?’
Isabel could not think which face to use and she settled on the one she used at the governess school after she sang and everyone praised her.
William appeared at the doorway, with two men behind him, one with a book under his arm. William hadn’t shaved. Isabel couldn’t concentrate on the greetings around her, but examined William. He only looked her way a half-second or less. Blazing determination flashed in his eyes. The same stare he’d had when he’d pounced on Wren.
Then the cleric made some jest about reading the right portion of the prayer book. William glared and the other man’s eyes darted downwards, but his smile beamed. She wondered if the Book of Common Prayer had a section for words said at funerals because that would be the only jest she could think of to use.
The wedding would not fool anyone present that it was a love match. She in her patched clothes and him appearing as if he’d just rolled from a bed.
She glanced to the door. A quick dart and she could be down the stairs. She opened her mouth, thinking to conjure up another aunt. She could rush away to retrieve her aunt to attend the wedding, but then she shook the thoughts away. William had saved her and he wished to protect his sisters.
The cleric spoke to William, patting him on the back. William swayed and she could have sworn the older man gripped the back of his coat to hold him steady.
Now she knew why men often had a friend at the side when they spoke their vows.
‘Let us begin.’ The cleric moved, directing the other man to stand by William.
‘Miss,’ the cleric said, taking the Book of Common Prayer from under his arm and looking to the vacant spot beside William.
She bit her lip and looked at the empty place at William’s side. She would be standing there a long time.
She moved into place, but not quite. Another person could have stood between them. Stepping sideways, he put his hand around her waist. For a moment his fingers rested at her side. Then a tug and she had no choice but to follow his clasp. She squeaked and her feet caught up with her body.
They were close. Very close. And he was strong. Her hip tingled where it brushed against his side. The tingles spread around her body. This could work.
The minister opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it again, looking at William and not at the book. Then he shook his head.
‘We shall proceed.’ William spoke. It wasn’t a question. He dropped his hand away from Isabel, and cleared his voice.
Internally, Isabel stumbled, but nothing changed in front of her face so she didn’t think she’d really moved. She leaned closer to him, her bare arm against the sleeve of his coat, and she took in an easing breath.
The Book of Common Prayer opened and the world outside the windows stopped. Isabel became a wife and she couldn’t hear the words but his arm rested against hers, comforting.
In the last dress and pair of shoes she would have ever chosen, she wed William, and even though he looked as if he’d fallen from a horse and smelled of an alehouse, he’d charged a man with a knife to save her and he’d married a stranger to protect his sisters. She stole a glance at him. Behind the ragged façade, she was certain some part of him wished for the marriage. He’d pulled her to his side and she’d felt it.
*
William listened to each word, committing them to memory. Blast. He had not expected them to sound in his head as if blared from a trumpet. Nor had he expected them to sound so real and sincere.
Words. They were just words. But they weren’t like any he’d ever heard before. He was listening to a decree of the rest of his life. Vows of spiritual portent, spoken from a prayer book, with family around, to bond. Marriage had not been invented by a sane man. The vicar was right after all. The process was necessary for the sake of the children and the record-keeping of whom they belonged to. One didn’t want to pass a title too far from the lineage.
She stood beside him, chin high, eyes forward, pale and…kissable lips.
He’d never kissed her, though it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d held her in the carriage. If not for her misfortune, he would have kept the coachman driving circles in the town all night. He never seen a woman so just right as her. Tall enough for him. Short enough for him. Curved and straight enough. Just right.
All things considered, Isabel was a fortunate choice. His thoughts raced among the other ladies of his acquaintance. What if he had rescued one of them? She would be standing beside him now.
He imagined someone else at his side and felt a shudder. He had certainly missed cannon fire on that regard. At least fortune had chosen Miss—Isabel. He had forgotten her name again, but it would not be a concern now. She was Isabel Balfour now—which didn’t quite seem to fit her. Yet speaking the vows with someone other than her would have been—unfathomable. In relief, he huffed a sigh—just at the moment the vicar pronounced them man and wife together.
His sister hissed.
The vicar tutted and William shut his eyes. That was something that could not be explained away.
Then the vicar prayed over them. And prayed. And prayed. The ceremony ended and the air dripped with the heat of the day.
William glanced at Isabel. No songbird’s feathers had ever drooped more. A stab into his mi
dsection. Guilt. Remorse. Anger at the ironic situation. All flashed into him.
