The vicar began to speak: “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Zachary's reply was quiet and steady. “I will.”
And as the ceremony progressed, Holly was changed from a widow to a bride once more.
They exchanged vows, placed rings on each other's fingers and knelt together as the vicar began a lengthy prayer. Holly tried to focus on the vicar's words, but as she glanced into Zachary's serious face, it seemed the world had vanished except for the two of them. His grip on her hands was warm and strong as he pulled her to her feet, and hazily she realized that the vicar was finishing the ceremony: “…those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
They were married now, Holly thought in wonder, staring at her husband in the suspended silence, her fingers lacing tightly with his. Suddenly Rose's voice broke through the stillness, as the little girl apparently felt moved to add to the vicar's closing words. Her tone exactly mimicked his grave monotone. “And they lived happily ever after.”
Laughter rippled through the small gathering, and Zachary pressed a brief, hard kiss on Holly's smiling mouth.
The wedding supper that followed was a lighthearted affair, with music supplied by violinists and conversation seasoned by flowing bottles of expensive wine. Rose was allowed to sit at the adults' table for a short time. She was clearly dismayed when Maude appeared at the hour of eight to take her up to the nursery, but her protests were forestalled when Zachary murmured quietly to her and placed some small object in her hand. Exchanging a goodnight kiss with Holly, the child went happily upstairs with Maude.
“What did you give her?” Holly asked Zachary, and his black eyes glinted with mischief.
“Buttons.”
“Buttons,” she whispered in surprise. “From where?”
“One from my wedding coat and one from the back of your gown. Rose wanted them to commemorate the occasion.”
“You took a button from the back of my gown?” Holly whispered, casting him a shaming glance as she wondered how he had managed to accomplish the small feat without her notice.
“Be thankful I stopped at just one, my lady,” he advised.
Holly did not reply, her blush heightening as she reflected that she was anticipating their wedding night fully as much as he.
At last the long supper and the endless rounds of toasts came to a conclusion, and the men remained at the table to enjoy their port. Holly slipped upstairs to the bedroom adjoining Zachary's, and with Maude's help, she removed her wedding clothes. She changed into a nightgown made of fine, thin white cambric that had been intricately pleated and ruffled at the bodice and sleeves. Dismissing the servant with a smile of thanks, Holly brushed out her hair until it fell in long, loose locks over her shoulders.
It felt strange, to once again be waiting for a husband's conjugal visit—strange but wonderful. How fortunate she was to have been blessed with two loves in her life. Sitting at the dressing table, she bent her head to whisper a silent prayer of thankfulness.
Eventually the quiet click of the door interrupted the silence, and she glanced upward to find Zachary approaching her.
Slowly he removed his wedding coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. He came to her and settled his hands on her shoulders while their gazes met in the mirror. “No doubt I should have waited longer.” His fingers slid over her shining hair, then lightly touched the sides of her neck. Holly shivered pleasurably at the gentle brush of his fingertips. “But the more I thought of you up here…my sweet, pretty wife…the more impossible it became to stay away.” Continuing to stare at her reflection, Zachary carefully unfastened the little covered buttons at her throat, working down the long row until the cambric sagged loosely over her chest. His dark hands slipped beneath the thin fabric, their shadowy outline visible as he fondled the round shapes of her breasts.
Holly's breathing deepened as she leaned against her chair. Her nipples contracted from the sliding heat of his palms. He used his thumbs and forefingers to pull gently at the tips, until the sensation chased all the way down to her toes.
“Zachary,” she said unsteadily, “I love you.”
He knelt beside her chair and urged her forward, his mouth capturing the tip of one breast through the cambric and tugging urgently. She quivered, her hands coming to his head, and she rubbed her mouth over his thick black hair. Releasing her breast, Zachary smiled and cupped her small face between his palms. “Tell me,” he said, “do you still think that good wives pander to their husbands' desires but should never encourage them?”
“I'm sure I should think so,” she said ruefully.
“That's too bad,” he informed her, laughter shimmering in his eyes. “Because there's nothing I enjoy so much as watching you struggle with your improper desires.” He picked her up easily, and she curled her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed. A few flickering candles illuminated the room with soft pools of light, causing Zachary's skin to gleam like bronze as he removed his clothing. He tugged Holly's gown to her hips, spreading kisses on each newly revealed inch of her body, then pulled it off completely. She turned toward him, gathering herself against him with a sound of mingled greed and pleasure that made him laugh softly. But his flaring amusement dimmed as she touched him, her hands inexpertly searching his shoulders and back and smoothing over the hard slopes of muscle. His chest moved in uneven breaths, and he pressed his face in her hair.
“Zachary,” she whispered near his ear, “teach me all the things you like. Tell me what you want. I'll do anything for you…anything.”
He lifted his head and looked into her warm, trusting brown eyes. His own expression became fierce with adoration, and he bent to take her mouth hungrily. Grasping her hand in his, he drew her fingers slowly over his body, lingering on the places that gave him pleasure, showing her ways to stroke and caress him that she had never imagined.
