The marriage of Nathaniel Gresham, Viscount Hightower, and Lady Violet Devere duly took place later that morning at the village church near the Deveres’ country home. His wardrobe returned from its hiding place, the viscount was handsome and composed in a dark blue coat. No one, seeing him stand so calmly before the altar, would have imagined him waking naked under a wolf skin a few hours earlier. The bride looked resolute, and slightly washed out, in a gown of pale pink. Those present were too accustomed to her wan appearance to wonder at the wardrobe choice.
The simple ceremony was witnessed by the couple’s families and close friends. On one side of the church, the elder Langfords exhibited more genial dignity than visible joy. Indeed, the duke, a tall, spare, handsome man of sixty or so, exchanged at least one unfathomable look with his duchess. Adele Gresham, though well past fifty, was exceedingly striking in a blue ensemble that complemented hair of a deep rich color between chestnut and strawberry. She sat very straight. Tall, angular, with arching brows and an aquiline nose, she was known for not suffering fools, and the one glance she let slip to the opposite rank of pews suggested that this ability was under considerable strain.
For their part, the bride’s parents seemed oddly subdued. They looked more often to the earl’s formidable mother than to their marrying offspring. The Dowager Countess of Moreley glowered in the front pew, bent a little forward, both hands resting on the head of her ebony cane. At seventy-six, with her prominent features accentuated by age, her once fine figure sabotaged by gravity, she’d been compared by one quaking sprig of fashion to a cathedral gargoyle. If she had ever exhibited an errant sense of humor, her gown of stone-gray sarcenet might have been seen as wry defiance of this characterization. But no one had ever accused Violet’s grandmother of whimsy. Next to her the stocky, sandy-haired earl and his plump, anxious wife were obviously mere retinue. Only Violet’s younger brothers, sixteen and fourteen, added vitality to the Devere pew.
To those who knew them, the groom’s bevy of brothers seemed a bit subdued as well. They put it down to the solemnity of the occasion, unaware of Nathaniel’s mustering of the troops once he was dressed and breakfasted. He’d lined them up in a vacant parlor like a company of soldiers, acknowledged the depths of their ingenuity and the hilarity of the results, and informed them that the remainder of his wedding day was to be prank-free. Walking down the row, he’d fixed each brother with a stern eye, and received solemn promises in return. When he cared to exert it, Nathaniel had a natural authority that could not be denied.
Sebastian stood up with the viscount at the altar. Alan sat next to their parents with his lovely wife Ariel at his side. The rest filled the second pew with four sets of wide shoulders, and there was not a peep from any of them, not even James.
Afterward, guests and prominent neighbors joined the family at the house for a celebration of the wedding. Reception rooms filled with a buzz of conversation, and chattering groups spilled out into the beautiful June day through French doors open to the gardens.
“Oh, my,” declared one lady as the Langford brothers paused on the terrace for a brotherly toast. “I must say that the sight of them all together is quite breathtaking.”
“It’s the first time they’ve all been gathered in some years. Lord James has been at sea,” responded her friend, who prided herself on knowing every tiny tidbit of gossip.
“And only the eldest married?”
“And the youngest, Lord Alan.”
“How odd.”
“Oh, it was quite the mystery. Some country nobody called Bolton, from Cornwall.” She bent closer to murmur in her friend’s ear. “Though some say her mother was an actress.”
“No!”
The other nodded. “And a dear ‘friend’ of the Prince Regent.”
“Ah. So that’s how…?”
The gossip looked frustrated. “The details of the match are unclear. But Lord Sebastian, now, he is recently engaged. Announced in a perfectly straightforward way.”
“He’s the taller one, with the side whiskers?”
“Cavalry regiment,” was the laconic reply. “He snagged Georgina Stane.”
“The heiress?”
“Indeed. Lord Sebastian beat out a whole crowd of suitors.”
The second lady looked impressed, but dubious. “Has he met her family?”
“He must have. They courted through most of the season.”
“Oh, her family does not go up to London. I believe Lady Georgina was staying with her aunt.” At her friend’s inquiring look, the lady added, “I’ve heard the Stanes are rather…eccentric.”
“Indeed?”
Eyes bright, the lady bent closer to whisper.
On a sofa in the largest parlor, Violet’s grandmother was holding forth to a captive audience. “Of course, the Devere family goes back to the Conqueror on both sides. The Langford dukedom was only granted in 1683. Charles the second, you know. Not what you would call…really sound.”
