by Lisa Kleypas
The house was quiet as she went to the Marsden parlor, her bare feet touching shadows that crossed the carpeted floor like dark vines. A single lamp sent a yellow glow through the parlor, light catching in faceted crystals that hung from the shade and sending scattered dots of white over the flower-papered walls. A pile of printed flotsam and jetsam had been left by the settee: periodicals, novels, a thin volume of humorous poetry she had read aloud to Matthew, watching for the elusive smiles on his face.
How was it that everything had changed so quickly? How could life so cavalierly pick someone up and set them on a new and violently unwanted path?
Daisy sat on the carpet beside the pile and began to sort through it slowly…one pile to be brought to the library, another to be taken to the villagers on visiting day. But perhaps it wasn’t wise to attempt this after so much wine. Instead of forming two neat piles, the reading materials ended up scattered around her like so many abandoned dreams.
Crossing her legs, Daisy leaned against the side of the settee and rested her head on the upholstered edge. Her fingers encountered the cloth covering on one of the books. She glanced at it with half-closed eyes. A book had always been a door to another world…a world much more interesting and fantastical than reality. But she had finally discovered that life could be even more wonderful than a fantasy.
And that love could fill the real world with magic.
Matthew was everything she had ever wanted. And she’d had so little time with him.
The mantel clock rationed quiet little ticks with miserly slowness. As Daisy leaned against the settee half-drowsing, she heard the door creak. Her sluggish gaze followed the sound.
A man had entered the room.
He paused just inside the doorway, contemplating the sight of her on the floor with all the discarded books around her.
Daisy’s eyes lifted jerkily to his face. She froze with longing and fear and terrible yearning.
It was Matthew, dressed in rough, unfamiliar clothing, his vital presence seeming to fill the room.
Afraid the vision would disappear, Daisy was as still as death. Her eyes stung and watered but she kept them open, willing him to stay.
He approached her with great care. Sinking to his haunches, he contemplated her with immeasurable tenderness and concern. One of his big hands moved, shoving aside some of the books until the space between their bodies was clear. “It’s me, love,” he said softly. “Everything’s all right.”
Daisy managed to whisper through dry lips. “If you’re a ghost…I hope you haunt me forever.”
Matthew sat on the floor and reached for her cold hands. “Would a ghost use the door?” he asked gently, bringing her fingers to his scratched, battered face.
The touch of his skin against her palms sent a dance of painful awareness through her. With relief Daisy finally felt the numbness thaw, her emotions unlocking, and she tried to cover her eyes. Her chest seemed to break open with sobs, the sounds raw and unrestrained.
Matthew took her hand away and pulled her firmly against him, murmuring quietly. As Daisy continued to cry he held her more tightly, seeming to understand that she needed the hard, almost hurtful pressure of his body.
“Please be real,” she gasped. “Please don’t be a dream.”
“I’m real,” Matthew said huskily. “Don’t cry so hard, there’s no—oh, Daisy, love—” He gripped her head in his hands and pressed comforting words against her lips while she struggled to get even closer to him. He eased her to the floor, using the reassuring weight of his body to subdue her.
His hands clasped with hers, fingers interlaced. Panting, Daisy turned her head to stare at his exposed wrist, where the flesh was red and welted. “Your hands were tied,” she said in a rough voice that didn’t sound at all like hers. “How did you free them?”
Matthew bent his head to kiss the tear-slicked surface of her cheek. “Pen-knife,” he said succinctly.
Daisy’s eyes widened as she continued to stare at his wrist. “You managed to get a pen-knife out of your pocket and cut the ropes while floating down the creek in a s-sinking carriage?”
“It was a damn sight easier than goose-wrestling, let me tell you.”
A watery chuckle escaped her, but it quickly turned into another broken sob. Matthew caught the sound with his mouth, his lips caressing hers.
“I started to cut through the ties at the first sign of trouble,” he continued. “And I had a few minutes before the carriage rolled into the water.”
