Barely a Bride

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  * * *

  The morning sunlight bathed the room in a wash of pale yellow when Griffin awoke.

  He stretched his sore muscles and automatically swiped at the irritant tickling his face.

  The clean scent of roses and lavender assailed his sensitive nostrils. Griffin opened his eyes, suddenly wide awake.

  He lay half on his left side and half on his stomach, with the majority of his body curved around his wife’s slender form. His shoulder hurt like the very devil, but his long legs were intimately entwined with Alyssa’s sleek, satin ones, and his injured arm rested lazily across her narrow waist. To Griffin’s way of thinking, the pleasure of having her close was well worth the pain.

  He sighed contentedly, and Alyssa stirred in her sleep, moving closer to the comforting warmth radiating from his body until her baby-soft bottom rested familiarly against him.

  Griffin groaned aloud as the root of him instantly sprang to life, standing proudly erect, prodding her softness, seeking entrance. His brain flashed a sudden warning that told him he should leave while he still had the chance, but Griffin ignored the warning.

  A year had passed since he’d held his bride in his arms, and Griffin fully intended to enjoy these few precious moments, these marvelous moments between waking and sleep, when instincts urged him to pull her closer. Moments when he could indulge in the pleasure of having her share his bed without discovery.

  Griffin breathed in the fragrance of her silky light brown hair, allowing his warm breath to caress the tender flesh at the nape of her neck while he traced the outline of her ribs through her thin silk nightgown as his brain envisioned her passionate response to his lovemaking.

  God, but it would be heaven to kiss that soft mouth again and bury himself deep within her. It would be sheer paradise to wake up to her like this every morning for the rest of his life.

  And for the next four mornings of his life, he did wake up to her just that way. Griffin studied the bluish crescents beneath Alyssa’s eyes and knew that he was the cause of her lack of sleep. Every night he retired to the master chamber and she retired to the mistress’s chamber, and yet every morning for the past five days, he had awakened with her in his bed.

  He didn’t remember them in the morning, but he knew his nightmares had returned. All the familiar signs were there. His jaw ached from clenching it. His muscles ached from the strain of reliving each sword thrust and saber slash, and his eyes were swollen and gritty from the tears he’d shed in his sleep.

  His nighttime terrors were interrupting Alyssa’s sleep. And sleep was something she needed. She worked hard from shortly after sunup to well beyond sundown every day. And the wear was beginning to show in the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  And the strain of pretending to sleep as she stole out of bed, of ignoring his body’s insistent early morning response to her closeness, was beginning to tell on him. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t want her. His reaction to her nearness was a constant reminder. He wanted her, all right. But he didn’t intend to satisfy his desires.

  After five days of bed rest, Griffin felt it was time to get up. He needed to regain his strength and make arrangements for his return to London.

  Taking great care not to wake her, Griffin slipped out of bed and donned a floor-length dressing gown and slippers before making his way out of the bedchamber and inching his way out of the master suite. Leaning heavily on his cane, Griffin limped down the staircase toward the breakfast room.

  He arrived to find it empty. Stopping a passing footman, Griff asked, “Where might I find a bit of breakfast?”

  “There, sir,” the footman pointed. “There was more light for her to read her letters by, so Lady—I mean, Her Grace—decided to move breakfast in there.”

  Griff followed the young man’s directions and was in the conservatory before he realized it. Mingled with the scent of fried bacon and sausage, eggs, and toast spread out upon the sideboard was the unmistakable fragrance of lemons.

  Tears stung his eyes as Griff turned toward the source and discovered Hughey’s potted lemon tree occupying the place of honor in the corner of the conservatory Alyssa had despaired of filling.

  Griffin stared at the little tree, then leaned his back against the nearest wall and slowly slid to the floor, unable to control the pain that doubled him over or the rush of hot tears coursing down his cheeks.

  Alyssa found him that way an hour or so later when Keswick quietly alerted her to the fact that His Grace appeared to be in some distress in the conservatory.

  She pulled a silk wrapper over her nightgown and quickly followed Keswick down the stairs to the conservatory. “Please close the doors to the conservatory. Send the staff elsewhere, and please make certain that we are not disturbed for any reason.” She looked at the butler. “I don’t want anyone to see this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Keswick agreed. “I will personally see that you and His Grace are not disturbed.” He waited until she walked through the doors of the conservatory, then carefully pulled the heavy green velvet draperies and the massive glass doors closed.

  Alyssa knelt on the floor beside Griffin. He didn’t hear her approach. His face was turned toward the wall, his back was to the door, and his broad shoulders shook from the force of his grief.

  “Griffin.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned in her arms and Alyssa knew that she would never forget the look of naked anguish on his face, the grief in his eyes, as he wrapped his arms around her and held on for dear life.

  Wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, Griffin held on to her as the words began tumbling out, one on top of the other.

  “Hughey,” he said, in a voice raw with grief and tears. “I saw the lemon tree, smelled the blossoms, and remembered… Dear God… Hughey…”

  “Tell me.” Alyssa pressed her lips against the soft brown hair at his temple. “Please tell me about Hughey.” Griffin told her what he remembered of the charge across the battlefield at Fuentes de Oñoro.

