On impulse she raised her mug of wine. "To the past."
"And the future," he added immediately.
"The past is more certain." Nonetheless, she drank the toast.
Silence reigned as they applied themselves enthusiastically to their plates. Kidnapping appeared to sharpen one's appetite.
When he had finished, Dominick pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair with a happy sigh. "I've never had a better meal."
She eyed him askance as she neatly laid her knife and fork across her plate. "You undermine your credibility when you make remarks like that. If you say such ridiculous things about food, how can I believe the other things you say?"
Immune to the set down, he said, "I've had more elaborate meals, but plain food is just as good when it is well prepared." His warm gaze met hers. "And tonight the company is matchless."
Her gaze fell. Changing the subject, she said, "You made a very convincing savage. Were you imitating real aboriginals, or did you make everything up?"
"I blended the language and customs from different Polynesian islands. The largest part of my performance came from the Sandwich Islands, since I spent the most time there. On the other hand, the fire dance was from Samoa." He grinned. "After seeing one performed, I decided to give it a try and accidentally set my hut on fire. Everyone in the village was rolling on the ground laughing at me."
She had to laugh also as she pictured the scene. "What are the Pacific islands like?"
"Beautiful beyond imagining. The Sandwich Islanders ride giant waves on flat, narrow rafts, skimming the sea like birds. I tried that too, and almost drowned before I learned the knack. It was like flying."
His gaze became distant. "The flowers and birds are so brilliantly colored that they seem the product of a painter's opium dreams. Even the sands of the beaches come in different colors, from blinding white to shimmering black. And the volcanoes! Seeing one by night is a sight never forgotten. It was like looking into a rift that had opened to Hell. Where the molten stone flowed into the sea, pillars of steam billowed into the sky. It was truly awesome."
She exhaled, imagining the marvels he described. Correctly interpreting her sigh, he asked, "Would you like to go there for our honeymoon?"
She almost said yes before she managed to stop herself. "There can't be a honeymoon if there is no marriage. "
"You're a hard woman, Roxanne," he said, not seeming particularly worried. "Now that I think on it, it would be better to take you to the Caribbean. The islands are equally lovely, and a good bit closer. Turquoise seas, caressing winds. It's as close to paradise as one can find on this earth."
No, true paradise would be to live with a man one loved and trusted. Love alone was not enough. Trying to sound light, she said, "You should be writing travel books."
He grinned. "I considered it, but such tales should have a tone of high seriousness, and I could never manage that. It was my fate to always find the absurd instead of the sublime." He embarked on a hilarious series of stories about other misadventures in the East and the Pacific. Roxanne laughed more than she had in the last ten years combined.
As she sipped her third glass of Bordeaux, she began telling stories of her own. About the vague scholar who had visited her father with a coach full of bones, looking for help in assembling them into whole skeletons. About the gosling that had decided a dog was its mother, and the neighborhood lad who had run away to the Gypsies only to be sent back with the firm comment that they didn't need any more children, thank you very much, they had quite enough of their own.
Simple stories, but Dominick was amused. Mug cupped in his hands, he lounged back in his chair, dark tousled locks falling over his brow. The giddy thought passed through her mind that perhaps love was simply a matter of finding someone who would always laugh at one's jokes.
She must stop thinking of love and start thinking of escape. Yet when she looked at him, her mind filled with images of how he had appeared as a nearly naked savage. His loose shirt, open at the throat, reminded her irresistibly of the broad, muscular shoulders beneath the fabric. The way his trousers pulled across his thighs made her remember how it had felt to be pressed against him. A male body was very different in shape and texture from that of a female ...
Mouth dry, she rose to her feet. He'd had enough wine so that he would sleep soundly, and she should be able to slip away. "Being kidnapped is fatiguing. I think I'll retire now."
"I'll help you make up the bed." He stood and led the way into the cottage's only bedroom. It was a cozy chamber, with a broad four-poster bed, a washstand, and a pile of expensive baggage along one wall.
