Hope's Betrayal (34 page)

She passed rows
of pews, and Hope saw Mrs Locke the needlewoman who had measured her for her
first gown, and Doctor Joseph, who had served George so well, and then some of
the Revenue men. Her heart, which was already beating fit to burst, nearly
exploded as she recognised Bennett and fellow officers, smiling warmly and
bowing their heads in respect. For George's sake, it meant so much that they
had accepted her.

In the front pew
she spotted Eulogy, who looked stunning after her recent confinement.
Motherhood suited her as she cradled a sleeping baby swathed in a cashmere
shawl, his face all wrinkled and pink. In an elegant gown of winter green, with
her trademark white rose in her lapel, Eulogy Huntley greeted her soon-to-be
sister-in-law with a broad smile and a wink.

As she
approached the altar, George’s broad shoulder twitched as if sensitive to her
presence. A shiver of pure pleasure shimmied through her. That this man was to
be her husband was beyond her comprehension, and yet it was true.

The vicar
cleared his throat and spoke in a singsong voice. She wasn’t aware of the
individual words, more of the import of what he was saying with the serious
tone and hush at her back. It came time to exchange vows and George turned to
face her, his blue eyes brimming with possessiveness and love. As he shifted
his weight, a brief glimpse of pain flashed across his face and then was gone.
She read his expression, and knowing he'd masked his discomfort to spare her
worry on this their wedding day, never had she loved him more. Softly he took
her hand, staring into her eyes as he repeated his vows. Then it was her turn.
Her voice sounded small and quiet even to her ears. If anything, the church
grew quieter so her words could be heard.

Then George was placing
the gold band on her ring finger, squeezing her hand in reassurance. With
reverence he lifted her veil and stared in wonder. His face crumpled with
emotion as he leaned forward and kissed the bride. At the touch of his warm,
velvet lips all else was forgotten—the church, the congregation, the
occasion—all lost beside the knowledge that George Huntley was now her husband
and Hope's cheeks ached from smiling.

The ceremony
over, she took George’s arm as the organ struck up again. A look of
understanding passed between them as she took his weight, assisting him to walk
the length of the aisle without limping. Outside, the church bells peeled,
taking Hope by surprise. As they exited the porch, they emerged into winter
sunlight, dappled with the first flurry of snowflakes eddying around them like
confetti.

The good people
of Sandeford had braved the chill weather, and stood in their Sunday best to
cheer and clap, as the newlyweds made their way to the bridal carriage. It
brought a lump to her throat as Hope spotted some of the fisher folk from the Island, who had braved the bad weather to wish her well. Her happiness knew no bounds.
Truly, she was the happiest woman alive, even if she was nervous about the
wedding night.

*****

Later, after the
last of the wedding guests had taken their leave from The Grange, merry from
wine and good cheer, and the last of the carriages finally drew away, Hope
stood alone with her husband for the first time. A tremor of anticipation
thrummed through her. Now they were married. She was his, to do with what he
would. Excitement and anxiety trickled through her mind. He was a man of the
world, had traveled widely and was no doubt experienced in bed. What if she was
a disappointment to him?  A door which had been closed on a mysterious part of
married life, now stood ajar.

“Hope.” George
took her hands in his. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” Without moving
his eyes from hers, he kissed her fingertips one by one. "How I've waited
for the moment when we would be alone." Through the lace of her gloves she
felt the warmth of his breath, saw the heat in his gaze—and trembled.

“There is
nothing to fear.” He said as if reading her mind, and smiling softly, tucked
her hand through his. “You must be tired, let us retire for the night.”

Dry mouthed,
Hope nodded. It was as if all the staff had magically disappeared as George led
her up the curved master staircase. At first she was puzzled as he led her, not
to his own room as she had expected, but to anther set of double doors that
she'd never before.

“I thought it
right we start married life in the master bedroom.” With his arm around her
waist, he guided her inside and locked the door.

