Swear by Moonlight

by Shirlee Busbee

  Pleasure spiraling through her, Thea's body clenched around his, her sheath convulsing and making him writhe in her tight embrace. She fought to sustain the fleeting bliss, and her slender form twisted beseechingly beneath his. But it was useless; awash in sensations so sweet, so piercing she could hardly bear them, inevitably the pleasure peaked and left her lying dazed and satiated in her husband's arms.

  As shattered and replete as Thea, Patrick slid from her body. He felt boneless, the power and sweetness of their mating like nothing he had ever experienced. Hoisting himself up on to one elbow, he stared down into Thea's flushed features, his heart almost stopping at the shaft of joy that knifed through him as he looked at her.

  Her disheveled hair was spread like strands of black silk across the glistening whiteness of the sheets, and her eyes were dark, fathomless pools, the dilated irises revealing the depth of the pleasure he had given her. He took masculine satisfaction in the knowledge that his woman, his bride, his wife shared the intensity of the moment with him, and he marveled at how completely she changed his life.

  He, Patrick Blackburne, who scoffed and scorned the notion of love, was wildly, deliriously in love—with this one, slender, dark-eyed waif. Tenderly, he ran a finger down her nose, lingering at the bow of her lips, thinking that he was a very lucky man indeed. And he had two conniving females to thank for it. He smiled to himself. He would have to find a particularly elegant gift for both his mother and Modesty.

  Watching the emotions play across his face, Thea asked drowsily, "What are you thinking of?"

  "You," he said simply, dropping a kiss on her nose.

  She stretched luxuriously and grinned. "Hmm, I would hope so."

  Patrick laughed and lay back down beside her, pulling her next to him and settling her head in the crook of his shoulder. One hand lazily running up and down her arm, he asked, "Have you given any thought about a bridal journey? Is there any place in particular you wish to go?"

  Pleasantly tired, feeling warm and languid, Thea snuggled closer to him, marveling at how natural that action seemed. "I don't see the necessity of our going anywhere," she mumbled, hardly able to keep her eyes open. "Since I presume that we will be leaving for your home in Natchez soon, the sea journey can suffice for a bridal journey."

  Patrick frowned. Because of the hastiness that the marriage had come about, there were many things he and Thea had not discussed, and the date of their departure for Natchez had been one of them. Obviously, she was still laboring under the mistaken impression given by his mother that the speed with which their wedding was arranged was to accommodate his impending return home. Which presented a slight problem, since his original plans had been not to leave England until spring. In the time between his mother's announcement of their betrothal and their wedding he had not even thought once about arranging passage for the pair of them. Nor did he wish to. A sea crossing was not something one embarked upon on a whim, and since Thea was safely married to him, there was no need to keep up the pretense his mother had begun.

  "Er, would you be disappointed if we postponed our journey to Natchez until, oh, say the spring?" he asked. "I find that I am not in such a hurry to leave England as I was, um, a few weeks ago."

  Thea fought off the waves of sleep that threatened to overtake her. "What do you mean? Weren't we married in such a hasty manner because of your imminent departure?"

  "Uh, that I'm afraid was my mother's idea," Patrick answered truthfully.

  Thea sat up and stared down at him, a little frown creasing her forehead. "Your mother's idea? What are you talking about? Aren't we leaving soon for Natchez?"

  "Not unless you want to."

  His answer startled her, and wide-awake now, she stared at him. "I was," she said slowly, "under the impression that the whole reason you rushed me into marriage was because of your plans to return to Natchez."

  He touched her face lightly. "Plans can be changed, sweetheart. There is no need for us to leave England anytime soon, unless it is your wish."

  She brushed his hand away, her eyes narrowing, suspicion rushing through her. "If your plans can be changed so easily, why couldn't you have changed them before you rushed me to the altar?"

  "Well, you see," he began gently, "you might have figured out a way to wiggle out of marrying me, if I hadn't, ah, rushed you to the altar."

