Chapter Eight
It had been a perfect day for a wedding. Abundant sunshine, clear blue skies, and warmer than average, and the wedding itself had been full of guests who seemed to truly wish them well.
None of those things had kept Lucas’s palms from sweating or his throat from feeling constricted by the proverbial noose, but it was noted all the same.
Only a handful of the people at the church had been there for him. The relatives that nobody knew about; Marlowe and his associates, though none of them sat near each other; former schoolmates that he would not have missed but had been pressed to invite… Kit had stood with him, and his wife had sat with the rest of their friends, whom he supposed he could count as his own, though his association with them was limited at best.
He cared little for any of that. He could have done with a small ceremony in a drawing room with only a minister and witnesses. The fuss and noise, the flowers and the church, the guests and this ridiculous spectacle of a breakfast, were all endurable, however, for the woman that was now his wife.
She was a vision; his very own ray of sunshine. Her gown had been of a simple form, but of the highest quality and suited her to perfection. She had informed him a few days before that she and her mother were both satisfied with it, which was a miracle, and she had conceded to the slightly more detailed veil, to please her mother and sister.
He echoed their wishes, just this once.
Had any bride stolen the breath from her husband in such a manner?
Her brilliant smile had lit into him as fire, and he could scarce believe that this woman, a far more bewitching and delightful creature than he had ever predicted, would have found something in him worth admiring. And to consent to marry him, beyond that! To be paired with her forever, to see such a vision of cheer and loveliness daily… Could he ever hope to deserve such a privilege?
The rational man within him knew that all of this would fade, that it was only the newness of it and the surprise of being so fortunate. Once this day, and the days following, had commenced, it would all become routine and mundane. He was fully aware of that. This was only sentimentality flooding him, and it, too, could pass. He could even admit, though it irked him, that Celia had been a more classically beautiful bride than Gemma.
His first wedding day had been overcast, ironically enough, and far more grand of a spectacle, which he had expected, given her tastes and her family.
This, all of it, was far more suitable.
He watched Gemma as she mingled with guests at the wedding breakfast, milling about and smiling brightly for everyone. She had rid herself of the veil and excesses, and no one knowing she was the bride would ever have guessed, but for the flowers dotting her golden hair. He’d given her the family diamonds to wear, and they suited her far more perfectly than he’d thought.
He’d not recollected the diamonds until recently, and as soon as he had, he’d wanted Gemma to have them. There was not much of his mother’s that was worth passing on, but these he treasured. And Gemma had borne them with such reverence, though she knew nothing of his mother or the past, never knew just where the jewels had come from or their significance. She only knew they had been his mother’s, and that had caused emotion enough.
And he’d never informed Celia of their existence.
He had an inkling of what that meant for him, but refused to dwell on it.
Could he really keep the darkness of his life from tainting his new wife? There was so much, too much, and now that he knew her well, cared for her more than he thought possible, he hated himself for the prospect before them.
He’d expected several voices to protest the wedding, yet none had. Gemma had given her vows with clear answers and bright eyes, and a teasing wink for him as he gave his own. Their kiss had been sweet and stirring, despite the polite briefness, and her soft sigh of delight had nearly buckled his knees.
She was too good for him. Too good, too much, and it was impossible to imagine life with her as his wife.
It was more impossible to imagine any life without her.
He was trapped between heaven and hell and there was nothing to do about it.
Gemma looked over at him from where she was and her smile softened. She continued to listen to the others, but her eyes never left him.
Slowly, his weight and anxiety ebbed away, and his breathing came easier. Doubts and fears faded to the background of his mind, the future and all its facets vanished, and all he could see was his lovely, vibrant, vivacious wife, radiant with joy.
How did she know he had needed the relief that only she could provide?
When had she become the only consolation that could reach him?
He felt himself exhale, the last of his tension evaporating from his shoulders. Gemma saw it, and her smile grew just a touch. She held out a hand, tilting her head in question.
He was moving to her side before he decided he wanted to, and seized her hand at once.
Collecting himself, he gently brought it to his lips, and turned to pretend to join in the conversation, tucking Gemma’s hand safely in his arm.
It seemed her relatives had come out of the woodwork for her wedding, though none had ever given her a moment’s thought before, from what he could tell. She did not seem to mind, nor did she question his lack of family in attendance.
