How to Woo... A Reluctant Bride Page 3

  “Do you not worry about your friend living in such a run-down area?” she asked with a frown.

  “She is well protected,” Frederick said, his tone implying an end to the conversation.

  The carriage pulled into a more respectable looking side street and dropped them off in front of a red brick town house. Evan helped Lydia from the carriage and escorted her up the steps where he banged on the door. It was opened by a tall Indian man wearing a turban and with a large dagger tucked in his wide belt. Well-protected, indeed.

  “Thank you, Vijay,” Frederick said, closing the door behind him.

  “Missy Zahra will be with you soon,” said Vijay, in heavily accented English.

  “Thank you,” Lydia murmured.

  He ushered them into a large room, bowed, and left.

  Glancing around, Lydia felt as if she’d stepped into another world. The room was decorated in the Hindu style, with colorful pillows and draperies, incense burners, and what she guessed was some very valuable artwork. Miss Patel must not be without resources, but if so, why live here?

  “Vijay and her maid Uma are completely devoted to Zahra,” Frederick said as he helped himself to a drink from a cart. “Sherry?”

  “No, thank you,” Lydia murmured as Evan accepted a glass of something that looked more like whisky than sherry. Was it her imagination or did he seem nervous tonight?

  “Welcome to my home.”

  Lydia spun around to meet her hostess. Zahra Patel was a small woman, with light brown skin, long, straight, black hair and the biggest brown eyes Lydia had ever seen. Of course, it might be because she’d evidently outlined them with kohl, giving her an even more exotic look. Gold bangles circled her wrists, drawing attention to her graceful hands, and she wore a yellow silk skirt with a cropped matching blouse that left a small part of her stomach bare. One end of the material was draped over one shoulder. The result was both elegant and provocative.

  She held out her arms. “There are my two handsome Englishmen.” Her voice was sultry, her accent musical in its intonations.

  Frederick bowed over her hand. “Miss Patel, thank you for inviting us.”

  Evan led Lydia forward and performed the introductions. Lydia felt large and awkward next to the miniature Hindu goddess, but she curtsied and murmured a greeting.

  Zahra Patel took both of her hands and smiled warmly at her. “I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Lydia. I hope you do not object to me calling you so. I have trouble saying your last name.”

  “No, of course not, Miss Patel,” Lydia replied. “Your home is lovely, as is your gown.”

  Zahra laughed. “Thank you, but you must call me Zahra. Now, come and eat. I have prepared it myself. I do hope you like curry, Miss Lydia.”

  “I do,” Lydia answered politely, though she had rarely eaten the dish and generally found it too spicy for her taste.

  Zahra’s dining room was tiny compared to Lydia’s home, with a small table set for four.

  “Zahra’s curry may be hotter than you are accustomed to,” Evan warned, as he held her chair.

  Lydia smiled and murmured, “I am sure I will manage.”

  When they were seated, Zahra picked up a small bell and rang it. “I have tried to be more English, but the food is so bland.”

  Evan exchanged an amused glance with his uncle as Lydia hid a smile. Zahra would never be remotely English.

  A maid appeared carrying a dish of delicious-smelling food and served each of them before disappearing again.

  Lydia took a small bite of the curried chicken and rice, letting the spicy flavors explode on her tongue. “Delicious.”

  Zahra clapped her hands in delight as Lydia smiled at her. But as the meal went on, her mouth grew hotter and hotter. After a few minutes, she stopped eating and just sipped wine to cool her tongue.

  While they ate, Zahra chatted about her attempts to adopt English customs, some more successful than others. “It is so cold here, I have tried to dress like your women, but the clothing is so uncomfortable. Restrictive. Once I tried to wear a corset,” she confided to Lydia confidentially. She rolled her eyes. “Why do you women allow yourselves to be tortured?”

  Lydia felt her face flaming at such frank talk. “We must follow the dictates of fashion.”

  “But why, when it is so inconvenient?”

