Chapter twenty-nine:
EEK two more chapters left! This is an M rating chapter...
"You're trembling," Edwina murmured. Her dark eyes washed over Rose.
"It's cold."
"Then why are you perspiring?"
Glaring, Rose met her friend's sympathetic gaze in the mirror. Her eyes were glazed, her lips pursed and she ran her hands over the magnificent dress every few moments.
These were nerves...
Unperturbed, Edwina smiled. "You look beautiful."
Lowering her eyes, Rose examined her appearance in the mirror one more time. She'd chosen pale blue silk taffeta with elbow length sleeves, matching skirt and open overskirt. The result was serene, an emotion she wished she felt at the moment. She sucked in a shuddering breath and grimaced. Having sworn this day would never come, she was completely unprepared for the reality of it. She was going to be married.
Caledon Hockley was dead.
Life would go on. Life had gone on.
"Your spirits will improve once you stand with him," Edwina promised.
"Perhaps I'll feel worse," she muttered.
But a quarter hour later, as Rose walked down the aisle, untraditionally, on her Mother's arm, the sight of Jack arrested her, lifted her, just as Edwina had predicted. He was resplendent in his finery and gazed at her so intensely she could see the sapphire colour of his irises even from a substantial distance. There was more between them than just this physical space. Jack's reputation and his work with the business which he had built up were almost gone. The men were dispersed, having gone on now with reason to lift. There was no longer a burden. They would be free with employment, a home to shelter their family and food on their table indefinitely. That much he had taken care of.
Every single layer of danger had stripped away and left the man; the boy who came from Ireland. Born to an unwed mother and a high Society father. The cross breed who walked amongst the mere mortals so openly and unabashedly.
There were great obstacles Rose wondered if they could surmount. He had promised to leave everything which had provided danger in his life behind. He had cut all ties. Jack Dawson was now just a man. A faithful man who had fallen in love with a blue blood woman. A woman out of his reach. A woman who loved him in return.
"Are you certain this is the path you choose to take?" her mother asked in a low tone.
Startled, Rose glanced at her with wide eyes. She stared straight ahead, as aloof as ever, in much the same way Jack had adopted in the last few weeks. "Why?" was all she could manage to say.
Her lips pursed as she stared at the altar and the man who waited there. "I had hoped you would consider marrying for pure happiness. Is this match truly what you believe gives you thorough joy?"
If not for the multitude of observers she might have gaped. "I would not have expected such a statement from you. I am happy.''
Rose sighed and shot her mother a sidelong glance. "I would gladly suffer a thousand torments for the privilege of having married a man I was happy with from the start.''
Rose's heart ached for her mother and the emptiness she glimpsed in her eyes. "Mother-"
"We can turn about, Rose," she said gruffly.
As the doubts began to churn her stomach, she turned her head to study her groom. Jack's mouth curved with blatant charm, a silent encouragement, and her heart stopped.
"Think of the scandal," she whispered. ''One already has so much turmoil caused.''
Rose slowed her steps. "I care for nothing other than your well-being."
Her breath caught for a moment and her steps faltered. How long had she waited for some sign that she mattered at all to her Mother? These final weeks they had grown ever so close, almost like sisters. It had taken so long. Long enough that she'd thought it an impossible dream. The unexpected support for a hasty retreat was not only astonishing, but very tempting. She studied her Mother and the occupants of the church, then she looked at Jack again. She saw the tiny step forward he took and the clenching of his fists, barely noticeable warnings that he would give chase should she leave. Ruth slowed her steps. "I care for nothing other than your well-being. You seem to be unhappy.''
It should have frightened her further, that almost imperceptible threat. Instead, she remembered how the sound of his voice in the garden had filled her with relief. She remembered the way he'd held her after the stabbing, and how the trembling of his arms and voice had betrayed the depths of his concern. And the nights in his arms, how she craved them. Her heart started to race, but it was not the urge to run that moved her.
She lifted her chin. "Thank you, Mother. But I'm certain of my course. The truth is I am happy, just nervous to start my life with a man that out of dangers way, I fear, is just a man. No mystery.''
''You desire the mystery?''
''No, I desire the man. Him. Jack.''
Rose clung to her Mother's arm tightly who returned the gesture. They had a truce. They understood the other.
Jack glanced at his elder brother, who stood with him at the altar. Together, shoulder to shoulder. It seemed fitting his brother to stand beside him at his own wedding. It was the full circle of which they had come and the acceptance of the other; warts and all. Afterall, they were the only true family the other had left. William grinned, his brow arching in silent query. Any doubts? His look seemed to ask.
Jack opened his mouth to whisper back when the sudden hush in the church drew his attention. Rose entered beside her mother and the sight of her took his breath away. William's low whistle just before the music swelled said his unspoken question had been answered.
Jack had never seen a more beautiful bride. His bride.
