“I hope you’re well, Tony?” she said stiffly, sitting down on a stool in front of the settee.
“I am, thank you. What is it you wished to say?”
Panicked, she blurted out, “I don’t think this is going to work out at all well.” Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she clasped her hands together tightly between her knees so he couldn’t see them shake. “I’ll be still going to Jamaica, but I’m breaking off our engagement. You’re f-free.”
“What?” he cried, leaping to his feet. “No! You can’t do this. You can’t dismiss me as if I’m some employee who didn’t suit.”
Stung by his language, she jumped up, too, and faced him. “Whyever not? I’m sure you’ll find another position, Tony, one that will suit you better, perhaps.” She didn’t think it in her to be so spiteful, but all of her fear and pain of the past week came pouring out. “A talented young man such as yourself . . . many will find themselves in need of your services.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she was horrified at her own words. Did she want to hurt him?
Yes, it seemed she did want to hurt him, if she was honest and searched her own heart. She wanted some emotion from him, even if it was anger. His coolness of late had been more hurtful than any amount of anger could ever be.
He turned, grabbed up his hat from the table and headed toward the door without another word. But when he got there, he stopped, and then he turned back on his heel.
And strode across the floor, flinging his hat aside as he did so. He pulled her roughly into his arms and before she could catch her breath he had her bent backward and covered her lips in a smothering kiss. One became another and then many. He held her tightly, and she surrendered once more to the enchantment of his ardent kisses. It was as if her clothes tattered and the sound of waves on the shore filled her ears. The scent of sea and jasmine blossoms drifted around her and the tropical heat filled her frigid form. She threw her arms around him, a burbling joy welling up into her heart at the waves of passion she felt flowing between them. She closed her eyes as they sank to the carpet; he pulled her so close she could feel every muscle of his body flex and he took her lips again in expert passion, his breath ragged and her own mingling with his until they blended.
“You’re not going to do this to me,” he said, shaking her until she opened her eyes and gazed up into his. She was disoriented by the sight of the ceiling and the wood paneling, having expected blue sky and sunshine. He framed her face with his strong hands and kissed her more gently. “You’re not going to do this. I won’t let you,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and quavering. “I’ll steal you away. I swear it, Savina; I’ll kidnap you and take you to Scotland and bribe some hedge parson into performing a ceremony, but I won’t let you destroy me.”
“Destroy . . . what do you mean?” Her voice sounded odd and breathless, as if the air had been squeezed out of her lungs. The oddly prosaic surroundings of the cold, dreary little parlor shimmered and wavered in her gaze.
“Destroy me! I have never loved a woman before, never . . . not until my own Lady Savage. I thought I’d lost you forever, but now I’ll die before I let you get away. Say you care for me.” He kissed her again, hard, pinning her to the carpet and covering her mouth. “Say it. Say it!” He kissed her again. “You must care for me! Say it!”
Laughing, breathless, pushing him away, she gasped, “Let me catch my breath! How can I speak when you keep kissing me like that? Oh, Tony! I do! I love you.” She tightened her grip and buried her face in his neck. Her voice muffled, she cried, “I do! I love you so. I love you! I do.”
Twenty
“I do,” Savina said softly, and then louder, her voice carrying on the cold breeze that swept through the harbor. “I do!” She laughed out loud, the joyful sound carrying above the creak of the deck and whine of wind in the ropes.
The vicar spoke again, shivering so badly his voice quavered, and then was silent.
“I do,” Tony said, clear and loud, in answer to the parson’s question, and then, as the vicar pronounced that they were joined in holy matrimony, he took Savina in his arms. The ship, loaded and ready to sail out of Bristol harbor on the next tide, shuddered and moaned underneath them, and the friends gathered on deck and the crowd assembled down on the dock clapped, hooted, stamped and whistled as they kissed.
It was not a moment to repeat the passion of their usual caresses, though, and Tony quickly released Savina; she gazed around at the gathering for the first time as a married woman.
Lady Venture stood alone and watched. Savina had been hesitant about inviting the lady, especially given their past altercations, but they met at a dress shop and Lady Venture was, after all, responsible for making sure Tony knew of her letter to him. In gratitude, Savina asked her to attend their shipboard wedding before they were to sail to Jamaica, and the lady had said she would come, even though it was all the way in Bristol. She seemed recovered from the perfidy of Mr. William Barker, but Savina would not probe what could still be an open wound, and the lady didn’t offer any information.
Savina’s father, his arm linked through that of the new Mrs. Roxeter, was smiling at her, and she was grateful for that. Once she and Tony had come to a true understanding of all their various worries and fears and had discussed their future, Tony had gone to Savina’s father and spent two hours closeted with him in his library. At the end of it, her papa had had nothing to say but that she was a fortunate young woman to inspire such great love in so worthy a young man. And it had reconciled him, he said later, to losing his daughter to Jamaica, for he would always know she had someone who loved her to look after her.
Savina did not reply with what she truly thought, that she knew she didn’t need anyone to look after her, that what she wanted and had found in Tony was an equal, a partner, a love to last through all hardship and toil that could be in their future. Her father wouldn’t understand that, and she was intent on leaving him happy.
Zazu, standing next to her through the ceremony, was grinning widely even though she, too, was shivering from the frigid air. They were going home, and Zazu and Nelson would be the next couple marrying. When Savina had asked, gently, if she was sure the young man would have waited for her, after all that had happened, Zazu was unshakably confident.
