Swear by Moonlight

by Shirlee Busbee

  It was a simple ceremony, Patrick's voice carrying clear and bold as he repeated his vows; Thea's softer, but ringing out just as clearly to the assembled guests. And then it was over. They were wed.

  Thea remembered little of the remainder of the day. She knew that the guests were invited out into the garden while the pews magically disappeared and tables laden with refreshments just as magically replaced them. She knew that she and Patrick were congratulated and exclaimed over, that they danced and drank and ate and laughed, but none of it was real to her. Only one thing was real—Patrick. Her husband. As the afternoon progressed, she was so aware of him, so conscious of that tall, hard body standing next to hers, that she could not concentrate on what was being said around her. Conversations, comments, questions, kind or barbed, went right over her head, her whole focus being on the way her skin tingled whenever she brushed against him or the leap of her heart whenever their eyes met. She wanted, ached, she admitted, to be alone with him. To have him do again all those wanton things he'd already done with her. A shiver of anticipation went through her.

  Remembering vividly the previous night, of her back pressed against the wall, gown tossed over his shoulders, as he had tasted and feasted between her thighs, a flush flew to her cheeks and she was conscious of sudden, embarrassing dampness flourishing between her legs. She was a shameless wanton. But she didn't care; all she cared was that he was her husband and she would lie tonight in his arms.

  Because their wedding had been arranged so precipitously, no formal plans for a bridal journey had been made. Patrick had suggested earlier to Thea that they might spend the first few nights of their marriage in his London house. At the beginning of the week, they could decide upon a destination that would take them away from all the prying eyes that they were likely to encounter if they remained in London. Thea had concurred.

  Of course, she had her own reasons for not wanting to leave the city immediately—her promise to meet on Monday with Edwina's terrifying gentleman, Mr. Yates. Preoccupied with the wedding and a dead man, Mr. Yates and that particular problem had been pushed to the back of her mind, but she had not forgotten about him. She might be Mrs. Patrick Blackburne now, but Mr. Yates was one last detail that she was determined to take care of herself. The enormous sum of money had already been withdrawn; all she had to do was elude her new husband for a short while on Monday and confront Mr. Yates at Edwina's house.

  Thea was prepared to give Mr. Yates the money he had demanded from Edwina... this time, but she was determined to strongly impress upon him that, no matter what other debts he might claim Hirst owed him, no more money would be forthcoming. Ever. Modesty had urged her to consider that it might be wise to have Patrick meet with Mr. Yates, but Thea had dismissed that notion. Patrick might agree with her decision to pay the man... or he might not. If she involved him, and he decided not to pay Hirst's debt, as her husband, with control of her fortune, it would be his prerogative. If he chose not to pay Mr. Yates, leaving her sister to fend for herself, Edwina would end up being dunned and hounded by a fellow who obviously frightened her. With Patrick holding the purse strings, Thea would be unable to help her. She did not believe that Patrick would prove to be so unreasonable, or unkind, but she was not prepared to take the chance. Better she handle this matter herself and worry about the consequences when her husband found out, as she was sure he would eventually, than to run the risk of Edwina being left alone to face Hirst's sins.

  Thea didn't feel that she was precisely hiding what she intended to do from Patrick; she viewed it more in the nature of cleaning up old business. Her business.

  But at the moment, she wasn't thinking of Mr. Yates or the meeting on Monday; all her thoughts were on Patrick and how soon they could leave and be alone. A pang of guilt assailed her. Lady Caldecott had gone to a great deal of trouble to make the day and setting as charming and lovely as possible, and all Thea wanted to do was leave.

  That moment could not come swiftly enough for Patrick, though from the polite expression on his face, no one could have guessed that he was impatient and eager to be alone with his bride. As physically aware of Thea as she was of him, Patrick had been in a semierect state since they had been pronounced man and wife. And with his skintight breeches, it created an awkward time for him.

