Stormswept

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps it was only lust that drew him to her. Perhaps he was being a fool to care for her.

  Thrusting that disturbing thought from his mind, he pulled out some pebbles. It took only a few to catch her attention.

  She hurried to throw open the window. “You’re early.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  As soon as he’d cleared the window, she said, “Lettice will be here in a little while. We won’t have much time.”

  “I know. That’s why I’ll come right to the point. I brought you a gift.” He drew out an oblong object wrapped in cloth and handed it to her.

  When she unwrapped it, her eyes widened. “Why, ’tis a spoon.”

  “A llwy garu.”

  A pink flush touched her cheeks. “A love spoon. The gift Welshmen give their sweethearts.”

  “Aye. I carved this one myself for you. Morgan showed me how. It took me most of the week to complete it.”

  She ran her finger reverently over the handle’s intricate Celtic crosses, ending in two entwined hearts next to the spoon’s bowl. “It’s lovely. I’ve seen one before, but this is the first anyone has ever given to me.”

  “And the last, I hope.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took a deep breath, then plunged in. “You know I leave for London the day after tomorrow. I want you to go with me.”

  Cradling the love spoon in her hands, she sat down on the bed. “Are you asking me to be your paramour?”

  “Uffern dân, I’m doing this badly.” He took a seat next to her and seized her hand. “I thought you understood: A love spoon is more of a gift from a suitor to the woman he wishes to marry.”

  A shuddering breath escaped her. “Marry?”

  “Aye.” He kissed her hand. “I’m asking you to run away with me, to go to London as my wife.”

  She was silent a long time. He forced himself to wait for her answer, not to press her while she was still absorbing his words. Yet not until she pried her hand from his did he realize he’d been squeezing it so hard.

  Rising from the bed, she went to her dressing table and stared down at the book he’d given her. “Why do you wish to marry me, Rhys?”

  That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. He stood up, a sudden pain tightening his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you hope marrying me will force Papa into acknowledging your claim on Llynwydd?”

  Was that how she thought of him, as some bastard out to get his estate back at any cost? “Your Papa and his paltry claim on Llynwydd have nothing to do with this. And if you can think so after this past week, then I see I made a mistake coming here.”

  Anger choked him as he pivoted toward the window, but she hastened to block his path. “Please don’t go. I merely need to understand. We’ve shared things that I’ve never shared with anyone, but you haven’t once said . . .” She thrust out her chin. “Men marry for many reasons. I have a right to know yours.”

  What a fool he was. He thought he’d shown his feelings for her, but women liked words—and he’d never said them. “I could say I want to marry you because I want to make love to you, and that would be true.”

  She colored prettily, though she didn’t turn away.

  “And I could say I want to marry you because you and I both love poetry and Wales. That would be true, too.” Taking her face in his hands, he stared into her eyes. “But the main reason I want to marry you, Juliana St. Albans, is because I love you. With all my heart.”

  Astonishment spread over her face to end in the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen. “I love you, too, Rhys Vaughan.”

  Her words shattered the tight knot inside his chest. “You’ll run away to marry me?”

  Her face clouded over. “Can’t we simply ask Papa for permission to wed?”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Certainly. I’m sure he’d be honored to have his enemy, a penniless dog of a Welshman, for a son-in-law.’ ”

  She sighed. “I suppose you have a point.”

  “By thunder, I am a dog for asking this of you. I have some money, but until now my main hope for the future was in regaining my estate. Now I’m not so sure how wise that is. My fighting your father would put you in an untenable position.”

  “Perhaps not.” She gave a secret smile. “You see, I—”

  “Nay.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “I don’t want to talk about that. I won’t have you thinking I’m marrying you to get your aid in regaining Llynwydd. I’m marrying you because I love you and you love me. Once we’re married, we’ll sort the rest out. Even without the estate, I have prospects. I can teach. Or I can continue to work for Morgan if I have to.”

  She smiled. “So it was him who printed those pamphlets.”

