Thunder & Roses

by Mary Jo Putney

  Calm vanished and her mouth dropped open. "Marriage? What on earth are you talking about?"

  "I should think it would be obvious," he replied coolly. "Legal matrimony. Husband and wife. Till death us do part."

  Though her spirit might be reborn, her mind was still capable of utter confusion. "W-what?" she stammered. "You swore that you would never take another wife. Why on earth would you want to marry me?"

  "For a very basic reason—you might be carrying my child."

  Ruthlessly she suppressed the spurt of joy the thought gave her. "You told me once that there are ways to prevent that."

  "There are, but I wasn't thinking about them last night," he said dryly.

  "I suppose it's possible I might have conceived," she admitted, "but the odds are that I didn't. Surely it would be wiser to wait and see rather than do something rash that you'll soon regret."

  "It might be weeks before you would know for sure." His brows rose. "Do you want to have a 'seven month baby,' with everyone in Penreith knowing that you had to get married? As a virgin, your conscience was clear, which gave you the strength to face the condemnation of those who believed the worst. That is no longer true—I've made you vulnerable, and there is only one way I can remedy that."

  She fell silent. Though she was not ashamed of solacing him with her body, she loathed the idea of gossips condemning her act of love as cheap and wicked. Finally she asked, "Why were you so set against marriage?"

  His lips tightened and he looked out the window so that she saw only his dark profile. "The great passion of the old earl's life was the succession to Aberdare. Refusing to sire a legitimate heir was my way of thwarting him. Since he is beyond caring whether there will be a sixth Earl of Aberdare, it was a childish kind of revenge, but the only one within my power."

  He turned toward her again. Since he was silhouetted against the morning sun, she could not read his expression. "My responsibility to you must supersede my meaningless revenge against my grandfather. Though my conscience wasn't troubled at the prospect of ruining your reputation and taking your virginity, accidentally impregnating you would be unacceptable. Hence, marriage."

  There was nothing on earth she wanted more than to be Nicholas's wife, but before this morning, the idea had been literally unthinkable. She wondered if his decision to marry her was a way of expiating the guilt he felt over Owen's death. "Ever since we struck our bargain, you've been doing your best to seduce me," she said. "I'm having trouble understanding how your success could produce such a sudden change of heart."

  His glance was satirical. "I didn't seduce you—quite the contrary."

  Her face burned. "I wasn't trying to trap you into marriage."

  "I know that, Clare," he said quietly. "You gave me a great gift, from the most generous of motives. But accepting it imposed certain obligations, and I always honor my obligations."

  She suppressed an involuntary shiver. "That's a cold basis for marriage."

  "Oh, it's not the only one." A familiar light gleamed in his eyes, warming his icy detachment. "For example, now that I've finally had my wicked way with you, I want to do it again. Often."

  As she hesitated, he said, "I see you need persuasion."

  In two long strides, he was on the bed. Before she had time to catch her breath, she was flat on her back and he was kissing her, one hand twined in her hair and the other caressing her breast.

  Her husky gasp must have sounded like surrender, for he lifted his head and murmured, "Do you have any special requests for the wedding? A small one would be best, I think, but the thing should be done properly."

  She struggled for common sense, not easy when he was doing such marvelous things to her eager body. "I... I haven't said that I'll marry you."

  His face was scant inches from hers, and she saw his eyes grow even blacker. "Why not?" he demanded, harshness in his voice. "You don't seem to dislike my lovemaking. Of course, there are women who will sleep with men that they would never receive socially."

  "Don't be ridiculous," she said acerbically. "You've gotten it backwards. Earls don't marry village schoolmistresses."

  "Just as the sons of earls don't marry Gypsy girls? Your father was a vicar, an educated son of the gentry, and your mother of respectable yeoman stock. There are many who would think those better bloodlines than mine." His expression lightened. "You really must marry me, Clare. You owe it to our unborn child to give it a name."

  A choke of laughter escaped her. "I'm by no means convinced of the existence of this unborn child."

