Deal With The Devil

CHAPTER NINE

LUCY had refused point blank to wear a white wedding dress, and had been on the point of giving up finding anything suitable in the short time she’d had available when she had seen a Vera Wang dress in Harrods, in ecru silk. Wonder of wonders, it had fitted her.

The long sheath-like gown had a tight-fitting corset-style bodice, a detachable skirt, and a fishtail demi-train. In order to satisfy family tradition a copy had been made of its matching close-fitting bolero-style jacket from a piece of antique family lace.

She hadn’t wanted to wear a veil either, but in the end had agreed to wear a small pillbox-style hat with a very small ‘almost’ veil.

The promise of heavy-duty wedding-style cream lilies with appropriate greenery, a positive phalanx of pages and bridesmaids of assorted junior ranks from both their families, and the pomp and circumstance of the Oratory and Handel’s music had been enough to soothe her mother’s maternal angst about her not looking like a ‘real’ bride.

Marcus knew that she had entered the church from the excited rustle of movement that seethed along the pews behind him, and to his own astonishment felt compelled to turn and watch her as she walked down the aisle towards him.

He felt his body tighten and his heart lurch in a reaction he had been determined no woman would ever arouse in him—least of all Lucy.

It had really happened. She and Marcus really were married, Lucy realised dizzily as the Bishop intoned mellifluously, ‘You may kiss the bride.’

And Marcus leaned towards her and then did just that. A cool and very distant brushing of his lips against hers that filled her eyes with painful despair and made her hand tremble within his.

Handel’s musical paean of triumphal joy rang out as they walked together back down the aisle and then out into the crisp sunshine of the November afternoon, to be bombarded with rose petals by their well-wishers and guests before being swept off in a cavalcade of shiny black limousines to the imposing building built originally by a grateful nation for its hero, the Duke of Wellington, for the wedding breakfast.

‘Are you sure you aren’t disappointed that we didn’t book into a hotel for tonight?’ Marcus asked.

They were standing in his bedroom at the Wendover Square house—now their bedroom. It still smelled just faintly of its refurbishments—a sort of new paint, new fabric and new carpet smell, all mingled together.

‘No, I’m not disappointed at all,’ Lucy reassured him. ‘After all, we’re flying off to the Caribbean on honeymoon tomorrow, and besides…’

‘Besides what?’ he demanded.

Lucy shook her head. They might be married, and she might be his wife, but that didn’t mean she felt she could tell him that she didn’t care where they were just so long as they were together, and that anyway his house had now become inextricably linked in her emotions with the wonder of the first night she had spent there and the joy of what it had led her to.

‘Nothing,’ she fibbed, before admitting ruefully, ‘I did feel a bit of an idiot coming back here in the taxi still wearing my wedding dress, though. Why did you want me to keep it on?’

The look he was giving her made her whole face colour up.

‘Because I want to have the pleasure of taking it off, of course. All those tiny buttons down the back have been tantalising me for hours,’ Marcus told her truthfully, ‘and the sooner the better, I think. Certainly before we make use of our very sensuous new en suite bathroom.’

‘You were the one who suggested it,’ she reminded him a little defensively. Her parents—very much of the old school—had shaken their heads over the waste of so much expensive London floor space on a mere bathroom.

‘Mmm. I’ve got very fond memories of the bathroom in our suite at the hotel in Deia.’

As part of the refurbishment of Marcus’s house they had expanded Marcus’s already large bedroom to include a new dressing room made from one of the smaller bedrooms, plus a huge and very luxurious en suite bathroom which combined the best of modern, clean bathroom lines—all chrome and limestone and marble—with the sensual luxury of a large semi-sunken bath along with a separate wet room area and, of course, plenty of mirrors.

‘Mrs Crabtree said that she would leave us a cold supper, and there is some champagne on ice downstairs. Don’t run away while I go and get it.’

‘Run away? Marcus, have you seen how narrow this skirt is? I can’t run anywhere in it. In fact, I can barely walk.’

He wasn’t gone very long—just long enough for her to glance round their bedroom and admire the clean fresh lines of its new décor.

‘Here you are,’ he told her, handing her a glass of the champagne he had just poured.

‘I’m not sure that I should,’ Lucy demurred, remembering Great-Aunt Alice’s birthday party.

‘I am—you most definitely should. To us,’ Marcus toasted her firmly.

‘To us,’ Lucy whispered back, shivering with delight as Marcus leaned forward and kissed her. She could taste the champagne on his mouth, and somehow that gave an added intimacy to their kiss.

