December Heart

by Merry Farmer

  “What does that mean?” Mariah pressed a hand to his knee under the table, just as he’d wanted to do with her earlier.

  “It means that the livelihood of a great many people could be in jeopardy if a new vein isn’t discovered,” he said, meeting her eyes with seriousness. “It means that I need to return home as soon as possible.”

  “Then we should go at once,” she replied, absolute certainty in her eyes.

  He studied her, looking for any sign of fear or anxiety. “You wouldn’t mind leaving your family and going off with a near stranger so quickly?”

  She blushed and lowered her gaze. “We’re hardly strangers at this point.”

  If they hadn’t been sitting at a breakfast table with her parents and sister watching, Peter would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she sighed the way she had the night before. As it was, he cleared his throat and turned to Edmund. “I hope you would not think it cruel of me to leave so soon and take Mariah with me.”

  “Of course not,” Edmund said, taking up his cup and finishing the last of his coffee, then declaring, “We’ll get everything settled and be off with you at once.”

  As he pushed back from the table, Victoria groaned, “No! You can’t banish Mariah to perdition so soon. Why, she’s barely married at all.”

  The look Mariah sent her sister contradicted the statement, but all she said was, “It’s all right, Victoria. I’m in good hands.”

  Peter did his best not to dwell on the images of where his hands had been through the night and where he wanted them to be later. In spite of the multiple times they’d made love, he’d only just begun to learn her shape and show her all the ways they could take pleasure from each other. But thinking about the lessons to come wouldn’t do him a lick of good when the future of his estate was in question.

  “It shouldn’t take me long to pack,” he said, spearing a sausage so that he could gobble down the rest of his breakfast. “I can venture out and purchase tickets and telegraph my valet at Starcross Castle while you organize your things, my dear.”

  Beside him, Mariah blushed and smiled. He realized he hadn’t called her by a pet name yet. It felt natural and sweet.

  “I couldn’t possibly pack up everything in one day,” she said. “But if it’s all right,” she turned to her parents, “I could put together enough to travel with and have you send the rest along to Starcross Castle as soon as it’s ready?”

  “Yes, of course, my dear,” Emily said, standing and looking ready to organize an army campaign. “We’ll have Hannah arrange it all at once.”

  The rest of the morning passed in a swirl of activity. The Travers house buzzed like a hive as the servants packed both his and Mariah’s things. He could easily have handled his own suitcase, but as long as Graves was there to help, it meant he could make arrangements not only for the tickets, but for an overnight stay in Winchester, halfway along their journey. It was the best he could do to divide their journey into two parts, considering the short notice and infrequency of trains traveling all the way to Truro, the closest station to Starcross Castle.

  It was with a sense of the surreal that he found himself saying goodbye to Edmund, his friend and now his father-in-law, shortly after noon as Mariah hugged and kissed her mother and sister farewell.

  “This is the most awful thing ever,” Victoria wept, clinging to Mariah. “I won’t be able to eat or sleep from worrying about you. I’ll wither away to nothing, and then who will want to marry me?”

  Mariah rolled her eyes, but hugged her sister all the same. “You’ll survive,” she said. “And you can come visit whenever you want.”

  “Can I?” Victoria perked up a bit.

  Mariah turned a questioning look to Peter.

  “Of course you can,” he answered with a smile that was more suitable for a child than his wife’s sister.

  Minutes later, the conductor called for all to board, Peter and Mariah shuffled into their first-class carriage, the door shut behind them, and they were off.

  “Well,” Mariah said with a sigh, settling onto the seat by his side. “This has certainly been the most startling and eventful forty-eight hours of my life.”

  Peter chuckled, stretching out his arm over the seat behind her shoulders. “It might just be the most eventful for me as well.”

  “Which means we’re bound for smooth sailing from here on out,” she said, settling closer to his side and leaning her head against his shoulder.

  The simple gesture set his heart to singing. Mariah didn’t have to show him the least bit of affection. Theirs was not a love match, after all. How could it be, under the circumstances? But the tenderness and the trust that she had shown him touched him far more deeply than he could have imagined, awaking a fierceness and protective instinct within him that he hadn’t felt since the war. He would do anything to make sure her faith in him was justified.

  The train ride from Aylesbury to Winchester passed in a blur. Mostly because both Peter and Mariah were so exhausted that the rocking of the train lulled them to sleep only a few miles into their trip. The sun had already gone down when they arrived in Winchester, but the station was manned with porters who were willing to transport their baggage to the Winchester Royal Inn. Mariah looked as vague and bleary as he did when they arrived at the hotel, so Peter wasn’t quite prepared for the concierge’s question.

  “Will that be one room or two, sir?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Peter frowned.

  “One room or two?” the concierge repeated. “For you and your daughter.”

  Peter exchanged a glance with Mariah. Her mouth twitched, and the sleep fled from her eyes, replaced by amusement.

  “She’s my wife,” Peter said, gazing at Mariah with far more fondness than he had any right to show.

  “We were married yesterday,” Mariah told the concierge.

