Chapter 31
After making love to Juliet well into the wee hours, it was no wonder that Gareth's eyes felt like lead when he opened them the following morning. Even so, as he gazed lovingly at his sleeping wife, he wanted nothing more than to gather her up in his arms, bury his face in her silky, unbound hair, and cuddle away the morning. The afternoon. The whole day.
If only he could. But that was not possible, of course. He had to be at the barn at nine, and he wanted to get into town to begin asking questions before training started. Subtle questions, of course. He didn't want anyone to start wondering about him — and the reasons why he was suddenly asking those questions.
Carefully, so as not to disturb Juliet's slumbers, he lifted the blanket and crawled out of the bed. The floor was cold on his bare feet, and after gently replacing the blanket, he all but hopped over to the chair where he'd put his clothes, shivering as he hastily drew on stockings and breeches. Despite his fatigue — and the concerns he'd shared with Juliet last night — he was in a good mood. And why not? Those three words she had spoken to him when he got home were still floating through his head like fairweather clouds across a summer sky.
I love you.
He smiled and gazed at her lying there under the blanket, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a Spanish fan. God, he loved her, too. He loved her lustrous hair and silky skin, her dark green eyes and pert little nose, even that soft, twangy accent that left everyone who heard it scratching their heads, wondering where she was from. He loved her slim, strong body, the fullness of her breasts, and the way her waist flared into curving, womanly hips ... hips that would, he hoped, bear many more children. She was a calming, practical influence on his reckless nature, the voice of reason where he was the soul of impulse. Oh, yes, he loved her. He loved her courage, her level-headedness, and her devotion. Most of all, he loved the fact that she now trusted him without question, supporting his decisions and standing by him when another woman might have demanded he bring her and her baby straight back to Blackheath and the all-powerful protection of its mighty duke.
But she had not demanded that he take them all far away from here, had not become hysterical, shrewish, or weepy with worry. She was, of course, nervous; he'd seen it in her eyes. But she, like Lucien, was placing her faith in him, and Gareth knew he would have to stand very tall indeed to measure up to what each of them hoped for, and expected, from him. Once he wouldn't have given a damn. Now he'd die before he'd let either one of them — or himself — down.
Outside, the blackbirds were calling, the first song to greet the dawn, and he could hear the distant quacking of ducks down on the river. He checked the clock on the mantle. It had just gone five. 'Sdeath. Early, yes, but at least he had several hours before having to report for training ... which left plenty of time to hunt down Nails and Bull O'Rourke.
He finished dressing and stopped beside the bed on his way out, where he bent down, cleared a strand of hair from Juliet's face, and kissed her gently on a cheek as soft and white as a magnolia petal. Charlie-girl was in her cradle, her little body rising and falling beneath her blanket; Gareth paused there as well, smiling tenderly down at the sleeping baby before bending down to kiss her brow. Then, very carefully so as not to wake either, he crept from the room.
Ten minutes later, he was munching on a piece of buttered bread and striding up the leaf-shaded path between the Mill Stream and the Abbey Meadow, heading toward town. The sun was shining, sparkling on the water and glowing green through the ivy that choked the trees that surrounded him, and if he didn't know anything else, he bloody well knew one thing:
It was going to be a beautiful day.
The Wild One Page 66
