by Louisa Trent
Her eyes opened. In front of them, nestled in a clearing, was a small, two-story house, so new, it had yet to be painted. She thought the little cottage was adorable. Big enough as a starter home for a young couple.
"How utterly sweet!" she cried.
"It's ours."
"What!"
"Tomorrow morning when we go outside, you will see that I planted thousands of lily bulbs around our house. You might say they are an obsession of mine. For now, come inside. Allow me to show you around."
Taking her hand, Doyle pulled her through the door, lighting the oil lamp in the entry. "I left the decorating to you, so the house is still unfurnished. I did, however, hang one thing on the wall in the front parlor. The house wouldn't feel like home without it."
She gasped. There, in the middle of all that empty space, hung the painting of the pond she had done for him so long ago.
"I told you then that I would treasure your painting always and I have. Let me treasure you the same way."
"Oh, Doyle, I don't deserve all this!"
"What makes you say such foolishness?" He kissed her lips softly. "And remember, before you answer, you can tell me anything."
"You may regret wedding me."
"Never," he said, picking her up in his strong arms and carrying her up the staircase to their bedchamber.
Her eyes flew to the huge bed, large enough to fit a tall man's frame with plenty of room to spare, and pretty enough to please a woman's heart. Her heart was very pleased, especially when she saw the bouquets of white lilies.
"Where do I start?" she asked.
He placed her feet on the polished pine floor. "Start with what is troubling you."
"I am so afraid..."
"Of tonight? Of making love? You needn't be." He drew his knuckles over her cheek. "I can be easy. I shall be easy."
"Easy? I love how you make me come apart! Do not hold back with me. Not ever."
"Then what has you so worried? Hardly a touch has passed between us since you agreed to marry me. We haven't even kissed. I thought perhaps I had put you off to the ... uh ... more physical aspects of our relationship."
She started to giggle. Her turn to say: "Never." She placed his hand on her abdomen. "I am three months gone with child."
He smiled. "About time you told me too. Did you think to keep it a secret through delivery?" he asked, his hand caressing her belly, still flat in the royal blue silk dress she had worn for their wedding. "I suspected you were carrying when I traipsed all the way to Boston to bring you home."
"How?"
"You had a certain look about you."
"Oh ... a look!"
He kissed her cheek. "Yes, a look. I was pleased to see that look on your face ... as well as other places."
She laughed outright, then. "I love our baby so."
"Which makes two of us." He took a breath. "Now, what else do you need to tell me?"
"The baby's great-grandfather..."
"Tony Camaro ... yes...?"
Her mouth gaped. "How long have you known?"
He knelt on the floor. "Take a seat on the bed. These shoes need to come off."
She crumbled. "How long, Doyle?"
He removed one shoe, then the other. "Not long."
She gulped. "Frank was blackmailing me because of it."
"Yes."
"You knew that too?"
"I found the letters when I searched your dresser for the scarves that first night we became ... uh ... licentious." His hands roamed her legs. "Ease up a bit, wife, so I can get these drawers and hose off you."
She raised her hips. "If you knew, then why didn't you tell me you knew?"
"It was your place to come to me," he said rolling the hose down and off, then the drawers. That done, he went behind her. "You never did."
She swiveled. "Are you undressing me?"
"Trying to," he said, his hands undoing the first few hooks that ran down her back. "Unless you expect me to wait until you are as big as a house before consummating this marriage." He stopped. "But if you feel tired or unwell, we shall wait."
"Silence, sir! Perhaps you can wait, I most certainly cannot."
Chuckling, his fingers resumed their activity. "I shall hurry."
"Doyle, in all seriousness--I thought my revelations would shock you. I thought they would put a damper on our wedding night."
He hooted. "Silly girl! Torrential rains and a leaky roof couldn't dampen my enthusiasm for tonight."
Doyle pulled the wedding finery over her head with one agile yank.
"My, my, my! You do have that look," he said with an unsubtle leer at her full breasts. "And approaching motherhood does become you. Tell me the rest fast. Tarry, and I may just expire."
She rushed forth the statement. "I know how Frank died."
"Yes?"
"This is so difficult."
"We are husband and wife. There is nothing you cannot tell me."
"It really was an accident." She looked up at Doyle. "Our baby's great grandfather saved me from Frank that night. Tony took Frank outside, and they argued over the blackmail. Frank tried to push Grandfather off the widow's walk, but he lost his own balance instead and fell to his death. It wasn't murder."
Doyle cuddled her closer. "At long last you trust me enough to tell me."
"You knew!"
"Suspected."
"Not suspected--you knew!"
"All right. I knew. The person who prevented your rape must have loved you. I know that to be true because I would have done exactly the same thing. I would have taken Frank as far away from you as possible before doing whatever it was I intended to do. That kind of caring concern is the kind seen in families."
"But ... what do we do now?"
He stripped off his good white shirt and tossed it on the floor. "Nothing."
"What about restoring your good name?"
"I have my good name. As long as you and this baby know the truth, that is all that really matters. I love you wife. I love this baby. Let the past die. We have this land. This house. We can start over. Make our own family history. Turning the cottage into an artist colony and wildlife sanctuary is a wonderful use for your inheritance. We shall take our children there for nature walks."
"Children?"
"This little cottage has five bedchambers. Are you good at your sums, wife?"
She arched into his arms. "Oh Doyle. There is still so much to talk about. So much to decide. All these years I have received anonymous letters--threats to stay away from Bar Harbor." Lillian took a deep breath. "At first, I thought you might be sending them. Then, after the incident with the unlit carriage lanterns and damaged wheel axle, I thought it was Johnny," she said, whispering the confession.
"John is a hothead like me. But he is not malicious, not a sneak. All he really needs is a female's softening influence in his life to straighten him out. Now that he understands that you are mine, he might just start looking for a wife. "
"Oh, I hope so! But what if ... what if the letters continue now that I am home for good? What if the person sending them tries to ruin you through me? Your business, your brothers--everything you have worked so hard to achieve might be destroyed..."
"Lily, I went to see Frank's father yesterday. No need to hide the author of those threats any longer, no need to try to protect me. I told Old Man Johnson to stay away from you."
"Will he listen...?"
"He has no choice but to listen. Sweetheart, I told you Frank had once assaulted a woman. Well, I found out that she wasn't the only one. After locating more of Frank's victims, I presented proof to Mr. Johnson that Frank was guilty of multiple rapes. He broke down and wept. Right or wrong, Johnson loved his son and he isn't willing to see Frank's memory ripped to shreds. So--after a long talk, we came to terms about the past. There will be no more threats. As far as Mr. Johnson is concerned, Frank's death was an accident."
Doyle touched his lips to hers. "Now, no more worries tonight, Lily. Tonight you are my
bride. There is nothing more important than that."
THE END
About the Author:
Louisa Trent is happiest writing and so she writes all the time, even when the veggies are in need of peeling and the dust bunnies are in need of vacuuming. When she was far too young to contemplate anything as serious as marriage, she snatched up a boy with a sense of humor and led him right to the altar.
Somewhere along the way, she picked up a couple of academic degrees which she uses each and every day, though certainly not in the way she intended to use them. Blessed with three funny sons and a husband who still makes her giggle, she lives in a quaint New England town in a messy home surrounded by flowers and laughter.
Visit Louisa's website at:
http://www.louisatrent.com
Email Louisa at:
[email protected]
We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com
for other exciting literary erotica romances.
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