The Gift of Love (The Book of Love 8)

by Meara Platt

  She glanced around, taking in the proportions of the bedchamber.

  Oh, dear. They wouldn’t be able to squeeze more than fifteen people in here. Her sisters. His brothers. Maybe their wives. Miranda and Robbie had to be here, too. Aunt Sophie and Uncle John if they could spare the time between their own family obligations.

  It would have to be a bare-bones service since Ronan could not kneel in prayer. She doubted he would be allowed out of bed. Would he even be able to toss on clothes for the occasion? She did not think so.

  He sighed. “I’ll understand if you don’t wish to give up your wedding dreams. I had just hoped...”

  Her mind began to spin. “Yes, Ronan. I will agree to it.”

  Because what really mattered was sharing the rest of her life with him. When the less essential concerns were stripped away, it really was a simple choice. She did not want to spend any more nights without him.

  Once their house was decorated, they could hold their own belated wedding breakfast. “I’m going to kiss you now, you brainless but incredibly handsome clot. Don’t you dare move.”

  He emitted a pained laugh. “You’ll get no complaint from me. Why am I brainless? For riding back here to be with you? Don’t berate me for that, Queen Pea. But I’m truly sorry for depriving you of your wedding dreams. I wish I could make the day special for you. I realize how much you are giving up for my sake.”

  “I am giving up nothing important.” She kissed him on the lips, teetering over him so that she did not touch his unguent-riddled body. Not that she cared for herself, but he was in a bad way, and the slightest pressure to his chest could be dangerous.

  His lips were warm and inviting.

  His expression was rueful as she drew away. “I was intent on seducing you before we were married. But it seems I’ll be taking you completely innocent to my bed. Perhaps it is for the best. My intentions were always honorable. I would never have touched you unless I meant to marry you...and I always wanted to marry you.”

  “How could you want me when I was exactly what I just accused you of being, brainless?”

  “No, Queen Pea. You were never that. Naive. Misguided. Duped. Nothing worse. Wainscott is the villain here. He took advantage of your inexperience.”

  Her heart ached whenever he spoke to her in this gentle and encouraging manner. “You are being too generous with me. I have to bear some of the fault for refusing to see the sort of man he truly was. One of lowest character. I allowed myself to be blinded by his fine trappings. His fancy clothes and carriages. His family’s prominence and aristocratic connections.”

  She shook her head and groaned. “I wish I had read The Book of Love last year. Although who knows if I would have understood its meaning? Had I really looked at Gerald, what would I have seen?”

  “Stop kicking yourself, my love. I think this is a trait you and Holly have in common, this insistence on being too hard on yourself.”

  She smiled at him. “That sounded nice, especially the soft way you said it.”

  “Said what?”

  “You called me your love.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Because this is what you are. Oh, bollocks. Are you going to cry now? Don’t you dare. Not while I’m trying to seduce you.”

  She gazed at him in surprise. “You’re trying to seduce me?”

  “And obviously doing a terrible job of it if you have no idea this is what I’m doing.”

  “Are you saying this to make me feel better?”

  “No. I’m saying it because I want to hold you in my arms and kiss my way down your exquisite body. I want to breathe you in. Taste your quivering flesh.”

  She snorted. “You are teasing me. Stop it. My flesh does not quiver. I’m not sure I even know what that means.”

  “You will once I get my hands on you. Don’t mock an injured man, Queen Pea.”

  “Sorry. I can’t help it. You are helpless in bed and forbidden to move. You must own that the situation is ridiculous.”

  “Desiring you can never be ridiculous. I want to run my fingers through your hair. There are other things I would do to you with my fingers, but you’ll slap me if I tell you. However, as soon as I am able, I will prove to you just how enjoyable the experience will be.”

  “Without hurting yourself in the process? I have read those naughty books the elders are always forbidding us to read. They do use words like quivering flesh and crashing waves of splendor.” She grinned. “And you are going to show me this?”

