The Gift of Love (The Book of Love 8)

by Meara Platt

  “No, love. You take away my pain.”

  “Says the man now struggling for breath.” She rolled her eyes. “Let me help you lie back down.”

  He shook his head. “I have to take off this robe first. Turn around.”

  She refused, smirking instead. “And miss the sight of your body? I can do this now. I am your wife. You are my husband. Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

  He was not keen on showing himself off when he could do nothing productive with his given attributes. But he was glad she was no shy miss who would need coaxing into his bed when the time came. Two days. He would not be healed yet, but sufficiently along not to do himself too much damage when he finally claimed her.

  Besides, there were ways to minimize the strain on his ribs.

  He did not have to be the one on top.

  A knock at the door took him out of his thoughts and relieved him of the need to refuse Dahlia’s offer of assistance. “That will be my brothers and Robbie come to help me back in bed.”

  She looked disappointed but said nothing as she walked to the door to open it. “Come in.”

  “Ye need yer laudanum,” Robbie said, heading to the bureau to prepare it for him.

  “And your unguent,” Tynan said, looking none too pleased as he picked up the pot and a clean washcloth.

  Finn and Joshua helped him out of the robe and eased him back against the pillows and under the sheets.

  Dahlia was lost amid these men who were attending to him with the precision of a military drill.

  The strain of standing for the wedding and then taking the laudanum proved too much. Despite his stubborn struggles, he fell asleep within minutes.

  “What time is it?” he asked when he awoke, still groggy from the laudanum and inhaling the putrid scent of the unguent on his chest. He wasn’t even sure anyone was in the room with him. Night had fallen, and the house was quiet. Then he noticed one lonely figure seated in a chair beside the hearth, staring into the golden blaze of flames. “Queen Pea?”

  She turned to him. “It’s almost midnight. You slept soundly. I knew this day was too much for you.”

  He struggled to a sitting position.

  “Ronan, don’t!” She rose and hurried to his side. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “You’re still dressed. Do you have a nightrail with you?”

  She nodded. “Yes. One of those flimsy, silk things. But I wasn’t sure...”

  He smiled. “Let me help you out of your gown and into that flimsy garment. However, I intend to have it off you in short order, so you needn’t put it on for my sake.”

  “So you think I ought to stay with you tonight?”

  “Hell, yes. Where else would you be?” He realized his chest was coated with that slimy substance. “Blast. Perhaps you are better off with Heather. I can’t blame you for not wanting to get near me.”

  “It isn’t that. My nose has adjusted to the odor. And it isn’t you who smells bad, it’s just that poultice. I could use your help with these stays and laces.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “If you’re all right with it.”

  He groaned. “I’m more than all right having you in bed with me. If your nose can take it, then hop in.” But he silently cursed his injury as he watched her slip the gown off her body and carefully set it over the chair. She then sat in the chair to take off her shoes and stockings.

  He was the one who ought to be doing this for her, who ought to be sliding his hands along her body, holding her and kissing every delectable inch of her.

  When she rose to remove her chemise, his breath caught. She stood outlined in the fire’s glow, the fabric so delicately thin, he could see the dark patch at the junction of her thighs and the dark rose tips of her breasts.

  He closed his eyes and quietly shuddered, trying to quell his low-brain frenzy.

  He knew she’d be beautiful.

  Watching her undress was a thing of splendor.

  It did not matter that she had moved to hide behind the chair while trying to quickly slip off the chemise and don her equally thin nightrail. It was a skimpy, silken thing that hugged her body and showed more of her nicely endowed chest than it hid.

  Whoever designed this garment, knew what they were doing.

  Those glimpses of her skin had him excited, he would admit. But it was those parts strategically hidden that had his eyes bulging and his brain working double time. He needed to see what lay beneath.

  He’d read about this effect in the book. It wasn’t a matter of curiosity or even urgency. It was a primal urge that sprang from the depths of his soul, the first thing his primal brain sought, and the first thing his eyes went to. Her breasts. The source of life for his offspring.

