Magical Weddings (88 page)

He sat down in his usual seat, and leant forward onto the edge of the box, as the music of Mendelssohn's
Wedding March
began and the lights were lit at the far end of the theatre. There she was.

“Lillian.” He breathed her name aloud as if she might hear.

“She has seen you.” Drew sat next to him.

“How can you know? She is wearing that thick veil.”

“I spent a year watching Mary without speaking to her. I became an expert in spotting subtle looks, there was a movement in her shoulders, and the posy she is holding trembled for an instant afterwards. She knows you are here.”

Peter smiled for her, as if she was watching him.

Excitement, need, desire, hope and fear tied knots inside him. He was not certain she would have him.

He watched her avidly as she progressed with The Magic Monsieur Milligan. The men in the pit parted, and then she climbed the steps. Peter breathed in deeply.

When they reached the point in the show that she turned and held out her hand for Milligan to slide on the ring, then Peter knew she had seen him. He was in her eye line, if she had not known before she knew now, and she was probably wishing him in hell.

The ring slid on, then off, and on, then off, then on again and off one last time. Milligan shrugged. Peter straightened as she turned and knelt. He smiled at Drew. “You will see her in a moment.”

Drew’s hand touched Peter’s back and slid away again as he gave Peter an odd twisted smile. Peter looked back at the stage as Milligan took the sword from the statue on the fake tomb. The red handkerchief was cut in half as Peter had cut Lillian’s heart in half, and then Milligan swung it with a dramatic flourish. The heavy wax head fell with a thud. Peter stood as Lillian’s head lifted her hair a bare, black, glossy mass of curls.

“You have forgotten something in this service!” Peter shouted.

The room became quiet, and then broke into a round of whispers.

“What if there is an objection to the marriage?”

“Peter,” Lillian said in a note that said please be quiet.

“I object!” With a smile, he gripped the edge of his box and then leapt over it. He was left dangling from its edge. The men beneath him moved and then he dropped down, to angry shouts.

“Get on with show.”

“Get away.”

He did not care what her audience thought. He ran up the steps onto the stage. Curses were thrown at him from the pit.

“I object,” he said again, speaking only to Lillian, looking into the teal eyes that he had missed so much. “This man cannot have you as a wife…”

“Get off, Lord Brooke,” Milligan whispered.

“…Because I want you for mine.”

“You have another woman who will be your wife. Leave me alone, Peter. I am working.”

“No. I am being serious.”

“Lord Brooke,” Milligan complained, and on the far side of the stage Peter saw Victor coming as Peter took the ring from his inside pocket.

He dropped to one knee.

“Get up, Peter,” Lillian urged.

The audience broke into laughter. Perhaps those who did not know the act were beginning to believe this was a part of it. “Will you marry me, Lillian? Truly. I have ended my engagement. I wish for you.”

She squatted down, both her hands embracing his, her silly paper posy pointing outwards. “I cannot. You know I cannot.”

“If you say yes you can, we will work all else out with time. I know it will not be easy for you, and yet… Lillian, I love you. That is all that matters.”

Tears traced down her cheeks as she stood up. The room sighed. “Please, stop,” she said quietly. “Speak to me after the show.”

“Just take my ring. It will not come loose. I swear it.”

She smiled with a nervous expression and shook her head, but then held out her hand. He slid the single sapphire set in gold onto her finger, and knew for certain it was right, it had been like putting the key into a door lock. It fitted. This was right. Warmth and joy gripped hard in his stomach and rose to his chest.

“Now leave, Lord Brooke,” Milligan whispered.

Peter turned and walked out through the wings, then hurried down the steps as he heard Lillian climb up onto her fake marriage bed. The casters spun on the wooden floor as Peter took the entrance which led beneath the stage. He reached the underside of the trap door just as she fell through, and caught her, gripping her waist.

“Peter, I am still performing.”

“I know.”

He gripped her hand and ran with her along the halls underneath the auditorium and then he opened and held the door leading upstairs. She passed through. He followed. Then she opened the door at the back of the auditorium quietly, and he followed her in.