  Thea's eyes widened. "It was all a lie, wasn't it? A trick?" At his guilty expression, she exclaimed, "I knew it! You lied to me! And your mother was in on it." She looked offended and wounded at the same time. "Why? Why go to all that subterfuge?"

  "Would you have married me otherwise?" Patrick asked evenly, his eyes holding hers.

  "Of course not!" she snapped. "Marriage to me is the last thing that any gentleman with any sense could want." Puzzled, she asked, "Is this all because I changed my mind about becoming your mistress? I told Modesty that I thought it was. Am I right?"

  Patrick shook his head. "No, my foolish sweet, this has nothing to do with your refusal to become my mistress and everything to do with my very strong desire to marry you. If you will remember, it was your idea that you become my mistress... not mine." Dryly he added, "I had a far different position in mind—that of my wife."

  Thea stared at him, openmouthed. "Your wife! But why?" she wailed. "You can't have wanted to marry me! With my reputation, no gentleman of any sense would marry someone like me. Have you forgotten that I was the cause of two men dying? Everyone knows that I am ruined—why would you want to marry me?"

  Patrick sat up, his broad shoulders braced against the high headboard of the bed. Taking one of her hands in his, he bent his head and stared thoughtfully at the slender, restless fingers he held. Quietly he said, "Do you know that I'm becoming rather tired of hearing about an old, old scandal, one that happened when you were very young and one which has no bearing on the woman you are today. I think you enjoy punishing yourself for what happened, even though most people have come to realize that you were more sinned against than sinning."

  Thea gasped in outrage and tried to jerk her hand away. Giving up the struggle when it became apparent that he had no intention of allowing her to escape, she glared at him, her dark eyes glinting with anger. "How dare you! You make me sound like one of those whining, maudlin, mutton-headed heroines in a gothic novel."

  Patrick merely looked at her. Unable to sustain his calm stare, her gaze dropped. "I'm sorry you find me so silly," she said stiffly.

  "Not silly," he answered gently, "but you do tend to wear your past like a very large, very formidable shield, sweetheart. You flaunt it every chance you get and throw it in the face of any man who might actually decide, scandal aside, that you're a very desirable young woman." His voice deepened. "A very, very charming and desirable young woman he might very much wish to marry."

  "Of course," she said dryly. "And that is why I have been courted so assiduously these past years. Why poor Modesty has just had to beat my eager suitors away from our doors."

  Patrick smiled faintly. "If you had dropped that formidable shield of yours for just a moment that surely would have been the case. I'm grateful that you did not, because otherwise I would not have been the fortunate man to win your hand."

  "You did not win my hand—you gained it by blatant sophistry," she muttered. Sending him a straight glance, she added, "I know who I am—what I am—and I am definitely not the matrimonial catch of the season—any season." Frustration evident in her voice, she demanded, "So why did you choose to marry me?"

  "Because I love you, you little goose."

  Thea gaped at him. She blinked those magnificent dark eyes of hers, opened her mouth, shut it, and blinked again. Clearly that notion had never crossed her mind. Wordlessly, she stared at him, her wondering gaze moving slowly over those features that had become so familiar and dear to her so swiftly that she had not even been aware of it happening. He loved her! Was it possible? Was he right? Had she been the one to drive prospective suitors away? Had she worn the decade-old
scandal as a shield to protect herself? Her gaze dropped, and she bit her lip. She had been so terribly wounded and full of anguish after the horrible debacle that had led to her brother's death—and Hawley's, too—that Patrick might be right, she conceded reluctantly. She might very well have worn the scandal that had resulted like a proud banner, an impenetrable shield, determined to make certain that everyone knew just how ruined she had been. She had done it all, she realized suddenly, because she had been afraid, afraid to risk her heart again. Terrified to take the risk that the next man who snared her affections might prove to be just as much a villain as Lord Randolph, she had taken pains to make certain that no man would ever slip under the scandal-ridden exterior she presented to the world. No man would ever again have a chance to touch her heart. She sighed. But it had all been for naught because Patrick, a man she knew little about, a man she had no reason to trust, had so effortlessly slipped beneath her guard and made her fall in love with him. And if she could put away the past and believe him, it appeared that she was unbelievably lucky enough to have him love her.