When would the questions start? He knew they would have to at some point, she was far too curious and intuitive to let things go entirely. But how long would her patience hold out?
And when the day did come, what would he say?
“You’re drifting,” she murmured, tugging at his arm.
He shook himself and looked down at her. “Was I?”
She nodded, rubbing the place where her hand rested. “What’s troubling you?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but stopped when he caught her expression. She knew him as well as anyone in the world, for all his secrecy and reserve, and she would not believe him. He shook his head slightly. “The past is haunting me, I fear,” he finally said, covering her hand with his.
She twisted her hand to intertwine their fingers. “Don’t let it, Lucas,” she pleaded, looking up into his eyes. “Not today.”
He gave her a regretful look. “It’s not something I can easily dismiss.”
She sighed and touched his jaw with her free hand. “I’ll get rid of those shadows, just see if I don’t.” Her voice was fierce and a little sad, and he couldn’t have that.
He turned to kiss those fingers, and felt his lips curve. “If anyone can, it’s you.”
She brightened, and her expression turned teasing. “Won’t you smile on our wedding day?”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “Does it count that I feel like smiling whenever I look at you?”
She beamed and leaned closer. “Not for the wager, but it certainly counts with your wife.”
“Well, as her opinion is all I care about,” he told her in a very low tone, brushing his lips across hers, “I can be content with that.”
Gemma made a soft noise, and pulled back, her eyes narrowing. “You still should smile. You wouldn’t want people to think you are displeased with me, would you?”
He snorted. “I just kissed you in public. Is anyone going to question that?”
She shrugged, her golden tendrils of hair bouncing near her ears. “How should I know? People question all sorts of things, but never a smile.”
His lips quirked, and he shook his head slowly. “Oh, Gemma, what am I going to do with you?”
“You keep asking me that, and I keep saying you may do whatever you please,” she responded lightly, turning him so they might go speak with others. “What is it about me that seems to confuse you?”
“I ask myself that daily.”
“And?”
“And I married you.”
“Poor man.”
“Thank you.”
She elbowed him swiftly and he laughed in spite of the pain, which made several turn in surprise. Gemma, however, only beamed in delight and held his arm tighter, keeping him close by her side at all times.
And he almost smiled for the rest of the day.
“Tell me again.”
“Gemma, we will be there any minute.”
She glowered and poked her husband in the side. “Lucas Sinclair, you made me spend my wedding night in an inn. The least you can do is tell me more about the house where we will be staying for the next two weeks.”
He grabbed her hand and yanked it from his body, holding it tightly in his much larger hands, and giving her a mock severe look. “I didn’t make you do anything, Lady Blackmoor,” he said pointedly. “I remember distinctly asking if you wanted to push on to Thornacre and arrive around breakfast or if you wanted to stay at an inn for the night. You wanted the bed instead of the carriage, that is not my fault.”
She frowned at him and tried to pull her hand away, but he held it fast. “You were supposed to claim husbandly authority and tell me to shush and do as I’m told.”
He laughed once. “I’ll never tell you to shush and do as you’re told, and even if I did, you would never do as you were told.”
“That is beside the point.”
He pulled her hand to rest it on his chest, over his heart, and she stilled at the warm, steady cadence beneath his shirt. “You didn’t seem to mind,” he said softly, his eyes trained on her face, though her eyes were fixed on her hand. “I don’t remember hearing a single word of complaint.”
She flushed until she was sure her face was scarlet.
She hadn’t minded. Not in the least.
And she’d only slept in the same bed as her husband, curled against him. It wasn’t the typical wedding night, given what did not transpire, but her husband… it still sent odd shivers of delight and disbelief through her to call him that… insisted on taking her all the way to their estate before that took place. And she was grateful for the additional time to prepare herself.
But she could not deny that she had been a little… well, disappointed.
For all his saying she lacked nothing and was his ideal, she knew full well she was not particularly desirable. She only wished her husband, who viewed her with such intensity and depth, who kissed her so delightfully, had been different in that regard.
This morning had improved matters somewhat, as Lucas had been rather demonstrative in his attempts to wake her, and she could quite get used to mornings if the pattern was to be followed.