  He gripped her arms. “Who told you that?”

  “Lettice thought perhaps . . . well, she said—”

  “She shouldn’t be saying anything, damn it all! Morgan would be in great danger if anyone knew.”

  “I shan’t tell a soul, I swear. Besides, if you’re to work for him to support us, that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face, wouldn’t it?”

  Glancing at her aristocratic features, he winced. “I’m a bastard to be denying you the wealth you deserve. Your father no doubt plans to marry you to a duke with vast estates.”

  “I don’t want that.” She trailed her finger over his cheek. “I only want you.”

  With a moan, he kissed her. Soon he’d be able to kiss her whenever he wanted, to linger in her arms. The thought sent his blood racing anew.

  It took all his will to break the kiss. “Listen, cariad, I’ve much to tell you, and we have little time. Tomorrow night I’ll come as soon as Lettice is gone. We’ll go out the window.” When she blinked, he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring a ladder. I found one behind the stables.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll go straight to the bishop’s house. I’ve already bought the license.”

  “The bishop will wed us?”

  Rhys grinned. “He’s my godfather, and none too fond of your father. After we’re married, we’ll take the night coach to London.” He paused. “No one here suspects that we’ve been meeting, do they?”

  She shook her head.

  “So it’ll take them a while to discover where you’ve gone. Even if they guess that you’ve eloped, they’ll head for Gretna Green, which would send them north. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be in London and too well-established for your family to do anything but accept the marriage.”

  “But I can’t go without saying anything or they’ll worry. Can’t I leave a note?”

  “Absolutely not.” When her face clouded, he softened his tone. “Sorry, my darling, but that’s too risky.”

  She dropped her gaze. “You’re right, of course.”

  He tipped up her chin. “Promise me you’ll do as I ask.”

  “I promise.”

  Suddenly he heard a tapping at the door. They froze.

  “It’s me,” came Lettice’s voice.

  Rhys drew back. “I’d better go.”

  Lettice tried the door. Swearing under his breath, Rhys strode for the window. “I’ll be here tomorrow night. If you change your mind, leave the window closed, and I’ll know not to bother you.”

  “I won’t change my mind. You can be sure of that.”

  Lettice rattled the door and called out, “Juliana? Are you in there?”

  “Go,” Juliana urged. “Before she makes a fuss.”

  “I love you. Remember that.”

  She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, too. Now go! ”

  Juliana watched as he stood on the sill and jumped for the branch. He caught the branch and climbed down with a leonine grace, then blew her a kiss.

  Lettice hissed, “I don’t know what you’re up to in there, but I’m going to fetch your mother! ”

  Racing to unlock the door, Juliana opened it just in time to catch Lettice striding down the hall. “Lettice! ” she call
ed to the maid.

  Lettice returned warily. She entered and swept the room with a searching glance. When she caught sight of the open window, she went to look out of it.

  Juliana held her breath. But Rhys had apparently made his escape. Frowning, Lettice shut the window. “You shouldn’t let in the unhealthy night air. You’ll make yourself sick.”

  Juliana’s gaze landed on the love spoon she’d laid beside the book on her dressing table. As Lettice strode for the wardrobe, Juliana snatched up the book and the love spoon and hid them under the chair cushion.

  “I-I was looking at the stars. ’Tis a beautiful night.”

  “Aye, so beautiful you were woolgathering and didn’t hear me knock?”

  “I dozed off. And you know how soundly I sleep.”

  Lettice stared at her hard. Then shaking her head, she turned to open the wardrobe and, without further comment, helped Juliana undress.

  Somehow Juliana managed to keep from blurting out her news. But once Lettice was gone, she sank onto her bed with a dreamy sigh.

  She and Rhys were to be married! And the foolish man thought he was damning her to an impoverished future—ha! He’d be delighted to find that in marrying her, he’d regained his estate.

