Ah. Bravehearted, fierce little kitten…he’d been cowardly to intimate she must do this alone.
He sunk to one knee, held her hand to his cheek, and then said, “Lady Julia Stanley, my dearest, ruinous minx, would you do me the honor of becoming Lady Rayne?”
Her tears returned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
…
Julia’s heart overflowed as Her Grace’s court gathered at the foot of the stairs to wave goodbye. Periwinkle Gate would always—always—hold a special place in her heart. The carriage rolled on down the drive, ending a three-day sojourn of indulgence beyond anything Julia could have imagined. Rayne had made, as promised, a banquet of her flesh. However, he’d denied her full copulation.
As soon as we wed, he’d promised. I’d like to see at least one thing properly done.
They’d intended to delay their departure until after the duchess, Theo, and Annette returned; however, by the third day, Julia had lost patience.
“I’m sorry we missed the Mother, Theo, and Annette.” She folded her hands into her lap as the carriage turned away. “We will be able to come back sometime, won’t we?”
Rayne glanced askance. “Are you asking me for my permission?”
She hesitated, still unsure she could trust the teasing affection behind his eyes.
“You’re right.” Julia nodded to herself. “Your permission is not required. I should have said I intend to return sometime in the future.”
He smirked. “Now that sounds more like you.”
His words suggested he’d made a study of her, the way she’d made a study of him. But was he finally surmising correctly? He’d gotten everything muddled so many times before.
Except in bed.
Attraction, on the other hand, had never been part of their difficulties.
Attraction had been instant. Incendiary from first glance.
Now that she was, quite literally, on her way to the summation of all her desires, she realized she’d given little thought to anything but that attraction.
She knew Rayne’s friends. She knew his sister, Clarissa. She knew bits and pieces of his past, and, thanks to Periwinkle Gate, she understood the depth of his loyalty. But she knew very little about his home.
Or, for that matter, about his expectations of marriage.
While he seemed content enough, she couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he had withheld—or she’d missed—something important.
Panic hovered like a fluttering moth in the valley at the bottom of her throat.
“Rayne,” she said warningly, “I don’t know how to be a wife.”
“I’ve had little experience with wives…and I don’t know anything at all about being a husband.”
“You don’t remember your parents?”
He cleared his throat, suddenly interested in the passing trees. “I remember them.”
His clipped answer further muddied the shallow waters of trust. “Is that all?”
He turned, studied her briefly, and sighed. “I have memories of them both, but never in the same room.”
A cold, slick emotion darted through her body, leaving her chilled. She’d felt a similar shiver when Farring had spoken of Rayne’s parents.
“I don’t remember my mother at all.” She looked away. “But I don’t tell many people, because I should remember.” She’d been five. She remembered other things from that era. Markham. Katherine. Her father. Miss Watson’s warm cuddles. Just not her mother.
“Memory is a strange thing.” His gaze softened. “I suppose that means neither of us has an example to follow, doesn’t it?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said slowly, “we will learn as we go.”
The distance across the carriage had grown by at least a league.
“Well, there’s one thing we already know.” She reached across and laid her hand on his thigh. “We are good together.”
He stared down at her hand almost uncomprehendingly. She feared he would remove it from his person. Instead, he turned over her palm, then lifted her inner wrist to his lips. Looking into her eyes, he sucked and then gently bit her flesh.
“We are that.”
With his beard shaven, he resembled the Rayne she’d first met. However, the undomesticated Rayne, the Rayne she’d grown to love and to trust, lived on in his eyes.
“Come,” he said.
She shuffled over on the seat.
“Closer.”
She laughed. “I can hardly get any closer.”
“Can’t you?”
He lifted her into his lap, then arranged her skirts up around her waist so she could sit, facing him, with room enough to spread her legs and place her knees on either side of his hips.
“If”—he pulled her head to his shoulder—“one comes into possession of a nearly fully enclosed traveling chariot, one should make use of the privacy granted, don’t you agree?”
She closed her eyes. The curtain whispered across the rod as he shut out the world. The old fears should have returned. They did not. When Rayne was close, she was secure.
For this moment, she’d allow herself to believe that everything would proceed the way she’d once dreamed. That he’d take her home and they would build a life together at the Grange.
That he would finally see her and know her and love her complete.
“You—on my lap. Have I told you how good this makes me feel?”
“Just me on your lap?” She frowned. “Don’t mock me, Rayne.”
“I’m not.” He paused. “Have I ever?”
“Yes.” She snorted. “You’ve never held back from telling me the truth…no matter how pointy and sharp.”
He removed her hat, drew aside her hair, and kissed her neck. “The day I forget that first time together will be the day I die.”
“Die? I’m not sure that’s in any way romantic.”
“I didn’t promise you romance. I promised you pleasure.”
Again, that spiral shiver—a shiver made more potent by the way he locked her inside his arms.
“It’s your wedding day,” he murmured.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Yet you are agitated.”
