by Meara Platt
“Sir! Now, see here! We run a respectable establishment. Won’t have such goings on under m’very nose,” the woman had threatened, following him into the room with raised fist, and suddenly silenced by the gruesome sight of Daisy’s thigh. “Lud! She’s been stabbed!”
“I have to stop the bleeding. Help me get her out of these wretched clothes,” he’d ordered, the additional coins thrown her way quickly stifling further protest.
Gabriel had thrown more coins about, to hire one of the serving girls to serve as Daisy’s personal maid, to order a warm bath and scented soaps brought up for Daisy, to provide for a steady stream of food and drink brought to her room, to provide wood for the fire needed to keep the room warm and protect her from the chilling sea breeze.
As she bathed, Gabriel had walked to the High Street to purchase Daisy a decent gown and shawl, shoes, stockings, and assorted delicate undergarments, handing the packages to the innkeeper’s wife to deliver to Daisy. “Here, my wife will need these.”
And now, he stood at her door, waiting for her to try on the new clothes and wondering how he would ever find the strength to part from her.
“Well, are you coming in?” Daisy called out hesitantly. “I’m decent,” she repeated.
He opened the door, took one step inside, and sucked in his breath. Oh, Lord... Lord, Lord. She stood by the window in a stream of sunlight, ruffling fingers through her damp, dark hair to dry it, and all he could think of was how much he’d enjoy running his own fingers through that incredibly long, lush mound, as well as over the two lush mounds presently concealed by the soft, blue shawl wrapped over her shoulders.
Decent? The thoughts whirling in his head were decidedly not that.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding out her hands and slowly twirling to show off her new gown. She tossed him the most beautiful smile, one that reached her vibrant blue eyes.
“What do I think?” he repeated numbly, relieved that she seemed able to put weight on her injured leg without apparent trouble. He’d never beheld a more beautiful female, never imagined anyone could stir his heart this powerfully. “You didn’t finish the plate of cheese and fruit I ordered brought up to you.”
She let out an adorable laugh. “The third plate you ordered sent up. I’m so stuffed, I can’t bear to look at another wedge of cheese or slice of apple. Gabriel, you’ve been far too extravagant in your care of me.”
“I don’t think so. You were bedraggled, quite mangy looking, really, when you first stumbled in here,” he teased.
She laughed again, picked up a hairbrush and, instead of throwing it at him—thankfully—began to brush her hair. His fingers itched to take the hairbrush from her hand and perform the task of putting order to those silky strands, but he decided against it since his hands were shaking and his heart was painfully lodged in his throat.
“I suppose I did look a mess, but cool water and a chunk of lye soap would have set me to rights as capably as a warm, scented bath, fragrant oils, and delicate soaps.”
“Those,” he said with a chuckle, softly closing the door and walking toward her, “were for my pleasure.”
She melted into his arms when he held them out to her. “Oh, Gabriel! I was so afraid I’d be too late to stop you from sailing to your death!”
He hugged her tightly, lifting her so that they were eye to eye, her delectable body nestled against his hard frame. Her feet dangled off the floor since he was much taller than she. But she smelled so sweet, he realized, burying his face against her neck, loving the silky smoothness of her skin. He planted kisses along her neck, the little upturn of her chin, and finally, with desperate longing, upon her lips.
Also sweet. So very, very sweet.
She responded as he knew she would, had hoped she would, by circling her arms around his neck and parting her lips in welcome. “Lord, I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, groaning against her mouth.
She pressed her warm lips to his, sighing softly as their mouths locked for another long, lingering embrace.
He loved the thickness of her hair, the way it fell in damp waves to her waist, the way it fell over his arms and shoulders, as if wrapping him in silk. “Gabriel, how much time do we have together?”
A lifetime, I hope. But he dared not think that far ahead. “Not much.”