And the playful mood of her husband today as they travelled boded well for her this evening. Assuming it took place.
“You’re somewhere far away,” Lucas murmured, touching her chin. “Tell me.”
There was absolutely no way that she was going to tell him that she was thinking about the night before them, though the color of her cheeks probably did that for her.
“Gemma…”
She looked away, focusing her gaze out of the window. “It’s nothing.”
He replaced his fingers on her chin and turned her face back towards him, his expression serious. “No, it’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t hide from me, tell me.”
“I just hope that I…” She broke off, biting down on her lip, then lowered her eyes in her embarrassment. “I hope that I can… please you. As your wife. That you won’t be disappointed with me. In anything I do.”
His hold on her chin was suddenly harder and he tilted her chin up more, his eyes suddenly blazing. “Is that what you think?” he asked. “That last night… That I wasn’t…” He could not seem to find the words and his evident distress both comforted and worried her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered with wince.
“Don’t be sorry!” he cried, releasing her chin and taking her arms. “Gemma, I…” He laughed breathlessly and shook her the smallest bit. “I am already beyond pleased with you as my wife. I could never be disappointed in you, and as for that… I was trying to make you comfortable and be understanding. I can assure you, I want you in every way that a man should want his wife, and when we get to Thornacre, you will understand exactly what that means.”
The promise in his words made her heart race and her cheeks heat and she giggled nervously. “Should I be nervous?” she asked between giggles.
He yanked her to him and kissed her hard, and quite thoroughly. “Yes,” he rasped against her lips. “You probably should. It will be a very short tour of the house.”
She reared back, eyes wide. “What, you mean… You mean not tonight?”
He slowly shook his head, a rather wicked smile forming. “Not tonight. Or rather… not waiting until tonight. My wife seems to doubt my affections, and I cannot have that.”
Gemma swallowed hastily and raised a hand to her cheek. “Remind me to keep my mouth shut more often, and to never, ever, provoke you.”
He laughed and pulled her into his arms, enveloping her. “I like you just as you are, Gemma.” He kissed the top of her head, and let her feel the frantic pace of his heart. “And I rather liked sharing my bed with you last night.”
She snuggled into his chest, smiling and sighing. “It was rather nice, wasn’t it? We should do that more often.”
“Every night, I think.”
She gave a hard laugh and shook her head. “Not every night, surely.”
Lucas tightened his arms. “Every night,” he repeated firmly.
She glanced up at him curiously. “Married couples have separate bedchambers, Blackmoor.”
He returned her look. “We don’t. I have no desire to spend a night away from you.” He hesitated, then added, “Unless you truly want them.”
Her breath caught at the open, hungry expression, and she felt herself melting just a little at his uncertainty about her wishes. She arched up to cup his cheek and kiss him, which she could tell pleased him.
“Together, then,” she whispered, stroking his jaw. “Though we may scandalize everybody if it gets out.”
He flashed her a grin that nearly blinded her in its brilliance. “I already scandalize everybody. It will be nice to have some company from now on.”
That drew forth laughter and she nestled against him with a smile. “Tell me about Thornacre again. Why have I never heard of it?”
“Because no one ever comes there,” he replied as he slowly ran his hands up and down her back. “It has been in the family for centuries, and it has been a long time since anyone inhabiting was interested in company. Considering the reputations of the families, it was hardly a place anyone wished to see.”
“What reputations?” she asked, leaning her chin against him to look up. “I only know yours.”
His jaw tightened and he shook his head. “It is too involved to go into now, but we’ve not been a popular set for some time. However, the house is without blemish despite our best efforts.”
Gemma frowned at his dark tone, but he was studiously avoiding looking at her, and it went unmarked. She sighed with a bit of resignation and nudged him. “Go on, tell me about it. Is it very grand?”
He relaxed and one hand began tracing circles on her back and shoulders. “Yes, I’m afraid it is. And spacious. The grounds are some of the finest in Hampshire, if I may be permitted to admit it.”
“I think you may,” she quipped with a grin. “I’ve only seen Beverton House in Hampshire, and it’s very pretty, but slightly wild.”
Lucas grunted and glanced out of the window. “We are not so wild at Thornacre, but the tone is roughly the same. The house could not be more different from the stately edifice of Beverton House, but… Well, see for yourself.” He inclined his head towards the window and Gemma clambered over him excitedly, drawing a low chuckle from him.