On the other side of Tony was a bent old man, a Mr. Gold, Tony had introduced him as. He had looked grim through the ceremony, but when she glanced at him now, she saw a tear glisten in his rheumy eye. Someone, at least, would miss Tony as badly as her father was going to miss Savina.
“I have only one thing left,” Tony said, facing Savina and commanding her attention, even as the stiff breeze whipped his words up into the sky, “and that is to give you this.” He took her left hand and slipped on a gold ring to go with her wedding band.
She gazed down at it. Two gold hearts, linked and embossed, were flanked by sapphire studded wings.
He glanced over at Mr. Gold and smiled, then captured Savina’s gaze again. “That is for how my heart took flight when I met you, and how every wish and prayer I have ever had has been answered by your heart to mine.” He leaned over and kissed her again, and she knew that from that moment on she would have the confidence that Zazu had in her own love for Nelson, that it would withstand any challenge of time or travail.
• • •
Their farewell was emotional and the voyage long, but every day she discovered something new to love and admire about Tony, not the least of which being . . . he was indefatigable in his love for her. They had long hours to talk, and longer hours to make love, as they planned their lives together and the family they would create.
On Christmas day, days after making harbor in Spanish Town, they stood on a palm-dotted hilltop near the ocean as the sun set and listened to vows being read as Zazu and Nelson stood hand in hand. The golden sun setting cast rosy glows on the cheery faces of the wedding guests and the palms swayed in the tropical breeze that swept up the hill.
“Zazu doesn’t show it, but she
’s nervous about tonight,” Savina whispered to Tony, twining and tangling her fingers with his. The warmth of the sun at her back filled her and she sighed and leaned against her husband.
“I didn’t think she was afraid of anything other than the ocean,” he whispered back.
They stood close to the ceremony, but both Zazu and Nelson had large families that were crowding closer and closer, her grandmother and mother proudly seated in places of honor. His parents, their physical freedom purchased in a deal wrung from Lord Gaston-Reade’s plantation manager by Tony, smiled broadly from their own seats by Zazu’s grandmother and mother.
“She’ll be all right. I was able to assure her that there is nothing at all to be afraid of,” Savina said primly.
Tony chuckled in her ear and whispered, “How good of you to share your hard-won knowledge.” He pulled her against him and held her tight as he kissed her ear.
At long last the ceremony was over and the newlywed couple retired, after a raucous party, to the groundskeeper’s cottage on the grounds of Liberty plantation. Savina had offered a place in the main house, since they were all partners in the plantation, but the newlyweds wanted to build their own home and were going to use the comfortable cottage for the time being as their private nest.
It was late. Savina retired to her bedroom and shivered when she heard the latch click open. Tony slipped through the door dressed only in a shirt and breeches, his shirt loose and his feet bare. He padded silently over to her and stood behind her, gazing at her reflection in the dressing table mirror.
She turned and put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his bare stomach, kissing the warm skin under her lips. He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head.
“I love you so much, Tony.”
“No regrets, my Lady Savage?” he murmured, cradling her head against his stomach.
She smiled against his skin, feeling the inevitable burgeoning of his unfailing passion for her. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of the fall of his breeches and he quivered under her feather-light touch.
“You love to torment me with that awful name. No . . . no regrets,” she whispered, slipping one button from its buttonhole. She kissed his stomach and undid another button.
With a groan he stopped her fingers, swept her up in his arms and carried her to the enormous bed they had inherited when they bought the plantation, laying her down gently and pulling the flimsy nightrail from her lithe body. Warm tropical breezes swept the gauzy curtains aside; they fluttered in the windows, and the brilliant moon shone bright. But wound together in the sheets, Savina and Tony failed to notice anything but the love in each other’s eyes and the sweet melding of their bodies.
Books by Donna Lea Simpson
Classic Regency Romances
The Viscount’s Valentine
A Rogue’s Rescue
A Scandalous Plan
Reforming the Rogue
Lord St. Claire’s Angel
Noël’s Wish
The Earl of Hearts
Romancing the Rogue
Married to a Rogue
Taming the Rogue
The Rogue’s Folly
A Matchmaker’s Christmas
Miss Truelove Beckons
Courting Scandal
A Rake’s Redemption
Lord Haven’s Deception
The Debutante’s Dilemma
A Lady’s Choice
An Eccentric Engagement
The Chaperone’s Secret
The Duke’s Secret Seduction
The Gilded Knight
Lady Savage
Lady Anne Mysteries
Lady Anne and the Howl in the Dark
Revenge of the Barbary Ghost
Curse of the Gypsy
About the Author
Donna Lea Simpson is a nationally bestselling romance and mystery novelist with dozens of titles to her credit. An early love for the novels of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie was a portent of things to come; Donna believes that a dash of mystery adds piquancy to a romantic tale, and a hint of romance adds humanity to a mystery story. Besides writing romance and mystery novels and reading the same, Donna has a long list of passions: cats and tea, cooking and vintage cookware, cross-stitching and watercolor painting among them. Karaoke offers her the chance to warble Dionne Warwick tunes, and nature is a constant source of comfort and inspiration. A long walk is her favorite exercise, and a fruity merlot is her drink of choice when the tea is all gone. Donna lives in Canada.
The best writing advice, Donna believes, comes from the letters of Jane Austen. That author wrote, in an October 26, 1813, letter to her sister, Cassandra, “I am not at all in a humor for writing; I must write on till I am.” So true! But Donna is usually in a good humor for writing!
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