  The source of pleasure and desire for him.

  She climbed into bed beside him, slipping under the covers so that the only barrier between them was her soon to be discarded nightrail.

  Next, he had to figure out how to pleasure her without sliming her or the bedcovers...or puncturing his lung again. He gave it considerable thought as she wrapped her lovely body against his arm and nestled close.

  In truth, he knew just how to accomplish it. However, Dahlia would need some convincing because this was not something one sprang on one’s innocent wife.

  Although she was not shy about assuming her wifely duties, this one was too much to ask of her this first time out.

  She was not going to hop atop him and start dancing with abandon on his private parts.

  He lay in the dark for a while longer before finally turning to her. “Queen Pea...”

  She gave a little snuffle in response, then her breaths became smooth and even.

  He glanced up at the ceiling and quietly groaned.

  She had fallen asleep.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her soft palm. “I love you,” he whispered and fell back to sleep himself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ronan had dutifully remained in bed, following Dr. Farthingale’s instructions to the letter for the past week, which meant he had not been allowed to return to his parliamentary duties on Monday or any other day, and he had not yet claimed Dahlia properly as his wife. Today, he was going to take care of these two important matters.

  The first was to attend the Parliament session on the navy budget vote. The Lord Admiral had done his best to retain the support previously secured, but Ronan had been the linchpin during these negotiations and knew his absence had hurt their position. He needed to be there today to herd these lords back in the proper direction.

  The second important matter was to finally consummate his marriage to Dahlia. Nothing was going to stop him from this undertaking. No revolting unguent. No raw, aching bones.

  Not even doctor’s orders.

  He was going to bed his wife tonight and had no intention of shirking that duty.

  He had just stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist when Dahlia came in. “Oh, my heavens.” Her eyes rounded, and she gaped at him.

  “Is something wrong, Queen Pea?”

  She laughed. “Other than my rattled brain? I thought you’d be dressed by now. But my goodness, I’m glad you’re not. I am very much enjoying the sight of you.”

  He shook his head in dismay. “I’m moving a little slow this morning. It’s to be my first day outside of this bedchamber.”

  “Let me help you, my love. Joshua’s carriage is already out front. He’s eager to be on his way. Yours is not the only budget the House of Lords will be voting on.”

  “It will take me only a minute to dress.”

  “Nonsense. It will take you an hour at the speed you are moving.” She teasingly sighed. “It is a tragic shame to cover up that splendid body of yours. The sacrifices a wife must make for her country.”

  They were still in Joshua’s home since Dr. Farthingale had admonished them not to move him yet. But this forced idleness had done wonders for him. The burning in his chest had subsided. His ri
bs ached only the littlest bit. His head no longer felt as though elephants were stomping on it, and his eyes no longer blurred whenever he turned too quickly.

  As soon as he was dressed and had donned his boots, he pulled Dahlia onto his lap. “You look beautiful, Queen Pea.” He kissed her tenderly, his lips seeking hers as he drew her body against his, always loving the way she felt against him and the cinnamon scent of her skin.

  Her lips molded to his, and she clung to his shoulders with sweet urgency. “Ronan,” she whispered, her eyes still closed as she absorbed the lingering sensation of his touch after he ended the kiss, “we had better go downstairs, or Joshua and Holly will leave without us.”

  “Right.” He sighed and allowed her to slip out of his arms. “You really do look beautiful.”

  She was wearing a dark blue gown, once again, nothing fancy. Just elegant and subtly catching to the eye. He watched as she put on her hat, a pretty thing in a dark blue fabric to match her gown and a small feather sticking out of the top. She set it on her head so that it jauntily tipped to one side and somehow made her eyes look bigger.

  Gorgeous eyes.

  Her hair was done up in a loose twist so that he could see the highlights of gold and copper peeking out from beneath her hat.

  She looked breathtaking.

