Captive Bride (36 page)

“No. This was a mistake. I’ll go.” He stood and moved across the chamber toward his clothing, hastily pulling on his trousers.

“Don’t you dare leave, Peter
Cheriot
!
” She leapt off the bed, grabbing up her wrapper and clutching it in front of her—for protection or comfort she didn’t know.

“Let me go, Bea,” he
said,
his voice hoarse. “Then you will stop crying and tomorrow after we’ve both had some sleep we can sit down and calmly talk about how we are going to arrange this.” He swallowed jerkily
.

“I do not wish to sleep, and I do not wish to arrange it. No! Listen to me, for pity’s sake.”  

“Your tears tell me everything I need to know.”

“Curse my wretched tears,” she groaned. “I’m crying because I am happy!”

Tip went absolutely still. But his eyes grew more fevered yet, a look of panic stealing into them. “Happy?”

“Yes, I’m happy, you imbecile. And I cannot bring myself to believe you actually wish to marry me. Every time I think of it, I know I must be dreaming. Then, when you hold me, I feel as though—as though—I feel
heaven
.” The floodgates of Bea’s eyes opened wide now. Her heart seemed to pour through them too.

“You are happy.” It was a statement, uttered low and unsteadily. He did not look pleased at all.

Bea choked back another sob, nodding
.

Tip walked to her, grasped her arms tight, and swept her into a kiss that left her struggling for air and clinging to him helplessly. His mouth moved along her jaw, then lower, ravenous, and his arms encircled her, pulling her against him. She welcomed his caresses, sinking her fingers into his hair and
sighing
her pleasure through her soggy throat.

He pressed his lips beneath her ear, his hands gripping her close. “I am lost, Bea.” His voice was a ragged whisper.
“Flooded with you.”

“W-what?”
The word stumbled between her trembling lips.

He pulled back, his emerald eyes awash in bewilderment. “I need you like air.
Even more so since you discovered your wings.
I wanted you before, but since we came here, each time the spark of excitement lights your eyes, I want you more until I cannot see, can barely breathe unless I hear you, touch you. I tried to control it, to deny it. I even left here on the pretense that I could withstand it. But it was futile. You hold me in your hands. I am yours to do with as you will.”

Bea’s heart pounded, and twisted. He wanted her, but he didn’t want to want her? His anguished eyes showed it so clearly. And it explained so much—his kisses, his anger, his proposals and retractions.

“I-I am sorry,” she said upon a choke, dashing her knuckles across her damp cheek. “Perhaps it will pass. I mean to say, perhaps your strong feelings have arisen from this rather intense situation here, the castle, the danger, and the—the intimacies we have shared.”

“I should say so. But only to strengthen what already existed.”

“Already existed?” She shook, clutching the dressing gown to her breasts. “I don’t understand.”

He stared at her for an endless moment, astonishment dawning upon his handsome face.

“Good Lord, Bea,” he uttered in a low voice, “how can you not know it by now?”

“Not know what?” 

His eyes glittered. “I am in love with you.”

She couldn’t breathe. “You
are
?”

“I have been in love with you for years.”

“
Years
?
Y-you have?”

“Of course I have. Why do you think I’ve asked you to marry me a dozen times?”

“Because—” She could not think.
He loved her
.
He loved her
. “Because you did not actually wish to marry,” she whispered, the words sounding ridiculous beneath the force of the glorious truth, all of her rationalizations tragically foolish now. “Because I was a safe gamble since you knew I would refuse you.”

With a strong hand he tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes directly.

“Bea, when a man does not wish to marry, he simply does not ask anyone.” He smiled, and her knees turned to jelly.

“It does seem a rather far-fetched notion, now that you put it that way.”

“It does indeed.” His gaze scanned her face slowly, coming to rest on her mouth. He bent to touch his lips to hers, a deliciously tender caress. He drew back and took in a hard breath.

She flattened her palms on his chest, the dressing gown slithering to the floor between their feet.

“Would you—?” she whispered. “D-do you think you could—?” she tried again.

“More stammering?
Am I always to have this effect upon you now?”

His shining gaze was too much to bear. She laid her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat swift beneath her ear.

“Please tell me again.”

“I love you, Bea. I have loved you for so long and with such hope that you have become part of my very soul.”

Happiness swelled in her, grand and fresh and spectacular.

Tip drew her away and his gaze sought hers. “I know you have given your heart elsewhere. But do you think that in time you could come to love me?”

Tears clogged her throat.

He stroked his thumb over her lips, his expression determined. “I want your love, Bea, and I will win it however necessary. Whoever he is, he was a fool to have left you free. But I have you now, and I will not give up, for I want all of you.” With gentle fingers, he tried to wipe away the moisture collecting on her cheeks again. “Of course, if you ever let slip his name I may have to murder him.”

She sobbed, turning her lips into his palm, then her cheek.

“Weep now if you must,” he said roughly. “But I will make you forget him.” He kissed her mouth and his hand trapped her hips against his.

“You cannot make me forget him.” She sighed through her tears. “He is you.”

He stilled. His lips parted for a long, silent interval.

“I beg your pardon?” he finally said.

Sweet laughter welled up in her. “You are the man I gave my heart to, Peter
Cheriot
. I love you. I have loved you since the moment we met.
No one else.
Only you.”