  Or would he be suspicious instead? Any mention of Papa infuriated him, and he sometimes seemed uncertain of her. How might he react when he found out that Papa had taken Llynwydd for her? Would he worry that people would claim he’d married her for the estate? Might he even refuse to go through with it, because of how it would look?

  Perhaps she shouldn’t tell him anything until they were wed and on their way to London. Then it would be too late. Besides, he’d asked her not to speak of Llynwydd, so she’d only be doing as he asked, right?

  And once they were joined forever . . .

  Juliana threw out her arms and began to dance about the room, remembering how Rhys had touched her most private places and made her burn last night and filled her with wild exhilaration. Tomorrow night he would do that again to her, only this time, he wouldn’t feel compelled to stop. She would finally know the full enjoyment of having impure blood.

  Tomorrow night, Rhys would initiate her into all the pleasures of love. She could hardly wait.

  5

  Like honey musk is

  Your unconcealed kiss,

  The kernel of your lips I cannot dismiss.

  —HUW MORUS, “PRAISE OF A GIRL”

  Juliana and Rhys left the church on his horse long after midnight. Rhys’s chest pressed hard against her back, and she shuddered with anticipation. She was glad to be married, but the secrecy bothered her.

  So did his silence. Did he doubt the wisdom of the marriage, now that they were bound forever?

  The longer they traveled the rutted road, the more she worried. The moon cast an eerie light through the mist, and the wind whispered dire predictions. Then an owl flew across their path hooting, and she jolted up straight with a cry.

  “Don’t worry, my love, ’tis nothing.” Rhys tightened his grip about her waist. “You’re not having any regrets, are you?”

  Had she been so obvious? “Of course not.”

  He nuzzled her hair. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I asked a great deal of you—to leave your family and abide with me ‘in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer.’ I might be poor for some time, depriving you of luxuries you’re accustomed to.”

  The dear man was as anxious as she. “I don’t care about that. You’re all that matters to me.”

  “You shan’t regret marrying me. I swear I’ll make you happy.”

  She settled herself against his hard body. “And I swear the same.”

  As the horse clopped along, Rhys said nothing else, instead speaking with soft kisses and caresses, his fingers stroking the underside of her breast as he nibbled on her ear. By the time they reached the White Oak Inn on the outskirts of Carmarthen, she’d forgotten every misgiving.

  Until Rhys’s low curse jarred her. “The coach isn’t here. We were to board it immediately, to prevent anyone from finding us. I was told it generally arrives before two a.m. It must be nearly that now.” As a groom ran to take his horse, Rhys dismounted, then helped Juliana do so. “Where’s the London coach?”

  “Ain’t arrived yet, sir. They sent a boy on ahead to say they’d be late by an hour or two.”

  Rhys grimaced. He arranged with the groom to have his horse cared for while they were away, and for the bags to be put on the coach when it arrived. Then he told Juliana, “We can’t stand out here waiting, and we can’t sit around inside where anyone can see us. An hour may turn into five. We’d best take a room.”

  Five! If she and Rhys didn’t leave soon, her family would come across the note she’d penned for them when they awakened. Though it said nothing of where they’d gone, still . . .

  Rhys took her arm. “Something wrong?”

  She didn’t dare say she’d disobeyed his instructions. “Everything’s fine.”

  He led her inside and found the innkeeper, a hawkish-looking man whose dark eyes flitted about the room as if searching for malcontents. He looked a bit familiar to Juliana, but she couldn’t think why.

  Rhys said, “My wife and I need a room for a few hours to await the London coach.”

  The innkeeper eyed Rhys suspiciously. “Begging y’r pardon, sir, but can ye prove y’re married to this woman?”

  “Of course.” He showed the man the marriage license, careful to keep her last name covered up. “We’re headed to London so I can introduce my wife to my family.”

  “I see, Mr. Vaughan. Well then, I believe I’ve one room available. If you’ll come with me . . .”

  They followed him to the stairs, but Rhys paused there. “I’ve forgotten something in our bags.” Flashing her a mysterious smile, he turned to the innkeeper. “Take my wife up. I’ll be there shortly.”

