The American Earl (Elbia Series Book 4)
Page 15
The moment lingered.
And so did the kiss. It deepened and Abby felt a peace and trust that seemed as perfectly natural as the little frogs’ concert outside her window. She let Matt pull her onto his lap and let out a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure as his lips trailed down her throat. She felt his fingers unbuttoning the front of her dress that she’d just finished buttoning. His hands moved inside her clothing. She pressed into them.
“I thought we had seven o’clock reservations?” she whispered.
“We do.” He kissed the soft rise of her breast.
“We don’t have much time.”
“We have all the time in the world,” he breathed, his eyes flashing darkly up at hers. The passion she beheld in his features left her weak inside, and summoned a familiar heat from low in her body.
“Perhaps, if we’re just an hour late Maurice will hold our table.” She arched her back as he leaned down and took her near nipple between his teeth and teased it.
“I expect it will be closer to two hours before we make it to the restaurant.”
She smiled dizzily. Delighted. “Two hours?”
“Maybe more.” His hands were very, very busy. And so was his clever mouth. Her body responded to him, as it always had and always would.
She leaned back against his strong, encircling arm and together they fell back against the bed. Reaching down, she freed him from his clothing and stroked the evidence of his arousal until he groaned deep in his throat. And when they were both wild with hunger for each other and neither could wait another second, she opened herself to receive him.
He filled her. Completed her. She gave herself up to him—heart, soul, and body—in the ecstasy of their embrace.
No longer did she doubt. No longer did she wonder at the miraculous changes she’d witnessed in this man. He was hers, she his. And the world with all its turmoil receded to a distant place that couldn’t touch them as long as their love remained strong.
The castle rose above the village in Elbia, dwarfed only by the snow-covered mountains surrounding the ancient town. Locals called their royal family’s residence, the Crystal Palace, for when the sun hit the rare white Russian marble, carved from quarries threaded with pearl-white quartz, its turrets glistened like cut glass. The day of Abby and Matt’s January wedding, the sun’s reflection off the sugar-white mountains and the castle walls was nearly blinding.
At first Abby had told Matt that she wanted only a simple family ceremony on her parents’ farm. But as soon as she accepted the young earl’s ring and proposal, the women of his family took charge of the arrangements.
“No, no,” Jennifer insisted, “you must marry in London, in a beautiful old church. I can show you a dozen that would take your breath away.”
Diane looked at King Jacob, as if they’d already discussed the matter. “There is another option.”
The young monarch nodded at his best friend’s wife then turned toward Abby and Matt. “My queen and I would be honored to offer the palace as a setting for your nuptials.”
Abby gasped in surprise. “Oh, but we couldn’t…” she shot Matt a look of mixed shock and delight, “…could we?”
“The decision is yours,” he said with a smile.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to see Europe.” She barely took a breath before making up her mind. “I’d love it.” And so it was decided they would have as big and as formal a wedding as they liked, inviting all they knew to share their joy. After the ceremony, she and Matt would spend a month-long honeymoon touring the continent, from Paris to London, Madrid to Vienna. For Abby, it was more than a dream come true.
Dee was her choice for maid of honor and Paula, in addition to two of her best friends from college would be bridesmaids. The entire wedding party, including Abby’s proud parents and Matt’s family from England, were flown to Vienna and from there transported in small, joyful batches by royal helicopter to the landing pad at the far end of the palace gardens.
Abby wore a butter-soft, cream-colored velvet gown with fitted sleeves tapering to points at the back of her hands. The neck scooped low in front and rose in a high collar, elegantly framing her throat and face from behind her neck. Her soft red hair was piled high, and tiny pearls nestled in the center of each glistening curl. She felt like a fairy-tale princess, and Matt was no less than her Prince Charming.
In the days that followed the elaborate ceremony, the guests gradually left and life in the palace returned to normal. The King offered Matt the use of his jet to speed them between stops on their honeymoon.
“What do you think?” Matt asked Abby. “Do we zoom across Europe following each day’s whim, or stick to our original plans?”
Abby thought for a moment. “I’d rather it be just the two of us, driving between cities, enjoying the countryside along the way. Would you mind terribly?”
“Not at all,” he said. “That would be my choice.” He kissed her on the lips and she looked up at him with love in her eyes. A love he feared he’d never quite deserve, yet would do all in his power to hold on to.
“Come on,” he said, seizing her hand. His eyes were bright with boyish mischief. “I have something for you.” He started up the wide sweep of stone stairs toward the private quarters on the upper floors.
Abby grinned and tugged on his hand. “If memory serves right, you gave me something already this morning…and last night as well.” Would she ever get enough of his lovemaking, though? Perhaps not, but she didn’t want to give his ego too much fuel.
“Not that,” he said, laughing, “although it’s a tempting thought. This is a wedding present. I ordered it weeks ago, but it didn’t arrive until today.”
“I hardly need another present,” she said softly.
“You’ll like this one.” He winked at her, and her heart skipped a beat.
They climbed the winding stone stairs, hand in hand, and she felt a bliss she’d never expected to know. Matt opened the heavy wooden door that led into their private chambers. The furnishings were massive, dark wood, centuries old, rich with history. On the bed, piled high with satin bolsters, was a tiny box wrapped in lavender paper. She sat down and picked it up.
“Open it,” Matt said, watching her with delight and pride.
“All I wanted was you,” she whispered. “We have truckloads of beautiful things to take home with us.”
“Open it,” he repeated firmly.
“Yes, Lord Smythe,” she teased. Slowly, Abby pulled layers of paper from a white box, stamped with a distinctive gold emblem. Waterford.
“Crystal?” she asked. The box hardly filled the palm of her hand. “But it must be so small!”
“Something to add to your collection.”
Grinning, she brushed her fingertips tenderly along the strong line of his jaw. She was touched that he had even noticed her inexpensive assemblage of glass creatures in her old apartment in Chicago. “How do you know it won’t be similar to one I already have? Did you ask Dee for help?”
“I knew you didn’t have this one. I commissioned the piece directly from one of the Waterford designers.”
She stared at him in amazement. “You’re kidding. It must have cost a fortune.”
“Open the bloody box, woman.”
She did, then lifted out a tiny, glittering figurine. Instead of being an animal, a fanciful unicorn or a butterfly, the delicate piece resting in her cupped hand was of two human figures. A mother and child locked in a loving embrace.
Tears filled her eyes. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.
“I thought it appropriate, knowing your feelings about children. Besides, my love, it’s time.”
“Time?” she asked, tipping her head to study his mystifying expression. He seemed serious, yet….
“You mean, now? You want to start a family so soon?”
He nodded, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“But you have a deal pending with that California vineyard, and there�
��s the Russian caviar exporter.”
Matt reached out for her and pulled her across the bed toward him. “Bermuda taught me one very important lesson. Work will always be there waiting for me. The people I love may not be. I want to fill up my life with you and our babies, Abby. There will never be a better time to start our family.” He kissed her softly, lingeringly, then took the crystal figures from her and placed them gently on the table nearby.
“I’ve always said,” she murmured, undoing the buttons of his shirt, one by one, as she pressed her cheek to his strong chest, “there’s no time like the present.”
“Agreed, Lady Smythe.” He laid her back on the bed. And that afternoon, with a passion that would remain alive between them throughout their long marriage, they conceived their first child.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0659-5
THE AMERICAN EARL
Copyright © 2001 by Kathryn Pearce
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