  Lydia looked helplessly at Evan. His lips quirked but he smoothly changed the subject. She reminded herself to thank him later.

  After a dessert of fruit and nuts, Zahra turned to Lydia. “Shall we leave the men to their port? I believe it is the English custom.”

  “Certainly.” Lydia smiled and followed her out of the room. To her surprise, Zahra led the way through the parlor and up the stairs. “Come. I have something for you.”

  *

  Upstairs Zahra left Lydia in a sitting room and disappeared for a moment before returning with a box. She handed it to Lydia. “A wedding present for you.”

  Lydia looked at her in surprise. “What a lovely surprise.”

  “Open it.”

  She opened the box to find red silk with gold embroidery along three sides. Lifting it, she found a short sleeve blouse and realized it was a two-piece garment like the one Zahra wore. Her face warmed. “It is lovely, but I can hardly accept.”

  “Why not?” Zahra asked. “I understand you cannot wear the sari in public. But you will need something…enticing for your wedding night.”

  “Mama has already ordered a new nightgown.”

  Zahra smirked. “And is it as beautiful as my gift?”

  “No,” Lydia admitted, thinking about the heavy cotton with long sleeves and a high neckline her mother had chosen.

  “Then you must wear the sari,” Zahra said. “Evan will be ever so pleased.”

  “But I do not even know how it works,” Lydia protested.

  Zahra pulled her into the bedroom. “Come, I will show you.”

  Reluctantly, Lydia agreed. After Zahra had helped her unlace her gown and corset, Lydia moved behind a screen to remove her undergarments.

  “You may keep your petticoat on,” Zahra told her. She handed Lydia the red blouse. “Put this on, it is called a choli, and then I will help you with the sari.”

  Lydia was glad to see the choli hooked up the front, but she still felt naked without her corset and camisole. The silk was beautiful, though, and she found the garment intriguing.

  When she stepped out from behind the screen, Zahra held up the sari and showed her how to drape it around her waist, one end tucked into the waistband of her petticoat, then wound anti-clockwise with the free end over her left shoulder.

  Zahra turned her toward a mirror, and said, “There. What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lydia admitted, admiring her reflection. Her color was high, no doubt from embarrassment, but the garment was nearly as elegant on her as it was on the petite Zahra. Only a hint of flesh showed at her midriff, but it was still the most daring outfit she had ever worn. Married women are supposed to have more freedom, she reminded herself.

  “You look most lovely, Miss Lydia,” Zahra said. “Shall we go downstairs and show the gentlemen?”

  Lydia spun to look at her? “Must we? Should it not be a surprise for our wedding night?”

  Zahra pursed her lips. “Will you promise me you will wear it then? Can you promise me that?”

  “No,” Lydia whispered.

  “At least you are honest. Come,” Zahra said briskly. “Evan must see what a beauty he is to marry.”

  “All right,” Lydia agreed, “but only Evan.”

  Zahra laughed and patted her cheek. “Your modesty is very becoming. Evan will enjoy teaching you the ways of love.”

  Lydia felt her face flame even brighter. “You seem like such a woman of the world. Most English spinsters are not so worldly.”

  “Spinster?” Zahra’s body shook with laughter. “I am no such person.”

  “But you are unmarried. What else would you be called?”


  Zahra merely shrugged, and suddenly Lydia understood. Zahra wasn’t just a family friend. She was Frederick Channing’s mistress.

  *

  “What do you think?” Frederick asked after the ladies left the dining room. He removed his suit jacket and Evan did the same, glad for a chance to relax and cool off for a few moments.

  “I think it went fairly well,” Evan admitted, fingering his glass of port. “Lydia was a good sport, though I do not think curry is much to her liking. She ate very little, but then, she seldom does.” He looked up at his uncle. “Do I make her nervous?”

  Frederick smiled. “A little, I think. That will not last once you are married. Her life is about to change and she knows not what to expect. It is only natural for her to be a little apprehensive.”

