Edit: I forgot to add the break in this chapter of where the steamy part starts. Sorry about that. It is fixed.

The date was April 15th and it was a bright and joyous day. The great house of Rathstone Hall was decorated in lace and sheets of taffeta knotted in beautiful shapes. Light purple and pink Canterbury Bells were woven through the banisters, columns, statues, and anywhere they could be set out. Accompanying such blossoms were the enigmatic Eustoma flowers, Georgia's favorite, although she had not yet told Rossignol of this. He would replace her beloved snowdrops with the Eustoma and she could never allow that.

All of the thirty servants rushing around the property, both inside the house and out, wore snowdrops either tucked in their clothing or hair. As guests arrived, they were given a blossom and brought into the house where they conversed and gossiped amongst each other. The entire ground level of the Dunham's home was dedicated to receiving the sixty people they invited to the wedding. Seating was quickly gathered when it became known that nearly a hundred people had decided to come. Lord Dunham did not let this number effect him, he assumed one hundred twenty people would come to his estate. According to his calculations, sixty people would not have been invited, among them, thirty would have been welcomed; fifteen would have been tolerated— their standing amongst the gentry outside of Hampshire only aided them— while ten would likely be more embarrassed by their own insolence than anything else. The remaining five would have to be forcibly removed and later arrested for various crimes.

Their guests included several of Georgia's relatives, including her cousin William who now owned her childhood home; her great aunt, Beatrice; and her third cousin on her mother's side, Margaret Saville. Several friends, all of whom Georgia was never intimate with, stood gathered with their elders, each sharing the harrowing tales that culminated in this wondrous day. Monsieur Rossignol was a name whispered with awe and curiosity. He had thrown her a grand ball, inviting only the elite of Venice, they informed in blushing declarations.

Before Nettie helped spread the gossip, she made sure nothing of Amelia Rizzoli's death was mentioned. As far as they knew, Georgia announced a most splendid engagement and the city of Venice was in utter envy of Southampton. The lie spun went as such: due to Rossignol's elevated status among the Venetians, they demanded that he present himself before the courts of Venice solely because of his ability to sway the judge. This was the first tragedy that split Georgia from her wealthy beau. Just as the listeners drank in the story of a luxurious ball they were dismayed that Georgia had been called back to England just as Monsieur Rossignol was coming to claim his bride. He suffered the tumultuous weather of the English channel in the winter just to get to her, only to find that Georgia was taken by one of Lady Adler's wicked associates. By chance, Georgia's loyal servant found Rossignol and led him to where Georgia was being kept. He then faced Adler and saved two families just as she threatened to kill them. Did he kill Adler? Some asked. No, of course not! Came their answers. He was a gentleman, one of her deranged associates, in a fit of rage, finished her off, while a maid in her household spent months poisoning her.

Nettie, Mrs. Davenport, and Lady Catherine spun the tale well enough that it, and their embellishments, caught on like a wildfire. Rossignol was every bit the romantic hero the people of Hampshire wanted.

"Esteemed Ladies and Lords, please, follow me into the hall," called a servant dressed in a fine suit. He grinned to his eager audience, bowed, and then turned back the way he had come. Feet shuffled as the guests were eager to see the event they would spend the rest of their lives talking about.

The hall they were led to was large and the furniture that it previously housed was removed and replaced with pews from several chapels. On both sides of the pews, the first rows were blocked by servants who helped direct the over-eager crowd to their places. Once seated they continued chattering away enthusiastically. How fine and bright the room was! They declared in as quite a roar as the crowd could muster. They eagerly stole the flowers near them, tucking them into their pockets or their husband's pockets. It would all make for a great story.

Once they were all seated in their pews, the elderly Monsieur De Lacey, his granddaughter, and Georgia's well-known servant, Nettie, were seated in the front row of pews. When the Lord and Lady Dunham entered the hall, the attendees stood and offered polite bows. They were seated on the opposite side of the De Lacey's, with their own two small children seated next to them.

Finally, Mr. Davenport entered the hall, dressed in his white clergy robes; he stood at the front. "Monsieur Rossignol," he announced, extending his arm to beckon Rossignol forward.

The crowd gasped at the sight of Rossignol. He was tall, taller than they ever believed, but he was lean, and elegant. The black coattails he wore reached the back of the knees of his grey dress pants. Black, polished shoes gleamed in the midday light pouring in from the windows. Gloved hands rested at his waist while a silver mask watched the audience as he passed by them to stand next to Mr. Davenport. At the front of the room he stood motionless as he watched, was he as excited as they were?

Every pain and woe that life thrust upon him since his creation and birth culminated to this very moment. Images of the first terrifying moments of his life flashed before his eyes. Every sensation he felt anew: from the pain he felt in his first attempts to move, to the gnawing hunger of his angry belly, it was all so fresh in his mind. He recalled his first moments coming upon the De Lacey house, it was there that he learned to speak, and it was after they abandoned him that he was filled with bloodlust for revenge. But then he saw her.