  “Yes, Queen Pea. I promise. You will quiver, and waves will crash splendidly. You will enjoy it.”

  “I have an admission to make,” she said quietly, blushing as she stared at her toes.

  “What is it, love?”

  She cleared her throat. “The men in these stories are always handsome and nicely muscled. However, I cannot believe they are as nicely formed as you. Will you think I am wanton if I admit to being eager to explore your body?”

  “Thank The Graces! Here I thought I was the only one straining at the tether. My agony has nothing to do with my plunge off the ship into the icy river. I’ve been in frenzied, low-brain lust over you from the moment we first met.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’ve singled me out for these feelings.”

  “All that matters is that I have. It’s explained in that book. You are the one who is perfect for me, just as I am the one for you. I like that you are in hot, panting lust for me.”

  “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? I merely admitted to curiosity. Worrying about you is not the same as–”

  “You are terrible at hiding your feelings. You’ve been licking your lips and eyeing me as though I were a plump Christmas goose roasted to perfection.” He grinned wickedly. “I’m not bashful, Queen Pea. Touch me wherever you wish. But be gentle. My chest is on fire just now.”

  Even though inwardly he was in sad shape, outwardly, he was magnificent. Dahlia could not get enough of staring at his chiseled body. Was there ever a Greek god who looked finer?

  Nor could she resist touching him. Very carefully, of course. She reached out tentatively to wrap her fingers around the bulging muscle of his upper arm.

  Sweet mercy.

  It was hard as a rock.

  The butterflies in her stomach began to flutter.

  Was it possible his glorious body would be all hers to play with?

  His face was a thing of beauty, too.

  She put her hand to his cheek and felt the rough, stubble of his beard.

  Then she ran her fingers through his hair, lightly brushing back a few stray curls. She liked the way the ends hugged the corded muscles of his neck.

  His eyes held amusement. “You are not very adventurous, are you? You will put me to sleep if this is all you dare to do.”

  He slid his arm around her waist to nudge her closer. “Ronan! The unguent!”

  “We’ll work around it. I’ll show you how it’s done. You shall be my test frog. Close your eyes, Queen Pea.”

  “Why? What are you going to do to me?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ronan knew he was behaving like an idiot, but he didn’t care. He could blame his clouded thinking on his injuries? Why not? Life was fragile and easily stolen in a moment. He wasn’t going to waste time being polite. “I’m going to make wild, low-brain love to you, Queen Pea.”

  Dahlia gasped and opened her eyes. “How can you do such a thing in your condition? Do you think I would ever allow it? The effort might kill you.”

  “I’m not going to hurt myself. Nor will I hurt you. Keep your eyes closed. I want you to clear your mind of everything but the sensation of my touch.” Ronan’s chest was tight, and every movement caused him pain, but Dahlia soothed his heart as no one and nothing else could.

  Perhaps he was being a monumental idiot, but he’d ridden from Tilbury in excruciating pain just to be with her. All worth it, for she had now promised to be his wife.

  More than that, she had given up her dr
eam wedding because of him.

  She was a beautiful, sacrificing angel.

  He wasn’t going to do anything obscene with her.

  But he wanted her to know his touch, which would be loving and reverential. The quivering flesh part would come later, once they were married, and his chest was no longer coated in this foul poultice that was necessary to keep him alive and free of infection.

  “What should I do with my hands?”

  “Keep them primly folded on your lap, if you wish. You needn’t do anything yet.” He was fighting against the laudanum because he wanted to stay alert and focused. Having her all to himself would not last long. His brothers and cousins would be tromping up the stairs shortly. Lord help him, so would Miranda.

  He had little time to show Dahlia how pleasurable his touch could be.

  Oh, bollocks.

  The damn poultice would interfere with this lesson.

  But she looked so delectable. “I need to kiss you, Queen Pea.”

  At some point, he expected she would club him over the head and tell him to stop calling her that. But he couldn’t help it. The kiss they’d shared after she’d found the pea in the holiday cake had sealed matters for him.

