Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3)

by Susan Ward

  His laughter deepened, coming from lower in his chest and with greater humor. “I want to make love to you too, Little One. But don’t you think we’ve been enough of a scandal for one day? You can see this meadow from the house.”

  “For a man of such wicked legend, you are amazingly without ingenuity at times.” She kissed his neck. “Pick me up,” came her airy imperative.

  Adjusting her slight weight, he moved gracefully to his feet. He felt a spray of kisses on his neck, interrupted by her tongue in gently swirling patterns and her body was claimed more with sweet urgency than humor now.

  A laugh and a breath taken in quickly. “If you don’t mean for me to take you here you had better have thought this through a little.” His laughter was carried down her throat with the sweet movement of his lips. “Any particular direction?”

  Gasping softly, she whispered, “The gravel path over there. Why do you think I had you pick me up? I haven’t any shoes on.”

  It took only a few minutes to reach the hay barn unobtrusively tucked in a small wood. With a lusty kiss, she slipped from his arms, pulled him inside and locked the door behind him. She turned and smiled wickedly. Barefoot, she climbed the ladder to the loft and was sitting on a quilt when he joined her.

  Laughing, he noted the blankets, pillows, books, a silver bowl half full of berries and other scattering of belongings which were clearly Merry’s. Arching a brow, “My, you have been planning this, haven’t you?”

  Desire was rioting through her veins as she moved closer on her knees to one-by-one free the buttons on his shirt. “Where do you think I have been going all these months to hide from you?” she whispered in husky amusement, ripping the last of his buttons fastened. She spread the tumbling fabric open over his chest and moved to rub a cheek against the warm layer of fur there.

  “My poor Merry, now you have nowhere to escape from me at all.” He was gently removing her clothes between fervent kisses, his smile a luxuriant haze.

  Against his hands, she said, her voice almost silence, “Escaping you is impossibility, you insufferable man. What do you image I have been out here thinking about?”

  Their gazes met, the meeting infinitely sweet as he gathered her hot body against him. “Being ravished by a pirate in a hay barn?”

  Several moments passed before she answered him, her breath quick and halting through the spinning pleasure of his love play and feeling him ease himself as deeply into her as he could go, she pulled back to say on a caressing whisper, “I only fantasize about being ravished by my husband.”

  “Then give me your mouth, Little One. And let your husband ravish you well.”

  ~~~

  Lucien Merrick found his wife in their bedchamber. Her tiny body was alluringly covered by a delicate lace dressing gown as she sat on her knees before a small fire. There was no mistaking the expression on her glowing and lovely face. The woman was happy.

  He settled in the chair beside her, unable to stop his scowl. “What the devil are you so pleased about?” And then in sneering afterthought, he added, “Little One.”

  Her soft chocolate eyes turned on him, sparkling. “Behave, Lucien. My, you are in a vile temper tonight. I would have thought it would lessen because of Merry’s happiness.”

  “Why the hell can’t he call Merry by her name?”

  Amusement now danced with the smile in Rhea’s eyes. “He handles our daughter just right. An equal blend of whimsical and tender affection, iron control and enough shocking conduct to keep her well off balance and wanting him. Personally, I think he manages the girl brilliantly. Wellington should learn how to size up a target from him.”

  “I don’t want my daughter managed,” Lucien said through gritted teeth.

  “If he couldn’t manage her, he would never have been able to marry her.” Seeing her husband’s mood only darken, she added gently, “Oh, Lucien, you need to stop. She is a married woman. Leave her alone. I had all but given up hope of ever seeing our daughter settled in marriage. She’s settled well, Lucien. Varian has always been a favorite of mine. I could not be more pleased with how it all worked out. Now he is even dearer to me.”

  “Did you know he was violating my expressed wishes by sharing a bed with her in our house,” Lucien demanded furiously.

  “Yes, Lucien,” Rhea replied patiently, trying not to laugh.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Lucien pressed harshly. “I don’t appreciate it when you keep secrets from me, Rhea. You do realize we are now stuck with the man. There’s no hope of ending their union. Not now. Not with a child.”

  “Merry is in love with him. If you had annulled their marriage, you would have only made her miserable. If you had stayed out, this quarrel would have ended long ago.”

  “Love?” he scoffed. “She calls him an ‘insufferable man.’ Shows that the girl does have some good sense after all.”

  Rhea went to her husband then and settled in his lap. He was not taking this at all well, and with a gentle kiss against his neck, she whispered, “Lucien, my love, leave them alone and let them be happy as we were in our early days of marriage.”

  Rhea saw the subtle change in his fierce blue eyes. “Were? Are you saying you are not still happy, my dear. You seemed happy enough in my bed last night, minx. Or do you need reminding so soon?”

  Her kisses moved slowly up his neck. “I am deliciously happy, Lucien, as you have well known for over twenty-five years. Whatever your and Andrew’s intrigue is involving Varian, leave it alone, my love. I am happy, Merry is happy and I want us all to stay that way.”

  Rhea sensed a slight tension return to him then and quickly made efforts to turn his energies in directions other than temper. Her husky whisper caressed his ear as she demanded, “Come, darling, take me to bed. I fancy making love to a grandfather.”

  He picked her up, laying her in the center of their bed, staring down at her beautiful face washed with passion. “You don’t even look old enough to be a mother.”

  “For that, my love, you will leave this bed in the morning well satisfied.”

