Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

The night of the party had arrived. Ciara was going to be at the ducal home at the start of the party pulling hostess duties because the duchess had come down with something and was staying in her room.

“I trust all is ready?” the duke asked from behind her.

“Aye. The servants have done a wonderful job. Your house is beautiful.” Ciara smiled as she took in the glitz and glamour of the ballroom. They had outdone themselves.

There were chandeliers full of candles waiting to be lit that would cast a brilliant light down onto the guests. Silks covered the walls, making them flutter with the slightest breeze. The colors were a blend of gold and cream. The chandeliers had mirrors around them and cast the light from the candles off in all different directions, making it sparkle.

The house was beautiful. It was warm and welcome, all in all different from the first time that Ciara had crossed the threshold into the cold mausoleum feel the mansion offered.

Turning, she looked at the man that was standing in silence next to her. The duke had recovered from his battle with poison but he still looked saddened. He was dressed in fine clothes and even at his age cut a handsome figure, until the infamous ‘duke’ scowl crossed his features.

That afternoon he had met his granddaughter for the first time and seen his second grandson for the first time as well. Devonna and Rafe had come with Lucien and Ciara to see how things were going for the party. They had their children with and it had brought tears to his eyes to see them. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

The meeting had been a strained one, but it was a start. She knew he wanted to be a part of his children’s lives and know his grandchildren.

“I will see you later. I have to go change.” Ciara nodded her head at him and walked off.

Ciara stood next to Devonna as the receiving line was at long last dwindling to an end. “Is it always like this?” she whispered to her friend.

“Unfortunately. At least the line is done.” Devonna smiled as she looked over at her sister by marriage. She was stunning and handling the hostess job like she had been raised to do such a task.

“Have you seen my husband?”

“No. I thought he would already be here.”

“He said that he might be a little late, but I thought that he would be here by now.” Ciara had thought that things were better between them. Had believed that differences had been settled.

“Don’t give up on him yet. Let’s go get a drink.” Devonna pulled her off in the direction of the refreshment table.

They were stopped along the way, by many who wanted to offer their congratulations at such a successful party. While they were drinking lemonade, the band struck up the chords signaling the start of the first waltz.

“My dear, would you do me the honor?” the duke asked Ciara as he bowed before her.

Ciara smiled and performed a perfect curtsy before taking the duke’s hand and following him. He was a wonderful dancer and made it easy for her to follow. The dance ended and the duke took her back to the place where she had been standing.

Rafe claimed her for the next dance. As she was whirling about the room on his arm, she felt a shiver run up her spine. But she couldn’t make out what had caused it.

Lucien was late. He entered his father’s house and shook his head at the majordomo when he was going to announce his presence. He wanted the chance to look for his wife first.

He stood semi-hidden in the darkness of a pillar as he watched his wife dance with Rafe. She took his breath away.

Her dress was almost a sapphire blue, though the exact shade couldn’t be said, for as she moved the color changed, shimmered. Although it was cut in a more conservative way than the majority of the women’s dresses, he found that she was by far the most exquisite woman in the room. It was apparent that other men did as well, for as soon as she was left by Rafe, many single men approached her and sent what he considered leering looks at her. It didn’t seem to matter to them that she was the Marchioness of Heartstone. Her husband wasn’t in sight.

Her dress showed off her magnificent figure as she moved around the floor with her dance partners. Her hair was swept up in an elegant coiffeur and accentuated her striking facial features. Her eyes were kind as they looked upon the people surrounding her, but her smile was not the blinding smile that he had come to know and love.

The satin reflected the light, making her appear to glow. Magnificent wasn’t the right word. He couldn’t find one.

Lucien swallowed, a little nervous, and made to step out to greet his wife when he saw his father approach her. He stopped and watched.

“Ciara, would you do the honor of dancing with me again?”

With a small smile, she curtsied and took the duke’s hand. “Of course.” She followed him out on the floor as her gaze scanned the room. Lucien hoped she looked for him. When the dance was over, she took a seat by Devonna by an open window at one side of the room.

The room fell silent as the band came to a halt. Ciara glanced at Devonna who shrugged in confusion. The conductor of the orchestra stepped forward to the edge of his platform and spoke.

“I am sorry for the interruptions, but we had a request. Someone wanted to make an announcement to all present, so without further ado.”

The man bowed, waved his arm, and as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea, he got the people to split and Ciara gazed across the ballroom floor at her husband.

Lucien had dressed in all black—even his intricately tied cravat was black. He presented a very commanding figure. His pants were tight against corded leg muscles and the shirt snug across broad chest and shoulders. The coat fit his body, showing it had been tailored for him and him alone. His hair was cut short and for the first time she could see every expression that moved across his handsome face. There was no more lock of hair falling across his eye, no hair teasing the collar of his shirt. He was clean-shaven and close-cropped. He looked damn good.

Lucien stood tall, feet spread as if he were standing on the bow of a ship as it clipped across the ocean waters. Eyes sharp and assessing. Hands behind his back as he gazed steadily at the woman sitting on a chair on the other side of the room.

“I ask all those present for forgiveness for interrupting this party. Father, your forgiveness.” Lucien’s voice was strong and deep as it rolled through the hushed crowd. His seductive yet unwavering blue eyes never left his wife’s face.

The room was silent as everyone stared at the marquess, once known as the Black Marquess, the man who had cared for naught but his own pleasure, as he was about to set aside his dignity in front of them all. Willingly. Everyone there knew there wasn’t anyone else in the world he would humble himself for aside from the woman he’d married.

