Tonight or Never Page 7

  Chloe wasn't convinced. Furthermore, John seemed lively enough as it was. "Are you sure about this?"

  "Oui! Very sure."

  Hmmm. "Is—is this what you do with Maurice?

  "Yes! For years, every time he asks me to marry him, I refuse. C'est pa, he is in the palm of my hand." The countess gestured with her fingers.

  Chloe cocked her head to the side as she contemplated the prudence of such an approach. "It could be risky."

  "Anything worthwhile is risky."

  "I suppose…"

  "Don't worry too much, dear; they never seem to catch on. Men often have to be hit over the head simply to see what is in front of them. Such is their nature." .

  Chloe blinked as the solution became crystal clear. Of course! Why hadn't she seen it earlier? It was brilliant. John would never know!

  "Oh, Grandmere, thank you so much!" She hugged her grandmother to her, then ran excitedly from the room.

  The countess smiled fondly after the girl before returning to the posy.

  Well hidden and seated behind a dense array of plants, Maurice Chavaneau raised his brows.

  He had been hiding from the guests in the conservatory.

  The soothing lap of the water fountain combined with the lush surroundings had lulled him to sleep long before the countess had even entered the room.

  Their conversation had awakened him.

  A slow grin spread its way across his still-handsome face.

  Ho-ho!

  John had to fight his way to the front of the room. The small chapel on the grounds was filled to overflowing. One man had rudely elbowed him in the side, saying, "Too bad, old chap! We were here first! Go back and find your own place."

  John had pierced the man with a deadly look. "Yes, but I'm getting married here… old chap."

  The man had turned beet red. "Sorry," he mumbled.

  John forged ahead. This was impossible! Perhaps one good thing to come of it would be that Percy wouldn't be able to—Blast!

  There he was. Right at the front.

  Along with Maurice and the countess and—

  He misstepped.

  Deiter was wearing John's gold waistcoat with a purple sash. Even Schnapps had a little silver hat tied to his ugly head. The small dog glared at the guests, his one tooth showing.

  It was the only time John could recall being in total agreement with the sour-faced pup.

  His sights scanned the rest of the area at the front of the chapel. There she was. His bride.

  Something in his chest kicked. She looked beautiful.

  Dressed in a simple gown of white batiste, she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. A floral headdress of tiny yellow rosebuds wreathed her head.

  He came abreast of her and took her small hands in his. "You look lovely, sweet." His finger lightly trailed her soft cheek. "Much too faultless for the likes of me."

  Chloe smiled up at him, all the happiness she felt shining in her eyes. "On the contrary, John, it is you who are the picture of elegance."

  And he was, from his gray jacket and knee breeches ending in leather top boots to his silver waistcoat and white silk shirt. She had never seen him so handsome. A thin black ribbon tied his golden hair to the back of his neck in a queue.

  It seemed he wanted to say something else to her, but at that moment the parson ushered them to their places. Just as John signaled the man to begin, Percy quipped in a loud voice, "Morituri te salutamus! We who are about to die salute you!"

  Everyone burst out laughing. Even Chloe had to suppress a snicker.

  John looked over his shoulder at his groomsman, shooting him a fulminating glare.

  The service began. Every now and then John gazed down at Chloe out of the corner of his eye. For some reason he wanted to remember the way she looked when she spoke her vows, becoming his wife.

  My wife.

  That something in his chest kicked again. He valiantly suppressed it.

  The ceremony was over before he knew it; he was instructed he may kiss his bride. He bent down and, cognizant of the avid onlookers, chose simply to brush his lips across her forehead.

  Chloe gave him a puzzled look. He squeezed her hand, discreetly shaking his head. When he kissed her for the first time he did not want an audience. She seemed to get his silent message, for she lightly squeezed his hand back.

  Then they were walking down the aisle to hearty congratulations and some very off-color remarks.

  The countess was sniffling, and Deiter appeared almost nonthreatening.

  "It is romantic, is it not?" Maurice sighed.

  "Sink me!" Percy exclaimed. "It's just occurred to me that heart, as in Miss Chloe Heart, has just wed sex, as in Sexton! What do you make of that? How apropos!"

  Maurice chuckled.

  "One can only wonder what will come of it." Sir Percy planted the question that would soon be in everyone's mind.

  Heart and "Sex." What would come of it?

  The frenzied wagering began before the guests had even left the chapel.

  The meal following the wedding, often referred to as the dejeuner, or breakfast, despite the midday hour, commenced. The hall was full to overflowing, and Chloe marveled that the staff had been able to prepare such a lavish feast for so many in such a short time. She made a mental note to mention to John that they should reward their service with something special.

  She watched her husband seated next her from beneath her lashes. Chloe could hardly believe it was a fait accompli. Lord John was finally hers.

  Well, not hers completely, but soon enough.

  Her cheeks deepened in color. How on earth was she to pretend she wanted lessons from him?

  Best not to dwell on that just yet. She was going to need every ounce of courage she possessed to proceed with her plan. One last hurdle to get over today…

  Sir Percival Cecil-Basil clinked the side of his crystal glass with a spoon, garnering everyone's attention. "A toast to the newlyweds!"

