‘Of course. It is on a ribbon pinned to my pocket, just like it was last time you asked. Listen! Something’s happening.’
The musicians, who had arranged signals with a footman, stopped playing vaguely twiddly music and launched into something more positive. The dozen guests—all that could be fitted into the space in front of the cottage—sat up, stopped surreptitiously flapping at the insect life and fell silent then stood as the music changed to the ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.’
Will’s stomach swooped, he felt the blood draining out of his face and wondered vaguely if he was going to faint. He never had, so it was only guesswork. Verity would never forgive him so he took a steadying breath and turned to face the temporary altar that the Reverend Mr Hoskins had set up. The Chaplain stood before it, smiling encouragement, and then the little congregation drew a collective sharp breath.
I can turn now, he thought as Basil gasped. Verity was walking very slowly out of the trees. Benjamin and Bertrand in front, strewing rose petals under the supervision of Alicia in her first grown-up, full-length dress.
The Bishop, stick in one hand, a beaming smile on his lips, had his daughter’s hand on his arm and behind them Will glimpsed Verity’s four friends with Araminta and Althea, the rest of the bridesmaids.
But they were a blur. Only one figure, the veiled bride, was in focus. She stopped, called to Alicia, gave her the bouquet of roses and myrtle that she was carrying and threw back her veil. And then she smiled and the world tilted on its axis.
* * *
He is so white, Verity had thought as she came into the clearing.
She had assumed that she would be the nervous one, that Will would negotiate the wedding with as much lofty ducal poise as he managed everything else. But she felt quite calm, buoyed up on clouds of happiness and the conviction that this was so perfectly right that nothing could go wrong now. She stopped and gave her flowers to Alicia, put back her veil and smiled at him and Will smiled back and raised his hand to his lips, then held it out to her.
‘The Bishop’s supposed to give her to you,’ Basil said bossily, but her father extended his own arm so Will could take her hand before Mr Hoskins could say the words.
She turned and kissed her father and waited while a footman came and helped him to a chair at the side, then looked at her bridegroom, saw the love in his eyes and stood beside him as the Chaplain began to speak.
‘Dearly beloved—’
* * *
‘Dearly beloved,’ Will said, tucking her hand under his arm as they stood on the beach and waved as the last of the little fleet of rowing boats pulled away and the voices and laughter of the guests became fainter over the water. There had been a great deal of good wine at what Will had insisted on calling the Wedding Picnic and now they were heading back to a more substantial meal at the Old Palace presided over by the Bishop and Will’s stepmother, who had struck up an unlikely alliance during the preparations for the ceremony.
‘I do love you,’ he added, looking down at her. ‘Are you very tired now?’
‘Is that a polite husbandly way of asking whether I want to go to bed and sleep or go to bed and make mad, passionate love?’ Verity asked. Her heart was doing very strange things and she was not at all certain it was designed to flutter quite like that, but if Will could control himself, so could she. Duchesses probably did not drag their husbands through the undergrowth in their eagerness.
‘It was,’ he agreed, very serious.
‘Perhaps I should go and lie down and see how I feel?’
‘An excellent idea. Allow me to carry you in case you feel faint on the way.’
‘If I hadn’t before, I am now,’ Verity said against his neck as Will adjusted his grip on her and began to walk back to the cottage along the path that the gardeners had scythed the day before. ‘This is quite indecently romantic, Your Grace.’
He made a very satisfactory growling sound as he ducked and carried her through the doorway into the cottage, then set her down on the bed. The staff had worked miracles with the tiny building. The walls were whitewashed, the windows clean with gay cotton curtains. The bed had a feather mattress and heaps of pillows, there was a rug on the floor and hampers of food, some on ice. There was even a discreet tent with commode and washstand and the fire was made up so that they could heat water or make tea.
‘I find I am wide awake,’ Verity said and stood up. ‘And now I am going to take all your clothes off because I want to inspect my new husband very thoroughly.’
It was unkind to tease him, but perhaps Will was enjoying it, she thought, seeing his blue eyes turn indigo, his lips part, as she unbuttoned and untied, removed his stickpin and neckcloth, slid off his coat and waistcoat, pulled his shirt from the waistband. He did nothing to help her, but nor did he hinder, letting her hands go where she willed, holding his own away from his sides and not touching.
When she dropped to her knees and began to roll down his stockings he kicked them and his shoes away, then went very still when she stayed where she was, studying the evidence of his arousal through the fine cloth of his breeches.
Would he stay still if she continued to explore? Verity began to undo the buttons fastening his falls, then slipped her hands inside to touch.
Will said something under his breath, moved abruptly, then stood stock-still as she began to caress the hard heated flesh. She flipped the final button open, drew him out, stared, at the beautiful raw masculinity of desire.
I want to kiss him there.
Was that allowed? She had no idea, but she was now a disgraceful duchess, so she could try to see.
Under her lips he was smooth and hot.
‘Dear God. Verity.’