What the Groom Wants (25 page)

“I’ll get that,” he rasped.

She laughed, a real laugh, on today of all days. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he answered as he pulled off his cravat. Shirt and trousers came next. She wasted no time either as she shrugged out of her gown then set to work on her corset. He helped her, being faster than she. He loosened her ties, then he tossed the thing aside while she pulled off her shift.

Naked. They were gloriously naked. And he looked at her as if she were a goddess, yet he was the one who appeared Adonis come to life.

He caressed her cheeks, brushing the wetness aside. “No more tears, love.”

Had she been crying?

“Don’t leave me,” she said, knowing that her words meant tomorrow after her betrayal. After she hurt him in the deepest way possible. “Don’t—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Then he gently pressed her into the mattress. He did it with his hands, not his mouth. He stroked her face and neck as he pushed her steadily back. She didn’t fall until he took her breasts in his hands.

Yes.
Calloused fingers, large palms, and the shape of his hands as he lifted her. Then his mouth came down, and he suckled. Tiny nips accompanied by the swirl of his tongue. Then harder sucks while her back arched.

His mouth shifted to her other breast, but his hands roved. Belly, hips, then below, where she was wet and open to him. His fingers slid there first, touching her everywhere. He squeezed her thighs and then stroked her petals. He pushed her knees wider apart with his hips, and she felt the briefest brush of his cock—there, then gone.

“Radley, please.”

He lifted from her breast, a last hard pull, making her cry out as lightning sizzled from her nipple to her groin.

“It was just last night. You must be sore.”

She blinked, his words making no sense. She only knew the desperate thunder of her heart and the emptiness between her thighs.

“Love me,” she cried again.

“I do,” he said with annoying calm. Then he kissed his way down her belly.

She didn’t know what he was doing, and truthfully, she didn’t care. Radley worshipped her body as he gently lifted her knees onto his shoulders. She had a moment to frown, wondering what he was doing, and then she knew.

Oh God, she knew what men had laughed about at her gaming table. She knew what women whispered behind their hands. She suddenly understood how a man’s tongue could give the most amazing caress ever. He licked her open, and he thrust his tongue inside. And then he suckled an incredible place just as he had done to her nipples. That place was like a lightning rod, a spot where every stoke shot white-hot fire through her body. And when he sucked her there, she bucked like a wild thing.

The detonation sent her soaring. No thoughts, no worries, just bliss. Sweet, silent, pulsing bliss.

Until she drifted back to earth. Until she opened her languid eyes and felt him settle beside her on the bed. He pressed a kiss to her lips then tried to roll her against him, spooning, as if for sleep.

She frowned, then shook her head. “No,” she managed, her voice a throaty purr.

He paused, obviously startled. “What?”

“No, Radley. That wasn’t enough.”

“What?”

Fortunately, he had snuggled close to her hand, where it lay lax on the bed. It took only a shift of her wrist before she gripped his cock and squeezed. Just a quick pulse, but it was enough to catch his attention.

“I said, not enough.”

His eyes widened, and then she squeezed again, pleased when she heard him groan.

“I was trying to be respectful,” he ground out. “I thought—”

She interrupted him with his own words. “Don’t think. Just kiss me.”

He did. And while he kissed her with deep, thrusting strokes of the tongue, she pulled his hips around by his cock. He made sounds as she did it, half whimper, half growl. Then he broke off their kiss.

“Easy there. It’s a sensitive organ.”

It was thick and hard, and when she rolled her thumb over the tip, he shuddered and his eyelids fluttered.

“Have I hurt it?” she asked, knowing she hadn’t. From what she’d heard at the gaming hells, these organs were singularly indestructible. Then she softened her touch and waited for him to open his eyes. “I want to carry your baby, Radley. I want…”

She swallowed her next words. She couldn’t voice what she felt, except in her own thoughts.
I
want
a
reason
for
you
to
know
me
after
tomorrow. A reason for you not to abandon me.

He stroked her brow. “We have plenty of time.”

“We have tonight,” she said. “Please.”

He settled between her legs, his cock teasing her entrance, going only so far, and no farther. “I should have used a French letter yesterday. I wasn’t thinking—”

“No,” she said as she stroked his sides. It was the only part of him she could reach just then. “I want to be the mother of your child.”

His eyes lighted up with an intensity that stole her breath. “Yes,” he said. One word, and then he thrust.

She cried out at the invasion, even as every part of her stretched. She squeezed him with her thighs then wrapped her legs around him. She wanted to speak. She wanted to tell him how perfect this was, but her words had left her. All that she knew was
him
.

Him as he slowly pulled back.

Him as he tightened his thighs before slamming forward.

Him as his strokes became harder and faster, and his face pulled tight.

Him as his eyes held hers, as his breath grew short.

Him.

Him.

Him.

“Radley!”

Ecstasy.

