“Oh, God . . .” he groaned as he felt her tightening around him.
Tory pulsed around him in her pleasure as he drove higher still. He shuddered as he found his release, throwing his head back with a low groan. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming fast.
“Tell me, Tory,” he said. “Tell me you belong to me.”
Tory opened her eyes. Gone was the passion and the fire that had lit them moments earlier.
“No, Patrick,” she choked out. “You just don’t understand, do you?”
She slipped away from him and readjusted her dress. Her awkward movements brought to his mind the shame he’d glimpsed that first night, here in this same room. He hurriedly buttoned his shirt and donned his jacket.
“Tory,” he began, reaching for her rigid shoulders. “Please—”
She cut off what he was about to say. “I refuse to be a man’s mistress,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “I would feel shame every day of my life.”
Patrick cupped her cheek. “I offer you no shame, Tory,” he told her. “I’m not asking you to be my mistress.”
She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.
“Then why are you here?”
He barked out a short laugh as the inevitability struck him. How long had he known that this would happen? How long had it been his one desire?
“I’m asking you to marry me, sweetheart.”
She gaped. “M-marry you?” she repeated. “But I don’t . . .” She took a deep breath and tried again. “That is, I didn’t think you—”
“Don’t you care for me, Tory?” he asked, interrupting her in his desperation for an answer.
She smiled up at him. “Yes, Patrick. Very much so. But marriage should be about love and—”
“Love,” Patrick cut in. “I know nothing of love. I believed myself in love once but I was utterly mistaken.”
Tory tilted her head. “Lady Stafford.”
Patrick pulled back for a moment, finally nodding his head.
“But what I feel for you, Tory,” he said, taking her hand in his. He shrugged again and placed her palm flat on his chest. “All I know is that when I’m with you, it’s as if my heart begins to beat again.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly. “Mine as well,” she admitted on a sigh.
“Then you’ll marry me?” he asked, filled with hope.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”
Patrick gave a whoop and swept her up in his arms. Tory laughed as she clung to him. He placed her on her feet and kissed her soundly.
“But what of my uncle?” Tory asked between kisses.
“Your uncle was willing to throw you away to that bastard Miller,” he growled. “We don’t need his approval or his consent, love,” Patrick insisted. “We’ll go to Gretna Green and be married within days.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, and for a moment he feared she didn’t care for him as she’d said. But then a beautiful smile lit up her face and put those fears to rest.
“Yes!” She said, crying and laughing as she hugged him tight.
CHAPTER 13
After hastily packing a satchel, Tory penned a brief note to J. B. Without giving any details, she simply wrote that she needed to get away and planned to return in a few days. A pang of regret struck her that she’d be leaving him short-handed at the shop, then again, she recalled angrily, he didn’t want her working “quite so much” anymore, because he’d planned to hand her over to Miller!
As she stepped into her uncle’s study to leave the note on his desk, the appearance of the room came as a surprise to her. Everything was in complete disarray. A wild jumble of papers lay strewn across his desk, many of which had tumbled off the smooth surface and littered the floor. The rumpled jacket thrown unceremoniously over the back of the chair was unlike her uncle as well.
“Tory?” Patrick called from the doorway.
She threw him a glance and was rewarded with the beautiful smile she’d glimpsed when she’d accepted his marriage proposal.
“Just a moment, Patrick,” she said.
“Make haste, love. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
She nodded as her eyes searched the cluttered desktop. She shrugged her shoulders and cleaned off a spot in the center of the desk, placing the missive there for her uncle to find upon his return. Her step light, she fairly skipped from the room to join Patrick.
After stopping at Patrick’s rooms to retrieve his belongings, they began their journey north to Scotland. The chill of the evening struck Tory as they set out—it was close to midnight—and she drew her cloak close around her. Patrick joined her on the seat and wrapped his arms around her.
“You’re going to be my wife, Tory,” he said in explanation. “Surely, I can’t sit idly by while you shiver so violently.”
She slanted him a look. “It’s not so cold as that, Patrick,” she teased.
He chuckled and began to rub his hands up and down her arms until she felt pleasantly warm and more than a bit drowsy. He shifted on the seat and drew her against his side.
“Sleep, love,” he said, dropping a kiss on her temple.
* * *
Tory closed her eyes and sighed, the sound sweet to Patrick’s ears. He slowly rubbed her back as she fell into slumber, his mind working. The proposal that had sprung from his lips earlier this night had surprised him. But it had felt so right. Her passion had stunned him, the sweetness of her surrender—body and soul—had inflamed him.
She would be his. Neither Miller nor that dandy, Paul, would ever come near her again with anything other than an honorable greeting. She did deserve far more than working in Elliot’s he allowed, grudgingly echoing Elliot’s statement. But she certainly didn’t deserve the dishonorable and uncertain life of a mistress. No. Tory was made for a different destiny.
She would be his wife. To be cherished and honored, and to bear his children without an inkling of shame. He recalled that he’d spent himself inside of her when they’d made love a few hours before. Perhaps his seed had already taken hold. Odd how the thought didn’t fill him with the trepidation he would have expected. Quite the opposite. He would love a daughter with Tory’s auburn hair or a son with her silver eyes.