  "You should be." He skimmed his palm lightly down her belly, then began toying with the soft curls between her thighs. "We're about to double the chances of its conception."

  "Stop it!" She slapped away his hand. "I can't think when you're doing that."

  Undeterred, he replaced his hand and continued what he had been doing. "It doesn't take much thought to say yes."

  She grabbed his hand and immobilized it. Dead serious, she said, "I can accept the fact that you would be marrying me without love, but not that you might come to hate me for trapping you in a marriage that you didn't want."

  "I could never hate you, Clare," he said with equal seriousness. "I am going into this with my eyes open. I won't punish you for a situation that was of my creation."

  She hesitated, hating the necessity of her next question. "There's something else."

  He raised his brows encouragingly.

  Her gaze slid away from his. "It has been said that you were not faithful to your first wife. Is that true?"

  His face shuttered. "It is."

  "I understand that aristocrats feel differently about such things, but I am no aristocrat," she said with difficulty. "I... I couldn't bear it if you had other women."

  The silence stretched. His face was unfathomable, and when he finally spoke it was in a voice of cool neutrality. "I'll propose another bargain. I shall be faithful to you as long as you are faithful to me. But if you should ever visit another man's bed, I promise you that I shall also look elsewhere. "

  Dizzying relief flooded through her. "If you agree to that bargain, you are destined to have a long, dull life, my lord, for I will never turn to another man."

  "Dull? With you? I don't think so." His expression eased. "Does this mean you accept my proposal?"

  She closed her eyes, wanting to clear her mind so that she could hear her inner voice. Instantly a tide of certainty began rising in her, as it had the night before. This was right—what she was born to do. Since she did not think he would welcome an outright declaration of love, she opened her eyes and contented herself with saying, "Yes, Nicholas. With all my heart and soul."

  He rolled from the bed, went to her desk, and rummaged in the drawer. When he came back, she saw that he was carrying her penknife. As she watched in mystification, he raised his hand and pierced his wrist with the sharp, narrow blade. A deep crimson drop formed on his dark skin, quickly followed by another. Then he lifted her hand.

  Guessing what was coming, she managed not to flinch when he made a similar incision on her wrist. Holding his wrist to hers so that their blood flowed together, he said quietly, "Blood to blood. The deed is done, wife."

  She stared at their joined wrists, feeling a deep, primal sense of connection. Blood to blood, till death did them part. "This is a Romany rite?"

  "One of many. The Rom are a varied lot." He smiled. "Typically the wedding feast ends with a mock abduction. It's considered bad form for the bride to look too willing to leave her family. Since you were coerced into coming to Aberdare, we can count that as the abduction." He raised her wrist to his mouth and licked the blood away, his tongue soothing the sting of the cut. "Shall we proceed with the consummation?"

  She lifted her arms in welcome, her waist-length hair spilling around her in a provocative mantle. "With great delight, husband."

  As he kissed her, he thought fleetingly of how unexpected life was. Three days ago the mine had been running normally, Owen Morris ha
d been alive, and marriage had been out of the question.

  Now everything had changed, drawing a sharp line between Nicholas's past and a future he had never imagined. For better and worse, he had made a binding commitment to the woman in his arms. His life of restless freedom had been supplanted by the prospect of a more conventional existence of family and home. Yet as he tasted the rich depths of Clare's mouth, it was hard to regret his new course.

  This time he would not be swift and heedless, as he had been the night before. Desperately needing her warmth and understanding, he had taken her with violent urgency. Thank God she had no longer been technically a virgin, or he would have hurt her badly. She would have accepted the pain philosophically, but he would have hated himself after his wild despair had passed. This time he would use all the skill at his command to show her what passion could be.

  She was bewitchingly lovely, not with the lushness that too easily became excess, but with a slim roundness that he found irresistible. As he bore her back against the pillows, he whispered, "Lie back and enjoy, Clarissima. Last night was a synopsis. Now it's time for the unabridged version."

