Chapter Six
A month later, on Christmas Eve, they were married in the village church at Warenton, watched by hordes of the Wolfe family, heavily braided army officers and as many local people as could squash into the church and grounds. As they emerged onto the church porch, in the cold winter sunshine, they were cheered and waved and then ushered into their waiting carriage. Elise clasped the earl’s hand tightly throughout the short drive to Warenton House, a beautiful mansion built early in the last century.
The night’s frost lingered in the bright cold of the day, making everything sparkle. It was a beautiful day to be married. Even nature seemed to be celebrating with them.
On her husband’s arm, Elise stepped over the threshold of her new domain. Only the two nights she’d already spent here with Lady Caroline and a pack of other Wolfes, prevented the surroundings from overwhelming her. Wolfe ancestors stretching back for centuries, gazed down upon her as she walked across the massive entrance hall and climbed the grand staircase, both lined with liveried servants and smartly turned-out maids. She would get to know them all in time.
It was a massive undertaking, a great adventure, and she was looking forward to all of it. But right now, all she could really think about was the powerful man at her side.
“Where are we going?” she murmured as they passed the first landing. On this floor, the huge, formal dining room had been made ready for the wedding breakfast, as had the drawing room where they would greet their guests.
“Guess,” he said, leading her up the next flight. There were no servants here.
Her heart thundering, she couldn’t speak. She had already seen her private apartments—a luxurious, feminine bedchamber and a cozy sitting room. It was the sitting room he took her to, first, and when he turned in the opposite direction to the bedchamber door, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or furiously disappointed.
“Our guests will be here any moment,” she managed.
“They may wait for just a little while.” He pushed the wall and a door she hadn’t even seen, disguised as it was to appear part of the wall, opened into a much more masculine domain.
This was his. Leather chairs, a mahogany desk, books, odd objects from his days fighting in India, Portugal, Spain and France. She gazed about her in wonder as they crossed the room to anther door, already open to show the chamber beyond.
She swallowed hard and let him lead her there, too. A huge, curtained bed dominated the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.
He said, “I believe it is customary in civilized marriages for a husband to visit his wife when he wishes to exert his conjugal rights. Neither of us are slaves to convention, so I want to be sure you understand something.”
With strange reluctance, she dragged her gaze from the bed and, almost fearfully, up to his face.
“Between us, there are no rights,” he said gravely. “Only desires and wishes. I will want you all the time, but you are always at liberty to send me packing. I’ll think no less of you. It is my desire to sleep every night with you in my arms, whether that is here in this room, in your bedchamber, or on the floor of some barn. Again, you may choose when that happens, where it happens, or even if it happens.”
A strange wonder began to fill her. She’d married a harsh, powerful, virile man who was strong enough to let her choose rather than exert his undoubted authority under every law and custom.
He raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed it. “I brought you here to show you that my chamber is yours whenever you wish it.”
In spite of her nervousness, she couldn’t help her quick smile. “Is that really why you brought me here?” she teased.
An answering sparkle lit up his eyes. “In part. I also want to make a suggestion.”
“What?” she asked breathlessly.
“I would like,” he murmured, “to make love to you now, before we greet our guests. I would like to give you pleasure and take my own, and make it so sweet, so intense and so satisfying that you long for me again, all through the party. I don’t want you to fear your wedding night. I want you to crave it.”
Her whole body tingled at his words. Strange heat curled through her belly. “What must I do?”
“Whatever you like. We could begin with a kiss.”
“I would like that,” she whispered, parting her lips as he bent his head.
His kiss began softly, tenderly, causing butterflies to dance and plunge deep within her. At the touch of his tongue, curling heat burst into flames and she opened wide to him, gasping, throwing both arms around him to draw him closer.
He groaned with clear delight. Rather than fearing the movement of his fingers unlacing her gown, she wriggled with pleasure at their touch. Gown, undergown and chemise soon lay in a puddle around her feet and she stood before him totally naked.
His eyes drank her in, devoured her. Her breathing came in pants. God help her, she didn’t feel remotely ashamed. Instead, she felt at once gloriously powerful and deliciously weak. With a muttered curse, he swept her up against him, his buttons abrading the sensitive skin of her breasts, and carried her the few paces to the bed.
“I want to see you,” she whispered, among the pillows as he lay over her.
“You shall,” he assured her, shrugging out of his coat. He drew her hands inside his shirt before he lowered his head to her throat, dragging his mouth downwards to her breasts. She thought she would die of bliss.
Afterwards, when she dwelled on this first coupling, she could never quite be sure of the order things happened. She was sure he was at least partly inside her before all his clothes were off. It never seemed to matter. His hot, smooth back undulated beneath her hands in the intense, sweet motion of love, showing her, teaching her, bringing her by slow, patient, oh-so-delicious stages to a blinding joy she had never expected.
Afterwards, she lay in his arms, her hair falling across his still heaving chest as she lazily kissed it. She smiled. She felt, as the English said, like the cat with the cream.
“And now,” he said, “we can join our guests. You may enjoy the party without worrying about what’s to come.”
“We can,” she agreed. Her smile broadening, she rolled herself boldly over his body, and kissed his mouth.
“Or,” she murmured against his lips, “perhaps we could do this just once more before we go down.”
“It would hurt you,“ he said, closing his arms around her and tumbling her again beneath him. “And even I am not so selfish.”
Her disappointment must have stood out clearly on her face, for a rather wolfish smile spread over his. “On the other hand...” He kissed her, open-mouthed, with blatant sensuality. “On the other hand, there are many routes to pleasure. Let me show you another...”
***
And so it was some time before the newlyweds joined their guests for the wedding breakfast. Opinions varied as to whether the earl had been swiftly exerting his conjugal rights —after all, an heir was needed and, by tradition, the groom should be inebriated by tonight—or if his bride had thrown some kind of tantrum. Whatever, they appeared to be in perfect accord as they sat side by side beneath the portraits of more long-dead Wolfes.
“Who is that?” Elise asked him once, indicating a modern painting of an armored knight on horseback, his helmet held in front of him as he gazed fearlessly into the distance from just one eye. The other was covered by a square of black cloth.
“Our progenitor,” the earl said. “The semi-legendary Sir William de Wolfe, the first earl. A fierce, thirteenth century warlord who let nothing stand in his way, by all accounts. My father commissioned it, insisting it be painted from actual descriptions of him in surviving texts.”
“I always said he sounded like Francis,” Caroline contributed from his other side. “I’m sure that’s why Papa had it done.”
Elise regarded the picture thoughtfully. “Do you think he’d be pleased that you married an enemy?”
“France is no longer our enemy,” Warenton pointed out. He glanced up at his ancestor and smiled. “But yes, I think he would. I think he’d understand perfectly.”
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Other Books by Mary Lancaster
VIENNA WALTZ (The Imperial Season, Book 1)
VIENNA WOODS (The Imperial Season, Book 2)
VIENNA DAWN (The Imperial Season, Book 3)
REBEL OF ROSS
A PRINCE TO BE FEARED: the love story of Vlad Dracula
AN ENDLESS EXILE
A WORLD TO WIN
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster's first love was historical fiction. Her other passions include coffee, chocolate, red wine and black and white films - simultaneously where possible. She hates housework.
As a direct consequence of the first love, she studied history at St. Andrews University. She now writes full time at her seaside home in Scotland, which she shares with her husband, three children and a small, crazy dog.
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