And after that, a single thought:
this
was
love, and it would be gone tomorrow
.

He left before dawn. Wendy tried to keep him with her and succeeded for a bit. All it took was a single kiss, and he returned to bed. The morning’s lovemaking was slow and tender, and all the more devastating for her, knowing that it was their last time.

Eventually, he had to leave, and so he kissed her and whispered, “It will be over tonight. Then we can begin our lives together. Plan our wedding, name our children, anything you want, starting tonight.”

She kept her tears back long enough for him to leave. Then she sobbed until her belly ached, and her throat was raw. But even that had to end. So she rose, dressed in her ugliest gown, and announced loudly to anyone who wanted to listen that she was going to work at the shop.

Seelye gave her a searching look then ordered the carriage. Thankfully, he didn’t speak. She had no idea what she would say if he did and felt like she was a breath away from shattering anyway. So she left and spent all that time in the carriage, praying that she wasn’t destroying everything, even though she knew she was.

She didn’t go to the shop. She couldn’t face everyone there. So she loitered at a nearby park, and though the timing was critical, she waited until the last moment to arrive at the church. This was hard enough without waiting for Damon to appear. She slipped into a side room meant for brides and changed into the dress she had waiting. It was a plain white gown with a blood-red sash—a matching ribbon wove through her hair. Nothing elaborate, except for the hidden pocket along the side. Then—finally—Father Wollet knocked on her door and told her it was time.

She took a breath, then forced herself to begin. She left the room and walked all the way around so that she entered the church from the back. No one took her arm, and there was no father to give her away, as she walked up the aisle in a church filled to bursting with people. There was no music, no decoration. Simply a church full of people she didn’t know.

A lot of people, she realized with shock. She had expected Damon to invite his most trusted lieutenants, but not the nearly hundred and fifty people who stuffed the pews of this modest church.

They were all of a disreputable ilk, from the tarts who worked in his brothels through titled lords who frequented his hells. She caught sight of the man who ran the pickpocket ring and a bishop with a drinking problem. And they all stared as she walked slowly up the aisle.

She looked about and tried not to falter. Sweet heaven, she’d never felt so alone. This was her wedding, and no one she liked had attended. Not her mother, nor her brother, nor anyone from the dress shop.

She hadn’t wanted them here. In truth, she was too ashamed of what she was doing to see anyone she cared about here. But it made everything so much harder.

The altar was lit, and Damon stood there looking resplendent in his dark clothing. Everything he wore was black.
Everything.
Even his linen shirt and the black onyx pin for his cravat. His eyes gleamed as she approached, and his grin flashed white. Likely, he saw that she wore the damned green earrings. She had gotten them back from Radley on the excuse that she wanted to return them to where they belonged. He hadn’t questioned her, thank God, and she hated having the things touching her, but she had to do this.

“You look beautiful,” he said as she finally made it to Damon’s side. “We match perfectly.”

She didn’t answer, but she knew what he meant. White and black, with her blood-red ribbon as accent. Then he completed the picture by handing her a bouquet of pale white coriander, the flower of lust.

“I am a lucky man today.”

She gripped the bouquet and dipped her chin. She didn’t trust her voice to speak. He smiled, his eyes glinting with humor, as if he took pleasure in her anxiety. And then he held out his hand.

“Shall we?” He gestured to the altar where Father Wollet waited in his vestments, his florid face looking waxy as he weaved on his feet. Apparently, the good father wasn’t feeling well.

“N-no,” she said, her voice breaking on the word. Then she took hold of herself. This would never work if she looked like a timid flower. So she straightened her shoulders and dropped Damon’s hand. He didn’t want to let go, but she managed to wriggle free. “Not yet. We need an agreement first.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Come, come, I agree to your terms, but let’s not bore these people with the details.”

She frowned and purposely raised her voice to carry throughout the church. “Since you chose to invite these honored guests, they ought to know the specifics behind our wedding.” Then she flashed a smile. “And I won’t be saying, ‘I do’ without it.”

“Anything you want, my dear,” he said with a beautifully executed bow. And as he straightened, he pulled out her written conditions. “Shall I read it aloud?”

She shrugged. She cared not if he read it aloud, so long as he signed it. But Damon had a flare for the theatrical, so he turned to face the assembled guests.

“My lady love’s first condition of our marriage is as follows: no harm will come to her family, friends, or their loved ones through me. Namely, the Duke of Bucklynde, his family, or any person who works at her dress shop.” He listed the names she had written. “Then she adds the names of her dear brother and mother.”

“Do you agree to that?” she asked.

“Really, Wendy, do you think me that bloodthirsty? I would never want to harm anyone, least of all, one of your friends.”

She nodded. “So you agree to the forfeit then.” She noted that he hadn’t read that aloud, so she stated it. “If it be proved before an officer of the law that you willfully caused harm to any of those listed persons, then you forfeit all your many businesses to me.”

