He took a long drink. “I’d like to try and eat this morning too. Need to keep up my strength.”
She gave a tentative nod. “Should we change the bandages first?”
“Sounds good. Then I insist you go get ready. I’ll feed myself.” He winked as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
She scrunched her brow. “Your health is more important.”
He gave her an easy smile. “It will do my health good to see you looking beautiful for our wedding.”
She frowned, staring down at him. Their focus should be on his health, not on the wedding and certainly not on her appearance. “The wedding can wait. Breakfast first.”
He shook his head. “Clarissa.”
“You’re the patient,” she said as she swiped her hand across his forehead. “I am the caregiver. I insist.”
His eyes closed and he let out a long breath that sounded distinctly like a sigh. “How can I argue with that?”
“You can’t,” she replied, stroking his cheek. “Now let me change your bandages and assess the wound.”
He gave a slight nod and she pulled down the covers, then began to unwrap the white cloth. She frowned as she finished unwrapping him. He’d been able to lift up to help her, but the wound itself looked a bit red and raw.
“How do you feel?” she asked as she applied a salve on the skin.
“Fine.” He gave her another easy smile. “It’s just healing. That’s all.”
She rewrapped his midriff, then pulled the bell to have a tray delivered. She looked back at him, studying his face to see if he grimaced or gave some indication that he was in pain. But his smile was still there, his gaze achingly soft and decidedly sweet.
He seemed, for all the world, to be healing.
Mason felt like hell. But he’d been in a worse situation and he could fake it for at least the wedding.
And the consummation.
He needed to be with Clarissa once. Just in case…
He’d watched men with lesser wounds succumb to infection. As it was, he was young and strong and likely to live, but still. He wanted to touch her, feel her, and he couldn’t risk missing this chance. Somehow, all the time between his last injury and this, the years had felt like borrowed time. And that he’d been preparing for this very moment.
The one where he made certain that Clarissa lived a long and healthy life full of riches of every kind.
He supposed it didn’t matter if he lived or died.
Clarissa was all that mattered.
He drew in a shuddering breath. When he considered her living her life without him, with another man by her side he faltered. But he’d take what he could get. And he was grateful for whatever time he got with her.
Clarissa had left to dress and prepare for the wedding while he rested. Which mostly meant thinking. He grimaced. He wished she’d return. He didn’t want to miss a second with her.
A knock came out the door and he snapped his eyes open, hoping she’d returned.
But it was Logan who cracked open the door. “May I come in?”
He slumped back on the pillows. “Of course.”
“I thought you might appreciate some help dressing.”
“Dressing?” he asked, wincing as he tried to rise again. Why hadn’t he thought of that? His thoughts were muddled. He swiped at his brow trying to clear his mind.
“You can’t get married without a shirt,” Logan chuckled as he raised a hand. “I’ve brought you one of mine. Yours is…in tatters.”
That made Mason chuckle, a small grin titling up the corners of his mouth as he tried to swing his legs over the bed.
“Let me help you,” Logan said, lunging toward him to catch his elbow. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m sure,” he answered. How did he explain he was willing to spend every last bit of his energy to capture this moment? He didn’t. Which was why he took Logan’s hand and hauled himself out of the bed and onto his feet.
Logan slipped the shirt onto his arms and Mason shrugged the garment up over his shoulders. Logan’s manservant entered the room and Mason’s shoulders slumped with relief. He could use the man’s aid.
In a quarter hour they had him ready and he walked down the hall, keeping his shoulders straight. He didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to cancel this event.
As he entered the library, a vicar stood by the large windows that overlooked the garden. Next to him, stood his brother, Bash. Mason looked over at Logan and nodded a silent thank you.
The children and Penny were already there, the girls once again in their red dresses, bouncing on their heels.
They made him smile. He should like to see them grow up. But then he shook his head. Best save those thoughts for later.
A soft rustle came from the door and he turned to see Clarissa walk through the door.
His breath caught. She wore a gown of pale blue silk that brought out the creaminess of her skin and the soft blue of her eyes. The dress hugged her curves, even as her hair cascaded over one shoulder from the coif she’d used to pull it back from her face.
She looked more like the angel he envisioned her to be than she ever had before, and he could barely breathe as he stared at her. “Clarissa.” His voice came out rough and hoarse with emotion.
She crossed the room, reaching his side as she held out a hand to slip her gloved fingers into his. “Are you holding up all right?”
“Never better,” he answered, drawing her closer.
He meant the words with all his heart. With her here, he forgot the pain. His insides hummed with contentment at the sight of her. There was an ache too, but that was need. A desire to touch her, draw her close, and keep her there.
Her smile was gentle as her fingers squeezed his. “I’m so glad to hear it.”
“Are you ready to get married?” He brushed her cheek with his other hand.
“Most unusual,” the vicar muttered, shifting.
