A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  "I look forward to never again laying eyes upon that particular lady," Royce told her of how he'd taken care of Archie and Margaret. "I toyed with the idea of dragging them both back to London and bringing them up on charges, but it would only prolong this unpleasantness for us. As it is, we need to deal with my mother when we return."

  Squeezing Royce's fingers, she offered him silent support.

  Clasping her hand between his, he grew solemn. "You realize that there will be repercussions to this night's events. By now, someone will have noticed you were missing all night. With the way servants talk; I doubt if it can be kept quiet."

  Her throat tightened. "Yes, I know," she whispered, "but I won't marry Archie just to make them go away."

  "No," Royce agreed. "You'll marry me."

  * * *

  "'Tis very early," Laurel said, looking out the window of their hired carriage. "Perhaps we should wait until later to be wed."

  "No, weddings are always morning affairs," Royce reminded her.

  Sitting back against the cushions, she bit back a sigh. Her apprehension had increased the closer they'd gotten to Gretna Green.

  Was she really doing the right thing?

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the inn. Cautiously, Laurel stepped from the conveyance, looking around the small town.

  Cupping his hand on her elbow, Royce escorted her toward the small chapel that stood at the far end of the street. In the garden edging the chapel stood a robust woman tending the flowers.

  "Excuse me, madam," Royce said, offering her a smile. "I was wondering if the clergyman was about this fine morning."

  "Och, yer lookin' ta wed then?" asked the woman. Beaming at them, she wiped her hands on her apron before gesturing back down the street. "The parish clerk and the pastor are out for a spell, but ye can get the job done at the smithy's shop."

  Blinking once, Royce asked, "Pardon me?"

  "The blacksmith," she repeated, slower this time.

  "I understand what you're saying; I just don't know why you're saying it."

  Looking at him as if he were daft, she explained, "'Ere in Scotland, we do things a wee bit differently than you fancy gents south of us. 'Ere all you need do is pledge yourself to 'er in front of another respectable fellow and that does the trick."

  "That's all it takes?" Laurel asked incredulously.

  "Indeed it is," confirmed the woman with a nod.

  "I always knew I loved Scotland." Royce held out his hand. "After you, my dear."

  Laurel dug in her heels. "I am not about to be wed by a blacksmith!"

  "You heard the lady. It's all very simple."

  "Regardless, I prefer we wait for the clergyman."

  "Laurel…"

  Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. "No, Royce. I won't pledge myself to you amidst the smoke from the smithy's fire and the sound of hammers hitting steel." She shook her head. "I won't do it."

  Sighing, Royce gave in. "Very well," he agreed. Turning back to the lady, he asked, "We've decided to wait for the clergy and his clerk to return. Might we wait in the chapel?"

  "The door's always open," the lady invited, waving them forward. "There's lovely benches in the vestibule. You may wait there."

  Thanking her, Royce escorted Laurel into the small entryway and glanced down at the benches. "They're made of stone," he observed.

  Laurel laughed; she couldn't help herself. "At least we have a place to sit."

  He arched a brow at her. "For you to make a statement like that, it is obvious that you have never sat upon cold, hard stone benches for very long."

  "No, I haven't," she admitted. "Perhaps they make them so uncomfortable so that couples can't relax and, instead, reflect on whether or not they're doing the right thing." The moments the words of doubt left her mouth Laurel wished them back. "What I meant to say was—"

  "You aren't certain if you're doing the right thing by marrying me," Royce finished for her. Grasping her by the shoulders, he slowly pulled her closer. "Why do you have doubts?"

  "You wish to protect me," she whispered, before baring her soul, "but do you wish to love me as well?"

  His smile was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. "Of course I do."

  Her heart expanded beneath his reassurance. "I love you, Royce."

  "I know."

  His arrogant response made her laugh. Poking him in the ribs, she teased, "I shall make you regret—"

  "Well, now, I understand the two of ye are lookin' ta wed."

  Both Royce and Laurel turned to face a tall, gray-haired man who wore a broad smile. "Indeed, sir," Royce answered, holding out his hand. "We would be pleased if you would do the honor."