  She was the woman he would love to the end of time.

  “Again? We just kissed.” She nibbled her plump lower lip, now fretting. But her eyes were still closed.

  She looked lovely and trusting and achingly innocent.

  She had the most beautifully shaped mouth. He could explore it for hours. Full bottom lip and sweetly curved upper lip. Her mouth was perfectly designed to be crushed against his.

  Indeed, he would enjoy delving his tongue into its velvet warmth. “Will my every request be a negotiation?”

  “No. But I dare not hurt you.”

  “You will never hurt me, sweetheart.” He caressed her cheek, the mere movement causing him agony. But if it was a choice of touch or not touch, then touch would win every time.

  She smelled of cinnamon and roses.

  Well, his nose was off, so he couldn’t tell exactly what he was inhaling over the fumes of that foul unguent. Something nice, to be sure.

  He slid his hand down her neck, brushing his thumb along the gentle line of her jaw. Then he traced his fingers down her throat and further down to cup her breast. Her eyes opened wide, but she did not scamper away. “Ronan?”

  “You are beautiful, Queen Pea.” Her breasts were lush but not too weighty. They filled his hands. “Close your eyes. I want you to feel the way I touch you.” He drew her forward and placed his mouth against her breast. It did not matter that there were layers of fabric between his lips and her skin. When she gasped again and arched toward him, he knew she’d felt the intimacy and the promise of passion it held.

  But he soon released her with a groan. Even the slightest exertion was causing him pain. “Let’s try this again tomorrow.”

  She opened her eyes and kissed his damp forehead. “Then we can close the door and truly explore this magical sensation. Did you know I would respond this way to you?”

  “I had hoped.”

  “We ought to proceed with all due caution. I would not like you to puncture your other lung on our wedding night.”

  He grinned. “It would be worth it to touch and taste you. Your uncle said a punctured lung is not life-threatening.”

  “If properly treated. And don’t forget your concussion.” She cast him a prim frown and puckered her lips in worry.

  Which brought him right back to wanting to drag her down atop him and kiss those perfect lips quite thoroughly.

  Unfortunately, he smelled like a goat at the moment.

  Their time alone, which had been pretty much wasted since he couldn’t touch her the way he wished, was now coming to an end. He heard footsteps on the stairs and knew the first family members were arriving and would be anxious to see him.

  Miranda and Finn were the first to rush in.

  By this time, Dahlia was seated in a chair beside his bed, trying to pull her hand out of his. But he refused to let go of her. “You’re to be my wife,” he whispered, merely intending to convey they were doing nothing wrong.

  “Wife?” Miranda came to an abrupt halt, this new thought completely distracting her from whatever she was about to say.

  Finn smiled broadly. “Well, I’ll be damned. You took the leap, tadpole. Congratulations to you both. Dahlia, you do realize my brother is getting the better part of the bargain.”

  She shook her head. “I am satisfied. No complaints yet.”

  “She’s an angel,” Ronan said, realizing how easily she was letting him off. “We’d like to be married tomorrow.”

  Finn stared at him. “Sure, I see no problem with that.” He was obviously being sarcastic. “Have you sought her uncle’s permission? Do you have the special license?”

  “No to both. John Farthingale won’t deny us. But I’ll need your help to obtain the license. Tynan may be able to pull some strings and get it done for me if you don’t think you can–”

  “Who said I couldn’t do it? My connections are better than Tynan’s. He’s just an earl.” He shook his head and groaned. “You arse. Stop manipulating me. Fine. I’ll help you. I suppose the ceremony will have to be held here.”

  “Literally here,” Dahlia said. “In this bedchamber. He is not permitted out of bed for the next three days.”

  Miranda had been quiet this entire time. “Merciful heavens, three days in bed? Are you dying?”

  “No, Miranda. At least, not if I can help it.”