But what of his break with his family? Patrick wondered as he studied Tory’s lovely profile. Surely, she would be pleased to know that she was marrying into a family of such wealth and position. But was he ready to bridge the gap separating him from his father? He didn’t know if he could do that.
Tory had rightly guessed that Susan had been the woman he’d once offered his heart. And while she hadn’t asked for a declaration of love from him before accepting his proposal, he had no doubt that the thought had more than flitted through her mind. He wanted her and cared for her and would protect her from harm.
That, God willing, would have to be enough.
But love?
He’d vowed never to feel that emotion again. Not since Susan.
Being in love meant losing control. And he was not about to let any woman, even someone as sweet and beautiful as Tory, reign over his emotions. He yawned, feeling the effects of the past few days. Succumbing to the lateness of the hour and the rhythmic rocking of the carriage, he joined his betrothed in slumber.
At the break of day the carriage drew to a stop, rocking gently on its wheels. Patrick awoke with a start to find Tory snuggled on his lap, her cheek resting against his chest as she snored softly.
“Tory, love,” he whispered, brushing her hair away from her cheek. “Wake up.”
Tory stretched, her body coming into bold contact with his. Her cloak had been pushed aside sometime in the night and now he could feel every delicious curve. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her lips swiftly down to his. Tory gasped as Patrick kissed her awake. He caught her whimper of pleasure and growled softly. She broke off the kiss after a long, delicious minute and stared down at him. Her eyes were slightly out of focus a
nd her cheeks were flushed from sleep.
“Good morning, Patrick,” she said, her voice husky.
Patrick gave her a wicked grin. He kissed her again and ran his hands over her back, molding her even closer to him. When at last he released her, she lifted her head toward the bright sunshine visible through the window.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Patrick reluctantly set her away from him and came to a sitting position. He stretched with a loud yawn and peered out the window. His driver had stopped the carriage at an inn near Bradford, far to the north of London in Yorkshire. The reason this fact pleased him was twofold. He was well away from Elliot and any recourse he might take against Patrick for spiriting his niece away in the dead of night, and he was far closer to making Tory his forever.
“Yorkshire, love,” he answered her.
“Have I slept that long?” She glanced down and clicked her tongue at herself. “How can I break my fast looking as I do?” she asked him.
Patrick shrugged and straightened his own clothes. “You look lovely, Tory,” he assured her. “A few wrinkles in your dress and a few tangles in your pretty hair do nothing to detract from your beauty.”
Tory waved her hand at him. Patrick helped her down from the carriage and they entered the inn to take their morning meal.
She sat in the chair Patrick held for her and glanced around the room. “It seems none of the other patrons suspect what we’re about,” she said.
He smiled. A serving girl set two steaming cups of fragrant tea before them on the smooth tabletop. It was a pleasant space. The room was filled with people taking their morning meal and the sound of clinking silverware against china mingled with those of varied conversations. The effect was both charming and comfortable at once and Tory seemed to relax.
Patrick ordered eggs, ham, and sweet rolls for their meal, and her stomach growled.
“A bit hungry, love?” he teased her.
She blushed and sipped her tea.
“When will we arrive you-know-where,” she whispered, unwilling to state the name of their destination aloud.
Grinning, he leaned in close and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Before we take our dinner, tomorrow night,” he whispered back.
“So soon?” she asked quickly.
He arched a brow at her. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you love?”
“Of course not. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“I’ve heard that such matters are attended to in a manner of utmost efficiency in Gretna Green,” he stated, a smile teasing his lips.
“Remarkable,” she replied.
Their hearty country breakfast arrived and they ate in companionable silence.
“What do you say to freshening up a bit?” he asked her when their meal was concluded.
“Oh, that would be heavenly,” she replied.
Patrick nodded and hurried to see the matter settled. They were each given the use of a room for the purpose of washing and changing clothes. He’d readied himself and stood waiting downstairs when she joined him a few minutes later. She was beautiful in a traveling dress, her hair brushed and styled simply. Then again, she was beautiful in anything, but he preferred her wearing nothing at all.
He’d dressed without a valet as usual, wearing a fawn jacket over brown breeches. The admiration in her lovely eyes told him she found his outfit suitable.
“I trust that my clothes meet with your approval, bride?” he asked her.
She gaped at him as the reality of his words struck her. Giving him a small nod, she permitted him to lead her from the inn into the bright morning sunshine. He took her satchel form her hands and assisted her into the carriage.
They pressed on through that day and into the night, and by morning the weather changed dramatically. Clouds hid the sun as chilling rain pattered on the roof of the carriage. The vehicle made considerably slower progress than it had the night before last, slowing in deference to the rutted road made more so by the pounding rain.
They took their nooning meal soon after crossing into Cumberland, at an inn located in the quaint little town of Appleby. The inn was warm and cozy and they located a table not far from the large rough-hewn hearth. Patrick removed his wet great coat and placed it over a chair and shook the water droplets from his hair. He saw to the ordering of their meal and, after it was served, left the table to see to more pressing matters.
