The McKenzie Brothers: Windemere Part 15

The only hint that his words bothered Garrett was a sudden twitch of his fingers as his hand tightened on the decanter stopper. Then the glow returned to his eyes, and crystal clinked mockingly against crystal as he eased the stopper from the decanter's neck. "You mean to tell me, there is only one reason why you went after my sister?"

"This isn't any of your concern, as I'm doing the right thing by your sister."

"So-" Garrett turned from the decanter, one brow raised "-that's it? You right your wrong, and I'm supposed to clap you on the back and tell you what a stand-up fellow you are? That everything that's been said about my sister just goes away, like this?" He snapped his fingers. "Because if you think that, you're wrong. After what you did to her, it's not quite that simple."

"After what I did-I didn't do anything to her. It was a kiss." Julian crossed his legs, his grip on the gla.s.s easing as Garrett calmly poured himself another drink. Garrett stared hard as he poured, but Julian wasn't about to let himself be intimidated. "Don't look at me as if you're about to take me apart."

"How do you know I'm not?"

"Because I'm not a grease spot on the carpet."

"True." Garrett returned to his chair and leveled a long look at him. "And the only reason that hasn't happened is because I-" he poked himself in the chest "-want a few answers."

"Prepare to be disappointed, Garrett. I wouldn't talk about any lady that way, and I certainly wouldn't do it to your sister. Perhaps you don't see her as a lady, but I certainly do." Now it was Julian's turn to rise from his seat. His legs didn't want to remain still, and he certainly didn't want to appear too fidgety. Far better to leisurely stroll to the liquor and take it from there.

The glint in Garrett's eyes became more p.r.o.nounced as he rose again. And b.u.mped against Julian. He stood about three, perhaps four, inches taller, but Julian didn't shrink back. He didn't move, not even when Garrett closed the s.p.a.ce between them and glowered down at him. "Wrong answer, McCallister."

"Stay out of it. As I said, this is between Emma and me, and you've got some bullocks to stand there and lecture me on doing the right thing, when you've bedded every barmaid between here and the har-" He never saw Garrett's fist, but a bright light exploded inside his skull, and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, the side of his face feeling as if it was on fire.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Julian gingerly probed the already puffy patch of flesh over his left cheekbone.

"You knew I had to do it." Garrett's hand appeared before him. "She's my sister."

Julian sat up, ruefully rubbing his cheek. "I knew I should have kept my distance."

As he clasped Garrett's hand, allowing Garrett to drag him to his feet, Garrett said, "Probably. Now, you definitely need a bit of help dressing for this wedding. You aren't going to embarra.s.s Emma."

"Any more than I already have, you mean. Although, the black eye will add a nice touch, don't you think?"

As Julian stood, Garrett shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Just tell me one thing. What the deuce were you thinking, man? No, you know, I don't want to know. Come along. Maybe we can salvage something of this day." Garrett led him upstairs where he poured water from a ewer into a dusty china basin. "Maids don't get up here often, do they?"

"I'm here so rarely, they seldom recognize me, never mind tidying up here. I keep them on to keep the place from going to ruin. Although," he added, with a hint of a sigh, "they'd be doing me a favor if they did just let it go to h.e.l.l. I'm surprised anyone thought to bring a pitcher up." Julian tugged his s.h.i.+rt from his back, bent over the basin, and scooped water into his cupped hands. It was tepid, but enough to wash away the rest of his sleepiness.

A shaving mug and brush stood amongst the dust-laden objects on the chest. He whipped up lather and slathered it almost to his eyes while Garrett leaned against the wall alongside the chest. "Why didn't you just ask to court her? That's what I don't understand." He folded his arms over his chest. "They would have welcomed you into the fold."

"Do you think so?" Julian peered into the mirror as he brought the razor to his throat. Zip. He cleared a path of whiskers and wiped the blade clean. "I'm not so certain of that. You know what people say about me, about my family. What they've said right along."

"I do. And I know they are gossips who speak worthless words. You need to learn a little faith, my friend. My parents have always treated you as another son."

Another son. He would've smiled, but was afraid he'd cut himself. It wouldn't do to show up at his own wedding a bloodied mess in addition to his rapidly bruising eye.