  “Oh?” The concierge’s expression switched from confusion to a knowing look that bordered on lewd teasing. “Well then, that’s a whole other kettle of fish. Wait right here and I’ll see if our honeymoon suite is free.”

  “Honeymoon suite?” Mariah glanced to Peter in question.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose most hotels and inns have them these days.”

  It was a fair enough assumption, but by the time he and Mariah were led up several flights of stairs to a room near the top of the inn, he was beginning to question the wisdom of admitting to being newly married.

  The room was a sight. The high, four-postered bed at the center of the room was decorated with a maroon velvet coverlet and an explosion of heart-shaped pillows. The furniture was all carved in an elaborate, Rococo style with fat, naked cherubs carved on the edges of the bedposts and the table and chair set against the wall. A large mirror faced the bed and was angled in such a way that left no doubt about what one was supposed to view in it. And to top it all off, the large, framed artwork all around the room depicted classical scenes of the Rape of the Sabine Women.

  Mariah slapped a hand to her mouth at the first sight of the room and didn’t move it away, or stop shaking with laughter, until well after Peter had requested supper be brought to the room and kicked the concierge out.

  “Oh my,” she said through her giggles once they were alone, taking in the full luridness of their surroundings. She stared at one of the paintings that left nothing about sexual congress to the imagination and said, “I suppose this is the artwork Mama doesn’t approve of.”

  “I’m not sure it’s the kind of artwork anyone’s mother would approve of,” Peter said, moving to stand beside her, his hands behind his back, debating whether he should do something about the blood rushing to his groin. He couldn’t very well make love to Mariah now, the second they were secure in their hotel room. They had to connect in other ways too if their marriage was to be a success.

  She turned to him, her eyes bright with mirth. “Have you ever done that?” she asked, pointing to a Roman who had one of the Sabines bent forward over
a log while he took her from behind.

  Peter cleared his throat. He nodded at the painting. “Yes.” Then he nodded at several of the other painted couples. “Yes, yes, yes, almost, yes, and I think I would probably throw my back out.”

  Mariah burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. “Oh dear. What does it say about us that I’ve hardly been able to stop laughing since we stood in front of the vicar yesterday?”

  He let go of his last attempt to stay serious and sober, and drew her into his arms, holding her close. “I hope it says that we will have a long and happy marriage, full of good humor and easiness with each other.”

  A flash of shyness joined the humor in her eyes as she glanced up at him, but whether she was intimidated by him or not, she slid her arms around his waist. “I hope it means that as well. Although it probably means we will forever be laughing at each other.”

  He returned the sentiment with a lop-sided smile. “Just as long as nobody else is laughing at you.” His seriousness returned. “I don’t want you to be a laughing stock, Mariah.”

  She blinked, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Why would I be?”

  He arched a brow. “A man as old as me marrying a woman as young as you?”

  “First of all—” She settled into his arms with a rigidity that said he was in for a scolding. “—I’m not as young as all that. I was on the shelf when you found me.”

  “Which I find hard to believe,” he said, brushing his fingers across her pink cheek. He was rewarded by the shiver he felt pass through her and flattered himself to think that it was a shiver of desire.

  “Secondly,” she continued, her voice deeper. “You’re not as old as you think you are.”

  “I know how old I am,” he said, settling his hand at the top of her neck so that he could trace the line of her jaw and her lips with his thumb.

  “I think you may have your numbers wrong,” she replied. “I have been given tangible proof that you are neither feeble nor desiccated, and that your faculties and powers of endurance are in full working order.”

  He certainly felt powerful with her in his arms. “That is because I am borrowing vitality from you, my dear,” he said, gazing deeply into her eyes, eager to discover whether she would ignite the way he hoped she would, or if she would be intimidated when he gave free reign to what he was feeling.

  She hovered somewhere in between, her eyes flashing with fire while her body trembled in his embrace. He hadn’t burned for a woman the way he did with Mariah for a decade. He’d assumed he was long past the point of losing control when it came to his passions, that Anne’s insistent attentions, which had sometimes bordered on punishment, had killed his body’s ability to eclipse his mind. But at that moment, he wanted to strip Mariah bare and work his way through every one of the outlandish positions depicted in the artwork around them.

  And then his thumb stroked too close to her lips. She flicked her tongue against the pad of his thumb, then sucked it inside of her mouth. The daring move made his cock jump with need as images of her doing to it what she was doing to his thumb hit him.

  He moved his hands to cradle her face, then slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss that could leave her in no doubt of what he wanted from her. She made a sound of acceptance…just as there was a knock at the door.

  She jumped, pulling away from him, her face red and her chest heaving.

  “Supper service,” a man called from the other side of the door.

  Peter cleared his throat and tugged at the bottom of his jacket, glad he’d hadn’t removed it yet for all that it hid, then marched to the door.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the young porter bringing their supper said, wiggling an eyebrow.

  “Not at all,” Peter replied in what he hoped was a threatening voice.

  “I’ll just bring this in, shall I?” Without waiting, the porter wheeled in a cart with two covered plates on it. He winked at Mariah as he moved the plates from the cart to the table. “Many happy returns on your nuptials.” He then turned to Peter and muttered, “You lucky old dog.”

