The Earl's Practical Marriage Page 17

  ‘Shocking,’ Giles murmured. ‘And we are going to have to reel back through the streets because I did not order the carriage to collect us either. I can see that we are going to be a notorious couple, lowering the tone of the neighbourhood.’ He shook hands with the vicar, threw the two elderly ladies into confusion by kissing them both on the cheek, tipped the verger and the sexton and assured the flower seller that he would make a point of directing his staff to buy flowers from her on a regular basis.

  They all trooped outside where Giles gave the small boy a half-crown which was greeted by whoops of delight. Jermyn Street was busier now and people gathered round to stare at the bridal party. ‘This is going to be the talk of Mayfair,’ Giles said. He raised his hat politely to a group of giggling housemaids, then bowed to a haughty matron who raised a lorgnette as her barouche drove past.

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘No idea, don’t recognise her, but then I hardly know a soul in London—or in England, come to that. I must join some clubs, look up some of the officers I knew in the Peninsula. We will get calls enough once the announcement is in the paper, and I told Downing to send it off as soon as we left this morning.’

  Giles turned to walk along Jermyn Street. Laurel saw that they were still trailing some of the spectators and faces appeared at the windows of shops as they passed. Perhaps brides on foot carrying bouquets were not a common sight in Mayfair. ‘We could have sold tickets. I am sure Astley’s Amphitheatre would be glad to have such an audience for a performance.’

  ‘Do you mind?’ Giles tucked her hand snuggly against his side. ‘Perhaps I was wrong and we should have had the wedding privately at the house.’

  ‘No. This was lovely. I feel very much married.’

  ‘Not so very much yet. I have not kissed my bride. I hope you will forgive me that, but I feel we were giving enough of a show as it was.’

  ‘Giles, where are we going? This is in quite the opposite direction to the Square—look, we are at St James’s Street already.’

  ‘I have a surprise for you.’ Giles tossed a coin to the crossing sweeper and guided Laurel in his wake through the busy traffic of Piccadilly and into the street immediately opposite. ‘And now we are here. Grillon’s Hotel for one night. Possibly the shortest honeymoon on record.’

  ‘An hotel? I have never stayed in one.’ But even in the depth of the country she had read about Grillon’s on the society pages of the newspapers. All the best people stayed at Grillon’s and now she, Lady Laurel Knighton—no, Lady Revesby—was joining their ranks. She tried not to stare about her at the polished wood, the wide carpeted sweep of the lobby, the small groups of people passing in and out of the doors, all of them far too well bred and sophisticated to be gazing about as she longed to do.

  They were escorted upstairs by a tailcoated man who was apparently the manager. ‘We have no luggage,’ Laurel whispered.

  ‘All taken care of,’ Giles said as they reached a panelled door.

  The manager opened it wide to reveal a sitting room. ‘My lord, my lady. If there is anything you require, please ring.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Giles said, in clear dismissal. The man bowed himself off and Giles bent, put one arm behind her knees and swept her off her feet and up against his chest. ‘I realise this is not my own threshold and I will have to repeat the exercise when we go home, but it feels right to do it now.’

  Laurel curled her arms around her husband’s neck and hugged him tightly as he leaned back to push the door closed behind them. They were married and her childhood certainty that they were meant for each other was vindicated after nine long years. It would take a little getting used to after she had managed to convince herself that she was quite content to be a spinster and an independent woman, but it would be all right because this was meant to be.

  They still had to get to know each other again, learn how to make the marriage work, but she wondered, as Giles set her on her feet, how she had ever doubted him in the past. Now there was nothing but trust between them and on that foundation they would build not only a marriage, but a family.

  The urgency of Giles’s mouth on hers told her that he was contemplating beginning that family at the earliest possible moment, a sentiment with which she was entirely in accordance. Her bonnet was askew and the ribbons were half-strangling her. She had to stand on tiptoe to kiss Giles with the eagerness she felt and the bouquet was scratchily pressed between her bosom and his chest and was prickling her chin. Laurel tossed it back over one shoulder without breaking the kiss, then heard a small shriek of delight.

  Giles stopped kissing her and lifted his head just enough to murmur, ‘We are not alone.’

  ‘No, it seems not,’ Laurel agreed, disentangling herself. She wondered if she was quite as pink in the face as she felt. She pulled her bonnet straight and turned to find Giles’s valet Dryden. Beside him, clutching the slightly battered bouquet, was Binham looking happier than Laurel had ever seen her.

  ‘We were just departing, my lord. Everything is in order according to your instructions. Come along,’ he added in a mutter and gave Binham’s arm a tug.

  To Laurel’s surprise her maid did not protest at such treatment, merely bobbed a curtsy and hurried after the valet, holding tight to the flowers.

  ‘What is the matter with her?’ Giles demanded.

  ‘She is somewhat confused after catching the bridal bouquet—by tradition that should mean she is the next bride.’

  ‘Heavens, I hope she does not have her eye on Dryden. The woman terrifies me.’

  ‘Me, too, at first, I must confess. Stepmama employed her without consulting me and I had every intention of dismissing her with excellent references and finding someone more amenable, but she is actually mellowing.’ She looked around. ‘Are we alone here now?’