  Evan took a sip of port. “I should have insisted on a long engagement, given her time to get to know me, to like me.”

  “I think she likes you well enough,” Frederick assured him. “She trusted you enough to come here tonight. She just needs some time.”

  “Something we do not have,” Evan said glumly. “The wedding is only a few weeks away.”

  He stood when he heard female voices in the next room, but soon Zahra appeared in the doorway. “Evan, you are required in the parlor.”

  When both men stood, Zahra put a hand on Frederick’s chest. “Not you, just Evan.”

  Frederick smiled and sank back into his chair. “Then I will just have another glass of port.” He winked at Evan.

  He followed Zahra into the parlor.

  “May I introduce Miss Lydia, of London and Calcutta,” she announced.

  Evan looked past her to see his future bride clad in a red and gold sari. He stared, open-mouthed, as lust rocked his body. The soft fabric clung to the outline of her hips and bosom, and left a small glimpse of her tiny waistline. All he could think of was peeling the cloth off her body a little at a time and kissing each inch of exposed white skin.

  “Evan?”

  In a fog, he moved toward Lydia and reached for her hand. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she said, though her expression was unreadable.

  He took her hand and held it to his pounding heart, wanting her to know what she did to him. Better she not look lower to see the evidence of his desire tenting his pants. He struggled to control his reaction.

  “Zahra gave me this as a wedding present,” Lydia confided. “She said I should wear it on our wedding night.”

  “I look forward to it,” he assured her fervently. He pulled her closer, his other on her bare waist. “Your skin is like silk, so soft and smooth.”

  Her hand crept up to circle his neck and play with his hair, and he pressed his hips against her stomach. “Do you see how much I want you?”

  Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips. He leaned down to capture her mouth, using his lips and tongue to explore her. She caught on quickly, mimicking his actions.

  He slipped his hand under her choli to cup one breast. Her nipple hardened under his touch.

  “Evan!”

  He grinned at her scandalized expression. “I want you, Lydia.”

  “I know, but not here.”

  He shook his head, reminded they were in Zahra’s parlor. What was he thinking? “Forgive me.”

  “For what? This has been quite an evening.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose it has.”

  Then Lydia leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Why did you not tell me who Zahra really is? If Mother finds out I have been consorting with a courtesan…”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  Her face relaxed into a smile. “Heavens, no. And ruin such a delicious secret?”

  Evan laughed in relief. Suddenly he found himself wishing the wedding were tomorrow.

  Chapter 3, Consummation

  “…the man should do whatever the girl takes most delight in, and he should get for her whatever she may have a desire to possess.” —The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana

  London, July 1885

  It’s not too late. You could still back out.

  The thought repeated over and over in Lydia’s mind as Iverson, who had been promoted to lady’s maid, helped her prepare for her wedding. The three weeks since the engagement had flown by, and before she knew it—before she was ready for it—the date had arrived.

  What on earth had possessed her to insist on such a short engagement? She fought down the rising panic. Was it too late to reconsider, to beg Evan to postpone the ceremony?

  She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. “What have I done?” she wondered aloud.

  “Beg pardon, miss?”

  Lydia let out a breath and met her maid’s gaze in the mirror. Iverson was styling her hair in an elaborate fashion for the wedding. “Nothing. Pray continue.”

  “Having second thoughts, miss?”

  “How did you guess?”

  Iverson chuckled. “I’ve known you since you were a child, Miss Lydia. Besides, ’tis not uncommon for brides to suffer from jitters and second thoughts.”

  “But it is far too late to back out, is it not?”

  “It is indeed, miss,” Iverson confirmed with a jerk of the hairbrush.

  “Yes.” Lydia closed her eyes in resignation. Her fate was decided.

  “He seems like a good man,” Iverson said. “Kind, anyway.”

  Lydia glanced up at Iverson’s reflection. The maid had a stubborn look on her face. Of course, she had something at stake, too. Her position as lady’s maid to a married woman was an improvement in status.

