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Infuriating man. He'd finally started bolting his door against her. But she'd have him tonight, and the knowledge burned bright in his gaze each time their eyes met. She'd have him tonight and every night she wanted.
Suddenly, Marissa regretted that her mother had forgone the traditional wedding breakfast in order to host a ball. Marissa had been thrilled with the idea of dancing with Jude on their wedding night, but now she wanted nothing more than for the festivities to be over. But her mother would never forgive an escape before the dancing. What if there would be no grand toasts or romantic exhibitions of marital bliss? And what would be the point of the tiny children wandering through the crowd dressed as cherubs? They would float through the room with no couple to bless.
Marissa caught sight of a white feathered wing bobbing by, and she cringed. Both she and Edward had tried to dissuade their mother from the cherubs, but no mortal force could change her mind. And so here they were, in a play as great as one might see on stage. Peacocks called from the yard, and Marissa could only hope they didn't freeze to death in the cold night. They weren't visible in the dark, but it was the idea of the thing, or so she'd been informed.
Marissa leaned over to say hello to Aunt Ophelia, despite that the old woman appeared to be asleep.
"Eh?" her great aunt cawed as she popped upright in the chair.
"I asked how you liked the ceremony, Aunt Ophelia!"
The woman squinted up at Marissa. "Oh, I liked it very much."
"I'm glad."
The wrinkles in the old woman's face folded deeper when she smiled. She smiled so rarely that Marissa found herself laughing with delight. Perhaps Aunt Ophelia was sweeter than she seemed.
"Yes, I liked it very much," Aunt Ophelia repeated. "And a lucky thing to get you married off before you worked your way through next Season's crop of gentlemen."
Marissa's grin froze. "Pardon?"
"Nothing wrong with a little slap and tickle, girl. But you've got to be a bit more circumspect. Girls were more clever in my day. I was beginning to think your wits as ill-used as your virtue."
"I... Aunt Ophelia... Pardon?"
But the old woman just slumped back into her nap. Marissa was about to shake her silly when she was stopped by a hand curling over her shoulder. Still dumbfounded, Marissa looked up to find Jude smiling down at her. She spared one last confused look for Aunt Ophelia before rising.
"Jude," she said, managing an uncertain smile.
"My father," he murmured as he turned her around to face the duke.
Marissa shook off her shock and offered a curtsy. "Your Grace," she said, feeling a more genuine grin stretch her mouth. She'd met the duke the night before, but she was still surprised by the sight of him. The Duke of Winthrop, one of the loftiest peers in England, looked exactly like Jude.
She blushed when she considered how many times she'd thought of Jude as a groundsman or blacksmith. What a fool she'd been. The duke was not as tall as Jude, nor quite as solid, but there was no denying dial Jude had inherited the man's face, right down to the wide mouth and square jaw.
The duke teased her for her blush, and she let him think she was shy and nervous, though Jude watched the exchange with an incredulous expression.
"Just a moment, m'dear," the duke said, patting her hand. "I've a surprise for you, if only I could find him."
When his father turned away, Jude leaned in close to brush his lips against her ear. "You'd think," he murmured, "after loving a woman like my mother, he'd be able to recognize a wicked woman when he saw one."
Grinning, Marissa raised up on her toes so that Jude's mouth would rest against her neck. He obliged her with a little nibble, then called her a distracting wanton and stepped away. She was still smiling when the Duke returned with a young gentleman in tow.
"Look who arrived just in time for the ceremony!"
"Melbourne!" Jude responded, dapping the newcomer on the back.
"Please," the duke continued, "Allow me to present my son, Viscount Melbourne, soon enough the duke himself, I don't doubt."
"Father," the man said flatly.
"Melbourne, I'm pleased to introduce you to your new sister, Mrs. Marissa Bertrand."
She curtsied deeply, studying him through her lashes as he bowed. This son must look like his mother. He was handsome enough. And elegant. And Marissa wished for nothing more than to send him away so that Jude could do a bit more nibbling.
But she managed to be gracious as she spoke with both gentlemen for ten minutes. The whole crowd watched the exchange. Half were likely curious about the relationship between Jude and his father. The other half were taking note that the young viscount would someday need a wife.
If they knew that Jude and Marissa were sailing to France before their honeymoon in Italy, there'd be even more talk. A duke was one thing, but a French courtesan was even more interesting. Or so Marissa thought, anyway.