  A flutter of hope sprang into her breast. Did he really love her? He said he did. Dare she take a chance and believe him? Trust him? Her gaze anxious and full of questions, she glanced at his still, dark face. Almost pleading, she asked, "Do you love me? Really love me?"

  Patrick smiled and pulled her against his chest. "I adore you! And I have gone to great lengths to bind you to me." He turned her face up to his and his eyes steadily meeting hers, he murmured, "Thea, you little fool, I love you more than life itself. That's the reason—the only reason I married you."

  "Oh," she managed weakly, her thoughts jumbled and chaotic. He loved her! And he had married her because he loved her. A tremor of delighted astonishment rippled through her. He loved her!

  Watching her expressive features, his lips quirked. "Couldn't you put a little more enthusiasm into it, sweet? I have just declared myself. I have rather daringly left my heart lying defenseless at your feet." He kissed her gently. "I could use a little encouragement, you know." As she continued to stare at him, he gave her a little shake. "It is considered polite at this point," he murmured, "for the object of affection to return the sentiments."

  Casting aside all her doubts, letting the love that was in her heart guide her, Thea threw her arms around his neck, and, her slender form melting into his, she breathed fervently, "Oh, I do love you!" Shyly she added, "It is why I married you." She flashed him a challenging look. "I could have run away, you know."

  "Thank God you didn't," he said thickly, his mouth finding hers. "I wouldn't have relished searching all of England for you." He kissed her, all his love and longing evident in that one kiss. When he lifted his head, her eyes were shining. "And I would have you know, I would have searched England, the world for you, and I wouldn't have ceased until I had found you again. No matter where you had hidden, I would have found you," he muttered against her lips. "Never doubt that I do love you and only you." His gray eyes dark and compelling, he vowed, "I swear by the moon that I love you beyond life and that no matter how far or fast you would have ran from me, you would still have ended up as my wife and in my arms."

  "Oh, Patrick, I have been a fool, haven't I?"

  "But a most adorable one," he murmured, the gray eyes teasing. He kissed her again, urging her naked body even closer to his. The kiss deepened, passion rising swiftly between them.

  They made love. The powerful emotions guiding the fierce joining of their bodies were as strong and pleasurable as their previous mating, but there was a new element in their lovemaking this time. This time the knowledge that they loved and were loved in return made their coming together all the sweeter, all the more potent.

  For a long time after desire had been slaked, they lay together, their arms around each other, their damp, naked bodies resting confidingly against each other. There were tender murmurings between them as they took delight in being together, in knowing that they had their entire lives in front of them and that the future glittered brightly with the promise of joy. A joy they would make together; a joy they would share.

  It was several hours later before they managed to drag themselves from the pleasures of the marriage bed and eat any of the food left for them. They tasted and nibbled at the various viands, but all too soon their desire for each other outweighed further thought of food. Like famished pilgrims they fell upon each other, their young, healthy bodies reveling in the physical pleasures they could give each other.

  Her body still humming from Patrick's lovemaking, after their latest bout of lovemaking, Thea lay with her head resting on his shoulder, one leg thrown across his, her fingers moving idly through the pelt of black hair on his chest. Her body ached in places she had not known could ache, but she was happy, happier than she had ever been in her life. She was married. To Patrick Blackburne, and, best of all—he loved her!

  Inevitably she asked the question all lovers do—"When did you know?"

  A lazy smile on his face, Patrick answered, "That I loved you?" And feeling her nod against his shoulder, he said, "Well, it wasn't the first time I saw you—in the park, nor was it the second time when you catapulted practically into my arms. No, I wasn't in love with you then...." He dropped a kiss on her dark head. "It was the third time that I saw you, that night I came to tell you that you had not murdered your brother-in-law, that I lost my heart."

  Thea's eyes widened and she sat up, one pear-shaped breast peeking out from behind the sheet she held in front of her. "So soon? You knew then?"