  "Hear! Hear!" chorused the assemblage.

  John pasted a stoic expression on his face. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

  "To the Lord of Sex"—several guffaws erupted in the room—"and his sweet bride; may they find happiness in the simple joy life has given them, a shared commitment." Percy captured John in his penetrating stare.

  Surprised, John searched the man obliquely. How much did he know? With Percy one could never be sure.

  Percy saluted them with his glass before bringing it to his lips, the other diners following suit.

  "Thank you, Percy," John responded diplomatically. "That was very noble of you."

  Percy waved John's words away. "No need to thank me, good fellow!" A shrewd grin spread over his lips. "The thing speaks for itself."

  "Really," John intoned softly.

  "Quite." Percy's attention was captured by Lady Moresby.

  As the meal progressed a curious phenomenon seemed to descend upon John. The strangest thing happened. A sheen of sweat broke out across his brow. His palms became moist. A feeling of queasiness rose up from within him.

  In fact, the more the knowledge came home to him that Chloe was now his wife, the stronger these symptoms became.

  This was Chloe. His Chloe. He had never even kissed her before! At least not on the mouth—in that way.

  What if he disappointed her?

  Impossible.

  He would never disappoint her.

  But… what if she didn't like the way he… the things he… Could he do that with her?

  This was Chloe. It mattered…

  He was going to be sick.

  His hand trembled slightly as he snatched a goblet of wine off the table and downed it in one swallow. He needed time—time to get used to this.

  John settled in for the longest, most prolonged meal of his life.

  By midafternoon Chloe began giving her husband curious looks. It was customary for the bride and groom to have a "going away." While they hadn't had time to arrange one
—indeed, with all the visitors it was more like a "coming in"—it was expected that the couple would take themselves off at the earliest opportunity.

  At the very least they would retire to their chamber to celebrate their nuptials in private.

  In disbelief, she watched her husband consume yet another piece of Portuguese cake. His fourth. He didn't seem at all inclined to leave the party. It was beginning to get embarrassing. Already she could see several people whispering to each other.

  Whatever was the matter with him?

  "John," she whispered to him.

  "Mmm, yes, Chloe?" He snagged a passing footman, motioning the man to fill his plate with another serving of berry pie.

  "Don't you think we should…" She wasn't sure how to finish.

  He turned to her, jade eyes rounded. "What?" He swallowed. "What shouldn't we do? I mean, should we?" He closed his eyes and inwardly groaned. He sounded like a callow youth, for God's sake!

  He took a deep breath. "Yes, Chloe, of course." Chloe smiled at him in a way she never had. His stomach flipped. "That is… after I have some of this interesting-looking"—What is that stuff?—"stuff," he finished lamely.

  Chloe slumped in her chair.

  She had never seen John eat so much. Perhaps he thought he needed strength to—She wouldn't even think it.

  By the time they had finally wound their way upstairs it was almost evening.

  At the top of the stairs, John suddenly announced his desire for an early evening bath and took off in the direction of his old rooms.

  Chloe entered the master suite and sagged onto the enormous four-poster Elizabethan bed. Earlier in the day, she had prepared the room for the plan. Her sights took in the pitcher and basin strategically placed on the stand next to the bed.

  Everything was in place.

  All she had to do was wait for her errant husband to return.

  John was behaving a bit peculiarly. She shrugged her shoulders and headed for the dressing room. Grandmere had given her an especially pretty nightrail for her wedding night.

  Pity she had no intention of wearing it for very long.

  Chapter Five

  Chloe Gets More than Bargained For

  He puked his guts up.

  Half sprawled across the floor, clutching a chamber pot, John rested his damp forehead against the side of the bed. Closing his eyes, he waited to see if this latest bout of nausea was the last or if his stomach was going to do another roll and flip on him.

  Taking deep, even breaths, he attempted to regain his usual state of well-being. What was the matter with him?

  Ordinarily he'd point to the food as his source of discomfort, but Chef LaFaint was an extremely fastidious cook, and the feeling in the pit of his belly had come on before he had eaten. In fact, it had begun at the beginning of the meal. Right after Percy's toast.

  Yes, the initial complaint had begun simultaneously with the words shared commitment and the realization that Chloe was, in fact, his wife.

  From then on, the odd malady seemed to gather strength.

  He took another deep breath. This very minute, Chloe was waiting for him down the hall in their bedroom. Waiting for him to perform.

  For the first time in his life, John was apprehensive about the act of sex.

  He rolled his shoulders to loosen some tension. It wasn't that he didn't want to… And it wasn't that he couldn't. It was that—John banged his forehead against the edge of the mattress—this meant something to him, damn it!

  Chloe was the only person to whom he had ever revealed himself. He trusted her; he took care of her. What would happen after they… ? Would the advent of a physical relationship affect their intimacy?

  John snorted. That had to be the most bizarre question a man had ever asked himself! Leave it to Chloe to put the thought in my mind.