Muffled weeping moved his attention to Trudy who sat tearfully in the front row. His friend Harry held her fragile hand carefully in his and gazed at Jack through gold-rimmed spectacles with a reassuring smile. Beside them sat Edwina, her husband and their young infant daughter, following by the Duke of Wellington, alone. Several other faces littered the church but none had any other significance.
Faces were missing from the church. His own mother, his own father and his uncle Zac. Those who mattered the most to him, those he had given his own life to get justice for and now, perhaps, uncle Zac was right. He would get his reward. The love of a woman; a wonderful brother and a happy life to follow.
Rose's steady steps faltered. She glanced around the church like a frightened doe. He stepped forward. She would not run. Not again. His heart raced with something akin to panic. Then she met his gaze, lifted her chin, and continued to approach him.
The ceremony began. And it was long. Too bloody long. Eager to hasten the process, he repeated his vows with strength and conviction, his deep voice carrying across the packed pews. Rose repeated her vows slowly and with great care, as if she were afraid to stumble over the words. He could see her trembling, felt how cold her hand was in his, and knew she was terrified. He squeezed her hand gently, reassuringly, but with unmistakable claim.
And then the deed was finally done.
Pulling her close, he kissed her, and was surprised at the ardour with which she kissed him back. Her taste flooded his mouth, intoxicated his senses, made him mad with desire. His forced abstinence weighed heavily between his legs, demanding the rights that were now his alone.
It was horribly scandalous. He didn't care.
Jack felt an anxious, unrestrained emotion well up inside of him as he stared at his wife. It was almost too much. So, he crushed it and looked away.
''I love you,'' he whispered so that only she could hear.
Her cold hand clasped his in an unspoken return of the words. That was all she required, wasn't it?
Later, Rose tried not to think too much while she prepared for her wedding night. Taking her time with her toilette, she glanced around the room, content to be surrounded by her own things even in a strange place. The chamber was beautiful and expansive, the walls lined with soft pink damask. Only two doors separated her from the room where she'd first made love to Jack. The remembrance made her skin hot and her stomach clench. It had been so long since he'd taken her, just thought of the night to come made her shiver in anticipation. Despite the endless desire she'd become accustomed to, it was still terrifying to have married a man whose will was greater than her own. A man so determined to achieve the realisation of his goals that nothing was allowed to stand in his way. Could she influence such a man? Convince him to change his ways? Perhaps change was not even possible and she was foolish to hope.
He had spent days drawing and drawing. The one thing which he brought from his childhood in Ireland to the present day. He was talented, with gorgeous hands...she watched him for hours as he created the pictures, of her; for her. It was another snippet of what was to come of their lives now that everything was normal...rational... free to live how they pleased.
When she finished bathing, she instructed Meg to leave her hair down, then she excused her abigail for the night. Rose walked to her bed where her night rail and robe awaited her. Both garments had been especially ordered for her trousseau. Admiring them, she brushed her fingertips over the gossamer-thin fabric and costly lace.
She paused as her wedding ring caught the candlelight. It was so different from how she imagined it would be. Jack had given her a small diamond band, the large centre stone surrounded by a multitude of rubies. It was impossible to ignore with its beauty. There was a quick rap at her bedroom door and Rose moved to pick up the night rail, then thought better of it. Her husband was a man of voracious sexual appetite and his interest lately had been less than warm. She knew it was due to his own worry of hurting her, fear of the past few week's events. If she hoped to keep him engaged, she would have to be more daring. She didn't have the experience his many lovers had, but she had enthusiasm. One could only hope that would be enough.
Disregarding the garments, she called for him to enter. She took a fortifying breath and turned around. Jack opened the door and then came to a halt just inside. Dressed in a thick black satin robe, his body visibly tensed at the sight of her. Frozen on the threshold, his sapphire eyes smouldered and a tingling awareness flared over her skin. Rose fought back the urge to cover herself with her hands, lifting her chin in a display of courage she didn't feel.
His low and husky voice brought goose bumps to her skin. "Wearing no more than my ring, you are beyond beautiful."
He stepped inside and closed the door, his movements deceptively casual. But she was not deceived. She sensed the fine, taut alertness about him. She watched in fascination as the front of his robe twitched and then rose with his erection. Her mouth watered, her nails digging into her palms as she waited for the halves of the robe to part and reveal that part of him she coveted.
"You're staring, love." His robe swirled gently around his legs as he crossed the room to her, his body drawing close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. His scent of sandalwood and citrus surrounded her. Her desire for him increased by the day, aggravated by the forced celibacy of the last month.
When had she become such a wanton?
"I-I've missed you," she exhaled, waiting desperately for his touch.
"Have you?" He stared down at her with a rapt expression and she returned the scrutiny, noting the rigidness of his jaw that belied the heat of his gaze. ''I missed you, too.''