Of course. She was in a moving carriage, and he was holding her still. “Yes.”
“Shall I help you calm?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.”
He dipped his fingers into the cleft of her behind, cupped that flesh, and then ended his caress on her thigh, just above the ribbon that held her stocking.
She clenched in anticipation. “You make me lightheaded.”
“You make my prick stiff as steel.”
She rocked forward. “Romantic…”
“Like I said…”
“I prefer the word cock, I think.” She moved his hand to the top of her thigh. “You know, I like the way you touched me.”
“Where?”
She lifted her brows. “On your bed.”
“Minx.”
She threaded her finger through his and dragged his hand the rest of the way. He hummed as if he’d were about to taste some infinitely delicious morsel as he slid his thumb over the nub between her legs.
“Do you know what I like best?”
A languid openness spread through her being. “I can imagine.”
“If you guessed your mouth around my cock, you were right.”
His words against the lobe of her ear sounded so dissolute. So forbidden.
And so very desired.
“That’s a remarkable coincidence. I like having your cock in my mouth.”
“Do you?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, what the man could do with his fingers!
“Is there anything we’ve done yet you didn’t like
?”
“That first time, I wasn’t…” She hesitated. “Quite prepared for your taste, but I’m used to it now.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “I tried to warn you.”
“I wasn’t interested in warnings.”
“You never are.”
“I don’t like to hesitate.” She wound her hands into his hair and rocked against his fingers. “I like to seize.”
She lost herself in his kiss. A kiss like a newly discovered shelter, with precipitation and wind all around them and quiet heat within. She set herself apart from the not-knowing, running her hand along his smooth chin.
She hid no sensation from her face as he took her where he wished her to go.
And when he coaxed her to the peak, she cascaded like water over jagged rocks, shimmering through a thousand disparate droplets that had once moved together as a stream. Then, she became the still, silent pool. The quiet that hid depths.
He rolled his forehead against hers, his arms tightening in discourse that never found words.
These small pieces of him he allowed…they’d be enough.
They had to be enough.
“Better?” he asked.
“Not for you, though.”
“You’d be surprised, minx. You’d be surprised.”
She shifted in his lap, arranging her skirts back over her legs. But when she made a move to climb back to her side of the carriage, he held her in place.
No verbal protest. Just a firm hand against her hip.
Stay.
Very well. She rested her head against his shoulder.
He drew aside her hair and placed his heavy palm across the back of her neck.
Safe. Protected.
This was either the start of something unspeakably glorious or the beginning of a wretched, gasping end.
Chapter Fourteen
Julia floated in the languid aftermath of pleasure for the rest of the trip to Carlisle—her questions, her uncertainties diffused in the warm comfort of Rayne’s embrace. What problems may come surely couldn’t scale a man so solid, so warm, so vibrant.
By late morning, they reached a tavern called The Bush. A boisterous crowd gathered in the courtyard, several of them exchanging funds. Rayne’s intent gaze traveled through the crowd…searching.
“Have we stumbled on some sort of festival?” she asked.
“They happen sometimes—these gatherings. Planting and harvesting are finished.” He took a pensive breath. “So the locals sometimes gather around in courtyards in hope of entertainment.”
“Entertainment?”
He met her gaze. “Carlisle inns are the last possible stop before Gretna. Sooner or later, the spectators are bound to witness a diverting confrontation between an angry father and a desperate would-be groom.”
Now she understood why he’d been searching. If anyone from Southford had pursued them and had traveled without stopping, they might be waiting.
She set back her shoulders.
Anyone wishing to stop them would have come in vain. Nothing could prevent her from marrying Rayne.
“Do you wish to alight?” he asked.
“How long will you be?”
“I’d like to reserve rooms, if they’re available.” His expression warmed. “For tonight.”
An odd sensation swerved through her stomach. “Won’t we head to the Grange tonight?”
His gaze moved to the window. “The caretakers aren’t expecting us.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to send word, give them time to…prepare.”
Reasonable enough. She exhaled. “I’ll wait.”
“Very well,” he replied.
He stepped down from the carriage, adjusted his coat, and strode into the inn—all presence and command. She marveled at the many sides of him she’d seen. Which was the side that would win out?
Silly to indulge such questions. For three days, he’d been all that was solicitous and caring. Her heart squeezed with affection. He’d intended to leave, but he’d resolved to stay.
What more could she possibly ask?
A tall man came out of the inn, shouted something to the crowd, and waved his arms. One by one they dispersed, all of them grumbling.
The man approached the carriage. “Good afternoon, Lady Rayne. I’m the head waiter, Thomas Atkinson. Your husband sent me to inquire after your comfort.”
Lady Rayne.
Husband.
Both would be permanently true in a few short hours. Doubtless she’d grow accustomed to the titles soon enough. This first time, however, left her breathless.
She opened the door and gave Atkinson her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Atkinson.” She stepped into the courtyard. “I could do with a glass of water.”
“I have a private parlor waiting,” he replied. “Right this way.”
