Patrick nodded. “I felt betrayed and angry and I quit my family home. My mother had left me money in her will so I took her last name and created a new life for myself, one that didn’t include my father or his new wife.
“But everything has changed now? Why?”
“I went to my father for help. I was determined to see you safe, love. In any way I could manage. I knew he would have the power and means to see you released. I had to set my bitterness aside. All I could think about was seeing you set free.” He gazed into her beautiful silver eyes as he continued. “I am thankful I did, for I realized that I no longer hold any animosity toward my father or Susan. They welcomed me and took up your cause with a fervent zeal.”
“Lady Stafford seems like a kind woman,” Tory said. “Your father must be a kind man as well.”
“They’re both more forgiving than I was, I must say. And what’s more, I have a little sister.”
“That’s wonderful.” She seemed to collapse against him, tucking her face against his neck. “I’m just so happy to be in your arms again.”
He held her tightly, dropping kisses on her cheek, her brow. “It’s all right Tory,” he breathed. “Everything is all right, now.”
She pulled back and gazed at him through tear-filled eyes. “Take me home, Patrick,” she said in a voice trembling with emotion.
“God, I love you,” he said, bringing his mouth to hers.
After one long, lingering, passionate kiss he released her. He dropped a little kiss on her nose.
“Dress, wife,” he said, coming to his feet beside the bed. “I’m suddenly quite eager to return to our rooms.”
Tory smiled through her tears and stepped to the dressing room.
“I do regret I have to wear the dress that Paul bought for me,” she remarked as she emerged.
She sat at the vanity and hurriedly ran the brush through her hair. He imagined her doing this for Paul as weeks went on, and his heart clenched.
“Tory?” Patrick asked hesitantly.
She lowered the brush and turned to meet his gaze. “Yes?”
“Did he hurt you?”
Tory shook her head. “I was going to leave in the morning. I wasn’t going to stay with Paul.”
“Where were you going to go?” He swallowed a lump in his throat at the close call.
“Back to Cornwall.” She blew out a breath and looked down. “I was going to go back to the Vicarage and ask if I could live there and work in the kitchen and garden.”
Patrick pulled her into his embrace. “I would have found you,” he told her fervently. “I would have traveled the ends of the earth to find you,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry for everything Tory. So very sorry.”
They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, Patrick murmuring as he dropped the most tender kisses on her brow.
Tory let out a breath at last and pulled back to look at him. “Everything is all right now,” she repeated his words back to him, her eyes shining. “Take me home, husband.”
CHAPTER 26
Tory stood in the middle of the green sitting room, her cloak still tight around her.
“Tory?” he asked, walking toward her.
She turned and gave him a bashful smile.
“It seems so long since I came to these rooms, Patrick,” she said with a shrug.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Anywhere we’re together, love,” he said, “we’re home.”
Her smile widened as she placed her hands on his.
“Tory—” He cleared his throat and began again. “Tory after everything you’ve been through, would you allow me to hold you close tonight if that is what you wish?”
She dropped her cloak and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes filled with tears again. “That is what I wish . . .”
He took a deep breath.
“After you make love to me,” she added.
He blew out his breath and wrapped his arms around her.
“My love, I will make love to you and hold you close and love you until the end of time.”
She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Make love to me, husband.”
He swiftly gave his passion free reign as he all but tore the remaining articles of clothing from her body. Scooping her up into his arms, he rained kisses on her face as he took her to the large bed. He laid her in the center of the green satin coverlet and unbuttoned his shirt.
Dropping it on the floor, he drank in the image his wife made on their bed. Her glorious hair covered the pillows. Her skin glowed in the light of the candles lit by the diligent staff. Her eyes held the promise of the love and passion of which he had only dreamt these long weeks.
Although she appeared to have lost a bit of weight during her ordeal her curves somehow seemed more lush to him, her breasts fuller. He peeled off his breeches and joined her in the big bed. He groaned softly as he stretched out on top of her.
“Ah, love,” he managed to utter before crushing his mouth to hers.
Tory moaned softly in her throat, wrapping her arms around him. Patrick nearly devoured her, licking and kissing and nipping every bit of her luscious flesh that he encountered. When he closed his mouth over one of her nipples, she arched violently beneath him.
“Oh!” she gasped, gripping his hair with her fingers.
Patrick’s own pleasure nearly peaked at the evidence of her arousal. He gently nipped the tender bud and was rewarded with more amazing sounds of pleasure from her lips.
“God, love.” He came up to kiss those lips. “I can’t wait much longer.”
“I can’t either. Please, Patrick . . .”
His fingers found her wet and ready, and he waited no longer. He parted her legs and entered her in one stroke, letting out a guttural moan as pleasure nearly drowned him. Her legs encircled his waist as he began to thrust, her hips rising to meet his every movement. She tightened around him, pulsating as her climax took her. He joined her in fulfillment, coming with a great shout as he poured into her.
He fell to her side, taking in gulps of air as his wits slowly came back to him. Tory seemed as affected as he, he noted with male satisfaction. Her face was flushed, her hair wild. She opened her eyes and stared dazedly at him.
