He Said Yes

by Patricia Waddell

  "Yes," he admitted with a frustrated sigh. He was more nervous than he had expected. There was so much he wanted to say to her, and yet the words were suddenly beyond his grasp. Tipping up her chin, he kissed her slowly, his tongue probing into her mouth. Kissing her was easy, much easier than confessing that he'd been a fool for more months than his pride cared to count.

  Marshall's kiss was everything Evelyn remembered it being. Warm and gentle, possessive and demanding. A slow heat stole into her senses, burning away the loneliness that had taken over her life since leaving Ipswich. She felt her re­sistance melting. If she didn't speak now, she wouldn't have the strength to deny him. Pushing her hands against his shoulders instead of locking them around his neck, Evelyn broke the kiss and took a deep, fortifying breath.

  "I won't be your mistress or your lover, my lord. Not again. The summer is over. Our arrangement is over."

  "Stubborn to the core," Marshall said laughingly. "God, how I've missed you. As for the summer, you left before the season ended. That means you owe me, Miss Dennsworth, and I intend to collect each and every day of the debt. In fact, I intend to keep you imprisoned for the rest of your natural life."

  Evelyn swallowed hard. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. But he was smiling at her, and the smile made her feel loved.

  Marshall looked around until his gaze settled on a closed door. "Is that the bedroom?" He took her by the hand and pulled her after him. "A proper gentleman would wait for a proper wedding night, but I've never been all that proper."

  Wedding night!

  "You can't marry me," Evelyn argued, even though it was what she wanted. "What would people say? You'd be cut from society."

  He didn't turn on the gas lamp; the light from the front room was sufficient for his purposes. The bed was small, but then, a man on top of a woman, or a woman on top of a man, didn't take up all that much room. As he began to undress her, Evelyn slapped at his hands and rambled on about not fitting into his world. A marquis required an acceptable wife, one born and bred into society. A lady like Sybil Radley. Besides, he didn't want a wife; he wanted a mistress.

  "Whatever are you talking about? There's nothing unac­ceptable about you."

  "Peers of the realm don't marry shop girls."

  "Peers of the realm marry whomever they please," he said with authority. "Besides, I can't imagine being married to anyone else." His gaze turned possessive. "I'm sorry there isn't a babe. But then, it gives me an excuse to keep you in bed until there is."

  He kissed her again, and the summer fire that had burned so bright flared anew. When he finally had her naked and stretched out on the bed he kept kissing her until Evelyn thought she'd died and gone to heaven. Months of misery vanished under his expert touch.

  "I missed you," he said softly, then licked at her ear. "The nights were hellish and the days endless. I went to the cot­tage every night and thought of you. I walked the beach in the morning and remembered you. I've never been so lonely. So lost."

  His touch was as gentle as the words he whispered, light and caressing. The warmth of his fingers as he cupped her breasts brought tears to her eyes. She trembled in Ms arms, a shivery desire that grew and grew until she was lifting her hips, pressing against him, hungry to get closer. Her senses were on fire, spinning wildly out of control. It had been so long, so very, very long, and she needed him so badly.

  He left her just long enough to shed his clothes. When he joined her on the bed Evelyn went willingly into his arms. Every touch intensified the need. His fingers stroked and probed gently inside her, pushing her closer to the edge. She was empty and aching, and yet he refused to fill her. Instead he made love to her with his hands and mouth, touching every inch of her, building the need until she was whimper­ing, shaking with desire.

  "Easy, love," he said, knowing she was more than ready for him but wanting to prolong the pleasure. "This isn't goodbye, it's hello."

  "I missed you so much," she said, running her hands over his body, relearning the muscular strength that she had thought lost forever.

  "I wanted a mistress," he whispered, his voice adding to the seduction of his hands. "An uncomplicated woman who could please me in bed." He wedged his knee between her legs, opening them wider. "But what I found was a stubborn shop girl who turned my life upside down." He found her hands, and his fingers meshed with hers. "I found a woman who set my body on fire. A woman with a kind, caring heart, a woman who satisfies me all the way to my soul. I only thought I wanted a mistress. What I really wanted was a woman to share my life with, to give me children and years of happiness. You're that woman."

  Another kiss, this one so tender it brought tears to Evelyn's eyes.

  "And a thief. You stole my heart, Miss Dennsworth, and I'll gladly let you keep it if only you'll give me yours in re­turn. I love you," he said, smiling down at her. "I love you."

  Evelyn looked into his eyes, dark and gleaming with pas­sion, and saw the truth. His gaze held the promise of a life­time of happiness, of loving and being loved.

  "And I love you," she confessed. Her legs raised to wrap around his hips, to hold him as deeply inside her as possible. "I've loved you. . . I'm not sure when it started. I woke up one morning and you were in my heart."

  Marshall began to move, slow and deep. The urgency was gone. He'd found her, and he was going to keep her. "When did I start loving you?" he mused. "I'm not sure. I didn't re­alize it until you were gone." He moved again, filling her. "I knew the moment I walked into the cottage and found it empty that you'd taken my heart with you. The only way I could get it back was to find you."

  There were no more words for a long time. He made love to her and she to him, the tenderness slowly giving way to fierce desire. The longing to have her, the need to possess her, quickly transformed itself into passion, and Marshall moved deep and hard. Evelyn's body opened to him, giving, craving. It was a passion born of need and desperation, of lost time and unspoken words, of hearts and minds. Their bodies met and parted only to meet again, to press and touch, to give and take, but most all of to love.