Passing behind her, Nathaniel wanted to mutter that his ancestor had already been an earl at the time, but he didn’t. Arguing with the dowager countess of Moreley was useless. She could never be convinced that her opinions were wrong, and she was only too delighted to explain the stupidity of those who didn’t share them.
Nathaniel moved on, conscious of glances following him and remarks being made. He’d attended scores of parties since his early youth, and attracted notice at many of them, for the sake of his rank and position. He’d never come to enjoy it, and today was worse. As the groom, he was the continual center of attention.
He paused in a doorway between rooms, looking for Violet, and heard his brother James’s voice from one side. “I put away a goodly bit of prize money during the war, and I’m thinking it’s time to find a nice English girl and get leg-shackled.”
“If you think of it as ‘shackled—’” began Alan’s wife Ariel.
“Just an expression,” James interrupted. “I’ve heard you’re quite the matchmaker.”
“Well, when you come to visit us next month, we shall see,” said Ariel. “I can introduce you to some young ladies…”
“Not bluestockings, mind,” said James. “Alan’s the one for books and such.”
Nathaniel grinned as Ariel agreed, and moved on into the crowd.
* * *
Violet wondered if the toasts and congratulations and evaluating glances would ever end—particularly those from the people who clearly wondered how she’d managed such a match. Those made her want to pour red wine down the front of her wretched pink dress until it turned a more flattering color. Except she also wanted to drink the wine—lots of it. And from the way her grandmother occasionally frowned at her, she probably knew it. Violet was surprised Grandmamma hadn’t marched over and taken her glass away from her.
Looking happy, making happy meaningless conversation, was exhausting. Not that she wasn’t happy. She was. Of course she was. Or, at least, she was very glad the wedding was done. She was excited to get on with her new life. She appreciated Nathaniel’s steady presence, and the good wishes of her real friends. But how she longed to get away! None of these people could imagine the pressure that had been building up in her over all these years of being the good girl—even years after she didn’t feel like a girl at all. They had no notion of the familial conspiracy that made certain every hint of rebellion was squelched. She’d been part of it; she knew that. She’d given in to the frowns and orders.
But that was over now, and with freedom so near, the desire for it was pushing at her like floodwater straining at a dam. She herself hadn’t understood precisely what it would be like once she was actually married. She was afraid something would burst out before all these wedding guests and she would go whirling and chattering among them like a bedlamite. The image called up the memory of Nathaniel naked with the wolf skin. Here were scenes to set all of society on its ear. The idea had a strange attraction. She could almost wish to see the faces of Nathaniel’s brothers, who thought her such a buttoned-up miss. But it wasn’t going to happen. She retained more self-control than that.
The minutes and hours dragged interminably, but finally they were going out to the carriage. People followed to wave and call farewells. The door was shut, the horses given their heads, and they were off on the three-hour drive to the manor where they were to spend the first two weeks of their marriage. Violet watched until the gates of her old home disappeared around a bend in the road. “Thank God that is over,” she said then, referring to the entire chapter of her early life.
Nathaniel looked a bit surprised at her vehemence. “Are you worn-out? Your mother thought a country wedding would be less tiring…”
“No, Grandmamma would not be so unfashionable as to remain in London an instant after the season ended,” she corrected.
“Ah.”
There was no need to say more. Her grandmother was an established sore point. She had found things to criticize even in the estimable Viscount Hightower. “And I’m not tired. Except of…” Violet let the sentence die. There was no need to burden Nathaniel with complaints about her endless “girlhood.” Particularly now that it was over.
After waiting politely to see if she would continue, he said, “I think you will like Hightower. The countryside thereabouts is thought to be very beautiful.”
“Your title comes from there?”
“Yes, the manor was one of the earliest Gresham land holdings.”
“Before Charles the Second?” When Nathaniel looked startled, she smiled. “Yes, I heard Grandmamma disparaging the date of the dukedom.”
Nathaniel smiled back. He had a wonderful smile. She’d noticed that before, but not quite so vividly. When he truly smiled, his handsome face gained warmth and depth, and you felt as if you could fall forever into his blue eyes. As they shared a moment of conspiratorial glee, Violet’s heartbeat stuttered. She saw her new husband smiling before her, and standing ruefully naked in his empty bedchamber this morning. Something in his gaze suggested that he might be thinking of that moment too, when she had been unable to tear her eyes away from his sculpted form. Violet felt bits of her own body tighten in response to the notion.
