Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Had they made the wager, the Marquess of Rothley would have won.
Mr Collard, vicar of the parish of Islington—and under the marquess’ patronage—was summoned to Studland Park from his home a mile away.
Within the hour, Mr Collard stood inside the private chapel tucked amid the mansion’s grand halls, dressed in his black cassock and starched collar and gripping his worn bible.
While Mrs Boswell had gone to make a small posy from the vases of flowers distributed around the house, the marquess drew Sofia and Reid aside in the panelled corridor near the chapel.
“You’re free to refuse the offer,” the lord began in a strangely soft tone as he retrieved a small box from his coat pocket, “but I’ve had this for almost a decade. While I have no desire to taint your union, you don’t have a ring.”
Sofia took the proffered box, her breath catching in her throat upon seeing the emerald and chrysolite ring inside. “Good heavens. It’s beautiful.” She wanted to ask who it belonged to and why the marquess had it in his possession but daren’t.
“It might not fit. You can have it resized at Woodcroft’s in Bond Street and send me the bill. Consider it my gift to you both.”
She glanced at Reid and smiled. “There’s no reason to own something sentimental. Ours is not a love match.”
Reid disagreed. “It’s a generous gift, Rothley, but I can’t let my wife wear another man’s ring.”
The marquess looked ready to drop to his knees and beg them to take the dratted thing. “Let it be a temporary solution until you purchase a replacement. After which, Mrs Gentry may wear it to the theatre or a soiree at The Burnished Jade.”
Fearing the marquess wouldn’t rest until they agreed, she said, “I’d be happy to accept the gift in the manner it’s intended.” If only to ease the man’s tense expression.
The lord exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten years. “Love is a fool’s dream. Marriage was meant for practical purposes. I respect the wisdom of your decision to wed.”
Sofia noted the shadows of sadness behind his dark eyes and the palpable sorrow shrouding the house. “There is something you might do for me in return, my lord.”
“Yes?” came his wary reply.
“Would you give me away?”
He gulped. “Give you away?”
“Mr Gentry regards you as family.” And the lord looked lost at present and needed a purpose. “I hope to feel the same in time.”
He bowed. “It would be an honour.”
The countess appeared from the chapel, wondering what was holding up the proceedings. “Are you ready, Sofia? Mr Collard can barely keep his eyes open and is likely to fall asleep where he stands.”
“Yes, I’m just waiting for Mrs Boswell. She’s keen to ensure I have a posy to match my gown.” She had changed into the blue gown, red being a scandalous colour for a bride. “We’ll be along in a moment.”
The countess returned to the chapel seconds before Mrs Boswell came hurrying down the corridor, carrying a posy of white violets and blue forget-me-nots. She had crafted a wreath of myrtle for Sofia’s hair.
“I’m sure you know myrtle is a symbol of love,” the housekeeper said, positioning the wreath on Sofia’s head so it sat low like a crown.
“I’m sorry we weren’t honest earlier,” Sofia whispered.
“You had your reasons, I don’t doubt.” Mrs Boswell noticed the velvet ring box Sofia clutched in her hand, recognising it instantly. With a blink of shock, she met the marquess’ gaze.
“It’s time to close a door to the past, Mrs Boswell,” his lordship said, sounding world-weary. “Even if the opportunity presents itself again, which I doubt it will, I’m an unforgiving devil.”
Mrs Boswell’s rheumy eyes betrayed a deep sadness, too. “There’s a reason we get a crick in our necks when we keep looking back. Focus on the present, or you’ll miss the path ahead.”
“A small step is better than none,” he agreed.
“Happen there’s a lot to celebrate tonight, my lord.”
The marquess grimaced. “That’s enough sentiment for one day, Mrs Boswell. Light the fire in the ballroom and have Jacob grab his fiddle. We’ll take drinks there after the ceremony.”
Despite being in company, Reid took the ring box from her hand and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “I shall see you at the altar, Sofia.”
She watched him enter the chapel, his confident strides chasing the faint flickers of apprehension away. Hopefully their desire for each other would last longer than a season.
The marquess offered his arm. “Ready, Miss Moorland?”
“Yes, my lord.”