“My dear—”

“Do you agree?”

“Yes,” he said, though the word carried an abundance of condescension. No doubt he was thinking that as a married couple, whatever came to her, would go right back to him anyway. He was right, of course, but she didn’t quibble.

“Excellent. Next condition,” she prompted with a mocking smile.

He lifted the paper. “Number two. I will receive ownership in A Lady’s Favor dress shop.” He looked up and blew her a kiss. “Which is the premier dress shop of the
haut
ton
. In return, I shall gift my lady love with partnership in all the gaming hells. Equal halves, I believe.”

She nodded. “I want to be trained in your business, Damon. I want to run them alongside you.”

“Of course, my dear. You do realize that it will all be mine upon our marriage.”

She did. “But your word that you will teach me and allow me responsibility of half your hells within a year.” And, more important, she needed everyone to know that they had struck this bargain. That she was, indeed, his heir apparent, at least for now.

“Five years.”

“Three.”

“Seven years.”

“I am leaving you the brothels. I want nothing to do with them.” She lifted her chin. “Two years, or I turn and walk out now.”

He grinned. “Three years, and you learn the brothels too. And you train the woman of my choice at the dress shop.”

She blinked coyly. “You don’t want to learn it yourself?”

“And violate that sanctum of female frippery? Nonsense, my dear.”

She took a deep breath, weighing the bargain, then nodded. “Agreed.”

“Excellent!” He glanced at the congregation. “Such a woman I am getting. You cannot imagine how stimulating she is.”

Laughter followed his bawdy comment, and Wendy cursed the blush that heated her cheeks. Such a mild comment, and yet, she felt the shame of allowing him to say such things. Still, she held her head high as she pulled ink and a quill from her pocket.

“Shall we sign?” she asked.

“Not quite yet,” he countered. “I have a condition of my own.”

Of course he did. She tilted her head, waiting to hear what he wanted.

“You agree to be trained—by me—in the sexual arts. My rules, my
mastery
.”

She opened her mouth to argue. In truth, once they were wed, he would have rights to do whatever he wanted, but she would fight him, and they both knew it. So, before she could get a word in, he raised his finger to stop her.

“No arguments, no fighting. You will report to my training location three nights a week from dusk until dawn.”

“No,” she whispered. The very idea repulsed her.

“If you do not, I will chain you there tonight and not let you free until I deem you appropriately broken.”

She blinked, seeing the determination in his gaze. And the excitement. Either way, he would break her. At least this way, she would be free four days of the week, or as free as any wife could be.

“Agreed,” she whispered.

“I am sorry, my love,” he said in a carrying voice. “I’m afraid the others couldn’t hear you.”

“
Agreed
,” she all but shouted. Then she held out the ink and quill. He took it then crossed the pulpit to sign.

She followed him slowly, her steps dragging, as she fought her decision. Did she really want to do this? Could she carry through?

He scrawled their terms and his signature with a flourish then held out the quill. She stepped forward, seeing that he had added his condition to her list. There it was in stark black ink: her promise to allow his mastery over her. The idea made her nauseous. But this was the only way she could keep Radley safe. Keep her friends and her family alive. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was the best she could do.

So she signed.

Then as she picked up the agreement, he whisked it away. “Not so fast, my dear. I think I’ll keep this.” He tucked it inside his jacket.

“No, I want it.”

He smiled. “Perhaps we should leave it in the care of the dear bishop,” he said, as a man in the pews stood and crossed to Damon. “He’s also the man who signed our special license to wed. We want to be sure everything is legal, now don’t we?”

“Of course,” she mumbled, her heart beating painfully in her throat as she stared at the bishop. The man was one step below the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he was here at her wedding. Was there no end to Damon’s reach?

Apparently not, for the cleric took hold of the document.

“You can thank your brother Bernard for reminding me about a special license” continued Damon in a cheery voice. “I’d almost forgotten, until he asked if such a hasty arrangement was legal.” He chucked her under her chin, and she had to restrain herself from biting his finger. “But then, I know how eager you are to grace my bed.”

Again, the bawdy laughter floated around her. She ignored it, finding it easier this time to block it away. Perhaps that was because Damon had taken her arm and had steered her toward the altar. He even remembered to press her bouquet of flowers into her limp hand as he smirked.

This was happening, she thought dully, as they took their position in front of Father Wollet. She was marrying Demon Damon. Right now.

She didn’t hear the Father’s words. The sounds blurred together. Damon had to prompt her—apparently, more than once—to say, “I do.”

A minute, or an eon, later, he pushed a ring onto her finger. A signet ring, she realized, one that he had created for himself. She narrowed her eyes. Good God, it was a parody of a shield of honor with a demon in the center on a field of blood.

Charming.

“So it is done?” she rasped. She looked to the priest. “We are wed?”

The man nodded. “It is done.”

Which was the exact moment a commotion began at the back of the church.