His hands moved without haste to the belt of his robe. He tugged the trailing ends free and parted the edges, revealing the rippling power of his abdomen and the hard, pulsing length of him. Framed by the ebony lining of his robe, his lean body was stunning. His once tortured arm was now no more than a smaller wound.
Rose tore her gaze upward and met his. She said what she needed him to know, needed him to understand. ''I want to belong to you, for you to belong to me.''
Wanting to break through the sudden chill in his features, she lifted her hand, her fingertips drifting along the side of his throat and farther down his chest. He sucked in a breath, his skin heating under her touch. Her mouth curved as she relished the power, she held over him. She'd never known it could be like this, had never really wanted it to be like this, but he was hers now. That fact altered everything.
Jack lifted her by the waist and took the one step to the bed. "Mrs. Dawson,'' he growled, setting her down on the very lip and surging forward, as he pierced her with a single heavy thrust. He began pressing her into the bed, his robe a silken cage around their joined bodies. His mouth captured hers in a devastating kiss, his tongue thrusting in a blatant rhythm that robbed her of her senses. This was no careful, coaxing seduction, as their previous encounters had been. This was a claiming of the basest kind, one that left her momentarily stunned and confused. She knew his touch, her senses recognised his scent and the feel of his body, but the man himself was a stranger to her. So intent and brutally possessive. He was taking her now, as his and the one who would belong to him, forever.
He seemed to have shed his alter ego and was now just him, Jack Dawson.
He groaned and buried his face in her neck. "You've been the greatest thing to happen to me in all of my life.'' He pressed his nose against her skin. ''I would have died for you a hundred times over.''
Rose's hands slipped beneath his robe and caressed the rippling cords of his back. He arched into her touch, sweating in his need, grinding his hips desperately against hers until she soothed him with her voice. "No, you are here with me. Your wife.''
Jack clasped Rose to his chest with a crushing grip, biting the top of her shoulder.
''My wife,'' he whispered, leaving the indentions left by his teeth.
He'd come to her room with a singular purpose, to slake their mutual need and consummate the marriage so long in coming. It was meant to be a dance, one of which he knew all the steps, a carefully planned encounter without the unwanted abandoned intimacy. But she'd met him naked, gilded by firelight, hair tumbled about her shoulders and chin lifted with a Jezebel's pride. She'd stood there and said he belonged to her. After everything; the dangers, he shouldn't belong to her and she shouldn't have enticed him so with her intoxicating innocence which was now long gone. He had stolen that away the second she had given her virginity to him. She had started the fight...
And she had won. He was ensnared, gripped tight by her lithe thighs and depths, her fingers kneading and drifting across his back.
Lost in her embrace, he arched his spine upward and kissed a fiery trail down her throat to her breasts. He licked and savoured the pale skin, stroking the sides with his hands, cupping their weight as they become heavy and taut. He bit her there, slowly. Marking her. As he would mark her everywhere.
Only when she begged did his mouth open and engulf her completely. He suckled her with slow, deep, rhythmic pulls of his tongue and lips, shuddering as the sensation travelled through her body to milk him. He could come like this, just from the measured clench and release of her silky tissues. Enflamed by the thought, he hollowed his cheeks, increasing the suction. His eyes drifted closed; his body shuddered as his sac drew up. He swivelled his hips, rubbing her, and then groaned with her orgasm, releasing his need in burning hot streams. Gasping and only partially sated, he released her breast and rested his head upon it, wondering if he would ever have enough of her.
Her fingers drifted into his hair. "Jack..."
He rose above her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, and Jack stared up at her husband, attempting to gauge his mood. His handsome face was so austere, his eyes searching hers. And she quivered, almost afraid. He looked angry, with his narrowed sapphire gaze and harshly drawn mouth. Then he pulled away, the warmth of his body leaving hers, and she was bereft. How could he be equally absorbed and distant?
''Why is it never enough?''
She blinked through her watery eyes. His voice was soft, full of such passion she could have shed tears right then.
He was right. It was never enough.
He took her then, like a ravening beast, gripping the bedpost with white-knuckled force for leverage, the thrusts powerful enough to move her up the bed. Unable and unwilling to deny him, Rose gave herself up to the turbulence of her husband's passion, her orgasm breaking with a cry of relief.
Jack held himself above her, watching her abandon, absorbing her trembling, feeling her body tighten exquisitely around him even as he continued to take her.
He could not remember anytime when he had been more caught up in the sexual act. His entire body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat, his hips working tirelessly to prolong her pleasure and hurtle himself toward his own. He growled with the sheer animal enjoyment of making love to his wife, a fiercely passionate woman who goaded his desire and then met it with her own.
Feeling, emotion, need—they both worked together to take him to a level of sensation he had never experienced before. His heart aching, he gasped her name as he poured himself into her, wishing desperately for it to be enough, but knowing it would never be.
It was never enough.