  Patrick nodded, his hard features content and full of love. "Hmm. I didn't know it at the time, but as I look back over our, er, courtship, I realize that it was the night I actually spoke to you for the first time that you cast your spell over me and had me enthralled." He smiled reminiscently. "I'd come to your house, expecting to find a vulgar harpy, and instead..." His eyes darkened and his voice deepened. "And instead I found the love of my life."

  "Oh, Patrick!" Thea cried distressed. "I didn't fall in love with you for ages after that... at least I don't think I did."

  He smiled and pulled her to him. "The important thing is that you love me now. And you do love me, don't you?"

  "I do—with all my heart," she murmured against his hungry mouth. And proceeded to show him in the ensuing minutes precisely how very much she did love him.

  When Thea awoke the next morning, for a moment she was disoriented, but feeling Patrick's warm body pressed next to hers and the sight of her wedding finery spread decadently across the carpet brought the previous day's events flooding back. She was married. To Patrick. And he loved her! A smile of pure joy crossed her face, and she stretched luxuriously, wincing as well-used parts of her body made themselves felt.

  Having wakened a moment or two previously, Patrick felt that slight wince and was aware of a twinge of guilt. He had not been able to keep his hands off her last night, and it was no doubt his fault that she was sore.

  Promising himself virtuously that he would show more restraint tonight, he kissed her shoulder, and murmured, "Good morning, my sweet. What would you like to do today?"

  "A bath would be nice," she said. "And something to eat. Do you know I am positively famished?" She sat up and smiled at him. "I wonder why."

  He grinned up at her. "I think you know very well why you are hungry, you insatiable little hussy. But I agree that a bath and food would make a nice addition to the day."

  Leaving Thea in command of the larger of the bedrooms, which constituted the major suite of rooms in the house, Patrick went to the adjoining room and rang for Chetham.

  An hour later, bathed and garbed appropriately, the newlyweds sat down to a large and varied breakfast in the dining room. Despite the grandeur of the room, with its high, carved ceilings and spacious size, there was an air of intimacy between the pair of them. Eschewing custom, they had their places set at one end of the impressive mahogany table and spent most of the meal with their dark heads bent together, fee
ding each other tidbits off their plates and making plans for the future.

  Several things were decided upon rather swiftly. Their bridal journey would be to Thea's country estate, technically now Patrick's, Halsted House where they would stay. With her Monday meeting with Yates at the forefront of her mind, Thea suggested that they not leave for Cheltenham and Halsted House until Tuesday morning. Despite having justified her reasons for doing so, she felt a sharp pang of guilt at how easily Patrick concurred with her wishes.

  The most pressing decisions made, they retired to a pleasant room at the rear of the house. It overlooked a surprisingly extensive garden, and although not at its best at this time of year, it made for a charming view, a few late-blooming roses adding a splash of vividness. Seated in a pair of wheat-colored satin-covered channel-back chairs, enjoying a last cup of coffee, they discussed at length the timing of their journey to Natchez.

  Smiling whimsically at her, Patrick said, "It is your choice, sweetheart. I find that it does not matter very much to me, where I am... provided you are within arm's length."

  Across the rim of her fine china cup Thea regarded him with soft, glowing eyes. She resisted the urge to pinch herself, to see if this was all a dream. It was difficult to believe that she ever possessed any doubts about marrying Patrick, and whatever doubts she may have had had been banished with his avowal of love and the tender way he had made her his wife. She didn't want to dwell on painful subjects, but it was impossible not to contrast the sheer joy that was in her heart this morning to the pain and humiliation that had been her companion on that terrible, terrible morning over a decade ago. Regret washed through her, dimming the glow in her eyes. Oh, but she wished that Tom were alive today to see her happily married to the man she loved. He would have liked Patrick, she was certain, and he would have delighted in being the one to give her hand away.

  Seeing the slight dimming in her dark, expressive eyes, Patrick bent forward. "What is it, sweet? You look sad."

  She smiled wistfully. "I was thinking of my brother, Tom, and how much he would have liked you and how proud he would have been to be the one to walk me down the aisle yesterday."