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Marcus knew that she had entered the church from the excited rustle of movement that seethed along the pews behind him, and to his own astonishment felt compelled to turn and watch her as she walked down the aisle towards him.
He felt his body tighten and his heart lurch in a reaction he had been determined no woman would ever arouse in him—least of all Lucy.
It had really happened. She and Marcus really were married, Lucy realised dizzily as the Bishop intoned mellifluously, ‘You may kiss the bride.’
And Marcus leaned towards her and then did just that. A cool and very distant brushing of his lips against hers that filled her eyes with painful despair and made her hand tremble within his.
Handel’s musical paean of triumphal joy rang out as they walked together back down the aisle and then out into the crisp sunshine of the November afternoon, to be bombarded with rose petals by their well-wishers and guests before being swept off in a cavalcade of shiny black limousines to the imposing building built originally by a grateful nation for its hero, the Duke of Wellington, for the wedding breakfast.
‘Are you sure you aren’t disappointed that we didn’t book into a hotel for tonight?’ Marcus asked.
They were standing in his bedroom at the Wendover Square house—now their bedroom. It still smelled just faintly of its refurbishments—a sort of new paint, new fabric and new carpet smell, all mingled together.
‘No, I’m not disappointed at all,’ Lucy reassured him. ‘After all, we’re flying off to the Caribbean on honeymoon tomorrow, and besides…’
‘Besides what?’ he demanded.
Lucy shook her head. They might be married, and she might be his wife, but that didn’t mean she felt she could tell him that she didn’t care where they were just so long as they were together, and that anyway his house had now become inextricably linked in her emotions with the wonder of the first night she had spent there and the joy of what it had led her to.
‘Nothing,’ she fibbed, before admitting ruefully, ‘I did feel a bit of an idiot coming back here in the taxi still wearing my wedding dress, though. Why did you want me to keep it on?’
The look he was giving her made her whole face colour up.
‘Because I want to have the pleasure of taking it off, of course. All those tiny buttons down the back have been tantalising me for hours,’ Marcus told her truthfully, ‘and the sooner the better, I think. Certainly before we make use of our very sensuous new en suite bathroom.’
‘You were the one who suggested it,’ she reminded him a little defensively. Her parents—very much of the old school—had shaken their heads over the waste of so much expensive London floor space on a mere bathroom.
‘Mmm. I’ve got very fond memories of the bathroom in our suite at the hotel in Deia.’
As part of the refurbishment of Marcus’s house they had expanded Marcus’s already large bedroom to include a new dressing room made from one of the smaller bedrooms, plus a huge and very luxurious en suite bathroom which combined the best of modern, clean bathroom lines—all chrome and limestone and marble—with the sensual luxury of a large semi-sunken bath along with a separate wet room area and, of course, plenty of mirrors.
‘Mrs Crabtree said that she would leave us a cold supper, and there is some champagne on ice downstairs. Don’t run away while I go and get it.’
‘Run away? Marcus, have you seen how narrow this skirt is? I can’t run anywhere in it. In fact, I can barely walk.’
He wasn’t gone very long—just long enough for her to glance round their bedroom and admire the clean fresh lines of its new décor.
‘Here you are,’ he told her, handing her a glass of the champagne he had just poured.
‘I’m not sure that I should,’ Lucy demurred, remembering Great-Aunt Alice’s birthday party.
‘I am—you most definitely should. To us,’ Marcus toasted her firmly.
‘To us,’ Lucy whispered back, shivering with delight as Marcus leaned forward and kissed her. She could taste the champagne on his mouth, and somehow that gave an added intimacy to their kiss.
As he released her she took another sip of her champagne, and then put the glass down. She was far too excited to need any champagne-induced euphoria.
Marcus had removed his jacket and pulled off his cravat.
‘When I watched you coming down the aisle to me today, Lucy, I thought I had never seen you looking more beautiful.’
‘Oh, Marcus!’ Lucy bit her lip, determined not to let him know that she would far rather have heard him say that he loved her.