  Time and again, as they moved through the crowd, he kept his lower body half-concealed behind Thea's gown and cursed his unruly member. She was simply too damned alluring. He didn't want to be here, smiling and talking to strangers. What he wanted was to be alone with his bride. Naked.

  Though they were continually engulfed by well-wishers, all of his senses were concentrated on her. The mere sight of her slender form quickened his pulse, and the spicy scent that drifted up from her body teased him to find its source. As they accepted the good wishes of the guests, he was aware of the silky softness of her hand and arm beneath his fingers and could not help caressing that tender flesh. The slight, seductive huskiness of her voice seemed to wrap itself around him, charming him and arousing him at the same time. And while it had been hours ago, the taste of their wedding kiss lingered on his lips; he was avid to taste again the sweetness of her mouth.

  His organ swelled at the images coursing through his mind, and with something between a groan, a curse, and a plea, he pulled Thea aside from the latest group of well-wishers, and muttered, "We have been here for hours—it is time that we depart. If we do not, I fear I shall do something shocking."

  From across the room, Lady Caldecott observed the pair of them and smiled to herself. She may not have heard what her son had said to his bride, but she had a very good idea what was on his mind. She might be Patrick's mother, and considered long past the urgent mating commands of the body, but too well did she know the demands that desire could place upon one.

  Lord Caldecott smiled, touching her hand with his, their eyes meeting. He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss against the scented flesh. "Congratulations on a job well-done, my dear." He studied the ever-shifting crowd before them. "I did not think it could be done on such short notice, but you have made your son's wedding the event of the season. There will be much moaning and gnashing of teeth by those who were unable to attend... or not invited."

  "Yes, I know," she replied, an amused gleam in her fine eyes. "Which was the whole point." The gleam vanished, and she looked again at Thea and Patrick. "Do you think they will be happy?"

  He shrugged. "Perhaps, but if they are not, it is no fault of yours." He smiled. "Of course, there is the fact that by moving so swiftly you did not give him a chance to choose anyone else."

  Lady Caldecott made a face. "Yes, I did do that, but I think, in the end, that I did the right thing. Who knew what those two would have gotten up to without a little push in the right direction." She gave a small shudder. "Agreeing to become his mistress! What was the child thinking of?"

  "I do not think that a young woman of seven-and-twenty could be considered a child." A speculative expression on his patrician features, he looked at Patrick and Thea. "It might have been interesting to watch their courtship. It certainly would have been entertaining."

  "And scandalous!"

  He flashed her a sleepy-eyed glance. "Scandal serves its purpose, my dear."

  Her fingers went to the pearls around her throat. "That may be, but I did not want my son or his prospective bride to be fodder for all the wicked tongues in London. Considering Patrick's reputation, as a rake, ripe and ready for any lark, and hers for, for—well, with her past, the ton would have fallen upon them like a pack of famished wolves. It would have been ugly. Enough so that it could have blighted the whole affair." She looked again at the newlyweds, her features softening. "She is the first woman who has ever touched his heart, and from what Modesty has told me, I believe that he is the first man to have deeply touched hers. I dared not let circumstances conspire against them." Her chin came up. "I have no regrets for what I have done."

  "Bravo! And you should not, my pet. Regret
s are for fools." Noticing, not for the first time, her nervous toying with the heavy strand of pearls around her neck, he frowned. "I thought you were going to wear your diamonds today."

  She started, her hand dropping to her side. "Oh, I considered them, but decided that they were far too ostentatious for an afternoon wedding. The pearls were much better." She smiled at him. "Besides, they were a gift from you."

  He bowed and kissed her hand. "Remind me to buy you the brooch that matches them."

  "You are very good to me," she said.

  "Yes, I am," he replied, his pale blue eyes caressing her.

  Even at her age, Lady Caldecott blushed at the warmth behind his look. Her heart fluttered beneath her puce-covered bosom, and she wondered how she could be so fortunate, at her time of life, to be so besottedly in love... and loved in return. Her eyes flashed. And she was not going to let the past destroy her future. Her fingers went again to the pearls. Damn those letters! And damn the person who threatened her happiness.

