Whirlwind Wedding

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  "Then let's go," he said standing. "There are other places to investigate."

  They left the pub without incident and entered the waiting hack. Austin gave an address to the driver and settled himself across from Elizabeth. In the dim light, with her masculine clothing, she could indeed pass for a young man, a notion he found oddly disturbing as he knew she was all woman.

  "I'm sorry I was not able to sense anything in the pub," she said. "Perhaps we shall have more success in the next place. Where are we going now?"

  "A gaming hell. According to my information, Gaspard was recently sighted there."

  "I see." She hesitated, and he noticed that she was twisting her fingers together. "I'd like to thank you for your generous gesture toward Molly."

  His conscience pricked him, urging him to tell her that he wouldn't have glanced at that whore if not for her, but before he could speak, she reached out and laid her hand on his sleeve.

  "You're an extraordinary man, Austin. A remarkable and wonderful man."

  His throat tightened. Bloody hell, there she went again, all but turning him into porridge with a single touch. A gentle word. A warm glance. She melted him like snow tossed into a fire.

  And instead of being appalled by the admission, instead of wanting to flee or push her away, he ached to take her into his arms. Hold her. Love her. Try to somehow explain these unsettling feelings she evoked in him.

  Taking her hand he pressed a heated almost desperate kiss to her gloved palm. "Elizabeth. I-"

  The hack jerked to a halt, cutting off his words. Peering out the window, he saw that they'd arrived at their destination. Helping Elizabeth from the hack, he led her into a narrow alleyway between two seedy, crumbling brick buildings. They made their way down a set of steps littered with trash and entered the gaming hell.

  The room was noisy, dimly lit, and dingy. Men from many different walks of life sat at the tables playing cards and throwing dice. Rough-talking sailors, a group of London dandies out on an adventure, members of the demimonde; anyone with money to gamble was admitted.

  Again requesting that she keep her hat pulled low and eyes downcast, Austin led her slowly around the circumference of the room. She paused near the end of the scarred wooden bar.

  Blocking her from the room with his back, he whispered "What is it?"

  She frowned and shook her head. Without a word she peeled off her dark gloves and slipped them into her pocket. She then placed her hands on the bar. Her eyes slid closed.

  Austin watched her closely, keeping her hidden from the rest of the room. Her breathing deepened and just when he didn't think he could stand her silence another moment, she opened her eyes.

  "Gaspard has been here," she said.

  His stomach clenched. "When?"

  Her eyes grew troubled. "Tonight, Austin. He was here tonight."

  Chapter 17

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Elizabeth held on to the bar, trying to assimilate the barrage of images flashing through her mind. The man Austin sought had been in this very place, and only several hours earlier. She was sure of it.

  A clear picture blinked in her mind. "He's carrying a pistol." Her knees went weak. "He's used it to kill. More than once."

  He gripped her hand and immediately more images materialized behind her closed eyes, flashing like lightning bolts. Her heart thumped painfully and the base of her neck throbbed as the disjointed impressions slowly took form. A clear vision swam through her brain and perspiration broke out on her brow. Light-headedness invaded her system, rendering her weak.

  "Elizabeth, what's wrong?"

  Austin's urgent whisper seemed to come from very far away. She struggled to open her eyes, but the images bombarding her sapped her strength. She was vaguely aware of a commotion, of being lifted up and carried, but she was too weak to protest. Blackness engulfed her and she slipped into oblivion.

  Austin had never been so frightened in his life. Damn it, she was unconscious. Her face was pale as wax, her skin damp, her breathing labored. Ignoring the curious glances from several gambling patrons, he picked her up and strode from the building. Once outside, he barked out his direction to the hackney with orders to get them home posthaste. He closed the hack door behind them and tenderly laid her across his lap.

  "Elizabeth," he said urgently, his body tense with fear. "Speak to me. Darling, please, say something."

