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She was able to say, 'We'll be happy, Essie, I know it,' with a message in the words just for the other woman alone.
Essie looked hard and long at her, and whatever she read in Candy's face seemed to satisfy her, because she smiled gaily and murmured, 'Of course you will, darling.'
And then there was the mad flourish of their exit, when Candy threw her bouquet into the squealing crowd of eager women who had gathered to catch it, and they were outside in the warm May night and surveying Quinn's beautiful Aston Martin, which several bright sparks had covered in ribbons and shaving foam and risqué messages, as well as fixing to it a train of cans several feet long.
Quinn had offered her the choice of any place in the world for their honeymoon when they had set the wedding date, and when Candy had shyly asked if they could stay right where they were in England and tour round so that she could see her adopted country he had been quite amiable, if a little quizzical. 'Funny girl.' He had touched her hair lightly with a mocking hand. 'But if that's what you want…'
What she wanted was him, and now the same flood of whirling elation and thrilling warmth that had filled her that day at the thought of having Quinn all to herself for three whole weeks made her cheeks flush again.
She would make him love her, she told herself excitedly as Quinn settled her in the front of the car with careful attention to the shot-silk dress and jacket that was her going-away outfit She would. It was a strange thought that she was setting out to seduce her own husband, but that was what it boiled down to, she supposed. Certainly the wildly sexy black lace thong pants and black lace bra she was wearing would cause any man to take a second look, especially when teamed with gossamer-thin stockings and suspender belt.
She had never worn a suspender belt before, and although it felt strange it made her feel sensual too, and very definitely a wicked woman. And that was what she wanted to be for Quinn. Mistress, wife, lover, friend…whatever he needed.
She had shocked herself at first, when she had realised she wanted to do to Quinn everything she had ever read lovers did and much more besides, and that she wanted him to do the same to her. It had caused her to wonder if she had more of her grandmother in her than she had suspected, until common sense had come to her aid.
She loved Quinn, completely, utterly and for ever—this wasn't some hole-and-corner affair that would be repeated with a different man once the present one grew tired of her. It made all the difference in the world. She took after her mother—not her grandmother.
As Candy saw Quinn's mother—her hands pressed to her chest and her eyes moist—from the passenger window, something in the other woman's face made her wind down the window and call to her. Mary must be remembering that other marriage, and all the pain it had entailed, and although she knew Quinn's mother liked her this wasn't an easy time for the older woman.
As Mary approached the car Candy opened the door and stood to her feet, hugging the other woman close for a few moments before she said softly, 'I'll look after him, Mary. I promise.'
'I know you will.' The tears were streaming now.
'And we won't be that far away,' Candy added comfortingly. 'Any time you want to come down for a few days you will be welcome. You know that, don't you?'
'Bless you, dear.'
'Did you mean that?' The shouts and cheers of their guests faded into the background and the night swallowed the car in its mellow blackness as Quinn drove swiftly along the road away from the hotel. 'About them coming to stay with us?'
'Of course.' Candy glanced at him in surprise, but Quinn kept his eyes on the dark country vista beyond the windscreen as he said, his voice almost expressionless, 'Thank you. That will mean a great deal to her. Laura…Laura never liked them to visit, you see. We only lived a short drive away in Oxford, but even after Joe was born Laura made any contact a trial by fire, and although I used to ask them just the same my mother wouldn't make things any more difficult for me than they were. I think she ached to see more of Joe, though.'
'I'm sorry, Quinn.' She was, terribly, but the mere words sounded inept and inane.
It was another few moments before Candy said quietly, 'Where are we staying tonight? Is it far?'
'Not too far.' He shot her a quick smile, but it was remote, almost polite. 'I thought a hotel was a little impersonal, especially as you're bound to be tired tomorrow and will probably want a late start, and it just so happens an old friend of mine is in the States at the moment and he offered his farmhouse for as long as we wanted it We can relax there for a day or two and then start the grand tour, if that suits, Mrs Ellington?'
'Certainly, Mr Ellington.' She tried to inject her voice with the light, bantering tone he had used, but it was difficult with her heart thudding so hard it made her dizzy.
The 'farmhouse' turned out to be one of the most en-chantingly beautiful homesteads Candy had ever seen. It was huge, with a bevy of mullioned windows twinkling under their mop of thatch and surrounded by acres and acres of grounds, set all by itself in the countryside.
Once Quinn had shepherded her inside she found the interior was the last word in old-world luxury; oak beams, gleaming brasses, deep sofas and cherrywood floors all reeking of unlimited wealth.
'What does your friend do for a living?' Candy asked breathlessly when she walked into the massive luxury kitchen that was fitted with every gadget under the sun but still retained a country charm, with bunches of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling and a superb
farmhouse table and chairs in the middle of the terracotta-tiled floor.
Quinn shrugged easily as he walked over to an enormous fridge-freezer and extracted a bottle of chilled champagne. 'Stocks and shares,' he answered off-handedly. 'He's a financial wizard Here, we'll have a glass of bubbly and then I'll show you the upstairs. It's gone twelve and you must be exhausted.'
Upstairs. She jumped a little as the champagne cork popped, and then blinked at him as he handed her one of the fluted glasses. Upstairs. All the hidden fantasies and forbidden sweet, erotic dreams were going to happen. She was going to lie in his arms; he was going to make love to her.
'To you, Mrs Ellington.' Quinn raised his glass as he spoke, his ebony eyes unfathomable and his handsome face smiling.
'To us,' she corrected bravely, the blood pounding in her ears as she kept her gaze on the glittering eyes.
'To us.' He lightly touched her glass with his and then downed half the contents in one swallow before lowering his head, his gaze never leaving hers. His mouth was warm and tasted of champagne, and the alcohol's fizz seemed to have transported itself to her ears, which were buzzing.
His mouth parted her lips, slowly and sensuously, and as his tongue probed the hidden depths she had to will herself to stop the little moan that had started somewhere in the core of her. But she couldn't hide the shudder that her desire had caused. Immediately his mouth withdrew, as he mistook her reaction, and he turned, walking to the door before she could bring coherent words out of the turmoil of her mind and ask him to kiss her again.
