Chapter 32
32
T he dowager duchess did her part to ensure the wedding was well-attended. Not only was Sophie there with her Marquess, the ancient medieval nave of the church was so full, Julia imagined that a quarter of the ton was in attendance.
For the first time, she was introduced to Lords Andrew and Philip who had just graduated from St. Andrews University, as well as Lord Frederick who was about to start his first year. Martin’s only immediate family member not in attendance was Lord Gibb, who was duly excused since he had embarked on his first voyage with a hull full of MacGalloway whisky bound for America and would be returning with cotton ready for the mill for which Andrew and Philip had already purchased looms and equipment.
Stack Castle, an absolutely enormous fortress, its five hundred and twenty-one rooms surrounded by medieval curtain walls and acres upon acres of land sporting, vast stables, a fishing loch, and hunting grounds. On one side were sheer cliffs to the sea with the Stacks of Duncansby standing like proud monoliths just beyond the shore.
The reception held in the enormous great hall was an extravagant affair with thousands of candles above and innumerable glasses of champagne served by footmen dressed in scarlet livery complete with powdered wigs. As was customary, the bride danced with every man in attendance, until her feet could take no more. At last, when the final waltz was played, Julia was reunited with her husband and the crowd seemed to fade into oblivion as they stared into each other’s eyes. Their dance was even more intimate, more ethereal, and more transportive than their first waltz at the masquerade had been. And after, Martin swept her into his arms and headed for the stairs. Julia hardly noticed as the crowd followed them into the entrance hall, bidding the bride and groom a good eve. She curled into her husband, savoring his warmth and the strength of the powerful arms cradling her.
“Are you happy, wife?” he asked, stepping into the corridor while the muffled voices of the guests grew fainter.
Julia placed her palm over his heart. “I do not recall ever being this happy in all my days.”
He grinned with the same alluring smile that had attracted her months ago—one incisor slightly crossed over the other reminding her he wasn’t perfect—at least not quite. “Then we are of like minds.”
“One spirit with two bodies?”
“Two bodies soon to be joined.” Tapping open the door with his toe, Martin carried her across the threshold and into the ducal bedchamber. “Ye ken, I intend to make love to you in every room, beginning with this one.”
She fingered the clan tartan he wore pinned at his shoulder. “All five hundred and twenty-one?”
“Aye,” he said placing her on her feet and sliding his hands to her waist and kissing her.
“Even the servants’ quarters?” She asked breathlessly while his lips plied the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “What about the kitchens and the laundry?”
“The servants’ quarters might pose a wee conundrum, we’ll have to enlist Giles’ services to conduct a series of inspections outdoors, but I reckon I’ll have ample opportunities to raise your skirts in the laundry and especially the kitchens in the wee hours.”
Julia arched her back as his lips caressed the tops of her breasts. “So, the famous rakish behavior continues?”
“Aye, lass.” Martin straightened and met her gaze. “But only with you.”
“I’m glad.” Julia held out her hand and admired her wedding ring with an enormous sapphire. “Hmm, five hundred twenty-one rooms with, say, three rendezvous a day…we ought to have the task accomplished in a half year.”
“Who said only three per day?”
“I love you.”
“I love you more, Smallwood.”