Matthew nodded sagely. “Most prudent. No witnesses.”
Gareth laughed. “Prudence,” he stated, “is one of Faith’s most endearing qualities.”
The doctor propped one booted ankle on his knee and gave Gareth a probing look. “I knew you’d gone to London with vague thoughts of finding a wife, but I didn’t expect you to accomplish it in such short order.”
Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he admitted, “as to that, Faith will be the first to tell you that she compromised me quite beyond recall.”
Matthew snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.” When Gareth smiled but didn’t elaborate, Matthew waited a moment, then changed the subject. “How is reconstruction on Rothmere coming along?”
Gareth shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to make it up there yet. I was planning on walking up in the early afternoon with Faith.” He frowned. “After I tell her the estate exists, that is.”
Matthew looked incredulous. “Surely she doesn’t think this is your home?”
Gareth looked a bit sheepish. “Actually, that’s precisely what she thinks. I only realized she had that impression last night.” He sobered as he thought again of how little they really knew about each other.
Matthew gave his aristocratic friend another long look and stood. “I have other patients I’ve promised to call upon this morning,” he stated. “But I’m happy to have found the marchioness so well recovered.”
Gareth started to stand, but Matthew waved him off. “I’ll see myself out, thank you,” he said with a pointed look at Gareth’s blanket.
Gareth watched the physician leave, then got up and walked to the bedroom to get dressed. As he passed the open window, he heard the sudden sharp sound of a breaking twig and the scuffling sound of running feet. Smiling inwardly, he stepped over to the window and looked outside, although he already knew he wouldn’t find anyone out there. Sure enough, all was quiet.
Two hours later, he was torn between worry and annoyance. Faith hadn’t come back after he’d heard the twig snap at the window, although she had to know that Matthew had left. The window was on the same side of the house as the door, so she’d more than likely watched him leave and crept back to peek in and see what Gareth was doing.
His annoyance grew again, then abruptly waned. She probably knew he’d heard her at the window. Perhaps she was out there, embarrassed to come back in and face him. A sudden vision of Faith sitting outside on a rock, biting her lip, invaded his mind. A bit chagrined at his annoyance, Gareth walked out the front door to look for her.
Ignoring the drive that wound through the woods for nearly a mile and ultimately led to Rothmere, he opted instead to take a small path that ran along the edge of the woods to a small brook. There was a bridge there, and a small clearing. Gareth was fairly certain he would find Faith sitting there, fighting some small internal battle.
Three minutes after Gareth disappeared down the path, Faith walked out of the woods and back inside the small cottage. As soon as she entered, she felt the looming emptiness of the dwelling. Gareth wasn’t there. She bent and picked up the basket of flowers she’d dropped on the floor earlier, fingered their forlorn petals, and sadly gathered the wilted things together and threw them away.
Feeling strangely morose, she looked around the small room, contemplating her reaction to being here by herself Loneliness was a new feeling for Faith, who had always, even as a child, valued time spent in solitude. She walked toward the bedroom, trailing her fingers along the back of the couch where she’d slept with Gareth the night before.
As she entered the bedroom, she glanced at the unmade bed and found herself yawning. Suddenly, the rumpled covers looked very inviting, so with a sigh Faith kicked off her slippers and stepped out of her simple morning gown. Clad in only her chemise, she climbed into the bed and burrowed down into the softness, hugging a pillow to her chest.
She yawned once more, murmuring, “If I go to sleep, Gareth will be back sooner.”
With that oddly comforting thought, she blinked once and drifted off.
Gareth returned to the house nearly an hour later, now genuinely worried. He’d combed the woods near the stream but had found no sign of Faith. He did find what looked like the remnants of a fire from a recent campsite and made a mental note to hire a man to patrol the grounds for trespassers.
He took a last look around the small clearing and jogged up the road to Rothmere. He didn’t pass her on the way, however, and none of the men working on renovations to the estate remembered seeing a young blonde woman at any time that morning. He even climbed up and joined the roofers, hoping he would be able to see her from the greater height. He was able to make out the roof of the caretaker’s cottage, nestled between the trees nearly a mile away, but his wife wasn’t in sight.
Gareth climbed down and sent one of the workers to the village to locate Dr. Meadows. As the man set off at a run, Gareth began the easy jog back to the cottage to change into riding gear. His greatest fear was that her head injury had been worse than Matthew supposed, that she had wandered off somewhere, entirely forgetting who or where she was. Gareth had heard of that happening and had seen men with similar injuries do incredibly odd things during his time in the war.
He reached the cottage and strode inside, tugging his shirttails out of his trousers on his way to the bedroom to change. He walked directly to the wardrobe, pulled out the first pair of breeches he saw, and selected a comfortable shirt to match. Reaching into the bottom of the wardrobe, he pulled out a pair of riding boots, tossed everything on a chair, and shrugged out of his shirt.
His mind was spinning. She’d probably wandered into the village, he told himself, and was perfectly safe in the bosom of some kindly family. Mentally cursing himself for not going there first, he grabbed his riding boots and headed for the bed, intending to sit on the edge while he changed.