Zip. Wipe. Zip. Wipe. The razor caught the sunlight, throwing off flashes each time he lowered it to remove the lather. "You'd be amazed how quickly that changes when faced with the prospect of madness and murder. Never mind pa.s.sing of that madness on to grandchildren."

"You don't know that."

"No." Julian paused, razor in midair, and turned toward Garrett. "I don't know that for certain. But they'd be mad if they didn't, wouldn't you think?"

He didn't wait for Garrett to answer but set the razor down and bent to rinse his face. Yes, they'd be mad to approve of a union between him and Emma. How was he to know he wouldn't go mad, just as his father and grandfather had before him? How could he promise he wouldn't turn on Emma, just as his father turned on his mother, turned on him?

He couldn't.

There was no promise.

The towel scratched against his freshly shaven skin and m.u.f.fled his voice as he added, "I wouldn't want me to court my daughter. Why shouldn't they feel the same? I can't fault them for it."

"You don't know that they do feel the same."

"I don't?"

"No." Garrett shook his head. "You don't. You thought it wise to sneak kisses from my sister in a darkened hallway instead of just coming forward and asking for her hand."

"I didn't think-"

"You didn't. And now look where we are."

"Look where we are. You're keeping watch over me because you're afraid I'll scandalize your sister further by not showing up at my own wedding. That I'll run like a whipped dog. I don't run from my mistakes, and I don't go back on my word. Ever. You, of all people, should know that."

Garrett had the good grace to flush, and he pushed up from the wall. His easy countenance disappeared, his arms unfolding, his hands now hanging at his sides. "You win, Julian. I'll wait below."

Julian dressed. He knew Garrett remained one floor down, as he could hear the m.u.f.fled thuds of Garrett's boots on the marble floor. McKenzie was pacing, long strides from one side of the entrance to the other. Well, he didn't care if Garrett wore a groove in the marble. He wasn't hurrying. The wedding wasn't for another hour. He had plenty of time.

Plenty of time to think. And wonder. What possessed him to break every rule he'd ever set for himself? He'd managed for almost ten years to resist the temptation of Emma McKenzie. And yet, it took only that one d.a.m.n kiss for him to say to h.e.l.l with that resistance.

And now she was to be his wife.

His trousers were almost blinding in their whiteness, while his royal blue waistcoat toned down the whiteness of his s.h.i.+rt. The frock coat wasn't exactly suited for a wedding, but considering this wedding was taking place with such short notice, he wasn't about to worry about it. His boots were freshly polished-thank you, Mrs. Pratt-and when he reached the bottom of the staircase, he managed a grin at Garrett's look of relief. "Don't look so surprised. I told you I'd be down." This came over his shoulder as he strode toward the doors.

Garrett hurried after him down the steps. "I'm not surprised you came down; I'm surprised you own anything remotely formal, that's all."

What started out as a sunny day was no longer quite so bright. Heavy gray clouds gathered to block out any patch of blue, and the air held a hint of rain to it. He squinted up at those gloomy clouds. Ominous. Foreboding. He tried to put it out of his mind as he followed the drive to the carriage house and called for Frederick, his driver.

Garrett was grinning as he climbed into the coach beside him. Julian scowled. "What is so amusing?"

"Nothing."

But still Garrett smirked, which grated on Julian's nerves more and more with each pa.s.sing minute. But no matter how many times he questioned it, Garrett replied, "Nothing," until Julian simply gave up.

The wedding was being held in the small chapel on Stonebridge's grounds. Nestled between the rose gardens and a copse of white pine trees, the stone building fairly radiated peace and tranquility. It was built shortly after Patrick McKenzie's death and sat beside the McKenzie family cemetery. Patrick was the first McKenzie to be interred there, but he wasn't the last. Two smaller stones stood in the shadow of several lilac bushes. As he and Garrett pa.s.sed by, his gaze was drawn to those stones. Emma would have had two more brothers, one older, one younger, only neither one survived their first week of life.