She drew in a sharp breath at the sight that met her eyes.
The pale limestone glinted in the bright sunlight, and the massive building seemed to glow with it. It was the sort of place every girl dreamed of seeing, with tall windows and turrets and gables and columns as far as the eye could see. It seemed to be the perfect combination of ancient castle and romantic country estate. Queen Elizabeth herself might have lived in such a place, or any of the Tudors, should they have been so inclined.
The grounds were as breathtaking as the house, and the gardens she could see were immaculate and pristine, every detail exact and perfectly suited to the house. The house itself spread out before her as far as she could crane her neck as they pulled into the elegant circle drive, seeming out of place and time in its appearance and beauty.
And this was now to be hers?
“Well?” Lucas asked in a low, amused tone, nudging her with his knee.
She slowly turned to look at him, not bothering to hide her astonishment. “You live in a castle?”
He smiled at her, which did nothing for the anticipation swirling within her stomach. “We live in a castle. For now.”
Slowly, a wild grin spread across her face. “I think I rather like being married to you, Blackmoor.”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily, and her heart fairly sang with a grand orchestra of joy at the sight and sound. “I am delighted that thirty hours of marriage has given you such pleasure,” he said as his laughter subsided, shaking his head as the carriage stopped and a footman stepped forward to open the door.
Gemma glanced out of the now open door to see an army of servants streaming out and forming perfect lines. She looked back at Lucas a little agape. “It comes with people in it, too?”
Lucas snorted and tapped her nose. “Cheeky. You’ll have to get used to excesses, Lady Blackmoor. We may not be elaborate, but there is no scrimping here.”
“I think I can manage that,” she muttered as he disembarked and reached for her.
He helped her down and proudly led her to the staff, introducing her to the butler, a somber but pleasant looking man named Hardy, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Riggle, who had warm eyes and a kind smile. The rest of the servants were resolutely emotionless, but could not contain the curiosity from their gazes as they looked at her.
Lucas said a few brief words, then led Gemma into the house, and she very much feared she would injure her neck as she tried to catch everything.
Even the doors to the house were ancient, yet in perfect order. They could have very well been Queen Anne’s own doors, but far more masculine… King James, perhaps.
Lucas did not give her time to examine the door, however, as he tugged her along, her hand tight in his. Their hats and cloaks were taken and the servants began their duties, unloading carriages or returning to whatever they had been doing before. Gemma tried to take in the vestibule, a grand marble expanse that prompted soft voices and reverent tones, but she was soon tugged along once more.
“I want a tour!” she insisted, resisting the agitated pull of her husband.
He stopped and looked back at her. “A tour?” he asked.
She nodded firmly. “This place is magnificent, Lucas. Beyond imagination. I want to see it. And you promised.”
His brow furrowed and his mouth became a thin line. “Right.” He turned back and continued to pull her through the house. “The tour. Entrance hall.” He waved his hand as they entered a majestic and vast room with unconscionable ceiling height and dark wooden paneling.
“Hallway,” he said with the same faint gesture as they passed one. “Sitting room. Portraits. Stairs. And up the stairs…” He paused before the grand staircase and turned, quirking one brow at her.
She looked at him in disbelief, a wild urge to laugh forming within her. “Are you serious?”
His expression was serious and polite, but the smile that played at his lips was anything but. “The next floor is truly remarkable. You must see it.”
Gemma folded her arms, unable to resist smiling at him. “What are you doing?”
He raised his brows in mock surprise. “Being husbandly. I took vows. Love, honor, cherish, seduce…”
She let out a surprised and breathless laugh. “That is not one of them!”
He shrugged. “I think it’s implied.” He inclined his head towards the stairs, starting towards her. “You’d better start moving.”
Nervous and wild energy flooded her as she started backwards up the stairs, with him slowly pursuing her, a hunter stalking his prey. “I don’t know where I’m going!” she managed, giddy and quite sure she would stumble over her own feet if he kept this up.
He seemed to give that just a moment of thought, his eyes never once leaving hers. “This is true. In that case…”
Without warning, he scooped her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs, without any difficulty at all.
And she was laughing far too much to protest.