There was little to be done. Ian and Major Brandt were already securing another ship. Once settled, he’d be on his way, perhaps on this same early tide. But first, he’d have to toss more coins to the innkeeper and his staff, to the stable hand, probably the shopkeeper and boot maker, to keep their mouths shut about Daisy’s presence here. Then he’d somehow have to return her to Graelem’s home with no one the wiser that she had ever left it. Major Brandt would be the one to accomplish that task. With good weather and a few hours of hard riding, the major could deliver Daisy back to London by nightfall.
“Then we’d better not wait,” Daisy insisted.
“For what?”
“Our magic moment.” There was a pink blush to her cheeks as she lowered her gaze and stared into his chest. “That’s how Laurel described her wedding night.”
Gabriel set her down gently so that her feet once more touched the ground, but kept his hands loosely about her waist. The war was just getting underway. As the son of a nobleman he might have bought his way out, but he wasn’t about to abandon Wellington at his most desperate hour. How was he to tell Daisy that his chances of returning from this mission were poor? Did he dare risk leaving her with child? Was that to be his legacy, a widow and a fatherless son left behind?
For years, he’d lived by the simple rules... no broken hearts, no grieving widows, no fatherless sons. Yet, looking at Daisy’s anguish and desire, both so expressively revealed in her vivid blue eyes, he wanted to toss away all rules and just follow his heart. He desperately wanted Daisy, needed her more than he needed air to breathe.
How could he do this to her?
Her smile faded. “I’m an utter goose. You meant this to be a marriage of convenience, one easily annulled upon your return. You’re not going to seduce me, are you?”
He stopped her when she tried to pull away, wanting to feel her silken skin beneath his palms. “Daisy, you don’t understand. I wish it were otherwise.”
“So do I,” she whispered, straining the bonds of his resolve with her wide-eyed gaze.
His body was hot and about to ignite, her body serving as the spark. Lord, she was perfect. Soft and curved in all the right places. Vibrant, yielding... passionate. “I’m going to miss you desperately, you impossible little baggage. I don’t want out of our marriage.”
She let out the softest breath.
And burst into tears. “Then what’s wrong with you?” she accused between sniffles. “Haven’t you read Graelem’s warning? Or Wellington’s warning? The French know you’re coming. They’ll shoot you the moment you set foot on French soil.”
“If they catch me. Thanks to you, they’ll be waiting at Boulogne while I safely land elsewhere.”
“And in the meantime, am I supposed to sit idly by and do nothing?”
His heart tightened. “What are you suggesting? I can’t take you with me on this mission.”
“I know. But there’s something more you must do. For me. For us.” Her hands trembled as she rested them against his chest. “I love you, Gabriel. Is this all I’m to have of you?”
She was asking him to consummate the marriage. He wanted to... she wanted to... but it was a mistake. Perhaps the most idiotic thing he’d ever done.
“It’s the right thing to do,” she insisted, seeming to read his mind and determined to contradict him. “You may think your way is less hurtful to me, but you’re wrong. The worst thing you can do is deny me these last moments, if they’re to be our last moments together. Though I fervently pray they’re not. Please, Gabriel. You married me. If you’re content with the bargain, then make it official. Make me your wife in more than nam
e only.”
He felt his resistance weakening.
She must have felt it, too, for she pressed her advantage. “Give me one precious memory of our life together.”
He said nothing for a long moment.
Her eyes began to water and he knew she was fighting to hold back her tears. “Is this what you’ll remember on those cold, French nights? Not me, soft and willing in your arms. But you and your blasted pride. You and your misguided sense of honor.”
“Damn it, Daisy. Enough.” He lifted her into his arms and settled her on the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat down beside her and reached out to stroke her cheek. “My friends and I made a pact... we swore to leave behind no broken hearts, no grieving widows.” He thought briefly of Julia and little Harry, and knew by Daisy’s expression that she was thinking of them as well.