“This is your last performance, Lillian,” he said over her lips as he gripped her head. He pressed his lips against hers as the lights came up around them. Her arms wrapped about his neck while his tongue slipped into her mouth. Their audience cheered as Lillian’s silly paper posy fell to the floor.

He broke the kiss, lifted her off her feet, and carried her out of the theatre to a chorus of whoops. “Will you marry me, Lillian Hart?”

“I cannot be a lady.”

“It seems you must be one.”

“Peter, you are being silly.”

“No, I am being good, and now I am taking you to meet my closest friend, and his wife is the sister of a duke, so you will have to become accustomed to high society.”

“Peter.” She smacked his chest as he began climbing the steps leading up to his box.

Drew was in the hall. “Hello, Lillian, I presume.”

“Lillian, this is Lord Framlington, Drew, my fellow rogue, and the man who I hope will bear witness to our wedding tomorrow.”

Drew smiled. “Of course.”

Peter turned away. “Lillian, you are coming home with me.”

“My things.”

“I shall send someone to have them packed and brought over tomorrow.”

He walked back down the hall, still carrying Lillian, whose arms remained a steady reassurance about his neck. Drew followed, and Peter felt the proudest bloody man alive.

Lillian rose up and Peter’s grip on her thighs firmed, then she sank down, impaling herself on him once more, her hands pressed onto his broad shoulders and her legs straddled his slender hips. She rose again and looked down to watch when she sank, looking at him sliding into her as the sensation filled her. Then she looked up at his face. His dark brown eyes, wide in the candlelight, stared at her with admiration.

“You are beautiful, Peter Brooke, but you intimidate me, and I do not think I can be your wife.” It was an insane idea. She had accepted his ring at the theatre because what else was she to do, and she had let him sweep her away, as if this was a fairytale because what woman would not want to feel a man express that much excitement, and yet… There was reality.

His hands gripped her thighs more firmly and stopped her from rising. “You will be my wife.” She merely sat astride him. He took her hand from his shoulder and lifted it. “You are wearing my ring.” The large sapphire glinted in the light from the candles.

“But you are a lord; how can I become a lady?”

“You are an actress, you will act.”

She smiled and shook her head at his confidence. But confidence was the one thing she did not lack. She had stood on stages before numerous crowds of people and held their attention. Yet this would not be a performance of an hour, it would be a lifetime.

“I wish to be with you. But as your wife… I do not think I can.” She tumbled forward and leaned onto his chest still impaled, with the tingling senses of the release he’d earlier administered with his mouth, playing through her blood. He smelled of his cologne but of fresh sweat too, and the sheets were full of his scent. This was his bed, in his home, and the house was huge.

“Tomorrow we will marry, and then we will leave town and hide on my country property.” His fingers stroked through her hair offering comfort, reassurance, and love. “There will be tutors then, Lillian, a dancing master, and a riding teacher, although perhaps I shall teach you to ride a horse myself. If you are to play the part, then you must learn it, just as you would at the theatre.”

She rose up again, her hands gripping his shoulders as she looked into his eyes. “But people will still know. I was on the stage, people know me.”

“I know, there are many who will choose not to speak to you, or speak to either of us, and it will probably include my father, but others will accept us, and we will have each other.” His hands braced each side of her head. “I love you. That love will be enough for me if I lost every other friend.”

She took a breath and sighed it out. He’d said the words I love you a dozen times since he’d come to the theatre, but she’d not said them back. She had heard them from men, lots of men, who thought themselves in love with her. They had been shallow declarations. His was deeply sincere, and it was true, she knew it was true.

Was she really going to accept this then?

“I ran away from my family to join the theatre company. I have regretted it because I did not know when I ran away what becoming an actress would entail. I miss my family. Johnny, whom you met, is the only one that will still speak with me, and now he is not because he too has realised what becoming an actress really means.”

“I would lay a heavy bet they will speak to you when you become Lady Brooke. We will invite them to visit us in the country.”

