Chapter Six

Chapter Six

It was not a particularly glorious wedding, and Evangelina had certainly not expected anything grand. Her finest dress, a beautiful bouquet, and her groom at her side, that was all she had hoped for. But even something small could be romantic, and Evangelina had hoped for a bit of that, yet found herself soundly disappointed. Even Zeke’s kiss had been brusque and businesslike. Immediately after, with the ring he’d given her the day before returned to her finger, Evangelina had been swept into an ongoing parade of congratulations.

Everyone was kind and supportive, toasting the new bride and groom even before dinner. They all ate together, and Zeke sat beside her. About halfway through, he’d reached under the table and taken her hand. Evangelina had gladly twined her fingers in with his, feeling the comfort and excitement of his bare skin touching hers even in such a small, innocent way. Everything was a confusion, so how he could be sweetly familiar and yet darkly thrilling?

“How do you feel?” asked Zeke as they moved onto the dessert course.

“Quite well,” Evangelina cut a bit of the chocolate tarte and popped it in her mouth.

Zeke nodded. “You’re safe now. There’s no claim the Earl has on you any longer.”

Evangelina nodded as well. “That is good. That was the design, I believe, of this arrangement.”

He swallowed hard. “It was.”

She bit her lip, wishing every word they spoke was not so charged, so fraught, as to carry far more meaning than the words themselves ever could convey. It was strange, she reflected, but fairy tales and romance novels only ever got one up to the wedding. What happened beyond? What happened when they sat down to dinner each night? When they had children? When they closed the bedroom door on their wedding night and shut out the reader? Evangelina did not know, and she wished that something, some story, some tale, would have told her more than just mechanics.

In that moment, the only story that came to mind for her was that of Surdas, a blind man and a devotee of Lord Krishna. Surdas loved Krishna, so much so that he wrote a lakh of songs of his devotion. Krishna found what he created so beautiful, his love so pure, that he restored Surdas’s sight so that Surdas might gaze upon Krishna, whom he adored so well. And when Surdas had his sight returned, he begged Krishna to take it away again. Krishna asked him why, and Surdas replied that he had now seen Krishna, so there was nothing else he ever wished to see again.

Dinner ended and a lively game of charades started up in the drawing room, the place that Evangelina had gotten married only hours before and had since been restored to its normal function with hardly an inkling of what had taken place. It was a room for the family, a gathering spot, where they talked and laughed and played together, not a wedding chapel. There was a quiet sacredness to a spot like that, but it was not an observed sort of sanctity. It was made warm and loving rather than cold and austere; there were worse places to wed, to be sure, Evangelina reflected, but it was all feeling a bit mundane. She sighed and turned to look around her, hoping to catch Samira’s eye, maybe to talk to her sister for a few minutes, but Samira, and Rowan for that matter, were nowhere to be found.

Sometime during the festivities, Samira wrapped her hand in Rowan’s and tugged him away from everyone. They moved into the dark hall, finding the staircase and the other’s mouths at the same time. Stumbling upward together, drunk on each other more than the spirits they’d consumed, they fumbled their way into Rowan’s room and out of their clothes.

“I’m worried about Eva,” Samira said softly.

Rowan drew a deep breath, expanding his chest as Samira’s hands splayed over the soft curls, down the sides of his abdomen. “I know. I remember when I found out Ariane had fallen for Conway. I was livid.”

In spite of herself, Samira smiled a little at that. “I can imagine.”

Rowan laughed, burying his head in her hair as he freed it from its pins. “I think I may have threatened him. I definitely demanded a duel.”

Samira giggled then. “That would have been such a waste.”

He cocked a brow in question.

She shrugged a shoulder. “I would sorely have regretted losing you before I even knew you.”

“And what makes you think I would have lost such a contest?” Rowan demanded.

Samira smiled coyly. “Well, if you hadn’t, I suspect Ariane would have ended you for it. And besides, I hear Conway is a phenomenal shot.”

Rowan growled. “I should punish you for that sort of impertinence, wife.”

Samira shivered at the new title. “Promise?”

Laughing, Rowan swept her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and then positioned himself beside her. “I love you.”

“Even when I’m being an impertinent brat?” Samira challenged.

“Always,” said Rowan firmly.

“Always,” she replied, leaning up and delicately kissing the tip of his very aristocratic nose.

“I’m sorry things had to be this way with Evangelina, but I do think she and Zeke can be happy,” he offered.

Reaching out, Samira took his hand and clasped it between hers. “I hope so.”

He bent his head and kissed her, the world fading away with his touch. Samira leaned into him, into the sensation, until it filled her, overtook her, consumed her.

