The Wilder Wedding

Despite their recent betrothal, Camilla Norton’s subsequent desertion had not affected him much. Not in the least, except for the small dent to his pride. He would suffer a great deal more than that with Laura’s leaving, unless he took immediate charge of things.

If he continued down this road with her, the outcome could only be total devastation. After Ondine’s untimely death, he’d had fury at her betrayal to sustain him. Even then, the pain of loving her and losing her had almost destroyed him. He had rebuilt the wall inside himself once. He didn’t think he could do it again. This time he would be left with nothing but soul-deep grief. There would be no saving anger to draw on. Nothing.

The only prudent course was evident. He had to back away from her now, to distance himself from what would continue to grow between them if he allowed it. Given his upbringing, Sean knew he was as well versed in sex as any male on the planet. But with Laura, sex was not just sex. It was a mutual giving, a bonding of spirits he had never encountered before in his life, even with Ondine. And Sean realized that the physical union would only strengthen his love for Laura into a veritable necessity he could not live without.

He could never abandon Laura, however. She was his wife now and needed protection and support, certainly more than most wives did. But he must discontinue their intimacy before his need for her grew to unmanageable proportions.

How to do that would take some planning in itself. Denying her anything would be damned difficult, next to impossible, but he knew the alternative would prove worse. Loving her fully, without reservation, and then watching her die would tear the heart right out of his chest. A living death.

“I’m ready,” she said from the doorway.

Sean pushed up from the edge of the tub, hardly daring to look at her, unable not to. She stood gloriously naked but for the sheet loosely draped over one shoulder, the dark satin of her hair wound in a precarious loop on top of her head. The invitation in her smoky eyes set him afire. Acceptance almost fought its way out of him despite his recent and very firm resolution. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he skirted around her, muttering something inane about seeing to his packing.

It was a narrow escape. The first of many, he predicted.

“No one in the world needs this many clothes,” Sean growled as he hefted a leather-bound trunk off the dock. A huffing porter struggled with the other.

Laura laughed and stepped aside and out of his way. “Of course they don’t. Where’s the fun in buying only what one needs? I’m afraid I did reduce your future inheritance considerably this past week, however.”

Sean shot her a dark look.

She wondered why he resented it so whenever she mentioned her legacy. Pride, perhaps. His mood would lighten once he had loaded the baggage and they settled in for the crossing.

Laura left him to it and went to grasp the forward rail. France was out there. She even imagined she could see it, a faint gray line, probably the point near Calais. Perhaps what she saw were only swells of waves. Excitement skipped through her veins like little fairies. By late tomorrow they would be in Paris, City of Light. How she had dreamed of such places.

“Should be a fair enough crossing,” Sean remarked as he joined her, that hoped-for smile in place. “Are you a good sailor, Laura?”

“Yes!” she answered immediately, thinking of the little sail boat she and Lambdin kept on the pond. “Oh, I can’t wait, Sean! My insides are fluttering like the seabirds.” She pointed up at the dizzying flock of gulls that circled the wharf.

He chuckled. “Be still, widgeon. You’re rocking the boat.”

“Don’t be silly. This thing’s a ship. ‘Twould take a gale to rock it.” She drew in a huge draft of the damp, salty sea breeze and sighed it out. Huge arms surrounded her and she leaned back against his solid chest, covering his hands with hers. “I feel so happy, Sean. So very happy, just at this moment.”

Again he laughed, the rumble vibrating through her back and settling around her heart. “We haven’t even done anything yet,” he reminded her.

She tugged loose and turned to face him. “But we have, Sean. Think of it! In the space of twenty-four hours, I’ve become your wife,” she said, feeling the blush color her cheeks, “and embarked on yet another exciting adventure! Will you show me Paris? Will we have the time?”

“I will make the time,” he declared, brushing his hand down her face to cup her chin. “You shall see everything there is to see. The Tuileries, Bonaparte’s Tomb, the Arch, the Louvre. All of it.”

“What else? What else? Tell me more!” she demanded with an impatient bounce.

He shook his head. “Isn’t that enough? Oh, all right, then, how’s this? The tallest structure in the known world, three hundred meters. Will that do? There is this tower in the middle of the city, built for the Exposition.”

“Oh, I read of that,” she said excitedly. “It’s costing them millions!”