She had pictured her wedding day many times during the last month. The nightmare involved being spirited from the house in the dead of night by a depraved monster. Being drugged and tied to the marital bed, hours of slow torture before the salivating Mr Harrop finally had his wicked way.
The reality was a dream in comparison.
Mrs Boswell thrust the posy into Sofia’s hand, snapping her from her reverie. “In the absence of family, I’ll gather the staff so they might give a warm cheer once you’ve exchanged vows.”
“Thank you, Mrs Boswell.”
A hollow emptiness accompanied the sudden sting of loss.
Sofia fought to hold back tears at the sight of the empty pew where her mother would have sat, focusing instead on walking in step with the marquess—not her father, sadly.
“This is no way to start married life,” she whispered, “but I will do everything possible to ensure Mr Gentry doesn’t regret his decision.”
Indeed, I don’t know where I would be without him .
Lord Rothley looked ahead. “Gentry is his own man. He wouldn’t marry you if he didn’t want to. Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Her heart skipped. “How does he look at me?”
“I’m sure you know, Miss Moorland.”
Was it the same way she looked at Reid as she moved slowly towards him and the sleepy-eyed vicar? Like she was counting the seconds until they kissed again? Like the desperate need to feel the heat of his skin had her pulse pounding in her throat and her breath coming too quickly?
The witnesses had gathered near the altar, though Sofia barely acknowledged them until the countess stepped forward to take the posy.
“Have faith,” Joanna whispered, kissing her cheek.
Faith was all she had. And a strange mix of lust and longing for the man soon to be her husband.
Reid took her hand, stroking his thumb softly over her knuckles in the same hypnotic way he’d teased her sex. “Do you need your spectacles? I want you to be sure you’re marrying the right man.”
A calmness settled in her chest. “I am marrying the right man.” She didn’t need her spectacles to know that. She felt the truth of it deep in her bones.
Desperate to begin, the vicar glanced at his open bible, suppressed a yawn and straightened his spine. “Dearly beloved?—”
Judith would have found a clergyman who took bribes to ignore the bride’s wails and the rope binding her feet. Mr Collard spoke like a true servant of God and his lofty tones could be heard in the heavens.
But the ceremony had hardly begun before he glared at them beneath bushy red brows and delivered a stark warning. “Marriage is not to be taken lightly, or wantonly; but reverently…”
She could attest to the latter—there wasn’t a man she respected more than Reid Gentry—but the strong desire to slake a physical need was a compelling factor, too.
Mr Collard continued extolling the importance of love and commitment, a sermon that should have forced her to stall the ceremony and beg for the Lord’s forgiveness.
Yet throughout the devout speech, Reid held her hand in his sturdy grip and did not let go despite the vicar’s frown. Life pulsed between their palms. It chased up her arm, filling her heart with hope.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Rothley stepped forward with tight shoulders and a tense jaw. One might think he had an aversion to pious men. “I do.”
He didn’t have to place her hand gently on Reid’s because her betrothed had already claimed her.
The vicar addressed Reid. “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health?”
“I will,” Reid said without hesitation.
She lied, too, when asked if she would obey her husband. A spirited woman could not temper her passion once she’d found her voice.
And then came their personal vows, promises they must keep for a lifetime, not merely until a killer was caught. They pledged their troth and bowed their heads in prayer. Before she caught her breath, they were pronounced man and wife.
“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
Men would try to tear them apart, starting with Victor Merrick.
But Sofia didn’t tremble in dread.
Her heart swelled with pride upon being declared Mr Gentry’s wife. She admired his work and his courage when facing the enemy. He would always be a strong figure of support, and he valued her opinion. And heat curled low in her belly at the thought of sleeping beside him tonight.
Strangers swamped the candlelit chapel: maids and liveried footmen acting as well-wishers, clapping and cheering and showering them in flower petals.
Someone in the crowd called for Reid to kiss her. A motion endorsed by Mrs Boswell. The Daventrys were quick to join the appeal.
“Every union should be sealed with a kiss,” Mrs Daventry said, locking gazes with her husband to demonstrate the power of love.
“It would be rude not to,” Reid said, his boyish grin turning tender when he swept his arm around her waist and hauled her close. “Perhaps we should kiss like we do in private,” he said for her ears only. “Put Rothley’s mind at ease.”