“But that isn’t what I meant. What if you regret your choice, if you run away from your life, Peter?”

“I will not. I have spent the week since I last saw you miserable, my heart has been broken and empty. I have been soulless without you, Lillian. What I would have regretted is continuing on my foolish path of marrying a woman whom I was fond of but did not love, only because she fitted within the mould society cast. I have never fitted within a mould.” He laughed then. “I would have made her life hell. You understand me, Lillian. You are more like me. We will rebel against the world together from now on.”

She swallowed as a tear escaped her left eye but she was not crying because she was unhappy, she was crying because she was so very happy. She laughed as he wiped it away.

Then his hands braced her head again. “Say that you love me. I know that you do, I have seen it in your eyes from the moment I saw you, but say it. I want to hear it. You have not said it yet.”

“I love you.” The words that she’d said so many times in her mind sounded odd aloud. “I love you, Peter.” They flowed across her lips more easily the second time.

His hands fell to her thighs and his legs lifted, his knees bending, as he stiffened inside her. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” She laughed as she reared back. His hands slid to her waist, his thumbs brushing over her skin appreciating every inch, and then he lifted and lowered her, taking control as he pulsed up into her.

“Lillian, you are beautiful, and I shall have you to look at every day, my own work of nature’s art.”

“You will not grow bored of the sight.”

“Lord, never!”

She laughed as he worked more determinedly, his hands protectively holding her, as their gazes clung. Heat swept through her skin and the little death danced within her nerves ready to break free. She fell forward, and gripped his shoulders, then he simply let loose, shoving himself into her, hard and fast, with an aggressive edge that claimed her as she fell to pieces, splintering into shards of light which spun about the room.

He turned her to her back, and then his hands were beside her shoulders, and the soles of her feet were caressing his back as he had her doubled over so he had full access to invade with a depth that caught her every breath.

She fell again, her fingers clawing on his shoulders.

“Ah!” The cry of pleasure was mutual as they both fell.

It was true what he’d said, they were both rebellious people. She would rebel once more.

He was risking losing his family for her…

She remembered how it had been when she walked out of the door, with her bag. The fear. The excitement. The feelings flooded her again. She could not see everything in her future, but this was not the same as before. She would not be alone on this new adventure.

When his body relaxed, and he opened his eyes, she spoke. “Yes. I shall marry you, Lord Brooke, and yes, I love you. I always have.”

He sighed out a breath, then smiled his broad, enchanting smile and laughed.

****

Peter gripped Lillian’s hand more tightly as they walked beneath the lychgate outside the little church in the heart of Whitechapel. Drew had recommended the vicar; apparently this was where Drew and Mary had been wed.

Drew walked along the path, coming to meet them. They had agreed the venue yesterday, if Drew was able to persuade the vicar. But apparently with this vicar, the money of the wealthy talked. He was known for honouring an agreement to be silent.

“He was persuaded then,” Peter said quietly.

“Easily persuaded. Damn it, he married me with bruises all over my face, when Mary’s family would not say a word to me. He would marry you to a willing woman without a qualm.”

Drew smiled at Lillian. “Hello, Lillian.” He did not mention her healing lip, or the pale purple and yellow bruise beside it. Peter had kissed it a dozen times this morning, when he’d seen her in the daylight. The most foolish thing was that when she’d opened her eyes this morning he’d realised he had never seen her eyes in the daylight. They were paler, but still that beautiful, deep blue-green.

She smiled at Drew and performed a stage curtsy. “Hello, Lord Framlington.”

“Not Lord Framlington, it is Drew, and for God’s sake, no curtsying with us. We are to be friends.”

Lillian smiled more brightly. The last word Peter had said to her in the carriage before they had climbed out was “Act.”

“What of Mary?” Peter asked as Drew turned to lead them into the church. “Will she be speaking to me?”

“She is angry with you for not having made this decision before you proposed to Emily, but she will forget and forgive you in time, and,” he looked at Lillian, “she will be kind to you, Lillian, because my wife is the most generous natured woman in the world. She would not see you upset, so you need not fear us.”