Once Abigail reached the opening to the church, she exhaled the breath she had been holding and boldly looked down the aisle to where Phillip waited.
It appeared that Phillip had kept his promise and left the invitation open to all who wanted to attend. Which was basically anyone with a title. The church was sweltering and packed to the gills with well wishers from the peerage, each of them wearing smiles as if they believed in Rawlings all along and were in support of the marriage between the two from the start, when in fact the opposite was true. If it wasn’t for the Dowager of Barlowe, and Mrs. Peabody retracting her earlier statements, Abigail imagined the church would be empty. Then again, the ton was attracted to scandal like a bee to honey.
Shaking her head, Abigail continued her walk down the aisle. Phillip was looking at his boots. She stifled a laugh, for wasn’t it just a few weeks prior that she found him doing the exact same thing?
But this time when he looked up, it wasn’t hopelessness she saw on his handsome face but gratitude, love, passion. Could a girl swoon on her wedding day and be forgiven?
The minute he reached out to touch her, she wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave. He lifted her chin and mouthed, “I love you,” before the service commenced.
****
Phillip had no recollection of saying anything, though he was sure he did. God above, she was breathtaking. The woman he was now escorting from the church was so precious it hurt to think about it.
Her dress alone nearly brought him to his knees. He had half a mind to continue lifting the layers of lace just to see what presents would be beneath. It was torture watching as she sashayed down the aisle, silk clinging to her delicate curves.
Mouth dry, he knew only that he was repeating whatever he was supposed to, and he had an irritating lump in his throat that refused to go away.
“Up you go.” He helped her into the carriage for the short drive to the wedding breakfast. What he wouldn’t give to have snubbed his nose at the rules and had a wedding that took place at night. An evening wedding would have had its advantages, he could happily strip his bride of her delectable dress and possess her as he’d been dreaming of the past few days, instead of face more of the ton and politely nod his head when the last thing he wanted to do involved speaking. Though he was loathe to break tradition and Sebastian had warned him of pushing the limits too far, especially since he invited every aristocrat in residence.
And while Sebastian had sworn that a man could not die from unquenched desire, Phillip was having momentary doubts as Abby turned and laughed, revealing the most perfect smile he had ever seen.
He cursed. Unfortunately, it was out loud.
“Phillip?” Abigail, the spellbinding witch, leaned closer and cupped his head between her hands. “Are you unwell?”
“I believe you are finding your new husband in a fit of frustration.”
“How can I be of service?”
Phillip shuddered, thinking he should be hit for the mental images of her beneath him writhing in pleasure, he laughed. “Well, I guess that all depends on you.”
“How so?”
He gave a wolfish smile and he lifted her onto his lap. She straddled him, making his pain almost unbearable. They had minutes before they arrived in front of the townhome.
The carriage bumped around, and Phillip swore again as he brought his lips firmly against Abigail’s. She needed no encouragement, the second her warm lips met his, she began pulling at his jacket. Saints alive, the girl was strong.
“Abby,” he mumbled between kisses as the innocent continued to attack the shocked rake with a vengeance. Apparently this was how it was to be, besides hadn’t she been the one to kiss first? “Abby, if you don’t stop moving atop me and pulling at my clothes, we, my dear, will never make it to the wedding breakfast. For I will carry you straightaway to my home and lock you in our rooms until I’ve pleasured you again, again, and again until your scream is hoarse and sleep claims you with my name on your lips.”
The beautiful minx, blonde hair falling delicately around her face, stopped. “How important is the wedding breakfast?”
Her fingers moved toward his breeches.
Phillip bit back an oath as he fed on her lips like a starved man. “Abby, I mean it.”
She continued to tug until his shirt was free and his breeches were minutes from being loose.
He relented, chuckling and wanting to curse at the same time, “Two drinks of champagne and no food. It takes too blasted long to eat and socialize at the same time. We’ll make our appearance and then we’re leaving.”
Abby nodded.
He grabbed her face between his hands “And, if Lady Fenton or any other lady corners you wanting to have that boorish talk about the wedding night, you run. Understand?”
“Perfectly!” She kissed him again as the carriage came to a stop.
Phillip closed his eyes against the onslaught of arousal and frustration. The idea that he had to smile as though everything was perfect in the world when really his most intense desire was to lay claim to his wife…repeatedly, seemed too much for him to handle.
Phillip adjusted his jacket to cover up the more visible signs of his distress, he took a sobering breath of fresh air and followed his wife up the stairs into the home.
Was it stifling in that house? All at once people began cheering and talking. He motioned for a glass of champagne and downed it before Sebastian approached him, smug grin in place.
“Welcome to Hades, my friend.”
