Aliya did not hesitate to invite all Belles to the wedding. Merely a few managed to arrive, which was fine with Aliya.

If the other Belles were thinking that she had been deceptive by not announcing her engagement with Oliver St. Vincent earlier, she cared very little. As St. Vincent had told her, the Belles could investigate him and they would not find anything.

Aliya wanted Fatima, Carrie, and Shay at the wedding, but that was not possible. The three women had not yet been assigned to any Belle and were bound to stay in Belcourt. And she would have wanted Delaney there, but her sister was the last person Belcourt would permit to attend her wedding.

She had to be satisfied with the fact that she had some of her friends in attendance.

Wearing her giant white dress, Aliya peered through the door that hid her from the guests. She scanned the Belles sitting on the other side of the church. Ruby, Summer, and Jade were in attendance. Sasha was not.

"Aliya, it is time," Ellise said behind her. She turned away from the door and saw St. Vincent's sister wearing a dress that had been prepared for her by Natalia for the occasion, the one dress that was the center of a lot of arguments in the week before the wedding. "How long do you suppose the wedding will last?" the woman asked as she helped Aliya gather the train of her dress.

"Why?"

"I feel terribly itchy all over."

Aliya smiled. "Ollie and I will try to make it as short as possible."

Ellise nodded and straightened to full height. "Oliver did not invite any of his friends for a reason. I hope you do not think he does not have any."

"I completely understand, Ellise," she replied.

With another nod, Ellise opened the door for her. "Let us get this over with, Aliya. My brother has been standing by the altar for an hour now."

Aliya took a lungful of breath.

This was her wedding. Wedding! Good Lord, who would have thought she would be in this situation after leaving Belcourt?

This was never part of the plan.

Ellise turned and cocked her brows in question.

Aliya nodded and she waited until Ellise was standing at the end of the aisle and everyone in the small church in Birth fell silent, turning their heads with expectation.

Aliya squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She knew she looked beautiful today. She only needed her pride and confidence to appear perfect.

She summoned both and then she walked out the door.

*****

Oliver's chest swelled with pride as he watched Aliya walk toward him—alone and confident.

She was far from the fourteen-year-old girl he met on the cruise. She had no monkey sitting on her shoulder. She had on a veil and a bouquet in her hand. Her hair was tied in an intricate bun behind her, curls left to the side of her face to tease her beautiful face.

Soon, she would be his.

He took off his bowler hat and threw it to the side, much to his mother's chagrin. Ignoring the look of displeasure from the woman, his eyes locked with his bride.

Finally, she reached him and he hesitated. Was this truly what she wanted? The only family she had was not here to witness the moment. She had her friends, but were they truly her friends?

But the smile on her face as she reached for his arm told him otherwise.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking at him with mock horror. "What have you done to my fiancé?"

"Mother found the scissors," he droned, leading her to the vicar. "And Jason has been holding the razor since last night."

"We should talk with them, Ollie," she murmured as they both smiled at the vicar. "From this moment on, your hair and beard are all mine."

Oliver looked at the vicar. "I believe we have to make the ceremony short, Reverend. My bride has much to claim after this."

The vicar's eyes widened with displeasure. The parish clerk cleared his throat and covered his smile with a fist.

"Shall we begin?" Oliver asked, his voice loud, echoing around the church, causing a few guests to chuckle.

Simon St. Vincent stood as Oliver's attendant and official witness. Aliya, not wishing to choose any of the Belles to stand as her attendant, had chosen Lady Winthrop who gladly accepted the role. She would have chosen Lady Hartcaster if the lady was still alive.

As the vicar read from The Book of Common Prayer, Oliver patiently listened, taking Aliya's hand in his, teasing the back of her gloved hand with his thumb. She threw him a look of warning. His mother cleared her throat behind them and they both straightened their backs.