As he released her she took another sip of her champagne, and then put the glass down. She was far too excited to need any champagne-induced euphoria.

Marcus had removed his jacket and pulled off his cravat.

‘When I watched you coming down the aisle to me today, Lucy, I thought I had never seen you looking more beautiful.’

‘Oh, Marcus!’ Lucy bit her lip, determined not to let him know that she would far rather have heard him say that he loved her.

He kissed her again, more passionately this time, and then said thickly, ‘Now, exactly where do I start with this dress?’

‘I’ll take the jacket off first, shall I?’ Lucy suggested. ‘Ma wants to keep the lace and have some of it sewn on a christening robe for us, so I daren’t damage it.’ She blushed again as she saw the look in Marcus’s eyes.

‘The skirt is Velcroed to the bodice, so it might be an idea to unfasten the buttons on it first and then I can just step out of it. The bodice is a sort of corset thing as well, you see.’

She was babbling, Lucy recognised, and all because of how she felt at the thought of conceiving Marcus’s child— and she did not know yet whether or not she had already done so this month!

Marcus had moved behind her and was slowly unfastening the two dozen tiny buttons closing her skirt and train.

When he had eventually completed his task, and unhooked the skirt and train from the low-waisted corset-like bodice of her gown, she was left standing there in high heels, cream silk stockings fastened to a suspender belt that matched her gown, and a tiny pair of knickers.

‘I know it all looks a bit obvious,’ she told him, gesturing towards her body. ‘But it wasn’t my idea…’

His face, she noticed, was slightly flushed—from bending down to gather up some of the rose petals that had fallen inside her gown?

But he didn’t make any response to her slightly nervous comment.

Instead he dropped down on one knee in front of her and started to kiss his way around the bare flesh at top of her stocking, pausing to slowly unclip her suspenders and then roll the fine silk down her leg, following it with the caress of his lips.

When he lifted her foot free of her shoe and then slid off her stocking, holding her foot firmly and then kissing her instep, Lucy exhaled tremulously in delirious lust.

The other stocking and her suspender belt were removed equally sensually. But Marcus hadn’t finished. He slid his hands inside her knickers, pulling them down to reveal her new wax—not a summer-holiday-style Brazilian, but instead a small heart shape of silky blonde hair, something the beautician had told her was a favourite with a lot of brides.

‘Mmm…pretty. Very nice,’ he commented. ‘But not as nice as this.’ And then, while his hands held the top of her legs, his tongue probed delicately between the rose-petal-scented lips of her sex and stroked lingeringly along the whole length of her opening, right up to the now swollen and eagerly pulsing jut of flesh that was her clitoris.

Lucy moaned out aloud and buried her fingers in his hair as shuddering waves of pleasure gripped her.

‘Who needs champagne when they can have nectar?’ Marcus told her thickly, after his tongue had stroked her to a sweetly urgent climax.

It had still been light when they had arrived at the house, but by the time they finally made it onto the big bed it was quite definitely dark—and she was quite definitely eagerly willing to consummate their marriage. He thrust slowly and deeply into her and her muscles closed lovingly round him, her body making him its prisoner—just as he had made her love his.

‘Tired?’

‘Just a bit,’ Lucy admitted, as they stepped out of their taxi and into the cool haven of Mustique’s Sugar House Hotel.

The long flight from England in November to the warmth of the Caribbean, on top of yesterday’s wedding and the long night of passion they had shared, had left her feeling slightly weary, Lucy acknowledged. Weary and disappointed—because nothing had changed—because Marcus, although a wonderfully sensual lover, did not love her.

Mustique was somewhere she had never previously visited, and she had been delighted, if somewhat surprised, that Marcus had chosen such a romantic venue for their honeymoon. A tropical darkness had already descended on the island in the short time since their plane had landed, and a handful of guests drifted through the foyer in a very relaxed manner as Marcus signed them in and waited for their room keys.

‘Mrs Carring?’

‘She means you,’ Marcus told Lucy wryly as a smiling girl approached Lucy.

Blushing slightly, Lucy returned her smile.

‘We have a complimentary gift pack of vouchers for you, for treatments at our spa facility.’ As Lucy thanked her and took the envelope, the girl added, her smile deepening, ‘I can recommend our couples massage, which is a massage that is given to you both at the same time in the privacy of your own room.’

‘If all the girls are as pretty as she was, then no way are you going to be having a complimentary massage,’ Lucy informed Marcus pithily ten minutes later, when they were alone in their suite.

