Lord Belden's Baggage

Having secured the bride's vows, the archbishop turned his attention to the groom, whom he had helped baptize over thirty years ago. "Do you "

"Wait, wait-just a second, please?" Bram asked, holding up his hand.

The small group of people-less than fifty-when there might have been nearly five hundred-held their collective breaths, as if they expected him to say that he wasn't going to marry her, after all.

Instead, what they saw was him, in fine gray morning attire, drop down to bended knee in front of the woman who was in the very act of becoming his wife.

"I wasn't able to do this for her when we got engaged," he told the audience by way of explanation, looking up into her eyes the entire time while repeating the vows as they were told to him calmly, and with a gravitas that few who were close to him and knew the circumstances of the wedding expected to hear.

The bride's vows, when she'd made them, had been delivered in such a tiny voice that few but the closest to them heard, and her voice had trembled so badly the words were nearly unintelligible, anyway.

When he rose again, he took both of Alisa's hands-which were stiff and frigid-into his, where they very nearly disappeared. He began to stroke his big thumbs over the backs of them, hoping to warm them for her and reassure her at the same time. They exchanged rings-his could have fit practically on her wrist-and hers was also quite loose, for some reason, although he'd been sure to get her correct size before he'd bought it.

But within seconds, that became the least of his concerns, because they were pronounced man and wife.

"You may kiss your bride."

Bram took the delicate, lacy hem of her veil and pulled it up, over her head, then leaned down to press his lips to hers gently before offering her his arm and escorting her down the aisle.

The reception was small and was served in the great hall. Bram kept his new bride close to him throughout, with an arm around her waist, as if he thought she was going to run away, given half a chance. And he definitely thought he had real reason for concern about that.

The wedding had been put together on such short notice that everyone involved from the servants to his father-had been pressed into service to make sure everything that needed to be done got done. They were all run ragged by all of the tiny details that made up a wedding, even one that was as small as theirs was. The only person who didn't seem the least concerned about the wedding indeed about much of anything at all-was the bride, herself.

Charlotte had brought her to a bridal couturier, who promised that, despite the short notice, the bride could wear anything she wanted and they would have it ready for the ceremony. She was shown an incredible number of dresses in one morning yet couldn't seem to make up her mind. In the end, she had astonished Charlotte by asking if she might wear her dress.

She couldn't possibly have managed to ask the woman who would be her mother-in-law anything that was more designed to touch her heart and render her nearly speechless with joy.

"Are you certain, dear? You could have any dress you would like, as Monsieur St. Pierre has said."

Alisa-as his mother had reported to him later, still sounding horrified at what she'd heard her say-had simply shrugged and answered in a numb, neutral tone, "It would be simplest. It would just need alterations. And that would be the least expensive alternative."

No matter how much Charlotte tried to convince her that money was no object, she told Charlotte to either pick something for her that was reasonably priced or allow her to wear the dress she had worn. And Alisa had said little else after that, apparently.

Charlotte-ever sentimental, and never thinking that she would be able to share her dress with anyone-of course, agreed to give her the dress, which was easily altered in time for the wedding, and thus, the bridal outfit cost less than a fraction of what it might have.

The three of them had gotten together one evening, only a day or so before the ceremony, when Alisa had already excused herself to go upstairs to bed much earlier than usual. She seemed to have developed the habit of doing so lately, and Bram didn't like it, although he didn't really feel he should force her to participate in the planning of her own wedding.

He shouldn't have to force her, anyway.

Once they went over what everyone had gotten accomplished, the discussion turned to the bride.

"Does she seem all right to you?" his mother had asked, sounding worried, and Bram was glad to know that he wasn't the only one who had noticed her odd behavior. "I couldn't believe how she acted in Monsieur St. Pierre's salon at the beginning of the week. She couldn't say she liked anything at all that was shown to her. I am honored that she wants to wear my gown, but still. And she was inordinately concerned that the gown-that the whole wedding-doesn't cost too much money. It was the most unbridelike behavior I've ever seen! If you're not going to spend money foolishly on yourself for your wedding, then, when are you?"

Bram felt a pang of guilt at her monetary concerns, considering what his own attitude towards the expenses the family had and was incurring on her behalf had been. But he was quite concerned himself, too. "She doesn't seem to be interested in anything about the wedding. We're all here, trying to make sure that everything gets done, and she should be in the midst of it, telling us what she wants."