“You had better rethink that pact, because I’m not going to live my life regretting these last moments... not that I want them to be our last moments together, but if they are, they’d better be spectacular. I’m not letting you out of this room until I have you, all of you, heart, body, and soul to carry with me forever. And when a Farthingale says forever, she means it. Napoleon’s wrath will be nothing to mine if I don’t get my way in this. Please, Gabriel. Don’t walk away and leave me with nothing.”
He meant to refuse. He meant to hold firm and live by the rules that had kept him safe, numb, all these years, but he made the mistake of gazing into Daisy’s incredible blue eyes... eyes filled with love. For him.
To hell with pacts and to hell with rules. Had Daisy managed to get even one of Lady Forsythia’s rules right? The answer was a resounding no, yet she’d captured his heart in spite of it... probably because of it. Her body felt warm and soft as he slipped the shawl off her shoulders and then did the same with her gown, loosening the laces at her bosom to bare her creamy breasts. “Sweetheart,” he said in a whisper, his loins tight and on fire, his heart about to explode. “You’re so beautiful, you steal my breath away.”
She closed her eyes and arched into him as he cupped one soft, full mound in his palm. He teased his thumb across its pink tip and let out a groan as it hardened beneath his touch. He circled his arm around her waist to draw her closer, wanting her soft body crushed against him, needing to wrap her in his protective embrace and bury himself inside her.
He wanted to hear her breathy moans and feel the explosive heat of her passion as she reached her climax. He was lost and could no longer fight it. Giving in, he dipped his mouth to hers and took her in a long, deep kiss that roused a maelstrom of desire in both of them. Daisy was so open and passionate. She held nothing back in her response.
He slipped the gown off her luscious body, and then practically ripped off his own clothes.
Gad, you’d think this was his first time. Well, it was his first time with her. He wanted to make it right, a lifetime’s worth of right. His breath caught at the sight of her bandaged leg. He’d have to be careful with that tender wound.
He settled her flat upon the bed, his gaze soaking in all of her, the cream silk of her skin, her lush breasts and their perfect pink tips, her beautiful long legs. Her hair fanned out across the crisp, white sheets, those long, silken strands as dark as coal against them. Her eyes were as bright as a May sky, a warm, gleaming azure blue.
She wanted him.
She loved him.
He nudged his legs between hers, settling his large body atop her slender frame, though he balanced most of his weight on his elbows. She felt so good beneath him. Too good. He was hard and ready, his skin fiery hot and his muscles tense from the strain of wanting to take it slow with Daisy.
But his wife—damn, that sounded good—was too impatient.
So was he. His finger found the nub of her passion between her thighs and he gently began to stroke her there.
Her eyes shot open and she gasped, but as he continued to stroke and tease, her surprise gave way to heat, and soon her eyes were drifting closed, her body moving against his finger as she softly moaned his name. “Gabriel.”
Lord, she was beautiful. She wanted him. He felt her desire in the moist, liquid heat between her thighs.
An ocean breeze blew in cool, salty air through the open window. He dipped his head, kissed Daisy on the lips, and tasted the honeyed tea she had been drinking. He kissed a trail down her neck, then lower to her beautiful breasts, his tongue flicking across the budded tips, licking and tasting their silken warmth. Her breasts tasted like cinnamon and apples. She was a veritable feast for a starving man... and he’d been starved of real affection for so long. Finding it again, feeling it as sweetly as he did now, was all because of Daisy.
Only because of Daisy.
His heart thundered and blood heated as he poised himself over her and slowly entered her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her velvet opening with a satisfied growl.
“Magic,” she whispered against his ear, her hands on his shoulders and body straining awkwardly and innocently against his, seeking a fulfillment she had never experienced before, but she would soon... any moment now, for he was pushing and thrusting... and she was arching and trembling with heat and need, her body embracing each sensation. Her legs tightened around his waist and she raised her hips to fully absorb his shaft.
Gad, he was about to explode!
Each thrust brought him closer to mindless release, to heat and fire and savage hunger, to a craving for Daisy that would never be satisfied as long as he lived. He would always want more of her.