  He patted her cheeks and alarm raced through him at the clammy texture of her skin. The frightening atmosphere and noxious fumes must have gotten to her, but damn it, why didn't she wake up now that they were outside? He never should have brought her here. If anything happened to her-

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked directly into his eyes. Relief hit him like a punch to the head. Laying his palm against her pale cheek, he tried to smile at her, but his facial muscles wouldn't cooperate. Bloody hell, he felt as weak as a newborn babe.

  She attempted to sit up, but he kept her in place with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Relax," he managed to say.

  Her eyes panned around. "Where are we?"

  "In the hack, on our way home."

  A frown furrowed her brow. "Home? But why?"

  "I'm afraid you succumbed to the vapors."

  "Vapors? Nonsense." She again tried to sit up and he again restrained her.

  "Vapors," he repeated running his fingertips over her pale cheek, unable to keep from touching her. "For a robust girl, you went down like a tenpin."

  She shook her head. "No, it wasn't the vapors. I had a vision. I saw it, Austin. I saw the entire thing. William. The Frenchman Gaspard."

  That horrific night, that haunting scene that was forever burned in his mind bombarded him, attacking his defenses from all sides. She grasped his hand squeezing it, and her eyes widened.

  Before he could utter a word she whispered "Dear God you were there. You saw them together, loading crates of weapons onto a ship." He tried to rein in his thoughts, but there was no stopping them. Gripping his hand tighter, she said "William saw you in the shadows. He went to you and you argued bitterly. You tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. Then you watched your brother sail away… with an enemy to your country."

  Pain whipped through him, lashing him with guilt. "He was handing over weapons," he whispered barely aware he was speaking. "He saw me and left the ship. He pulled me into an alleyway, away from Gaspard's eyes. I asked him how he could do this, but he refused to answer me. Told me to mind my own business and leave. We quarreled. I threatened to turn him in… I told him he was no longer my brother."

  "You've never told anyone?"

  "No." He leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "If it ever got out that William was a traitor, my family would be destroyed. I had to protect Caroline and Robert. My mother. I cannot believe that William would betray England but I know what I saw, and he did not deny it. The.question is why. Why would he do it?"

  He knew he had to look at her, to read her reaction, but he couldn't yet bring himself to gaze into her eyes. What would he do if he read condemnation there? There was every chance she would reject him, his family, now that she knew the truth. And because she was his wife, she, too, would now be forced to suffer any shame brought upon the family.

  Bracing himself, he opened his eyes and looked at her, and his breath hitched in his throat. A dozen emotions swam in her eyes, none of them condemnation. Only warmth, caring, and concern flowed from her gaze.

  She reached up and cradled his face between her palms. "God in heaven, Austin. How you must have suffered, keeping this secret, trying to protect your family. I'm so very sorry for your pain. But you're not alone any longer."

  That heartfelt look radiating from her eyes, the soothing, gentle touch of her hands, her softly spoken words, combined with the barrage of emotions attacking him from all sides, shattered the bleakness engulfing him. You're not alone any longer.

  Gathering her close, he pressed his face into the warm curve of her shoulder. A long shudder passed th
rough him, and he held her tighter, so tight her bones must have ached but she never complained. She hugged him to her, running her hands soothingly through his hair, over his back, while the guilt that had festered inside him broke loose and poured forth in a torrent he was helpless to stop.

  Long moments passed before his shudders subsided. When they did, he remained in Elizabeth's arms and tried to assemble his thoughts.

  He would always bitterly regret his last moments with William, but now there was hope for a second chance. William was alive. He needed to find him, talk with him, discover why he'd done what he'd done.

  Elizabeth claimed William was in danger. Why? Was someone seeking retribution for his wartime activities? Or was some other danger hounding his brother, holding him captive? Could William be trying to escape whatever evil had convinced him to commit treason? Regardless of the past, if William needed his help, he would give it.

  Grim determination filled Austin. He would find William. And Gaspard. No matter what.