David had been the calming influence. "Give her time. This is all very unexpected, and I just think she needs some time to become comfortable with it." He pinned his son with a look. "With you, in particular."

"I've been nothing but kind and solicitous to her," he asserted.

"Since you've been engaged," his father corrected. "But you have to admit that the two of you are hardly the ideal bride and groom, since you're barely able to be civil with each other." He sighed heavily. "This is not what I wanted for either of you."

"Yes, well. That can't be helped, Father, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am that it can't."

His parents exchanged worried looks about him, too, at that.

But Bram's concern was Alisa. Why, he'd even found a pile of the books he'd refused to give her that day on his desk. He wasn't sure what to make of that he'd assumed she'd collected them once he'd left and read them, but perhaps not. And now, in the manor, as he looked down at her, how unnaturally calm she was-despite the revealing temperature of her hands how docilely she was allowing him to guide her around the room, never objecting to anything or causing a problem of any sort and never smiling, either.

It seemed that she was merely going through the motions, doing exactly what was expected of her and nothing more.

He was hesitant even to think it, but he missed her feistiness. He missed her arguing with him and standing up for herself. He couldn't quite bring himself to say that he missed her kicking him in the shin, but he wished she was more like the annoying little termagant he'd met, at first, although he was amazed to find himself thinking that.

After they'd cut the cake and were toasted all around, he took her hand and led her out the door as everyone wished them good luck and happiness and many healthy children.

"I thought we were staying home," she murmured as he handed her into the carriage.

"We are, sort of. We're going to stay in the guest cottage down at the bottom of the hill so that we can have some privacy."

The "guest cottage" turned out to be larger than the house she'd grown up in.

He carried her across the threshold, although she kept insisting that he didn't need to, and, not bothering to stop in the big foyer, he carried her up the stairs to a large, beautifully appointed bedroom in rose, peacock blue, and gold. "This will be your bedroom while we're here. I thought we'd stay a week. We'll do the grand tour next year, when I can arrange my business so that I can leave it for that long." Bram walked over to a door at the back right and opened it. "My room is through here."

Then, after removing his coat and tie, which left him in a beautiful paisley waistcoat, dress shirt and pants, he wandered back to stand beside her as she began to pull the pins from her hair. "Where is Evie?" she asked, not looking at him. "Evie isn't here, Alisa. I am."

Bram turned her gently around and began to undo the tiny buttons that paraded down the back of her dress, which was no easy thing for a man with hands the size of his, but he accomplished it, peeling the dress forward until she scooted away from him, holding an arm across her breasts as she did. "Thank you, but I-I can do the rest of it, my lord."

He smiled slightly as he walked towards her and she stepped away from him. "You don't need to do the rest of it, honey."

"B-but I would prefer to, really." Even in this, when he was obviously making her uncomfortable, her voice remained almost a monotone, devoid of emotion, except perhaps nervousness.

He advanced slowly, not trying to scare her, but not willing to back away, either, until her backside met the wall, her hands still on her chest, trying to keep her dress from falling off. "You've been losing weight, haven't you, sweetheart?" he asked quietly, stopping just before their bodies met.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, not meeting his eyes. She had her own suspicions, although she was surprised to hear that he had his, too.

"And you're not very happy, are you?"

Her blush ended somewhere enticing that was still covered by her dress. "I-I had intended to get married-"

"As quickly as possible," he supplied, not unkindly.

The stress he was deliberately-if gently placing her under caused her to peek out from behind that wall of indifference she'd constructed for herself.

"And to, well, anyone who was still breathing and wasn't you," she admitted quietly, then scoffed. "Yet, here I am. Married to and alone, in a bedroom, with a man I know for certain doesn't even like me."

"How could you know that for certain?" he scoffed.

Her voice dropped back to the subdued level it had been at since the moment she'd begun wearing his ring. "Because I heard what you and your mother talked about the night I had the attack and you were both at my bedside." "Oh." He cast his mind back to that conversation and cringed inwardly. But then he teased, "You were eavesdropping, naughty girl?"