  ~~~

  Soft shots of morning light filtered through the weather worn wood of the ceiling above them as Merry gently stirred in her husband’s arms and slowly awakened to the quiet sounds of dawn. Languid at her husband’s side, her body was still warm from their lovemaking.

  An odd chirruping caused her to open her eyes and her gaze settled on Varian slumbering beside her, his image wonderfully disheveled. His sable hair lay in unkempt waves, the result of her fervent hands in their love play and mixed with the dark locks were wayward wisps of straw and grass. He had pushed the blankets down and they hung low on his hip, revealing that smooth expanse of flesh covering his beautifully sculptured chest and the splotches of berry juice she’s left there. One well-muscled arm stretched carelessly above his head and it was then she saw a tiny bird nesting only inches from the frighteningly large palm of his hand. In his undefended, imperfect splendor he had never looked more magnificent to her. Imperfection. Touch of Merry.

  Curling into him, his blood-hot flesh warming her skin, she lay her soft cheek against his chest and wished away the slow focusing of her drowsy mind being unpleasantly reclaimed by worries. Varian might have saved himself the effort of trying to dispel her fears; she could feel something was wrong, an ever present unease that intruded on her senses even in her bliss. That he didn’t confide in her only intensified her other uncertainties.

  She wondered about the strength of his love, if it were enough to keep him with her in what could only be little more than a life of quiet peace. Wondered if he were missing the wild freedom and adventure of the sea. Wondered if he was worried about Indy, knowing it had not been a pain free act for him to leave the boy.

  Feeling their child gently stir within her, the slow flutters and rolls, she was only beginning to fully experience how powerful the connection that one felt for the creations of their flesh. The boy was his son, the bond absolute, constantly held, always present
. And as much as she accepted Indy was his son, it shamed her that there was hurt, that Varian had once had another life, that perhaps he had loved Ann more, that she might drift into his memory even if she only took him from her for a moment, and that there was a product of his body on this earth not carried in love by her. It was a petty jealousy and she hated it. But it was real and it was there. He had lived so much before her; what could she possible offer him?

  “What’s wrong, Merry?” His voice above her was a quiet whisper, his large palm sliding over her middle to caress the rapid stirrings there.

  It didn’t surprise her he so effortless sensed her unease. His other hand moved to spread the curls on her neck, uncovering the receptive flesh to brush her skin with infinite softness in comforting strokes. She melted into the touch, willing it to sooth her worries.