“I think we lost the bride and groom,” commented Joel.

Callista pinched him. “They’re right in front of you.”

She indicated Zeke and Evangelina, who were seated next to each other on a sofa. Eva was nursing the same glass of wine she had been for the better part of an hour, and Zeke was swirling his third – and he was determined last – glass of whisky.

“I didn’t mean–” Joel stopped short, raking a hand through his hair. “There are too many brides and grooms in this family at the moment.”

Evangelina smiled and rose. “Yes, well, I think Rowan and Samira had the right of it. I’m quite tired, so I shall retire.”

She kept the wine in her hand and nodded to the family, trying very hard not to think about the reality that she was a bride, and this was her wedding night, and she was leaving to go to her bed. And that her husband’s entire family was watching her leave, and she was desperately wondering if her husband would follow her. Evangelina couldn’t help but want him to bound after her, eager, desperate even, so overtaken with the desire for her that he could not care less what anyone thought. But Evangelina’s cheeks flamed at that thought, and she was of an equal and opposite mind that Zeke should remain where he was and she would be happy to wait whatever decent interval was necessary so as not to raise any eyebrows about the newly married couple.

Evangelina could not help her eyes sliding to Zeke, who was still seated on the sofa they’d a moment before been sharing. His eyes flicked up to hers, and she went scarlet from head to toe. She quickly slid her gaze away, hoping she had conveyed invitation to him, but done so in a demure way. A wifely way. Evangelina wanted to show him she was eager for him, but not wanton. It was a narrow road one had to walk, and she knew that leaning too far one way was frigidity, and the other was looseness. Neither would do in a wife, a woman of society, of fashion, a woman with a husband who cared for her, at least, even if he didn’t love her.

Leaving the Marstons downstairs, Evangelina quickly mounted the stairs and made her way toward her room. They had given her the same room she’d slept in before, hers alone of course, at the end of the hall where the family slept. Not Zeke’s room, though, which was good, Evangelina supposed; she wouldn’t know what to do in his space. But she had to pass his room to get to hers, and, across from that, Rowan’s. She heard voices inside, then laughter, then some sound that, though muffled, was unmistakably one of pleasure.

Darting onward, Evangelina practically threw herself into her room. She found the young maid that had dressed her, Gertrude, waiting.

“Ma’am,” Gertrude dropped a curtsey.

Evangelina dragged in a breath. Her whole life, she had been “Miss” in the best of circumstances. Most times, it was “girl” or “you,” but ma’am was altogether new. She smiled a little at the young maid, who couldn’t have been much older than Evangelina herself.

“Would you like to change?” asked Gertrude.

Evangelina nodded, turning her back to the woman. Since Zeke had not bounded up after her, she assumed he was giving her time to ready herself for bed. For him. She attempted to keep her breaths steady and even as Gertrude freed her of all the buttons.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Evangelina asked, more to fill the silence than anything.

“Of course, ma’am,” said Gertrude.

“Are you married?” asked Evangelina.

“No ma’am,” Gertrude replied.

“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’ every time,” Evangelina said.

“Yes ma’am,” Gertrude said.

Evangelina sighed as Gertrude helped her remove the gown. Then Gertrude started on Evangelina’s corset. Soon, Evangelina felt the relaxation of the pressure on her chest and ribs, and, in a moment, she was naked in front of the mirror. All in all, Evangelina had spent a good bit of time naked in front of her mirror, looking, learning, assessing. Her body was certainly of interest to her, both academically and aesthetically. She was curious about why she was made the way she was, the natural outcome of an active mind, she supposed. Evangelina had often compared herself to the art pieces she’d seen in books, not to see where they excelled and she found a deficit, but simply because she was curious, the similarities between women of stone and the differences to bodies of the flesh, even the similarities she had to men, and the differences.

But this was a new kind of awareness, standing naked in her room, waiting for the man whom she had that day made her husband.

“Here you are ma’am,” said Gertrude, supplying the nightgown.

It was simple, thin, white, and lovely. Evangelina knew it was nothing like the immaculate pieces Madame Seraphine crafted for Samria’s trousseau. Evangelina had seen a few of those, all lace and sheer with strategically placed rosettes, bows and buttons that begged to be undone. They were built to seduce, and if the sounds she’d heard coming from the room of the newly wedded Viscount and his Viscountess were any indication, it had certainly worked.

Evanglina was in a white potato sack.

All right, it was hardly that. The nightgown was quite nice. Simple, like her wedding gown, the fabric a true white rather than a cream. It was sleeveless, slim, and with the smallest dip inward at the waist before flaring a bit around the hips. It went only to her knees, leaving her calves and feet bare except for the stockings she still wore.

