Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set]

by Gentle Warrior:Honor's Splendour:Lion's Lady

  He quit smiling when he realized she was about to cry.

  Lyon understood what she needed now. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes. He cupped the sides of her face and leaned up to kiss her. It was a soft, tender caress meant to remove her worry, her tears.

  And then he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her all the soft words she longed to hear.

  Chapter Twelve

  It wasn’t a very joyful reunion with my sister. Patricia acted just like Father. She was happy to see me until she realized Edward wasn’t with me. Patricia’s husband, Alfred, was as kind as I remembered, and he made my stay as pleasant as he could. Patricia told me they’d broken all their engagements to stay home with me, but after a while I realized they didn’t have any friends at all. Patricia hated the people of Boston, and I believed the feeling was reciprocated.

  My sister longed to go back to England. She fashioned a ridiculous plan. Once she was convinced I meant to stay in the colonies and never return to my husband, she announced that I must give her my baby. She would pass the child off as her own.

  She tried to make me believe she wanted to be a mother, that her life wouldn’t be filled until she had a child to call her own. I knew the truth, of course. Patricia hadn’t changed over the time we’d been separated. No, she wanted a grandchild to give our father. An heir. Father would forgive her transgressions; he’d want to provide well for his only grandchild.

  I was vehemently against this deception, Christina. I knew greed was my sister’s only reason. I told her I’d never give my child away. Patricia ignored my protests. I saw her destroy a letter I’d given her husband to post to London for me. I was able to get one letter past her scrutiny, though, and I was also secure in the knowledge that my father would find the missive I’d left behind in his winter chest.

  Albert kept me supplied with the daily papers to keep my mind occupied while I awaited your birth, and it was quite by chance that I came upon an article about the frontier people.

  Journal entry

  October 5, 1795

  Lyon and Christina set out for his country manor shortly after a picnic luncheon Christina had insisted upon. They ate crusty bread, cheese, sliced mutton, and plump apple tarts. The fare was spread out on a soft blanket Christina had dragged down from upstairs. Lyon had instinctively reached for his pants, thinking to get dressed first, but his wife had laughed at his modesty, and he’d been easily convinced there really wasn’t any need to be in such a hurry.

  They were both covered with a layer of dust by the time they arrived at their destination, thanks to Christina’s plea to ride in an open carriage and Lyon’s agreement to let her have her way.

  During the journey he tried to bring up the subject of her father several times, but Christina easily evaded his questions. And once they’d put the city behind them, the beauty of the surrounding wilderness kept Christina fully occupied. Her amazement was obvious. It didn’t take Lyon long to realize she had believed all of England was like London.

  “Why would you ever want to go into the city when you could stay in such splendor?” Christina asked him.

  Splendor? Lyon hadn’t thought of the countryside in such a way. Yet the pleasure he could see in his wife’s expression made him open his mind to the raw beauty around him.

  “We take for granted what is familiar to us,” Lyon excused.

  “Look around you, Lyon. See God’s gifts,” Christina instructed.

  “Will you promise me something, Christina?” Lyon asked.

  “If I am able,” she answered.

  “Never change,” he whispered.

  He’d meant it as a compliment and was therefore confused by her reaction. Christina clasped her hands in her lap and bowed her head for a long minute. When she finally looked up at him again, she was frowning.

  “My dear, I haven’t asked you how to settle England’s debts,” Lyon remarked. “And my question was irrelevant anyway. I’ll make certain you don’t change.”

  “How will you do that?” Christina asked.

  “Remove all temptations,” Lyon announced with a nod.

  “Temptations?”

  “Never mind, my sweet. Quit frowning. It will be all right.”

  “Did Lettie change?”

  She knew he didn’t like her question. That irritated her, of course, for it was the very first question about his past she’d ever put to him. “Did you love your wife very much, Lyon?” she asked.

  “Lettie’s dead, Christina. You’re all that matters to me now.”