  When she didn’t answer, he turned her body in his arms, easing her upward on his chest so that the full beauty of her face was above him. She smiled, but he knew that smile and wasn’t diverted by it. His hand, slowly lifted, came to her cheek to carefully glide its perfect structure. Her skin held a subtle tension beneath his touch.

  Natural worries about the future? Or was it more? It surprised him he couldn’t read what was bothering her, that her thoughts were claimed so deeply within her that they were concealed to him.

  “Won’t you tell me what it is, Merry?” he asked again softly.

  “It is nothing. It is everything.” She lowered her face then, hiding her expression by setting cheek against chest, and while the body he held was relaxed it was not peaceful. A minute passed and then he heard her say, “Why do you love me?”

  He was alert enough to the workings of her mind to know it was not a single faceted question and it turned outward to all the worries unvoiced by her between them. She was so young. How could he ever explain to her what she brought to his life?

  Lifting her chin, his gaze held hers with the gentleness of the lightest caress. “You are all the elements of the universe, Little One.” Softly, “You are the fire of the sun. The wildness of a storm at sea. The quiet of twilight. The softness of spring grass. The whimsy of leaves dancing in air. I am at peace with you. There is nothing for my senses to crave that you don’t carry in your body and your eyes and your mind. I need nothing more from this earth than what I feel with you here in my arms. If there were nothing beyond these hills, this barn, and you, I would have all that I need to be a happy a man. You float all through me, warming my soul with your passion and joy. You carry hope in your young flesh, and you engulf every part of my spirit with tenderness. Your slightest change of mood or humor, it is there in my flesh as you feel it. Every part of me is alive, aware and happy, unlike any sensation I have ever known before you with any person or in any pursuit or at any moment in my life. You are the perfect that makes the partial of me pass away.”

  Her beautiful face, lush with tears eased upward to join her lips with his. “You are an insufferable man,” she whispered, “I was lying here only prepared for some nonsense about my face or my beauty. Without ever voicing what is there inside me, you ease every worry by a single response. I have loved you forever. From the first time I saw you. From the days on ship. During the days I pretended to hate you. I have always loved you. You make me at peace and at one with myself. You are the perfect that makes the partial of me pass away.”