Murmuring hotly against her throat, he spread her thighs and slipped his fingers inside her, and kissed her stomach and navel and rested his thumb lightly on the peak hidden in the damp clustered curls between her legs. She strained upward with a smothered moan, and he circled his thumb once, twice, while his fingers flexed deeper inside her body. He bent his head over her loins and slid his tongue over her swollen flesh, and gnawed softly with his lips and the edge of his teeth, and her fingers went to the back of his neck in a frantic grasp.
“Please,” she moaned, inflamed and ready, every muscle in her body tensing in anticipation. “Now, Zachary—”
But he rolled off of her and pulled her stiff limbs over his, and made her straddle his hips so that his erection rubbed into the place he had made so wet and hot. Understanding what he wanted, Holly reached down with trembling hands and pushed the taut length of him into place. She tried to sink down on him, but in her inexperience she could not find the proper angle. He guided her to lean deeper, until her breasts swayed over his face. The hard shaft slid more easily then, and she gasped at the luscious invasion.
Rising upward on his elbows, Zachary caught one nipple in his mouth, and then the other, taking little stinging bites that caused her hips to jerk against his. Holly pressed herself on him urgently, then rose and did it again, finding a rhythm that caused his powerful legs to quiver beneath hers. He gritted his teeth and grabbed huge fistfuls of the bed linens, while sweat beaded on his face. He did not reach for her or guide her, only let her do as she wished, until the pleasure in her core surged in a great throbbing tide. Letting out a low cry, Holly ground herself against him, crushed her mouth on his, fused her body to his, while the fiery delight raced through her. Only then did he touch her, gripping her buttocks in his hands to pull her down even harder as his own passion exploded.
Holly rested against his shoulder for a long time after
ward, occasionally reaching up to stroke his face with gentle fingertips. When Zachary's breathing returned to normal, he moved to blow out the candles, then returned to her arms. She didn't know whether they slept for minutes or hours, but she awakened in the darkness to feel his hands on her once more. He kissed her mouth and breasts, while his coaxing hand teased the tender place between her thighs until she was ready for him again. She gave a little start as he rolled her to her stomach and wedged a pillow beneath her hips. “Trust me?” came his devilish whisper against her ear. She relaxed and offered a moan of encouragement, opening herself completely to whatever he desired. She felt his legs slide between hers, and he took her from behind, fitting himself deeply into her body. She wondered dizzily if this was immoral, if she should allow it, and then soon she didn't care. His long thrusts caused guttural cries to rise from her throat, and she felt his teeth gently score the back of her neck as his climax followed hers.
They made love once more as dawn approached, every movement languid and dreamy, their mouths clinging in unbroken kisses as Zachary cradled her in his arms. “I never want to leave this bed,” she whispered to him, stretching beneath the stroke of his hand on her lower back.
“I'm afraid you'll have to, my lady. But from now on, there's always another night for us.”
She trailed her fingers through his chest hair, found the little point of nipple and rubbed it gently. “Zachary?”
“Yes, my love?”
“How often do you usually, er…that is, what do you prefer…”
Her attempts to phrase the question delicately seemed to entertain him. “How often would you prefer?” he parried, drawing a fingertip over her blushing cheek.
“Well, with George, I…that is, we…at least once a week.”
“Once a week,” he repeated, and beneath the laughter in his eyes there was a hot flicker that made her toes curl. “I'm afraid I'll require your wifely compliance a great deal more often than that, Lady Holly.”
In a rush of tingling embarrassment, Holly reflected that he was a man of strong appetites—she should not have been surprised by his rampantly sexual nature. And the prospect of sharing most of her nights with him was not exactly a hardship. “I've been taught my entire life to be moderate in all things,” she said. “And I have been…except when it comes to you.”
“Well, Lady Holly,” he murmured, his wide shoulders rising above hers, “I think that bodes well for our future. Don't you?” And he kissed her before she could answer.
Holly thought she had come to know and understand Zachary Bronson quite well after abiding beneath his roof for the better part of a Season. However, she soon discovered the vast difference between simply abiding with him and living as his wife. As the first month of their married life passed, she gradually became accustomed to sharing astonishing intimacy with him. She learned many things about Zachary: That although he could be callous or harsh toward those who displeased him, he was never completely without mercy. That he was not a religious man, nor was he particularly spiritual, yet he had a code of honor that led him to be unflinchingly honest. That he was embarrassed by open praise from others, and made light of the favors that he did for them.
Although Zachary tried mightily to conceal it, he possessed a vein of compassion that led him to be kind to those he perceived as vulnerable or weak. He drove hard bargains in his business dealings, but he slipped lavish tips to street sweepers and match girls, and secretly funded a multitude of reformist causes. When any of his charitable impulses were discovered, he disclaimed any good motives and pretended that everything he did was for purely mercenary reasons.
Perplexed by his behavior, Holly approached him in the library on a day he had chosen to work at home. “The pensions for your workers, and the new safety standards at your factories, and the workingmens' college you're funding,” she mused aloud, “these are all things you've done only because it will eventually bring you more profit?”