He would always want her.
She was everything his heart was missing.
“Sweet heaven,” she whispered, her breath soft and voice aching, “you feel so good inside me.”
He thrust and tasted and ran his hands along her warm skin, his fingers skimming across her engorged, pink nipples, and then his mouth closed over one of those hard, pink tips, licking and teasing until she was once again breathless and moaning his name. His thrusts came faster, his kisses deeper, hotter, harder until he felt her shudder and heard the soft glory of her ecstasy. Her body strained, she cried out again and begged him not to stop, not ever, and fisted her hands in his hair. He felt the thump, thump, thump of her heart against his lips, then felt and heard nothing but the slow, building roar of his release, a crashing wave of pleasure that slammed and dipped and slammed within his body, lifting him in a great, heaving motion heavenward and holding him there for an exquisite eternity until all was spent—his seed spilled and his member throbbing against Daisy’s thigh.
His voice was hoarse and raspy as he grunted his pleasure.
Daisy laughed. “Magic.”
He grunted again, rolling her atop him so that her creamy breasts molded to his hot, damp chest. So good. So perfect. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. She grinned, waiting for him to agree. “Aye, sweetheart. It was magic.”
“I love you, Gabriel.”
The wind blew gently through her dark hair. He kissed her again... and again… and lower because he couldn’t get enough of her… and then his tongue found the sweet heat between her thighs. He stroked and swirled as she clutched the sheets and moaned his name. He caressed her until she throbbed and soared against his lips, her love for him a treasured memory for the harrowing months ahead.
***
Sunlight streamed through the open window and glistened off Gabriel’s gold hair. Daisy was still in his arms, floating in his arms to be precise, for she felt as light as a cloud and so happy, even though she understood this perfect moment could not last. He would leave soon. She refused to think about it. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
She absently stroked the gold hairs that glistened on his forearms, breathed in the mix of salt and musk against his hot, damp skin. They were spooned together, her back to his chest, and she savored the protective strength of his arms around her body.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, turning her so that they faced ea
ch other, her breasts once again molding to his rock hard chest. He was big and muscled and perfect. She traced the scar across his brow, then delicately traced the welt on his shoulder where the shot fired in Hyde Park had struck him. Only a graze, he’d said. Apparently, that’s all it was, though it had drawn his blood and would leave a red, puckered scar. Even his scars were perfect, not that she’d ever wanted him to suffer. But the hard years had molded him into the man he was today.
The man she desperately loved.
“I’m thinking that I’m glad Laurel and my father put a pistol to your head and made you marry me.”
He let out a deep, throaty laugh. “There was no pistol. I volunteered, if you will recall. I would have offered for you eventually, perhaps not at that moment. You know that, don’t you?” His mirth subsided and he turned serious. “I need you to know that no one forced me to marry you.”
She nodded.
Another moment passed, the two lazily nestled in each other’s arms, Gabriel running his fingers in a soft swirl against her skin. She clung to him, her hand gripping his big, muscled shoulder because she never wanted to let him go. She would have to soon. She sensed him shifting away before he spoke, and then he turned to her. “Sweetheart, I have to go.”
Her eyes misted.
“I want you to smile for me. Be brave for me... a little while longer. I couldn’t bear it if you cried.”
She nodded again, though she doubted he was convinced.
He ran a hand raggedly through his hair. An unruly lock curled over his forehead. Another curled at the nape of his neck, just below his ear. “Promise me that you’ll lead a happy life, no matter what happens or whatever you hear over the next few months.”
She did, promising all he asked because it was important for him to believe she would manage life without him.
He sat up, threw his long legs over the edge of the bed, and glanced out the window again. “You had better get dressed. Major Brandt and Ian will be back soon. How do you feel?”
She cast him a tender smile. “Splendidly aglow.”
He leaned forward and gently kissed her on the nose. “Yes, it was pretty damn fantastic. However, I meant how does your leg feel?”