  He eased her back into the nest of the quilt, and proceeded to worship with his touch, his mouth and his body every fiber of her flesh until it was as cherished as his words had made her heart.

  ~~~

  It was impossible to get the hay from Merry’s hair. The long curls had turned to stubborn tangles and no matter how carefully or lovingly Varian tried to brush it free, with every gentle turn or swish new specks peeked bright from the darkness. Savoring the memory of what they’d just shared, he left one especially long leaf poking from the back.

  Their clothes had been removed with more haste than prudence and were delightfully rumpled, though that was the least of the problems with their dress. Merry’s gown had suffered a tear and the location made it necessary to wear her husband’s waistcoat. They were both tousled and untidy, fresh faced and happy, and if every part of their appearance gave notice of a couple who shared a night of love making in a hay loft, Varian could have cared less. It was part of Merry’s magic that he felt joy in any circumstance, in his desire to share the whimsical which at times was an inescapable part of loving her.

  They should have left at dawn. There was no way to pass the grounds at noon unnoticed now that the lush acres were cluttered with workers and the house well awake. Merry had all but resolved to stay until nightfall, but Varian had chided gently that both his Little Ones needed something to eat and he wasn’t going hide in a hay barn all day like a fool while his wife was hungry.

  Merry walked at his side, her tiny form hovering close against him almost as if willing herself invisible as her hand lightly clasped his. Her cheeks were a rainbow of rosy hues, and she focused on Varian’s face rather than the busy activity and curious stares she could feel around them.

  He was calm and dignified, acknowledging the looks and the sheepishly revealed knowing smiles with the never failing grace of his noble birth. He was as always utterly unselfconscious, at ease in the world and in himself despite the wonderfully preposterous picture he must have surely known he made. No other man could have ever maintained such presence as Varian did in a crumpled white shirt missing six out of twelve buttons.

  Fixing her wide doe eyes brightly on him, Merry inquired laughingly, “Are we engaging now in what you referred to yesterday as your best behavior?”

  A laugh. An arched brow. “My best behavior in this circumstance. Smile, Little One, you are being watched. You are drawing the most curious stares. Almost as if they want to know if you were willing last night in my arms, as if half the outbuildings on the grounds couldn’t hear your pleasure moans. I would not be surprised if your father had given them instruction to guard you from me. If you don’t relax I am apt to be rammed with a pitch fork.”

  Laughter floated from Merry’s lips as she lovingly relaxed her head against his chest. Opening her eyes she realized it was only half a jest. She placed a kiss on his arm and began to laugh stronger.

  “Wouldn’t that be such a humiliating end to such a spectacular life of villainy and terror? ‘Here lies Morgan, pirate and debaucher, death by impalement on a pitch fork.’”

  Merry’s words were a jest. She had sailed with him long enough to know most everything she had ever read about this man was myth, overblown exaggerations, and wild ravings most probably the result of his absolute love for drama. Every unsolved crime committed at sea was recklessly tossed on his head in England’s desperate need to put their fear in a single villain. He had been accused while she sailed with him of offenses she knew very well he hadn’t committed. Not by Morgan.

  While he was guilty of the crimes of piracy and smuggling, it was in a strangely virtuous way; the rest of the litany was more often nonsense and wild embellishment. He had gone to sea to find his son, had stayed at sea to raise and protect him. All his exploits had been a quiet manipulation to interfere with Rensdale’s villainy and bring about his ruin. His moves, for the most part every one of them, a counter reaction to his cousin. He was not even capable of the act of murder against the man who had caused his first wife’s death, held back by his inescapable loyalty to flesh of his blood, and unwilling to be pulled farther from himself than necessary. He had worked slowly, patiently, ten years to allow Rensdale’s own deeds to set his fate.

  Even his support for the Irish rebels was purely a generous and loyal act of this discreetly benevolent man. It had nothing to do with spite toward England or malice toward the society that had cast him out so cruelly. His acts were of unending silent gratitude to the cause of Ian Shay the elder, the man who had saved his son’s life and died aboard the Carolina doing so.

  Varian had lived a rich, full life, neithe
r saint nor sinner. Imperfect, human, complicated, but in the center of it all simply a man.

  Merry looked up at him. Varian seemed suddenly focused away from their playful aftermath of the hours of making love in a hay loft. She said, “I am sorry. It was unwise and dangerous of me to make that jest. I need to be more careful in my talk. I know that.”

  Those black eyes began to sparkle like berries. “You need have no fear of the workers, Little One. The farming equipment I know how to battle. It will more likely read, ‘here lies Morgan dead by his love for a beautiful lunatic, hanged by an angry father after a night in a hay loft though they were wed.’”

  Merry followed the direction of her husband’s gaze, grimaced, and thought Varian was most probably right. There in the front garden was her father, reclined on a chair near Rhea as she was enthusiastically shoving plants into pots. On Lucien’s face was a wash of unpleasant emotions too many to count. It was ridiculous.

  Varian’s arm slipped around her waist and eased Merry closer to him as his face lowered to her ear. That low voice came to her quietly, “I am sorry, Little One. I promised you my best behavior to keep peace with your father, and I have failed you already.”

  Merry frowned at Varian then, unsure what he was apologizing for. “If you are apologizing for last night, you insufferable man, I am going to hit you, right here, in front of them all. It is one of the few things you have done in the past two months you need not apologize to me for.”

  He smiled, a little wicked and very happy. Whispering now, because they were almost to her parents, “I am referring to that very long leaf of hay I left sticking from the back of your curls when you asked me to try to brush them.” And then with more meaning and more smile, “Very long.”

  Merry moved a hand to see if he was serious and was shocked to find he was. It was such a wonderfully preposterous impulse for Varian to have indulged. Realizing the length of it as she pulled it free, she began to laugh uproariously. Whatever happens, it will be all right, she felt her heart singing in reminder.