  “Colonel Jeffcoat led the first charge. I led the second, and Hughey led the third.” Griffin fought for control. “Samson and I made it through the lines without injury and I was grateful to have made it through alive.” Alyssa bit her bottom lip to keep from commenting. “I dismounted as soon as Samson surged through the breach in the village wall and sent him to safety. The space was so narrow we were forced to fight hand-to-hand on foot.” He paused. “I had just killed a French grenadier when I looked up and saw Hughey unhorsed.

  “I grabbed the nearest horse, mounted, and rode back onto the field.” Griffin looked Alyssa in the eye. “Everything is a lie,” he said, tears rolling down his face. “All of this…” He waved his arm to encompass the conservatory. “I didn’t care about rallying the men. I didn’t think of rallying the men or of becoming a hero. I never expected to be awarded the Order of the Garter or a ducal title. I only wanted to save my friend. And I failed.”

  Alyssa hugged him closer. “I’m so very sorry.”

  “I dream of Hughey. At night. Every night. I dream of reaching him in time. I dream of saving him.”

  “What happened?” Alyssa whispered, encouraging him to talk even though she knew it was terribly difficult for him to do.

  “I crossed the field and made it to his side with only a few scrapes to show for it.” The tears were rolling down his face at a faster pace, but Griffin remained unaware of them. “I leaned down and reached for him. Hughey looked up at me, clasped my arm, and declared that I had saved him.” Griffin raked his fingers through his hair as he choked back a sob. “A second later, I was lying on the ground beneath the horse, holding Hughey’s arm.”

  Alyssa gasped.

  “That was all that was left of him.” Griffin’s voice shook. “He was hit by a twenty-four-pound shell and all that remained of my friend Hughey was his arm and part of his trunk. His head—” He broke off, pulled Alyssa closer. He buried his head against her shoulder and when he spoke, his words were muffled. “De
ar God. I tried to put him together. I tried to reach him, but I was trapped beneath the horse and Hughey’s head had rolled too far away.” Griff squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to blot out the image. “His eyes were open and he was smiling at me. I was holding his arm and half of his chest and Hughey’s head lay several yards away smiling at me…” Griffin choked on his words as his sobs caught in his throat.

  Alyssa pressed a kiss against the crown of his head.

  Griffin looked up at her, his blue eyes swimming with tears, and she was lost. Alyssa kissed him again and although her kiss was meant to console, it became more. Much more.

  She placed her hand over his heart and felt the steady beat of it before she slid her fingers through the thick mat of hair on his chest, tracing the pattern as it narrowed into a thin line over the hard contours of his abdomen.

  Griffin caught hold of her hand to stop its progress before he kissed her back with a year’s worth of pent-up passion.

  Breaking the kiss, Alyssa took a deep breath, then untied the sash at her waist. She shrugged out of her wrapper, then reached up and loosed the ribbons at her neck of her gown and pushed her nightgown off her shoulders.

  It slipped down her arms and settled at her waist, baring her breasts.

  Griffin fought to maintain control. He narrowed his gaze until he was practically scowling. But Alyssa wasn’t put off by his frown or the pulsing muscle in his jaw.

  She scooted closer, lifted her arms overhead, and offered him her breasts.

  Griffin gave up all thought of maintaining control. He ran his hands up her ribs before filling them with the weight of her breasts. He bent his head and then trailed a line of kisses across the tops of her breasts, dipping his tongue into the crevice between them before covering the rosy tip of the first one with his mouth.

  Alyssa gasped as he suckled her, teasing the first breast before moving to taste the other.

  She slid her fingers through his thick dark hair and pressed him closer.

  He leaned into her, pressing the lower part of his body against the cradle of hers, and Alyssa parted her legs to grant him access.

  “Turn around.” He reached behind her and cupped her buttocks, urging her closer as he slipped his hand between her thighs and caressed the tiny kernel of pleasure hidden beneath the silky curls of her woman’s triangle.

  Alyssa turned.

  Griffin held her close with his uninjured arm and carefully probed her entrance. He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck as he slipped deep inside her, sheathing himself to the hilt.

  She was warm and wet and welcoming, and he was rock hard and consumed with wanting. Theirs was a perfect fit, and Griffin stroked her with a consuming urgency that bespoke his great need of her. She met him stroke for stroke, answering him in kind, taking as much as she gave.

  They made sweet, passionate love throughout the morning, moving from the floor to the chaise longue.

  They made love with a bittersweet sense of desperation, and when at last he collapsed on the pillow beside her and closed his eyes, Griffin knew that he was forever changed by her touch. She had left her mark on him, branded his heart and soul with her essence.

  He knew with unshakable certainty that even should he live to be a thousand years old, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved Alyssa, but he was a Free Fellow and sworn never to love his wife.

  So he kissed the top of her head, fanning her hair with his breath, and tried to convince himself that she deserved so much better. That the best thing he could do for Alyssa was to let her go. And he would, he swore. Just as soon as he found the strength.