Night of Pleasure (23 page)

She cringed, feeling as if she were six again. “Yes, Papa.”

He swung toward the direction of Hyde Park, which was just across the cobbled street. He held out the crook of his arm, waiting.

She grudgingly walked toward him and slipped her arm into his.

Glancing both ways for oncoming carriages, he hurried them across the street. The late afternoon breeze rustled her skirts and the ribbons of her bonnet as she tightened her hold on her father’s arm.

“Are you leaving him at the altar to be humiliated?” he asked. “Is that the plan?”

She peered up at him, her throat tightening. “No. I…I decided against it.”

“So you were going to leave him?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

“And when were you going to tell me?”

She inwardly winced. “I was going to write you a letter and ask you to see me in Persia.”

His voice hardened. “Is that all you think I’m worth?”

“It was stupid, I know, but I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”

His gaze was trained firmly on the path leading them into the quietest section of the park. “I would have never insisted on this marriage if I didn’t believe it was going to make you happy. Especially after what I went through with your mother. I knew his father for over seventeen years. He was a great man. He saw the world in a way few do: he saw opportunity when there was none. I’ll never forget how I met George. The same night he and his wife were robbed outside of Paris, while that woman cried, he knelt before her, holding both of her hands and sang her a ballad in the hopes of getting her to smile as if they weren’t in a smoky tavern full of drunken strangers in a helpless situation. That was how I found them. Her hair a mess and he was trying to make her smile, brushing her hair from her face. It made me stop and ask them if they needed assistance. What those two had shared was…I don’t know how to say it…enchanting. It was how I imagined my life being with my future wife. Before I married your mother and…” His voice trailed off.

Tears stung her eyes as she set her other hand against her father’s arm. “You never told me any of this.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m rather sorry I didn’t. After everything you and I have been through, I sometimes forget there is still a lot unsaid between us. Simply know that Banfield comes from a good family. Not the crazy one your mother came from.”

She swallowed and trained her own gaze ahead of them, remembering the way Derek had cradled her head against his chest as if it was all he had ever wanted. “Yes. I know.”

“If you know, Tine, then why the blazes are you still associating with Nasser? I am
astounded
that he followed you out all the way to London. What is this? What is going on? I am demanding you be honest with me. Are you and he romantically involved?”

She groaned. “Noooo. Men and women are perfectly capable of being friends, Papa. That is all he and I are to each other. Friends.”

“
Friends
? And what is this Nasser offering that Banfield can’t? Explain this to me.”

A shaky breath escaped her. “It’s different with Banfield. He…he isn’t interested in being my friend.”

He glanced over at her. “And how do you know that?”

Oh, if she could count out the ways. “Being around him is like being in Paris. Do you not remember how the men there would publicly whistle at women and use the head of their canes to lift the back of their skirts in passing? That is
exactly
how I feel whenever I’m around him. Our conversations always return to him whistling and wanting to lift my skirt. Always.”

His laughter rippled through the air. “I think you told me far more than I needed to know about you and him.”

“But that is exactly how it feels being around him,” she insisted. “You’ve read every one of his letters. It has always been his intent to make me blush. He knows nothing of sharing in a conversation that doesn’t involve me blushing.”

“There is nothing wrong with blushing, Tine.”

“Yes, well, when it’s all a girl is doing, it gets rather...
exhausting
. And it bothers me given what I feel for him.”

He paused, his shoulder purposefully bumping into her own. “Oh, well, now. This is news to me. What do you feel for him? Tell your father.”

She almost swung at the air for letting that one out. “Nothing. I’m babbling right now.”

“Of course you are,” he chided. “Why would you admit to feeling anything for him? You’ve never even been able to tell your own father that you like him.”

“I’m simply not that sort of girl, Papa. I’ve never been.”

“You and I both know that, but does Banfield know it?”

A breath escaped her. This was all so twisted. “No. He doesn’t.”

“You see? You need to allow him to see another side of you, Tine. Or he may think you don’t feel any devotion for him at all.”

“Another side of me? And what side are you referring to? I’m not at all interesting or exciting, Papa. I don’t even have a sense of humor. He says things sometimes and all I can do is stare. Do you know how awkward that is?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe you don’t share his sense of humor, but you did help your father away from the sideboard. And you don’t cower when men break into the house. In fact, with over a dozen paper curlers in your hair, you ran for a pistol you didn’t even know how to use. To me…that is interesting.”

She snorted. “You’re making me sound pathetic.”

His voice became firm. “Show him the girl who isn’t afraid to share more of who she really is. If you want friendship from him, make an effort to take it.”

Now there was an idea. She could physically wrestle Derek down to the ground in the hopes of gaining his…
friendship
. She quickened their steps, trying to push out some of the building angst within her. “So you really think he and I could be friends? Real friends? Despite the fact that he only sees my lips?”

He brought them to a halt. “Banfield is not unreasonable in nature. He will see whatever you want him to. The question is: what do you want him to see? The girl who wants to leave him at the altar because she can’t admit to liking him? Or the girl who I’m talking to right now?”