“In francs, yes,” he agreed. “But I’m afraid it’s too ugly to thrill you much.”

“No, no, I shall love it,” she said, shaking her head. The mist-dampened feather on her hat drooped across one eye.

“Let’s get you inside before you’re completely soaked. I think the wind is picking up.”

In her excitement, Laura hadn’t even noticed they had gotten under way. Obediently she accompanied him to the cabin where they could pass the short trip in comfort.

Half an hour later, she dashed out and back to the rail. Sean held her fast as she leaned over and lost her breakfast and luncheon. When her stomach had collapsed in on itself, she drooped in his arms and rested against him.

“It’s too soon,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut against her disappointment. “I thought it would be all right…but I don’t want to…go yet.”

His arms tightened around her, one hand pressing her now-hatless head against his chest and the other holding her whole body snug against his. “You’re not going anywhere!” he snapped furiously. “You hear me? Not anywhere but to France. To see Paris. To dance away the night. To laugh and eat beignets, drink café au lait, the best champagne….”

“Oh, God, don’t speak of food!” She pushed him away and retched again.

He enfolded her more softly this time. “This is only seasickness, Laura. You won’t die of it, I promise, no matter how you feel at the moment.”

Somehow she didn’t quite believe him. From the desperate way he held her and the tone of his voice, he must not quite believe it, either.

For the remainder of the crossing, Laura lay cocooned in a blanket Sean had secured from one of the stewards, expecting to breathe her last at any moment. By the time they reached Calais, she found herself embracing the thought. Anything would be better than the misery she endured.

“I’ll send for a doctor, darling,” Sean whispered against her ear as they disembarked. He carried her in his arms toward one of the waiting carriages for hire.

“First we’ll go to a hotel and get you to bed.”

Laura allowed herself to doze in the carriage. She felt the sick dizziness subside a bit when he deposited her on a cushioned armchair near the innkeeper’s desk. “Sean?” she called when he started to step away from her to register.

“Yes?” he answered immediately, hurrying back to kneel beside her and take her hands in his. “What is it?” The sharp concern on his face made her smile.

“I feel much better. The sickness seems to be fading.” In fact, she felt a bit hungry. “Do you think we could order up some tea? Maybe a few salted biscuits?” Laura watched his wide shoulders droop with what she suspected was relief.

“Anything,” he answered on a protracted sigh. “Whatever you want. Will you be all right here for a moment?”

She nodded and smiled again, putting more energy into it than she really felt. Perhaps she would have a reprieve after all, another day to enjoy. During the few moments it took Sean to arrange for a room, she recovered completely. Nothing of her illness remained save a bit of weakness in her knees when she first stood alone. She insisted, over Sean’s objection, that she could manage the stairs to their rooms on her own two feet.

When the doctor arrived, he caught Laura with her mouth full of savory chicken stew. “Good day to you, Madame Wilder,” he greeted her. The newness of the address thrilled her into a happy grin.

“The mal de mer abates, oui?” He continued, “I am Dr. Louis Grillet, at your service.”

Laura swallowed again and held out her hand. The handsome rascal kissed it! Lingeringly. She shot a glance at Sean. He was frowning ominously at the physician’s gesture. Lord, he looked jealous.

“Enchanté,” she announced sweetly just to further gauge her husband’s reaction. He stepped nearer. If the doctor had not been leaning against her bedside already, Laura thought Sean might have pushed between them.

Something inside her did cartwheels, and it had nothing to do with her formerly unsettled stomach. “You were kind to come so quickly,” she said to Dr. Grillet, “but it looks as though I don’t need you after all. As you can see, I am fine. Appetite restored,” she said pointing toward her half-empty tray of food, “and no lingering effects. I suspect my husband and I may have overreacted.”

“Perhaps a more thorough examination is in order, nonetheless,” Grillet suggested with a sly smile. “If you would wait outside, Monsieur Wilder?”

“I think not,” Sean growled menacingly. “If she says she is fine, then she is fine.” He handed the doctor several bills, neatly folded. “For your trouble. Good night.”

The curt dismissal prompted a Gallic shrug from Grillet and an inner squeal of delight from Laura. She hugged her arms over her chest to calm her heart. Her husband acted like a smitten lover. She didn’t even mind if he was pretending. The very fact that he troubled himself to assume such a role told her that he cared.

“You were wonderful!” she said once the doctor had gone.