While Tory consumed a bowl of hearty lamb stew accompanied by crusty bread, Patrick spoke to the innkeeper regarding the final leg of their journey. She looked up as Patrick rejoined her at the table.
“We’ll proceed to Carlisle,” Patrick told her. “The innkeeper recommends the Coffee House Inn.”
“That seems an odd name for an inn,” she remarked.
He shrugged and set upon his bowl of stew. “Apparently, one of the chaise drivers at the inn is a relation to a man who performs ceremonies in Gretna Green,” he told her.
“How long before we reach this Coffee House Inn?” she asked.
“A few hours, I wager,” he answered with a loud sigh. “This bloody rotten weather shows no signs of lessening.”
Tory must have sensed his frustration, for she reached across the table and placed her hand lightly on his clenched fist. He lifted her hand in his and brought it to his lips.
“Soon,” he mouthed.
Tory gave him a sunny smile and that was all he needed to feel better. A warm meal in their bellies and somewhat dried outer clothes wrapping their figures, they boarded the carriage once more.
* * *
The Coffee House Inn wasn’t quite as elegant as the establishments they had patronized thus far on their journey, Patrick realized to his chagrin, but he believed it would serve them well enough. The rain had ceased by the time they arrived in Carlisle, although it had delayed their progress to such an extent that Patrick feared that the hour was too late to see to their wedding. He was soon proven right, as he learned from the man who made such arrangements. He saw Tory settled on a bench in the small front room of the inn and crossed to the counter.
“The driver be abed by this time, my lord,” the innkeeper told him with a nod. “Or so deep into his cups you wouldn’t be wantin’ his assistance. You and the lady will have to wait till mornin’.”
Patrick didn’t correct him on his use of a title, thinking that using it would serve him and Tory well tonight.
“Then I must secure two rooms,” he instructed.
The man’s small eyes darted over to where Tory sat on a plain wooden bench. He flashed a knowing grin and leaned toward Patrick. “Two rooms, my lord?” he asked with a brow raised. “Surely, your little dove there won’t mind granting you your husbandly rights a bit early, eh?”
Patrick took a breath to calm his ire at the innkeeper’s rudeness. The man had no idea that Patrick had already taken those liberties, but he wouldn’t have Tory’s reputation sullied even this far away from those who knew her well.
“Two rooms,” he said firmly.
The man shrugged and reached behind the counter to withdraw two brass keys.
“As you say, my lord,” he conceded, still chuckling. “Two adjoinin’ rooms for you and your lady.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and took the keys from the man. He returned to Tory’s side.
“We have to spend the night here, love,” he told her.
Her eyes grew round. “But we’re not married yet.”
“I’ve secured two rooms, Tory,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her gently to her feet. “I would never shame you. Although this makes three nights I can’t have you.”
The smile she gave him was full of relief and more than a touch of adoration. He wondered idly if he were worthy of such high regard. Shaking his head to banish his doubts, he led her up the narrow staircase.
The rooms were sparsely furnished but clean, each holding an iron bed and a small washstand, but not much else. The adjoining door had no lock, Patrick was quick to note
. The innkeeper had, no doubt, seen more than one couple pass through on the way to Gretna Green. And more than one eager groom-to-be had no doubt made use of this convenient lockless door.
A soft yawn drew his attention and he turned to find Tory all but asleep on her feet. “Why don’t you ready for bed, love?” Patrick enfolded her in his arms. “I’ll have our supper brought up here.”
Tory nodded and went behind a privacy screen set in one corner of her room. Patrick soon glimpsed bare, shapely ankles visible beneath the screen. Those ankles were soon surrounded by lace and linen . . . he couldn’t leave the room quickly enough for his own sanity. Swallowing hard, he returned downstairs to see about their evening meal.
He went to his room and washed, delaying his return to the lovely woman awaiting him. She would be wearing her nightclothes. And her hair would be brushed and shining and beckoning for his touch. Lord, would he survive this night?
He wished to finally afford her the respect and consideration she deserved, hoping to possess the strength to deny himself the incredible passion that he’d tasted before. Tomorrow would be soon enough, he prayed. Wouldn’t it? A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to find a plump little maid carrying a tray of dishes.
“Your supper, my lord,” she chirped. “Roasted chicken and root vegetables. Where you be wantin’ it?”
Patrick thought for a moment. He took a few dishes off the tray and set them on a small table beside the window.
“Please bring the tray into the next room,” he told the maid.
The girl threw a glance at the adjoining door and smiled slyly at him.
“Aye, my lord,” she answered.
Patrick said nothing as the girl went out into the hall. He heard muted female voices from the other side of the adjoining door and resolutely began to eat his supper, relieved that he wouldn’t have to put himself through the torture of sitting across from his intoxicating intended. He was already in a mild state of arousal since glimpsing Tory’s pretty ankles, and he had no doubt such close proximity would cause him to forsake his noble intentions.
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