The Spinster Bride (25 page)

“She had no dowry to speak of,” he said, as if that explained everything. Which, depressingly enough, it did. “I swear, I won't say a thing about the two of you.”

“Thank you for your discretion,” Charles said with heavy irony.

There was only one thing to do. Compromise her entirely. In her own house. In her own bed.

And be discovered by her mother.

“Y
ou're insane.”

“Insane for you.”

Marjorie was thrilled and horrified by his suggestion. More thrilled, though. And that was a terrible, wonderful thing.

“What if my mother kills you? We do have guns in the house, you know. Several of them.”

“Then I would die a happy man.”

She ducked her head and laughed. She must be insane even to consider such a thing. Who knew that becoming compromised was so difficult? Katherine had done it, quite unintentionally, without any forethought or effort at all.

She and Charles were dancing, and any fool looking at them would know they were desperately in love with each other. No doubt her mother would hear of it, but at the moment, Marjorie didn't care. She could see a few of her mother's friends looking at them curiously. Let them look all they wanted.

“Your leg does not seem to be bothering you at all this evening.”

“How can I feel pain when all I feel is love?” He grinned down at her, obviously knowing how ridiculous he sounded.

“If you're going to start all that sort of nonsense, I don't think we have a future at all.”

He gave her a wounded look. “I thought I was being poetic.”

“I'd much rather you be yourself. Gruff and blunt and slightly overbearing.” Those were, she realized, the aspects of his character that had displeased her so much when she'd first met him. Now, though, it was everything that she loved about him.

“All right, then. I want you naked beneath me. I want to kiss every inch of you until you make those noises that drive me—”

“Stop! That's quite blunt enough,” she said, laughing. “Besides, anyone could hear you. You were practically shouting it.”

He shrugged as if saying such things aloud to an unmarried girl weren't completely scandalous. And delicious. Her entire body was on fire for him and it was difficult to school her features so those matrons along the side of the dance floor wouldn't know precisely what she was thinking.

“Tomorrow night.”

The music stopped and they still stood on the dance floor. She bit her lip and looked up at him, seeing the man she loved more than anything else in her life. Seeing love and barely hidden passion that made her toes curl. “All right, then. Tomorrow night.”

He bowed. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Marjorie,” he said.

She curtsied. “You are very welcome, Mr. Norris. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

 

On the way home from the ball, Marjorie couldn't stop smiling. She watched as the gaslights alongside the road came and went, muted by the fog that had settled over London. She laid her head back on the cushion, loving the sounds of the horse's hooves and carriage wheels on the stone road. It was a sound, in the early hours before dawn, that had always seemed a bit melancholy. So many evenings had ended with disappointment, the ride home silent and sad. But tonight, those sounds held a promise, the carriage wheels bringing her closer and closer to the rest of her life.

“I remember that feeling,” Aunt Gertrude said, breaking the silence within the carriage.

Marjorie looked at her aunt questioningly.

“Of being in love, my dear. Of every thought being of one man. It is a rare thing, Marjorie, and can be fleeting.”

“Not this time,” she said. “Not with us.”

Aunt Gertrude let out a small chuckle. “Perhaps. You are both certainly old enough to know your own hearts.” She was silent for a time. “What are you planning?”

“It's better you don't know,” Marjorie said after a pause. It was bad enough that they'd tried to be compromised by being caught kissing; it was quite another thing to invite a man who was not your husband into your bed. Though her mind screamed to her how wrong it was, her body and heart were not listening. Every woman was taught from a young age that her virginity must be protected like some precious commodity. She supposed there were many, many girls who suffered the results of not following that rule. After all, if a girl became pregnant, she was the one who bore all consequences.

“I suppose you are right not to tell me. I do want you to be careful, even though I like your young man and he seems completely captivated with you.”

Marjorie gave her aunt another dreamy smile and the older woman laughed. “You are so smitten, my dear, I could tell you he was a murderer and you'd just smile at me.”

Marjorie giggled. “You are probably correct. We don't have a choice. I hope someday Mother understands that she forced us to be in this terrible position.”

“Oh, my dear girl, you are optimistic, aren't you? When I was a girl and a parent wouldn't give permission to marry, things were far different. It was off to Scotland and Gretna Green you went. But that was only for girls under twenty-one. You know, you could marry whomever you want.”

“I know,” Marjorie said with a sigh. “It's just that Mother has done so much for me, I do believe a secret wedding would hurt her even more than what we plan. At least she'll have time to come to grips with it and she'll be able to be at the wedding. I know, given what happened with Charles's mother, that she won't be happy. But at least she can watch me get married. I think she'll come around. She hasn't any idea how much we love one another.”

Aunt Gertrude looked slightly startled. “But Mr. Norris did ask your mother's permission. She must have some sort of inkling.”

“I don't think she does.”

The carriage slowed and stopped, and with the sound of the steps being lowered, Aunt Gertrude, with some assistance from Marjorie, hoisted herself up. “I do believe I'm getting too old for these late evenings. Since you are the last of my nieces to marry, I must say I'll be glad when these chaperone duties have ended.” Her aunt gave her a telling look, and Marjorie hugged her.

“You always were my favorite aunt. I shall miss our evenings together.”

“Thank you, dear,” Gertrude said, patting Marjorie's back. “But I don't think my nerves can take much more.”

 

Five minutes. In five minutes she would be ruined. Well, perhaps it would take a bit longer than that; he wasn't even in her room yet. Marjorie had left the servants' door open and given him strict instructions in a hidden note how to find her room:

It was an unusually taciturn note for her, but Marjorie was in such a state when she wrote it, it was the best she could do. Imagine planning your own ruination.

