Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
kiss the bride,’ the vicar intoned.
‘My wife,’ Max said softly. ‘My beautiful wife.’
The kiss was long, intense, full of words neither of them had to say. Bree was blushing and laughing when Max finally released her, all the colour was back in his face and the guests were beaming.
Walking back down the aisle, stopping and exchanging words with old friends and new, Bree knew this wedding in the quiet country church, miles from fashionable London, was perfect. Nothing could make the day any better.
‘Had you noticed,’ Max observed as they emerged from the porch, ‘I have not given you a wedding present yet?’
‘I rather thought you were it,’ Bree said daringly, making him chuckle.
‘No. I have something rather larger for you. It will be here in a moment.’
The bells were peeling out overhead, the guests came crowding behind them, spilling out into the churchyard to throw rice, wave and call for Bree to throw her bouquet. They reached the lichgate. ‘Where is my present?’ Bree teased. ‘I can’t see anything larger than you.’
Then there was the familiar blast of a coach horn and across the green a stagecoach came at full tilt pulled by four grey horses. ‘Max! A stagecoach, what on earth is it doing here?’
It was in Challenge Coach Company livery, she realised. Bill Huggins, a vast nosegay in his buttonhole, was on the box, but it was bigger, shinier, infinitely better than anything they had in the yard. Bill brought the team to a snorting halt in front of the gate and Bree saw the lettering on the door. ‘The Countess of Penrith,’ she read. ‘Max! You’ve bought me a stagecoach!’
‘I wanted to show you that I am proud of my wife, proud of the company and proud to be part it.’ Max staggered back as Bree launched herself at him in an enthusiastic hug. ‘Shall I drive you to the wedding breakfast? Will you come up on the box with me?’
Laughing, trying to protect her blue silk skirts as she clambered up, Bree let herself be boosted on to the box. Max climbed up beside her and steadied the team. Looking down, Bree saw Piers assisting the Dowager Countess into the coach, followed by a faintly protesting James.
‘Here.’ Max offered her the reins. ‘It is your coach.’
‘No.’ Bree shook her head. ‘Ours.’ And she slid her hand into his, and drove with him, just as they had that night when they had first met.
‘I wish we could have driven to Norfolk in my new stagecoach,’ Bree said wistfully. ‘I don’t think any bride has ever had such a wonderful present.’
‘It was worth it just for the look on your brother James’s face when he realised he was expected to get into it to drive to the breakfast.’ Max chuckled. She smiled back, then fell silent, suddenly shy.
She was conscious of his eyes on her face, of the closeness of his long body, the strong, elegant hands, the power in his relaxed frame. He was, finally, her husband. That had implications of intimacy that she had never really considered before. Sexual intimacy, of course. Bree swallowed, realising that she had never seen Max naked, nor he, her. And that was just the start of it.
And then there were all the other intimacies: shared dreams and hopes, things to disagree about and argue over, fears kept private until now, little faults and big failings. How would it feel to share all those things with someone who loved you, someone you were coming to realise you hardly knew?
Except I know the important things. I know he is honest and brave. I know he admits his faults. I know he is loyal to his friends, drives like an angel and kisses like all the temptations of sin. I know I love him, and I believe he loves me.
‘You are very serious.’ He looked serious too, and a little anxious about her solemn face. ‘Regrets?’
‘No, never those. I was just thinking about how intimate marriage must be—all those thoughts kept private until now, all our own odd habits, preferences, dislikes. Do you think it will take long to become used to each other?’
‘I am not sure I want to become used to you.’ Max studied her face, his eyes warm beneath lids that seemed heavy with smouldering desire. ‘I want to be constantly surprised.’
She smiled back, reassured, then glanced out of the window. ‘Where on earth are we going? The postilions must be lost. This isn’t the way to Norfolk—in fact, I think we are going west.’
‘We are, and we are nearly there. I couldn’t face the journey, not having to stop at some inn on our wedding night. I have borrowed Lansdowne’s hunting lodge in the Vale of Aylesbury. He is the only one who knows, the servants have all been firmly instructed to be neither heard, nor seen, and we can stay a week if we like.’
‘Oh.’ Nearly there. Bree ran her tongue over lips that were suddenly dry. She had thought she had hours to prepare herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Max to make love to her, it was just that she didn’t feel very ready for it.
He was watching her face. ‘Not a good idea?’
‘A very good one.’ she said firmly. ‘How kind of Lord Lansdowne.’
Max merely smiled, leaving Bree with the clear impression he knew just what she was thinking. It was hopeless, one couldn’t keep blushing, surely?
She did not have long to brood. The carriage swung between a pair of modest brick gateposts, past a lodge and into a small park. The house was a neat Queen Anne, perfect in its miniature detail.
‘It is a doll’s house,’ Bree exclaimed, charmed. Max helped her down and escorted her up the steps to the front door which stood wide open. ‘There’s no one here.’
‘No one visible,’ Max corrected, taking her by surprise by sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her over the threshold.
‘But …’
He pressed on up the stairs, blithely disregarding her halfhearted struggles. It was quite extraordinarily disconcerting to be carried so easily. Another door stood open on the landing, Max strode through it, set her on her feet and closed it, turning the key in the lock.
Bree looked around. Here was a table set with a cold collation, a bottle in an ice bucket and two chairs. There was a fire crackling in the wide hearth, heavy golden drapes at the windows and around the bed. The very big, very prominent, very obvious bed.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘No.’ Where her stomach should be there was a hollow space filled with a mass of butterflies.
‘Shall we go to bed, then?’
‘At—’ she cast a wild glance at the mantel clock ‘—five in the afternoon?’
‘Sounds a reasonable plan to me.’ Max reached for her bonnet ribbons and began to untie them slowly. He tossed the bonnet on to a chair and reached for the top button of her pelisse.
Suddenly emboldened, Bree held up her hand. ‘No. We take turns. I have no intention of blushing here on the hearthrug while you stay safely clothed.’ She reached up and removed his tall hat.
‘Hmm. One item at a time?’
‘Exactly. Pairs of things count as one,’ she conceded. ‘And no … no lovemaking until we have finished.’
‘Right.’ He resumed unbuttoning her pelisse.
‘That would be easier if you took your gloves off first,’ Bree observed.
‘You don’t trick me into throwing away an entire garment like that, my lady.’ He persevered while Bree struggled with the reality of being my lady. A countess. Me.
The thought was so distracting that Max was slipping the pelisse off her shoulders before she could concentrate on the tactics of this new game. It would be amusing to have him struggle with corset strings in gloves. On the other hand, she had