Read Online The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories by Mary Jo Putney, Kristin James, Charlotte Featherstone - Free Book Online Page B

a touch. They had a lifetime ahead of them; it would be foolish to rush matters now.
    She mutely followed his suggestion that she relax with a long bath. Much later, after Sunny’s maid had finished her ministrations and left for the night, he joined his wife in the spacious bedchamber. He expected to find her in the canopied bed, perhaps already asleep. Instead, she stood by the window, gazing out on the lights of New York.
    He found her a far more interesting sight than the city. The glossy, honey-gold hair that flowed over her shoulders was even lovelier than he had imagined, and he longed to bury his face among the silken strands. Her white negligee frothed with lace and delicate embroidery, and was so translucent that he could see the lithe shape of her body beneath. It must be another Worth creation; only a master could make a woman look simultaneously pure and provocative.
    His wife. He was still awed by the miracle of it.
    Justin had been introduced to the dark mysteries of passion when he was sixteen. Deciding it was time his young brother became a man, Gavin had taken Justin to a courtesan. With his usual careless kindness, Gavin had chosen the woman well. Lily was a warmhearted,earthily sensual Frenchwoman who had known exactly how to initiate a shy youth half her age.
    Justin’s shamed embarrassment had been gone by the end of his first afternoon with Lily. With her he had discovered not only passion, but kindness and mutual affection. He had visited her many times over the ensuing years. When her looks faded and she could no longer support herself as a courtesan, he had quietly bought her a cottage in the south of France so that she could retire in comfort. They still corresponded occasionally.
    Because of Lily, he was now able to give his wife the gift of passion. Praying that desire would not make him clumsy, he went to join her by the window. Her delicate violet scent bewitched him, and his hands clenched with the effort of not touching her. Needing a safe, neutral topic, he said, “New York is lovely in a way quite distinct from London or Paris.”
    â€œI shall miss it,” she whispered.
    He glanced over and saw tears trembling in her eyes. “It must be hard to leave one’s home,” he said quietly, “but you can come back whenever you wish.”
    â€œYes.” She drew an unsteady breath. “Still, it hurts knowing that I am no longer an American. Though I understood that marrying a foreigner meant that I would lose my citizenship, I didn’t expect to feel it so much.”
    â€œThe law might say that you are now an English-woman, but it can’t change what you are in your heart. America made you, and nothing can take that away.”
    After a long pause, she said in a low voice, “Thank you. I needed to be reminded of that.”
    Thinking the time was finally right, he put an arm around her waist. For the barest instant, she was pliantly yielding. Then she went rigid, like a small woodland creature holding still in the desperate hope that it would escape a predator’s notice.
    He turned her toward him and pulled her close, stroking her back in the hope that she would relax, but he was unsuccessful. Though she submitted without protest, her body remained as stiff as a marble statue.
    Shyness or nerves were to be expected, but her reaction seemed extreme. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him. “Sunny, are you afraid of me?”
    â€œNot…not of you, really,” she said, her eyes cast down.
    It wasn’t a heartening answer for an eager bridegroom. Patiently he said, “Then are you afraid of…marital intimacy?”
    â€œIt’s more than that, Justin. I don’t know quite how to explain.” She pressed her hands to her temples for a moment, then looked into his eyes for the first time in days. “I was raised to be a wife. In the whole of my life, there was never any thought that I would