  Marshall laughed with the joy of it. Evelyn cried the wonder of being truly loved more glorious than she'd ever imagined. Much later, they lay limp in each other's arms. He rubbed her back as her head lay pressed against his arm, her leg over his thighs. It was the peaceful time that both of them had missed so much.

  "How did Druggs find me?" she asked sleepily.

  "He didn't," Marshall told her. "His efficiency has been lacking of late."

  "Then, how?"

  "Morland."

  "The duke!"

  Marshall brushed her hair back from her face. "He's your landlord. A strange twist of fate, but then, it doesn't surprise me. Fate has had its hand in our lives since the day I walked into Madame La Roschelle's."

  "Then the duke knows about me? He must think me awful."

  "His Grace thinks you're wonderful. Constance will wel­come you into the family with open arms. Catherine adores you. Winnifred would like to be your friend if you'll let her. Druggs has been as worried about you as I, if that's possible." He brought his finger to her lips to keep her from inter­rupting him. "Morland wouldn't have told me where to find you if he thought you unworthy. However, he did mention a certain expectation."

  "Expectation?"

  "An invitation to our wedding." He kissed her again. "There will be a wedding. Can't have our children born out of wedlock. Think of the scandal."

  "Marshall," she whispered breathlessly.

  He laughed, then shifted their bodies, flipping her over onto her back so he could look down at her. "Courtesy de­mands that I ask you properly, but a naked man on bended knee is too laughable; so I shall ask you now, lying blissfully naked on top of you." He joined their bodies, sliding deep into her warm wetness. "Or rather, inside of you." There were several more kisses before he finally got around to proposing. "I love you, Miss Dennsworth. Will you marry me?"

  "Yes," she said joyfully.<
br />
  It was the last word she spoke for a very long time.

  The day dawned bright and cold, the sky a cloudless blue. A thin layer of snow blanketed the city as a carriage stopped in front of the west portico of St. Paul's Church. The Duke of Morland stepped down. The majority of guests were already inside the chapel, less than fifty at the insistence of the bride, who had met only a small portion of them.

  The Earl of Granby, suited in a gray jacket and trousers that handsomely emphasized the color of his eyes, greeted the duke near the south transept. "The bride is waiting there, Your Grace." He pointed toward a small antechamber where a liveried attendant guarded the door. "I will be attending the groom."

  "As Waltham attended Sterling only last year," the duke remarked. He gave Granby a slow smile. "A bit of tradition forming, don't you agree?"

  The earl grimaced at the prophetic remark. "Perhaps I should have Fitch do the honors."

  "Busy yourself with Waltham," Morland chuckled. "I'll see that the bride gets to the altar."

  Dressed in flowing white satin and seed pearls with a train trimmed in white feathers, a novel design that would be repeated several times the following Season, Evelyn was es­corted across the tiled vestibule of the cathedral, past majes­tic Corinthian columns rising to a dome that displayed grisaille frescoes of the life of St. Paul and into the chapel where the Marquis of Waltham was waiting to make her his wife.

  Gripping the duke's arm to steady her wobbling knees, Evelyn barely noticed the blur of faces as she made her way down the aisle toward the altar. When Marshall stepped for­ward to claim her, her heart was near to bursting. Dreams can come true, she thought, as they knelt before the altar. Hers certainly had.

  When they were finally pronounced man and wife, Marshall lifted the veil that covered her face and kissed her so tenderly, Evelyn wept. When he whispered "I love you," she smiled so brightly everyone in the church smiled with her.

  The Mayfair reception was a boisterous affair with cham­pagne and laughter and music. As the orchestra played Marshall held her in his arms, their first waltz. They danced looking into each other's eyes, forgetting the guests who watched them, losing themselves in heartfelt memories and the splendid future that was only just beginning. When the music stopped Marshall kissed her to the applause of the crowd.

  It was much later before the bride and groom climbed into a coach pulled by a pair of matched gray geldings. Snow was falling again, large white flakes floating down from a midnight sky. The fluffy snowflakes joined the roses adorn­ing Evelyn's hair, adding a fairy-tale touch to a fairy-tale day.

  "Finally," Marshall sighed, as the footman closed the door. "I was beginning to think I'd never get a wedding night."

  "You're insatiable," Evelyn laughed, as his hands found their way underneath her ermine cloak. It had been a present from Constance, who had decreed that she couldn't be hap­pier to finally have Marshall contently married to a woman she would always consider a dear friend.

  "I won't deny it," Marshall said as his mouth settled on her earlobe. "But then, I've never denied wanting you."

  "Where are we going?" Evelyn asked, arching her neck back so he could find more skin to kiss. "Not that it matters."

  "I love you, Lady Waltham," her husband said as he pushed down some lace and began to nibble.

  "Say it again."

  "Lady Waltham."

  "No, not that. The other," Evelyn whispered, blissfully content to be resting in his arms.

  "I love you," he said between kisses. "As for where we'll be enjoying our wedding night, I'm surprised you haven't guessed. I recently purchased a small house on Lambeth Road. It's small, but cozy. I hope you find both it and your husband satisfactory."

  "I can't imagine being more satisfied than I am at this moment," Evelyn said, with a captivating smile.

  Marshall found the first of the two dozen buttons on the back of her dress. "You will be," he vowed, then set about keeping the promise.

  About the Author

  After years of enjoying life as a reader, Patricia Waddell decided to bring her dream alive by writing romance novels.

  HE SAID YES is the first book in her new romance se­ries, soon to be followed by HE SAID NO in February 2004.

  Patricia enjoys hearing from her readers. You can e-mail her at P. A. Waddell@att.net or visit her author's home page at www.patriciawaddell. com.