Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

“Only horses and hounds,” Sussex said, refusing to give ground.

“Stop this at once!” Alyssa stepped between the two men. “I am not chattel to be bartered for in exchange for a horse, nor am I a bone to be fought over by gentlemen who persist in behaving like hounds marking the lamppost boundaries of their territory.” She eyed her husband and his onetime rival. “I know where my father keeps his firearms. And I am quite an accomplished target shot. This is my wedding day, and since you two gentlemen seem determined to spoil what remains of the wedding breakfast, I must tell you that at the moment, I am not averse to depriving Bonaparte of another English cavalryman target or of depriving His Majesty of one of his ‘right trusty and right entirely beloved cousins.’ If I am to be made a widow, I prefer to do the making. As of this moment, your bit of territorial marking is over.” Alyssa glared at the duke. “Do you understand, Your Grace? Or must I gain your attention in a more violent manner?”

Griffin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the look on the young duke’s face. “I believe, my lady, that this episode, as you call it, stems from the fact that you have already gained His Grace’s attention.”

“I recognize the honor His Grace has paid me with his attention, but in truth, I did not seek it prior to my marriage, and I do no

t seek it following my marriage.” Alyssa looked up at the duke. “I do, however, appreciate His Grace’s unexpected felicitations on this, my wedding day.”

The Duke of Sussex’s second dismissal wasn’t quite the surprise the first one had been. He bowed once again over Lady Abernathy’s hand. “By your leave, milady.” He gifted Alyssa with an indulgent smile before turning to Griffin. “Unlike you, my lord, I’m in no rush to join a regiment and become cannon fodder. I can wait.”

“Yes, you can, Your Grace,” Griff shot back. “You appear to be quite adept at waiting.” He tucked Alyssa’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the bride and groom’s table to begin the toasts and the distribution of presents to their guests and to the members of the household staffs.

After all the toasts to the health of the bride and groom and to the health of the bishop had been exchanged and Alyssa and Griffin had presented the gifts, Alyssa went upstairs to change from her wedding dress into a traveling dress.

She emerged from her bedchamber half an hour later, said her good-byes to her family and the many loyal retainers who had served the Tressinghams since before Alyssa was born, and joined with Griffin on the east portico to say his.

Tossing her wedding bouquet toward the cluster of unmarried girls and debutantes, Alyssa laughed when Miranda caught it, then gasped as the gathered crowd began throwing old shoes and fistfuls of rice. Griffin took her by the hand and nodded toward the coach. Gathering her skirts in hand, Alyssa ran with Griffin to the coach, dodging handfuls of rice and old shoes as they made their way through a gauntlet of well-wishers.

Alyssa climbed into the coach, sank down onto the velvet-covered cushions, and heaved a sigh of relief as the coachman slammed the door of the coach shut behind them. She started to put her feet up on the opposite seat, then thought better of it.

“Go ahead,” Griffin invited. “It’s as much your coach as it is mine. And I know your legs and feet must be killing you.”

Alyssa nodded.

“How long have you been on your feet today?” he asked.

Alyssa thought for a moment. “Since five.”

Griffin moved to the opposite seat, then reached down and gently encircled her ankle, carefully lifting it onto his lap. He untied the ribbons that held her slippers on her feet and slid her shoe off. Positioning her foot in the cradle of his thighs, Griffin began to massage the ball of her foot.

“You can’t.” His hands and fingers were magical; still Alyssa made a halfhearted protest.

“Why not?” Griff asked. “We’re married.”

“We’re taking up too much room,” she explained, biting back a moan of sheer pleasure as he kneaded a particularly tender spot in the arch of her right foot with the pads of his thumbs. “Where are Durham and Eastman going to sit?”

“It’s our coach,” Griffin reminded her. “We’re allowed to take up as much room as we like. And your lady’s maid and my valet are riding with the luggage in a separate coach. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and I thought you might like to rest before we get there.”

“That would be heavenly,” Alyssa admitted.

“Then close your eyes and go to sleep,” Griff advised.

“You don’t mind?” She smothered a yawn.

Griff shook his head. “Not at all. Go on, close your eyes. I’ll wake you at the first stop.”

She didn’t have to be prompted twice. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the velvet cushion, and allowed the tension in her body to melt away as Griff massaged first one foot and then the other.

Chapter Seventeen

“Needlepoint cushions in varying sizes and lap robes of cashmere or woven cotton make useful additions to any lady or gentleman’s traveling coach.”

—Alyssa, Lady Abernathy, diary entry, 04 May 1810

Alyssa jolted awake. She opened her eyes and discovered that she was lying on her side on the coach seat with her face comfortably pillowed against a firmly muscled thigh covered in buff-colored breeches. The thigh she was using as a pillow and the buff breeches covering it puzzled her. When she’d left her parents’ London town house, she’d been sitting across from Griffin, and he’d been wearing his wedding suit. The trousers were pale gray.

Alyssa stared down the length of the gentleman’s leg and noted the glossy black leather Hessian boot gloving his well-molded calf and his foot. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her blood roared in her ears. She struggled to sit up, but the rocking motion of the coach over rough terrain made it all but impossible.