There were certainly worse things.
And he had a feeling his friend was more accurate than he’d known.
Forgive, forget, move on.
Odd how he was just now learning how to do those three things.
Better late than never.
Chapter Thirty-one
Samantha tilted her head as she studied herself in the mirror. The dress was one of Liliah’s, taken from London in the haste of all their packing in their efforts to escape. A sea green, it highlighted the color of her eyes, and the lighter colors of her tea-colored hair. It was sheer silk over muslin, with delicate lace trim along the décolleté. She and Liliah sported with the idea of wearing the dress they’d ordered for the masquerade ball, but in the end, they chose to keep that a secret. Her body tingled with the energy of anticipation, and she thought of how so much had changed since their escape from home.
She wasn’t the girl who left London.
Her earlier musings sang to her, something more.
This, she glanced at her reflection, was most certainly, more.
A lot more.
And it was glorious, if not entirely conventional.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and she twisted her head and called, “Come in.”
Maye was draping the dress and tugging on the hem as Liliah walked into the room. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it in a universal gesture of emotion. Her eyes sparkled with glistening tears as her gaze traced from the top of Samantha’s head to her hidden, slippered feet.
“So lovely,” Liliah choked out, coming fully into the room and closing the door behind her. “All is in order. The question, however, is whether you are ready.” Liliah took a deep breath, as if trying to be strong.
Samantha smiled at her sister, amused by the slight reversal of roles. Shouldn’t she be the one overly emotional? Yet she found herself wanting to comfort her older sister. But that was the way of family; you were ever shifting and changing to assist the other. That was love, was it not?
“The viscount is going to be speechless. You’re stunning, love.” Liliah gave a knowing smile that Samantha saw reflected in the mirror. She studied herself once more, feeling beautiful down to her toes. Was it too much to hope for a grand reaction from her soon-to-be husband?
“Is everything in order?” Liliah asked, running a delicate hand down the skirt of Samantha’s dress.
“I believe so.” Maye had twisted her hair into a delicate chignon at the base of her neck. Loose curls framed her face, softening the look and giving her a fairylike appearance. She’d applied a bit of kohl to her eyes, as well as some rouge to her cheeks, tapping her finger along her lips to heighten the color there as well.
“Any second thoughts?” Liliah asked unexpectedly, and Samantha’s gaze darted from the study of her reflection to Liliah’s inquiring gaze.
“No. Why do you ask?” A shiver of fear traced up her spine as she waited for her sister’s reply.
“Breathe, dear. I have no reason to inquire other than to confirm that you are sure of your choice. Forgive me, I’m just being protective. I don’t doubt the regard the viscount holds for you, nor your affection for him, but you haven’t even had a Season—”
“Isn’t the entire goal of a Season to find a husband?” Samantha arched a brow, knowing her point was valid.
Liliah twisted her lips. “It is, but there’s so much more. I just . . . I don’t want you to miss anything. And I want you to have a choice in life, to—”
“I think you’re the one with second thoughts,” Samantha replied, giving her sister a tender smile.
Liliah sighed. “I’m being overly cautious, aren’t I?”
“It’s surprising, in truth. Never once have I thought of you as cautious.”
“There are other adjectives that are better suited for me,” Liliah agreed.
“Impetuous, curious, daring—”
“I understand. But a worrier I am not. Till now, it seems. I just want you to be happy.” Liliah gave a bemused smile to her sister.
“I am,” Samantha answered simply. “And that is all that matters, is it not?”
“It is,” Liliah agreed.
“Then shall we?” Samantha turned toward the door, then glanced back to her sister, raising an inquiring brow.
“We shall,” Liliah agreed, her smile serene yet slightly wistful. “I can scarcely believe it. After being concerned for your future for so long, it’s about to be established.”
Samantha opened the door and stepped back, letting her sister pass. “It is.” She giggled. “I was just thinking it was not exactly conventional.”
“In that we are quite alike. I never did anything conventional in my life,” Liliah teased, then entered the hall, with Samantha following.
“That is true.”
They walked down the hall, took the stairs, and then proceeded into the foyer. Liliah hurried her pace to precede her sister and led the way to the small chapel in the eastern wing of Kilmarin. It would be a small affair, this wedding. The announcement would be made at the masquerade ball the next night.
Good Lord.
One day at a time, she reminded herself, waiting for a moment as Liliah entered the chapel. Samantha distracted herself by comparing a wedding in Scotland versus a London affair. It wasn’t about the frills as much as it was about the steps that would have to be taken carefully. It was odd how easy the process seemed to be here. If she were in London, the banns would have been read three weeks in a row, and there would be the announcement in The Times, the reservation of the church, and so forth and so on. What a boon to be married in Scotland! Although she was certain many women enjoyed the lavish affair that was a London wedding, she found she was more than satisfied with hers. There was something intimate and utterly romantic about it.
Liliah opened the chapel door, then turned to her sister. She mouthed a question. Ready?