What was it like, growing up in a family such as the McKenzies? For all of their bickering and bantering, there was no doubting the love shared within Stonebridge's walls. It was loud and boisterous and rowdy, and a far cry from the dour, icy silences at Cheltenham. A far cry from the red-hot fury that melted those icy silences on a fairly regular occasion. And as much as he valued peace and quiet, there was also something to be said for a large, boisterous family as well. What did that kind of love, of devotion, feel like? As much as he was made to feel a part of the McKenzie family, he wasn't one of them.

His heart lurched as he and Garrett neared the stone steps leading into the chapel. As the door squeaked open, a sense of peace rolled out like a runner. Everything felt so solemn, more like a funeral instead of a wedding.

Garrett steered him down the narrow aisle. The chapel was empty and smelled a bit musty from all of the rain. Although it wasn't quite as cold as it had been, the windows remained shuttered tight, so little fresh air circulated through the damp building.

They were the only souls in the building. Not even the priest had arrived. Julian pulled the watch from his waistcoat pocket. Half past eleven. The ceremony was to take place at noon. Perhaps his bride was the one who needed the guardian to keep from bolting?

No. Carriage wheels creaked beyond the chapel windows, and voices floated through the seams of the shutters. He swallowed hard, his heart leaping to attention as he heard Mrs. McKenzie say, "Take care, Emma. Don't trip going up the steps."

"I can see the steps, Momma." Julian grinned. She sounded exasperated and one more caution away from complete explosion.

The door creaked open, and the world fell away as Emma stepped into the chapel. Dressed in a gown of s.h.i.+mmering ivory silk that seemed to float around her, she looked like an angel. A beautiful, stunning angel.

His beautiful, stunning angel.

Garrett nudged him gently. "Close your mouth, McCallister. You'll trip on your tongue."

Julian ignored him. He didn't care if he did trip over his tongue. Emma was a sight to behold. From the corner of his eye, he saw the priest emerge, looking somber as he moved before the altar. Everyone else faded into the background as Emma floated down the aisle toward him. All sound seemed to be sucked from the world, only returning in bits and pieces as she reached him and slipped her arm through his.

Then everything came rus.h.i.+ng back at once in a low roll of thunder. That thunder increased in sound and speed, building to a crescendo that threatened to knock him right off his feet. The moment she touched him, it set off a ripple of heat that surged through him until even his skin vibrated from it. Her hand rested lightly upon his forearm, yet she might as well have been touching his bare skin for the way his body reacted to her.

There must have been a break in the clouds, for pale beams of sunlight slid through the windows that weren't shuttered. Dust motes swirled in those beams, and as he gazed down at Emma, he couldn't help but notice how her eyes glittered like cobalt gla.s.s. No, that wasn't right. It sounded so silly inside his head, and he could never say it aloud, but her eyes sparkled like gemstones. Like the sapphire earbobs dangling from her earlobes. The dust motes were no longer dust motes but swirled about her like an aura. G.o.d d.a.m.n, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"You're staring," she whispered.

The priest opened his Bible and cleared his throat.

Julian shook his head. "I can't help it. You look stunning, Miss McKenzie."

A pale pink flush swept up toward her hairline, and her gaze dropped modestly. Her fingers tightened on his arm, and in that moment, he didn't regret a thing. Not one moment leading up to this, and especially not this particular moment.

Chapter Sixteen.

SHE TREMBLED.

Actually trembled.

Emma stared down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. They shook. In fact, her entire body shook. And no matter how she clasped her hands, or how she locked her knees, the tremble wouldn't stop.

She thought they would pa.s.s their wedding night at Stonebridge, never stopping to think that Julian had his residence in town. The house was cozy, and only spa.r.s.ely furnished, but Julian's room-or, more succinctly, their room-was tidy, with fresh candles flickering in their sconces. It felt so odd, being there, knowing her parents knew she was there. That everyone knew she was there. They knew Julian was there. They were there together. And everyone knew what a wedding night entailed. Her cheeks burned.

Julian stood in the far corner, before the heavy oak wardrobe that, aside from the bed and the bedside table, was the only furniture in the room. He'd shed his frock coat, it lay draped over the arm of the lone chair in the corner, but still wore his waistcoat as he unwound the stock from his neck.

