JOSIE’S WHOLE BODY was trembling, and she couldn’t get it to stop. St. George’s was impressive enough to make her feel overwhelmed, but not since she’d been a captive among the Sioux had she felt so frightened and alone.
In the Sioux village, although she’d fought to live, she’d known her likely fate was death. The brutal whipping had been excruciating, but she’d known there would be an end to it. But once she’d spoken vows with Marcus St. John Wharton, Eighth Duke of Blackthorne, she would be tied for the rest of her life to a man who’d both attracted her with his looks and repelled her by his selfish behavior.
Josie was grateful for the presence of the two girls standing to her left, but it simply wasn’t the same as having her own family there to support her. She’d been separated from her sisters and brothers for two interminable years, and now she was committing to even more time in England—enough to establish her right to take Spencer and Clay with her when she finally returned to America.
Knowing she intended to leave Blackthorne as soon as the opportunity arose to grab his nephews and run, made what she was about to do even more of a travesty. Which might be the source of the terrible tremors making her shake like a leaf in a storm.
Blackthorne hadn’t indicated by so much as a glance in her direction that he’d noticed her difficulty. He’d merely taken a firm grip on her hand early in the ceremony and hadn’t let go. Which could be interpreted as an effort to provide comfort…or a desire to keep the golden goose from taking wild flight.
Blackthorne gently squeezed her hand, and she realized the cleric must have asked her a question requiring a response. Josie fought back panic as she replied in a whispery voice, “I will?”
The bishop shot a look at the duke, then cleared his throat, before frowning down at her.
Josie realized she’d phrased her response as a question and quickly said, in a stronger voice, “I will.”
She heard the bishop’s voice again, and then Blackthorne replying in his rich baritone, “I will.”
She had no ring for her husband, but to her amazement, the duke removed her glove and slid a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Josie’s eyes went wide at the sight of the enormous, square-cut ruby. She was even more amazed that the ring fit so well, and suddenly realized that she now had an explanation for Blackthorne’s strange caress of her hand after the pre-wedding dinner for close friends hosted by his grandmother last night, one of the few times in his company when she’d been without gloves. He’d been estimating her ring size! He must have employed some jeweler to work through the night, because the ring slid onto her finger as though it had been made for her.
Josie gazed in dismay at her hand, where the ruby sat like a horrific weight on her guilty soul. She would have to leave behind this ring, which was obviously some kind of family heirloom, when she left her husband. She couldn’t begin to imagine its value. It must also have a great deal of personal meaning, if he’d hung on to it through all his financial difficulties. Then she looked up and met Blackthorne’s gaze.
She hadn’t expected concern. Or kindness. Which only made the knot in her throat tighten further. She turned her gaze back to the bishop, who was making the sign of the cross, she presumed to signal the end of the formal ceremony.
“Josie.”
The unexpected use of her nickname by the duke, in that soft, coaxing voice she recognized from the ship, startled her into looking at him. That soft voice might as well have been the screech of a mountain lion, freezing her in place for the kill, because she couldn’t move, couldn’t gasp, couldn’t do anything except stare at him, mesmerized.
He bent slowly, giving her time to turn her face away. But Josie was entranced, not quite believing what was about to happen. She was going to be kissed. For the very first time. By the duke. On the mouth.
Her eyes slid closed, and she felt his grip on her hands tighten, as she waited breathlessly—her lips pursed as she’d practiced in the mirror at the orphanage, when none of her sisters were looking and could laugh at her—for their mouths to meet.
She waited, but his lips never reached hers. She opened her eyes to peek at him, to see what was taking so long, and saw a slight furrow between his brows, before his head began moving downward again. She quickly closed her eyes, waiting for something she wanted to be wonderful—and feared would miss the mark.
Josie hadn’t met anyone, other than the duke, whom she’d wanted to have kiss her, although Miss Birch’s fourteen-year-old son had tried often enough. Josie had been quick enough on her feet to escape Freddy’s grasp, and then had cleverly adopted the practice of wearing spectacles—with clear glass—to dissuade him from pursuing her. It had worked. Sadly, all the reading she’d done by candlelight and firelight over the past few years now made spectacles a necessity.
She wondered if her glasses would be in the way when the duke kissed her.
Josie was so busy reminiscing that she was caught off-guard when Blackthorne’s lips brushed softly against hers. She felt a definite tingle all the way to her toes and found herself leaning toward him, not wanting the kiss to end. She heard him take a hitching breath, as his mouth closed over hers once more.