  ‘That was my idea. Binham and Dryden have brought over everything we might need until tomorrow, there should be champagne on ice, and the hotel will send up food and hot water and so forth when we ring for it, at whatever time, day or night. It occurred to me that carrying you over the threshold in the Square and then continuing straight upstairs and vanishing for twenty-four hours might cause you some embarrassment.’ He was working on the bow of her bonnet ribbons as he spoke.

  ‘It would be equally awkward to be sitting around for the rest of the day waiting for dinner to be over and pretending that we were not just married and dying to be in bed.’

  ‘Are you? Dying to be in bed with me?’ Giles set the bonnet aside, pulled off his gloves with his teeth and began work on the row of buttons down the front of her pelisse.

  ‘I find myself quite resigned to the prospect,’ Laurel said demurely. He was remarkably adept with fiddly buttons.

  ‘Minx. You never were very convincing as a demure miss. Whenever we were in trouble as children you would stand there looking far too innocent to be believable.’ The pelisse slid off her shoulders and Giles tossed it on to a chair along with his tall hat, then shrugged out of his coat. ‘The bedchamber should be that door there.’

  They stumbled into the other room, wearing considerably less than they had started with. Giles’s waistcoat and neckcloth had gone, apparently while he had followed her across the sitting room, caressing her out of her gown as she retreated before him. His urgency was exciting and the flutter of nerves quite disappeared to be replaced with a sensation that Laurel recognised as arousal, warming and teasing parts of her that no young lady was supposed to be aware of, let alone think about. Since that interlude on the island she had found herself thinking about them more than she should and about Giles’s body, naked in the sunlight.

  ‘I had better draw the curtains.’ Giles gestured towards the view of the windows on the opposite side of Albemarle Street. ‘Ah, there are thin blinds, that is better.’ He drew them down, filtering the light into a softness that still allowed them to see each other clearly. ‘Now, Lady Reve
sby...’ And then he seemed to lose the desire to talk because while he had turned away to locate the blind pulls she had taken the pins from her hair and stepped out of her petticoats.

  Giles’s breathing hitched as he ran his hands into the tumbled curls that she had washed so carefully in rosemary infusion, that Binham had brushed and brushed as it dried so every lock was glossy and slippery over his fingers.

  He lifted her with one arm around her waist, the other still in her hair, and laid her on the bed, following her so they were locked together on the high mattress. He went still, unspeaking, looking down into her eyes, then he bent his head and kissed her. It began as a slow, gentle pressure, but as she kissed him back, slid her arms around him and tugged at his shirt, he became more urgent, his fingers tangling with the ribbons and laces of her underthings until Laurel sat up and pulled off her chemise herself.

  ‘You will have to unlace me.’ She found she was beyond shyness.

  Quite shameless, in fact.

  It was unspeakably erotic, to turn her back to give him access, to feel the nip of his teeth on the nape of her neck as he freed her from her corset, his hands coming round to cup her breasts as the laces yielded and the stiff boning released them. His thumbs fretted across her nipples and Laurel looked down to see them stiffen, pushing impudently against his fingers. She was cradled between his spread thighs, against his chest and she could feel clearly that he was erect and hard, his arousal pressing blatantly against her buttocks.

  The nerves fluttered back, but in a way that was strangely exciting. Laurel wriggled, pressing against him, her head tipped back on his shoulder. ‘Giles.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Giles moved, turning her on to her back on the bed, pulling the loosened corset away. He bent to kiss her breasts, then he dragged his shirt over his head and got off the bed to free himself of the rest of his clothing. When they were both naked he stood there looking at her, then reached out and stroked his hand over the slight swell of her stomach, down into the curls.

  ‘Shall we make this irrevocable?’ he asked, his voice husky. His desire was evident in his body, in his face, in his voice, but the strangeness of his words made her frown for a second, confused. Surely there was no question of this not being irrevocable? They were married now in the sight of the church and the law. But perhaps he was as overset as she was, emotions tangling his tongue.

  ‘Oh, yes, Giles.’

  I would rather you had asked me if we should make love...but that is only a euphemism, a form of words after all. It need not have anything to do with the emotion of love, I suppose.

  It made her feel a little wistful for a moment, but only a moment, because kissing when two naked bodies were pressed together, when two naked people wanted each other, in love or not, there was no room for brooding, Laurel found.

  Giles was gentle but sure, not giving her time to fret that she did not know what to do. Her body seemed to understand the fundamentals in any case, she thought hazily as his weight came over her and she instinctively raised her knees to cradle his hips and pressed back when she felt the blunt pressure nudging at her entrance.

  She was expecting it to hurt, but his fingers insinuated themselves between their bodies, worked the magic as they had in the summer house and when he pushed into her she was crying out with pleasure, not with pain.

  It felt a little strange, then a little sore and then very wonderful, as she came back to herself, to feel Giles within her, joined with her. She opened her eyes and saw the concentration on his face, the hard lines of his tense neck and throat, saw his eyes close for a second, then he opened them, his gaze fierce on her face, his expression almost one of pain before he cried out, something in a language she did not know, and collapsed against her, his face buried in the angle of her neck and shoulder.