  He felt a surge of pride that he would be the one escorting her into the halls of Parliament.

  “About time you got down here,” Joshua muttered but made certain to help him into the carriage.

  Ronan fell heavily against the squabs, irritated that the slight effort of climbing in had sent pain shooting up his sides and across his chest. Dahlia settled beside him, her eyes filled with concern. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” he assured her.

  She curled her arm in his and clung to him as the carriage rolled through the busy London streets. They did not have far to go, but even this short ride badly jostled his ribs. Dahlia knew it. Joshua and Holly knew it. But his expression must have been fierce, for none of them dared to utter a word about his discomfort.

  It would have been pointless.

  He would have denied it.

  He was going to be present for the vote even if it killed him...as it well might, he decided when the carriage bounced over a particularly large rut. “Bollocks, how much did you pay for this cheap contraption?”

  Joshua shot him a look that was somewhere between a smirk and a glower. “You’re the problem, not the carriage. Behave yourself, you arse, or I’ll toss you out and leave you to walk to Parliament on your own.”

  He closed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll shut up. I suppose I owe you for saving my life.” He felt Dahlia shudder beside him. “Sweetheart, I’m just being surly. All’s well.”

  Which it wasn’t, and they all knew it.

  But he only needed to hold himself together for another hour at the most. His three earl cousins, Tynan, James, and Marcus, were standing out front, obviously awaiting their carriage. He should have known they would be here, for this was typical wildebeest behavior, the stronger ones coming to the rescue of their weakest, gathering around him to protect him.

  “I’ll punch the first one of you who dares carry me inside,” he warned, appreciating their concern, but not wanting them to overdo it.

  “Fine,” Marcus said, “but we’re sticking close. Miranda will kick us to Bedfordshire and back if any harm comes to her baby boy.”

  He groaned. “Is she here yet?”

  “No, thank goodness,” Tynan muttered.

  Ronan turned to James, Earl of Exmoor, and the eldest of the eight wildebeests. “How are you feeling today?” He glanced at his cousin’s mangled leg, suddenly feeling ashamed for behaving like a petulant and infantile tyrant. James had been wounded badly in the war, his face and body scarred, and his leg so badly injured, were it not for George Farthingale’s miraculous treatment, the leg would have been amputated.

  James nodded. “I’m fine. Sophie came along with me today. She knew Holly and Dahlia would be here and wanted to join them. She’s already seated in the spectator gallery, holding their two seats.”

  Dahlia smiled. “Excellent, shall we join her now?”

  “No,” James said. “Not you, Dahlia. You see, Ronan is England’s hero at the moment. He needs to play it up to the hilt. This means making his entrance with you by his side. The newspapers and their readership will devour it. A wounded hero in love with his beautiful, new bride.”

  He turned to Ronan. “Here, take my cane. Use it to walk in. You can give it back to me later.”

  Ronan did not immediately reach for it.

  James frowned at him. “Don’t be a prideful arse. Do you want your budget to pass?”

  “But what about you? Don’t you need it?” The last thing he wanted was for James to fall. Nothing was worth seeing him helpless on the floor and humiliated.

  “Marcus and Tynan will stay close to me. Dahlia, do you think you can pretend to love my stubborn cousin? Cast him an adoring glance or two?”

  She laughed. “I shall try. How’s this?”

  “Irresistible.” Ronan groaned. “I’m going to carry you off to a dark corner and have my way with you.”

  James clapped him on the shoulder. “Cavort naked in the Thames, if you like. I hear you enjoy taking plunges into icy waters. But not before the vote. Come on. Let’s go in.”

  The wildebeests peeled back to allow Ronan the undivided attention. To his surprise, the Duke of Stoke immediately approached them. He bowed gallantly over Dahlia’s hand, obviously pleased to see her. “I have my daughter back, and I owe it all to you.”

  When the duke left their side, Dahlia turned to him in a fret. “Oh, Ronan. I hope this is true. But I’m so worried disaster is about to strike.”

