Wicked Beauty (Brazen Bluestockings #3)

Chapter 10: Wedding Night

Some hours later, Alice sat staring into another mirror, now at her new dressing table. The servants had efficiently unpacked her belongings while she and Adam had still been at the wedding breakfast.

Mrs Hawthorne, the housekeeper, had been proper but distant during the brief introductions—clearly reserving judgement on her new mistress. The butler, Richards, had been slightly warmer, though she suspected it was more because of professional courtesy than a genuine welcome.

Now she was alone. In her new room. Staring at her reflection in the candlelight. She wore the delicate nightgown her aunt had insisted on for her wedding night.

The white silk whispered against her skin as she shifted nervously. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed, falling in soft waves down her back. The clock on the mantel ticked steadily, marking each passing minute with relentless accuracy.

Ten o'clock.

Surely Adam would arrive soon. He'd said nothing about what to expect, but it was their wedding night. Whatever his feelings about their hasty marriage, surely he understood the expectations—the necessity—of consummating their union.

Half past ten.

Rising from the dressing table, she paced to the window. The street below was quiet, the occasional carriage passing by with the rumbling of the wheels and the clatter of hooves.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm her racing heart. Perhaps he was giving her time to prepare herself? Or maybe he was equally nervous?

That seemed unlikely. Adam didn't strike her as someone who easily succumbed to nerves.

The memory of the night she'd accosted him in his bedchamber rose unbidden. She still remembered the heat of his body against hers, the demanding pressure of his mouth.

When he'd cornered her in the library a few days later, she'd been certain he would kiss her again... but he'd pulled back. Would he finally kiss her again tonight? Did she want him to?

Eleven o'clock.

A knot of anxiety weighed her down as the clock chimed. Where was her husband? She crossed to the connecting door between their chambers, pressing her ear against the wood. Silence. No sound of movement, no indication he was preparing to join her. No sign he was even present.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, returning to sit on the edge of the bed. The coverlet had been turned down invitingly, rose petals scattered across the pristine sheets—a romantic gesture that now appeared mocking.

Half past eleven.

The candles had burned low, casting shadows across the unfamiliar room. Her nervousness was giving way to confusion, only to finally resolve in one clear thought that made her chest tighten painfully.

He wasn't coming.

Midnight.

The clock's chimes echoed through the quiet house like a death knell. She stared at the connecting door, willing it to open. This was their wedding night. Their wedding night. How could he simply ignore her?

For a moment, hurt threatened to overwhelm her. Was she so repulsive to him that he couldn't even bring himself to complete their union? But no, he'd called her beautiful that night in the library. This wasn't about lack of attraction.

Anger simmered in her veins, hot and fierce. How dare he leave her waiting like this? How dare he treat their marriage—treat her—with such casual disregard? Like she was nothing more than a new cravat he'd picked up and didn't much care to wear.