He took two short steps and stopped. Instant relief flooded through him when he saw the slight form curled beneath the covers, her back turned toward him, her long golden hair spilling across the pillow and off the side of the bed. He took another step in her direction, then heard hoofbeats coming rapidly up the short drive from the direction of the village. Sighing, Gareth walked through the living room and stepped outside to find Matthew securing his horse to a post.
“What has happened?”
“It’s fine now,” Gareth replied. “I misplaced my wife for a time, but it appears she decided to come home while I was out looking for her.
Matthew gave Gareth an odd look. “And why did you summon me, your lordship? I’m a physician, not a Bow Street runner.”
Gareth looked sheepish. “I thought her head injury might have caused her to become disoriented.”
Matthew privately thought that the marquess himself seemed a tad disoriented, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself. “Where is she now?”
“Asleep in bed.”
“Well, since I’m here and you frightened her off before I could examine her this morning, I suppose I’ll have a look.” The doctor followed Gareth inside and to the bedroom.
Faith had rolled onto her back while the men were talking outside, but she was still sound asleep. Matthew gingerly felt the much diminished lump on her head and ran a finger lightly across the almost-healed scratch on her cheek. He tilted his head and leaned down to listen to her deep, even breathing. Gareth stood silently watching. Matthew looked at him and cocked his head toward the living room.
“She’s fine, your lordship,” the physician said in a low voice when they were in the other room. “The swelling is almost completely gone, there is no infection in the scratch on her cheek, she’s sleeping peacefully, and there appears to be no memory loss. I really don’t think you have anything further to worry about.” He grinned suddenly. “Unless you plan to climb on the roof again, as the man you sent told me you’ve already done. With your record of construction-related injuries, my lord, you’re lucky you didn’t fall and break your neck.”
Gareth
smiled and walked him to the door. “The outdoor repairs to the manor are nearly finished. All the roofers are doing now is detail work on the eaves. Most of the remaining work is inside.”
“Well, I’ve no doubt you’ll manage to require my services even so,” said Matthew wryly. “Please give my regards to your wife when she wakes, my lord.”
Gareth watched his friend mount and ride off in the direction of the village, then turned to go inside. A flash of silver under one of the windows caught his eye. Curious, he walked over to get a closer look. It looked like a stud from a man’s shirt, so highly polished he knew it couldn’t have been there very long.
Gareth squatted and reached to pick it up, but froze. The ground beneath the window had just been turned in preparation for planting and was still damp and soft from the recent rains. Clearly outlined, just to the left of the window, was a man’s boot print. In the middle of it was a broken twig.
Gareth stood, the shirt stud in his hand, and scanned the trees surrounding the house, already knowing there would be nothing for him to see. He recalled the sound of the twig breaking he’d heard at the window that morning, a sound he’d attributed to Faith’s standing at the window looking in. He thought, too, of the abandoned camp in the woods near the stream. With a last glance into the woods, Gareth made a fist around the stud, went inside, and closed the door.
He carefully placed the stud on the mantel over the fireplace and quietly made his way back to Faith’s side. She hadn’t moved, so he pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down to wait for her to awaken, his mind switching from the disturbing topic of the unexplained footprint to the disturbing topic of his marriage.
His eyes traveled the length of his wife’s body beneath the covers. Somehow, things had gone badly for them from the beginning. His lips tightened as he thought about the first conversation they’d ever had, then softened into a smile as he recalled the waltz they’d shared on that moonlit balcony. Since that one shared moment, they’d continued their dance—but now they danced around one another like wary opponents in a fencing match.
Not anymore, Gareth silently resolved. One way or another, he would find a happy resolution.
Twenty-two
The felt him watching her, the weight of his regard dragging her from the depths of sleep. Usually slow to awaken, Faith was suddenly, instantly aware of her husband’s presence. Happiness washed through her, and an unbidden smile reached her lips, but she kept her eyes closed a moment longer, unsure if she was dreaming or perhaps simply wishing.
Gareth watched her stir beneath the covers, saw the soft smile touch her lips, though she did not yet wake. He thought she must be dreaming, and wondered what she envisioned to bring such peace and joy to her face. His chest ached, for he wanted to put that smile there, to be the reason she found happiness. Swallowing hard, he looked down at the ground.
Just then, Faith opened her eyes and saw Gareth sitting there, his head quietly bowed. He was shirtless, she saw with surprise, but this time she didn’t look away in embarrassment. Her eyes hungrily took in the muscular expanse of his chest with its crisp, curling dark hair and his broad shoulders that seemed as though they could bear the weight of the world. She ached, she found, to bury her face in his neck, to breathe in his scent, that warm, comforting scent she’d experienced both times she’d slept next to him.
She lifted her eyes to his face again and found him watching her. Their glances locked, hers hungry, his hopeful. And then, without a word, Faith held out her arms.
He was at her side in an instant, lifting and gathering her into him. She made a tiny sound, perhaps a gasp, and Gareth’s mouth was on hers, and hers on his, tasting and feeling and caressing with rising need. He plunged a hand into her hair and eased her back down onto the bed, stretching out beside and above her, his mouth never leaving hers. He licked at her lower lip, and willingly she opened. His heart pounding, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting and tormenting, evoking.