The warmth of his body seeped through her clothes. She looked at his mouth. “Maybe not exactly like we do in private, but we must appease our well-wishers.”
Whenever Reid Gentry kissed her, the world ceased to exist.
It was no different now. Every nerve in her body sparked to life. She was drunk in seconds, giddiness forcing her to cling to his coat lapels. One slow stroke of his tongue over hers was a promise of the riches awaiting her tonight.
He tore his lips away on a groan. “Forget what I said about locking the adjoining door. If you’re willing, you’ll sleep with me tonight.”
“We’re married,” she uttered, laying her hand over his heart, praying in time it would beat for no one but her. “But when I visit your bed, it won’t be as your wife.” Their union wouldn’t be based on fake promises but on a deep-rooted need that neither could deny. “I’ll come as your lover.”
“Would it be rude to leave now?” he whispered.
Aware twenty people watched them, she patted his chest. “Let’s appease the guests for half an hour. Besides, a little frivolity will settle my nerves.”
Mr Daventry approached, giving Reid a congratulatory slap on the back. “Glad to see my efforts in obtaining a licence weren’t wasted.”
Lord Rothley spoke up, inviting everyone to the ballroom to continue the celebrations. “I’ll need a bottle of brandy to make the next hour bearable. It’s nights like this I wish I had an opium addiction.”
Joanna gripped the lord’s arm. “Come. My husband won’t mind if you claim the first dance. I hear your footman plays an excellent tune on the fiddle.”
“Dance with your husband, Joanna. He’ll do anything to please you. A chorus of angels wouldn’t rouse me to the floor.”
Mr Chance did dance with his wife. A skilled pugilist should be fluid in his movements, yet the couple’s waltz was akin to a tight embrace, his hands dipping lower than they should.
Amid the marble columns and Greek statues watching from the alcoves, the Daventrys danced with finesse. Yet it was a lesson in the power of laughter and how one look could convey a soul-deep bond.
While the marquess lounged in a padded gilt chair, drowning his sorrows and getting drunker by the second, Reid clinked his champagne flute with Sofia’s and made a secret toast.
“To my wife, whose courage matches her grace.” He sipped his champagne. “I look forward to experiencing the joys of married life together.” The glint in his eyes said he was not referring to a cosy night spent reading beneath the candlelight.
“To my husband”—the words brought a lump to her throat. The night would be perfect if they were in love—“whose kindness, compassion and modern thinking sets him apart from other men.”
He watched her down the champagne, then set their glasses on the footman’s tray and captured her hand. “Are you sure you want to leave Studland Park tomorrow? It means sleeping in the room above the practice and not a chamber fit for royalty.”
“I’m sure. You’ve been neglecting your patients. And we should tackle our problems, not run from them.”
He brought her fingers to his lips. “Tackling our enemies will be dangerous. Rothley would urge us to proceed with caution, though I believe a frontal assault is the best strategy. I’m tired of hiding in the shadows, Sofia.”
“Agreed. Tomorrow, we’ll visit the Merricks.” A chill chased down her spine. Thankfully, she would not have to face them alone. Still, the thought would keep her awake tonight. “We have an early start. Perhaps we should retire. Your touch can help me forget my fears.”
She needed a better reason to lie in bed, sweat-soaked and panting.
His lopsided smile had her stomach flipping. “Let’s leave now and take the celebration upstairs.” His thumb skimmed her ring as he held her hand. “I’ll have the vicar bless a new ring once our nightmares are over and we’ve dealt with our foes.”
What lived in their hearts was more important than what she wore on her finger, but she nodded and threaded her arm through his. “Perhaps we should help the marquess to bed before we retire.”
Lord Rothley sat with his arms resting on his knees, his head bent low, a picture of weariness and introspection.
“I’d have better luck wrestling a black bear. I know when to leave Rothley to deal with his demons and when to offer advice. Mrs Boswell will see to him. She always does.”
Mrs Boswell saw to everything. That fact became abundantly clear when Sofia entered her bedchamber. Amber flames danced in the grate, casting the room in a sensual glow. The arousing scent of jasmine oil filled the air. The maid had turned down the bed and placed a white silk nightgown on the pillow.