She looked at him and when her eyes met his, the wilt disappeared. In his whole life no woman’s eyes had ever pinched in such a way when she gazed at his face.
Pleasantries sounded and everyone disappeared from the room, except William, his wife and his father.
The Viscount’s eyes rested on Isabel. ‘I wish you both all the best. And I am pleased to have you as a daughter.’ He took her left hand and pulled it to his gaze, looking at her wedding band. His eyes darted to William’s long enough to spear him and back to her simple gold band, then to her face. ‘Isabel, if I can ever be of any assistance to you in any way, please do not hesitate to contact me. I will accept your criticism freely and direct it in the proper direction.’
He looked at his son. ‘Let me know when the heir is on the way.’
William blinked once in acknowledgement that he’d heard and his father left the room.
‘Well, we are married,’ his Songbird chirped, but her profile had quite a strong jaw. William offered his arm. She took it without looking in his direction and then a sigh exploded from her lips. If candles had been lit nearby, that blast would have easily extinguished them.
This would require something expensive or rare. It always worked for his sisters.
‘Perhaps we could take a ride in my carriage and I might select a gift for you,’ he said.
‘Oh… Thank you so very much, but I do not need a thing. Your sister has sent for my trunk—she is so thoughtful. She also instructed a burly footman to Wren’s as I mentioned that my satchel is there.’ She paused. ‘She is quite thoughtful.’ Her face ever so innocent, she sighed.
‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,’ he said. ‘I was merely thinking how fortunate I was to have you by my side instead of someone else.’
‘I am sure that is how everyone took it. Husband.’ She stepped to the stairs and he followed. ‘For ever…nonsense…’ She sighed again, much in the same way a cat’s hiss might turn into a growl.
Chapter Six
He’d taken Isabel around London after the marriage even though she’d refused to shop. He’d made sure she could later and let her know where he had accounts.
At his town house, he’d shown his bride to her room. She’d immediately spotted the trunk and while the door hadn’t slammed in his face, or even shut, it had been nudged his direction, but his boot had stopped it. He’d left her when she’d hugged a dress to her face and the sniffles had started. It wasn’t even a pretty dress. He’d had a good look at it when he’d said her name and she’d flung the clothing past him.
So, he’d moved to his room, took off his boots, stripped to his shirt and trousers and lay on the bed, giving her some time to orient herself before he returned.
Isabel was more in agreement with his plan for marriage than anyone else he could have chosen. She’d not even wanted to shop with him. And the little nudge of the door hadn’t been an accident. She would be the perfect wife once she stopped sniffling and throwing things at him. He didn’t blame her.
He would make it up to her. He would.
He promised he would get her a beautiful piece of jewellery soon. If there was one thing he had learned, the bigger the mistake; the bigger the gift. And sometimes it was best to wait before delivery so that it didn’t get thrown back.
He shook his head. He was a rake. What kind of rake was reluctant to visit his own wife’s bed on their wedding night? It was just that she’d felt so fragile in the carriage. And then the tears. She’d hugged some garment and cried. He didn’t wish to cause her more pain and so soon after the attack. She had to be bruised as she’d fallen to the floor. His own ribs still hurt.
The turns of the past few days passed through his mind and he realised he hadn’t slept the night before, and his eyelids weighted him down until a sound woke him.
Tap. Tap. Tap. He looked to the door. No servant would be…on this night.
Tap!
He opened the door, and a rigid, wan face glared. ‘It is my wedding night and I would prefer to get some sleep and I cannot because I feel like you are going to slip into my room any second.’ She paused. Her hair had been taken from the knot and cascaded about her shoulders. ‘Where have you been?’
Just enough light illuminated her to give her the gentleness of a lost waif.
‘I fell asleep.’
‘Well, that is a good plan.’ She whirled away.
He took a step, following her. He reached to clasp her arm. ‘Please.’ Gently, he led her back to the chamber.
‘My ribs,’ he said and patted over them. ‘I should have told you.’ In truth, he’d had many worse bruises, but a woman shouldn’t be alone on her wedding night. Neither should a man for that matter. ‘And I didn’t ask about the cut on your shoulder.’
‘It’s well enough.’