Clarissa pressed her lips together, but her eyes danced with merriment. “It is, isn’t it?” Then she loosened her fingers, sliding them up his arm until they rested in the crook of his elbow.
“I think it’s just right.”
He led her over to the vicar and the ceremony began.
The words filtered over him, passing through his mind. But as he stared at the woman he was marrying, the sight of her would stay with him until his dying day.
She was an angel.
She’d saved him once and he’d be a fool not to see that his gift of life most assuredly would end sooner rather than later.
Hadn’t his father always told him it would be so? He shook his head. He’d not think of him now. This moment was for all the happy thoughts.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The vicar’s words nearly made him jolt, he’d been so lost in his thoughts and the vision before him.
“I do.”
She was his angel now. Slowly he leaned over, partially because of the pain in his side and partially because he wished to savor the moment and kissed her.
Clarissa was his wife.
Chapter Eleven
Clarissa stared at the man she’d just married, her stomach twisting with wonder and a touch of fear.
Everything had happened so quickly.
Before she could think an action through, it was being enacted. Like this wedding.
She was thrilled, but also…afraid. Was this the right choice? To marry? Should they have waited until he’d recovered? Her thoughts were a jumbled mess as they joined their guests in the breakfast room.
“I must insist we take you back to your room,” she said to Mason as he gingerly lowered himself into a chair.
“Just a few minutes.” He reached for her hand, bringing the back of it to his lips. “I just want to cherish this moment. We only get one wedding.”
She narrowed her gaze, trying to figure out what was bothering her about his behavior.
But his brother approached. “Welc
ome to the family,” he said, then the duke enveloped her in a rather large hug.
“I must confess, you’re not what I expected in a duke.”
The man winked. “I know. That’s the entire plan.”
She looked back at Mason, who gave a quiet sort of sad grin. “He prides himself on being the opposite man from our father.”
“Your father?” she asked, shifting toward the duke. “I thought perhaps that Mason got the worst of it, being the…” She let her words trail off.
“Oh, he wished me dead, regularly. So I suppose Bash knew that he was at least wanted alive.” Mason grimaced as he rose from the chair once again.
Bash leaned down and held out an arm to his brother, helping him the rest of the way. “Yes. He wanted his precious heir to live, but I never quite lived up to his standards.”
Clarissa winced. She knew something about that. “Fathers,” she sighed as she shook her head. “Do you know anyone who’s got a good one?”
They all chuckled. “There must be some.”
Penny walked over to join them. “My father was the best sort of man.”
“No wonder you’re so happy all the time.”
Penny gave her a mock glare. “You’re lucky it’s your wedding.”
Clarissa shook her head. “It is. But it doesn’t make my words any less true. She’s always positive.”
“And you are always kind,” Mason answered.
Heat flushed her cheeks. It was a lovely thing to say. And honestly, the wedding had been perfect. Small, intimate. The only flaw…she was worried about Mason. He should be in bed.
His hand brushed her upper arm. “I think you’re right. It’s time I returned to my room.”
She nodded. “Rest is the best thing for your recovery.”
He didn’t answer as he waved goodbye and began to pull her toward the exit.
Bash stopped them, his hand coming to Mason’s shoulder. “Congratulations, brother. While I intend never to marry, I look forward to you two making an heir that can take over a dukedom and an earldom.”
Mason shook his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that. You’ll have to make an heir of your own.”
“Not going to happen,” Bash muttered, but Mason was already steering her from the room once again.
She had that same feeling she’d had at the wedding. Like she no more began to get comfortable and then things changed again. “Mason,” she said as she slipped an arm behind him, resting her hand on his back. “I’m glad you’re going to lie down but I’m worried. We seem to be rushing everything. Are you feeling—”
“I’m just excited.” He embraced her shoulders. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to finally marry you.”
That melted her insides a bit and she forgot her worries as she opened the door to his room.
The bed had been made with fresh linens, and the room cleaned while they’d been gone.
He sat on the bed and then slowly pushed back until he was lying down, his hands resting on his stomach. She pulled off her gloves, setting them on the side table. “Would you help with my boots, sweetheart?”
She turned toward him, grasping the leather at the heel and shaft and sliding it off his leg and down his foot. Then she did the other. Not waiting to ask, she began untying his cravat, then undid his shirt and pulled him back up to sitting to slide them both off.
He groaned softly. “I love the feel of your hands. They’ve always made me feel so…”
“What?” she asked, her hands stilling on his bare arms.
“Perfect,” he answered, bringing one of her palms to his lips. “I’ve never touched softer, gentler fingers than these. They make a man ache with want.”
She wound her fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not,” he said as he pulled her closer, His head resting on her chest. The feel of him pressed against her bosom stole her breath. “I already told you. I thought I would die in that church. I was sure I would, just as my father wished. Only your hands and your voice brought me back. And I’ve devoted that extra time you’ve given me to providing the best life for you.”
