Whirlwind Wedding (27 page)

The.question is why.
Why
would he do it?"

He knew he had to look at her, to read her reaction, but he couldn't yet bring himself to gaze into her eyes. What would he do if he read condemnation there? There was every chance she would reject him, his family, now that she knew the truth. And because she was his wife, she, too, would now be forced to suffer any shame brought upon the family.

Bracing himself, he opened his eyes and looked at her, and his breath hitched in his throat. A dozen emotions swam in her eyes, none of them condemnation. Only warmth, caring, and concern flowed from her gaze.

She reached up and cradled his face between her palms. "God in heaven, Austin. How you must have suffered, keeping this secret, trying to protect your family. I'm so very sorry for your pain. But you're not alone any longer."

That heartfelt look radiating from her eyes, the soothing, gentle touch of her hands, her softly spoken words, combined with the barrage of emotions attacking him from all sides, shattered the bleakness engulfing him.
You're not alone any longer.

Gathering her close, he pressed his face into the warm curve of her shoulder. A long shudder passed through him, and he held her tighter, so tight her bones must have ached but she never complained. She hugged him to her, running her hands soothingly through his hair, over his back, while the guilt that had festered inside him broke loose and poured forth in a torrent he was helpless to stop.

Long moments passed before his shudders subsided. When they did, he remained in Elizabeth's arms and tried to assemble his thoughts.

He would always bitterly regret his last moments with William, but now there was hope for a second chance. William was alive. He needed to find him, talk with him, discover why he'd done what he'd done.

Elizabeth claimed William was in danger. Why? Was someone seeking retribution for his wartime activities? Or was some other danger hounding his brother, holding him captive? Could William be trying to escape whatever evil had convinced him to commit treason? Regardless of the past, if William needed his help, he would give it.

Grim determination filled Austin. He would find William. And Gaspard.

No matter what.

For the first time since that horrible night over a year ago, he drew an easy breath. The relief that surged through him at unburdening his soul left him all but light-headed. He'd been alone for so long, locked in the solitary confinement of his secret. But no longer. Now he had someone to share it with. Elizabeth. She knew his darkest secret.

This beautiful woman who held him against her heart, absorbing his pain and replacing it with her own goodness. She'd freed him and given him back his life. She'd given him hope for the future.

God, how he needed her.

He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. There were so many things he needed to say to her, wanted her to know, but his throat was so clogged with emotion, he couldn't utter a sound.

The hack jerked to a halt. Forcing his gaze away from her, he saw they'd arrived at the town house. Without a word he helped her alight and paid the hackney.

Holding tightly to her arm, he opened the oak door. The foyer was empty, as Carters had clearly retired hours ago. Without pausing even to remove their coats, he led her up the stairs and into his bedchamber, closing and locking the door behind them.

A need like he'd never before experienced rose up inside him. He had to touch her. Hold her. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. An affirmation of life after feeling dead inside for so long.

He longed to tell her what he was feeling, but he didn't know the words, and words were beyond him. He needed to
feel
her. Against him. Around him. Under him. To show her how he felt where words couldn't reach.

His gaze never strayed from her face as he began removing his clothes.

His coat then his jacket hit the floor, carelessly falling from his impatient fingers. Cravat, waistcoat, and linen shirt followed joining the heap at his feet. Bared to the waist, he approached her, unable to wait another instant to feel her hands on him.

She made a move to unfasten her coat, but he stilled her hands and performed the task himself. Layer by layer, he removed her clothes, then the remainder of his, until they stood before each other naked.

He'd never felt so needful or vulnerable in his entire life.

Reaching out, he cupped her face between his hands and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. So many words to say, so many things to tell her, but he couldn't seem to find his voice.

"Elizabeth," he whispered in a husky voice.

It was the only word he was able to manage. What he couldn't say, he'd show her. Drawing her into his arms, he touched his lips softly to hers, aching with a tenderness completely at odds with the inferno burning inside him.

She breathed his name and slid her arms around him.

And the dam burst.

He crushed her to him, overwhelmed with the need to touch her everywhere at once. His lips claimed hers, his kiss growing increasingly hot and demanding. His tongue explored the soft interior of her mouth, withdrawing and then plundering again.

But kissing her wasn't enough. Pulling back, he studied her face, his heart doubling its already breakneck pace at the passion and desire shimmering in her eyes. "Elizabeth, my God what you do to me . . ." he moaned his voice thick and unsteady. Sinking to his knees, he pressed his mouth to the creamy skin of her belly.

"So soft," he murmured his lips trailing across her abdomen. "So beautiful." His tongue dipped into her navel before his mouth continued its downward journey. He slowly kissed and licked his way down one long leg and back up the other, while his fingers lightly ran up and down the back of her thighs and calves. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he raised his head. "Look at me, Elizabeth."

Opening her eyes, she looked down at him, showing golden depths darkened with passion.

"Spread your legs for me," he commanded in a raw voice against the smooth skin of her belly. When she did as he bid he ran one hand down her body, from her neck to the dark red curls that hid her womanly flesh, then stroked between her thighs. Her eyelids slid shut, and a long moan purred in her throat.

"You're so beautiful . . . so wet. . . so hot," he groaned burying his lips against her navel. His lips drifted lower, lower, until his tongue caressed her as his fingers had. She grasped his shoulders and gasped.

Cupping her bottom in his hands, he worshipped her with his lips and tongue, breathing in her feminine musk, tasting her delicate essence, loving her until she shattered against him. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she cried out as her climax washed over her. When the spasms subsided he picked her up and carried her to his bed settling her gently on the counterpane. Positioning himself between her thighs, he looked down into her beautiful, passion-flushed face.