  “Let’s hope not. Perhaps Lady Melinda will fall in love with someone new. And it sounds like this Dawson character has a good head on his shoulders. He’s likely to put her off so that she’ll give up and seek a real marquess this time, instead of the fake marquess she’s been going on about.”

  Dahlia nodded pensively. “I wonder if he is fake, after all. What if her marquess actually does exist?”

  “Fret about it later. Cheer up, Queen Pea. Everyone will believe you’re tired of me already.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “That will never happen. I love you, Ronan.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The Duke of Edgeware came up to them, similarly bowing over Dahlia’s hand and casting her a grin. “Dillie says I am not allowed home if your husband’s budget does not pass. I’m rather fond of my wife. Rather enjoy sharing our cozy home with her. So don’t fail me, Brayden. That budget had better pass.”

  Dahlia smiled, knowing Edgeware’s cozy home was one of the finest houses in London. But she had no doubt it was filled with happiness and warmth because he and Dillie truly loved each other. “Give my cousin a hug for me. Your Grace, I sincerely hope all will be successful, and you shall return victorious to her open arms.”

  This is how they made their way onto the floor of the House of Lords, constantly stopped by well-wishers and taking a moment to respond with good cheer. The Lord Admiral greeted them but quickly stepped aside to allow others to approach them. Ronan received congratulations from many of the lords, not only for his rescue of The Invictus but also for his marriage to his obviously beautiful and adoring bride.

  They only had a moment before the Earl of Wycke stepped forward to escort Dahlia to the spectator gallery. But that brief moment, and the love shining in her eyes as she bid him farewell, was enough to have every newspaper sketch artist suddenly pulling out their pads and furiously drawing Dahlia, intent on capturing her perfect expression of love.

  Ronan’s gaze did not leave her as she was led out of the hall.

  His were not the only eyes following her, nor was his heart the only one sad to see her leave. There was something enchanting about Dahlia, a natural beauty and grace that captivated more than a few old lords and several younger ones as well
.

  Joshua lightly nudged him. “Session’s about to be brought to order. Wipe that besotted grin off your face, or these peers will make mincemeat out of you.”

  Reluctantly, Ronan returned his attention to the business at hand. If not for today’s vote, neither he, Joshua, nor Robbie would have been permitted to remain in the main chamber of the House of Lords once the Lord Chancellor opened the session. But this was the special day they’d all been working hard toward these many months.

  His budget was brought up first. Despite scowls and grumbling from Lord Peckham, who made a feeble attempt to fault him for The Invictus incident, it easily passed.

  Since the lords and the public had also heard of Joshua’s feats of heroism in saving Ronan, it was no surprise that the army budget also passed with little objection.

  Usually, he and Joshua would have left the floor once their presence was no longer necessary, but they remained in a show of support for Robbie and the Scottish military forces.

  It suddenly struck Ronan that his friend, despite having hordes of women in the spectator gallery swooning over him, was quite alone.

  Of course, Robbie would flirt with these women afterward. But right now, his concentration was on the peers, and he did not glance up even once at the ladies. Was there not one among them who had captured his interest?

  Ronan knew it would take a very special young lady to claim this tough Scot’s heart.

  He was also sad to note there were very few Scottish lords present to support Robbie. Not even his grandfather, the Earl of Caithness, was in attendance. That old fox was among the sixteen Scottish peers permitted to sit in the House of Lords. But most of them were already on their way north because they could not be present to cast their votes and also make it up to Scotland in time for their Hogmanay celebrations.

  Indeed, Robbie was alone, the burden of obtaining sufficient funds for the Highlands regiments falling upon his lone shoulders.

  As for the holidays, Robbie would be included in all the Brayden festivities, of course. Likely the Earl of Wycke would have him over as well since Wycke’s sister was married to Robbie’s brother. But it wasn’t the same as sharing the holidays with family.