  “Why is it quite all right for you to prod me about my past and not acceptable for me to ask you questions? Your scowl won’t work with me, Lyon. Please answer me. Did you love Lettie?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Lyon said. “I thought I did … in the beginning …”

  “Before she changed,” Christina whispered. “She wasn’t what you thought she should be, isn’t that the way of it?”

  “No, she wasn’t.” His voice had taken on the familiar chill.

  “You still haven’t forgiven her, have you, Lyon? Whatever did she do to hurt you so?”

  “You’re being fanciful,” Lyon announced. “How in God’s name did we get on this topic?”

  “I’m trying to understand,” Christina answered. “Your sister told me you loved Lettie. Is it so painful you cannot even speak her name?”

  “Christina, would you prefer that I act like my mother? All she’ll talk of is James,” he added.

  “Lyon, I’d like our time together to be filled with joy. If I knew how Lettie changed, perhaps I wouldn’t make the same mistakes.”

  “I love you just the way you are. And I’m damned tired of hearing our marriage is only for a short duration. Get this through your head, woman. We’re married until death separates us.”

  “Or until I change like Lettie did,” Christina answered. Her voice was just as loud, just as angry as his had been.

  “You aren’t going to change.”

  Lyon suddenly realized he was shouting at her. “This is a ridiculous conversation. I love you.”

  “You love a princess.”

  “I don’t give a damn if you’re a princess or not. I love you.”

  “Ha.”

  “What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?” Lyon reached out to pull her into his arms. “I cannot believe we’re yelling at each other like this.”

  “Lyon, I’m not a princess.”

  She’d whispered the confession against his shoulder. Lord, she sounded so forlorn. Lyon’s anger evaporated. “Good,” he whispered.

  “Why is it good?” Christina asked.

  “Because now you can’t tell me I love a princess,” he reasoned with a smile in his voice. “I didn’t marry you because of your title.”

  “Then why? You’ve told me I’m not at all sensible, that I try to make you daft—”

  “Your money.”

  “What?” Christina pulled out of his arms to look into his face. There was a definite sparkle in his eyes. “You’re jesting with me. You didn’t know I had any money until after we’d wed.”

  “How astute of you to remember,” Lyon said. He kissed the frown away from her face, then draped his arm around her shoulder.

  Christina rested against his shoulder. The continuous clip of the horses and the rocking motion of the carriage made her sleepy and content.

  “Lyon? You haven’t asked me why I married you,” she whispered several minutes later.

  “I already know why you married me, love.”

  She smiled over his arrogant comment. “Then explain it to me, please. I still haven’t come to understand it.”

  He gave her a squeeze to let her know he wasn’t amused by her announcement. “First, there are the scars. You happen to love my flawed body.”

  “And how would you know that?” she asked, pretending outrage.

  “You can’t keep your hands off me,” he told her. “Second, I remind you of a warrior.”

 
; Christina shook her head. “You haven’t any humility,” she told him. “And you are a warrior, Lyon. A vain one, yes, but a warrior all the same.”

  “Ah, vanity,” Lyon drawled. “Does that mean you might have to use your knife on me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Lady Cecille. You did threaten to—”

  “So you were listening to our conversation in the library.” Christina sounded stunned. “You lied to me. That is shameful.”

  “I lied to you?” Lyon’s voice was incredulous. “You, of course, have always been honest with me.”

  “You will have to cast Lady Cecille aside,” Christina announced, flipping the subject to avoid another argument. “I won’t be wed to a roamer.”

  “A what?”

  “A man who chases other women,” Christina explained. “I shall be true to you, and you must be true to me. Even though it is fashionable in England to take a lover, you aren’t going to have one. And that’s that.”

  He was surprised by the vehemence in her tone. He hadn’t known she had such an assertive manner. In truth, her demand pleased him immensely. “You’re a bossy bit of goods, do you know that?” he whispered. He kissed her again in a leisurely fashion.