  For the first time since that horrible night over a year ago, he drew an easy breath. The relief that surged through him at unburdening his soul left him all but light-headed. He'd been alone for so long, locked in the solitary confinement of his secret. But no longer. Now he had someone to share it with. Elizabeth. She knew his darkest secret.

  This beautiful woman who held him against her heart, absorbing his pain and replacing it with her own goodness. She'd freed him and given him back his life. She'd given him hope for the future.

  God, how he needed her.

  He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. There were so many things he needed to say to her, wanted her to know, but his throat was so clogged with emotion, he couldn't utter a sound.

  The hack jerked to a halt. Forcing his gaze away from her, he saw they'd arrived at the town house. Without a word he helped her alight and paid the hackney.

  Holding tightly to her arm, he opened the oak door. The foyer was empty, as Carters had clearly retired hours ago. Without pausing even to remove their coats, he led her up the stairs and into his bedchamber, closing and locking the door behind them.

  A need like he'd never before experienced rose up inside him. He had to touch her. Hold her. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. An affirmation of life after feeling dead inside for so long.

  He longed to tell her what he was feeling, but he didn't know the words, and words were beyond him. He needed to feel her. Against him. Around him. Under him. To show her how he felt where words couldn't reach.

  His gaze never strayed from her face as he began removing his clothes. His coat then his jacket hit the floor, carelessly falling from his impatient fingers. Cravat, waistcoat, and linen shirt followed joining the heap at his feet. Bared to the waist, he approached her, unable to wait another instant to feel her hands on him.

  She made a move to unfasten her coat, but he stilled her hands and performed the task himself. Layer by layer, he removed her clothes, then the remainder of his, until they stood before each other naked.

  He'd never felt so needful or vulnerable in his entire life.

  Reaching out, he cupped her face between his hands and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. So many words to say, so many things to tell her, but he couldn't seem to find his voice.

  "Elizabeth," he whispered in a husky voice.

  It was the only word he was able to manage. What he couldn't say, he'd show her. Drawing her into his arms, he touched his lips softly to hers, aching with a tenderness completely at odds with the inferno burning inside him.

  She breathed his name and slid her arms around him.

  And the dam burst.

  He crushed her to him, overwhelmed with the need to touch her everywhere at once. His lips claimed hers, his kiss growing increasingly hot and demanding. His tongue explored the soft interior of her mouth, withdrawing and then plundering again.

  But kissing her wasn't enough. Pulling back, he studied her face, his heart doubling its already breakneck pace at the passion and desire shimmering in her eyes. "Elizabeth, my God what you do to me…" he moaned his voice thick and unsteady. Sinking to his knees, he pressed his mouth to the creamy skin of her belly.

  "So soft," he murmured his lips trailing across her abdomen. "So beautiful." His tongue dipped into her navel before his mouth continued its downward journey. He slowly kissed and licked his way down one long leg and back up the other, while his fingers lightly ran up and down the back of her thighs and calves. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he raised his head. "Look at me, Elizabeth."

  Opening her eyes, she looked down at him, showing golden depths darkened with passion.

  "Spread your legs for me," he commanded in a raw voice against the smooth skin of her belly. When she did as he bid he ran one hand down her body, from her neck to the dark red curls that hid her womanly flesh, then stroked between her thighs. Her eyelids slid shut, and a long moan purred in her throat.

  "You're so beautiful… so wet… so hot," he groaned burying his lips against her navel. His lips drifted lower, lower, until his tongue caressed her as his fingers had. She grasped his shoulders and gasped.

  Cupping her bottom in his hands, he worshipped her with his lips and tongue, breathing in her feminine musk, tasting her delicate essence, loving her until she shattered against him. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she cried out as her climax washed over her. When the spasms subsided he picked her up and carried her to his bed settling her gently on the counterpane. Positioning himself between her thighs, he looked down into her beautiful, passion-flushed face.

  "Look at me."