“That was incredible,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes held a tenderness that made his heart swell. Patrick settled her closely beside him, dropping a kiss on her flushed cheek.
“I love you, Tory,” he said.
His gaze wandered over her body, and now that his mind was once more fully engaged, he could ponder the subtle changes in her. He palmed her breast, weighing it in his hand.
“Is my mind clouded with pleasure, love,” he drawled, “or do your breasts now more than fill my very large hands?”
She looked at him as if she believed him daft. He brushed his thumb over the nipple, watching her as she bit her lower lip in response.
“Does that hurt?” he asked her.
“A little.”
He withdrew his hand and ran his gaze along the length of her gloriously naked body. Her waist was still slender he saw, and he could discern no other changes. And yet . . .
“Tory,” he began, keen to give voice to what he was thinking, “have you been ill?”
She looked at him sharply.
“Yes,” she said in surprise. “For a few weeks now.” His eyes ran over her body again and she modestly covered herself with the tangled bedding. “How did you know?”
Patrick felt a hope blossom in his chest. He tucked the sheets around her form and brushed her hair out of her eyes as she clicked her tongue with impatience.
“Patrick,” she chided. “Do tell me what is ailing you.”
“Ah, but the question is what, precisely, is ailing you?” he countered. At her blank stare, he chuckled. “I believe, my dear Lady Latham,” he began with a nod, “that you will give me an heir before the next Sturbridge Fair commences.”
Tor
y gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, her beautiful silver eyes round. And promptly burst into tears.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
“I-didn’t realize?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t feeling well and I thought it was because of that wretched place.”
“It’s all right, my sweet.” He gathered into his arms as her tears flowed.
After a few minutes, she pulled back and looked at him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever beheld.
“Patrick, I-I’m so happy to be having your child. And I’m sorry to be so weepy.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. She laughed through her tears at that.
“I love you Tory.”
“I love you Patrick.”
“God, I love hearing that.” He grinned. “Tell me again.”
“I love you Patrick. I love you. I love you. I love you!”
He laughed out loud and hugged her fiercely. “I promise to always love you.” He held himself above her and grinned. “Or may honeyed biscuits never touch my lips again.”
She laughed as he began to make love to her again, slowly taking her as both love and passion pulsed between them. They fell asleep, cuddled as close together as physically possible.
* * *
Tory awakened and stretched, her body pleasantly drained. The fine linen sheets and cool satin coverlet felt wonderful against her skin and she let out a little purr of contentment. Her arm brushed against the large body resting beside her and she started. She turned to regard her husband. His lashes brushed his smoothly chiseled cheeks. His thick brown hair was tousled from sleep. He looked boyish and charming. A thought popped into her mind in the next moment. She was carrying Patrick’s child.
Smiling to herself, she placed her hand upon her still-flat stomach. It only made sense now that Patrick had articulated what should have been obvious to her—her traitorous stomach, her bone-weary fatigue. She hadn’t experienced her monthly bleeding since long before their hasty nuptials. All through her ordeal at Millbank—and later, in Paul’s sordid little house—she’d been far too preoccupied to take full stock of her own well-being. But now, she was here with Patrick, and he loved her, had always loved her, and they would never be separated again. A giggle burst forth and she hugged herself tightly. She was having a baby, she marveled. Patrick’s baby.
“What, pray, has pricked your humor this morning, love?” Patrick asked with a yawn.
Tory turned her head, finding him regarding her with a crooked grin. “Oh, nothing.” She said with exaggerated calm. “Just that I’m so happy I could burst.”
He laughed and sat up, and the sheets fell away from his beautiful chest. There was a mark on him. On his side. A red, puckered wound. She gasped. “What is this, Patrick?”
He looked down, running his fingers over the scar. “One of Miller’s thugs cut me. I was out of it for a few days.”
“Oh, Lord!”
“It’s the reason I was delayed in coming for you sooner, actually.” He took her hand in his. “Believe it or not, Susan and my father cared for me.”
“My love,” she said tenderly. “We owe your family our undying gratitude.”
“I agree, but I don’t want to talk about those hellish days I spent without you.”
Nodding, she touched his scar again and then brought her hand to his face. “As you wish.”
He reached for her, pulling her beneath him. Her heart raced at the intent in his hazel eyes, the memory of their loving the previous night still imprinted on her mind. She studied his well-formed mouth and brought her lips up toward his. He lowered his head to take what she offered. A knock broke through to her, and Patrick shot a glance of irritation toward the sitting room.
“What the hell . . .” he muttered.
“Latham?” came a male voice.
“Who is that?” Tory asked.
Patrick smiled ruefully and dropped another kiss on her lips.
“I’m afraid my keepers have come to see to my well-being,” he said cryptically.
Tory watched him with curiosity as he donned a handsome brown satin dressing gown and belted it about his waist. With another grin in her direction, he strode from the sleeping chamber. She admired his easy gait, thinking that surely there was never a more handsome or graceful man alive. Smiling at her silly assertions, she came to a sitting position in the bed and strained to hear precisely who considered themselves Patrick’s keepers.