Dominick opened the blanket chest at the foot of the bed to reveal worn but clean bedding. After the two of them had tucked sheets and blankets and stuffed pillows into cases, he said, "I'll join you in ten minutes or so."
Her heart jerked like a terrified rabbit. "I beg your pardon?" she said in freezing accents.
"Don't worry, I'll sleep on the floor, unless you invite me to share the bed," he said mildly. "But I really can't allow you to stay in the room alone. You might decide it's your duty to try to escape."
The beastly man could read her mind. She glared at him. "So even though you claim to love me, I am your prisoner. Have you no shame?"
"I'm ashamed of many things, but not this. You aren't a prisoner. Merely a bride suffering a few qualms."
To her regret, she found that she had a lamentable desire to giggle. Schooling her expression, she said, "Be sure to give me enough time to prepare. Though it shouldn't take long, since I'll have to sleep in my shift."
"If you like, I'll give you one of my nightgowns, though you'll look like a snake about to shed its skin." After digging out a nightgown, he bowed politely, then left.
She undressed and washed, then donned the garment. He was right about the size; it was enormous on her. But the fine lawn fabric was soft against her skin, making her think wicked thoughts.
Everything made her think wicked thoughts.
She dropped a pillow on the floor, then added a couple of blankets from the chest. The pine planks didn't look particularly comfortable, but that was his problem.
After braiding her hair into a long plait, she slid into the bed and pulled the covers over her head. In the darkness, the unreality of her situation washed over her and her happiness leached away. The handsome, dashing man she loved wanted to marry her. It was a romantic dream come true.
Who would have thought that fulfillment of a dream could make one feel so wretched?
* * *
Dominick allowed Roxanne time to settle herself, then quietly entered the bedroom. She was only a gentle mound beneath the bedcovers with not so much as a single auburn curl showing. He guessed that she was only pretending to sleep, but he didn't challenge that. After a lifetime of maidenly modesty, she was entitled to be nervous at having him so near.
Certainly her proximity unsettled him. How much would she protest if he joined her in the bed? His blood quickened. Though her mind might be doubtful, her body had welcomed his touch. It might take only a few kisses to persuade her to give him what he had dreamed of for a decade.
He was halfway to the bed before he managed to stop himself. It was bad enough that he was abducting her. He could not coerce her into an intimacy for which she was not yet ready.
Suppressing a sigh, he made up a pallet on the floor. He was unlikely to sleep much, so there was no chance she could sneak out without his knowledge.
In deference to his roommate's innocence, he donned one of his seldom-worn nightshirts. Then he blew out the candle, wrapped himself in the blankets, and tried to find a comfortable position. He would rather be in the bed ... but it was still heaven to doze off to the sound of Roxanne's gentle breathing.
Chapter 8
Dominick came awake with a start and lay still for a moment, wondering what had disturbed him. The moon had risen and cool, silvery light illuminated the room. But there was something wrong with the so
unds.
After a moment he realized that Roxanne's breathing had changed. No longer smooth, it had become a series of faint sobs.
Stricken, he got to his feet and perched on the edge of the bed. Softly he asked, "What's wrong, my darling vixen?"
"Nothing." She made a choked sound. "Everything!"
He lay down on the bed and gathered her into his arms. Her small, curving body trembled as she hid her face against his shoulder.
"Why did you have to come back?" she said through her tears. "My life wasn't very interesting, but I wasn't miserable. Now I feel like a child pressing my nose to the window of a candy shop, yearning for something I can never have."
"What do you yearn for?"
"F-for love, for happiness, for laughter." She swallowed convulsively. "For you."
"Since you already have me, why are you crying?" he murmured as he smoothed back loosened tendrils of her hair. "I love you. I want to marry you and devote the rest of my life to pleasing you. Why is that such a terrible prospect?"