They were alone together. For hours. Quite close together, really, in the confines of the traveling carriage. They hadn’t been alone before, not for more than a few minutes, due to her grandmother’s antiquated notions. Violet felt as if the air was thickening around her. If he wished to touch her now, he could. She wished he would. And yet, she had made a plan for their first moments of intimacy. She’d seen each step in her mind’s eye a hundred times. Should she throw it to the four winds? Should she cast herself into his arms, here in the moving carriage? Part of her cried out, “Yes!” But Violet found she was not quite that daring. She wished she was. Perhaps she could become so?
The silence had begun to seem long. She should say something. “Is there actually a tower?” It came out breathless. Nathaniel’s smile broadened. Could he read her mind?
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “A ruined one. It’s said to be quite ancient. Hightower is not far from Chichester, you know, which is full of Roman remains.”
This bit of geography steadied Violet’s senses as it reminded her of other plans. “It’s not too far from Brighton either, is it?”
“About fifty miles.”
About what she’d estimated; not a difficult journey.
“You know that the house isn’t grand,” Nathaniel added. “Nothing like Fairleigh.”
Violet nodded. Fairleigh, their eventual home, was just five miles from Langford Abbey, the duke’s main seat. She had visited it, and approved some renovations that were in train. She knew that Nathaniel needed to be nearby to help his father administer the ducal lands. She also knew that the duchess hoped to enlist her in a variety of charitable ventures. She and Nathaniel had a host of duties laid out for them that would last the rest of their lives.
Violet suppressed a sigh. She didn’t object to responsibility. She’d known full well that it lay ahead. She only wanted a little time before all those duties descended. She deserved it. Nathaniel did too. Surely he would enjoy a bit of freedom? The pent-up energy that had surged in her at the wedding breakfast swept through her again—that fierce longing to make her own choices, plunge into experience. “I should so like to spend the summer in Brighton!” The words had escaped her, unstoppable, propelled by that energy. She hadn’t meant to bring this up so soon. But she’d waited so long!
“Brighton?” Nathaniel looked surprised.
“I’ve always wanted to go.”
“I didn’t realize you were fond of the seaside.”
“I love it.” Violet actually had no idea if this was true. She’d never spent any time by the ocean. But she knew she wanted balls and excursions and bride visits and… She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “It would be such fun!”
Their eyes met and intense awareness filled the carriage once more. His coat sleeve seemed hot where her fingers rested.
“I don’t know,” said Nathaniel slowly. “The good places will all be leased by now.”
“Surely something could be found?”
Nathaniel blinked at the hint of a snap in her voice. For a moment, he seemed to hear an unsettling echo of her grandmother’s steely tones. But that was ridiculous. No one could be less like the dowager than his gentle bride. “I’ll have some inquiries made,” he conceded.
“Wonderful.” Violet smiled and sternly repressed a desire to insist. She mustn’t let her longings get out of hand. There would be plenty of time to convince him in the days ahead.
* * *
They arrived at Hightower in the golden light of early evening, which gave the house of mellow red brick, built in Tudor times, the look of a painting. The building was set on a gentle rise in the middle of a wide valley. Below lay a small lake, shimmering with reflected reds from the sunset. A little sailboat was tied to the dock there, and sheep and cattle grazed in nearby fields. The ruined tower that Nathaniel had mentioned crowned the further rim of the valley, as if placed there by the discerning artist, its fallen stones and empty windows silhouetted against the banded sky.
Nathaniel pointed it out to Violet as their carriage wound its way up to the front door. His memories of this place were fond, though not lifelong. Ownership had come to him on his majority, and he had used the house as an informal respite in a formal life, visiting now and then with a few good friends, sailing and fishing and riding in the countryside. Here he had a good steward and no particular duties. He could set aside responsibility in simple pleasures. He had chosen it for the first days of marriage because he had always felt easy and contented within its walls. There was no crowd of onlookers to scrutinize and evaluate, no pressure to be a worthy representative of an ancient line.
They were welcomed by the housekeeper and their personal servants, who had come ahead in another coach with their luggage. Cates had hot water and towels ready in his dressing room, and Nathaniel supposed Violet’s maid Renshaw did in hers. He washed off the grit of the journey and went back downstairs to await his bride.