She gazed around
in wonder. If she had thought the bedchamber allocated her by Lady Ryevale was
luxurious, it was nothing compared to this room. Floor standing candelabra as
tall as a man, stood bright with wax candles, throwing their merry orange light
dancing up the walls and rippling across heavy velvet drapes.

"Of course,
if the decoration is not to your taste, you must change it."

A slow steady
pulse beat at the base of her throat as Hope glimpsed the large four-poster bed
and everything else was forgotten. Bigger, wider and higher than anything she
had ever seen before. Intimidating.

George saw her
hesitate and wrapped his arms around her. “No need to fear, chick. We have a
lifetime ahead of us. If you want, we can just sleep.”

So overawed,
Hope could neither agree nor disagree but stood there speechless. Suddenly it
struck her how she didn’t belong in this world, that she was an imposter, born
on the wrong side of the sheets. At that moment, she felt small and
insignificant and wished, more than anything, that her path had never crossed
with that of Captain Huntley. That he had never set eyes on her and continued
in his own sphere and found a woman of worthy social standing. She looked away,
her eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t deserve
you, George Huntley.”

“Well like it or
not you’re stuck with me. Come.” He said gently, leading her toward the object
of her apprehension. "Tis just wedding night nerves."

She hung back,
questions racing through her mind. If the marriage was not consummated, it
could be annulled and George would still be free. It was not too late. It would
break her heart, but this was wrong. Whatever had she been thinking that she
could have ever imagined joining the Captain's world. With deep sorrow, she
knew what she must do—or rather not do—and hung back.

“Hope, come. Let
us sleep together. I shall make no demands on you tonight.”  He released her
hand and hobbled toward the bed. Suddenly, he didn’t seem the excited groom,
but tired, sore, and in pain. His face took on a new tension as his bit his
lip. The old reflex action of rubbing his bad leg came back, as with a weary
movement, he took the steps up onto the high mattress.

“I’m sorry,
Hope.” His brow furrowed in pain. "This isn’t what I envisioned for our
wedding night.” He collapsed back against the pillows. With a gasp, Hope
realised he was breathing heavily and not from passion.

“Oh, you poor
man. Does it hurt so very much?”

Forgetting her
apprehension, she climbed up beside him. “What can I do to ease the pain?”
Biting his lips, he shook his head. “Nothing. This will pass. It's standing so
long that's done it.”

"Oh, how
selfish of me. I should have realised."

"On your
wedding day?"

Helpless, Hope
sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he wriggled, trying to get comfortable.
Hesitant, she reached out and stroked his forehead. With a soft, gentle caress,
she stroked the dark hair back from his forehead. With a groan, he shifted onto
his back.

“That’s nice.”
His eyelids fluttered and closed, his breathing grew easier, taking on the
rhythm of her hand. "Very soothing." Without thinking, she leaned
forward and pressed a kiss against his lips. He lay still, his chest rising and
falling steadily. Hope grew bolder, climbing onto her knees, fluttering kisses
against his cheek. He smiled softly.

“That helps as
well.”

Hope grinned.
Perhaps there wasn’t so much to be frightened of after all. With George lying
passive on the bed and her above him, he didn’t seem so very intimidating—quite
the opposite in fact. Stretched out and at her mercy, her curiosity peeked. It
occurred to her she could make her new husband more comfortable by loosening
his jacket. With nimble fingers, she undid the buttons. He didn’t resist.

“There.” She
said with satisfaction. His eyes had closed and tension eased from his
features.

“I believe
you’re onto something there.” He sighed. “That feels better already.”

Wishing to
please, with tentative fingers she loosened the stock from around his neck. She
watched his expression closely, but he didn’t react, just lie back looking like
the cat who had got the cream.

“Would you be
more comfortable without it?” She asked.

“Much.”