She glanced through the hall and into the crowded tavern as she passed. Her heart stopped as she caught a flash of Miss Watson’s familiar white-haired profile.
Miss Watson turned. Then she rushed, arms outstretched, toward Julia. “Oh, heavens, child!”
Julia caught Miss Watson’s hands in her own. “Mr. Atkinson, might my friend join me?”
“Of course, Lady Rayne.”
Miss Watson’s gaze traveled between them. Julia sent a wide-eyed silent plea for understanding. Miss Watson nodded, released Julia’s hands, clutched her reticule to her chest, and followed Julia into a small, windowed room set with a table and chairs.
Miss Watson waited for Mr. Atkinson to close the door before speaking. “We’ve been searching for you for days! First, we were misdirected to London, and then—”
Julia’s throat dried. “When you say we…?”
“Rector Chandler and I, of course.”
The tiny room tilted. “Is the rector here?”
“No,” Miss Watson replied. “I am here with Lord Belhaven.”
“Belhaven?” Julia gasped.
“Such a whirl you wouldn’t believe,” Miss Watson replied. “In London, Rector Chandler and I called on your sister and Lord Bromton—I had no idea how to proceed, after we lost you, you see. Why, you could have been anywhere…”
Julia could only imagine the scene.
“After some deliberation about what was to be done, Katherine decided she wished to travel to the Castle and wait. Bromton had been certain your destination would be Gretna and, from there, the Grange. We traveled without stopping.”
Julia’s heartbeat increased. “Without stopping, did you say?”
“How else would we be here by now?”
Oh, she might have known something like this would happen! “How utterly senseless. Katherine shouldn’t have traveled in her condition!”
“Is Katherine the one who’s been senseless?”
Julia’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble. I—I didn’t think anyone would notice I had gone. How is she?”
“She’s fine, don’t you worry.” Miss Watson patted Julia’s arm. “Lord Bromton was adamant from the start that what had been done was done and we weren’t to interfere. His absolute conviction that Lord Rayne would make things right soothed the worst of your sister’s nerves. The marquess was correct, wasn’t he? The head waiter called you Lady Rayne.”
Julia curled her toes. “He did.”
“Oh!” Miss Watson touched her chest. “What wonderful news. I’m so very relieved.”
It appeared, at least, Bromton and Katherine were not going to try and stop them. But why, then, was Miss Watson here? “As for Lord Belhaven…?”
Miss Watson’s eyes sparkled, and her cheeks tinted girlish pink. “I sent word, as a former acquaintance…just in case he’d seen or heard anything and could assist. When we arrived at the Castle, his reply was waiting. His letter said he’d be available for anything we nee
ded. Katherine suggested Bromton and I pay a call to thank him for his helpfulness and ask for his discretion, and, well, the moment I saw him…”
Her dreamlike expression told the rest of the story.
“By the time we arrived, he’d received and read your letter.” She blushed again. “We’re to be married in the chapel at Bromton Castle. In a few weeks’ time, the rector there will be able to declare me a resident, so Lord Belhaven may procure a common license.”
Julia made a wry sound in her throat. “There’s always Scotland.”
Miss Watson’s glance castigated. “I’ve waited this long, child. And I’ve always dreamed of a proper wedding in a proper church.”
Julia loved weddings, too, but she wanted Rayne—in the quickest way possible. Never leave a sullen man in silence.
“You’re happy, then?” Julia asked. “Lord Belhaven loves you?”
Miss Watson sighed. “Just the same as if we’d never parted.”
Well, she’d been right about one thing, at least. “Find him,” she urged. “Bring him here.”
The door opened. “Well, kitten—”
Rayne froze—eyes stark, cheeks taut.
“There you are, darling!” Julia spoke, overbright. She turned to her friend. “Miss Watson, soon to be Lady Belhaven, may I formerly introduce my husband, Lord Rayne?”
Miss Watson, bless her, curtsied to him. “I’m delighted to meet you, Lord Rayne. And to see Lady Rayne looking so…cheered.”
Rayne opened his mouth. Nothing emerged.
Miss Watson glanced past him and waved her hand. “Lord Belhaven, I’m here.”
Rayne flushed.
“And look who I’ve found!” Miss Watson placed her hand on Julia’s shoulder. “Lady Rayne, allow me to introduce Lord Belhaven. Lord Belhaven, Lord and Lady Rayne.”
A prescient fission flowed down Julia’s spine—neither good nor bad but powerfully urgent. What ever happened she must—must keep her head.
Rayne stepped aside, allowing a tall, slim, distinguished-looking gentleman to enter.
“Lord Rayne.” Belhaven nodded. He turned to Julia, and his expression warmed. “You must be the young lady to whom we owe our present happiness. A goodly number of people have been very worried about you, you know.”
Julia curtsied. “For naught, I assure you. My husband has seen to my comfort. But I cannot convey how glad I am to meet you, Lord Belhaven. And how excited I am to hear your news.”
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