  He rubbed his temples with two fingers. This was insanity. He was going to take his bath, put on his robe, and go to his wife. They would enjoy each other immensely, and nothing was going to change.

  That decided, he stood up, making a resolute stride to his bureau. Grabbing his brush and tin of tooth powder, he yanked open the tin with a determined pull. Powder flew all over him. He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

  In typical male fashion, he dabbed the moistened brush into the powder gathered in the well of his collarbone and commenced brushing his teeth.

  That accomplished, he rinsed his mouth out with rose water and headed for the tub set before the fire. This was his second bath of the day. The servants had given him the oddest looks when he requested more hot water.

  Well, now that they had done all that work, it was only right that he use it. He sank down into the water.

  Grabbing a bar of soap, he began washing himself, his plan of action formulating. As soon as he finished his bath, he would go to her.

  Right away. Immediately.

  Perhaps he should rewash his hair first?

  Yes, as long as he was in the bath, he might as well. He dunked his head under the water and began to scrub his head vigorously. That he had just washed his hair a few hours ago did not seem to register in his fogged brain.

  It was an exceedingly long and thorough washing.

  If the House of Lords could have been privy to the scene, they might have had a rousing debate regarding what Viscount Sexton actually thought he was cleansing.

  Mission accomplished, John thought it might not be a bad idea to let the hot water relax some of his muscles, which suddenly seemed a little stiff and could surely do with a soak.

  Stretching his tall frame out as best he could in the cramped confines, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The gold chain with its small charm nestled into place.

  The draining aftereffects of his recent bout of sickness combined with the soothing warm water surrounding him caused him unwittingly to drop off to sleep.

  When next he opened his eyes, the water was ice cold and the clock on the mantel said it was two hours later. At least his hair was dry.

  He couldn't put it off any longer.

  He was going to have to go to Chloe.

  And he was going to have to tell her that they needed some more time. He wanted them to get used to the idea of being married to each other before they had intimate relations.

  Mind made up, he donned his dark green brocade robe and made his way down the hall.

  It never once occurred to him how strangely he was behaving, how at odds with his persona. He was one of the most notorious rakes in England; yet of the scores of women he had slept with, of the countless liaisons he had had, it was only the woman he had chosen to marry that he was hesitant to be intimate with.

  All John knew was that he did not want to test Chloe's friendship. She was the one person in his life he had always protected. Lose Chloe? Nausea churned up his throat.

  It was too much of a risk.

  Where was he?

  Chloe paced the length of the room in the frothy lace night rail, her long hair trailing down her back.

  She had been walking back and forth for hours, her anxiety increasing with every step. Why hadn't he come? What was he doing? She wrung her hands with worry and indecision.

  Perhaps she should go to his room to see what was keeping him. She bit her lip, thinking it over. Everything was prepared here, in this room. What if she went to check on him and he decided to… to do it right then? What would she say? Excuse me, John, could you stop right there and move this down the hall? She couldn't very well—

  The door opened and closed softly.

  Chloe held her breath and turned.

  John stood by the entrance of the room, an enigmatic expression on his face.

  He was wearing a green robe, and by the look of him, she supposed nothing else. His hair hung loose about his shoulders; firelight gilded the gleaming, silken mass. The slight vee in the front of the robe revealed a glimpse of taut golden skin and the flash of a gold chain beneath the garment.

  Chloe's heart skipped a beat. She
had never seen him look more handsome. Or more desirable.

  They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

  A spark of wood popped in the fireplace, breaking the spell they were under. They both spoke at once.

  "I need to—"

  "Do you—"

  They both stopped.

  Chloe laced her fingers together in an attempt to stop their shaking. "What, John?" she asked breathlessly.

  He rubbed the back of his neck under the fall of his hair.

  For an instant Chloe wondered what it would feel like if it were her hand doing the rubbing. She wanted to feel his hair just like that, let the strands slide through her fingers slowly. She wanted to kiss him in tiny nibbles around his hairline at the back of his neck. She wanted to bury her face in that clean hair that always had the scent of clover.

  "… so you see, it's just that I feel, that is…"

  Chloe blinked. What was John saying? She had been so caught up in her fantasy that she had missed his last words.

  "The thing is, Chloe, I think we should proceed with this slowly. You have to admit this all happened rather quickly and we haven't had time to…"

  Oh, my God; John is having second thoughts! This wouldn't do at all! What if he decided it was a mistake to agree to the bargain and wanted an annulment? Mon Dieu, everything would have been for nothing!

  Chloe panicked. She couldn't lose John, not after all of this! The course of her next action became crystal clear. There could be no waiting.

  It was tonight or never!

  Before she could stop herself, she launched herself at the unsuspecting viscount. Caught by surprise, John had no choice but to catch her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed his face between her small, determined hands.

  For the first time in her life, Chloe pressed her lips against John's and kissed him for all she was worth.

  John's mouth parted slightly in shock; his dazzling green eyes blinked in astonishment.

  At first nothing happened.

  Then it happened.

  Like a volcano erupting, molten heat spread through his system, fired down through his arms, up his legs, straight to his groin. The overpowering sensation almost rocked him off his feet.