With a sigh,
Huntley arched his back and let her ease away the neckcloth, and with a wriggle
of his shoulders, shrugged off the jacket. A new dilemma presented itself. It
seemed wrong for him to be lying there on the bed, still in his boots, but he
seemed so peaceful, Hope didn’t want to disturb him with questions. Biting her
top lip, after a moment’s indecision, she wriggled across the mattress to his
feet.

First his good
leg. She pulled the boot off and seeing no way around it, let it tumble to the
floor. His injured leg gave her more trouble. She had no wish to hurt him and
so cautiously, as gently as she could, supported his calf while tugging off the
boot.

“Ouch!”

“I’m so sorry.”
Mortified, Hope’s hands flew to her mouth.

“No, it’s me who
should be sorry. You are kindness itself and I bark at you. Here…” he patted
the quilt beside him, “Come. I like it when you look after me.” Something in
the devilment of his expression caused Hope to smile as she crawled across the
bed. Her silk gown rustled as she moved, and what with the warmth of the fire
and George's encouragement, she felt a little bolder. Eager to make amends, and
fascinated by the manly Adam's apple of his now exposed throat, Hope grew
curious.

“Perhaps your
waistcoat?” Her fingers played over the buttons.

“Indeed. Most
kind.”

The waistcoat
loosened, Hope found herself itching to explore the flat plains of his chest.
He seemed so intriguing, the hint of hard muscle beneath the linen, and dry
mouthed, she wanted to know more. Without thinking, her hand slid beneath the
waistcoat. Shocked at her own boldness she glanced at his face—but he appeared
perfectly serene, his eyes closed, breathing gently as if drifting off to
sleep.

Hope had never
been this close to a man before, especially not one who was her husband, and
found herself unexpectedly transfixed. As he lie there, the strong line of his
jaw diving into the column of his neck with the alien bump of an Adam’s apple,
she swallowed again. For all the world, she desired to lean forward and place
her lips against the warm skin, but she forestalled herself.

With a frown,
she reminded herself George was in pain and not to be trifled with at such a
time. A very small part of her, deep inside, felt disappointed. She rallied.
There could be no harm done by looking while he slept. Her eyes dipped lower,
loving the strong angle of his collarbones and the dip of darkness between. And
then, beneath the placket of his shirt, was the flat, firm plain of his chest.

A deep primeval
throb started low and deep within. She wondered at the change, as the
beginnings of desire flickered and licked in her belly, but seeing Huntley
intent on sleep, she shrugged aside her inclination as selfish, and decided to
snuggle down beside him. Unsure what to do about her silk dress, her frugal
side won as she decided it a crime to crease the beautiful garment, the likes
of which she could only have dreamed of but a year ago, and decided it best to
remove it.

Then a new
dilemma presented itself, for she had no maid, and the tiny seed pearl buttons
were out of reach down her back. She hesitated, it seemed a shame to disturb
George, and yet he was not yet fully asleep.

“George,
darling.” She nudged him gently. “My buttons…could you oblige?”

He shifted and
looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Of course, turn around.”

She did as was
bid and felt the weight of his hand on her back. His touch was delicious as she
luxuriated in his ministrations, as one by one the seed pearl buttons were
undone. Even through her chemise she could feel the heat of his hand, and it
made her weak, as with slow, lingering movements, he undid one after the other
in sweet torture. She threw her head back, suddenly craving the feel of one of
those large hands about her waist. The want of his touch was excruciating and
yet once the buttons were released, he seemed lethargic once more.

“My stays? If
you wouldn’t mind?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand brushed
the bare skin of her neck, as he pushed aside a stray curl of hair. Her body
ignited, she flushed deep down her neck and silently gave thanks the
candlelight hid her unmaidenly lust, for she would not want Huntley thinking he
had married a wanton. With imperceptible movements, so slow as to be torture,
George undid her laces, loosening the stays until, with a wriggle of relief,
she tossed them aside. Only now she sat there exposed in only her chemise. With
a sudden movement she shook out her hair, letting it tumble down her back,
forming a dark curtain over her thin chemise.