Georgia stood at the other end of the hall with her arm secured around Sir John. The crowd stood and turned to watch her enter. Rossignol's breath hitch and his knees felt weak at the sight of her. Snowdrops were woven into her lace veil and the imprints of the flowers were embroidered into the light fabric stitched over her white dress. Light played over her russet curls pinned at the nape of her neck. She was beautiful.

Rossignol's heart beat furiously; Georgia's delicate gait brought her closer and closer to him. On her face was a smile that stretched wide, and in her eyes danced the shimmering of unshed tears of happiness. When, at last, she reached him, Sir John relinquished his hold on her and left her to stand before Mr. Davenport and next to Rossignol.

"My love," he whispered. Georgia took his hand, gloves separated the two of them.

Mr. Davenport's sermon fell on deaf ears as their minds, like their hands, were joined. He recited old sermons about love and matrimony, goodness and understanding, patience and compassion. As he spoke a neared the end of his sermon, Georgia and Rossignol kept their eyes fixed on each other.

"I do," muttered Rossignol.

"A little louder, Monsieur," teased Mr. Davenport.

Rossignol turned to the crowd, took a deep breath, and as loudly as he could, addressed them: "I take Georgia Penelope Daniels as my wife, this day, for as long as I draw breath. As God as my witness, I do."

Georgia wept as she made her own profession. His grip on her hand tightened before they both reached up to his mask. His hands held the mask while her hands untied the ribbon holding it to his head. Once it was loose, he lifted from his face, but he did not lower it. Instead, he turned the mask so that it faced their audience. Like faint buzzing, Rossignol could hear their guests protesting, each desiring to see the elusive Frenchman. But he was lost in Georgia's gaze. He was lost in her emerald eyes sparkling from a wave of tears slowly sliding down her freckled face. He was lost in her lips that parted to receive his own. Georgia's now gloveless hand reached to his face, her palm pressed against his cheek as she held his face.

Husband. That was his new title. Husband. All his dreams were realized, he loved and was loved in return. The beautiful wife whose sweet lips still pressed his was his to protect and cherish forever more. Their kiss ended and his mask was fixed once more against his face. They turned to faced their guests.

"Monsieur et Madame Rossignol!" Cried out Sir John. His declaration was met with cheers, no one was as emphatic as Nettie, who made such a shameless public display of her delight.

As the newly married couple made their way out of the hall they were met with smiles and tears, delicate gestures of gladness and delight. All was right in the world; good had triumphed over evil. Love came out victorious in a battle against hate. Life defeated death and the world was glad. At least, their world was glad.

Night settled over the cottage nestled in the foothills of an old Lafoy estate in Winchester, England. Sir John's gift the newlyweds was a handsome cottage with a blooming garden near the edge a forest just starting to reawaken from its winter slumber. Food was prepared for the couple and left with them, but their thoughts were far from the food that quickly turned cold. Their eyes were on each other, this would be their feast.

The suite prepared for them held a large four poster canopy bed with sheets smelling of gentle lavender. Georgia smelt the lavender acutely as she stood close to the bed with Rossignol towering over her. His mask lay on the floor where he carelessly tossed it, his face was inches from hers. Their noses nuzzled each other, bringing bashful smiles to their lips.

"Je t'aime, mon amour," whispered Rossignol before stealing her lips into a kiss. Georgia bit playfully at his lips while his hands moved up the lace of her gown to her hair. He pulled her veil away and cast it behind him. After more than a year of desiring to release her hair, he pulled all the pins restricting her hair and freed the russet tresses.

"Will you let me see you? All of you?" Her voice, like the skin across her chest, up her neck, and to her face, was flushed.

Rossignol pulled back just slightly but did not relinquish his hold on her. Mischief swirled in his watery blue eyes. "If you let me see all of you, my wife."

Georgia worked the ties at the front of her dress and shed the lace outer layer of her dress and let it fall on the bed. She removed nothing else on herself and instead began untying the cravat around Rossignol's neck. After continuously unwrapping the cravat, Georgia's efforts were finally rewarded when she saw the blotchy grey of his skin and the noose-like scar around his neck. She tugged on his coat to pull him closer to her and took her tongue across the raised flesh of his scar. Rossignol shuddered and gasped before moaning into the curls of her hair he was crushing between his fingers. Georgia kept her lips pressed against the flesh of his neck, gently biting on the skin so eager for her touch. Her hands then slid under his coat by his shoulders and forced the clothing off.

"Your dress, m-my love," Rossignol stuttered as his body struggled to understand what was happening to it.