  Her expression alternated between wanting to hug her baby boy and wanting to smack him across the head for getting himself tangled in the tow ropes and falling into the icy water. “But you could have died while out there trying to move that blasted ship. It is the lead story in the newspapers today. Viscount Hawley had better approach me on bended knee, or I shall tear him a new ar–”

  “Mother!” he and Finn cried at once.

  “What? Is this any different from what Dahlia wishes to do to him?” She sat on the chair Finn had drawn next to Dahlia’s beside the bed.

  Ronan arched an eyebrow as he glanced at his beautiful bride to be. “Perhaps not, but she would never express it in quite those terms. She’s a lady.”

  Miranda was getting that dangerous gleam in her eyes. “Are you suggesting I am not?”

  “Mother, you are a harpy. And I mean it as a compliment. I look forward to your cutting a swath of destruction within the House of Lords. My only concern is that I’ll be laughing so hard after you are through with those hapless lords, I might rupture another vital organ.”

  She gave a harrumph. “I would do anything to protect my sons.”

  “I know.” He was starting to sweat, and his pain was getting worse. But he wasn’t going to confide this to any of them.

  As though sensing his discomfort, Dahlia rose and went around to the other side of the bed to read the note her uncle had left for them. “Finn, what time is it?”

  He removed his watch fob from his breast pocket. “Five o’clock.”

  She pinched her lips. “He’s to get more laudanum in an hour. But I need to put a damp cloth on his forehead now.”

  Ronan knew the note did not say anything about a compress since Dahlia’s uncle had discussed the instructions with him as he wrote them down. But he was sweating, and Dahlia was going to do her best not to alarm anyone. In all likelihood, this discomfort would pass.

  He had closed his eyes but opened them now that Dahlia was seated on the bed, easing closer to place the cloth on his brow. She felt along his neck.

  By her expression, he knew his skin was burning.

  Damn it.

  He wanted to marry her.

  He wanted to spend a lifetime with her, and by lifetime he meant more than one bloody day.

  By eight o’clock, George Farthingale was back. “Joshua, he needs to be put in an ice bath now.”

  Miranda, Joshua, Finn, and Tynan were in the room with h
im, but his gaze sought Dahlia. “Where is she?”

  If she was still in here, she was hidden by his family of giants.

  “Dahlia’s downstairs grabbing something to eat,” Miranda said. “She hasn’t touched a bite since breakfast early this morning. I doubt she has the appetite, but she must get something in her, or Dr. Farthingale will have another patient to add to his list. Holly is looking after her. She’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Miranda’s eyes were red. Had she been crying?

  Hell, was he dying?

  He had no intention of going without the fight of his life. He did not care about this for himself. He’d chosen a life in the military, and it was a hazard of the job. But he could not leave Dahlia. How was he to protect her if he was gone?

  Once the ice bath was prepared, Miranda left the room while his brothers and Robbie carefully carried him to the tub and ever so gently set him in it. He was so hot, he could feel the ice melt as it touched his skin. But the cold water felt good on his body.

  He hadn’t washed up since reaching London. His hair could use a good scrubbing. “I need a washcloth and some sandalwood soap.”

  Joshua growled. “Damn it, Ronan. What do you think this is? A Roman bath? There are no handmaidens to do your bidding. You are in here to get your fever down and keep you from convulsing.”

  “Dahlia isn’t getting anywhere near you for a while,” Tynan said. “That unguent Dr. Farthingale will apply again once you dry off will have you smelling like moldy cheese.”

  “Och, I’ll do it. The lad’s in love. If he wants clean hair, that’s what he’ll get.” Robbie surprised them all by kneeling beside him and carefully pouring water over his head. He then grabbed two soaps he found beside the ewer and held them out to him. “Ye have a choice. Do ye wish to smell like a rosebud or a stick of cinnamon? These must be Dahlia’s soaps.”

  Finn laughed. “From the famous Oxfordshire Farthingale soap company. Yes, this one is definitely roses. And this other one is a cinnamon and apple blend.”

  Tynan arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You’ve become quite the fragrance expert.”