  “Yes, he is,” Lydia confirmed.

  “You could have done worse.”

  “I know.” Lydia bit off the word with more emphasis. Iverson’s mouth tightened, but she said no more.

  Once her hair was done, Lydia accepted Iverson’s help donning her wedding gown. It was cut in the latest fashion, of course, with a tight bodice. The skirt draped in back over a high bustle. She’d kept the ruffles and trim to a minimum, much to her mother’s disappointment. Still, it was the most elegant, beautiful gown she’d ever owned.

  She’d chosen a pale pink silk, as close as she could find to the pink roses Evan had sent her after their engagement dinner. She’d saved some of the petals, the ones he’d said reminded him of her “sweet” lips. Her thoughts drifted back to that night and the passionate kiss on the balcony. She ran a hand over the smooth silk at her waist, imagining Evan’s hands caressing her there, and a delicious shiver ran through her. She knew he wanted her, but would passion be enough?

  It had to be.

  Despite her misgivings, she had to go through with the wedding. Too many people would be hurt if she backed out. She closed her eyes, thinking about her long-suffering mother who deserved a little peace and comfort; her beautiful, vivacious sister who deserved a season; her charming but troubled brother, who was doing the best he could to keep the family fortunes afloat. She couldn’t let them down. And Evan would be the butt of scandal if she cried off at the last minute. No matter her doubts, he didn’t deserve a public rejection and humiliation. She liked and respected him, even if she didn’t love him.

  She did like the way he made her feel when he touched her. His kisses, his taste, the warmth of his arms. The shocking thrill of having his hand on her breast that night at Zahra’s. Her heart sped up and her breathing quickened just at the thought.

  “Are you all right, miss? Is the gown too tight?”

  “No, the gown is fine.” Lydia turned to face her maid. “I apologize for snapping at you earlier.”

  Iverson relaxed and smiled. “No matter, miss. I know this is a big day for you.”

  Lydia nodded. After all, today was the day that would change her life as she had known it for twenty-three years.

  A soft knock on the door caught their attention and Iverson opened it to find Evan’s mother.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Channing,” Lydia said warmly.


  The older woman greeted her with a kiss to the cheek as Iverson exited the room. “You look lovely, my dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I brought you something.”

  Lydia took the box Mrs. Channing handed her and opened it. Inside lay a lovely pearl necklace nestled in a bed of dark blue silk. “Oh, they are beautiful!”

  The older woman removed the pearls and fastened them around Lydia’s neck. “Something borrowed.”

  Lydia touched the pearls at her throat. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

  Evan’s mother held her at arm’s length and studied her face. “Do not be nervous, daughter. My Evan is a good man. He will take care of you.”

  Lydia swallowed hard and nodded.

  “And if he ever treats you badly, you just come to me,” Mrs. Channing insisted.

  Lydia giggled, her nervousness dissipating. “How good to know I have a champion.”

  Mrs. Channing smiled, her blue eyes reassuring. “Trust me, my dear, everything will be fine.”

  *

  She was dressed like a princess, but looked more like a virgin about to be sacrificed.

  “I fear I’m going to have a nervous bride on my hands,” he muttered to Frederick, his best man.

  “Remember what the books says. ‘Women, being of tender nature, want tender beginnings.’”

  “I remember,” Evan said. He’d have to be patient tonight, but it would be hard. He wanted Lydia so very badly, worse than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  As she joined him in front of the vicar, he took her hand. It felt cold even through her glove. “You look lovely,” he whispered as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You take my breath away.”

  Her blue eyes widened at his words. Did she have no idea how desirable he found her? If not, he intended to show her at the first opportunity. Every time he’d kissed her, she had responded without hesitation.

  He could barely take his eyes off his bride during the marriage ceremony. The pale pink of the gown flattered her complexion, and heightened color brightened her cheeks. A flush he intended to see on other parts of her anatomy later. He struggled to keep his mind on the ceremony, lest he embarrass himself in front of his wife’s family. Later.