  Obediently she relaxed, her long hair swirling over the pillow in entrancing patterns. He kissed every luscious curve and hollow until she sighed with astonished pleasure. When she was moist and ready, he positioned himself between her legs so that his hard arousal lay on the tiny nub that was the center of female sensation. He doubted that she knew it existed, but before he was done today, she would.

  As he suckled her breast, his heated flesh slid voluptuously against her. The sensual friction caused her eyes to fly open, dazed and deeply blue. "N... now?" she quavered.

  "Not yet." While continuing to woo her with hands and lips and tongue, he began rocking his hips with blatant carnality. She whimpered, a raspy, drawn-out sound that echoed the rhythm of his movements. Then she squirmed against him, instinctively seeking. He gasped, the hot rush of his breath flowing around her taut nipple.

  Bracing himself on his arms, he began making longer strokes, caressing her with the full length of his shaft, from base to head and back again. Her hands clamped on his arms, the nails biting deep, and her mouth opened to draw great, gusty pants of air. He brought her to the brink of culmination and tantalizingly held her there until her torso filmed with moisture and her head twisted back and forth frantically.

  He intended to ease the pace a little, but in the white heat of pleasure he pulled back so far that his position shifted. Suddenly he was pressing into yielding, seductive flesh. He held still, muscles shaking, trying to make himself retreat, but she pressed her pelvis upward and he was lost. When he slipped into her body, she clasped him like hot, wet silk.

  At first he moved slowly, until he was sure how deeply her body would receive him. Then he began thrusting with a steadily escalating tempo, withdrawing painfully far before surging back with exquisite gladness.

  When she cried out, he instantly enfolded her, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Her hands bit into his hips as turbulence rocked her, and he groaned, his ecstasy flowing seamlessly from hers. The hidden depths of her body were the sweetest he had ever known.

  They lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and intimate scents, both of them trembling with reaction. When breathing had returned to a semblance of normal, she murmured, "I think I understand why organized religion disapproves of sexual congress. This could make someone forget about God, for it is hard to imagine that heaven can offer anything more."

  He laughed a little. "That sounds like blasphemy."

  "Very likely it is." Her fingers curved around the nape of his neck. "I'm beginning to understand why you were so keen on seduction. Passion is rather wonderful, isn't it?"

  "Yes. Though not always this wonderful." His hand rested on the gentle swell of her belly and he wondered if a new life was blossoming inside. "The first time you came to Aberdare, I knew that you would make an extraordinarily gifted bedmate."

  It was her turn to laugh. "I thought you were mostly interested in getting rid of me."

  "That, too," he agreed.

  She lifted his arm and kissed the small cut that he had made with the penknife. "Even though the legal ceremony is still to come, I feel very married."

  "Good, because I have every intention of joining you every night from now on." Remembering the real world, he sat up with a sigh. "However, for the sake of the tattered remnants of your reputation, I'll come and go discreetly. It's still early enough that we probably haven't attracted the notice of anyone beyond my valet and your maid, and silence is part of their business."

  She gave him a rueful smile. "Thank you. No doubt it's feeble of me to care what others think, but I do."

  "Since we're going to be living in the valley for the rest of our lives, discretion is not out of place." He bent and kissed her, then straightened, resisting the urge to climb back in the bed. "I'll send a note to Lucien this morning and ask him to go to Doctor's Commons for a special license. He's rather good at arranging such things. We should be able to have the ceremony in about a week."

  She nodded, her gaze following Nicholas as he pulled on his clothing and slipped from the room. Everything had been so sudden that she still didn't quite believe it. Yet though he had offered marriage reluctantly, he did not seem unhappy. She vowed to do everything in her power to keep him from regret.

  Since the earthly part of her life was prospering, Clare decided that it was time to attend to the spiritual. She got out of bed and pulled on a robe, then knelt in the sunshine that streamed through the window. Her hands loosely clasped in her lap, she cleared her mind.