‘Aha—now you sound like a wife,’ Marcus told her. ‘Are you hungry? Would you like to eat now, or later? The hotel provides an unpacking and pressing service…’

‘I’d like a shower. But more than anything else I’d love—’

‘Some coffee,’ Marcus finished for her. ‘I’ll order it for you, shall I? And perhaps we can have an exploratory walk whilst they unpack for us?’

‘Mmm. Oh, Marcus, come and look at this,’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘It’s a pillow menu. You can choose your own pillow.’

Ten minutes later they were walking hand in hand through the Great Room of the hotel. Built around an old coral warehouse and a sugar mill, the hotel had been refurbished recently to a wonderful standard of luxury.

Their own master suite in the main hotel was furnished in the style of the eighteenth century, the bed hung with voile, the furniture elegantly styled and painted a soft, rubbed off-white. A large freestanding double-ended hip-shaped bath and a private plunge pool added to the romantic luxury, and as they explored the gardens and stopped to admire the beach that lay beyond Lucy could well understand why this luxurious hotel was so very prestigious, and so loved by its guests. By the time they returned to their suite, via the privacy of the night-cloaked gardens and several impromptu stops to exchange kisses, their cases had been unpacked for them.

‘Perhaps just a Room Service meal tonight?’ Lucy suggested, stifling a small yawn.

‘Good idea,’ Marcus agreed.

‘Oh, Marcus, this is brilliant…’ Lucy sighed happily as she leaned back against him in their plunge pool, her body between his spread legs, her head pressed against his chest, with his arms wrapped around her and his hands cupping her naked breasts.

‘Mmm, absolutely,’ he agreed, nuzzling the sensitive spot just below her ear and making her shudder so hard that the water shuddered with her.

‘You don’t think anyone can see us, do you?’ she whispered to him several seconds later, as they lay naked together in the water and Marcus teased her eagerly expectant body with all the touches he knew it loved.

‘No…but we can go inside, if you want.’

‘No, I like it here,’ Lucy told him. ‘There’s something so nice about lying naked in the water and the sun.’

‘Mmm, something very nice,’ Marcus agreed, as he took advantage of her nudity to enjoy unlimited access to her body whilst encouraging her to do the same with his.

She had woken up this morning to Marcus stroking teasing fingers against her breast whilst feathering kisses on her closed eyelids, and they had gone from there on a slow journey of foreplay that had ended up with her abandoning herself willingly and completely to his thrusting possession. Now, scarcely a couple of hours later, her desire for him was already an urgent clamouring force.

Sliding away from him, Lucy slowly stroked her hand down over his body to embrace his erection.

Marcus watched whilst she focused on his pleasure, wondering if she knew just how much of it was attributable not to what she was doing but to the look of erotic delight in her eyes as she did so. Even her own body was registering its pleasure in what she was doing, her nipples tightening and her breasts lifting slightly. Beneath the water he could see how the lips of her sex were swelling and flushing.

‘Marcus, we can’t—not here,’ Lucy protested as he reached for her, but it was too late, and as Marcus positioned her over the erection she had just been caressing she straddled him and sank slowly onto it, luxuriating in the erotic intensity of taking him into her, centimetre by centimetre, her slick muscles and flesh gripping and caressing him. He groaned fiercely and reached for her hips, pulling her down hard against him whilst he thrust into her, over and over again, then lifted his hand to place it over her mouth when she screamed out in wild ecstasy before sinking down on top of him in quivering release.

‘I can’t believe we’re on our way home,’ Lucy sighed, as they left the small plane which had brought them from Mustique.

‘We’ve got a few hours yet before we pick up our connecting flight for London. Is there anything you want to do?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ll go and get myself some magazines and a book.’

‘I’ve got couple of calls to make, so I’ll go and order you some coffee, shall I?’ Marcus offered.

‘Mmm—please.’ Lucy thanked him.

Lucy was standing in the queue waiting to pay for her purchases when she saw him. The blood drained out of her face and she whispered, horrified, ‘Nick!’

And, even though she knew he could not possibly have heard her, he turned his head and looked straight at her, abandoning the woman he was with to come over to her.

Immediately she shrank back from him, not wanting him anywhere near her.

‘Well, well—if it isn’t my ex-wife. Here on your own, are you?’ he taunted her.

‘No, actually, I’m with Marcus,’ Lucy told him coldly. She badly wanted to ignore him, but he was standing right next to her now, and unless she abandoned the books she was holding and walked away she would have to stay where she was in the queue.

‘Carring?’

She could see that Nick wasn’t at all pleased—that in fact he looked distinctly put out.

