Chapter 9 #3
As she watched the clerk stamp the papers with the seal of the new republic, she wondered for the first time what she would want from a marriage.
Her father was dead. Perhaps when she arrived in London her mother would permit her some choice in a husband.
Or perhaps she wouldn’t ask her mother for permission at all, perhaps she would demand it.
She’d find a husband who wouldn’t bully her, who’d listen to opinions and allow her to make up her own mind, a husband who would respect her.
She wanted a man who would see her as more than a body in his bed or a vessel for his children.
And when they married, she told herself, it would be on a fine sunny day with lots of music and flowers.
Rafe led her back outside and they joined the couples standing about the Place de la Grève.
The sky above the H?tel de la Ville’s peaked roofs and ornate dormers looked sullen and gray.
A chill breeze rippled off the dark waters of the Seine, and Alix tugged the folds of her cloak closer.
She stole a glance at her husband-to-be.
The wind fluttered the capes of his greatcoat and teased strands of golden brown hair from his queue.
As if feeling her gaze, he turned to look at her, a questioning look in his hazel eyes.
She flushed and looked away. Beside her a young couple stood holding hands, heads bowed together whispering and giggling.
Training her eyes forward, she noticed the man in front of her running his hand down the waist of his bride-to-be and patting her backside familiarly.
Feeling like an actress who’d walked into the wrong scene of a play, she feigned intense interest in the muddy toes of her shoes.
Rafe studied the downcast figure of his bride.
Her face was pale and grim, a sharp contrast to the heated gazes and warm blushes of the rest of the women in the crowd.
While he hadn’t expected her to be thrilled about the wedding, he hadn’t anticipated she’d look quite so miserable.
Was she disappointed the ceremony wasn’t more festive?
He eyed the colorful bunches of flowers and ribbons held by most of the other women.
He thought Alix looked sleek and elegant in her dark wool traveling dress, but now that he thought on it, perhaps he should have brought her a small gift or token.
He looked at her slender hands folded stiffly in front of her, and it struck him that she ought to have a ring.
He grimaced. He’d make this up to her, his family vaults were full of gemstones.
Would she prefer an heirloom or should he have something designed for her?
He glanced down at his own hands. His signet ring would have to serve until he could give her something more permanent.
Drawing it off his finger, he reached for her hand.
Alix looked up, surprised as he slipped it on.
The enormous gold band dangled loosely. She closed her hand around it and gave him a thoughtful stare.
Rafe tucked a hand under her arm and drew her close as an official in a navy redingote with a great red, white, and blue sash across his chest, mounted the dais in front of the crowd and began to speak.
The wind, growing stronger, whipped the speaker’s long gray hair around his face, and he clutched at his cockaded bicorne with one hand as he shouted the words of the ceremony.
Most of what he said was lost on the wind, but Alix thought she heard something about fidelity and trust, then more about dedication.
After a surprisingly short speech, the man cried out, “Do you all agree to be married?” And the crowd answered back with a vigorous, “Yes.” The air was filled with hats and flowers and spatters of applause as he pronounced them men and wives.
The couples around them began to embrace enthusiastically and Alix felt suddenly awkward.
As if sensing her discomfort, Rafe drew her toward him and with his free hand tilted up her chin.
His kiss was gentle, reassuring, and Alix found herself responding to the warm insistence of his tongue.
She leaned in closer, and the hand under her chin slid into her hair.
“So soft,” he whispered as his tongue plumbed the depths of her mouth.
The sound of a throat being loudly cleared interrupted.
Alix was suddenly aware of a cold rain misting on her cheeks and Jervis at her elbow.
“Begging your pardon, Captain, but the coach is waiting.” He glanced balefully up at the sky. “We best be getting on our way before this rain turns the roads into a muddy mess.”
They hurried back up the street to the corner.
Rafe handed Alix inside the carriage and slipped into the seat next to her.
Alix gave a start, then realized they were man and wife, and that it would look odd if he sat across from her now.
She heard Jervis clamber up alongside the coachman, heard the crack of the whip, and then the coach lurched suddenly forward, throwing them together.
She felt goose bumps play across her skin where it brushed against his.
Damn appearances, she thought and said, “I think it would be better if you sat across from me.”
Rafe tipped his tawny head in acquiescence, “As you wish.”
This, though, was much worse, as she could now take in his wind-loosened hair and the pensive swirl of his hazel eyes.
Dropping her gaze was no better, as she found her eyes then confronted the span of his chest in his finely embroidered waistcoat and the muscular line of his thighs in his form-fitting britches.
Rain began to spatter against the roof.
“Wouldn’t Jervis be more comfortable riding inside with us?” she suggested, annoyed at a betraying quaver in her voice.
Rafe shook his head. “Jones hates riding in coaches more than he hates the rain.”
So, she thought, no rescue there. Well then, she’d just have to face the issue dead on. “Monsieur Harcrest.”
“Rafe,” he corrected, “we are husband and wife.”
“For the purposes of this journey only,” she amended. She cleared her throat and began again, “Rafe, I would appreciate it if you would stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?” he inquired innocently.
“As if you would like to... to...” words failed her.
“Kiss you?” he offered.
She nodded. “You agreed we should have this, this arrangement annulled as soon as we reached England.” She flushed but continued, “So I think it best that we avoid... touching one another.”
What was it about him that she found so unappealing?
he wondered, a surge of anger rising in his chest. He thought of how Alix had kissed him the night before, her hands tangled in his hair, her skin flushed with passion.
He realized there was something he needed to know.
Leaning forward, he slid his hands around her waist.
He heard Alix’s breath catch and felt desire trip up her rib cage; she wasn’t wearing any stays. With an effort he resisted the triumphant urge to pull her into his arms. He brushed a tendril of hair off her forehead and smiled. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart, I promise.”