“Latham?” the voice inquired again.
“Yes, yes,” Patrick answered, pulling the door open.
Tory leaned to the side to catch a glimpse of the tall newcomer stepping into the sitting room. Mr. Waring, she thought with interest.
“Good morning, Waring,” Patrick said jovially.
“Latham,” a female voice interjected.
And who, pray, was this? Too curious to stay abed any longer, she wrapped Patrick’s sheet around herself and took quiet steps closer to the door. She easily recognized the blonde woman, smiling up at her husband. It was the opera girl! What was she doing here?
“Why, Latham,” the blonde girl said, her hand placed on one shapely hip. “You have a decided air of satisfaction about you.” A frown marred her face in the next moment. “Oh no! Pray, don’t tell me that the little maid has at last managed to find her way into your bed.”
Tory gasped in shock.
“No, Emmy,” Patrick cut in, laughing.
Her indignation pricked, Tory stepped through the doorway into the sitting room.
“What little maid?” she asked frowning.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. The opera girl’s eyes were opened wide and Mr. Waring’s twinkled merrily. Patrick’s were full of adoration and more than a touch of amusement.
“Hello, love,” Patrick said, stepping toward her.
“Oh, Victoria,” the opera girl gushed. She smiled cheekily in Patrick’s direction. “Well, there’s no need to go to Homerton then.”
Tory pondered that for a moment. She took in the blonde’s appearance then. Her clothing was far less garish than when she’d seen her last, her pretty face merely touched with cosmetics. She read the kind regard in the girl’s eyes and smiled hesitantly in her direction.
“Good morning,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. Waring.”
Tony bowed low to her, a grin on his angular face.
“Lady Latham,” he returned.
Tory nodded in the gentleman’s direction. He turned and cuffed Patrick on the shoulder.
“I would apologize for the intrusion, Latham,” he teased, “had you not perpetrated the very same misdeed upon Emmy and me so very recently.”
Emmy swatted at Tony’s arm.
“Don’t tease Latham. He has at last gotten his beloved Victoria back in his arms and he deserves to enjoy her company in private.”
Tory shifted her gaze from the man to the pretty girl at his side, more confused than she’d been when she first heard the knock on the door. Emmy had been Patrick’s lover. Was the young woman now under Tony’s protection? How did people transfer tender regard with such ease?
“Until the morrow,” Tony said with a nod. “Come, Emmy.”
The girl smiled once more in Tory’s direction and took Tony’s offered arm. Patrick closed the door behind them and reached for Tory. She withdrew and slowly turned continuing on to the bedchamber.
“Tory?” Patrick asked, curiosity in his tone.
Tory sat on the bed, seeking to somehow bury herself in the sheet that still wrapped her. He’d easily seen the humor in the situation that had just transpired, but she was less than pleased to be intruded upon in such a manner by such jovial visitors. Emmy had given Patrick pleasure. The girl had told Tory so months ago. And what was this outing to Homerton about?
She turned away from Patrick, sorely wishing that she had a bit of solitude in which to ponder these confusing turn of events. He came to sit beside her and touched her shoulder. She stiffened beneath his touch.
“What is i
t, love?” he asked her.
Tory lifted her eyes to his, seeing the concern there. “That opera girl,” she began, her voice low, “Emmy . . . She was your mistress, Patrick?”
Patrick shook his head, his brows drawn together.
“Emmy and I were intimate, that’s true,” he admitted. “But she was never my mistress.”
“What does that mean?”
He grabbed her arms gently and eased her down onto the bed. She turned her face from his, but he easily caught her gaze.
“Emmy is a friend now, Tory,” he said.
Tory snorted at that assertion.
“She and Tony are together,” he went on, “and I believe their relationship has gone far beyond that of mere lovers. Or it’s headed in that direction, anyway.”
Tory couldn’t help but recognize the tender affection she’d glimpsed in Emmy’s eyes when the woman had gazed at Tony. “I did sense a regard between them,” she said. “But what did she mean about going to Homerton?”
Patrick sighed and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “There is a man in Homerton who does investigative work. We were set to go this morning to engage his services to find you.”
Her eyes widened at that and her mouth formed an O.
“But after Tony and Emmy dropped me off last night I received your note and I went to you straightaway . . . and I never want to get a letter like that from you again.”
She giggled at his fierce expression.
“Then there are no more worries?” he asked, dropping a kiss on her nose.
Amazed, though she was, she realized that she no longer had any worries where Patrick’s heart was concerned. He loved her, she knew. And would never take another in her place.
She thought then of something that Emmy had said, something provocative. She offered him a cheeky grin.
“What of the little maid?” she teased him, sure of his devotion now.
Patrick let out a shout of laughter.
“There has been no one but you, wife,” he said. “And there never will be.”
Tory smiled and drew him down for a long kiss. When at last the kiss ended, he stood and delivered a playful slap to her bottom.
“Do arise, Lady Latham,” he jokingly demanded. “The day is wasting.”
That Determined Mister Latham Page 27