Samantha nodded, and then the music began. It was a delicate concerto whose composer she couldn’t recall at the moment. Her entire mind and senses were engaged as she put one foot in front of the other, anticipating the moment she’d cross the threshold and see her betrothed. Taking a silent breath, she walked in, meeting the gaze of the party assembled, searching each gaze till she found the one she wanted to see the most.
Heathcliff’s reaction was everything she’d hoped for. His caramel eyes widened, then wickedly traveled the length of her before meeting her gaze with an intense one of his own. His expression was possessive, devoted, worshipful. She gloried in the feeling of it.
The rest of the details of the moment were insignificant in comparison to the delight of walking toward a future that radiated hope. Belatedly, she noted the small stained-glass windows above the vicar, pouring in rose-colored sunlight. The sound of a sniffle arrested her attention, and she noted the way Mrs. Keyes dabbed at her eyes, with Liliah doing the same. Iris watched with wide eyes full of wonder and, if Samantha were assuming correctly, a bit of a smug expression as well. She made a mental note to ask Iris later. Perhaps she had known all along.
Lucas gave her a wide grin followed by an approving nod, and that completed the small group of witnesses. It was quite reminiscent of her sister’s wedding, and she found no small measure of delight in that fact. How apt, that they, the daughters of a duke, would have small, private weddings when the opposite would have been expected.
Her gaze flickered back to Heathcliff as she took the final steps toward the altar. The vicar cleared his throat, and as Heathcliff reached out to grasp her hand, the familiar words were spoken.
“DEARLY beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church; which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence.”
Samantha was transfixed upon Heathcliff’
s gaze. His warm regard was more powerful than any words, any tradition. And while she respected the ceremony for its meaning, the depth of his gaze spoke of his personal dedication, his solemn vows, however unspoken, but utterly and undeniably true. The vicar continued with the liturgy from The Book of Common Prayer, with only slight pauses when he would glance to Heathcliff, or herself, awaiting their responses.
Heathcliff’s hands were warm as they held hers, his thumb drawing lazy circles over the wrist of her gloved hand. The ceremony blew past like a summer breeze, warm and welcome, and before long, she was pledging her vows to the man before her.
Tears pricked her eyes as he did the same, the depth of the emotion in his gaze echoing his words perfectly.
They might not have had the most promising start, but she had utter hope that their journey would be much improved over the course of time. As it was, already she had more than she’d dared hope a few days earlier.
The vicar offered a prayer, and she couldn’t force herself to close her eyes as was proper. Rather, she kept her gaze on Heathcliff, encouraged when he did the same. The blessing was pronounced, and before God, her sister, her brother-in-law, Mrs. Keyes, and Iris, they were pronounced husband and wife.
All that was left was the kiss, and with great anticipation, she lifted her gaze and was immediately swept up in Heathcliff’s embrace as his eager lips sought hers.
It was a joyful kiss, one she had never experienced from him before. It was free, unrestrained, and full of something she wouldn’t have been able to name unless it were so dear to her own heart: hope.
It was a common thread between them, one that seemed small upon first notice, but its depth was astounding, and she found it rooted itself in every corner of her heart.
As he ended the kiss—for certainly she would have gone right on kissing him, and with delight—his expression reflected the adoration his words had spoken earlier.
Their guests applauded, and Samantha walked with her husband down the aisle, to the edge of the chapel, where they were to sign the register.
The vicar cleared his throat, waiting beside the ancient wooden table, and pointed to two blank spaces in the old book.
Heathcliff signed his name.
Samantha signed hers, this time adding her new surname. It was the first time she’d seen it, the first time she’d dare whisper it into the world. It was almost too precious, too delicate to speak out loud.
And now it was real. It was done. And she was happy.
“No escaping me now,” Heathcliff murmured against her neck as he placed a kiss there.
A shiver of delight tickled her back. “Don’t you mean you cannot escape me?”
He chuckled and led her from the chapel. “That may be the more accurate representation.”
“I think so. After all, you were quite resolved to resist my charms.”
“You are temptation personified,” he replied, grinning happily. His expression was far more open, the weight of so much pain finally behind him, it seemed.
“I would think it would be lovely to have a wife who tempts you. I’m especially thankful for a husband who provokes such a reaction in me,” she flirted as they strode down the hall toward the dining room to celebrate their wedding breakfast. As they entered, the footmen applauded for their master, and as the others filed into the room, she noted the tears in the eyes of Mrs. Keyes, along with her sister.
Iris gave a knowing grin and took her seat just as Lucas retrieved a glass of champagne from the table and raised it high.
“To my brother-in-law. May you catch on faster than you have until this point,” he teased.
Samantha glanced at Heathcliff, watching his wry reaction to Lucas’s words. “I don’t remember you catching on any faster.”
“That is all in the past, and as such, we shall leave it there,” Lucas remarked, earning a bemused grin from his wife.
Samantha was giggling at her sister and brother-in-law, but when Heathcliff grasped her hand tightly, pulling it to his chest, she turned.
Before God and everyone, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her firmly on the mouth.