  During the next few hours, Lady Caldecott gave no further thought to her troubles. From across the room, Patrick signaled that they would soon be leaving, and she made her way to their sides. Pressing a warm kiss on Thea's cheek, she said, "Be happy, my dear." As she looked at her tall son, a lump suddenly formed in her throat. Hiding the emotion that welled up inside of her, she gave him a sharp tap on his cheek, and muttered, "And if you are not happy, it will be your own fault."

  Patrick grinned at her.

  And then in a flurry of laughter and ribald teasing, Patrick and Thea made a dash for the front of the house. And then they were gone. To start, Lady Caldecott hoped fervently, a long and happy life together.

  After the departure of the newlyweds, the excitement ebbed and an hour or so later, Lord and Lady Caldecott were bidding the last stragglers good-bye. Ten minutes later, having giving the butler and the housekeeper their orders, Lady Caldecott was upstairs in her room, preparing for a quiet evening with her husband.

  Having changed from her wedding clothes into an elegant blue-silk negligee trimmed with blond lace, Lady Caldecott dismissed her maid for the evening. Alone in her rooms, she was brushing her now-loosed hair, her thoughts on her husband's anticipated arrival, when her gaze fell on the small silver salver sitting on the corner of her dressing table. There was an envelope lying there, putting down her brush, she stared at it for several minutes.

  She told herself that the envelope contained nothing more than an innocuous message; a friend expressing regret for not being able to attend the wedding or a frivolous answer to a note she herself had written perhaps days ago. Whatever was inside that square envelope would have nothing to do her blackmailer. But deep in her heart she knew differently.

  The house had been crowded today with strangers; guests, delivery people, and newly hired servants pressed into service to help with the anticipated crush. The place had been a beehive of activity since early this morning, and if someone had wanted to leave behind a note anonymously, today would have been the day. She thought of ringing for Grimes and asking him when and where the note had been found, but she knew it would be futile. Whoever had left it had chosen the time and the place well. Grimes, or one of the other servants, had probably discovered it lying in a conspicuous spot sometime after the guests starting arriving. She would have been busy and preoccupied, and Grimes had probably had the note delivered to her rooms for her perusal later. No one would have given it any significance.

  Looking at it as she would a viper, she reached over and picked it up and opened it. As she had suspected, it was from the blackmailer.

  I find that my need is great and I can wait no longer. You must deliver to me, no later than midnight Sunday, the sum of ten thousand pounds. You know where to leave it.

  She didn't, not really, but suspected the note referred to the house on Curzon Street. Setting the note down, she stared into space. Under the circumstances, and she surmised the blackmailer had already taken that fact into his plan, she could not ask Patrick to meet with this insufferable scoundrel. She frowned. She could take the money and go to the Curzon Street house herself, but something inside of her rebelled at tamely giving away a fortune.

  It wasn't paying the money, she realized, that she objected to, so much as being shorn like a lamb. She didn't doubt that if she met his demand, it would only be the first of many. There was another reason she dismissed the notion of following the instructions of the note: She was not a fool, although she could not deny that she had acted the fool upon occasion, but she was long past the reckless age of leaping and thinking later. She had no intention of going alone to that particular house at that hour of the night. Especially not with ten thousand pounds! Of course, she could ask one of the servants to accompany her, but that was simply silly and might very well put both of them in danger. So what was she going to do? There was really only one solution, she thought with a sigh, and it was what she should have done in the first place.

  Her expression set, she picked up the note and rose to her feet. Resolution in every step, she crossed the room to the door that separated her bedroom from her husband's. She gave a brief rap on the door and entered.

  Lord Caldecott's bedroom was dark and empty, but the flickering light that came from the adjoining sitting room, gave her a clue to his whereabouts. Not giving herself a chance to change her mind, she walked toward the light, her heart heavy in her breast.