  The weight of a fully grown, completely relaxed man was more than she had expected and Laurel found herself sinking into the Grillon’s luxuriously soft feather mattress.

  I am being swallowed by clouds, she thought, then had to stifle a little gasp of laughter against Giles’s shoulder at the thought of being squashed into a cloud by an angel, because this was surely heaven.

  ‘Do you find my lovemaking amusing?’ a muffled voice enquired, vibrating against the skin just above her right breast.

  ‘It was heaven and now I feel as though I am sinking into a very fluffy cloud under the weight of a rather large angel.’

  Giles levered himself up on braced forearms which had the interesting effect of pressing his lower body tight against hers. ‘I have no idea what size angels are supposed to be, so I am not sure whether to be insulted because you are saying I am fat.’

  He was smiling down at her, that errant lock of hair falling across his forehead. He looked formidable and very male and, at the same time vulnerable because he had surrendered himself, lost himself, with her, just as she had been lost with him. ‘Now I come to think of it, aren’t angels supposed to be sexless? Yes, I am insulted.’

  Laurel gave an experimental wriggle. If she did that... Oh, yes. ‘I really do not think you can be an angel after all.’

  ‘What a relief.’ Giles slid down her body, his tongue exploring as he went.

  ‘Giles? Giles! What are you...? Oh, Giles, yes.’

  Her husband, wickedly reducing her to a quivering mass of delight, said nothing.

  * * *

  Giles leaned back in his father’s great carved chair in the study and surveyed the post neatly stacked on the worn green leather of the desktop. Back to reality. He picked up a pen and jotted Employ secretary on a blank piece of paper. If this much had accumulated while they had been gone for only two days at Grillon’s, then there would be considerably more when news of his return to London spread more widely.

  He picked up the top item, then sat, contemplating the first two days—and nights—of married life. When his eyes finally focused on his reflection in the glass doors of the bookcase opposite he saw he was smiling fatuously. Moonling, he mouthed at himself.

  That first day and night had been so good that at breakfast the next morning he had suggested staying for another night. The sight of Laurel curled up at the end of the bed, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder as she ate fingers of toast and honey that he was making for her, removed the slightest desire to go back to St James’s Square and deal with the real world.

  When a drop of honey dripped from the toast and into Laurel’s cleavage, making her laugh, he dropped the knife, threw off his robe and devoted himself to licking her clean of honey. That took at least an hour, what with having to spread more on her body and then check there was none behind her ears, or her knees, and having to respond to wriggling and giggling and bold exploration of any parts of his anatomy that came within reach of her fingers or the honey spoon.

  ‘We may as well stay for luncheon,’ he’d said and then the afternoon had slipped away with bathing and sleeping and lazily making love and talking of this and that and nothing very much until it was time for dinner and it became much easier to simply stay where they were for the night.

  At three that afternoon he had carried Laurel over the threshold once more and she had retired upstairs, primly informing him she had things to attend to in her wardrobe, which he strongly suspected meant that she was taking a nap. Something that he felt in need of himself, if he was honest. He must be getting old, he thought, shaking his head as he broke the seal on the first piece of correspondence. Although perhaps making love, on and off, for forty-eight hours, was some excuse.

  Most of the correspondence was business, but there were at least a dozen letters welcoming him back to England and congratulating him on his marriage. Several included invitations and he set all the social correspondence to one side to look through with Laurel later.

  So far, Giles had to admit, married life was proving far better than he had hoped. It was surprisingly easy t
o make love to Laurel without feeling guilty about it. Perhaps he ought to feel guilty about not feeling... He gave himself a brisk mental shake. Not feeling guilty at all would be preferable. But he would have to stop himself speaking Portuguese in the throes of passion.

  Laurel had been a delight. Responsive, sensual and brave, she seemed to have overcome whatever qualms a virgin might have about the marriage bed and, Giles suspected, he was going to enjoy himself keeping up with her demands and her imagination.

  She also kept her sense of humour in the bedroom. That nonsense about angels and clouds still made him smile. If he could not marry for love—and finding love must be a total gamble—then he could not think of a better bride. He only hoped he could make Laurel happy because she deserved to be, she had brought him so much.

  Downing opened the door. ‘This has just come by royal messenger, my lord.’

  ‘From the Palace?’

  ‘From Carlton House.’ He extended a silver salver with a thick folded envelope in the centre, its heavy red seal exuding importance.

  ‘Is he waiting for a reply?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  Presumably, Yes, Your Royal Highness was the only expected response to whatever this was. It had to be from Prinny, of course, coming from Carlton House and not from the Palace. Giles broke the seal and read the contents. ‘Damn.’ An invitation from the Prince Regent was only to be expected, but this was for tomorrow evening and he had no idea whether Laurel had anything suitable to wear or even how she would feel about being plunged into one of Prinny’s ‘little’ receptions when she had not even got her bearings in London.

  He got to his feet. The sooner he found out, the better, because if he had to make their excuses they had better be good ones. The Regent was prone to sulks if thwarted and, while the last thing Giles wanted was to be part of the Carlton House set, he did not want to offend the heir to the throne either.