Josie felt his tongue pressing between her lips and jerked backward, staring up at him in shock, as her hand, the one heavy with the weight of his ring, came up to touch her lips. A belated quiver ran through her, as her body reacted to the duke’s sexual provocation.
She saw color rise on Blackthorne’s cheeks and wondered whether he’d felt anything like what had just happened to her, or whether he was embarrassed that she’d turned away, when he’d tried that thing he’d done with his tongue. She decided it must be something married people did and wished now that she’d let him finish what he’d started.
Josie opened her mouth to apologize and closed it again. Saying anything at this point would only make the situation worse. They had a whole day to get through before the wedding night, including a wedding breakfast—which was really lunch—hosted by the dowager at the duke’s residence, where Josie would be introduced to a wider group of Blackthorne’s friends.
Josie wanted a wedding night, but that had meant finding a way to successfully conceal her scarred back from her husband. She was glad for the one week delay of the wedding, because it had taken all that time to come up with something she thought might work. She didn’t want Blackthorne to feel her scars, because she didn’t want to give the duke any warning that she had a grudge against him, before she’d punished him for everything he’d done to both her and his brother’s sons. He would have the rest of his life to consider his selfish actions once they were gone.
A moment later she was whirled around by the shoulders and hugged by Lark.
“Welcome to the family,” Lark said, smiling broadly.
Lark let go so Lindsey could hug Josie, and they both said, almost in unison, “It’s going to be wonderful having another sister!”
“Thank you,” Josie replied, grateful for the reprieve from Blackthorne’s attentions and tittering like an idiot with nervous laughter at their enthusiasm. “I’m looking forward to having two more sisters.”
Blackthorne, meanwhile, was being congratulated by his best friend. Josie liked the Earl of Seaton, who’d told her to call him Seaton, since all his friends did. “Blackthorne and I were brothers-in-law for a short while, but we’ve been best friends forever. I’m hoping you and I can be friends, too.”
Seaton was a few inches shorter than the duke, slender, with chocolate-brown hair and grass-green eyes. No wonder one of the twins is attracted to him, Josie thought. Which led her to wonder if Seaton’s sister, Blackthorne’s first wife, had possessed equally good looks. She felt a sudden spurt of jealousy and realized she was being ridiculous, since Fanny had been dead and buried for a year.
When she shot a surreptitious glance at the duke, his eyes looked bleak, making her wonder if the fact that he was still mourning his first wife’s loss might have added to his willingness to enter a loveless marriage of convenience.
“Josie, you’re not listening!”
Josie felt her cheeks being framed by one of the twin’s hands and reached up to gently remove them. “I guess I was woolgathering.”
“About what, I wonder?” Lark said with a cheeky grin.
Josie wasn’t about to answer that question. She smiled and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
Both twins laughed, and Josie lowered her gaze demurely, as though they were right in their gleeful assumption that she was already anticipating her wedding night.
She’d learned a great deal about the Wharton girls during the past week. They were as playful and innocent as kittens, closely watched and protected from the darker side of life. Neither twin seemed to have any inkling that their brother had once rescued a girl who’d nearly been whipped to death. And both seemed completely unaware of the dire financial straits into which their family had been sunk. Perhaps the dowager had funds that had kept the girls from realizing the desperate financial problems their brother had solved by marrying her.
Several times, one or the other had seemed intent on speaking to her alone, but the twins seemed inevitably to arrive in a room and leave together, as though some invisible string tied them together.
It had been necessary for Josie to pretend that her trunks were on their way back to America, so she could have an entire wardrobe appropriate to her new station made during the week prior to her wedding. The twins had been on hand, eager to help, when the dowager’s seamstress measured her for both her new wardrobe, which Blackthorne had insisted upon purchasing, and her wedding gown, which was a gift from the dowager.
“Oh, Josie, I’m so envious,” Lark said when Josie had her final fitting for her wedding gown. “I can’t wait till I walk down the aisle.”
Lindsey had arched a dark brow and said, “Do you have someone in mind with whom to make this walk?”
Lark had flushed and answered, “No. I was merely dreaming of the future.”
Josie thought she had her answer for which twin might have an eye for Seaton. She might have inquired further of Lark, but she was never able to speak with the girl when Lindsey wasn’t around.