"Look at me."

Her eyelids fluttered open and he entered her with one long, hard thrust, embedding himself in her slick heat. A throaty groan escaped her, and she ran her hands restlessly over his back. Moving slowly within her, he watched every emotion passing over her expressive face, his strokes growing longer, harder, and faster. She met him all the way, moving her hips in rhythm with his until he felt her pleasure overtake her once again.

The instant her body clenched him, he lost any semblance of control. His world narrowed to the place where his body was joined to hers. Nothing mattered except her. Him inside her. Her around him. He thrust into her again and again, helpless to stop, mindless with passion. With one final thrust, he spilled himself into her, for an endless moment he whispered her name over and over again like a prayer.

When the earth righted itself again, he collapsed and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. He wanted to stroke her back, but he couldn't move. He couldn't so much as make a fist. Truth be known, he could barely breathe. He'd never experienced such intense lovemaking in his entire life, and an inner warmth more wonderful than anything he'd ever felt pervaded his entire system.

He loved her.

By God he loved her.

Loved her so much he ached.

He stilled. But what if she didn't return his feelings? What if— He ruthlessly cut off the thought. She simply had to love him, and that's all there was to it. And if she didn't now, he'd just find some way to make her love him. As much as he loved her.

The words he'd never spoken to anyone welled up inside him. He needed to tell her. Had to tell her. He wondered if she already knew. Had she read his mind? Discerned his feelings? Possibly, but she'd never said so. But even if she had divined his feelings, she deserved the words.

Turning his head he brushed his lips over her temple, then leaned back, determined to look in her eyes when he told her he loved her.

With his heart pounding, he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it.

His wife, his robust, energetic wife, was fast asleep. "Elizabeth?"

A soft snore was his only response.
Well, bloody hell.

Shame filled him. How selfish of him to worry about his own needs when she'd had such an exhausting evening. By damn, she'd fainted in his arms only an hour ago. If he wanted to win this woman's love, he needed to banish his selfishness to the devil. His Elizabeth wouldn't be bought with baubles, titles, and jewels. But he could win her with kindness. And love.

Love. A
smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

He'd finally put a name to the "Elizabeth feeling."

Careful not to wake her, he pulled the counterpane over them and settled her comfortably against him. After listening to her even breathing for several minutes, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you."

The vision slipped into Elizabeth's slumber with the stealth of a master thief.

Images weaved through the shadowy recesses of her mind curling like vaporous plumes of smoke only to dance just out of reach.

A child. A beautiful little girl with shiny ebony curls and bright, gray eyes. Running, laughing, calling, "Mama!"

Then the vision changed. Laughter turned to fear. The child's terrified screams filled Elizabeth's mind reverberating through her, filling her with dread.

The child's angelic face turned to a pale mask of fright. Womanly hands reached out to her, but the child seemed to glide farther out of reach, until she disappeared completely from sight, leaving only the echo of her sobs.

Then Austin, torn apart with such grief, such desolation and guilt, that Elizabeth barely recognized him. His voice was a ragged whisper,
I
cannot
live without her. . . please God, don't tell me I've killed her by bringing her here.

Elizabeth awoke with a startled gasp. Her heart slammed against her ribs and her lungs burned as if she'd run for miles. Yet she felt chilled down to her very soul.

Her eyes sought out Austin, who lay in peaceful slumber next to her.

Thank goodness he was asleep, for she was incapable of speaking.

But dear God she would have to tell him.

He had to know that she'd seen the death of a child.

A child whose death he would blame himself for.

A child with his ebony hair and gray eyes.

His child.

Their
child.

Austin opened one eye. From the sliver of pale light peeking through the burgundy velvet curtains, he judged it was just after dawn—a perfectly respectable time to awaken his bride with soft kisses, gentle lovemaking, and tender confessions of love.

Turning his head he discovered his bride on the other side of his massive bed lying curled on her side, facing away from him. Too far away to touch.

Acute disappointment flooded him, and he nearly laughed aloud at himself. Bloody hell, what a besotted lovesick individual he'd become. And in an appallingly short period of time.
No doubt I'll be spouting poetry by
dinner. Sonnets by sundown. A
chuckle rumbled in his chest. Yes, indeed, he could all but picture himself, down on one knee, passionately reciting "Ode to Elizabeth."

He had only to shift closer to be able to wrap his arms around her, feel her warmth, but he knew once he did that, there would be no more slumber for her.
Don't be selfish. Let her sleep.
Clasping his hands behind his head he forced himself to remain where he was and not disturb her rest, at least for a few more minutes. Yes, he'd simply lie here and marvel at how this woman had so drastically changed his life. And all of it for the better.

He imagined the ribbing he was going to receive from both Miles and Robert when they realized the "Notorious Duke of Bradford" had fallen under his own wife's spell. And they absolutely would realize it because it would be impossible for him to hide his love for Elizabeth.

And he didn't even want to try. Of course, it was highly unfashionable to be in love with one's own wife, but he couldn't have cared less.

A grin he couldn't suppress eased across his face. Yes, Robert and Miles would needle him unmercifully.
But I'll have my revenge when love bites them
on their unsuspecting arses. And it will. If it can happen to me, it can happen to
anyone.

He couldn't wait another minute to touch her.

He wouldn't wake her . . . he'd simply hold her. Moving carefully, he slid across the bed until he lay behind her, then eased his arm around her waist.

The instant he touched her, she gasped.

"Good morning, love," he said pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I. . . I thought you were asleep."