Their vows were not special as they were read from the book and repeated by them both. Oliver slipped the simple silver ring around Aliya's finger after it was blessed, following the vicar's words. "With this ring, I thee wed, with my body..." he said with a wicked grin and Aliya bit her lips, "I thee worship," he continued, giving her a wink at the last word before adding, "and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Aliya was struggling to keep her laughter under control as Oliver turned to the vicar and whispered, "Are we done?"

"No," was the vicar's stern reply, eyes glaring as he continued with the communion. As if testing Oliver's patience, the man recited scriptures and prayers from his book in a manner so slow he was obviously punishing the couple.

The ceremony merely proved to be even more tedious until it was over and their marriage was finally registered.

The cheers were delayed until they were outside the church where seeds and rice were tossed at them, mostly by Lady Jane's two granddaughters who seemed to enjoy the throwing more than the celebration.

Their wedding reception took place by the beach behind Simon St. Vincent's villa.

"Weddings ought to be held in the afternoons," he grumbled beside Aliya very much later. "Not in the morning."

"That is not done, Ollie, you know that," she said, taking his hand. "Ellise said that your friends cannot attend for certain reasons and I think I know why."

He rolled his eyes. "My mother's friends are here, that is more important," he sardonically stated. "This is her wedding after all."

She laughed, looking at the guests before them. "Lady Jane and Mrs. Johnson seem to have taken an interest in my friends."

"The Royal Circus is not Belcourt's greatest enemy, Ali. It's the bloody gossipmongers."

"Ms. Beverly is nowhere in sight."

"She and Dian took to the parlor to be with the dogs."

"Do not call children dogs, Ollie."

"Once they stop barking and biting, I will." He faced her and held her chin. "How does it feel to be carrying my name, Mrs. St. Vincent?"

She blinked. "Odd, really. I will now be considered part of the oddest family in Sutherland."

He dipped his head and kissed her lips. "Come, wife, let us pretend to enjoy our guests. And then you can take a nap."

"Nap?"

Her eyes darkened he almost changed his mind. They could disappear into their bedchamber now.

He growled low with frustration. "Nap. Later. Now, guests first."

*****

Aliya spent the rest of the afternoon saying goodbye to the Belles who attended the wedding, but was instead bombarded with questions.

How did she meet Oliver St. Vincent? How did he convince her to marry him?

She had been unable to control her giggles at church earlier. She was besotted! Did she fancy him that much?

Avoiding any answer, Aliya promised to satisfy their curiosities the next time they meet.

The last Belle to leave was Summer and she stood watching the woman's carriage drive away with a smile.

She had left Belcourt and she ought to be happy. But having the Belles at her wedding was testimony that Belcourt was still part of her life.

The Belles would still be her friends.

She would still be welcome in Belcourt whenever she wanted to visit.

Was leaving truly the best option?

Her jaw tightened.

Of course, it was.

She was now free.

And she was now married.

Mrs. Aliya St. Vincent...

It was St. Vincent's idea that she took his name. "Your father's enemies may still be holding grudges," was his statement and she agreed. Many still believed that the Gambler was alive.

"My lady, a bath has been prepared for you upstairs," a maid said behind her. "And Doctor Oliver says you may want to have a nap."

Aliya snorted. A nap.

"I will be right there," she said, staring blankly at the road with a smile.

Ruby's carriage was long gone.

Aliya turned and walked into the hallway.

A few guests had lingered and were being entertained by the St. Vincents.

As she took the flight of stairs, all other thoughts escaped her mind.

She was now married.

St. Vincent was no longer just St. Vincent. He was now officially her Oliver.

With a wicked smile, Aliya rushed to the bedchamber prepared for her and Oliver.

She burst inside and found him untying his cravat.

She closed the door and furtively locked it from behind. "Husband," she greeted, walking toward him, her heart hammering against her chest.

"Wife," he said, throwing his cravat toward her. She caught it with a laugh. He started to unbutton his waistcoat. She paused to stare, pulling at both ends of his cravat with anticipation building at the pit of her stomach. The waistcoat was smoothly discarded and flew to the air. She chuckled as she caught it and he winked at her as he worked on his shirt. "You have been impatiently patient."