“Why didn’t the others help you?” Daisy asked angrily, scrubbing the sleeve of her gown over her dripping face.
“They were busy saving their own skins. Although,” Matthew added ruefully, “I would have thought I merited a little more importance than the horses. But by the time the carriage started moving down the current, my hands were free. Debris was knocking the vehicle into matchsticks. I jumped into the current and made it to the shore, but I was bit pummeled in the process. I was found by an old man who was out searching for his dog—he brought me to his cottage, where he and his wife took care of me. I lost consciousness and woke up a day and a half later. By that time they had heard of Westcliff’s search, and they went out to tell him where I was.”
“I thought you were gone,” Daisy said, her voice cracking. “I thought I would never see you again.”
“No, no…” Matthew smoothed her hair and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her trembling lips. “I’ll always come back to you. I’m dependable, remember?”
“Yes. Except for the—” Daisy had to take an extra breath as she felt his mouth move down to her throat. “—the twenty years of your life before I met you, I’d say you’re so dependable you’re almost pre—” His tongue had dipped into the pulsing hollow at the base of her neck. “—predictable.”
“You probably have a few complaints about that little matter of my assumed identity and grand larceny conviction.” His exploring kisses moved up to the delicate line of her jaw, absorbing the vagrant tear.
“Oh, no,” Daisy said breathlessly. “I f-forgave you before I even knew what it was.”
“Sweet darling,” Matthew whispered, nuzzling the side of her face, caressing her with his mouth and hands. She held onto him blindly, unable to get close enough. His head drew back and he looked down at her with a searching gaze. “Now that the whole business has reared its ugly head, I’m going to have to clear my name. Will you wait for me, Daisy?”
“No.”
Still sniffling, she applied herself to unfastening the wooden buttons of his borrowed clothes.
“No?” Matthew half-smiled and looked down at her quizzically. “Have you decided I’m too much trouble?”
“I’ve decided life is too short—” Daisy grunted as she tugged at the coarse cloth of his shirt. “—to waste a single day of it. Blast these buttons—”
His hands covered hers, stilling their feverish plucking. “I don’t think your family is going to be enthusiastic about letting you marry a fugitive from justice.”
“My father would forgive you anything. Besides, you won’t be a fugitive forever. Your case will be overturned once the facts are made known.” Daisy pulled her hands free and clutched at him tightly. “Take me to Gretna Green,” she begged. “Tonight. It’s how my sister got married. And Evie too. Elopement is practically a wallflower tradition. Take me—”
“Shhh…” Matthew wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his sturdy frame. “No more running,” he whispered. “I’m finally going to face my past. Although it would be a hell of a lot easier to solve my problems if that bastard Harry Waring hadn’t died.”
“There are still people who know what really happened,” Daisy said anxiously. “His friends. And the servant you mentioned. And—”
“Yes, I know. Let’s not talk about all of that right now. God knows we’ll have time aplenty in the coming days.”
“I want to marry you,” Daisy persisted. “Not later. Now. After what I’ve gone through…thinki
ng you were gone forever…nothing else is important.” A little hiccup disrupted the last word.
Matthew smoothed her hair and smudged a drying tear-track with his thumb. “All right. All right. I’ll talk to your father. Don’t cry again. Daisy, don’t.”
But she couldn’t stop the fresh tears of relief that leaked from the outward corners of her eyes. A new trembling came from the marrow of her bones. The more she stiffened against it, the worse it became.
“Sweetheart, what is it?” He ran his hands over her shaking limbs.
“I’m so afraid.”
He made a low, involuntary sound and cradled her tightly, his lips moving over her cheeks with impassioned pressure. “Why, dearest love?”
“I’m afraid this is a dream. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and—” Another hiccup. “—and I’ll be alone again and I’ll find out you were never here and—”
“No, I’m here. I won’t leave.” He moved down to her throat, pulling the sides of her nightgown apart with slow deliberation. “Let me make you feel better, love, let me…” His hands were gentle on her body, soothing and distracting. As his palm slid over her limbs, his touch sent darts of heat through her, and a low moan broke from her lips.