‘Yes, Marcus,’ Lucy repeated. ‘He and I are married now.’ She couldn’t resist the small happy boast.

‘He married you?’ Nick demanded sharply. ‘How on earth did you persuade him to do that? Pregnant, are you? I thought he’d dump you the moment he saw the little wedding present Andrew and I sent him. Perhaps he has his own reasons for going ahead, does he? But if he thinks he’ll force Andrew into paying more for Prêt a Party, then—’

‘You sent those photographs?’ Lucy cut him off, white-faced.

‘Mmm…good, weren’t they?’ he mocked her. ‘Espe cially that one of you smiling like you were really having a good time.’

She mustn’t let him see how shocked and upset she was, Lucy decided frantically. Nor must she let him guess how frightened it made her feel to know that he was working with Andrew Walker, and that the two of them had tried to destroy her marriage before it had even begun.

She felt as though she was being subjected to a sensation not unlike the centre of gravity beneath her feet physically shifting, as though there had been a minor earth tremor. It scared her sick to recognise how far Andrew Walker was prepared to go to get Prêt a Party.

‘You really should have accepted Andrew’s offer, Lucy,’ Nick was telling her. ‘He isn’t at all pleased with you, you know. He wants Prêt a Party, and believe me he will get it—one way or another.’

Several equally horrible suspicions were thrusting into her awareness like ice picks.

‘How do you know Andrew Walker?’ she demanded.

‘What’s that got to do with you? Let’s just say that I do know him, and that I recommended to him that he look into investing in Prêt a Party,’ Nick boasted. ‘It’s perfect for his needs.’

‘Those needs being laundering money stolen from refugees who live in fear of him, you mean?’ Lucy challenged Nick furiously.

‘My, my—we have been nosey, haven’t we? Be careful that nose of yours doesn’t get chopped off for being stuck into places it has no right to be, Lucy. And think about this: you had already agreed verbally to a partnership with Andrew, so you are just as involved in what goes on as the rest of us.’

‘No. We only discussed a partnership—and then I didn’t know the truth.’

‘But can you prove that?’ Nick taunted her. ‘I’m sure Andrew would be able to prove that you did if he felt he needed to. He means to have Prêt a Party, Lucy, and he wants it without Carring being involved in it. Andrew will get what he wants. He always does.’

She was beginning to feel sick again, and she knew she couldn’t bear another minute of Nick’s company. He made her feel so vulnerable and afraid. But she must not let him, she told herself.

Where was Lucy? Marcus left the coffee shop and went to look for her.

It was easy for him to pick her out from amongst the other travellers—and easy, too, for him to recognise the man standing so close to her, obviously engaged in a very intimate conversation with her.

Nick Blayne. What the hell…?

He could feel the anger sheeting though him. Lucy was his now. Marcus started to move towards them, but at that moment Lucy put down the books she was holding and started to walk away from Nick, heading for the coffee shop. When Marcus looked away from her, to where Nick Blayne had been, the other man had disappeared.

He caught up with Lucy just as she reached the coffee shop. She looked shocked and very distressed.

‘What’s happened?’ he demanded tersely. So tersely that Lucy almost shrank from him. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’

Or an ex-husband.

‘I’m just hot and tired, that’s all.’ Lucy could barely think straight, never mind speak, because of her own panic and fear. Nick knew Andrew Walker. Nick had told Andrew Walker about her and Prêt a Party. Nick and Andrew Walker were responsible for those photographs, that video. Andrew Walker had wanted to stop Marcus marrying her because he wanted Prêt a Party.

She hadn’t said a word about seeing Blayne. Had he told her that he was free again? Was she wishing that she were too? Had they made arrangements to meet up somewhere—in London, for instance? They had certainly had time.

‘That’s our flight they’ve just called,’ Marcus announced.

‘Marcus…’ Lucy desperately wanted to tell him what had happened, to appeal to him for help.

‘Yes.’

She bit her lip. ‘Nothing.’ How could she involve him? How could she tell him what a fool she had been? How could she tell him about the seedy and immoral nature of what she had so nearly become involved in? And what if, because of her foolishness, those dark forces and everything that went with them should seep into their own lives? Into Marcus’s business life? Marcus was a man of honour and probity—Marcus was the total opposite of the Andrew Walkers of this world.

She felt sick and shaky, and so very, very afraid.

‘Lucy. What a naughty girl you’ve been, not returning my calls.’

Lucy tried to stand up, but Andrew Walker had placed a hard hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into her chair. How had he got into the office? She had locked the door. She always locked the door when she had to be here now.