His lips were tender, but there was an intensity beneath the kiss that left her breathless as he pulled away. “You’re heartbreakingly beautiful,” he murmured, then kissed her once more, fleetingly, and took her hand. When she came to her senses, she heard the amused giggles of their guests, and Samantha turned, first seeing the wide eyes of Iris.
That, she decided needed to be addressed in the near future. This wasn’t exactly proper behavior. And she was still Iris’s governess of sorts. They’d sort that all out later.
But while it wasn’t proper, it was delightful behavior. Every groom should kiss his bride at their wedding breakfast, she decided. It was a pity it was considered scandalous.
Lucas and Liliah stood together, their expressions warm, and even Mrs. Keyes didn’t appear shocked by their behavior. Apparently she didn’t shock them all as much as she thought.
Heathcliff guided her to the head of the table, and then helped her to sit, and breakfast was served. A footman brought out treacle tart first, and Samantha caught a wink sent from Mrs. Keyes to Heathcliff, and he gave her a grin in response.
The breakfast passed with laughter, delight, and more than its share of teasing. It was exactly as she could have hoped, had she had enough courage to hope for so much.
As the celebration died down, a boot trailed up her leg, lifting the hem of her skirt.
She couldn’t help the blush that heated her face. She remembered the previous evening, and she turned to her husband, who was watching her with that intensity that gave her butterflies and heat in her belly.
“I do believe it’s more than time to for us to go. Come, Wife.” Lucas stood, offering his hand to Liliah, who flickered a glance to Samantha, winked, and then stood.
In short work, they’d said their good-byes, with promises to return the next day, but not too early.
And finally, blessedly, Samantha found herself alone with her husband. She wanted to grasp his hand and run up the stairs, throw herself at him and love him freely, deeply, perhaps heal whatever scars remained in his heart.
But she was frozen, anticipation and her lack of knowledge holding her captive in their grasp.
Heathcliff turned to her and grinned, and her heart melted as much as her lack of courage, and with a wolfish grin, he swept her up in his arms and ran up the stairs. She giggled the whole way.
If love should be anything, it should be happy.
And though she’d never experienced it before, she knew without a doubt this was indeed love.
Chapter Thirty-two
Heathcliff kicked the door closed with a resounding thud, and debated whether to set his wife down gently down on her own two feet, or if he should carry her to the bed, toss her upon it, and devour her immediately.
He had wanted her since the moment he saw her, and now that the moment was upon him, he was both ravenous and resilient. It was ironic to be sure, but he thought it was, perhaps, a good thing.
“The bed is in that direction,” Samantha remarked in a teasing tone. He turned to her then, delighting in the dancing expression in her eyes.
“Thank you, I had quite missed that fact.” He arched a brow, then, to prove his point, he strode up to the bed and tossed her upon it, thankful for the sturdy build of the walnut frame as she bounced gently, offering him a mock glare.
“Is that how this goes?” she asked, all sass and light.
The thought of living without her pierced through him like a lance, and he forced the chilling thought to the back of his mind. To think he had been so close to walking away; no, running from her affection. So much of his joy was because of her, because she brought light into all the dark recesses of his heart.
“Heathcliff?” She spoke his name softly, and he shook his dark thoughts from his mind. They were useless, and he was thankful. He had avoided a terrible mistake and, as such, deserved enthusiastic
celebration.
And he knew just how to begin.
“Do you know, I’ve never done anything so proper in my life?” he started, circling the bed lazily, the anticipation filling him with heat.
“Oh? And how am I to respond to such a statement?” she replied, her gaze taking him in, darkening as he took a step toward the bed.
“Aren’t lovers to disclose secrets in the bedroom? I thought I should start with the first.”
“You’re implying that there will be more secrets?” she asked
“Indeed. A great many, ones we shall share with a smile when others look on, confused.”
Samantha’s answering smile was all the response he needed. He continued. “Even your most innocent of smiles makes me want to be ever so wicked.”
“And after charging me with being temptation personified! You, sir, have a strange reaction to temptation. Rather than be wicked, as you imply, it makes you quite resolute to be good. Odd, that.” She arched a brow, an enticing grin on her face.
“Indeed it is.”
“Interesting.”
“Not nearly as interesting as having you here. Do you have any idea how long I’ve imagined you here?” He gestured to the bed, taking in the soft pillows behind her, the draped purple velvet curtain around the headboard, the way the coverlet bunched around where she sat, watching him with wide eyes. “I scarcely can believe it, that you are here and not because my black heart seduced you but that all has been satisfied. To believe that it is right, and good for you to be here, in my bed, waiting . . .”
“Waiting indeed. You stand there with all the beautiful words I wished to hear for so long, yet you do not act on them.” She gave her head a little shake.
“Forgive me.” He bowed, earning a slight giggle from Samantha.
“I shall not. I require a token of your true repentance,” she replied, shocking him by her demand. He grinned, thrilled with the way she caught him unexpectedly, thrilled to play the game she initiated. Love and sex had rarely followed one on the other in his life, and the one time they had, it had been one-sided. To be partners with each other, for it to be more; it was strange yet so perfect at once.
Escaping His Grace Page 22