Phillip swore. “Yes, though all appearances display a jolly and happy husband, I am in fact contemplating which wall I shall bash my head into while I wait for tonight.”
Sebastian slapped him on the back. “Just shake hands and smile. You’ll be able to escape with Abigail soon enough.” He paused and downed the rest of his whiskey. “The very thought of you alone with Abigail is enough to pressure me to get foxed this afternoon. Do be careful, Phillip. She’s an innocent.”
“Devil take it! Are you having the wedding night talk with me? Truly, Sebastian? Don’t think I’ve ever been this uncomfortable in my life.” Phillip’s gaze darted around the room, looking for escape. He’d warned Abby of this type of discussion not once thinking he could be cornered for the same thing.
“You know, just take it slow, Phillip.”
Phillip cursed and motioned for another drink.
“And if she, you know…if she is uncomfortable or frightened—”
“Do you know her at all? Frightened?” Phillip snorted. Right. Abigail being afraid was completely laughable. “Impossible! The minx tried to take advantage of me in the carriage, Sebastian, and I had half a mind to oblige her.”
The duke cursed as he began coughing and choking on his drink. Phillip slapped him on the back a few times before Sebastian was able to find his voice. “Good talk, Phillip. I’ll just be, uh…over there, looking at, um, food.” He left, quite red in the face.
Phillip cursed again as Lady Fenton made a motion to gain his attention. If the woman began discuss anything to do with the impending night, he could not and would not be held responsible for his actions. At this point he would be more than happy to have Abby right on the table scattered with food.
And for the love of all that is holy why weren’t people sitting down and eating already? His gaze scanned the room, looking for an escape route, when it landed on the red strawberries. Which, unfortunately, reminded his aching body of Abigail’s lips, and that is how he came to focus solely on a single strawberry for longer than two minutes, all the while looking extremely pleased with himself.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder with a fan.
“Ah, Lady Fenton!” His voice gave way to his excitement for it was husky. Perfect. Just what he needed, for Lady Fenton to think she made him blasted aroused.
“I do love strawberries.” She picked one up and dangled it in front of her mouth.
Deliver me, God. I cannot handle this.
“And the way they taste so sweet on one’s lips. Do you know the strangest thing? I’ve heard that Abigail is positively enraptured by strawberries.”
Phillip lifted his hand to his lips and cleared his throat. “Is she now?”
“Oh yes.” She tapped him again.
God, if you exist, cease this woman from hitting me with her fan.
“How is the girl faring? I hope she isn’t too uncomfortable with the rest of the proceedings.”
Why was it that proceedings suddenly gave Phillip the impression that she was talking about something entirely inappropriate?
“Yes, well.” He struggled for words. “I’m sure things will go swimmingly.”
Lady Fenton’s eyes bulged. “Oh, yes, um.” Her fan picked up speed as her cheeks became flushed with color. “That is to say, um. Good for you. Pardon me.”
It was after her hasty exit that he realized her idea of proceedings happened to be what he imagined. Her idea of the wedding night. Was everyone concerned that he would maul the girl? Just what did they take him as? A monster in the bedroom? Out to force himself on his wife? His gaze rested on the strawberries again.
“Blast.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. Anymore champagne and he would get foxed, which surely wouldn’t do. But the temptation to bathe Abigail in strawberries was too strong. Stepping away from the food before he made an absolute fool of himself, he ran into Sebastian, who then side stepped him and began talking of flowers.
Just as Phillip was ready to snap, the meal was to commence, and he escorted Abigail to her seat. Cheeks flushed, looking lovelier than ever, it took every ounce of self -restraint he possessed, which wasn’t much, to sit idly next to her without covering her body with his own.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he whispered as the guests began eating and chatting.
“If one more person approaches me about the wedding night…” Abigail began through clenched teeth.
“I believe our guests are worried I will break you.”
Abigail’s gaze rested on his lips. Licking her own, she leaned forward. “Funny, for I was afraid I would tire you, my lord. After all, you have on several occasions reminded me of your age. I worry you aren’t quite…agile enough for the likes of me.”
Phillip cursed and closed his eyes, willing the images of Abigail’s taunts to leave his sexually frustrated brain.
“Cough,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Do it, start choking.”
Abigail, ever the actress, did more than that. She began wailing and choking and gasping for air. Truly, the girl was a professional. He should have known. He made his apologies as he frantically pulled her into the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him.
Abigail’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Well great, now we are trapped in this room and they think I’m dying.”
“No,” he said. “They’ll think I’ve come to your aid, and now we will make our apologies and leave, for you aren’t feeling up to the task after your near death experience.”
Abigail laughed. “Nobody will believe us.”
“You. They just have to believe you. Now appear ill.”