He kissed her again, more passionately this time, and then said thickly, ‘Now, exactly where do I start with this dress?’
‘I’ll take the jacket off first, shall I?’ Lucy suggested. ‘Ma wants to keep the lace and have some of it sewn on a christening robe for us, so I daren’t damage it.’ She blushed again as she saw the look in Marcus’s eyes.
‘The skirt is Velcroed to the bodice, so it might be an idea to unfasten the buttons on it first and then I can just step out of it. The bodice is a sort of corset thing as well, you see.’
She was babbling, Lucy recognised, and all because of how she felt at the thought of conceiving Marcus’s child— and she did not know yet whether or not she had already done so this month!
Marcus had moved behind her and was slowly unfastening the two dozen tiny buttons closing her skirt and train.
When he had eventually completed his task, and unhooked the skirt and train from the low-waisted corset-like bodice of her gown, she was left standing there in high heels, cream silk stockings fastened to a suspender belt that matched her gown, and a tiny pair of knickers.
‘I know it all looks a bit obvious,’ she told him, gesturing towards her body. ‘But it wasn’t my idea…’
His face, she noticed, was slightly flushed—from bending down to gather up some of the rose petals that had fallen inside her gown?
But he didn’t make any response to her slightly nervous comment.
Instead he dropped down on one knee in front of her and started to kiss his way around the bare flesh at top of her stocking, pausing to slowly unclip her suspenders and then roll the fine silk down her leg, following it with the caress of his lips.
When he lifted her foot free of her shoe and then slid off her stocking, holding her foot firmly and then kissing her instep, Lucy exhaled tremulously in delirious lust.
The other stocking and her suspender belt were removed equally sensually. But Marcus hadn’t finished. He slid his hands inside her knickers, pulling them down to reveal her new wax—not a summer-holiday-style Brazilian, but instead a small heart shape of silky blonde hair, something the beautician had told her was a favourite with a lot of brides.
‘Mmm…pretty. Very nice,’ he commented. ‘But not as nice as this.’ And then, while his hands held the top of her legs, his tongue probed delicately between the rose-petal-scented lips of her sex and stroked lingeringly along the whole length of her opening, right up to the now swollen and eagerly pulsing jut of flesh that was her clitoris.
Lucy moaned out aloud and buried her fingers in his hair as shuddering waves of pleasure gripped her.
‘Who needs champagne when they can have nectar?’ Marcus told her thickly, after his tongue had stroked her to a sweetly urgent climax.
It had still been light when they had arrived at the house, but by the time they finally made it onto the big bed it was quite definitely dark—and she was quite definitely eagerly willing to consummate their marriage. He thrust slowly and deeply into her and her muscles closed lovingly round him, her body making him its prisoner—just as he had made her love his.
‘Tired?’
‘Just a bit,’ Lucy admitted, as they stepped out of their taxi and into the cool haven of Mustique’s Sugar House Hotel.
The long flight from England in November to the warmth of the Caribbean, on top of yesterday’s wedding and the long night of passion they had shared, had left her feeling slightly weary
, Lucy acknowledged. Weary and disappointed—because nothing had changed—because Marcus, although a wonderfully sensual lover, did not love her.
Mustique was somewhere she had never previously visited, and she had been delighted, if somewhat surprised, that Marcus had chosen such a romantic venue for their honeymoon. A tropical darkness had already descended on the island in the short time since their plane had landed, and a handful of guests drifted through the foyer in a very relaxed manner as Marcus signed them in and waited for their room keys.
‘Mrs Carring?’
‘She means you,’ Marcus told Lucy wryly as a smiling girl approached Lucy.
Blushing slightly, Lucy returned her smile.
‘We have a complimentary gift pack of vouchers for you, for treatments at our spa facility.’ As Lucy thanked her and took the envelope, the girl added, her smile deepening, ‘I can recommend our couples massage, which is a massage that is given to you both at the same time in the privacy of your own room.’
‘If all the girls are as pretty as she was, then no way are you going to be having a complimentary massage,’ Lucy informed Marcus pithily ten minutes later, when they were alone in their suite.