Hearing the sound, Matthew drew a ragged breath and searched for self-control. He found none. There was only need. Lost in the desire to fill her with pleasure, he undressed her right there on the floor, his palms stroking her chilled skin until the pale surface was steeped in a severe blush.
Trembling wildly, Daisy watched the candlelight shimmer over his dark head as he bent over her body, scattering kisses in unhurried paths…her legs, her bare stomach, her quivering breasts.
Everywhere he kissed her, the cold shaking dissolved into warmth. She sighed and relaxed into the assuaging rhythms of his hands and mouth. As she fumbled to open his shirt, he reached to help her. The rough-woven cloth dropped away to reveal satiny male skin. Somehow it reassured Daisy to see the the shadows of bruises on him, they were proof that she couldn’t be dreaming. She pressed her open mouth to one of the dark marks, touching it with her tongue.
Matthew drew her carefully against him, his hand riding over the curve of her waist and hip with a sensuality that caused gooseflesh to rise on her thighs. Daisy squirmed in mingled pleasure and discomfort as the wool pile of the carpet abraded her oversensitive skin, causing speckles of pain on her bare bottom.
Comprehending the problem, Matthew laughed quietly and pulled her up against him, into his lap. Perspiring and dry-mouthed, Daisy urged her breasts against his chest. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
His hand cupped over her tingling backside. “You’ll be rubbed raw on the floor.”
“I don’t care, I just want…I want…”
“This?” He rearranged her in his lap until she straddled him, the fabric of his trousers taut beneath her thighs.
Embarrassed and excited, Daisy closed her eyes as she felt him caress the intricate folds of her body, gently layering moisture and sensation over her burning flesh.
Daisy’s arms felt weak as she slid them around his neck and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the wrist of the other. If it weren’t for the support of his hard arm across her back, she wouldn’t have been able to stay upright. All awareness was focused on the place where he touched her, the slide of his knuckle around the tiny silky-wet cusp…“Don’t stop,” she heard herself whisper again.
Her eyes snapped open as Matthew eased two fingers inside her, and then three, while desire writhed inside her like flames feeding on burning honey.
“Still afraid it’s a dream?” Matthew whispered.
She swallowed convulsively and shook her head. “I…I never have dreams like this.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, and he withdrew his fingers, leaving her shuddering with emptiness. She whimpered and dropped her head on his flexing shoulder, and he hugged her securely against his naked chest.
Daisy clung to him, her vision misting until the room was a mosaic of yellow light and black shadow. She felt herself being lifted, turned, her knees pressing into the carpet as he helped her to kneel before the settee. The side of her face pressed against the smooth upholstery, while her lips parted to accomodate her hard-rushing breaths. He covered her, his big, solid body fitting behind and around her, and then he was pushing inside, and the fit between them was tight and slippery and exquisite.
Daisy stiffened in surprise, but his hands came to her hips, stroking in reassurance, encouraging her to trust him. She went still, her eyes closing while pleasure rose with each slow thrust he made. One of his hands swept down her front, and his fingertips found the plump rise of her sex and caressed her until she reached a bright blinding summit, overtaken with shudders of sharp relief.
Much later, Matthew dressed Daisy in her nightgown and carried her through the dark hallway until they reached her room. As he lay her in bed, she whispered for him to stay with her.
“No, love.” He leaned over her prone body in the darkness. “Much as I’d like to, we can’t go that far beyond propriety.”
“I don’t want to sleep without you.” Daisy stared into the shadowed face just above her own. “And I don’t want to wake without you.”
“Someday.” He bent to press a firm kiss on her mouth. “Someday I’ll be able to come to you any time, night or day, and hold you as long as you want.” His voice deepened with emotion as he added, “You can depend on that.”