She looked down at him, reaching for his face and tilting it up toward her own. “I just have one question for you?”
“What’s that?”
“If you’ve done all this for me. What have you done for yourself?”
Mason opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Yes, he’d married her for her benefit. But it had been for his too. A little gift to himself to make his life worthwhile. The hope of seeing her again had pushed him to thrive and now, touching her, he felt truly alive. “What helps you, helps me.”
“Your father made you feel worthless. You found something to live for, but did you find real worth in yourself?”
He rumbled out his dissent. He didn’t have time to worry about such questions. He could feel his strength fading and he’d need the last of it to touch her the way he wished.
Himself? He didn’t give a damn about what happened to him, only her. But he did plan to take this moment for one thing he wanted. “Clarissa,” he whispered as he looked deep into those clear blue eyes. “Would you be a dear and take off your dress?”
She cocked a brow. “No.”
Damn. He didn’t want to have to persuade her. It used precious energy. Energy he should likely be using to heal. But right now, he just wanted her. “You asked what I was doing for me. This is what I want. Your skin against mine.”
She shook her head. “No. That can be after you’re better.”
He dropped his head against the soft pillows of her chest. “I don’t want to wait. What if I don’t recover and we never consummated? Someone might contest our marriage. We can’t have that.”
“So it’s actually for me,” she said, lifting his face again. “And something is becoming clear. You’re worried you won’t live.”
He grimaced. She was right, of course. But he wasn’t telling her that. He’d watched men die from far smaller wounds. Of course, some lived with larger ones. But he’d already had his turn at that. “The doctor says I’ve got a good chance to fully recover. But we need to have everything in place, just in case.”
“Or, we need to take better care of you to increase your chances.”
By way of answer, he slid his hand up her dress and cupped her breast in his hand, massaging the flesh as her nipple peaked in his hand. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let you do all the work.”
“Mason,” she hissed as he gave the stiffened flesh the lightest tweak. “You’re too sick.”
“I swear,” he whispered, working the flesh until she melted into his arms. “This is what I want more than anything in the world.”
“More than anything?”
He forgot he didn’t feel that way as she arched against him, her head falling back. He reached for the other breast giving it the same treatment as he began to undo the buttons all along the back of her gown. “More than anything.”
She stepped away then and, for a moment, he thought she’d make another stand against him, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to convince her again. But Clarissa tugged on each sleeve and the dress’s bodice slumped at her waist. With remarkable efficiency, she stripped down to nothing but her chemise.
He was certain his eyes burned with fire as she stepped back toward him. This was what he’d wanted.
And as she pressed to his chest, no corset or gown to mar her shape, he groaned as he traced every curve with his hands. “My god, Clarissa. You’re so beautiful.”
“I can’t believe you think that,” she gasped as his hands skimmed her breast again. “I spent years dreaming of you and…”
He stopped moving his hands, his head snapping up. “You what?”
Color infused her cheeks. “I would daydream of you. That you’d find me. That we’d marry. I never expected you to be an earl, of course. But in my dreams, you’d tell me you’d been looking for m
e. That you loved—”
She’d been thinking of him all this time too? It wasn’t just him? “I do love you, Clarissa. I love you with all my heart.”
Her mouth came down on his, their kiss burning in its intensity as their tongues mingled together until she finally raised her head again. “I love you too.” She kissed him again. “I have for a long time.”
He knew how significant that was. To know that she loved him made it even easier to think of his life as complete. He’d done all the things he’d needed to prove his father wrong and make these last several years worth living.
He tugged at the falls of his breeches, wanting to do more than just tell her how he felt. He wanted to make her his.
It wasn’t fair. If he’d had his strength he would have made love to her slowly, kissing every inch of her, bringing her to finish multiple times before he finally took her. But as he’d tried to warn her, this was selfish on his part.
When he got the trousers around his thighs he lay back, pulling her on top of him. He managed to only wince a little when her weight came down on him and then he was pulling up her chemise and sliding her knees on either side of his hips.
His staff pushed into her soft folds and he groaned to already find her wet and ready.
“Mason,” she gasped into his ear. “Tell me what to do.”
But he was already sliding into her slick folds. Tight as she was, he felt the moment he pushed against her maidenhead. “I just need to push past this part,” he gritted out as he thrust inside her.
She stiffened but made no sound.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kissing her temple. But inside, he glowed with satisfaction. To be inside this woman… He stroked her back. This was where he’d belonged.
“Yes.” She grazed his temple with a kiss. “Are you?”
Always the caregiver.
“I’m wonderful.” And then he slid out of her and back in. His body spasmed, need already overwhelming him. “Clarissa,” he murmured, his hand cupping her backside. “I want you to be happy.”
“I will be,” she answered, kissing his mouth. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t answer as he moved inside her again. He quickened the pace, knowing he only had so much energy to give but she met his thrust and soon they were moving together.
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