One Month Later
“Have I told you how much I love you?” Brendon murmured, as he ran his finger slowly down the length of Daphne’s naked spine.
Daphne smiled softly. “Hmm, I think you may have mentioned it a time or two,” she replied as she snuggled into him, “though I shall never tire of hearing it.” Married just three days earlier, she felt as if she’d been floating on a cloud since the moment she’d said I do.
“Much as I hate to say it, we should probably get out of bed soon,” Brendon declared a few moments later. “We’ve a busy day ahead of us, after all.”
Daphne sighed reluctantly. “Must we?”
Brendon chuckled, for they had spent nearly every moment since they’d been pronounced husband and wife closeted within their bedchamber, venturing out only when necessity demanded. “I thought you were looking forward to our holiday,” he teased.
“Oh, I am,” she replied with a languid smile, rising up onto her elbow so that she could see Brendon’s face. “Though you still haven’t told me where it is that we are going.”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
Daphne pouted playfully. “Won’t you give me even a hint?”
“No, no hints. Besides, you’ll find out soon enough. But first we have to get out of this bed,” he reminded her with a rakish grin.
*****
Feeling the coach roll to a stop, Daphne opened her eyes, lifting her head from where it had been resting comfortably against her husband’s shoulder for the past quarter hour.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, my love,” Brendon said with a smile, “but we have arrived at our initial destination.”
Daphne immediately turned her gaze to the window. “We’re at the wharf?”
“Indeed we are,” Brendon replied as the footman leapt down from his perch and pulled open the door. Then stepping from the coach he turned and held his hands out to Daphne, grasping her about the waist and lifting her down onto the ground.
As Brendon stepped to her side, Daphne’s gaze went immediately to the large yacht rocking gently in its berth some twenty yards in front of them.
“Well, what do you think?” Brendon asked.
“It’s beautiful,” she replied, eyeing the vessel with blatant admiration. “Is it one of yours?”
Brendon nodded. “It is. As a matter of fact, I acquired it just recently.”
“The Wanderlust,” Daphne said aloud, reading the name painted on the side in large, bold script.
“Considering your desire to see the world, I thought it a fitting name.”
Daphne turned to him in surprise. “My desire to see the world?”
Brendon grinned as he looped his arm around her waist. “First, I thought we’d make our way to France, then to Spain, on to Italy and eventually to Egypt.”
Daphne gasped, her eyes going wide. “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” he replied, his grin widening.
“Oh Brendon,” she cried, feeling her eyes grow moist as she recognized once again just how truly fortunate she was. Looking up into his beloved face she spoke softly, “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Hmm, I think you may have mentioned it a time or two,” he said, repeating the words she’d spoken earlier that morning, “though I shall never tire of hearing it.”
“And I shall never tire of saying it. I love you Brendon.”
“As I love you, my darling wife,” he avowed. Then lowering his head he placed a soft kiss upon her lips. “Come,” he said then, taking her hand as he led her toward the waiting gangway.
Stopping at the bottom of the wide wooden ramp, Brendon hesitated, turning to Daphne with a smile. “Do you remember our wedding night, when you told me about the dream you once had?”
Once again Daphne felt the sting of moisture at the backs of her eyes, for it took her only a second to comprehend exactly what he was about. Slowly she nodded, her teary-eyed gaze shining with happiness.
Grinning, Brendon promptly bent down, placing one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees as he swept her up into his arms, the move eliciting several good-natured whistles from the waiting crew and a few racy comments from nearby observers.
Giggling, Daphne twined her arms around Brendon’s neck, pressing her check lovingly against his shirtfront as her dashing pirate carried her up the gangway.
When Only a Rake Will Do Page 20