Blood Marriage (13 page)

A murmur of surprise passed through the crowd as Nicholas left the priest and Leo at the altar to stride down the aisle. He met her at the center of the church and offered his arm.

Her eyes downcast, the dark lashes fanning across her soft white skin, she left him standing there too long with his arm out. The crowd began to fidget and whisper. Nicholas continued to wait. 

Finally, the lashes lifted. He looked down into violet eyes burning with anger. He met that look with a steady gaze and she placed her hand on his arm, leaning hard against his strength.

Using the trick he'd seen her use to give herself a chance to recover, he paused and flashed a smile, arching a teasing brow at the people sitting in the pews. The whispering died away. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. Nicholas waited for it to die down and then led Elizabeth the remaining few yards to the waiting vicar.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman...."

Elizabeth stood straight and stiff while the vicar recited the marriage litany. Nicholas endured the man's droning with equanimity, studying his bride. Her sudden flinch made him take a deeper interest in the vicar's words.

"...as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment..."

Nicholas held his breath. Elizabeth frowned and shuffled her feet. But to his relief she said nothing and the vicar proceeded undisturbed. When the clergyman indicated they should join hands, Elizabeth did not resist. She allowed Nicholas to strip away her glove and trap her smaller hand in his. 

"I will." His voice was firm when the vicar asked if he would love, honor and keep Elizabeth in sickness and in health.

"Elizabeth Smith." The vicar smiled over his book at the bride. She did not return his smile. "Wilt thou take this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Elizabeth jerked her hand from Nicholas's grasp. A startled buzz rose from the congregation. From beneath the bouquet of plump pink roses she carried, Elizabeth pulled something white. Her violet eyes held his. She thrust out her closed fist. When he extended his hand, she opened hers, dropping its contents onto his outstretched palm. He looked down at the crumpled white papers he'd tossed on his bed earlier, the notes she'd sent him. His heart clenched. Would she refuse him now, at this final moment? 

The flustered vicar had to raise his voice to be heard over the increasing whispers of the crowd. "Elizabeth Smith, do you take this man to be your husband?" 

The crowd hushed, leaning forward as one.

Her eyes held Nicholas's eyes. "Till
death
we do part?" she asked. 

"Uh, well yes, of course," the vicar said.

"I will."

A sigh of relief rippled through the congregation. Nicholas shoved the crumpled notes into his pocket. Finally, she was his.

Chapter Nineteen

A shower of white rose petals, flung by liveried footmen, rained down on them as Nicholas and Elizabeth left the church. Nicholas handed Elizabeth into the waiting carriage and they both smiled and waved farewell. The horses sprang forward cheered on by a chorus of well-wishers.

Inside the carriage, rose petals littered the floor, hopping and dancing as the vehicle jostled toward Heaven's Edge. More velvety blossoms were scattered on the seats, sliding and skittering across the black leather at each twist in the road. A few petals nestled, bridal white, among Elizabeth's dark curls. It was like a scene from a snowy fairy tale. But considering the beautiful princess sitting across from him appeared to be seething with anger, it seemed a rather dark tale at the moment.

"You're a beautiful woman, Elizabeth. A perfect bride," Nicholas said, hoping to make peace. She turned a silent shoulder to him. 

Fifteen minutes later she still hadn't spoken a word. And though his patience was wearing thin, he couldn't blame her. Hadn't he done the same to her earlier that morning, leaving her beating on his door, begging him to speak to her?

"Elizabeth?" He made her name an apology.

Her head remained turned toward the window as if she couldn't bear to look at him. So he looked at her instead: at the soft curve of her arms as they crossed at her chest, at the swell of her breasts above the pink roses that lined the bodice of her wedding gown; at the delicate profile framed by her dark hair. She was his wife. The temptation to reach across the seat and pull her to him was strong. He imagined touching her, tasting her. Would she remain cold once their lips met? Or would she warm with pleasure beneath his stroking as she had last night? He took a breath, drawing in the heady scent even a thousand rose petals couldn't eclipse. A craving fiercer, more elemental than mere sexual desire ignited. No, he didn't dare touch her now. Because once he started, he wouldn't stop. And behind their carriage a long line of vehicles followed. 