  "Indeed I would," the pastor agreed. "I'm Parson McHugh and I'll wed ye right up if ye'll step inside now." The clergyman shooed them toward the altar. "Now then, I'll be havin' yer names and then— Pardon me fer a moment," Parson McHugh asked. Lifting his head, he bellowed, "Rob! Step lively, lad. We've got a pair needing to exchange their pledges." A thin, wiry man hustled into the church. "This 'ere's Rob. 'E's the parish clerk and 'e's got the ledger."

  "Ledger?" Laurel asked tentatively.

  "Och, ain't ye 'eard of tha ledger?" asked Rob, his eyes wide. "It be where ye place yer names all legal like."

  "The parish register," Royce whispered. "Normally it's kept in the vestry, but I suspect they do things a wee bit differently up north."

  Pressing a hand to her mouth, Laurel held back a giggle.

  "Do ye—" Parson McHugh paused, looking expectantly at Royce. "Yer name, sir?"

  "Oh, yes," Royce replied with a chuckle. "I'm Royce Edward Van Cleef, the Earl of—"

  "Up, up," interrupted Parson McHugh. "We don' go in for those fancy English titles up 'ere. Yer Christian name will do." Clearing his throat, the clergyman began again. "Do ye, Royce Edward Van Cleef take…"

  "Laurel Eleanor Simmons," supplied Laurel at the pause, earning a nod of approval from Parson McHugh.

  "…take Laurel Eleanor Simmons fer yer own?"

  "Don't you mean for his bride?" Laurel asked.

  Rolling his eyes, Parson McHugh held his hands heavenward. "Are ye the parson or am I?"

  Before Laurel could answer, Royce said, "Yes, I take her for my own … bride."

  She grinned at Royce. "And I take him for my own husband."

  "These English … always in a rush," mumbled Parson McHugh. "Very well then, give 'er the ring."

  For a moment, Royce looked disconcerted, until his expression cleared and he slipped his signet ring off his own finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," he murmured as he slid it onto her ring finger, lifting her hand to press a kiss there.

  "Fine, then. Go on, sir, and kiss the bonny lass."

  Royce didn't need to hear that direction twice. Cupping her face between his hands, he leaned down and gifted her with a tender pledge of his devotion. The sweetness of his kiss brought tears to her eyes.

  As Royce began to lower his head again, Parson McHugh placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Ah, ah, ah. Non' a that now. Once is plenty for the pledge. It's time ta sign the ledger and then we'll be off for the bridal feast."

  "Bridal feast?" Royce asked.

  "Ay, we need to break the fast with ye … in order to bless the marriage," explained Rob. "Follow me and well sign my ledger right up."

  Bemused, Laurel followed Royce into the vestry where she signed her name with a flourish. Putting down the quill, she looked up at her new husband.

  "I'm sorry the ceremony was a bit … unorthodox," Royce murmured. "I hope you aren't upset."

  "Of course not," Laurel assured him. "I look at it this way—it was undoubtedly more than we would have received in a blacksmith's shop."

  Royce's laughter accompanied them out into the sunshine.

  * * *

  Upon their return to London, Royce called upon his mother one last time. Not waiting to be announced, he found her in the parlor, reading a book of poems.

  "Royce,
" she said, setting the book aside. "From the look of you, I'd wager that you went after Lady Laurel." Sighing deeply, she shrugged. "I'm quite certain you're furious at me, Royce, but I assure you once you've distanced yourself from the situation, you'll agree that she was completely unsuitable and I only acted in your best interest."

  "Laurel and I were married yesterday."

  His mother lost all color.

  "Yes, Mother, that's right. I caught up with Laurel, Devens, and Margaret St. John at an inn where Laurel had managed to outsmart them both." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Naturally, I sent the two of them packing with strict orders to stay out of England for a very long time."

  "I see." Rising gracefully, his mother faced him. "And have you now come to send me packing?" She tried to smile at him, but the gesture seemed too much for her. "Shall I take am extended tour of the Continent?"

  "It might be best," Royce agreed, wishing his answer could have been different.