For a man who had been shackled to a miserable marriage and couldn’t give himself advice, he certainly knew how to give it to others. She squeezed his arm and chided, “You can be so smart sometimes.”

He smirked. “Only sometimes?”

She gently rattled his arm. “Must you really leave after the wedding, Papa? I’m not dashing off anywhere. So why should you? Can’t you live here in London? New York is dreadfully boring. More importantly, if you stay here in London, you’ll be able to travel quicker to the places you always have to go to. Meaning Spain and France.”

He eyed her. “Are you inviting me to stay for grandchildren? Because I
will
quit politics for that. But only if you guarantee it.”

She bit her tongue knowing she wasn’t quite ready for that. It was unnerving as it was knowing she was marrying a man whom she adored but who only ever seemed to notice her breasts. “Let me think about it.”

Two days later – St. Paul’s Cathedral

Excited whispers floated all around as Derek silently strode down the long aisle, heading to the altar where the bishop in his ceremonial robes and domed cap waited.

As per his instructions, every wooden pew and every marble pillar in the grand cathedral had been meticulously decorated with wreaths of white blossoms, pale pink roses, and forget-me-nots. They sweetly perfumed the muggy air around him, mingling with the sultry scent of melting beeswax.

Countless candles lit the marble altar, making everything appear golden.

It was everything he had ever wanted in a wedding. The red carpet at his booted feet. Too many candles to count. Violins playing from the pulpit. An abundance of eager faces belonging to his friends and family that included every last one of his cousins and their children.

But it all blurred into superficial nothingness. Because it wasn’t real.

Within the hour, everyone in London would know the truth.

That he had walked down the aisle knowing she wouldn’t come.

He arrived at the altar, which brought all of the violins to a final lull in honor of the official commencement. He half-turned as he had been earlier instructed by the bishop to do and waited. The bright sun sparkled in through the rows of stain glass above, highlighting portions of the altar with a rainbow of muted colors. Minutes ticked by and only the occasional whispers and coughs of people in the pews interrupted the silence.

Derek eyed the large double doors at the end of the altar, his pulse drumming. He knew she wasn’t going to walk through that door, but a part of him still stupidly hoped she would. After what she painted, he couldn’t imagine that she could just walk away from an image like that.

Setting his trembling hands behind his back, he swallowed and waited.

He mentally counted out another minute and another minute and twenty others. One could say he had the patience of God because he was standing in a church. The restless conversations and whispers of people shifting in their pews and glancing toward the closed doors became more of a pronounced rumble. People were staring at him. Many of them already offering up silent horrified apologies.

Letting out a slow breath, he decided not to wait the full hour. He turned to the bishop and finally said in a strained tone, “My Lord Bishop, I wish to—”

The doors opened.

An excited murmur overtook the crowd.

Derek swung toward those open doors and dragged in an astounded breath.

His pulse roared to life and he almost staggered.

She came. She— He couldn’t believe it.

Dressed in a stunning lace lilac gown, Clementine calmly and regally walked down the aisle toward him, one gloved hand resting on her father’s bent forearm and the other gloved hand holding a bouquet of orchids. A yellow silk bonnet decorated with silk flowers was poised atop bountiful pinned black curls, a short veil draped over its rim in true French fashion. Although there was still quite a distance between them, he could faintly see her flushed, pretty face through the thin, white veil beaded with pearls.

He paused, realizing she wasn’t even looking at him.

Her eyes swept from one side of the pews to the other as if she were intently looking for someone of more importance. She even slowed her steps to allow herself to better look.

Tightening his jaw, he mentally willed her to meet his gaze. If only once. If only to make this moment
feel
the way he needed it to. To make this moment real.

Her lips tightened through the swaying veil as she continued to peruse pew after pew, letting her head pertly go left and right.

Who the hell was she looking for?

His chest tightened. What if…what if the prince showed up and objected to their vows? What if this had been planned? What if she was about to humiliate him before all of London in the name of a prince who owned an entire country?

His nostrils flared in an effort to stay calm as he mentally chanted to himself to remain at the altar. Because the odds were not with either of them. There were three hundred and twenty-two people in the cathedral, not including the bishop, the musicians, or altar boys. If he walked out now, or reacted to anything he shouldn’t, every single person in London would know about it within less than forty-five minutes.

Clementine arrived at the altar, still glancing toward the closest pews. Mr. Grey cleared his throat, bringing attention to the fact she wasn’t turning as expected.

She winced and faced her father to allow him to lift the veil.

Derek shifted his jaw and eyed the pews. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the people around them. Most of them were people he knew. One of his older female cousins, Mrs. Gangley, waved excitedly toward him over the bonnet of his mother who tilted herself away and glared at her for being so rude.

He counterfeited a smile for them and returned his gaze to Clementine. “Looking for someone?” he coolly asked.

She glanced toward the crowd again, clearly astounded. “I simply didn’t expect there to be
this
many people. This isn’t a wedding, this is a circus.”