He led her beside the light and her hair showed glints of the copper. ‘Isabel.’ He touched the strands, letting them slide through his fingers, and he remembered a tale of a woman whose hair was so alive that she could let it down at her window and a prince could climb it to be at her side. He felt like the man trying to find the princess.
Burying his face against the silkiness, he slowly pulled her close, breathing in the soap-clean scent mixed with a reminder of spring flowers. Just right. She was not just right. She was perfection.
‘I told the truth about the sigh,’ he said. ‘I thought of my misfortune, should someone else have been at my side at that moment.’
‘Surely you—’
‘I could not imagine how lucky I was to have you there instead of anyone else.’
*
Isabel put her palms out and a fortress of male was at her fingertips. Instead of fear to have a male so close, his strength flowed into her.
‘Are you hurt badly?’ she whispered.
He rested his face against her hair. ‘It does not hurt at all, but…you’re certainly making it feel much better.’ His thin shirt was no barrier to the chest beneath. Warmth raced from her fingertips into her heart and she splayed her hands to feel more. She had not realised. He had not looked so formidable only inches away, nor so gentle.
Kisses sprinkled her whole body with sparks of warmth.
He stepped aside, pulled off his shirt and leaned into the light. Purpled skin, half the size of a boot.
She reached out, swirling her hand along just above the skin, not touching. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘I’m not.’
He clasped his hand over her wrist and moved her hand to the centre of his torso, just above his waistband. He pulled her hand close. Her fingers spread naturally, fitting against the taut skin. He trailed her fingers upwards, moving them over the ribs, the orbs, the lines and swirls of his chest.
Silken. Taut. Flexible and firm.
She’d never heard a song written about such an experience, never understood why people acted in manners not suitable to their station. In one brush of her hand against William’s chest she understood things no one could have explained if they’d spoken for a million years.
Like a creature burrowing against another for shelter, William put his face closer to hers. ‘Isabel… Is…I don’t think we’ve kissed before. I wanted to—I wanted to lean towards you and kiss you during the wedding. I ached to do it.’
He loosed his clasp and took his hand away, but her fingers stayed above his heart. He touched his lips to her nose, petal-light, brown velvety eyes watching blue.
‘Our first,’ he whispered. ‘But do not try to keep count, because if you can do so the night will be counted a miserable failure in my eyes.’
The world disappeared when he pulled her close and melded her into his arms. Her mind could not think past the feel of being held and she became light as thistledown, and wafted along on the warmth, held aloft by the rushing breaths. The soft brush of lips against lips joined them in a world of nothing but their heartbeats.
She didn’t know when
the sash on her gown loosened and the garments fell away. But somehow, without her knowledge, William removed her clothing and his, and lifted her to the bed.
Their bodies twined close, skin heating skin, and for once, warmth on an August night soothed.
He paused, pushing himself up so that she looked into his eyes. The darkened room didn’t allow her to see the exactness of his features, but she could visualise him easily. His lips were parted and he studied her face, then moved to the side enough that he could reach to her cheek. She didn’t feel the touch, but his hand heated much like sunbeams travelling over the skin.
His fingertips dropped to her skin, moving to her jawline and down her neck to her shoulder. He trailed down her arm and took her hand, putting it against his cheek, moving to place a kiss against her palm. The bristles of his face mixed with the softness of his lips. She traced his jaw, taking in the transition to a world she’d not known existed. Tendrils of his hair brushed against her knuckles.
‘Isabel,’ he whispered, so softly she knew it was not a question, but a caress with words.
He moved forward to kiss her, but something inside her had changed so that the tilt forward seemed to take a thousand moments, but she savoured each one.
His lips, warm and moist, took her thoughts away so that she could only feel.
His hands brushed over her breasts, bringing the feel of a caress to her entire body. He outlined her hips, her stomach, and pulled her against him, his hardness between them.
Again the warmth of the night became a balm as the slickness of his heated body bonding to hers swathed them in a cocoon of togetherness.
When he entered her, the murmurings whispered into her ear made her feel more protected and loved than she’d ever imagined at any moment of her life.
In some knowledge she didn’t know how she’d gained, William did all he could to protect and cherish her with his body.
*
William stood at the side of the bed, looking down. His head kept lowering as he fell asleep on his feet and then he’d raise it and jolt himself awake. She lay so still and looked more fragile than any glass figurine with her resting lips, the lashes resting over closed eyes and the skin pale in the moonlight.
