Authors: Jamie Carie

The Duchess and the Dragon (20 page)

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon

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Little wonder her father said he had help enough.

With quiet intent, Serena lifted her chin and started down the long, decadent aisle, with its crimson runner of carpet, into the echoing emptiness of the room’s vaulted ceilings.

He was waiting for her, looking devastatingly handsome. Dark-blue silk clung to his shoulders, falling into the graceful lines of a coat. His waistcoat was a shade lighter with matching and darker shades of swirling embroidery, a striking white neckcloth fell in neat, starched folds. His hair, dark and unbound, was swept carelessly away from his forehead, waving, framing his face . . . a face and form that was every inch the nobleman he swore he was not. Looking into his eyes, heavy with the promise of a life she could only imagine, she walked on, little but shaky breaths and the conviction of her heart carrying her.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

It was her wedding march.

The sunlight filtered over them into myriad colors, split by the opulence of the stained-glass windows. Streaks of bright light haloed the altar and Serena inhaled suddenly, feeling as if she was walking out of drab browns and grays into the brilliant colors of life. An intoxicating excitement rose to her throat, threatening sobs. She held them back and inhaled instead, blinking out the tears, reaching him, reaching out for his hand. The strong
warmth of his hand clasped hers like a root grafting with a young plant.

Serena looked up into Drake’s eyes, ready to make any vows necessary to make him her own.

DRAKE LOOKED DOWN at his bride, pride nearly crushing him.

She looked the picture of virtue in a gown the color of dark cream. Her hair sat atop her head in a shining red-gold mass of thick braids and curls. A band of small pink rosebuds haloed the curls, their stems a tightly intertwined crown. There was no cap now. Her face was pale and glowing, her neck as graceful as any swan’s he had ever seen on the lakes of Northumberland, her delicate collarbones as elegant and stately as the jewels of a queen.

What he wouldn’t have done to give her the magnificent London wedding she deserved. He would relish seeing her in rich satin and jewels, the envy of the civilized world. But Serena would never be in London . . . would probably not wish to be, he realized.

Gazing at her beauty, her tranquility, he had a blinding realization that caused him to grasp more tightly to her hand and almost falter as he turned toward the minister: Had he not left all behind, he never would have found her. For the first time, he had something to be thankful for in the wake of his ruined existence. Had he stayed in London, he would have wed one of the haughty women of the ton, a woman in whose eyes he would have seen a hunger that was never satisfied. Instead, he was marrying a woman of quiet strength and faith, all of which gave the very air around her peace.

Was she not worth a dukedom?

Yes. A thousand times yes. That and more. She was worth all that he had gone through to have her.

The ceremony began with the sacraments of communion, something the Friends had rejected, believing that the sacraments of the cross were lived out each day, not in a ceremony. Serena faltered a little when given the ornate golden cup of blood-red wine, but only for a moment. She knew this was only the first of many new things she would now have to embrace.

Her vows were simple and stated with a strong voice that surprised her as she promised to become Drake’s. His vows were similar, but stated with such heartfelt conviction that she was, again, moved to tears. Then he pulled a stunning silver ring from his pocket.

She stared at him, lips open, trying to remember to breathe.

He looked down, shy for a moment, then he leaned closer.

“Your father helped me make it,” he whispered for her ears only as he slid it onto her finger. She stared at it in awe, never having seen anything so lavish. A silver band that grew in thickness toward its center where the tall silver setting held a huge, square, glittering sapphire with smaller diamonds mounted around about it, the guardians of greatness.

“But I have nothing for you!” She couldn’t help feeling devastated at both his generosity and her lack. He smiled, pulling a simple silver band from his pocket and handing it to her. As she studied it she realized it wasn’t really simple at all.

This was her father’s work.

Burnished silver with an elegant edging, perfect in its simplicity, perfect in strength. She stole a look across her shoulder to her father, who was beaming, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he gave her a quick nod.

He was giving them his blessing.
His
blessing. Something she’d doubted until now.

At the ceremony’s end, Daniel clapped Drake on the shoulder and gave Serena a big kiss square on the mouth, causing her sisters to giggle, wide-eyed, behind their hands. Her parents hung back at first, and then her mother rushed forward to hug them both. Eyes twinkling, MaryAnn slid a paper-wrapped package into Serena’s hand and whispered into her ear, “For tonight.” At the same time, Serena heard the clinking of coins and saw out of the corner of her eye as her father pressed a heavy leather bag and a folded paper into Drake’s hands. “Don’t argue—a wedding gift.”

It was done. She was now Serena Winslow. Everyone filed out of the church, leaving her and Drake alone together. They rushed out into the cold New England day—and the beginning of their lives. They stood, just outside the doors of the church, hands clasped tightly, and looked up toward the sky as the wind blew against them.

“We should hurry. A storm gathers.”