She began to cry harder. "How can I trust you?" she said haltingly. "You left me once. I'm a very ordinary woman. Once you realize that, you'll leave me again."
He winced. No matter how noble his reasons, he had left her. And once trust was gone, how could it be regained?
Perhaps if she understood why he loved her, she might start to believe in him. "Do you remember the first time we met?"
She gave a small hiccup. "Of course. I was out riding. You were looking for the ruined Roman villa near Maybourne and became lost and wandered onto our land. On that black horse of yours, I thought you looked like a magical druid prince."
He pressed a kiss against her temples. "You never told me that."
With a touch of her usual tartness, she said, "You already had quite a good enough opinion of yourself."
He shook his head. "Not really. It's hard to have a good self-opinion when everyone is convinced that one is going to the devil. My father had gone that way, and it was universally assumed that since I resembled him, I was equally damned. In some circles I was known as the Devil's Spawn." He had meant the words to sound light, but they came out edged with regret.
By her stillness, Roxanne had noticed. "Was your father that bad?"
He shrugged. "Bad enough. He wasted most of my mother's inheritance, had the reputation of a cheat at cards, and kept his word only when it suited him. When I was seven, he eloped to the Continent with a married woman. My mother never really recovered from his betrayal." Dominick took a deep breath. "I could overlook the rest but not that. She deserved better."
Roxanne's arm crept around his waist. "You never spoke of your father to me."
"Ten years ago I couldn't. Because I was young, it was very important for me to appear jaunty and unconcerned. I guess I was successful, but I felt as if there was a hole in the center of my soul. Then I met you. Riding through that clearing, your hair blazing like fire because you hated wearing hats." The image was as sharp in his mind as if it had been yesterday.
He ran one hand down her back. Under the thin fabric her flesh was warm and softly yielding. "I'd always enjoyed pretty girls. Usually I laughed and flirted a bit, then went my way without a second thought. But as soon as I saw you, I felt as if the hole in my soul had healed. I couldn't explain it then, and I can't now. Perhaps love can't be explained."
A little desperately, she said, "I can't help but fear that over the years you have built me into an impossible model of perfection. I'm no paragon, Dominick."
He laughed. "I'm well aware of that. You've a sharp tongue, a stubborn streak, and you see things perhaps a little too clearly for comfort. Yet at the same time, those are some of the qualities I love in you." He kissed her temple again. "Your intelligence." He brushed her lips lightly with his. "Your directness." He laid his hand on her heart. "Your warmth, and if you can come to trust me again, your steadfastness."
He felt the beating of her blood against his palm. "When I saw you today at the inn, I felt exactly the same sensation that I did ten years ago. That you, and only you, can fill the emptiness inside me. No one else has ever affected me that way, so I don't think you can be considered ordinary. Or if you are, perhaps ordinariness is what I need." He took an uneven breath, for honesty was painful work. "Certainly I need you."
There was a long silence before she whispered, "You make it easy to believe." Lifting her head, she touched her lips to his.
He responded with fierce sweetness, murmuring her name over and over as he kissed her. Her breath quickened and she did not object when he joined her underneath the blankets. It seemed so natural to have him beside her, to return his caresses and rejoice in his touch.
As passion claimed her, she forgot the long, empty years and pressed against him, wanting to feel the length of his body against hers. In the dark privacy of the bed, they might have been alone in the world, Adam and Even sampling the forbidden fruit of desire. The large nightgown slipped from her shoulders easily so that his mouth could simultaneously soothe and inflame the ache in her breasts.
Even so, she inhaled sharply when his hand slid beneath her gown and caressed the sensitive flesh inside her thighs. Hearing her alarm, he halted. "I have loved and wanted you so much, for so long, Roxanne," he said huskily. “I don't know if I can bear to wait any longer. If you want me to leave the bed, say so now, before it's too late."