  Christina realized he hadn’t given her his promise, but she decided not to press the issue. Later would be soon enough.

  She was about to fall asleep when they reached Lyonwood. Lyon nudged her out of her sleepy state. “We’re home, Christina.”

  The carriage rounded the curve in the road. The wilderness suddenly disappeared.

  The land had been transformed into a lush, well-manicured lawn. There were sculptured bushes lining the circle drive of gravel, with wildflowers of bold colors woven between the trees. At the top of the gently sloping hill stood Lyon’s magnificent home.

  Christina thought it looked like a palace. The house was made of gray and brown stone, double storied, with windows one above the other all across the front of the house. Bright green ivy splattered the stones.

  “Lyonwood is as handsome as its master,” Christina whispered. “I shall never remember how to get around.”

  “You get around me well enough,” Lyon remarked. “I’m sure you’ll conquer your new home just as swiftly.”

  Christina smiled at his teasing manner. “How many of your family members live here with you? Will I meet all of your relatives today, do you suppose?”

  “I suppose not,” Lyon answered. “I live by myself.” He laughed when he saw her astonished reaction. “Now, of course, my gentle little wife will live with me.”

  “How many bedchambers are there?”

  “Just twelve,” Lyon answered with a shrug. The carriage stopped in the center of the circle just as the front door opened. Lyon’s butler, a stout, dark-haired young man by the name of Brown, led the parade of servants down the four steps. The staff lined up behind their leader. Their uniforms were starched, as well as their stance, and though they kept their expressions contained, every gaze was directed upon their new mistress.

  Lyon refused assistance in helping his wife out of the carriage. Her hands were cold and her nose pink from the brisk, windy ride. He thought she might be a bit nervous meeting his servants for the first time, and so he kept her hand clasped in his.

  It didn’t take him long to realize she wasn’t the least bit nervous. Her manner was worthy of a queen … or a princess, Lyon thought with a grin. There was an air of quiet dignity in her bearing. She was gracious as she greeted each one, attentive when she listened to their explanations of what their duties were.

  She captivated them, of course, just as she’d captivated him. Even Brown, his dour-faced butler, was affected. When Christina took hold of his hand and announced that it was obvious to her he’d done his duty well, the man’s face broke into a spontaneous smile.

  “I shall not give you interference, Mr. Brown,” she explained.

  Brown looked relieved at that announcement. He turned then to address his employer. “My lord, we have prepared both your chamber and the adjoining one for the Marchioness.”

  Christina looked up at her husband, fully expecting him to set the man straight. When Lyon simply nodded and took hold of her elbow to walk up the steps, she forced a smile for the watching servants while she whispered her displeasure to her husband.

  “I shall not have my own room, Lyon. I am your wife now. I must share your blankets. And I really don’t want a lady’s maid.” Looking around, she added, “Heavens, Lyon, this entryway is larger than your whole townhouse.”

  Christina wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d heard an echo. The entrance was gigantic. The floors were polished to a gleam. There was a large sitting room on the left, another of equal proportions on the right. A hallway began to the left of the circular staircase. Lyon explained that the dining room was adjacent to the sitting room, with the gardens behind. The kitchens, he added, were on the opposite side.

  Their bedrooms were linked by a door. “I’ll have your clothes moved in here,” Lyon told Christina when she gave him a good frown. He motioned to his bed with a raised eyebrow and asked her if she’d like to see if it was comfortable enough.

  “You look just like a rascal,” Christina laughed. “I should like a bath, Lyon, and then I would like to see your stables. You do keep horses here, don’t you?”

  “But you don’t like to ride,” Lyon reminded her.

  “Never mind that,” Christina answered.

  “Christina, if you don’t think you’ll be happy with Kathleen, I will assign the task of lady’s maid to another.”

  “Oh, Kathleen seems very capable,” Christina answered. “I just don’t want any maids.”

  “Well, you’re having one,” Lyon announced. “I won’t always be here to fasten your gowns, love, so quit scowling at me.