“Thank you, Gertrude,” said Evangelina. “That will be all.”

The maid dipped a curtsey and smiled at the young bride before leaving. Evangelina grabbed a pale blue wrapper and draped it around her shoulders. Evangelina wandered about the room a few minutes, picking up things and setting them back down, pausing by the small fire that made the room rather warm for a summer evening. She picked up the decanter and poured herself a glass of whisky; ever since she’d sipped a bit with Callista, she’d grown rather fond of the taste. Very much of the rich, amber liquid still made her feel a bit fuzzy, so she limited herself to a few sloshes in the bottom of the crystal tumbler.

Evangelina paused at the window, cradling the cup in her hands. Orion. Cygnus. Hydra. Ursa Major. Casseopia. Ursa Minor…they were all there, staring back at her, reminding her of him. She closed her eyes and wished him there, wanted him there. Everything with Zeke had thus far been like a fairy tale, even if in that sort of story they would have had a grand wedding and a romantic kiss. Still, he had come to her rescue and they had already experienced a magical kiss that night of Samira’s wedding, under the stars. There was no reason to expect any less than the same, and indeed quite a bit more, when it was her wedding night.

The knock at the door made her whole body lurch. Evangelina attempted to make her voice steady and soft despite the rapidity of her heartbeat.

“Enter,” she offered.

The door swung open and her husband stepped inside. He was still fully dressed – at least, mostly. Zeke was attired similarly as he had been when he’d painted her, with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his cravat discarded. It made for a delicious picture that did little for her racing heart.

“Wife,” Zeke said with a small nod.

Evangelina answered with one of her own. “Husband.”

“I hope the ceremony was to your liking,” he said, still hovering at the door.

Evangelina swallowed hard. “It was lovely. I am glad to have had our families there, and now, all will be well with the Earl.”

Zeke’s face darkened momentarily, but he seemed to shake it off quickly. “Indeed. We have accomplished our purpose.”

Evangelina did her best not to frown at that. She knew theirs was a marriage of convenience, of course she did, but there was affection too. Evangelina knew it, could feel it between them, when he’d kissed her in particular, but even then as they stood several feet apart and things were awkward. The memory of his lips on hers lingered in her mind, on her tongue like a sweet taste. And now that she’d had that small sample of desire, she knew there was that between them as sure as she knew the stars shone above them and the earth was beneath them.

“It has been rather a long day,” Zeke hedged a bit closer, into the room, but still not fully inside it.

“Yes,” Evangelina agreed.

“With the travel and the wedding, the family,” Zeke continued. “You must be rather exhausted.”

Evangelina pursed her lips. “I am a bit fatigued.”

She was, in fact, though at the same moment she had never felt more awake in her entire life as she looked at Ezekiel Marston standing halfway to undressed in her bedchamber. Lord, but was the fire getting bigger? It seemed to be growing warmer by the minute.

“Of course,” Zeke seemed to snap like a bent sapling then, practically jerking back from her, his back suddenly very straight and his eyes hooded. “We should both get some rest.”

“Oh,” said Evangelina, startled as much by the abrupt change in demeanor as by the words.

Zeke stepped forward then, apparently coming to some decision, and planted a kiss on his bride’s forehead. “Good night, wife. Sleep well.”

Evangelia’s jaw dropped, and she watched her new husband turn and leave her room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click that sounded a little like the distant breaking of some tether. Evangelina stared at the door a long moment, wondering if she should go after him. But that would be far too forward. Zeke was being considerate, she was sure, and he did not want to rush her. It was sweet, and true to his character, that he would want to make sure she was well and rested, ready for the demands of what was to come in the marriage bed. She knew many a bride would be thankful for such a reprieve, though most women certainly did not await a husband like Ezekiel Marston. Still, she knew she should count herself lucky and simply go to sleep.

As Evangelina climbed under the covers, she thought of all the wonderful things about the man she had married. Zeke was good and gentle, kind and talented, loving with his family, charming, easygoing. He made her feel better about herself and the world. How conscientious a man who would forego his wedding night for the comfort of his bride. Yes, Evangelina decided, she would ignore the sensation of disappointment that rocked through her and instead see how very good it was of him. And yet, as she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, she couldn’t help but think how much better it would have been if Zeke were beside her.

This was going to be the death of him. Zeke collapsed into a chair before the fire in his room, staring into the flames with a hollow panic beating like a drum in his chest. Things always came easily to Zeke, whether it was a new skill, a woman, or a decision. Never in his life had he been so utterly, devastatingly confused as he was in that moment. His bride was down the hall, the first woman in the history of women he not only had a right but actually an obligation to make love to. And yet, she was the one woman in the world he found that he could not. It was madness.