For a moment, fear paralyzed her. She was standing on the edge of a precipice. If she dared to leap off into the abyss, her life would change irrevocably.
To accept him now was also to accept his offer of marriage and his version of the past. It would mean making herself vulnerable to the same kind of pain she had felt ten years ago, but it would be a hundred times worse if she lost him again after they became lovers.
And yet… She thought of the long, lonely years at Maybourne Towers, and had the stark realization that since that was her life, it was high time she changed or she would die without having lived. And he wanted her as no one else ever had. She was not a whim to him but a necessity, just as the memory of him had been necessary to her no matter how she had tried to deny it.
Feeling a deep sense of female power, she ran her fingers tenderly through his thick, silky hair. "You don't have to wait any longer, Dominick."
He exhaled roughly. Then, curbing his urgency, he initiated her into the mysteries of passion with infinite gentleness. She expected pain, and there was some, but there was also rapture beyond anything she could have imagined.
When she fell asleep in his cradling arms, it was with the greatest peace she had ever known.
Chapter 9
It was early when the laborer shuffled into the Black Hart Inn. "My name's Wussell," he said to the innkeeper. "Is this where the lady was stole from?"
The innkeeper winced. He'd never live this down. On the other hand, business was booming as people came to see the premises from which the Wild Man had abducted a modest English maiden. "This is the place. For tuppence you can see the room where it took place. Some of the savage's gear is still there." Wussell twisted his cap in his hands. "I'm not here for that. Yesterday I saw the brute and think I know where he might have taken the lady. They say her father is staying here?"
The innkeeper bustled off, and within five minutes Sir William emerged from a private breakfast room. "Searchers have been scouring the countryside without result," he said brusquely, "yet you claim to know where my daughter is?"
"Won't swear to it, but yesterday afternoon I caught a glimpse of a shaggy, naked brute riding with a lady in front of him." Wussell pondered. "She had red hair. Right pretty she was."
"A pity you didn't come forward yesterday, when there was still time to save her virtue!" the baronet snarled. "Heaven only knows what that savage might have done with her last night. She might be lying dead even as we speak."
Wussell shrugged. "Didn't know he was a savage. Thought he was just a member of the gentry being odd. There's no accounting for the gentry. Wasn't
till this morning that the milkmaid told me about your daughter being abducted. Came as soon as I could."
"We must collect a party and rescue her," Sir William said. "Where is she being held?" Correctly interpreting Wussell's vague expression, the baronet dug into his pocket and produced his purse. "Will five pounds help your memory?"
"Reckon it would." Wussell accepted the money. "They were riding down the lane that leads to Orchard Cottage. This morning after I heard, I went to take a look. It's supposed to be empty, but there was smoke coming from the chimney, so I came here."
Sir William bellowed, "Innkeeper, find me some men! And make sure they're armed!"
* * *
To go to bed with passion and wake up with laughter was even better than Roxanne had imagined. Dominick's head was pillowed on her shoulder and his arm draped over her waist. His face relaxed and peaceful, he was a bonny sight. It awed her to think that, God willing, they would be waking up like this for many years to come.
When she stretched lazily, trying not to disturb him, his eyes opened. There was wariness in the depths, as if he feared that she regretted what she had done.
Wanting to eliminate that doubt, she said teasingly, "I had no idea that it was so delightful to be ruined."
His tension disappeared and he gave her a smile that took her breath away, his gray eyes lucent with joy. "You're not ruined. You're better than ever. And so am I." His arm tightened around her. "I have trouble believing this is real, not just another dream. That finally we're together as we were always meant to be."
"In a dream, one isn't hungry, so this must be reality," she said pragmatically.
He laughed. "We'll have the rest of the eggs for breakfast. Then it's off to London for that special license. "
She made a face. "My father must be half out of his mind with worry. I really can't leave without telling him."
Dominick sighed. "I suppose you're right, but there will be hell to pay when he recognizes me."
Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas Page 5