  As she and the innkeeper climbed the stairs, Juliana felt the man watching her, but her discomfort with that was quickly eclipsed when he ushered her into their room and she saw the bed.

  The innkeeper walked around, showing her where the chamber pot was and extolling the virtues of the room, but she paid attention to none of it. All she could think of was lying with Rhys in that bed. The mere thought of it warmed her all over. And made her nervous, too.

  Just then, Rhys entered, a book tucked under his arm. He paid for the room and asked the innkeeper to notify him when the coach arrived. Within moments, they were alone. She didn’t know where to look, what to say to break the awkward silence.

  Then he held out the book to her. “This is my wedding gift to you.” He flushed. “I suppose it’s vain of me, but . . . you see . . . these are poems I wrote myself.”

  “Truly?” Intrigued, she turned the pages, skimming the Welsh verse copied out in a bold, male handwriting.

  “The last few were written for you.”

  She flipped to the back and read aloud, “ ‘Mine is a dank and cheerless song / Hung with heavy tears as long / As Juliana sits above / And is not mine to love.’ ”

  “Not quite Huw Morus,” he said. “But it captures how I felt when I feared you might reject me.”

  She clasped the book to her chest. “How could I, when you bring me such wonderful gifts?”

  “So it’s my gifts you married me for, eh? What a greedy little thing you are.”

  As he snatched her to him, she giggled. “I am greedy, you know. For your presence, for your smiles, for—”

  “For this?” He brushed a kiss over her lips.

  She sighed. “Oh yes.”

  “So you like my wedding present,” he said huskily as he reached up to bury his hands in her unbound hair, crushing the strands between his fingers.

  “Aye. ’Tis wonderful.” Remembering the rolled-up parchment in her bag, she said, “And I have a gift for you, too. I will fetch it.”

  “Later.” He buried his face in her neck, then began to kiss a path along her throat to her ear, making h
er shiver with excitement. “We’ve all the time in the world for that.”

  True. Later she’d show him the deed to Llynwydd. Later she’d reveal that she, too, could give presents. But now . . .

  He sucked her earlobe, and she moaned. Who’d have thought one’s ears could be so sensitive?

  Then he drew back to shrug off his coat and toss it on a chair, fumbling for the ties of her stomacher. “Are you very tired? Do you wish to sleep?”

  Why was he eyeing her like that? And what did he mean, sleep? Surely he didn’t think they could remain here for hours. “We really don’t have enough time for that,” she said, thinking of the note in her room.

  “Not for sleeping,” he said in a low rumble. “But for other things.”

  “Like what?”

  Without a word, he removed her stomacher. “Has your mother or Lettice ever explained what a man and his wife do in the bedroom after they’re married?”

  She blushed. “Like kissing and . . . and touching? Mama said it was only permitted between married people.”

  “Yes, and we’re married now.” His intense stare frightened her a little. “Did she tell you what kind of touching takes place?”

  “Not exactly.” Thinking of when he’d caressed her between the legs, she turned a bright red. “I imagine it would be like . . . what we did before.”

  “It will. But we shall do much more,” he rasped.

  Oh no, now? What if they missed the coach? What if they were discovered? “We don’t have time to do ‘much more,’ ” she said, unable to hide the panic in her voice.

  He searched her face. “Is that what’s bothering you—our lack of time? Or are you simply scared of what we’re going to do?”

  She hesitated. He looked as if he might eat her alive, and she was reminded that they hadn’t known each other long. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me this, then. Do you like it when I kiss you?”

  “Yes, I do,” she couldn’t help admitting, afraid to meet his gaze. “I know it shows I’m not well-bred, but I can’t help it and—”

  “Wait, wait.” He lifted her chin. “What do you mean?”

  “Mama explained that men have strong feelings that well-bred women lack. She said only women of impure blood like Lettice feel that way, so since I . . . well . . . get excited when you touch and kiss me, I figured I must have impure blood.”