Whirlwind Wedding (13 page)

"Heavens save us," she fumed. "Can you explain why it was necessary to meet this man
outside! On horseback? During a storm?
Have you never heard of a drawing room?" She waved her hands at him. "Never mind. Don't even try to explain. 'Tis just fortunate that your mulish head is so hard lest you might have been killed."

Damn it, he needed to bring this woman to task for her disrespect. He opened his mouth to do just that, but before he could utter a word she said "At least you weren't shot."

He stared at her. "Shot?"

"Yes. In my vision I was certain I heard a gunshot, but I suppose it was thunder . . . yet I sensed death. Very strongly." Her expression turned grave. "Are you certain it was thunder that spooked Myst? Could it have been a gunshot?"

An immediate "no" rose to his lips, but something in her expression made him pause and consider her question. "It happened so quickly. I remember lightning, crashing thunder . . . then falling. It seems highly unlikely someone was out and about shooting during a storm."

"Yes, I suppose so. Obviously I was mistaken."

"Obviously." He cleared his throat. "And I am not mulish."

She cocked a clearly disbelieving brow. "I think that the fact that you are lying here, injured is proof that you are. However, if you prefer that I call you pigheaded, I'm happy to oblige."

"I do
not
prefer. In fact—"

"I refuse to argue with a wounded man," she interrupted in a brisk tone.

"Are you cold?"

"Cold?"

"Yes. It is an American word meaning 'not warm.' You're soaked to the skin, but I have nothing to cover you with."

It took him several seconds to recall that he was indeed wet. His gaze swept over her and he realized that she, too, was wet, her plain gown molded to her lush body as if it were painted on. His attention riveted on her full breasts and her clearly visible erect nipples.

Heat streaked through him. "No, I'm not cold." In fact, he was growing warmer by the minute.

He watched mesmerized as her chest rose and fell with every breath she drew. Forcing his gaze upward his breathing stalled at the sight of her. The subdued glow flickering from the lantern illuminated her glorious hair.

The unbound mass of damp curls spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a satin curtain, the ends brushing the stone floor around her where she knelt. He instantly imagined her in his bed wearing nothing but that incredible hair and a smile on her luscious mouth.

Her luscious mouth . . . His gaze riveted on her lips and in spite of his numerous aches and the relentless pounding in his head, a surge of lust and desire slammed into him. An agonized groan he couldn't squelch filled the silence.

"The pain is bad?"

He gritted his teeth and snapped his eyes closed. "You have no idea."

She shifted away and he heard her moving around nearby. He grasped the opportunity to try and will his throbbing erection away. He pretended she was ugly. He desperately tried to convince himself he hated lilacs.

But nothing worked. His arousal pulsed and he groaned again.

"I want you to drink this," she said.

He opened his eyes. She sat next to him, holding a wooden cup. "What is that?"

"Just a mixture of herbs, roots, and rainwater." She gently raised his head enough to drink. "It will relieve your pain. It is too dangerous to attempt returning to the house until the rain stops. In the meanwhile, you need to rest and regain your strength."

There was only one thing that would relieve his pain and it was not in that cup, but because her eyes made it plain she would tolerate no dissention and he was too tired to argue anyway, he drank.

"Yeck," he said, grimacing as she gently laid his head back down. "That's the worst-tasting stuff I've ever had."

"It's not supposed to taste good. It's supposed to make you feel good."

His entire body shuddered from the bitter elixir. "Nothing that foul could possibly make me feel good." But even as the words passed his lips, an odd languor stole through him, relaxing his tight muscles, easing his aches.

He looked up at her, riveted by the unmistakable warmth and concern in her eyes. He could not recall any woman, save Caroline or his mother, ever looking at him with such a tender expression. Unable to stop himself from touching her, he lifted his hand and sifted his fingers through her damp curls. The auburn skeins brushed over his skin like a silken caress. "You have beautiful hair."

Surprise flickered in her eyes, prompting him to say, "Surely many people have told you that."