Aliya bit her lips. "I am almost at my limit, yes."

He wriggled one eyebrow. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Aliya threw the cravat and waistcoat to the side and ran toward him. He caught her and she wrapped her legs around him.

He lost his balance and they stumbled toward the bed.

"Careful, careful..." he warned. "I do not want to fix more bones."

Aliya rolled on top of him. "I have not had a lover for a long time, husband, so it is I who must ask the question. Are you ready?"

He shifted beneath her with a grunt. "You are heavier than I expected, Ali, but—" he said as she narrowed her eyes, "you are a perfect weight, a delicious burden I am willing to bear." His hands came up to pluck the pearls from her hair. They jumped and rolled on the carpet nearby as he threw them one by one. Once her auburn waves were free, Aliya gathered them to one side so Oliver could open his mouth on her neck. "Bloody hell, Ali, why do I feel like a virgin? My stomach is jittery."

Aliya buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder and laughed. "Do not make me laugh, Oliver."

His hands worked on the buttons of her dress; hers on the rest of the buttons of his shirt. Once done, she restlessly slid her palm between them, biting her lip as his muscles tightened.

When her hand slipped under his pants, his eyes darkened and he growled, rolling with her on the bed, realizing too late that they had been lying on the edge. They both fell on the floor. Aliya cried in surprise, but Oliver was fast to wrap her in his large frame and curled to a ball around her, protecting her fall.

Lying very still, they assessed if they were still alive. And then they both burst out laughing. Aliya scrambled on the floor and moved to the nearest wall. "You stay there," she said, shoulders shaking with laughter. "This is not working. We must be very calm and graceful about this."

"Ali, this is not the time to be bloody calm or graceful," her husband said, unbuttoning his pants. With not much struggle, he managed to kick it toward her where it landed near her feet.

She snorted and her hands flew to her mouth to cover the loud laugh that followed as he worked with his shoes. "Stop throwing your clothes at me!"

He pulled out his left leather shoe and threw it next to his pants.

Her laughter now uncontrollable, Aliya pulled away from the wall to discard her dress which he had successfully unbuttoned earlier. She let it drop to the ground, leaving her with naught but her shift, stays, drawers, stockings, and lace shoes. Bending down, she quickly unlaced her footwear and kicked each one toward his direction. As one shoe slipped under the bed and the other bounced on his thigh, Aliya gathered her dress and hauled it across the room toward Oliver who was struggling with his right shoe.

His low chuckles echoed in the room. His shoe landed with a thud against the wall, right next to her left leg.

"One of us is bound to get hurt, Ollie," she said, walking toward him, loosening her stays behind her. He started toward her, body hunched with wicked intent and she threw the hard material toward him. He batted it aside with his arm and Aliya ran to the bed, this time landing and bouncing at the center.

He was instantly above her, crouched on all fours, grinning at her with his beautiful hazel eyes glinting with desire and mirth.

His mouth claimed hers, hungry and unforgiving. His hands pinned hers above her head, the movement hitching her breasts higher. Aliya was tormented, desperate to touch him as his mouth traced down her neck and at the peak of one breast.

"Oliver St. Vincent, let me go," she rasped, squirming under him. With a chuckle, his hands freed her. She slipped her hands under his undesirables and he dutifully helped her slip it off him, rendering him completely naked above her.

Aliya reached for him but he pulled away, kneeling above her. "A little bit more patience, Ali," he darkly whispered as his hands slid up her left stockinged thigh.

"You just told me this is no time to be calm and graceful," she snarled.

"Ah, but this is the calm before the storm..." Ever so slowly, teasingly, he pulled at the ribbon that secured her stockings. Aliya held her breath, biting her lower lip as he stripped her stocking, his fingertips teasing her skin. He threw the silk material over his shoulder. The pair followed thereafter and by then, Aliya was completely breathless, her skin rendered too sensitive. She was too aware of many things—his hands and fingertips; his thighs and that part of him that made him a man—her man.