  It was a good thing for the porter that Mariah covered her mouth in a fit of giggles. If she’d been even a little bit put out by the man’s teasing, Peter would have grabbed him by the collar and thrown him bodily from the room. Instead, he simply said, “That will be all,” and arched a disapproving brow at the man.

  “Right.” The man winked and headed for the door. “I expect you’ll be wanting to get started. On supper, I mean.” His tone implied he meant everything other than supper. “There are some items you might be interested in over in the drawer there, but let us know if you need anything special.”

  “Thank you,” Peter growled, and shut the door hard once the man stepped out. He locked it with a satisfying click, then blew out a breath, shaking his head.

  “This I have to see,” Mariah said, rushing for the drawer the porter had indicated. She tugged it open, then gasped, holding a hand to her mouth.

  “Do I even want to know?” He winced as he crossed to join her and peeked into the drawer.

  It contained a variety of cords, from velvet to rough rope, a few masks, and a long, rectangular box.

  “What do you suppose that is?” Mariah giggled, pointing at the box.

  “I have my suspicions,” Peter said, his voice flat. He pulled the box to the front of the drawer and lifted the lid. Sure enough, it contained a larger than life, marble replica of male genitalia.

  Mariah rolled with laughter, gripping his arm and burying her face against his shoulder. “What mad world have I crossed into by marrying you?” she said gasping for breath. “It’s like I took wedding vows then stepped through the looking glass into a universe of, shall we say, intimacy that I never knew existed.”

  Peter cleared his throat and shut the box as well as the drawer. “Oh, this world exists, all right.” He took her hand and led her over to the table and their supper, the most normal thing in the room. “In general, one needs to ask for this kind of accommodation deliberately.”

  “But there are people who actually seek out this kind of silliness?” she asked as he held her chair out, then tucked it into the table before sitting across from her.

  “Believe it or not, yes.” He removed the covers from their dishes to find, in addition to the beef he had ordered, a hefty helping of oysters. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to roll his eyes or laugh along with her. “This is tame by comparison to some of the things I’ve seen.”

  “Really?” she asked, fascinated.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about her curiosity. Though in truth, he was ridiculously aroused by her openness. He just wasn’t sure if he should be.

  “It’s all well and good when rational adults enter into this sort of silliness, as you call it, freely and willingly, but I’ve seen far too many instances where coercion was involved, both inside and outside of marriage.” Again, he couldn’t shake the lengths Anne had gone to in her restless pursuit of the child she was never going to have. He cleared his throat. “It is part of what my friends and I have been working to have included in the law we are attempting to form in parliament, though there is so much resistance to even talking about what women are subjected to in this way that I doubt we’ll be able to include provisions against coercion in the bill.”

  He realized too late that he’s spoken to her the way he would speak to a male colleague, with far too much candor. Her smile had vanished, and her eyes gone wide.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I’m not used to keeping my conversation delicate. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you that way.”

  “No, it’s all right,” she said, taking a small bite of her supper. “I…I just hadn’t imagined what things are like.”

  He studied her carefully as he ate, figuring her vague statement covered a great many things. Her late fiancé might have given her a glimpse of the possibilities between men and women, both good and bad, but he knew enough to know he had been the one to ac
tually open her eyes. He was probably a cad for finding immense satisfaction in that knowledge.

  “I’m hoping that Snyder was exaggerating the urgency of the situation at the mine,” he said, deliberately steering the conversation in an entirely different direction.

  “Do mines run out frequently?” she asked.

  “Not frequently, but there are a finite amount of resources in the earth,” he said. “I won’t know until I’ve spoken to my foreman, Mr. Sinclair.”

  The mood between them relaxed, and they continued talking about mines and mining, then the estate in general as they ate. There was only time to share the basics of mining with Mariah in the amount of time it took them to finish their food, but Peter was surprised that she seemed to digest what he was telling him. Edmund’s words about giving her a purpose came back to him. It occurred to him that he could involve her in something more serious than redecorating the castle or choosing flowers for the garden.

  “Now, do we leave this all here tonight or do we ring for the porter to take it away?” Mariah asked as they finished their meal.

  “Please let’s not call him back again,” Peter begged.

  Mariah laughed. “Agreed. I suppose we should get some sleep, then. We’ve an early train tomorrow, right?”

  “Ten thirty.” He stood, offering her a hand and helping her to stand as well. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?”

  “I might,” she answered, mischief in her eyes.

  In an instant, they were right back where they’d been before the porter knocked. The delicious sense of blissful madness rushed through him again, and instead of letting go of her hand, he tugged her close.

  “I’m sure I can help in a great many ways.”

  “Oh?”

  The single word was an invitation, and he brought his mouth to hers, first with a light kiss, then with increasing ardor. He couldn’t remember the last time kissing a woman had been so enjoyable. Or the last time undressing a woman had been a treat instead of torture. It was heavenly to undo every button of Mariah’s traveling dress, exposing her warm skin and kissing it in the process. He kissed her shoulders as he pushed her sleeves down, then paused to kiss her wrists and hands as he tugged her bodice off.