Chapter Thirty-Five
A Marriage Takes Place
Lady Amelia’s guest list had grown exponentially and when Richard led his bride from the altar, he was astounded at the sheer number of people in attendance. It seemed that everyone in London was in the church. Any hope of returning to Oxford Street with a modicum of fuss would be impossible.
A shower of rice and scattered flowers landed on Richard’s silver-embroidered waistcoat and black-clad shoulders as they exited the church.
He turned his body to shield his wife. She was radiant.
He paused on the top step of the curving stone stairway—the crowd be damned—and tipped up Fiona’s chin to press a lingering kiss to her lips.
A cheer rose from the people surrounding the venerable church.
“You are the loveliest woman in London, gra mo chroí,” he murmured against her ear. “I’m afraid that we have to face this gauntlet of a reception line before an escape is possible. Are you up to it?”
She nodded, laughing. “Ride to the first fence and I’ll follow, my lord.”
More crowds lined the street outside the church. Richard supposed that the marriage of a peer was an event of note to the general public. Especially a slightly scandalous one involving a common-born Irish émigré, and her father, recently risen from the dead.
Richard removed his top hat and tucked Fiona’s arm into his, looking out over their guests.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present my bride, the Countess of Seldon.”
Congratulatory shouts and applause, more rice and stems of flowers greeted this announcement, and the throng of well-wishers finally parted to allow the couple passage to their conveyance.
Richard noticed Gerald Rafferty at the forefront of the crowd.
His swarthy face shone with pride as he tipped his hat and blew a kiss to his daughter.
She was stunning in Madame Brigitte’s wedding dress, an empire-waisted gown of ivory satin.
He was sure Madame and her staff had worked night and day to finish in time, given the short notice and the spectacular gown.
The overlying bodice, sleeves, and outer skirt were fashioned of delicate Limoges lace stitched with hummingbirds and bell-shaped flowers.
Richard’s ruby necklace sparkled on her neck.
Tiny pearls lavished the five-foot lace train, and also a very fetching silk bonnet whose high brim featured pale-pink peonies and fragrant white roses.
The bouquet was a simple arrangement of the same blooms with fresh lavender.
Next to Gerald Rafferty, Denys Spencer escorted Richard’s family.
Lady Amelia was overcome with tears, as expected, while Valentina and Denys had eyes only for each other.
Also expected. The fox terrier puppy by Octavia’s side gamboled at her feet, chewing on her pink slippers.
She had begged to bring it with her and he hadn’t the heart to refuse.
It had taken him nearly four hours to dress for the ceremony, and he had driven John to distraction with his attention to the smallest detail.
The valet watched helplessly as his lordship threw aside an unprecedented number of ruined cravats, asked to replace a shirt that he deemed wrinkled, and questioned the shine of his patent shoes.
Shaving also proved a laborious enterprise, undertaken while Richard lingered in the bathing tub for an alarming amount of time.
In the end, he gazed critically in the mirror at the exquisitely cut black wool coat, snowy-white cravat complete with a ruby-and-diamond stickpin, intricately embroidered waistcoat, and buff breeches, deeming his appearance satisfactory.
Now the ritual was over, completed in a fraction of the time it took both parties to dress.
Fiona bore the long ceremony and hordes of people with admirable poise.
Afterward, she gracefully accepted the compliments and congratulations of the people lining the flagstone path well past the iron gates and those spilling onto the street, patiently pausing to inquire about someone’s well-being or thank them for an especially extravagant gift.
Richard, on the other hand, was very close to telling everyone to leave and go to the devil.
He chafed to be alone with his new bride and lay claim to the joy that threatened to overflow his heart.
He wavered deliciously at what to suggest first when safely locked in his apartments at Merrick House—more sex or an intimate performance of music. Or perhaps some combination of the two.
Spectators surrounded the waiting Merrick carriage.
It took Richard and Fiona an interminable amount of time to reach the vehicle, which was festooned with wreaths of roses and peonies.
The team of gleaming bay horses bore garlands of the same decorations around their necks, and their black tails and manes were braided gaily with white ribbon.
Tall white ostrich feathers ornamented the tops of the black leather bridles.
Jerome waited by the horses, dressed in formal black, but sporting a shockingly vibrant waistcoat with vermilion stripes. He helped the couple into the vehicle with much ceremony and took his place next to the reinsman in front, requesting that people step aside in stentorian fashion.
“Make way for the Earl and Countess of Seldon, if you please. Make way, gents and ladies so the carriage can move forward.” As the crowd moved aside, he doffed his top hat. “The earl and Her Ladyship thank’ee for your kind attendance, most sincerely.”
Inside, Richard rapped sharply on the ceiling and removed his hat. “The next thing we know, Jerome will be giving a speech to the masses,” he murmured. “Are you utterly exhausted, my love?”
She gazed at him with so much emotion that Richard’s stomach flipped a somersault.
“I can hardly believe I am your wife, mo mhuirnín. If this is all a dream, please don’t wake me.” Fiona threw her arms around his neck, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to Richard’s cheek.