Cook and the entire household had been working for days preparing for this evening. The Duke of Marlbourne had insisted on inviting every family of note in the county to the wedding dinner, just as he had to the wedding. He'd been stubborn on that point, saying he only had one heir and he intended to do things right. Nicholas suspected his father still felt stung by the way his sister Lillian had married: eloping with an elderly professor of antiquities and disappearing into the deserts of Egypt.

For an instant Nicholas envied his sister. He too would have preferred to forgo the usual wedding celebrations. He needed no guests to celebrate this night, no one other than Elizabeth. 

The carriage made a wide turn. The crunch of gravel under the wheels announced they'd nearly reached the house. Would she play the perfect bride for him at the reception as she had in the church? Not that he would care if she decided to misbehave before their guests. He might prefer it, in fact. It would give him an excuse to remove her early from the party and -- he let his eyes run over her once more -- that would be fine with him. Still, it would be an embarrassment to his father and later, when she'd had time to calm down, to Elizabeth as well. He needed to speak with her, get her assurance she wouldn't continue this attitude in front of their guests.

The carriage hit a bump and one white rose petal slipped from Elizabeth's hair, floating down to land on the smooth white skin above one breast. Without thinking, Nicholas reached out to retrieve it. Elizabeth slapped his hand away without ever turning her head from the window. 

So, she was as aware of him as he was of her. Nicholas grinned and tucked the velvety petal into his pocket next to the crumpled notes. The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house. Elizabeth didn't wait for the footman to open the door. She shoved it open herself with such force it banged against the side of the carriage. 

"You'll be sleeping alone tonight, Lord Devlin," she said and started to exit the vehicle. Nicholas's hand shot out and wrapped her wrist, preventing her from leaving. He leaned in close. His lips brushed her ear.

"No, I won't," he whispered.

She made a soft gasping sound and he allowed her to shake her wrist free. The footman arrived to assist her from the carriage. Nicholas followed her into the entry hall. To both his relief and his disappointment, her serene smile was back in place as she began greeting the guests that emerged from the long line of carriages.

The duke ignored tradition, taking a place at the end of the receiving line beside his son, shaking hands, patting backs and, in the case of the prettier ladies, kissing palms and wrists and even the inside of one willing woman's elbow. When an elderly gentleman stayed overlong talking to Elizabeth, holding up the line and giving the men a break, Nicholas's father leaned in close to his son.

"She handles herself well. She'll make a fine duchess." He chuckled. "Not that I'm planning on making you a duke any time soon. I intend to hold several little grandsons in my arms first." Marlbourne wiggled his fingers at a shapely middle-aged woman in a snug blue dress. "Maybe even some great-grandsons." He winked at Nicholas and deserted the receiving line to follow the woman into the main salon, snatching a glass of wine from a passing footman's tray as he went.

The elderly man talking to Elizabeth finally moved on and with the duke gone the line progressed at a better pace. A quarter of an hour later, Nicholas was relieved to see the footman take one last look down the drive and close the entry door. Nicholas offered Elizabeth his arm. She ignored it and turned for the stairs instead.

"I need to check on my mother. And Margaret," she said.

"I sent Dr. Bergen to check on them when we arrived. Both are well and sleeping soundly. You will see your mother soon. I promise." He offered her his arm again. 

Elizabeth considered the stairs for a moment longer, then sighed and put her hand on his sleeve, allowing him to lead her into the main salon. Though it was unusual for a bride not to walk among her guests, he took her to a soft chair near the center of the room. She sank into it without protest.

Nicholas spent the next half hour moving around the room as he'd seen his father do at countless gatherings through the years. Sometimes he stood beside his bride drawing guests to her with a subtle look or a pointed smile. Sometimes he passed through the crowd, pausing just long enough to tell an old friend a polite lie about how Elizabeth was eager to get to know them better or to suggest to an acquaintance that the bride would enjoy the story they'd just told as much as he had. The new Lady Devlin was never alone. Nor did she need to move once from her chair. Throngs of eager wedding guests surrounded her with welcoming smiles and friendly words. Slowly the tiny signs of pain and fatigue, evident only to him, began to ease. By the time a footman announced dinner, Elizabeth's forced smile had been replaced with a genuine one.