As he’d ordered, a light supper was laid out in the main parlor, with champagne and a bowl of strawberries. The food was plain, so that there was no need for attendants. A small fire burned in the hearth, more for coziness than warmth on this mild June night. Nathaniel had tried to anticipate every awkwardness associated with the new intimacy of marriage, and ease it. Although, after Violet’s frank gaze this morning—had it really been this same day that she opened his bedchamber door?—he wondered if he had been too scrupulous.
On that thought, Violet appeared in the doorway. She had changed into a gown he had never seen before. He knew this because it was so unlike her usual pale raiment. Its sweep of deep rose silk whispered and clung along the length of her body. Its neckline dipped in a way that insisted he notice the soft curves of her bosom. Her cheeks had more color; her gray eyes sparkled. Altogether, she was more alluring and vibrant than the young woman he thought he knew so well. More and more interesting, he thought. “Would you care for champagne?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
He opened the bottle and filled a slender crystal goblet. Smiling at him, she drank it down and held it out for more. He’d never seen her indulge in more than one glass of wine, and he wondered if she was bolstering her courage. “A bit of chicken?” he offered, to reassure her that she would not be hurried. “Or strawberries?” He found his gaze following the tantalizing line of her bodice, and forced it upward.
“Strawberries,” replied Violet. She walked over to the table and dropped three of the tiny fruits, one by one, into her glass. “People do that, don’t they? Put strawberries in champagne?” She tilted the goblet, caught one of the berries with the tip of her tongue, and ate it.
Momentarily, Nathaniel was transfixed. “I…believe they do.”
“Do you want some?” She picked up another strawberry and held it out like a challenge.
Nathaniel moved two steps closer, grasped her extended wrist, and took the fruit with his lips. He saw as well as heard Violet’s indrawn breath. The dip of that neckline made it thoroughly visible. For one hopeful moment, he thought it was going to slip and reveal more of what he so wished to see. But of course it didn’t. They made gowns that way, somehow. So that they teased. Once again, he pulled his eyes away. Noting a tiny tremor in her hand, he let go.
“Do you…do you want another?” she breathed.
Meeting her wide gaze, he nodded. Violet picked up a strawberry and fed it to him. As the sweet taste burst in his mouth, he took one and offered it. Violet’s lips parted. He ran the berry slowly along her lower lip, leaving a crimson trail of juice, before popping it into her mouth. Violet didn’t move. He bent nearer. When she showed no signs of withdrawing, he leaned in and licked the stain away.
She shivered. And then she set her champagne down with a sharp click, made a kind of lunge and crushed her lips to his. Nathaniel’s arms slid automatically around her as they swayed with her onslaught. He pulled her close even as he eased the kiss into something softer and slower. His new wife’s inexpert enthusiasm made him want to smile, even as desire spiked in him at the feel of her under his hands. He let the kiss go on. And on.
“Oh,” said Violet when they parted at last. “Oh, that was nothing like when we kissed before.”
There had shared a very few decorous embraces, when they could snatch a moment away from her chaperones. “It’s helpful not to feel that your grandmother is just around the corner waiting to pounce,” Nathaniel pointed out.
“Yes.” Violet laughed. It sounded a little wild. She laced her arms around his neck. “She can’t do that anymore. Ever. Will you kiss me again?”
“With pleasure, Lady Hightower.” And he did. This time he let his hand drift up to that tantalizing bodice. And when her breath caught, he pushed the small sleeve of her gown down her shoulder in order to touch her more directly.
“Keep doing that,” she demanded when the kiss at last melted away.
“This?” As his fingertips teased, his body strained with arousal.
“Yes!”
“I’d be delighted to do so. But we should go upstairs before we…make a spectacle of ourselves before the servants.” He drew her toward the door of the room.
Violet blinked, her gray eyes going from blurred and dreamy to sharply aware. “Upstairs. Yes. I’ll go. You can come in ten minutes.”
“Ten…?” No part of Nathaniel wanted to wait even three.
“I have a plan.”
“A…plan?”
“Ten minutes,” Violet repeated and rushed out. Nathaniel was left startled, perplexed, and almost too taut with desire to acknowledge a thread of amusement. But he obeyed his bride’s commands, and waited.
When he entered her bedchamber at the appointed time, he discovered Violet standing in the center of the room, illuminated by three large branches of candles. She wore a nightdress of whisper thin gauze. The candlelight shone right through it. It fastened with ribbons at the shoulders in the same shade of deep blue. His fingers itched to untie those bows.
