Annie West - The Sinner's Marriage Redemption

His smile was so smug she laughed, sudden elation swamping doubt.

‘Then say yes and I’ll give you the biggest, best wedding London can provide. The church, umpteen bridesmaids and a lavish reception. I can see you in white, with a long train and—’

‘No!’ She tensed, a flake of arctic frost drifting down her spine, chilling her.

‘Ava? What is it?’

She shook her head, trying to clear the shreds of dismay. ‘No big wedding. No white dress.’

‘But you’d look lovely.’

Flynn’s voice was warm as syrup but it failed to dispel the cold creeping into her bones.

‘No.’ She met his questioning stare. ‘Not white.’

Memory flashed an image of the long white evening gown she’d worn for that last winter ball at Frayne Hall. When she’d opened the couturier’s box she’d thought it pretty, almost virginal. But it had clung like a glove, displaying her to hungry eyes. As it had been designed to do, she’d discovered later.

She shuddered.

‘Not white, then.’

Flynn looked puzzled, but Ava wasn’t about to enlighten him. She’d rather shove the past back where it belonged—in the past—and get on with her life.

‘If I marry...’ She paused, making sure he heard her conditions. ‘I don’t want lots of bridesmaids or fuss. No big wedding.’

‘Surely you’ll want all your friends and family to celebrate with you?’

Ava shook her head. She had a couple of good friends. She’d learned years ago to discern between those few genuinely interested in her and those attracted by her family’s status and money. When the money bled away so did they. As for family, there was only Rupert and he was in America. Her parents were dead.

‘No. If I marry I’d rather elope. Just a quiet, simple wedding.’

‘There was I, thinking you’d revel in lace and roses. I thought you a romantic.’ His tone was light but his expression was serious, as if he’d read her tension.

She shrugged. ‘I love lace and roses. I just don’t like a public fuss over something private.’

‘So you’ll marry me?’ He tilted up her face.

Black velvet eyes caressed her and Ava’s body softened. A sigh funnelled up from her lungs and she wanted to lean into him, surrender to passion, trust him totally.

But marriage...

‘I need time to think about it.’

Even as she said it a voice cried inside that she was a fool. She loved Flynn. She wanted him. She had to learn to trust some time, didn’t she?

His smile was endearing, his stroking fingers along her cheek infinitely tender.

‘Then it’s a good thing I’m an expert at persuasion.’

CHAPTER FIVE

FIVE DAYS LATER they were married in Prague.

Ava gripped Flynn’s hand tight, following the prompts in a civil ceremony that should have been unemotional with its speed and lack of family or friends. Instead its simplicity concentrated the power of the vows they made.

Ava’s heart rose as Flynn tenderly brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was butterfly-soft but there was no mistaking the fierce restraint he imposed to keep it so. His dark eyes glittered as he clasped her waist tight, his large hands splayed, his heat seeping into her. His shoulders were rigid as steel beneath his suave tailoring.

Soon , that look promised.

Heat arced between them and she trembled, heart full and her body at such a pitch of desire she wondered if it were possible to die of sexual frustration.

For five days Flynn had refused to do more than cuddle, or kiss her in some public place where there was no chance of giving in to the hunger spiralling between them.

Because he wanted their wedding night to be special, he’d declared.

If she hadn’t known better Ava might have suspected he’d used the sensual tension between them as a lever to persuade her to marry him quickly.

Her hands cupped his neck and she looked into eyes that glowed with triumph. She felt the same elation. She’d made the right decision. Despite the whirlwind speed of their romance, she knew Flynn was the only man in the world for her.

‘Come on, Mrs Marshall,’ he murmured with that crooked smile that made her heartbeat hitch. ‘It’s time for photos.’

‘Do we have to?’

Flynn laughed, the sound so infectious that Ava found herself smiling. He stroked his fingers down her cheek and her laughter faded. Just his touch turned her knees to jelly.

‘I want pictures to show the grandkids.’ His voice dropped, became husky. ‘You look so perfect I want a memento.’

‘No one’s ever called me perfect.’ Such extravagant praise was unsettling. ‘I’ll settle for pretty.’

In her tea length gown of palest gold silk covered with matching lace, she felt pretty. Not sophisticated, as her father had always insisted upon, but pretty and carefree. The wide circular skirt and cinched waist made her outfit fun in a retro style. The long, fitted lace sleeves with rows of miniscule buttons were deliciously feminine.

How Flynn had conjured it up, and the matching satin and lace shoes, in her exact size in mere days, she didn’t know. But, instead of facing an ordeal by bridal gown, Ava had taken one look inside the garment bag and found herself grinning.

He’d listened when she’d said no white. He’d remembered her weakness for lace and roses. Fragrant gold and cream roses made up the posy she carried and were also tucked in her loosely upswept hair.

‘Not just pretty,’ Flynn said as he tucked her arm in his, leading the way through the town hall. ‘Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.’

Again that word. But Ava was too lost in wonder to cavil. For they’d entered a small high-vaulted room that took her breath away. Ceiling and walls were covered with glittering mosaics. Scenes adorned the walls and overhead were intricate heraldic designs. It was a jewel of a room.

‘Now, if the bride could sit near the window?’ A photographer gestured to a bench seat positioned against one decorated wall where sunlight slanted.

Ava paused. It wasn’t a photo of herself she wanted, but a memento of the pair of them.

‘Sit with me?’

Flynn nodded. ‘Soon. Let her get a photo of you first.’

One photo turned into scores, but Ava didn’t argue. Not when Flynn stood there, hands in pockets, surveying her as if he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was his expression, rather than the lace and flowers and the unfamiliar weight of her wedding band, that made her feel like a blushing bride. To be the utter focus of his attention, to feel his regard with every breath—it was something she’d never dared dream of.

‘Wonderful!’ The photographer moved closer, her camera clicking. ‘Just wonderful.’

Finally they emerged, arm in arm, into the cobblestoned square just as the astronomical clock on the tower chimed the hour. Tourists swung their cameras around from the clock to them as they stepped across gold and cream rose petals to an open horse-drawn carriage. Matched greys sported cream and gold feathers above their halters and garlands of pastel roses decked the carriage.

‘You’ve pulled out all the stops, Mr Marshall.’ Ava grinned up at Flynn. He’d turned their quiet wedding into pure romance, but he’d avoided the shallow society fuss she detested.

She covered his hand with hers. ‘Thank you. It’s all so gorgeous.’

‘I’m glad you approve, Mrs Marshall.’

It didn’t matter that he had the money to make all this happen. What mattered was that he’d listened to her and made the day special. Was it any wonder she’d fallen hard for this man who treasured her so?

Ava paused on the step up to the carriage. She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear. ‘I love you, Flynn. So much.’

He swung his head around, capturing her mouth. She swayed and he held her tight, then lifted his head, drawing back a fraction and helping her into the carriage.