He shook his head once, as though forcing space for the information, his jaw slack
.

“Forgive me if I appear astonished.” His voice was wonderfully unsteady. “But I must venture to say, Bea, that of all the gentlemen of your acquaintance, I believe I can safely assume
that for some time now I have been the
least
ineligible.”

“You loved
Georgie
.”

“I did what?”

“You loved my sister. I was certain of it.” She rushed the words. “You were devoted to her,
then
when
Kievan
and she married, you showered upon me all the attention you could no longer give to her. She broke your heart and it comforted you to pay addresses to me so that you could continue hearing of her, perhaps even see her when she visited Hart House.”

“Astounding,” he murmured. Then firmly, “I showered you with attention because I was falling in love with you.”

“I didn’t know that. You never told me.”

“Because I—” He halted. “I asked you to marry me!
Quite a few times.”

“You never said you loved me!”

“And I assure you I will never regret anything so thoroughly for the remainder of my life.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His mouth opened, but he did not speak immediately. Finally he said, “I could not. Each time when we were together and the words came to my tongue—and it was often—I heard my father’s voice pleading for forgiveness for his infidelity, my mother giving it to him, both of them suffering as they professed their undying devotion in the certain knowledge that they would do it all again.”

“You thought it would be that way with me?
With us?”

“I was certain of it. My feelings for you overwhelmed me. They still do.”

“But you will not be unfaithful to me, will you?”

“Never,” he said harshly.

Her heart ached with happiness. “Yet despite your hesitations, you persisted.”

“I could not do otherwise.”

“You were so careless in your addresses.”

“It was either that or
make
violent love to you each time I saw you. I took the safer course, I thought, for both of us.”

“I thought you didn’t care. I thought you pitied me, trapped in Yorkshire with Mama. I didn’t like the idea of you offering for me out of pity or perhaps even habit.” Her hand slid over his chest.

“I see,” he murmured. “You refused me because you wished to spare me from making a sacrifice of myself?” A wondering smile shaped his mouth. “You, my love, have much to learn about men.”

“I refused you because the prospect of being married to you yet not having your love was infinitely more horrifying to me than the rest of my life spent serving a hundred Mamas. Obviously, I did not follow through on that resolution.”

“That’s all right. You had a rather pressing reason to alter your plans.
But what a ghastly image you’ve just conjured, Bea.
One hundred Lady
Harriets
living under the same roof.”
He shuddered, his eyes alight.
“Horrifying.
You have quite a vivid imagination.”

“I am more than happy to put it to rest.” Her fingers traced a circle on his skin. “I think I would like one of those lessons on men now.
One man, in particular.”
She kissed his collarbone, loving the scent of him, his texture.

He breathed unevenly, but his voice was steady. “Your sister never broke my heart.”

“Oh, don’t―”

“I was mildly infatuated with her for a time when I first went to London.”

“You played the cicisbeo very convincingly at my great-uncle’s house party.”

“Unless a nineteen-year-old on the town is drinking, gambling, and—forgive me, Bea—whoring his way into rustication, like your brother, by the way, he must play the cicisbeo to someone. I wished to avoid entanglements like my father’s, so I chose a lady to admire.
Georgianna
was my sister’s bosom bow and close at hand. And she was by far the kindest lady with whom I was acquainted then.”

Bea smiled. “She is wonderful.”

“She never had my heart.” His eyes looked very sober. “I was waiting to lose it to her younger sister.”

She sighed. He pressed his lips to her brow and she wound her arms about his waist and breathed him in.

“Bea, I have a confession to make.”

“Haven’t you already made one?” She sighed again, and grinned. Since when had she become so flighty?

“Another confession.
This one shameful, I’ll admit.” He smiled. “Your mother did not frighten off your suitors in London. I did.”

Her eyes widened.
“You?
How on earth?”

“I knew them well enough. I had introduced you to most of them, fool that I was. But I was proud of you. Proud of this lovely girl I’d found.”

“How did you accomplish it, scaring them away?”

He gave her a devilish grin. “I told each one of them—confidentially, of course—that you intended to bring your mother to live with you once you were wed.”

Bea could not repress her bubbling laughter. “Thank you, my lord.”

“For ruining your prospects?”

“For saving me for you.”
She lifted her lips to be kissed. Tip cupped her face in his hands and bent his head.

“I love you, Bea.
Thoroughly.”
He brushed her lips.
“Madly.”
This time he stayed for longer, tasting and giving pleasure.
“Body and soul.”

“Show me,” she whispered.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“I must look a fright,” she said when she eventually had independent use of her tongue again. She said it very unevenly.

“You look beautiful. And you feel like heaven.” Tip’s eyes were dark with heat. He stroked into her in slow, tantalizing thrusts, teasing Bea’s pent need. “Now, where were we when those pesky tears interrupted us? Here, perhaps?” He took her earlobe between his teeth and pressed her into the mattress with a hard thrust. Bea gasped and lifted her hips to meet him.

“Ah, yes.
And here?”
His hand curved around her breast. His fingers found the peak and caressed until the delectable pleasure undid her, the ache building in her with hurried fever. In need and ecstasy, her entire body tightened―her breasts and thighs and belly, the tips of her toes. Her hands clenched on his shoulders.

“Yes, yes. Oh, everywhere. Peter, I ca-cannot breathe.”