“I bought it secretly,” she said.
He thought her voice trembled just slightly. He reminded himself to go slowly, even though desire was beating in him like hammer on anvil.
“Most of my bride clothes are dreadful, because Grandmother insisted…like all those…those sacks of ruffles she’s made me wear.”
Nathaniel’s mind grappled with the phrase “sacks of ruffles” and came up blank.
“But I managed to get a few things.” Violet took hold of the ends of the ribbons and pulled. The bows unraveled. The nightgown slithered softly to the floor. “I saw you naked this morning,” Violet said. “Turnabout, fair play.”
Nathaniel scarcely heard. He was dimly aware that he had gasped. He’d thought of Violet as suitable and intelligent and perfectly pleasant to look at. How could he have failed to notice that she had a glorious body? The curve of breast that her dress had revealed was only the beginning. She also possessed a narrow waist, a beautiful flare of hip, long lovely legs.
“You look as if you someone had hit you over the head,” she said. Violet hid a quaver of nerves. Nathaniel’s eyes looked as if they might burst into flame. The astonishing sensations she’d experienced downstairs receded a bit as inner voices scolded her for being inexcusably brazen. She looked down. “Isn’t it…? Aren’t I…?”
“You are exquisite,” her new husband said.
She let out her breath. This was most satisfactory. She reminded herself that she had prepared for this moment. What she’d had to go through just to get the nightgown…! “I’ve heard the first time is likely to be…difficult.” Indeed, two of her married friends had seemed to relish sharing harrowing tales of their wedding nights. “I…I expect to benefit from your expertise.”
Nathaniel blinked. Some of the—slightly intimidating—fire went out of his gaze. “My…?”
“You’ve had plenty of time to learn all about it,” Violet pointed out. “And society positively…encourages you to do so.”
“It?”
Was he smiling? Was she making a fool of herself? Marianne had said the best thing was to keep quiet and endure what was soon over, but Jane had sworn there could be much more. And when Nathaniel had touched her downstairs, Violet had realized she must be right. “You know what I mean,” she said.
“Because of my expertise.”
Part of Violet wanted to snatch up the nightgown and shield her nakedness. But another stubborn part made her stand taller and say, “Yes. And if you are laughing at me, I swear I will…”
“I am not laughing at you.”
“Prove it!”
“How can I do that? I fear you must take my word…”
His voice was like warm honey. It made her knees feel wobbly. “You can… You can take off your clothes too,” she heard herself say.
“A capital idea,” Nathaniel replied, already pulling his coat from his wide shoulders.
Violet watched as he threw the garment over an armchair. His neckcloth followed, revealing the strong column of his throat. He sat briefly to pull off his boots, then rose and began to unbutton his shirt. “Perhaps you would like to help me with these?”
“What?” Violet’s mouth felt dry. She swallowed.
“Buttons. Pesky things.” He beckoned.
Feeling as if a taut string was pulling her, Violet moved toward him. When she was close he caught one of her hands and placed it on…a button.
Briefly, she fumbled. Then she used both hands to undo it, and the next, and so on down his chest. Nathaniel’s breath caught when her fingers brushed the hard muscles of his stomach. So she did it again, experimentally, as she pushed the shirt off. He grasped her upper arms and pulled her into another amazing kiss. Her bare skin burned against his.
And then he let her go. Violet stared up at him, bereft. But he paused only to skim out of the rest of his clothes, pick her up and lay her on the large four-poster bed. “Alas, no wolf skin,” he murmured in her ear as he joined her.
Violet was surprised by a gurgle of laughter. She was also aware of a—rather large—change in his body from what she’d seen this morning. “Is it time?”
Nathaniel smiled down at her. Heat simmered in his blue eyes again, but also, she thought, great kindness. How odd. “Time for me to demonstrate my ‘expertise,’” he replied, and set his lips and fingers roving over her. They teased and caressed and coaxed until Violet thought she would drown in the shivers of sensation coursing through her. And then his attention centered in the tightest, most insistent spot, and she did. She was swept away entirely on a breaking wave of pleasure.
“So, you see how it can be,” he murmured as he held her through it. “But now, I fear I cannot wait any longer.”
There was some pain, but Violet didn’t care. She’d seen how it could—would—be.