  "Very well." Obviously shaken, his mother walked toward the door.

  As he watched her leave, Royce couldn't keep from asking, "Why did you do it?"

  Turning to face him, Elizabeth shook her head. "I only wanted to do what was best for you, Royce."

  "No, Mother," he replied, rejecting her pronouncement. "You did what you felt was best for the family name."

  Sadness colored her expression. "Don't you realize that you are the family name?"

  Slowly, he shook his head. "No, Mother, I am much more than the title and I hope that one day you will be able to accept that."

  His mother gazed at him for a long time. "Perhaps in time," she said finally, gathering her pride about her like a mantle and walking from the room.

  * * *

  His wedding night.

  Instead of staying a night in Scotland, he and Laurel returned home immediately. They'd slept most of the long ride back to London.

  His wedding night.

  Again, the thought pulsated through Royce as he took the stairs two at a time. They'd stopped to visit Lord Simmons upon their return and he'd been overjoyed to hear their news. Then he'd left Laurel in his townhouse while he visited his mother. But now it was their time.

  Entering his bedchamber, Royce tried to squelch the disappointment that raced through him when he didn't find Laurel in the room. He'd change into his dressing gown and seek her out in her chamber, then he'd—

  "Welcome home, Royce."

  Raw need crashed through him at the sight of her tucked beneath the covers. Tugging at his cravat, he felt clumsy and untried in his eagerness. "Laurel, you're … you're … here," he stuttered.

  "Of course I am," she said with a laugh. "Where else did you think I'd be?"

  Where else indeed. Not his bold Laurel. She'd never shy away from anything, rather she'd meet it head-on. The fastenings on his shirt popped off as he tugged at them impatiently. Bare-chested, he sat upon the edge of the bed to tug off his boots and nearly came out of his skin when he felt her cool hands slide across his back.

  "Are you all right?"

  All right? No, at the moment, he was far better than all right. It took him a minute to realize that she was talking about his confrontation with his mother. Tossing aside one boot, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Oddly enough I am," he murmured.

  "I'm glad," she said, laying a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "But I'd prefer if we'd discuss the details of your conversation with your mother later. I believe this bed is only big enough for two."

  He knew precisely what she was doing by injecting humor into their discussion … and he loved her all the more for it. The realization settled into his heart and felt right. He'd tried to deny his love for this woman, preferring to believe he wanted her only because she would "suit" him. Instead, she completed him.

  Groaning, Royce reached for his wife.

  The soft nightgown she wore flowed around him, brushing against his flesh as he gathered her close. Kneeling upon the bed, Royce pressed her against him, knee to chest, rejoicing in the soft curves. His fingers tangled in the length of her nightgown as he gathered it up and, sitting back upon his heels, tugged it over her head.

  A deep flush tinted her cheeks as she knelt before him in naked splendor, but she made no move to cover herself. His hands shook as he reached out to trace her body, feathering the tips of his fingers across her shoulders, down her arms, then back up again, swirling over the generous breasts, dipping into the curve of her waist, and onto the flow of her hips.

  Laurel's breath rushed from her in little gasps as he explored her with his eyes and fingertips. Unable to torment himself any longer, Royce slid his arms around her waist, bending her back to feast upon the nape of her neck. A moan escaped Laurel as he pressed against her, flesh against aching flesh.

  Bending her back farther, he moved his mouth onto her breasts, tasting first one, then the other, as Laurel slid her fingers into his hair, urging him closer. Slowly, he retraced his path up to her neck to capture her mouth with his. Dipping his tongue inward, he consumed her desire, offering her his as he rubbed the moistened tips of her breasts against the soft hair on his chest.

  He deepened their kiss, passion driving him forward as he satisfied the hunger raging within him. Needing to feel her softness against every part of him, Royce gently laid his wife back upon the bed, watching as she whispered his name, reaching for him. Love intensified his desire as he rushed to strip his breeches off, leaving himself open to her gaze.