“That's right. Making the employees intelligent and reasonably healthy will result in greater productivity.”
“And the bill you're secretly sponsoring in Parliament to outlaw all employment of orphans in mills and factories,” Holly continued, “that is also purely for business reasons?”
“How do you know about that?” he asked with a faint scowl.
“I overheard you talking to Mr. Cranfill the other day,” she said, naming one of his political friends. Sitting on his knee, Holly loosened his starched necktie and played with the dark hair at his nape. “Why does it embarrass you for other people to know about your good works?” she asked softly.
He shrugged uncomfortably. “It serves no purpose. You know what they say.”
Holly nodded thoughtfully, remembering the article published in the Times the previous day that had criticized Zachary's support of the workingmens' college:
Mr. Bronson has made it his ambition to see that the middle and even lower classes are allowed to run the country. People who haven't the slightest understanding of responsibility or morality are to be given power over the rest of us. He wants the sheep to lead the shepherds, and in this pursuit, he is actively working for uneducated brutes like himself to be elevated above men of intellect and refinement.
“Everything I do causes controversy,” Zachary said matter-of-factly. “In fact, there are times when my patronage almost becomes a liability for the causes I'm trying to help. I've been accused of everything short of trying to lead a great lower-class conspiracy that will end up overturning the monarchy.”
“It isn't fair,” Holly murmured, feeling a wash of guilt as she realized that there were respectable men of the upper circles she used to frequent who were actively fighting against measures that would educate and protect people so much less fortunate than they. How strange that she and George had never discussed such problems, had scarcely been aware of them. It had never occurred to them to worry about children being forced to work in mines at ages three and four…that there were thousands of widows trying to support their families by selling matches or braiding straw…that there was an entire class of people who had no chance to rise above their circumstances unless someone fought for them. Sighing, she rested her head against her husband's shoulder. “How selfish and blind I've been for most of my life,” she murmured.
“You?” Zachary sounded surprised. He bent to kiss the curve of her cheek. “You're an angel.”
“Am I?” she asked wryly. “It's becoming clear to me that I've done very little in my life to help other people…but you…you've done so much, and you're not being given any of the recognition you deserve.”
“I don't want recognition.” He shifted her in his lap and kissed her.
“What do you want?” she asked softly, a smile playing on her lips.
His hand curled around her ankle and began to roam farther beneath her skirts. “I should think it's fairly clear to you by now.”
To be certain, Zachary was far from a saint. He was not above manipulating others to obtain the results he desired. Holly was both amused and appalled as she uncovered evidence of his maneuvering, such as the invitation they received to the annual after-Season country weekend party held by the earl and countess of Glintworth. The invitation was wholly unexpected, as Lord Glintworth was a member of high standing in the ton, and the Bronsons had earned too much notoriety to merit a place on the exclusive guest list. But once they were received publicly at a ball given by the Glintworths, it would be difficult for anyone in first society to cut them afterward.
Holly brought the invitation to Zachary with a questioning frown on her face. He was lounging in the music room while Rose plunked the keys of the gleaming little mahogany piano that had been installed specifically for her use. For some reason Zachary claimed to enjoy hearing the child's efforts at learning scales, and he spent at least two mornings a week listening to her.
“A messenger just delivered this,” Holly told him quietly, showing him the invitation while he listened to Rose's cacoph
ony as if it were a performance of some heavenly choir.
“What is it?” he asked, sprawling more comfortably in the chair near the piano, while Rose began yet another set of scales.
“An invitation to the earl of Glintworth's country weekend.” Holly stared at him suspiciously. “Did you have something to do with it?”
“Why do you ask?” he countered a little too blandly.
“Because there is no reason we should be invited. Glintworth is the greatest snob in the civilized world, and he would never voluntarily condescend to invite us to anything, even if it were merely to watch his boots being shined!”
“Unless…” Zachary murmured, “he wanted something I could do for him.”
“Listen to this, Uncle Zach,” Rose commanded. “It's my best one!” The piano fairly vibrated from her enthusiastic playing.
“I'm listening, princess,” Zachary assured her, then spoke to Holly in a soft undertone. “I think you'll soon see, my love, that many in the ton will be forced to overlook our little transgressions. There are too many peers who are financially entangled with me—or would like to be. And friendship, like anything else, has a purchasing price.”
“Zachary Bronson,” Holly exclaimed in horrified disbelief, “do you mean to tell me that you've somehow coerced the earl and countess of Glintworth into inviting us to their weekend party?”
“I gave them a choice,” he said indignantly. “The fact is, Glintworth is in debt up to his ears, and he's been after me for months to let him invest…” He paused to applaud for Rose as she launched into an unsteady rendition of “Three Blind Mice,” then turned back to Holly. “He's chased me like a dog after a rat about letting him invest in a rail line I'm planning. The other day I told him that in return for letting him have a piece of my business, I wouldn't mind a public demonstration of friendship from a man as estimable as himself. Evidently Glintworth convinced his wife that it would be in their best interests to send us an invitation to her party.”