Reid came to stand behind her, sliding his warm arms around her waist. “I see another bottle of Rothley’s expensive champagne. Would you like me to pour you a glass, Sofia?”
Nerves and the potent thrum of desire had her turning in his arms. They were so close her breasts were pressed against his chest, deepening the ache that started before they’d mounted the stairs.
“I shall abide by my vows and obey your instruction.” She’d do anything he asked when that ravenous gleam transformed his features. “Do I need a glass before making love to my husband?”
With light fingers, he cupped her throat. “Why defer to me? I’ve never made love to my wife. I’ve never made love to any woman. This feels entirely different from anything I’ve experienced before.”
“How so?”
“I could hold you like this all night and still feel sated.”
A light laugh escaped her. “The moment our mouths meet, this will become a lesson in scandal, not one of restraint.” She smoothed her palms over his waistcoat, fisting the material, a primal hunger in her grasp. “And we both know how skilled you are at settling my nerves.”
His gaze dipped to her lips, and her insides clenched. “I don’t want you to feel afraid. I forget who I am when I’m with you and get swept along in the quest for pleasure.”
“What better way to begin married life,” she stated, kicking off her slippers. “I want you to seduce me. I want to be your lover. Yes, it will be wild. We’ve always known that.”
“And perhaps too vigorous,” he said with a sinful smile.
“I’ll tell you if it’s a problem.”
Raw, masculine heat glowed in his eyes. “Good,” came his languid drawl. “Tell me. Is this a problem?” He settled his mouth on her neck, kissing and sucking her sensitive skin, slipping slowly down to nip her shoulder with his teeth while he worked on unhooking the back of her gown.
A hushed whimper escaped her. “No. It’s divine.”
He smelled unbelievably good, dark and mysterious, like exotic musk and forbidden forests. And his hands, so large and powerful, undressed her with masterful skill.
“Is this a problem?” He tugged the short sleeves down her arms, drawing the gown off her shoulders, exposing more of her chest.
Arousal coiled through her body.
Each touch hypnotised her mind.
He was everywhere, pushing the gown over the curve of her hips, unthreading her stays and kissing the swell of her breast, his tongue dipping into the deep valley.
“I could devour every inch of you,” he growled.
She was in danger of losing her mind.
Her petticoat pooled at her feet.
He exposed her breasts.
“Reid.” Sweet Lord. He squeezed her buttocks, sinking his fingers into her flesh as his mouth settled over her tight nipple. Every flick of his tongue on the sensitive peak had her panting. “I need to touch you.”
She didn’t wait for a response and dared to slide her hand between them, shaping it around the solid length in his trousers. His manhood was thick and long and hard against her palm.
His guttural groan rent the air. “God, Sofia. Release me. Undo the buttons. Touch me. Touch me now.”
Logical thought scattered like leaves in the wind when she wrapped her hand around his hot flesh. He rocked his hips, pushing his solid member through her fingers, groaning like it was the most exquisite feeling in the world.
“Glide your thumb gently over the crown,” he commanded.
She obeyed, swirling the bead of moisture over the tip.
“Tighten your grip, love … yes … yes … like that.”
She had read enough books to know how lovemaking worked. None mentioned that his manhood would pulse and swell and slide like silken steel between her fingers. Or that his growled obscenity would make her feel like a goddess. None mentioned the almost savage need to ravish every inch of him. Or that these things combined would cause a sudden bout of mania.
The last of her inhibitions vanished.
Shocking words left her lips without censure.
“I need you inside me, Reid.” She stroked his manhood, the musky scent of him feeding this irresistible attraction. Desire licked her body like flames. She couldn’t guard her heart or hide her feelings. “I need you to undress and do all the wicked things you promised.”
“You’ll get everything,” he panted, sliding his tongue into her mouth, kissing her while shrugging out of his coat. “But we need to slow down.”
“I—I can’t.” Lust burned like liquid fire in her veins. Now she knew why half the ladies in the ton were hysterical. “Hurry.”
She tore at his clothes, tugging like a wildcat.