Charles was such a large man, she wondered if he could do anything silently. She'd left her door open a crack and sat on her bed, staring at it, her eyes wide, her hands clutched together in her lap.

Ruined.

This was what she wanted. Not to be ruined, of course, but the end result of being ruined. The planning of it had been such fun, but now it seemed such a very bad idea. Wrong. What she was doing this night went against everything she'd ever been taught. Everything she'd believed. Part of her wanted to dash across the room and lock her door.

Instead, she stood and paced, her eyes still peeled on that crack in her door, waiting for it to widen and allow him into her room. Where they would make love.

Oh, God, she could hardly breathe. A noise from the hall made her freeze. Then he silently entered her door and closed it with a small
snick
.

He turned with a devilish grin on his face, and somehow that made everything a bit better.

“Are you ready to be ravished, my dear?” he asked soft and low.

Marjorie nodded. “Ready and willing.”

Charles chuckled, then took off his jacket and tie and placed them neatly on a chair. He seemed so large in her room, so masculine when everything around him was delicate and feminine. The light from her lamp made him look more devilish than he was. Charles was a wonderful, kind man, she reminded herself. A wonderful, kind man who was about to ravish her.

“I have dreamt of this moment. I don't mean that to be poetic. I had a dream where you stood before me much as you are now. I pray this isn't another dream to torture me, leaving me to wake up alone in my bed.”

Marjorie bit her lip and smiled. “This is not a dream.” She realized her voice was shaking and she took a bracing breath. “I'm terribly nervous.”

Her words seemed to cause him pain. “Please don't be. You are everything I've always wanted. Do you realize how long I've looked for you? I'm thirty-five years old and I've never found a woman who loves me. Are you certain?”

“You had a birthday? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Are you stalling? I asked you a question.”

She laughed, her nerves slipping away a bit. “Of course I love you. And this is precisely what I want. I thought it over and realized there is no way for us to be together without hurting my mother. We have our differences, yes, but I do love her. I want her to be at my wedding, even if she's not smiling.” She laughed a little, hoping to ease his worry.

He stepped closer and she held her breath. But he only reached up and touched her hair. “I didn't imagine your hair so long. I could swim in it.” He slowly moved his hand to the back of her neck and drew her toward him. “You can't know how much I love you.”

He leaned forward and touched his lips gently to hers, hardly even a kiss, but it sent a sharp bolt of desire through her. With a sigh, she brought her arms up and around his neck.

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes sweeping her form. “My God, you're so beautiful. I can't believe what I'm about to say.”

He pulled her into his arms and released a deep sound of satisfaction as his hands at the base of her back drew her to him, moving the silky material over her sensitive skin.
This is it,
she thought,
he is going to ravish me
. It felt rather nice so far. She could hardly think, never mind speak, but she did manage to say, “What?”

He kissed her cheek, her mouth, the sensitive place at the base of her ear, his hands moving up and down from her buttocks to her shoulders, long sweeping caresses that melted her inside. “Everything about this is wrong,” he said, then groaned as he kissed her, long and deep, and he pulled her toward his obvious arousal. “I can't.”

Marjorie pulled back. “Can't?”

“Can't do everything wrong. I want you to be a virgin on your wedding night.” His mouth and hands contradicted what he said. One hand moved to her breast, his thumb moving back and forth over her nipple, teasing it into a hard nub. What was he doing to her, telling her he couldn't and at the same time making it impossible to stop?

“No, no, no,” Marjorie said, kissing him with an open mouth, letting him know how desperate she was for him. She moved her body against him and he let out another low groan. She loved that sound, loved that she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. “It's fine, Charles. I don't need to be a virgin then. It can happen tonight. Please.”

“No.”

She pulled back. “No?”

He looked down at her and she had no doubt that he wanted her, that he loved her, but there was determination in his eyes.

He let out a soft laugh and moved against her again. “I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. But one thing in this ridiculous courtship of ours, I want to be right.” He dipped his head and took one nipple in his mouth, giving her such exquisite pleasure her knees buckled. “However,” he said, his mouth still at her breast, “I'm not a saint.”

“We'll do what we did before?” she asked, breathless.

“And more. But you will be a virgin. I pray.” He looked at her, his eyes focusing hotly on her erect nipples, and said, “Let's get that off you.”

“My gown? But you said—”

“What I have planned will be much better if you're naked.”

Marjorie blushed, but began unbuttoning the tiny ivory buttons, revealing more and more to his burning gaze, until finally she was able to pull the material off her shoulders. With one delicate shrug, the gown fell in a whisper of sound to the floor. And she was naked.

“I'm not a saint,” he muttered, then frantically began taking off his own clothes. “But dammit, I should be canonized for this night.”

Marjorie watched, fascinated, as more and more of his flesh was exposed, until finally, he stood before her, all muscle and manliness. She bit her lip as she gazed once again at his full erection.

“Your leg is all right?”

“If my leg fell off at this moment, nothing could stop me.”

Marjorie covered her mouth and laughed, trying to be quiet. The very last thing she wanted was to get caught now.

“To the bed?” she asked.

“To the bed.” He scooped her up and deposited her in the middle, following immediately, his mouth unerringly finding one nipple and drawing it in. Marjorie arched, her hands going to the back of his head. Who knew such a thing could be so incredibly wonderful? Who knew a caress to her breast could feel as if he were touching her between her legs?

One broad hand moved down her side to her outer thigh, then slowly across. “Spread your legs a bit, love,” he said, his head coming up so he could watch her. She did, her eyes never leaving his, as she felt his hand move up until finally, finally, he touched that singular place that gave so much pleasure.

He groaned when he found her wet, and groaned again when she lifted her hips, silently asking for more. She couldn't help herself. Nothing could compare to this feeling of being touched by him.