Downstairs, the exhausted earl of Westcliff lay on a sofa, his head pillowed in his wife’s lap. After two days of relentless searching and precious little sleep, Marcus was weary down to his bones. However, he was grateful that tragedy had been avoided and that Daisy’s fiance had been safely returned.
Marcus was a bit surprised by the way his wife had fussed over him. As soon as he had arrived at the manor, Lillian had plied him with sandwiches and hot brandy, wiped the dirt smudges from his face with a damp towel, applied salve on his scrapes and bandages to a few cut fingers, and even pulled his muddy boots off.
“You look far worse than Mr. Swift,” Lillian had retorted when he had protested that he was fine. “From what I understand he’s been lying abed in a cottage for the past two days, whereas you’ve been foraging through the woods in the mud and rain.”
“He wasn’t exactly lounging about,” Marcus had pointed out. “He was wounded.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve had no rest and practically nothing to eat while you were looking for him.”
Marcus had submitted to her attentions, secretly enjoying the way she hovered over him. When she was satisfied that he was fed and bandaged properly, she cradled his head in her lap. Marcus sighed in contentment, staring into the blazing hearth-fire.
Lillian’s slender fingers played absently in his hair as she commented, “It’s been a long time since Mr. Swift went to find Daisy. And it’s too quiet. Aren’t you going to go up there and check on them?”
“Not for all the hemp in China,” Marcus said, repeating one of Daisy’s new favorite phrases. “God knows what I might be interrupting.”
“Good God.” Lillian sounded appalled. “You don’t think they’re…”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Marcus paused deliberately before adding, “Remember how we used to be.”
As he had intended, the remark diverted her instantly.
“We’re still that way,” Lillian protested.
“We haven’t made love since before the baby was born.” Marcus sat up, filling his gaze with the sight of his dark-haired young wife in the firelight. She was, and would always be, the most tempting woman he had ever known. Unspent passion roughened his voice as he asked, “How much longer must I wait?”
Propping her elbow on the back of the sofa, Lillian leaned her head on her hand and smiled apologetically. “The doctor said at least another fortnight. I’m sorry.” She laughed as she saw his expression. “Very sorry. Let’s go upstairs.”
“If w
e’re not going to bed together, I fail to see the point,” Marcus grumbled.
“I’ll help you with your bath. I’ll even scrub your back.”
He was sufficiently intrigued by the offer to ask, “Only my back?”
“I’m open to negotiation,” Lillian said provocatively. “As always.”
Marcus reached out to gather her against his chest and sighed. “At this point I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“You poor man.” Still smiling, Lillian turned her face to kiss him. “Just remember…some things are worth waiting for.”
Epilogue
As it turned out, Matthew and Daisy were not wed until late autumn. Hampshire was dressed in scarlet and brilliant orange, the hounds were out four mornings a week, and the last baskets of fruit had been harvested from heavy-laden trees. Now that the hay had been cut, the raucous corn-crakes had left the fields, their clamor replaced by the liquid notes of song-thrushes and the chatter of yellow buntings.
For the entire summer and a good part of autumn, Daisy had endured many separations from Matthew, including the frequent trips to London to manage his legal affairs. With Westcliff’s help the extradition requests from the American government were firmly blocked, allowing Matthew to remain in England. After settling on a pair of skillful barristers and acquainting them with the particulars of his case, Matthew had dispatched them to Boston to file with the appeals court.
In the meantime Matthew traveled and worked ceaselessly, overseeing the construction of the Bristol manufactory, hiring employees and setting up distribution channels throughout the country. It seemed to Daisy that Matthew had changed somewhat since the secrets of his past had been revealed…he was freer somehow, even more self-assured and charismatic.
Witnessing Matthew’s limitless energy and his growing list of accomplishments, Simon Hunt had informed him decisively that any time he tired of working for Bowman’s, he was welcome to come to Consolidated Locomotive. That had prompted Thomas Bowman to offer Matthew a higher percentage of the soap company’s future profits.