  Like a stream of living fire, transcendent faith filled her heart. This was the divine peace and joy her father had known daily, and dedicated his life to sharing. As her meditation deepened, she felt a brief, fragile sense of her father's presence. With wonder, she understood that he had known of her weakness and prayed for her salvation. Now he had come to share in her awakening.

  Her father's presence faded after a few minutes. She smiled a little. Even now, on the other side, he was busy helping those less fortunate, but she no longer resented that.

  Tears of awe and humility stung her eyes, and she gave a prayer of thanks. Now that the light had been kindled within her, she knew that it would never be extinguished.

  And it was love that had shown her the way.

  Chapter 27

  Clare was so deep in her meditation that it was a shock to rise and discover that Polly had come and left a pot of tea and a steaming pitcher of water. Remembering how much there was to be done, she washed and dressed quickly, then went downstairs for breakfast. First, however, she made a detour to the library.

  Resisting the temptation to stare at the carpet where they had made love, she knelt by the wreckage of Nicholas's harp. She was studying it when he entered the library himself.

  Glancing up, she said hesitantly, "Many of the pegs snapped, and the bow has separated from the box, but it looks as if the pieces can be joined again."

  He went down on one knee and lifted the pieces. "You're right," he said when he had finished his own examination. "There is no damage that can't be repaired." He stroked the satiny willow-wood. "I'm glad. Tam was a great artist—it was sacrilege to try to destroy his work."

  "Luckily the harp is very solidly made. It put a sizable dent in the wall." She sat back on her heels. "Last night, when you hurled it away, I felt as if you were also trying to destroy the music in you. I hope you weren't successful." She ended with a faint, questioning lilt.

  "I suppose that was my intent, though I wasn't thinking that clearly." He plucked one string that was still taut, and a melancholy note sounded. "Perhaps I should write a song about the mine explosion. Commemorating the honored dead is an ancient Celtic tradition."

  She laid her hand over his. "Please do that, and sing it at the next local eisteddfod. It would mean a great deal to everyone in the valley."

  His face tightened, and she gu
essed that he was thinking that it would have meant more if he had been able to effect changes at the mine earlier. Though his grief and guilt were under control this morning, they had not gone away. She guessed that he would never be entirely free of them.

  The stillness was broken when Williams entered, a panting young boy at his side. Recognizing Trevor Morris, Marged's oldest, Clare got to her feet. "Does your mother need me, Trevor?" she asked. "I was about to go down to the village."

  He shook his head. "No, Miss Morgan, it's wonderful news. My da is alive! They found him this morning. Mama sent me to tell you as soon as they brought him home."

  Clare's heartfelt, "Thank God," was drowned by Nicholas's exuberant, "Hallelujah!"

  It seemed almost too good to be true, but the proof was in Trevor's shining face. Nicholas's face reflected the same joy, and she knew that this news would heal him as nothing else.

  Nicholas said, "Williams, order the curricle. Trevor can tell us the story while we ride into the village."

  Within five minutes, they were racing toward Penreith at a speed that would have frightened Clare if the driver had been anyone less skillful than Nicholas. Squeezed between them, Trevor explained, "The explosion blew Da into one of the older tunnels and broke his leg. He was unconscious for a long time. When he woke up, he remembered he was near one of the adits."

  Sparing a quick glance from the road, Nicholas said, "One of the old drainage tunnels?"

  The boy nodded. "He had to dig his way through a roof collapse to reach it. When he got to the adit, he found that the explosion had dropped the water level, so there was air. He crawled out last night, and this morning a shepherd found him."

  "A miracle," Clare said quietly.

  "That's what my mother says."

  There was silence for a time. Then Nicholas asked, "How will the families of the men who died manage?"

  "There are two friendly societies," Clare replied. "People put in a bit each week, so there's money to help those who fall on hard times."

  "So many deaths will put a strain on the societies," he said. "Do you think that anyone's stubborn Welsh pride would be offended if I made contributions?"