She looked a bit alarmed at that, biting her lip in a terribly adorable fashion, her eyes skirting from her feet to his eyes then back to her feet again. "I wasn't! You two didn't give me a chance to fall asleep before you started talking." "You could have let us know that you were awake, though, couldn't you, darling?" he suggested softly.

Alisa's eyes went wide and were suddenly wet with tears. "I-I honestly didn't think of that!" she sobbed, peeping up at him tentatively. "You-you're not going to spank me again, are you?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to reassure her that he most definitely wasn't. But he held back from that just a bit, wanting to see where teasing her about this most stimulating subject might lead. And despite the discomfort it obviously caused her to abandon the indifference she'd been clinging to, he wanted her present with him, not simply enduring her own existence as she had been, and this seemed as if it might be a method of drawing her out-even against her will, if it had to be that way.

"Well, I suppose I should, because that was not very nice behavior, Alisa. All you would have had to do was move or cough or sigh or something, and we would have withdrawn to the hallway."

His wife sniffled, saying, "I s-suppose so, but it truly didn't come into my mind at the time!" She seemed desperate to convince him.

"I think that might be something we will address a bit later, lovely," he said, in what he hoped was the right combination of stern yet tender.

And it seemed to be.

"I would like that, please."

"But you must allow me to undress you, Alisa, unless you'd like to be spanked right here and now."

She looked horrified at either prospect, crying a bit more loudly, and he waited just a few beats before she began to nod her head.

"Good. Come here with me," he ordered, taking her hand in his and bringing her into the middle of the room. Not wanting to startle her too badly, he finished pulling the pins and combs out of her elaborate coiffeur, first. Then he worked the small tiara that held the veil in place out of the pile of hair that had been sitting on the top of her head but was now waving enticingly down her back. That made the rest of it much easier to get at, and when he was finished, he put the veil on the top of the bureau so that the pretty lace flowed down over it and wouldn't get wrinkled.

Then he returned to her and stood in front of her, reaching for the drooping front of her dress.

She started as he did so, but he shhhh'd her soothingly, not allowing her nerves to deter him as he relieved her of the dress completely, holding her hand to steady her as she stepped out of it.

Not certain of exactly what should be done with it, he gathered it into his arms and, admonishing her sternly not to move, he used the connecting door to lay it out on his own bed, where he felt sure it would be safe and also not become a mass of wrinkles, since he intended to sleep with her in her bed, tonight, and perhaps for the rest of the week. He wasn't sure yet.

Bram was glad to see that she had done as she was told and was right where he left her, although she was attempting to cover herself as she did so.

He returned to his spot in front of her and quietly, calmly commanded, "Put your arms at your sides, Alisa."

Her head came up only long enough for her eyes to beg him not to make her do that, but he did not relent, and, after a bit of fidgeting and some put upon sighs, her hands were where he wanted them to be.

"That's good," he praised, lifting her chin up and kissing her with a deliberately gentle, coaxing passion that he was elated to realize she was just on the verge of returning when he stopped.

"I know it's going to be hard for you, wife." She looked surprised to hear him use that new title for her "But I don't want to see those pretty little hands of yours move, no matter what I do."

She shuffled her feet in protest a bit, clenching and unclenching her fists as if she wanted to move them already.

Bram began to undo the buttons on the front of her shift, and she whimpered slightly as his big hands inevitably brushed against her breasts, but she continued to obey him.

He stopped halfway down. "I most particularly do not want those hands-or their owner, for that matter to ever try to interfere with what I'm doing, whether it's to reach back to try to avoid a swat from a spanking I'm giving you." That got a louder whine. "Or trying to stop me from touching you in any way I please, or even just undressing you."

The two halves of the top of her shift hung open now, and he slowly peeled them back as she whispered, almost as if she was afraid that he might just hear her, as much as she wanted him to do as she asked, "Please-don't-please-don't- pl-please!" The last word was rushed out quickly on a panted breath.

"Alisa, I'm your husband, and I can do anything I like with or to you," Bram stated, with just the slightest hint of scolding.

Apparently, she hadn't considered that possibility, and the look on her face was priceless at the prospect.

"Y-you c-can't! You wouldn't do that to me again!" Alisa didn't move her hands, but instead, took a large step back from him.