Georgia's dress was tied along her back, but Rossignol was not interested in untying the dress. He grabbed onto the edges where the fabric met like lovers embracing. With ease, he ripped the fabric apart, utterly ruining the dress. The gown fell to the floor, lamenting its use and end. Rossignol pulled Georgia from his neck and instead, attacked hers. He bit and licked her neck to her shoulder mercilessly. She felt weak against him; what delightful feeling, he could render her immobile just by kissing her.

As his tongue torture her burning flesh, her hands moved to his white shirt. They snaked beneath the collar and followed down his shoulder blades. What her hands found surprised her, although, it wasn't unexpected. The tips of her fingers came into contact with the raised, crudely cut scar that ran along one of his shoulder blades. Flesh seemed to have grown over itself in an attempt to heal. Her hands stopped as they discerned the large shape of the scar. Rossignol was instantly brought out of his hazy desires. He was frozen in fear.

"Gabriel. . . ."

He would not move, except away from her before wrapping his arms around his frame. His actions cut at her, this was meant to be their happiest moment and suddenly it was unraveling before her eyes. A sudden thought popped into her mind. Without hesitating, Georgia quickly removed her undergarments, her breath was fast as she tore away layer after layer until she stood naked before him. Her heart thundered. There was no other feeling like this, she was powerful; she had never felt more desirable. Rossignol's eyes went wide as his arms dropped to his sides. He drank in the sight of her like a nectar too sweet and addicting to be ignored.

"Don't be afraid of me, Gabriel. Let me sooth your pain. Let me comfort you." She stretched her arms out to him, an echo of the day they shared their first kiss.

She was completely exposed to him and she was stunning. Her curls fell just above her swelling breasts; her body was finally returning to the shape it was almost a year ago. She stood nervously, waiting for him to move. Rossignol was ready, he felt calm but warm. Deftly, his hands worked to open his shirt before even that was cast away. It was then Georgia's turn to feast on him.

"Does is it hurt?" She asked. Her fingers trailed the scar that bisected his chest. She was delicate with him as if getting the chance to touch a masterpiece.

"Not anymore," he said. His voice was husky and his hands itched to touch her.

The very instant her lips touched the scar that bisected his torso he grabbed her and crushed her against him. Her body molded to his perfectly, or so he believed. Reaching around, he gripped her by her rear and hoist her up so that her legs wrapped around his torso. With her grip around him secured, he was free to explore chest. A moan escaped her as he squeezed the swollen flesh. He leaned in a took the beaded flesh of her nipple into her mouth. Oh, how sweet she tasted to him.

"P-please, Gabriel," she whimpered as her right hand rubbed the stitched scar that ran over his shoulder and ran down his shoulder blade. She pressed herself closer to him and shifted her hips so that the aching pain between her legs would ease and be satisfied. Supplications erupted into whimpers. She was rocking herself against the scar along his torso in an effort to grant herself relief.

Rossignol growled before dropping her onto the bed. He then let his pants fall, exposing himself completely to her. Her eyes watched him with awe, he was hers, a unique creature who would find his haven in her and she in him. Rossignol leaned over and took one more kiss before entering the warm, wet folds of her body. They moved and rocked together, crying in mutual joy and pleasure. Their breath mixed in desperate pants. Georgia's hands stroked the parts of him that she could as he moved in and out of her. She felt her desires grow wild and a hunger awoke in her she didn't know existed.

Gabriel watched her face and the expressions that it made with each thrust of his aching member. His fingers teased the sensitive flesh above her entrance. Each time she gasped, squirmed, and bucked under him, he knew he'd found the right spot. He had never believed himself capable of such actions, nor did he believe there would ever be a soul who enjoyed his touch. Here she was, an angel to him, offering sweet supplications for a release. He would grant it to her.

He felt his seed spill into her and delighted in the hope that a child would someday grow in her. His child. Beneath him, Georgia trembled in delight. A relieved sigh escaped her as Rossignol came to rest beside her. Their arms snaked around each other while her soft lips trailed kisses over the noose-like scar connecting his head to the rest of him.

"You're so beautiful," whispered Georgia.

He stopped and gazed down at her exhausted form. Perhaps it was the afterglow, she was too caught up in the emotions of what her body was feeling, even after making love with him, how could she find him beautiful? How could she love his misshapen body? How could—

"Stop that. Stop thinking. Just kiss me." She was a stunning sight to behold. Her damp hair clung to her face, but she still looked powerful and seductive.

They spent the remainder of their evening in their own lover's cocoon. They continued exploring each other's bodies well into the morning. Rossignol was content and loved. Finally, h marveled when the sound of his exhausted wife's snoring filled his ears, he obtained his only desire: to love and be loved. He would spend the rest of his life loving and being loved. This beauty would be one he would never smother.