He should have gone in with a plan, he now realized, but Zeke had never been one for plans. Plans took out the fun, the spontaneity, the things that made life grand and worth living. But if he’d had a plan, he might not have stalled out like that, gaping at his wife like some kind of gargoyle. And he felt like a gargoyle, felt every bit the looming stone beast hovering over the beautiful princess. He might as well have been a dragon, wanting her, ready to consume her perfect flesh, cover her with his own, pillage and plunder her. She deserved a hero, and it was not the princes who sought to ravage their ladies, but the monsters lurking in the shadows that craved such carnal release.

The visions of exactly what he wanted to do to the sweet maiden all dressed in white was what sent him fleeing the room like he was on fire. Still, the vision haunted him, of Evangelina in the firelight, and what might have happened, what could have been happening in that very moment if only he’d stayed. He could be stripping that prim, pure nightgown off her body and bearing her to him, making her his in every way he knew how, almost all of them guaranteed to make a gently bred young lady, an innocent, blanche. Balk. Panic, even. Still, Zeke couldn’t stop picturing it until he was uncomfortable, hot, and desperate. And desperate enough.

Zeke bit out a curse as he moved from the chair and collapsed onto the bed, an admission of defeat. He couldn’t avoid this, the need was too strong. So he squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could silence the rest of the world if he blocked out the view, and instead Zeke indulged in the dream of a wedding night, of how things might have been in another set of circumstances. He would have gone into Evangelina’s room, swept her in his arms, overwhelmed her with his kisses. He would have slowly, painstakingly, removed her clothing and kissed every inch of her body until she was aching for his touch, so ready he would never, could never, hurt her.

His breaths echoed like gunshots in the empty room, Zeke’s muscles bunched and his belly tight, as he unfastened the buttons of his trousers and clenched his teeth together. He would have opened Evangelina to him, taught her the edges of her pleasure and pushed her over them, again and again. His hips jerked in involuntary reaction, his grip tightening, his mind devolving, the fantasy unraveling as fast as his willpower. It became a mess of sensations, of visions, of dreams about her mouth, her skin, her moans in his ear. It was no longer a wedding night, but a haze of physical pleasures foreign to many, things learned in bordellos and grand soirees that descended into debauchery, things with French names that no sweet girl could ever like. But it didn’t matter; in his mind, Evangelina was at the center of them all, worshiped like a kind of sensual queen as he paid humble court to her with his body.

Lightning zipped through Zeke’s blood as he swallowed the tight, eager sound that threatened to tear out of his throat. He gasped in air, falling back, his body weak with relief at the moment of reprieve from the exhausting reality of resisting the thing he wanted most in the world at that moment.

But, unsurprisingly, the relief was short-lived and the pleasure hollow, as Zeke was keenly aware the object of his affection was just down the hall. His body was in active revolt, furious at him for the denial of what was rapidly becoming a necessity, to be with her, near her. Even not to make love to her, just to hold her close, smell her scent, touch her skin, as his wife. His own. But Zeke knew himself and if he went to her, he would not resist temptation. Good lord, he couldn’t even control himself enough to keep from tossing himself off on his own wedding night. That was probably a rather sizeable bit of sacrilege considering both the wedding vows and the spilling of seed was intended to be sacred.

Zeke had very little experience curbing impulses or practicing self-denial, though. He was largely indulgent of his impulses and desires, and this new system was certainly not his favorite. Zeke slipped from the bed, knowing he would not sleep unless he found a more profound release. For him, that led him to his sketchpad.

Dropping into a chair by the fire, he breathed in and out, slowing the beat of his heart and attempting to find the center he needed to practice his art. It was hardly ideal to be in such a jittery and unbalanced state to try and create, but Zeke found the need in him stronger than any sexual hunger. He was starving to create, to depict the woman on his mind. He tried to outline the soft cheek he’d felt under the thin leather of his glove, tried to get the angle of her waist as he drew her close in a dance, but even the pieces of her he had felt seemed to elude him.

Finally, he gave up anything careful or coherent. He abandoned himself to the need and sketched her eyes, over and over again, with different expressions. They did not do justice to the dark, animated glory of her gaze, but it was more of her than if he’d drawn every other bit of Evangelina. He stayed up until the small hours, drawing her over and over again, meditating on the woman who was now his wife, until sleep took him from the world and his head slumped against the side of the chair, the fire dying before him, the pad still across his lap and the pencil still between his laxened fingers.