And before she could take another, he who simply stood there with his hands clasped in front of him-said but one word. He didn't yell it and didn't even say it particularly loudly, or with any malice whatsoever. He didn't need to. "Stop." Her foot was already up to move back, and she left it there, looking like a pretty little stork or rather, with her red hair-a flamingo, until his eyebrows rose expectantly and she put it down again with a soft mewl of protest. "Now, come back to where you were, little girl."

That nickname got her to stop hanging her head dejectedly and lift it enough to aim a ferocious glare at him.

That was more of what he wanted from her, rather than having her act as if her life was over and she didn't much care what happened to her as she faced a fate worse than death in marrying him.

Alisa did as she was told and moved closer to him, then actually leaned a bit forward, crowding him, and growling up at him, "I'm not a little girl! Don't call me that!"

He merely smiled indulgently down at her. "You look very little from where I'm standing. And I have strong suspicions that you're probably a girl, too."

She curled her lip and bared her teeth at him, but he laughed.

"You're doing very well at keeping your hands down, I must say," he complimented sincerely.

As she was replying to him, from her position of considerable anger, saying, "Believe me, it isn't easy when I want to belt you one," Bram reached out and brought the top of her shift down, over her shoulders, baring her to the waist in one small gesture, which also had the effect of pinning her hands where he wanted them.

"Bram!" she squealed in indignation. "Please-I" Alisa stopped herself and swallowed even more humbling words down hard, unable to stop the tears from immediately overflowing down her cheeks at what he'd done. But she refused to beg.

He could see the droplets landing on her bare breasts and wanted to kiss them away, but not just yet. Instead, he pulled her towards him, murmuring just before his lips claimed hers, "You may move your arms now." Bram had hoped that might encourage her to pull her arms from the slip and wrap them around him, but she still didn't move them, standing stiff in his embrace.

Her mouth beneath his, though, was anything but. It softened almost immediately, with not a small amount of reluctance, opening for him to claim more of her than he ever had before, and he felt elated when he realized that her breathing was definitely becoming harder and more ragged. Her little tongue even darted out shyly on occasion to meet his, and he'd never hardened so fully or so quickly in his life.

Small or not, he loved having her in his arms. She made him feel like he could conquer the world, made him feel annoyingly protective of her, on one hand, but barely able to keep himself from throwing her down on the bed and ravishing her, on the other.

But he kept himself in check for her sake. From the few responses that she had given him, he had a hunch that she wasn't going to be able to remain as neutral about what he was going to do to her as she might prefer to, and he considered that a direct challenge to his not inconsiderable talents.

If he could make the women he'd paid occasionally scream with pleasure after blistering their bottoms, then he certainly intended to do the same thing for his wife.

Bram found he couldn't help himself in one way, though. Tightening his arms around her, he lifted her easily clear off her feet, swallowing her yelp of alarm as he did so. That was what prompted her to regain the use of her arms, which she then locked around his neck.

He pulled back a bit and pressed his forehead to hers. "I've got you, you know. I won't let you fall."

He could feel her fingers fidgeting nervously at his nape.

Long moments of intense kissing followed that left her wonderfully malleable and had her eagerly kissing him back and once even playfully nipping the tip of his tongue, as he'd done to hers. Eventually, though, he set her down again.

"Hands at your sides," he whispered firmly.

She grumbled softly under her breath, her feet shuffling a bit in frustration, but she did as she was told.

At least, until he removed the shift entirely, pushing it past her waist where it fell to the ground, then kneeling before her for the second time that day and slowly tugging her bloomers down.

What he was doing wasn't really unexpected, just jarring enough to her-regardless of the fact that he was now her husband that her right hand came up automatically to try to stop him before she remembered and put it back long before it touched him.

He didn't seem to give any sign that he'd noticed, and she prayed that he hadn't.

When they reached her feet, Bram held them for her as she stepped out of them, standing to kiss her again, deeply, and to hug her with a great amount of care that frankly surprised his new wife. He was incredibly strong, but so far, he had only ever hurt her when he was correcting her, and she knew that he was tempering his strength so that he didn't even accidentally-cause her any pain.

Such as that which she would have experienced if she hadn't just avoided a spanking.

But then he put his index finger beneath her chin and said, "You have a punishment coming, my lovely."