  Her eyelids fluttered open and he entered her with one long, hard thrust, embedding himself in her slick heat. A throaty groan escaped her, and she ran her hands restlessly over his back. Moving slowly within her, he watched every emotion passing over her expressive face, his strokes growing longer, harder, and faster. She met him all the way, moving her hips in rhythm with his until he felt her pleasure overtake her once again.

  The instant her body clenched him, he lost any semblance of control. His world narrowed to the place where his body was joined to hers. Nothing mattered except her. Him inside her. Her around him. He thrust into her again and again, helpless to stop, mindless with passion. With one final thrust, he spilled himself into her, for an endless moment he whispered her name over and over again like a prayer.

  When the earth righted itself again, he collapsed and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. He wanted to stroke her back, but he couldn't move. He couldn't so much as make a fist. Truth be known, he could barely breathe. He'd never experienced such intense lovemaking in his entire life, and an inner warmth more wonderful than anything he'd ever felt pervaded his entire system.

  He loved her.

  By God he loved her.

  Loved her so much he ached.

  He stilled. But what if she didn't return his feelings? What if-

  He ruthlessly cut off the thought. She simply had to love him, and that's all there was to it. And if she didn't now, he'd just find some way to make her love him. As much as he loved her.

  The words he'd never spoken to anyone welled up inside him. He needed to tell her. Had to tell her. He wondered if she already knew. Had she read his mind? Discerned his feelings? Possibly, but she'd never said so. But even if she had divined his feelings, she deserved the words.

  Turning his head he brushed his lips over her temple, then leaned back, determined to look in her eyes when he told her he loved her.

  With his heart pounding, he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it.

  His wife, his robust, energetic wife, was fast asleep. "Elizabeth?"

  A soft snore was his only response. Well, bloody hell.

  Shame filled him. How selfish of him to worry about his own needs when she'd had such an exhausting evening. By damn, she'd fainted in his arms only an hour ago. If he wanted to win this woman's love, he needed to banish his selfishness to the devil. His Elizabeth wouldn't be bought
with baubles, titles, and jewels. But he could win her with kindness. And love.

  Love. A smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

  He'd finally put a name to the "Elizabeth feeling."

  Careful not to wake her, he pulled the counterpane over them and settled her comfortably against him. After listening to her even breathing for several minutes, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

  "I love you," he whispered. "I love you."

  Chapter 18

  The vision slipped into Elizabeth's slumber with the stealth of a master thief.

  Images weaved through the shadowy recesses of her mind curling like vaporous plumes of smoke only to dance just out of reach.

  A child. A beautiful little girl with shiny ebony curls and bright, gray eyes. Running, laughing, calling, "Mama!"

  Then the vision changed. Laughter turned to fear. The child's terrified screams filled Elizabeth's mind reverberating through her, filling her with dread.

  The child's angelic face turned to a pale mask of fright. Womanly hands reached out to her, but the child seemed to glide farther out of reach, until she disappeared completely from sight, leaving only the echo of her sobs.

  Then Austin, torn apart with such grief, such desolation and guilt, that Elizabeth barely recognized him. His voice was a ragged whisper, I cannot live without her… please God, don't tell me I've killed her by bringing her here.

  Elizabeth awoke with a startled gasp. Her heart slammed against her ribs and her lungs burned as if she'd run for miles. Yet she felt chilled down to her very soul.

  Her eyes sought out Austin, who lay in peaceful slumber next to her. Thank goodness he was asleep, for she was incapable of speaking.

  But dear God she would have to tell him.

  He had to know that she'd seen the death of a child.

  A child whose death he would blame himself for.

  A child with his ebony hair and gray eyes.

  His child.

  Their child.

  Austin opened one eye. From the sliver of pale light peeking through the burgundy velvet curtains, he judged it was just after dawn-a perfectly respectable time to awaken his bride with soft kisses, gentle lovemaking, and tender confessions of love.