A button skittered across the floor as he pulled off his waistcoat. She fiddled with his cravat, though even the simple knot was too tricky for her trembling fingers. Gasping, they both fought to strip him naked.
Then he dragged his shirt over his head, and her breath left her lungs.
He was magnificent.
The memory of her climax in the bath came crashing back. She’d wanted to run her hands over his flawless skin, caress his broad shoulders and corded muscles—drag him on top of her in the jasmine-scented water.
Now, she followed the teasing trail of hair from his navel to his trouser waistband. His rigid manhood jerked as her gaze dipped lower, begging to be touched.
He said nothing as he removed his shoes and trousers.
When he rose he regarded her intently, his eyes dark like a midnight ocean, his slow smile making her insides clench. “Remove your chemise while I watch.” He glanced at her breasts, his tongue skimming his bottom lip.
Nerves mingled with excitement as she gathered the hem.
“Do it slowly,” he whispered.
She obeyed, teasing him as she raised the garment inch by inch.
He hissed a breath when she exposed her sex. “If I were a selfish man, I would have you twice tonight.”
She gave a coy smile. “I want you to be selfish.”
“Then prepare yourself. This night will beat our one at the Adelphi.”
She stepped into his embrace when beckoned.
He held her close, the heat of his skin intoxicating. The kiss they shared wasn’t desperate or savage, but a soft, slow melding of mouths that reached inside her, touching her soul.
Reid swept her into his arms and carried her to Aphrodite’s bed, brushing the silk nightgown aside and laying her down. He glanced at the complicated braid secured with pins and tiny roses. “When we make love tomorrow, I want you on top of me, your hair cascading over your shoulders.”
She smiled, hope springing to life in her heart.
We need to marry because I want you more than once.
He’d meant it.
Whatever existed between them would live beyond their wedding night.
Time seemed to falter when he knelt between her thighs, his eyes roaming over her with fervent hunger. “I mean to worship every inch of you. You’ll tell me what you like and dislike. There must be nothing but honesty between us, Sofia.”
She nodded. “I hide nothing from you.”
This blossoming love she felt growing inside her didn’t count.
She doubted he’d want to hear a declaration.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the compliment bolstering her confidence. “But this openness we share, it’s refreshing and arousing in equal measure.” He moistened his lips, his grin turning sinful. “I’m going to pleasure you, love, until I’ve wrung every last whimper from you. Bend your legs. Open them for me, Sofia.”
The urgent fever came over them again.
Reid lowered his head, murmuring how wet she was before he circled her bud with his tongue.
Pleasure shot through her.
Every wicked kiss and suck had her arching her back, begging for more. Tension coiled deep inside her. “ Reid! ”
He must have heard something in her greedy plea. He met her gaze, his eyes a hot smoulder as he pushed two fingers inside her, pumping slowly before easing out and claiming her again.
She cried out as her climax burst through her in wave after rippling wave. Her muscles clamped around his fingers, claiming a small part of him, though she wanted it all.
Reid didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath. He rose above her, positioning himself at her entrance. “Do you still want me, Sofia?”
Want him? She had never wanted anything more.
“I’m yours.” Now and forever, her heart echoed. “Take me.”
He stared into her eyes as he breached her, the slow, inch-by-inch intrusion stretching her wide. He kissed her, a hot assault on her senses before one final thrust saw him buried to the hilt.
They both gasped.
He stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She doubted he ever could.
“It will feel better when I move.”
What could feel better than holding him this close?
Indeed, when he withdrew slowly, she felt bereft. But then he rolled his hips and filled her so full she could not recall feeling anything so divine.
Arousal grew between them, reaching a fever pitch.
He rocked into her, each angled slide drawing her closer to her release.
She came, crying his name and holding him deep.
His thrusts came harder, his need urgent, the tempo desperate.
Unable to stop touching him, she raked her fingers over his back and buttocks.
Reid had never looked more handsome than when he spilled himself over her abdomen. His impressive chest heaved as he chased his breath. His eyes shone the brightest blue, no longer marred by shadows of mistrust. The satisfied smile on his lips held her captivated.
“That was … that was spectacular,” he purred, like his problems were a distant memory.
“Yes, it was,” she said, eager to feel that close to him again.