“Take off that very attractive bonnet, so I can kiss you properly and I will prove it is very real.”
“Richard, how long will it take to get home to Park Lane?”
“Not long, my love. Perhaps three-quarters of an hour.”
“Oh, good. That should be enough time. Will you shut the curtains, please?”
He did so, regarding his wife curiously. “What is it, my dear?”
She carefully removed her hat. “A wedding present. God forbid I fall behind your former amours in catering to my husband’s needs.”
Richard’s heart began to thump.
“Fiona—”
“Shh…” Lifting her skirts, she kneeled on the carriage floor between his legs. More than his heart began to pound.
“Really, darling, I don’t require—”
“Then you shouldn’t have kept that very naughty book I found in your library.
I couldn’t understand the language, but the pictures were quite clear.
” His hand went to the buttons on his coat.
But she stopped him, pressing a kiss to each palm, and put them down by his side.
“Richard, a ghrá, stay like this—so elegant and impeccably dressed. I want to see you fall apart.”
The words were enough to bring his cock to stiff attention.
Her hands dropped to the waist of his buff breeches and he stopped breathing altogether.
She slowly unbuttoned the fall. “Mmm…already so hard, mo fhear dathúil.”
“Although I am thrilled at your attention, Acushla, perhaps we should wait…ahhh—”
Her hand closed around him through the thin silk of his small clothes and he jerked convulsively. Not one to question manna from heaven, his head fell back against the cushions.
“Is this right, mo stór?”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely.
She pulled aside his smalls as if unwrapping a delightful package and stared at his engorged shaft as she decided what to do next. Her indecision had him on tenterhooks. She bent and delicately licked the head of his cock twice and he almost came right then.
Panting heavily, he watched her raspberry tongue slide down, then back up, unerringly finding the thick vein along the underside of his erection. He could not say which tore the first groan from his throat—both the vision and the act were equally erotic. But it was the first of many.
“There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me, Acushla,” she coaxed.
“No—Fiona—it’s time to stop.” I will not spill my seed on my wedding clothes and the cushions of this carriage. But his knotted request wasn’t very convincing, even to his ears.
Smiling like she knew he was on the edge of exploding, her fingers encircled him, sliding tightly to the base of his cock. Richard’s hips arched off the carriage seat. He was doomed.
“Take me in your mouth, love.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “Like you did to my breasts.”
And then, even though he braced himself for the sensation of her lips around his rigid flesh, the sensation of her warm, wet mouth nearly undid him.
“Christ—” The matter was settled then and there. First, the bedroom. And then the piano.
*
Much later, Richard sprawled in one of the overstuffed armchairs of his library, looking utterly exhausted and completely content. The candles in the sconces guttered, casting intimate shadows on the walls, and a small fire burned in the grate.
Even as she played the exquisite notes of Bach’s Prelude in C Major on the newest Broadwood, Fiona couldn’t take her eyes off her husband.
He wore a thin cambric shirt, unbuttoned to display his rippling upper body.
The dusting of light brown hair across his sculpted chest narrowed to the waistband of hastily donned breeches, the fall of which was only partially buttoned.
She had slipped on a light chemise, which bared her legs as she sat on the piano bench, fitted with a cushion by her thoughtful husband.
When the prelude ended, she hesitated and started the notes of a dreamy reverie, slipping in and out of E major to a lyrical G major progression.
The emotion within the piece ranged from longing to a passionate climax and ended in a lovely adagio.
As her fingers settled on the last note, it reverberated sweetly in the quiet room.
He sighed in pleasure, his eyes closing as he leaned back against the plush headrest. “I can’t place the composer, but what a stunning piece, my love. I don’t believe you’ve performed it yet.”
“That’s because I wrote it for you, cushla macree,” she murmured shyly. “It is only a nocturne. I would have liked to write you a symphony—”
He came from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Pulling aside her thick hair, Richard kissed the nape of her neck. “It is perfect. You have brought music and love and so much light into my life. Darling, every day we spend together is a symphony.”
She sighed. “I suppose we must emerge from your rooms sooner or later.”
“Must we?” His eyes crinkled. “After all, I am an earl, and you a countess…”
She pinched his arm playfully. “Even nobility can’t ignore their family forever.”
“But I would so like to.” He grinned. “Perhaps we could send them to County Kildare, and you and I—”
She jumped up from the piano seat, nearly toppling over her husband, who dissolved into laughter. “Ireland! I almost forgot our honeymoon in Kilkenny.”
“I am gratified that my lovemaking distracted you long enough to forget such a thing,” he said, still chuckling.
“As spectacular as that is, Acushla, I’m so hoping it will not end if we exit your chambers.”
“Not at all,” he replied promptly. “Shall we make plans to leave as soon as possible? My secretary has arranged everything.”
“Oh, yes. What an adventure our life will be, Richard. Do you mind? I mean, were you counting on peace and quiet?”
“Good God, no.”
“Well, that is fortunate,” she sighed. “After all, my love, I thought perhaps since you are somewhat older than I—”
“Come here, you Irish minx,” he growled, “and I’ll prove to you how old I am.”