"Actually, no. I'm afraid that
beautiful
and my name are two words that are rarely heard in the same sentence."

"Beautiful," he repeated. "Soft." He twirled a curl around his finger, brought it to his face, and inhaled. "Lilacs."

She drew in a quick breath and he wondered how she would react if he touched more than her hair. If her breath would catch in that husky way if he trailed his hands down her body.

"I distill my own lilac water," she whispered, her eyes wide but steady on his.

He inhaled again, allowing her fragrance to infuse him. "An abundance of lilacs bloom in the gardens at Bradford Hall. Please feel free to pick as many as you wish for your water."

"Thank you. You're very kind."

No, I'm not. A kind man wouldn't be contemplating how long it would take to
peel that wet gown from your body. A kind man wouldn't be imagining you
naked, trembling for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut to banish his sensual thoughts. A kind man would force himself to arise and get them both back to the house before anyone discovered their absence. Before her reputation was destroyed.

Before he gave in to the longings that licked at him like relentless flames.

No, he was not a kind man.

He gently tugged on the curl wrapped around his finger. "Come here."

She scooted nearer. "Closer."

She inched closer, until her skirt-clad legs pressed against his side. "Closer."

Amusement flashed in her eyes. "If I move any closer, Austin, I'll be on the other side of you."

He twined his hand deeply in her hair and slowly pulled her head toward him. "Your mouth. Closer. Now."

Her amusement vanished and her breath hitched. "You want to kiss me."

His hand stilled and he searched her eyes . . . eyes filled with concern and longing.
I
want to make love to you. Desperately.
"Yes, Elizabeth. I want to kiss you."

"You must rest. And I don't want to hurt you."

"Then come here." He again pulled her downward until their lips touched. His pulse galloped and he nearly laughed at his strong reaction.

Damn it, he'd barely touched her and already his heart was hammering at thrice its normal speed. What the hell would he do if he ever saw her naked?
I'd make love to her, slowly, for hours, then make love to her again. And
again.

"Austin." Her warm breath whispered against his lips and he barely suppressed a groan. Sinking his fingers deeper into her luxuriant hair, he pressed her lips more firmly against his.

When his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, she parted her lips with a breathy sigh that filled him with the subtle taste of strawberries. He'd never kissed any woman who tasted so sweet, whose skin felt so soft beneath his fingers, who made him want to be only inches away from her so he wouldn't miss out on a single waft of the gentle fragrance clinging to her skin.

She rested her hands on his shoulders and touched her tongue to his, igniting him. Wrapping his free arm firmly around her waist, he tugged her downward, shifting her, until the upper half of her body lay on his. Her soft breasts flattened against his chest, enflaming his skin through the layers of their clothes.

The kiss became an endless blending of heated sighs and pleasure-filled moans.
Just one more. . . just one more will be enough . . . I'll have my fill of her.

But it wasn't enough. He couldn't get her close enough, feel her enough, taste her enough. His hands wandered restlessly up and down her back, first tunneling through her silken hair, then spanning her waist and cupping her rounded bottom, pressing her closer to him. He wanted to shift, to roll over so he lay on top of her, but the languor easing through him grew more pronounced with each passing second, relaxing his limbs until he felt as weak as a newborn babe.

She moaned softly and eased back from him. His eyelids drooped and he fought to open them, but the battle was lost.

"I'm so tired," he whispered.

"Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

He tried to answer, but he could not seem to move his lips. Oblivion eased over him like a velvet blanket.

Elizabeth watched sleep overtake him. She knew his body needed the rest, but she needed to watch him and awaken him at intervals to make sure that his sleep remained natural and that he did not slip into unconsciousness due to his head injury. She listened to the deep, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and laying her hand on his forehead noted that his skin was dry and cool, both good signs that he was merely sleeping.

Relieved she gently trailed her fingertips down his face. His features were perfectly relaxed his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. With no hints of sadness or bitterness firming his lips, he looked completely worry free. Brushing back a strand of raven hair that fell over his bandaged forehead he reminded her of a vulnerable boy.