The elegantly simple gown Josie had worn for her wedding was made of white satin in honor of Queen Victoria, who’d made the trend popular when she’d chosen to wear white at her wedding to Prince Albert. Josie’s gown had lace insets at the throat and sleeves with satin-covered buttons at the wrists. The waist was fitted, with luscious folds of satin falling to the floor in back in a short train.
An infinite number of satin-covered buttons down the back might have created a challenge for the groom on his wedding night, except Josie had no intention of offering Blackthorne the chance to undress her. She planned to be wearing something far less enticing when he arrived in her bedroom to consummate the marriage.
Josie had piled her golden blond hair onto her head to diminish the number of curls she had to contend with if it rained. She’d rarely pulled her hair up to expose her nape over the past two years, because a thin scar showed above even a high collar. She hadn’t realized how naked and exposed she would feel simply leaving her neck bare. By the time she’d conceded her discomfort, it was too late to go back and start over again.
“We need to sign the register,” the duke reminded her, putting a hand to her elbow and urging her toward the bishop’s office at the back of the church.
“We’ll meet you at the house,” Lark said to her brother.
“Don’t be too long,” Lindsey said with a wink.
Josie wasn’t sure what the wink was for. She looked up at Blackthorne and saw he was chuckling and shaking his head at his sister.
Then it dawned on her that Lindsey believed her brother was hoping to have a little time alone with his bride. Perhaps to kiss her again?
Josie kept her head lowered to hide the hot blush that rose on her cheeks as they entered the bishop’s chambers. The churchman must have been delayed, and she could feel the tension growing between herself and the duke, as they stood silently in the austere room. She was painfully aware that they were alone. And that she was Blackthorne’s wife.
Josie wondered if the duke would actually take advantage of this moment of privacy to kiss her again and realized that that was a foolish thought. It was surprising that he’d kissed her at the altar. Now that he had, why would he want to kiss her again, especially after she’d pushed him away?
“You look quite fetching today.”
The words were spoken so softly that Josie almost thought she’d imagined them. She felt the duke’s forefinger tip her chin up until she was looking into his striking blue eyes.
“The gown your grandmother’s seamstress made for me is certainly fetching,” she agreed.
“I wasn’t admiring the gown. I was admiring you.”
Josie self-consciously reached around his hand and poked her spectacles up her nose. “You were?”
His lips curved in the beginning of a smile. Then he looked deep into her eyes and said, “I was.”
Josie felt her insides squeeze into a tight ball. All the oxygen she’d breathed in was suddenly caught in her chest, so it felt like she might explode. A frisson of feeling scurried down her spine, and her toes curled inside her shoes.
Blackthorne’s gaze was suddenly focused on her lips, as he lowered his head. Josie felt almost dizzy with the knowledge that he was going to kiss her again. She wondered if he would do that thing he’d done before, and put his tongue in her mouth. She’d liked the little bit of it she’d experienced before she’d panicked. She’d only drawn away because she hadn’t expected what he’d done. She was willing to try it again and see if it proved to be as pleasant as it had seemed like it might become.
The duke’s lips had nearly reached hers when someone behind her loudly cleared his throat. Flustered, she was startled into stepping backward, while the duke slowly raised his head, not acknowledging in any way that he’d been about to kiss his bride.
The bishop was standing in the doorway. “Are you ready to sign the register now, Your Grace?”
“We are,” he replied. “You first,” he said to Josie.
Her hand trembled as she signed her name. She quickly stepped back and handed the feathered quill to the duke, who dipped it once more into the inkwell and signed his name with a flourish.
“Are we done here?” the duke inquired.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the bishop said. “May I add my congratulations on your wedding?”
The duke was already ushering Josie from the room as he replied, “Yes. Thank you.”
Josie was surprised to find Blackthorne’s grandmother and sisters waiting for them at the front of the church, since the girls had suggested they would meet us later at Blackthorne’s mansion.
“Is there some problem?” the duke asked, his voice filled with concern. “I thought you would be on your way by now.”
“It’s pouring rain,” the dowager replied.
“You won’t melt if you get a little wet,” the duke said with an indulgent smile.
“You go ahead,” the dowager said. “We’ll wait until the deluge slows down.”
“Suit yourselves.”
Josie should have known from the way the twins were huddled together laughing, that they weren’t going to encounter a typical English rain.
And they didn’t.