  The letters had been written long ago, and they should not have mattered to her, but they did. Terribly. They showed that she had not always been the arbiter of virtue that she was today. Those letters revealed that once she had been wild and wanton and... and scandalous. She was not ashamed of the passionate emotions she had written of all those years before, but she did fear what her husband might make of them... that he might think less of her—that he might begin to look upon her with contempt.

  Before they married, Lord Caldecott had been a well-known roué and she the epitome of virtuous respectability. Their marriage stunned the polite world, both of them coming from such very different parts of the ton. Both were wellborn and wealthy, but her world was one of fashionable decorum; his the rakish sphere inhabited by hard drinkers, gamblers, and womanizers. Their respective pasts were not something they had ever discussed, the power and astonishing wonder of their love sweeping aside whatever their histories might have held.

  Lady Caldecott had known her husband's reputation before they married, and, despite being confident that he did love her, she could not help thinking that perhaps part of her allure for him had been her very respectability. A gentleman could have all the mistresses he wished, but for a woman of her station to have embarked upon a torrid affair with a married man was something the polite world would not forgive. To discover that she was not quite the virtuous woman Lord Caldecott had thought her to be might very well undermine their very marriage. She knew she was being as fearful and silly as a green girl, but she could not help it. Her husband thought her above reproach, and she did not want to disillusion him—or have him look at her with disgust.

  Entering the pleasant sitting room decorated in shades of blue and cream, she spied him sitting on one of the blue-damask sofas. He was wearing a sapphire blue silk dressing robe and apparently enjoying a snifter of brandy.

  At her entrance, he put down his snifter and stood up. Walking over to her, he kissed her on the cheek. "Ah, my love, you are a sight to warm any man's heart. Especially this man's heart." He gestured toward the satinwood sideboard that sat against the far wall. "Would you care for something to drink? Some wine?"

  She took a deep breath. "A brandy will be fine. A large one."

  His brows rose, but he said nothing, merely crossing to the sideboard and pouring her a brandy in a snifter. Handing it to her, he said, "Have you decided that you needed something a little stronger after today?"

  "It-it-it isn't because of today," she muttered, and sank down onto an identical sofa across from the one upon which he had been sitti
ng. Holding the snifter in both hands, she breathed in the smoky bouquet. She took a drink, coughing a little at the bite of the strong liquor.

  A faint frown in his eyes, he retook his seat across from her. Lifting his own brandy, he sipped it. "So what is it that has you forsaking your usual ladylike libations?"

  She looked at him. "Do you love me?" she blurted out, her fingers gripping the snifter. Mortified at her outburst, her gaze dropped. She was a fool! What must he be thinking? That he had married a goose-brained ninny?

  He appeared astounded. Putting down his snifter, he moved to sit beside her on the couch. He took her snifter away and after setting it down on the floor, pulled her into his arms. With her head nestled against his shoulder, he said, "Suppose you tell me what this is all about. And yes," he murmured, pressing a warm kiss into her temple, "I do love you. Never doubt it."

  Lady Caldecott did not know where to start, but eventually, her eyes fixed upon the sculpted blue carpet, she told him the entire story. Everything. He did not interrupt; when she finished there was a small silence.

  "Well, that certainly explains your son's many visits," he finally said. "I confess that I had wondered about them—he had never struck me as a young man who would be content to be dandled on his mother's knee." He turned her to face him. His blue eyes smiling, he murmured, "In fact, he rather reminded me of myself—before, of course, I met you and embarked upon a more respectable life."

  Lady Caldecott flushed and looked away. With a gentle finger, he turned her face back to him. "I did not mean to tease you, my love. It is just that I find myself in a bit of a dilemma. This is not quite how I had planned for this to happen. You have surprised me—most agreeably, I will admit."

  Puzzled, she stared at him. A whimsical expression on his features, he said, "You are not the only one with a confession. Wait here, I have something to show you." Leaving her on the sofa, he disappeared into his bedroom. Returning almost immediately, he handed her a small packet of letters.