She lifted her hips with a moan of impatience and pleasure as he pulled her shift higher, revealing her drawers. He pulled at the strings. He bent low and kissed her over the thin material, drawing a growl from her throat. He chuckled and left the drawers loose around her hips as he transferred his attention on the shift, pulling it higher and following the trail with his mouth—over her belly, her ribs... and higher.

She loved this, she thought as the thin material revealed her breasts, his mouth quick to cover to tease and suckle. And he was there when the shift passed her head, claiming her mouth with intense hunger and heat.

She loved how easy and fun lovemaking with Oliver St. Vincent was. She loved that she could boldly stare at him—all of him—and feel no shame. She watched as he pulled her drawers off her legs, finally baring her to him. She was shamelessly confident and he was unforgivingly the same.

They pleasured each other with their mouths, their hands, and their breaths; with words spoken and growled; with the teasing trails of mouth and teeth, of palms and fingertips.

And when they finally joined, him slipping inside her with ease and warmth, stirring a new wave of desire, hunger, and need, Aliya wrapped her arm around his neck, hiding her tears. She knew it would be beautiful, but she did not know it would feel like home.

And when he moved gently, as though afraid he was hurting her, Aliya kissed him and told him in not so many words and pleas that she needed more.

And he showed her more than she asked for because that was how Oliver St. Vincent was. He always exceeded expectations. She asked for a tide, he gave her a wave. She asked for a hold and he gave her a powerful embrace.

His lovemaking was throwing her in the middle of the ocean during a storm. She was fighting for breath. And then she was being pulled down, drowning deep into the waters. She struggled, her body fighting the ultimate end, only to realize the end was just as satisfying because beneath the waters, there was calm and he was there with her to whisper words of comfort.

But Oliver was also the storm and he was not done. He sent more waves to bring her back to the raging surface where the torture resumed. He guided her to her destruction and he was there when she shattered, a million stars spreading across the clear sky after the storm—a beautiful wreckage.

Breathless, sated, and in a daze, Aliya's hands languidly traveled down the hard planes of his back, feeling her yearning start to grow at the slick glide of her hand over his sweat-covered skin. She pulled her legs up, reveling at the feel of his hips against her thighs.

Gathering her in his arms, he rolled on the bed, still intimately connected to her, until she was straddling him. Her auburn waves a curtain around them, Aliya kissed his mouth, her tongue lazily dancing with his.

"Are you disappointed?" she asked against his mouth. She nuzzled his nose with hers, loving the feel of his bristles against her skin. "That you are not the first?"

His palms slid down the side of her hips and to her buttocks, pulling her closer to remind her of where she was. "No," he said, his hazel eyes searching her face. "I care not how many men were before me, Ali. But I will bloody fight anyone who would try to be your last."

She grinned, cupping his face. "Because you will have to be the last?"

"Permanently and consistently," he murmured, burying his face in her neck. His arms closed around her tightly, pulling her against his length. "I can be quite possessive. Consider yourself warned."

She chuckled. "Should I be threatened?"

"No, of course not. I know you like to be possessed."

She wriggled her hips, a moan escaping her throat. "I do."

He growled against her neck and rolled her on her back again. "You ought to be very grateful I am not done with you yet, wife. What we did was stormy copulation."

She excitedly moistened her lips and swallowed. "And what are we going to do next?"

He loved her breast with his mouth and tongue. "Wrathful mating."

She shut her eyes. His other hand covered the other breast. Stretched at his touch, lifting her hand to joining his as it teased and kneaded. "And after that?" she rasped.

"Sensual sex," he murmured against her skin.

"And then?"

"Erotic fornication," he said, his mouth traveling lower. Her other hand raked his hair, her breath hitching at the feel of his bristled chin and jaw grazing down her ribcage. The muscles on her abdomen tightened as his mouth opened to say, "And then we will have passionate, romantic lovemaking in the morning."

"I would like that, but we do not have to wait until morning—"

The rest of her words were left unsaid as her husband showed her that they had more things to do.