  Praying she wouldn't be alarmed by the flesh boldly jutting outward, Royce remained still beneath her wandering eyes. He sucked in his breath as she lightly stroked down his chest, scraping her nails along the sensitive flesh, until she reached the sculpted muscles in his thighs. Her hand paused over his manhood, hovering, until Royce thought he'd go mad and shifted to touch her fingers to his hardness.

  Instinctively, she closed her hand around him, squeezing gently, bringing a curse to his lips. Holding still as she explored him proved too great a task. Angling toward her, Royce claimed her lips again. Laurel eagerly greeted him, winding her arms around his neck, arching into him with silent entreaty.

  His hand boldly stroked down her and he followed with his mouth. Cupping his fingers against her womanhood, he brought his leg between hers, opening her to his touch. As he curved his finger inward, dipping into her moisture, Laurel moaned softly, making him crave more. Sliding downward, he shifted his entire body until he lay between her thighs.

  Slowly, he traced his way up her legs, dipping his tongue into the hollow behind her knee, laying the sensitive flesh along her inner thigh, moving inexorably closer to her pouting moans. A shocked gasp broke from Laurel as he kissed her womanhood, but her taste was too wondrous to resist. Deepening the caress, he smiled against her when she clutched his hair, encouraging him to continue.

  And continue he did.

  Feasting upon her; he drove her higher and higher, reveling in the feel of her body as she arched against him. A cry of delight broke from her when she crashed over the edge, shivering in his arms.

  Swiftly, he moved upward, positioning himself at her entrance. "My wife," he rasped hoarsely.

  Her soft smile gripped at his heart. "My husband," she returned, resting her fingertips against his hips and opening herself further.

  With a groan, he pressed forward, stretching Laurel, filling her, until he was completely surrounded by her heat. Overwhelming sensations bombarded him, making him lose all control. He groaned again as he pulled out, then returned into her warmth once more.

  Slowly, he moved within her, picking up the rhythm as she joined him, her legs wrapping about his hips in wanton abandon. Hunger to fill himself with this woman pulsed through him and he lost himself within her. Faster, faster, he drove them, racing toward a pinnacle of pleasure far greater than he'd ever experienced.

  White-hot sparks exploded through him as he buried himself into her one last time, gifting her with his essence as her flesh clung to his in ecstasy.

>   Collapsing onto her, he rolled to his side, gathering her close until she lay upon him. Stroking her hair, he murmured, "Making that wager was the best thing I've ever done in my life."

  For a moment, she stopped breathing, then she lifted her head to look at him. "The wager." Pain darkened her gaze. "We just shared something so beautiful, yet the first words our of your mouth are about the wager."

  "Damn me for being an idiot," Royce said, silently chastising himself for his careless mistake. "I meant to tell you I love you."

  After a long while, Laurel just smiled at him, an odd sadness lurking within the depths of her gaze.

  "It's all right, Royce," she said, pressing a kiss upon his chest. "I appreciate your efforts, but I'd prefer if we were honest with each other."

  "What are you talking about?" he asked with a shake of his head.

  "You don't need to profess love for me. I know you only said it in the church because I needed to hear it," she said, her breath catching. "But you don't need to say it anymore."

  "Of course I do," he protested. "I do love you, so it is only right that I tell you."

  "Royce," she sighed. "You are wonderful for wanting to give me everything I desire, but I am well aware of why you married me."

  Lifting a brow, he tried to understand what she was getting at. "Would you mind telling me?"

  "For the very reasons you made your wager in the first place. I meet all the requirements you want in a wife … and I now come with an added bonus because I love you." She laid her head back against his shoulder. "Besides, you wished to save my reputation."

  He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Trust me, Laurel. If I hadn't wanted to marry you, I wouldn't have—not even to save your reputation."

  "Please, Royce, you can hardly expect me to believe that you truly love me when the first words out of your mouth after we make love are about that silly wager!"

  Rolling his eyes, Royce couldn't believe the dilemma he now faced. He'd finally fallen in love with the woman, but he couldn't convince her of that fact. Knowing he could profess his love until he had no breath left and she'd still doubt his word, Royce decided he had to find a way to prove his love.

  After all, strategies had always come easily to him.