She leaned back against the door, the slender gold band on her left hand rapping smartly against the wood. "Where did this come from?" she asked, bringing that hand before her to stare down at it. It was simple and lovely, but heavy and unfamiliar.

"It was my grandmother's," Julian replied without turning about. He shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it back to land atop his frock coat.

"She wasn't buried with it?"

"No. My grandfather came home from the s.h.i.+pyard one day and found she'd left. The ring was on the dining room table, and it was the only thing of hers left in all the house."

This was a story she'd never heard before. "What happened to her?"

"My grandfather was a madman, or hadn't you heard?"

"I've heard, but I don't believe it. He never killed anyone." She waited to see the familiar hardness to come into his eyes. She'd never heard tell of his grandmother being murdered, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. "Did he?"

"No." Julian let out a wry chuckle. "At least, not that anyone's ever proven. One of my family's whispered secrets is that Grandmother did not leave, but fell victim to the first McCallister madman. All that was left of her was her ring. His story was only a good cover-up."

A s.h.i.+ver trickled down her spine. "And you thought her wedding ring would be a good ring for your bride?" She stared down at the band again, this time fighting the urge to slip it from her finger.

"I don't believe that nonsense. No body's ever been found. I've always thought she simply left."

She managed to smile. "We say the same thing about my grandmother McKenzie. She went out one afternoon and just never came back."

"Ah, but does anyone suspect the Commodore killed her?"

"No, just as I didn't suspect you knew my grandfather was known as the Commodore."

He grinned. "Garrett, or maybe it was Drew, must've made mention of it at some point. But anyway-" he gestured to her hand "-that was her ring and she left it here for me, according to the note she left with it."

He turned away from the wardrobe, and she nearly bit a whole through her bottom lip. His s.h.i.+rt was open, his sleeves were rolled back, his stock hung limply about his neck.

He was adorable in his dishevelment, her husband.

Her husband.

And as her husband, he'd only bestowed one kiss upon her. And that one only because the priest compelled him to. And even then, it was a dry, chaste kiss, nothing like the steamy, deep kisses they'd shared before.

He crossed over to her. "Turn around, Mrs. McCallister, and I will help you undress for the evening."

Those softly-spoken words sent a bolt of fire splitting right through her. This was her wedding night, the night where she had everyone's permission, everyone's expectations, to make love with Julian. And to do so more than once. Quite possibly all night, although that thought frightened her a little. That knowledge jarred her more than being addressed as Mrs. McCallister did.

So when she offered him her back and he went to work unlacing the silk cords, she bit down hard on her bottom lip again. Ow. She bit the same spot as before, only this time, she tasted blood. Wonderful.

Her lip puffed beneath her teeth, but the swelling didn't last long, and by the time Julian finished with the laces, he still had her corset and chemise to contend with.

When the corset fell free, she turned to face him. "Julian, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know. And neither did I." He stroked her cheek with the gentle tip of his forefinger. "But I'm not complaining."

"Not yet, anyway."

He grinned, but she noticed it never went higher than his lips. However, he didn't stop stroking her cheek, and with each touch, she leaned a little closer into him. She could smell the tobacco clinging to him, and the cold air, and a hint of snow. Delicious, manly scents.

He bent toward her and his lips closed over hers as gentle as the fluff on a dandelion. And the spark shot through her entire body to set embers glowing. His fingertips, roughened from leather horse reins, sent a rush of goose b.u.mps over the skin of her collarbone. Her s.h.i.+vers worsened as he eased a hand beneath the lacy edge of her chemise. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her to meet his kiss.

Her head fell back, eyes closed, lips parted in antic.i.p.ation of his sweet kiss. When it came, she murmured low in her throat and her back arched on its own to press into the solid wall of his chest. Everything about him was solid. Her hands practically itched to slide over him, beneath his fine clothes, to his hot skin.

His free hand slid down over her backside to cup it, to lift it, to maneuver her hips until she pressed right up into his rigid erection. Oh G.o.d...how wonderful. How amazing that felt, even through so much fabric. Pleasure sparked all along where they met. Embers rained over her, stinging in the most wonderful way possible. It wasn't so different from Christmas night. If anything, the pleasure was even sweeter because she knew no pain would follow. Now, she just wanted him. All of him. Now.