“As all of you know, I am married. While it has been well over a year, I still feel like a newlywed. What you probably don’t know is what type of woman I married. She is amazing. She is intelligent, smart, kind, loving, and the best of mothers to our two children. Unlike any person, man or woman, I have ever had the honor of meeting. I could go on and on.”

Lucien moved across the floor toward his wife. His movements smooth, almost predatory but oh so sensual in his own masculine way, it was his own signature walk. No one else had it—no one else could come close to mimicking it. It screamed Lucien.

“Each day when the sun comes up, I thank God that she is in my life. I didn’t appreciate her at first. I heard the rumors, all of them.” His voice pinned those guilty of spreading those very lies sharper than if his gaze had speared each and every one personally. “The ones of why she went back to the country while I stayed in London. Those are lies. I have heard that people believe her to be less than worthy of marrying a marquess, again lies. If anything, I am not worthy of marrying her. Her lines are impeccable. She hails from royalty on both sides of her family. She is a princess—she is to be a queen someday. Not that what you think matters to me.” He stopped in the middle of the floor and resumed his stance, daring each and every person there to defy his words. To defy him.

“There is nothing that this woman could do that could possibly embarrass me. Nothing.” His eyes penetrated his meaning straight into her heart. “I know that it is not popular to show that one has a love match. I don’t care. I love my wife. I tried to get her to fit into this society and it nearly cost me the best thing that has ever happened to me. I will not stand for anyone to besmirch her name.”

Lucien glanced behind him and the musicians struck up a quiet and haunting love melody that only added more feeling to his words. Swinging his gaze back to Ciara, he brought one tan strong hand out from behind his back. In it was a flower.

He was holding a single rose, dusky lavender in color. It offered a beautiful combination against his black clothes and sun-darkened skin. Lucien held the rose out toward Ciara, who sat stunned, confident her expression was the one mimicked across the room.

Lucien’s mesmerizing voice reached out to her again, ensuring that she couldn’t draw away from the lure of his words that caressed her soul. “Ciara, from that amazing day, eight years ago, that I awoke under your care, I have known. I should have married you back then for I loved you at that moment. I can’t apologize enough about the way I treated you at the beginning of our marriage. What I did was inexcusable and unacceptable. I am sorry for making you and our family suffer because of my actions.”

To the complete and utter astonishment of all present, Lucien St. Martin, the Marquess of Heartstone, heir to the dukedom of Stokley, dropped to his knees in the middle of the ballroom floor and held that single rose aloft.

Man and flower alone under the hundreds of flickering candles were illuminated, making his entreaty all the more poignant to those that were witness. His head stayed bowed, his voice, becoming tortured, reached out to her. “Forgive me. I know that I have done nothing to earn your trust or your love. I offer you everything that I have.” He sounded almost desperate.

Ciara rose. Moving forward, she stopped when she stood in front of her prostrating husband. “Lucien, get up.” She tugged on the collar of his shirt.

“Forgive me.” He wouldn’t even look at her, keeping his magnificent blue orbs gazing downward. His shoulders were quivering with each breath he took and the words he spoke.

Ciara’s heart broke. He wasn’t doing this for himself—he was doing it for her. Under English law, she belonged to him and he could do with her as he wished. Lucien was showing her that he would snub the very fabric of rules that he had been brought up with if that was what it took to make her happy.

“Take the rose. I didn’t know what to get the woman who never seemed to want anything I had to offer. I chose a rose because it reminded me of you. Simple. Elegant. Strong. Unparalleled in beauty. I will get anything for you. You are my everything. Please.”

That last word, desperate, wanting, pleading, nudged her into motion. Ciara took the rose from his hand and brought it to her nose, inhaling its rich scent. Her eyes closed as she let the fragrant smell inflame her senses. Tucking it behind her ear, she reached down under Lucien’s bent chin and nudged his face up to meet her eyes.

When she was looking into his midnight eyes, she smiled. As the tears filled her eyes, she said, “I forgive you. I always had. All I ever wanted was you. I love you, Lucien Remington St. Martin.” Tugging again on his collar, she added in a sharper tone, “Now get up off the floor, please.”

With one graceful move, Lucien was standing tall over her again. Tan lean fingers cupped the bronze face as lips met. They kissed until the cheering of the gathered crowd penetrated the haze they were surrounded by.

Moving his lips from hers, he drew back so there was a small space between them. “I love you, Ciara Malika St. Martin. I will always love you.”

Heedless of the people watching them, she threw herself into his arms, entrusting that he would catch her as he always caught her, with those arms that made her feel so safe, so protected, so loved. Ciara wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his lips that would have the whole of London talking for years to come.

When her feet reached the floor, Lucien made a gesture to the musicians and they began to play a waltz.

“Princess.” His voice was loud and clear. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

Ciara swept a graceful curtsy as she inclined her head in a regal motion. “It would be an honor, my lord.”

* * * *

After the party ended and they were back at their own townhouse, Lucien kicked open the door to their bedroom, his wife firm in his grasp. Setting her down on the bed, he once again got on his knees in front of her. “Ciara, I have something for you.”

“Lucien, you have given me everything that I could ever want.”

“Except a ring.” He pulled a box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “Open it.”

“You gave me a ring.” She held up her hand that had the plain band on it.

“That was not the one I wanted for you. This one is.”

Ciara opened the box. Inside lay a ring that consisted of a wide band holding a topaz surrounded by small diamonds. The band itself had etchings on it, both African and Celtic. “Ohh, Lucien. It’s beautiful.” She slipped it on. Perfect fit.

Eyes bright with unshed tears, Ciara reached out for her husband. Lucien moved into her arms and, as they undressed each other with care, they realized that this was what they had searched for.