Faith strained closer, aching to touch Gareth with every part of herself, needing him as she had never needed anything before. Her heart thudded in her chest with new and frightening feeling, and still she yearned for something she could not name. All she knew was that she wanted to give herself up, to be swept away in this storm, to lose and to find herself in this man who was her husband. Something white-hot gathered deep within her. She opened her eyes and reached up with trembling fingers to cradle his face in her hands, touched her tongue to his.
Their kiss exploded. Gareth slanted his lips on hers, his tongue plunging in and out of her mouth with primitive abandon. Faith kissed him back, urgent, turning in toward his body, her legs tangling with his. When her knee slipped between his thighs, he caught his breath and pulled her more tightly against him, the evidence of his arousal becoming increasingly apparent.
His hand slipped from the side of her face to settle on the soft mound of her breast, her puckered nipple proudly nudging his palm through the thin material of her chemise. He ached to take that hard little morsel between his teeth, to nibble and suckle at it. He lifted his mouth from hers, intending to do just that, when she sighed and slipped her hands into his hair.
At her touch, Gareth remembered her innocence, and he slowed immediately, his lips descending once more to slide softly across her cheek to her ear. “Faith,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
At the warmth of his breath on her flesh, Faith whimpered and settled even more closely against him. Gareth fought his raging desire and laced the fingers of one hand with hers, then slipped his head down to rest on her pillow, his eyes capturing hers and holding them.
“Tell me what you want,” he repeated.
Faith caught her breath, her eyes a luminous silver. She bit her lip, her even white teeth a contrast to the bright pink color left by his kisses. She pulled their clasped hands up, softly kissed each of his fingertips, and spoke. “I want to be your wife,” she said in an aching voice.
Gareth’s heart slammed into his ribs at her words, and he caught his breath at the naked vulnerability and sincerity shining from her eyes. “I would like nothing more than to make you mine, princess,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. For a moment, they simply looked at one another, and Gareth softly kissed her forehead. “But we need to have some things straightened out and understood between us first.”
Faith nodded and waited for him to continue.
“To begin with,” he said, “this is not our home.”
Faith’s eyes softened. “I don’t care where we live, my lord,” she began, stopping when he placed a quieting finger on her lips.
“We have simply been staying here because my home has been uninhabitable up until this point.”
Faith’s curiosity got the better of her. “But who owns this house?”
Gareth raised a brow. “Well,” he said, “I do.”
She frowned.
“This is my caretaker’s cottage, Faith.”
A suspicious look was dawning on her face. “Where is the caretaker living?”
“I’ve yet to hire him.”
Faith looked troubled. “Gareth, I want to be your wife. Even if that means you cannot afford caretakers and stewards and servants.”
He fought back guilt. “Well, that’s just the thing I’ve been trying to tell you, princess.”
Comprehension dawned. Her face cleared and she narrowed her eyes in astute accusation. “You are frighteningly wealthy, aren’t you?” Her lips tightened as if she were suppressing anger, but irrepressible mirth was beginning to dance in her shining gray eyes.
He nodded soberly, though his lips twitched a bit. “I’m afraid so.”
She sighed. “I suppose I’ll be forced to live in some enormous, opulent ancestral mansion,” she continued.
“Do you think you can abide it, love?”
She nodded in mock resignation. “I suppose I can make do, my lord, if you promise not to drape me in obscenely expensive gowns and jewels.”
At that, Gareth finally did laugh, gathering her close to him once more. “I think, my princess, that I’d much rather see your obscenely expensive gowns draped across the floor of my bedchamber.”
That outrageous statement made Faith blush furiously and hide her face in his chest. Gareth stroked her hair a moment and suggested, “Would you like to go see your home, darling?”
He’d called her darling. Not princess. Faith’s heart gave a little flip at the endearment, and she nodded. “Yes, please,” she whispered. “Take me home, Gareth. To our home.”
Twenty-three
Gareth took Faith’s hand as they walked down the lane in companionable silence, enjoying the dappled shade and the late-spring afternoon. In many ways, it was as though everything had been renewed, that they were just now beginning to know one another. Faith mostly looked straight ahead, but occasionally she would cast a sidelong glance at her husband, and those fleeting glimpses filled her with pride. He was incredibly handsome, she admitted to herself, and bit her lip to hide a smile.
Gareth caught every look out of the corner of his eye and reveled in them. Once he turned his head to try and catch her at it, but she swiftly looked the other way, pretending an absorbed interest in the antics of a pair of sparrows. Suppressing a laugh, he tugged her close again and gave her a small squeeze around the shoulders.
Faith looked up at him, her eyes bright and happy. “How much farther?”
Gareth pointed. “Just around that bend,” he said. “The drive splits and circles around to meet again in front of the house.” He couldn’t wait to see her first reaction to her new home.
But Faith had other plans. She knelt a moment and pretended to adjust her slipper, hiding the gleeful look in her eyes, while Gareth waited patiently at her side. He reached for her hand again when she stood, but she turned and evaded him, taking a couple backward steps away. She tossed him a jaunty smile. “Race you to the bend,” she challenged, and took off without giving him a chance to respond.
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