When the crowd waited politely for the bride and groom to precede them into dinner, Nicholas waved them on, signaling that his father would do the honor. Harriet quickly found a place on the duke's arm, scowling when the woman in the snug blue dress teetered over to take his other. The duke left the parlor with both women to lead the guests to the ballroom where dinner would be served. There would be no dancing tonight, at Nicholas's insistence.

Nicholas waited with Elizabeth until even the oldest and most feeble of the guests had gone ahead. Then matching his pace to Elizabeth's slow glide, he took her into dinner. Her breath caught as she entered the room.

The ballroom was a sea of elegantly draped tables. Candlelight reflected off a dazzling mix of goblets, dishes and cutlery: silver, china, gold, and crystal. Most of the pieces appeared unique, without twin, every one an exquisite treasure in its own right. It was as if Aladdin's cave had been raided and its bounty laid before them. Fine tableware from the dukedom's past to its present, even those ancient pieces displayed in the entry hall cupboard, had been called to duty for the occasion. And all around this glittering display gaily dressed jugglers, cloaked magicians, and even a gypsy fortuneteller entertained the crowd.

From one corner a small orchestra began to play, but the soft strains of the violins died away again almost immediately, overwhelmed by the pounding of a chair upon the floor. The guests hushed. The duke used that same chair, with the steadying help of Harriet and the giggling lady in the blue dress, to climb atop a table near the center of the room. Goblets toppled. Silverware skittered across white linen and clattered to the polished wood floor. Nicholas chuckled and shook his head at his father. 

The duke wobbled, trying to get his balance. Liveried footmen rushed to surround the table, shuffling along the floor, paralleling their employer's every move. The crowd too swayed in response to Marlbourne's movements, gasping in unison when he suddenly bent to snatch a spoon from the table and breathing a collective sigh of relief when he righted himself without incident. The duke raised his wineglass high. He tapped it with the spoon to silence the already mute crowd. His voice boomed across the ballroom.

"To my son and his lovely bride. I have never been more proud of you than I am today, my boy. And you, Nicholas," --the duke dipped his wineglass in the direction of Elizabeth, then wiggled his brows dramatically at the crowd-- "have never been a luckier lad."

The crowd, having already consumed half a cellar of wine, roared with laughter. Even the young vicar, who'd turned red to the tips of his ears, laughed along. Nicholas was pleased to see Elizabeth too was smiling at his father's outrageous behavior. Only Father Vlad remained gloomy. A footman appeared and Nicholas handed Elizabeth a wineglass, taking one for himself as well. He lifted his glass high and the crowd quieted again.

"To my father, the Duke of Marlbourne, who has never been an ordinary man, but has always been an extraordinary father." He turned to Elizabeth and found her regarding him with a warmth that surprised him. "And to my bride, Lady Elizabeth Devlin. My father's right. I am a lucky, lucky lad." 

The crowd cheered and drank to the happy couple. The duke fell off the table, creating a grand crescendo of shattering crystal and breaking china. He was back on his feet again immediately, shaking off his footmen and making a courtly bow to the ladies who'd rushed to his aid. Footmen hurried in to clear the damage.

"And that," Nicholas said quietly, "is why we have so many different patterns of china."

Elizabeth eyes turned serious. He met her gaze without apology.

"My father's faults are multitude: drunkenness, womanizing, and worse. Though in truth I think the womanizing is as often playacting as fact. But when I was a child, and while my mother was still alive, he was a very different man. He truly was an extraordinary father." Nicholas stooped to pick up a piece of broken plate. "Unfortunately, these were the dishes my mother selected as a new bride. The remaining pieces will be headed for the display cupboard." He handed the broken china to a footman without taking his eyes from Elizabeth. "Care to select a new set, my dear?"