Serena laughed up into her husband’s—her
husband!
—face. “Is it not wonderful?”

Drake shook his head, smiling, the wind tearing at his hat. “The gathering storm?”

She made a great sweep of her arm, giddy in her happiness. “Everything. The storm . . . the night . . . the power of it all.” They watched as the web-like clouds, thin, wispy and dark, raced across the lighter gray sky behind them. Suddenly sleet fell from the sky, thunder rolling in the distance. Drake took hold of her hand and they raced to the inn.

”Heaven help me,” Drake shouted above the noise, “I have married a thunderstorm lover!”

She laughed in glee as they ran to the music of the thunder, the flashing of the lightning igniting the sky as if in celebration.

The inn was cozy, well warmed, and thankfully, close to the church. They were shown immediately to the private upper room reserved for them. Serena ran, laughing, to the fire, shaking the rain off her cloak before draping it over the back of a nearby chair where it lay dripping, making a puddle on the hardwood floor. She looked up at him, knowing her face was wet and rosy from their flight.

Drake was busy giving instructions to the serving woman and shaking out his overcoat, but his eyes never left his bride’s face. He kissed her lightly on the lips as he passed her on the way to hang up his wrap on a peg on the wall. “Let’s see about some food, shall we?”

Dinner was soon brought up. Drake directed the placement of the meal and ordered the wine poured with an authority Serena was fast becoming accustomed to and knew was as natural to him as breathing. She leaned her chin onto her palm, watching him from the small table set up for them, their faces reflected in the flickering firelight, hers in grinning fascination as the serving woman curtsied her way out of the room in apparent awe.

“How dost thou do it?”

“Do what, my love?”

“Command such fearsome respect in others.”

Drake motioned toward the food and grinned back at her. “If you will sup, madam, I shall tell you all of my secrets.”

The heated timbre of his words caused her to shiver. “Secrets, my lord?”

He seemed not to notice her flirtatious tone, and Serena had to wonder if that, too, was as natural to his ears as the trickling of water is to river rock.

He handed her a glass of wine. “Drink. It will relax you.”

She took a sip. “Tell me, why do they all bow and scrape in thy presence?”

Drake shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it on the bed as he sat down across from her. He loosened his cravat, a picture of an elegant gentleman at ease. “I have found that if you expect certain standards and speak with the authority of one who is used to expecting those standards, people generally—” he shrugged—“do what is expected.” He smiled, one side of his mouth quirking in a way that left Serena a little breathless.

“Very philosophic of thee. May we eat, my lord? I am famished.”

Drake frowned, but the smile stayed in his eyes. “You tease me, I know, but . . . call me anything but that.”

A glimpse of pain, quickly extinguished, gave her heart a pang. Determined to banish it, she said playfully, “Anything? How about
Kitten?
Or
Peaches?
” She laughed as he came around the table and pulled her into his arms.

Kissing her quiet, he murmured. “How about
husband
. I think I might like the sound of that.”

“Hmmm, husband. It fits thee.” She leaned back, his strong arm supporting her waist. “I like it that I am the only one who may call thee that.”

“Let me take your hair down.” His fingers dug into the coif, finding pins and tossing them on the table before she could protest.

“Should we not eat first, husband . . . while it is still hot?”

Drake ran his fingers through the long tresses, freeing them from their braids. “I want to sit across from you thus. It is a glorious thing, your hair.”

“Vainglorious, dost thou think?” Mock concern filled her voice.

Drake laughed. “I doubt you have a vain bone in your body, but if you did, no doubt your hair would be the femur.”

“Femur? What is that?”

“The largest bone in the body.” His hand glided down the side of her body to her thigh. “Here.” He leaned her back against his ready arm and then kissed a trail of sweetness from the slim column of her neck up to her chin, then her lips.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “What wilt thou do with me tonight?”

He chuckled, deep and mischievous in response. “You will see.” Abruptly, he righted her and then sat her in her chair. “Eat, madam.”

They ate in silence, each anticipating the advancing darkness of night, their eyes catching and holding over the flame of the candle slowly dripping in the center of the table, seeming to Serena like an hourglass counting down the minutes.

Serena finished first and took a long, slow drink from the wine, tasting it on her lips with the tip of her tongue. She watched Drake through lowered lids, the air humming with the tension of tightly coiled springs.

“I never tire of looking at thee.” What freedom, to speak her thoughts aloud.

A flare ignited in his eyes, telling her he liked hearing such things. She gave a little jump when he suddenly stood. Swallowing, she watched him toss back the remainder of his wine and come around to her side of the table. Her heart was pounding as he reached for her arm. It rose of its own accord to drape about his shoulders and held onto him as he lifted her.

“Hast thou had much experience in these matters?” she whispered against his chest.

“Enough to know what you might like. But you will not appreciate that yet.”

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon

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