  Christina sauntered over to the windows. “You’re a bossy bit of goods, do you know that, Lyon?” she announced.

  Lyon grabbed her from behind. He placed a wet kiss on the column of her throat. “I really insist that you try the bed.”

  “Now?”

  Christina turned to watch Lyon walk over to the door. When he turned the lock and faced her again she could see he wasn’t jesting. He gave her his most intimidating look, then motioned her over with an arrogant nod of his head.

  “I’m covered with dust.”

  “So am I.”

  She was already breathless, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

  Christina kicked off her shoes and walked over to the bed. “Will you always be this demanding with your wife?” she asked him.

  “Yes,” Lyon answered. He discarded his jacket and his shoes, then went to Christina. “Will my wife always be this submissive?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms.

  “It’s the wife’s duty, isn’t it, to be submissive to her husband?” Christina asked.

  “It is,” Lyon answered. His hands moved to the fastenings on her dress. “Oh, yes, it definitely is.”

  “Then I shall be submissive, Lyon,” Christina announced. “When it suits me.”

  “A man can’t ask for more than that,” Lyon said with a grin.

  Christina threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. She wasn’t submissive now. Her tongue darted inside his mouth to rub against his. She knew he liked her aggressiveness. His hold tightened around her waist and he growled his pleasure.

  “My love, I think I’m going to tear another gown,” he whispered.

  He didn’t sound overly contrite. And his wife’s soft laughter told him it really didn’t matter to her.

  The following two weeks were as wonderful and magical to Christina as the early pages of Sir Thomas Mallory’s story of Camelot. The weather accommodated her fantasy, for it only rained during the black night hours.

  Christina and Lyon spent most of the sun-filled days exploring the vast wilderness surrounding his home.

  She was amazed that one man could own so much land.

 
; He was astonished that one woman could know so much about it.

  Christina gave him the gift of awareness and a new appreciation for the wonders of nature.

  Lyon began to realize how important her freedom was to her. She was happiest when they were outside. Her joy was contagious. Lyon found himself laughing with just as much joy as he tramped through the jungle of bushes in pursuit of his wife.

  They always ended their days in front of a peaceful stream they’d chanced upon quite by accident their first day out, and usually soaked their feet in the cool water while they ate the meal the cook had thoughtfully prepared for them.

  On one such afternoon, Lyon decided to tease his wife. He plucked a leaf from the nearest shrub and pretended that he was going to eat it. Christina wasn’t amused. She slapped the leaf out of his hand, admonished him for his ignorance, and then explained that the leaf was poisonous and that he shouldn’t be putting plants in his mouth anyway. If he was that hungry, she’d be more than happy to give him her portion of their meal.

  Friday morning arrived too soon for Lyon’s liking. He had to return to London to meet with Rhone and their unknowing victims for a game of cards.

  Lyon was extremely reluctant to leave his gentle little wife even for one evening.

  Lyon awakened early to find his wife sound asleep on the floor again. He immediately lifted her into his arms and put her back in his bed. Her skin felt cold to him, and he used his hands and his mouth to warm her.

  He was hard and throbbing when Christina finally opened her eyes. His mouth was fastened on her breast, his tongue like rough velvet as it brushed against her nipple. He began to suckle while his hands stoked the growing fire inside her.

  He knew just where to touch, just how to drive her wild. His fingers slipped inside her, drawing a breathless moan from her, then withdrew to tease and torment, and then thrust inside again.

  Christina wanted to touch him. “Lyon.” She could barely get his name out. His mouth had moved to her stomach to place wet, hot kisses there while his fingers continued their magic.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. “Tell me you want this,” Lyon demanded, his voice hoarse now. His head was slowly moving toward the junction of her legs. “Tell me, Christina,” he whispered. His breath was warm against her sensitive skin. His fingers plunged deep and then withdrew to be replaced by his mouth, his tongue.