Her eyes swept down the length of him and she nearly laughed at herself. There was nothing boy-like about this man.

His broad chest rose and fell in his sleep, drawing her eyes to the intriguing bit of dark hair visible at the opening of his shirt. The need to touch him was so overwhelming. So tempting . . .

Unable to stop herself, she parted his dirt-streaked shirt and laid her palm on his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her fingers, sending a frisson of warmth down to her toes. A sudden flood of tears gushed into her eyes.

"Dear God I almost failed again. I almost lost you." That frightening image of him, lying unconscious on the ground flashed through her mind.

"My visions . . . I've always considered them nothing more than a nuisance, something that kept me from being like everyone else. But tonight I thank God for them because they helped me find you. I'll not let anything hurt you again. I swear it."

While the storm continued outside, she sat vigil, watching him sleep, stroking his face every quarter hour until his eyes flickered open, assuring her he wasn't unconscious. Dawn was approaching when she was finally satisfied that his sleep was natural. Fatigue overcame her and she allowed herself to lie down . . . just for a moment. The cold stone floor offered little heat, so she snuggled next to Austin's side for warmth.

I'll only rest my eyes for a moment.
But in less than a minute, she was dozing off. A frown knitted her brow, pulling her back from the edge of sleep. Something . . . something wasn't quite right . . . in her vision . . . she'd been so certain she'd heard a gunshot. . .

But her tired brain couldn't figure out what was niggling at her, and exhaustion overcame her.

Caroline descended the stairs just after sunrise. Normally she did not arise so early, but the birds chattering outside her bedchamber window had awakened her and her thoughts were too full to go back to sleep. A long solitary walk was exactly what she needed to clear her mind. The instant she stepped outside onto the terrace leading to the gardens, however, a voice sounded behind her.

"Why, Caroline, what a surprise to see you up so early."

Caroline bit her tongue to suppress a groan. Dash it, it was one of those infernal Digby daughters—Penelope or Prudence, judging by the high-pitched whine. Gritting her teeth, she turned.

Good heavens, it was worse than she'd suspected.
Both
girls stood before her. Penelope squinted at her through thick-lensed spectacles that magnified her eyes. She reminded Caroline of a bug. A bug with large teeth, three dozen bouncing sausage curls, and wearing a frilly bonnet.

Prudence stood beside her sister, her thin face pinched into a frown. She was currently engaged in her annoying habit of opening and closing her mouth without speaking, an unfortunate action that lent her a distinctly carplike air.

"Good morning, Penelope, Prudence," Caroline said forcing herself to smile.

"Are you going for a walk?" Penelope asked tilting her head to one side, thus now resembling a lopsided bug.

"Yes." Caroline realized there was no point in not inviting them to accompany her, for they would simply invite themselves. Somehow managing not to sigh, she asked "Would you care to join me?"

"We'd love to," Penelope said.

Prudence opened her mouth and the word "yes" popped out.

'"Tis fortunate we are awake so early to join you," Penelope said "as it appears you're without a companion."

"Indeed" Caroline mumbled.
"Fortunate
is just the word I was searching for."

They descended the steps and Caroline headed down a path leading toward the tower ruins. Penelope launched into an excruciatingly detailed description of her new wardrobe while Prudence remained thankfully silent. Caroline nodded occasionally and uttered noncommittal noises, but otherwise strove to pretend she was alone.

As the tower came into view, she recalled the many times she had climbed the crumbling stone steps, then pretended to be a damsel in distress so either William or Austin would rescue her. Sometimes Robert and Miles would join in their games as well, then she'd have four knights to save her from the perils of evil.

Miles.
A breathy sigh puffed from her lips. It was better that she not think of Miles. He was the very reason she'd longed for a solitary walk—to try to force him from her mind. But it was an impossible task, even with Penelope's nonstop stream of chatter to distract her. The man filled every corner of her mind, and every time she found herself in the same room with him, her heart threatened to sputter to a stop.