The Model Master

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  One vision she did see clearly though, and that was his fear of losing her. A tiny prickle of foreboding filled her, but Bryony pushed it to the back of her mind. To worry about it was to damage all they had. She was not going to let her in-laws ruin any more of her life than they’d done already.

  A week after their magical night in their new bower of bliss, on the day of the spring equinox, Bryony and Michael looked deeply into each other's eyes and nodded. They knew it was time.

  They completed their morning chores, had breakfast, dressed with care in a fine pearl gray gown and suit, and then donned their outer clothing.

  They left the boys behind, promising to see them soon; it was too long a journey, and both a joyous and solemn occasion, given the enormity of the commitment they were about to undertake.

  Michael ordered the carriage around, and they headed for Brimley vicarage, wordlessly locked in an embrace so intimate that they could feel their hearts beating in time.

  Jonathan and his pretty wife Pamela were delighted to see them, and knew at once why they had come.

  Within an hour of their arrival Michael and Bryony were exchanging vows with voices trembling with emotion.

  He slipped the simple gold band on her finger with the air of a man who had no doubts in the world now. No matter what had happened in both their pasts, love would conquer all.

  Bryony's heart surged when she promised to love, honor, cherish, and obey, in sickness and in health. She didn't care if Michael never walked again. All she wanted was for him to know she meant every word of her vows, and that their forever stretched out before them like a vista of endless possibilities thanks to their love.

  They had saved one another that fateful All Hallow's Eve night, and now as the spring sunshine poured in through the mullioned windows of the vicarage, they could see nothing but a bright future for them all, one they would face together with courage and love.

  She took the matching ring he had purchased, and slipped it onto his broad left ring finger. "And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. For they are all yours anyway, darling," she sad with a sniff, "and as for my heart, well, you won that the moment we met."

  "And it's the only treasure worth having. All else is dross," he said, his eye glistening with tears as he gazed up at her. "Even if we ever lost both our gold rings, it's what's in here that counts."

  He put his hand on the left side of his chest and then reached out to place hers there as well. "You have my heart for all time, and though I don't deserve you, I swear here and now before God, I will spend the rest of my days trying to make you as happy as you've made me. And thanking him daily for sparing us all that fateful night we met in that dreadful storm."

  "Amen," everyone in the room echoed at once.

  "And now I pronounce you man and wife," Jonathan said, dashing a tear from his eye with the back of one hand.

  Michael kissed his new bride with a passionate frenzy that had even the worldly vicar blushing.

  Then there were congratulations all around, and Jonathan and his wife Pamela tried to persuade them to at least take some refreshment.

  But they both politely declined, and insisted they had to head home soon.

  "I have all I need here," Michael said, grasping her hand firmly.

  "You should have told Blake and Arabella," Jonathan said.

  "It’s all right. Everyone expected it anyway. We didn’t want to make a fuss."

  "Do tell Alexander and Sarah, won’t you?"

  He nodded. "We will. In fact, we’ll go now. I need to tell him all about the wonderful progress on the dictionary anyway. And we’ll see Blake on the way back."

  "Well, congratulations to you both. Long life and happiness," Pamela said with a smile, her husband echoing her sentiments.

  "All the gods willing," they both said firmly.

  After paying their calls and agreeing to see Alexander and Blake for some hunting regularly now that he was so proficient at riding in his new saddle, Michael and Bryony were alone once more in the carriage.

  "Thank you, darling. It was a lovely wedding."

  "I still feel badly that you never even had any cake or flowers or—"

  She took his hand and smiled up at him. "I have everything I want or need right here. You know that."

  "And we have to tell Ash and Eswara."

  "They know."

  He stared. "What do you mean?"

  "Like Jonathan said, everyone knew we were made for each other. You were just being so stubbornly noble thinking to give me up."

  "Never again," he said with a grin. "I’m going to enjoy you selfishly for as long as I can for the rest of our lives, barring illness and pregnancy of course."

  "I can’t tell you how delighted I am to hear it. And do you suppose you can give me a yoni massage again as long as we have a while to spare?"

  "With pleasure, Mrs. Avenel."

  "Thank you so much, Mr. Avenel. I’m ever so grateful."

  "Really? How grateful?"

  Her lips curved into a sultry smile as she began to unfasten his trousers and bent her head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Michael’s request to his friend Alistair Grant for advice on Bryony’s predicament with her in-laws did not go unanswered.

  He was a busy man, but also thorough and seldom precipitate. He had sent some private investigators to Wales, and delved into the Dalrymple affairs as best he could whilst still maintaining the element of secrecy.

  There were no real surprises. The estate was badly encumbered, but with the right husbanding of resources, it could be got back on its feet and made to turn a tidy profit.

  He proposed getting rid of all unnecessary drains upon the estate, which included Derek and his mother, who had no rights under the will of Bryony's deceased husband, and appointing an incorruptible steward and a whole new set of staff.

  They would take over en masse so as to retain the element of surprise, and not give the Dalrymples or their servants any time to thieve any more than they already had since she had left and their excesses had remained unchecked.

  Alistair was organising the appropriate people, and thought he would be ready to move by the end of the month. Once the new staff and steward were in charge of the household, they could see precisely how bad things had become since Bryony had fled, and decide what to do for the best.

  Bryony was delighted with the scheme when she read through the letter, but fearful too. "I'm very grateful for all you've done, but we both know there could be consequences. It will be opening up a Pandora’s box of trouble," she warned, her ebony brows knitting.

  "But Alistair assures us that no one shall know where you are."

  "Still, it will make Derek look for me all the more."

  "That may well be true, but you now have a new husband who loves you more than life itself, and powerful friends." He took her hand and kissed it.

  "Thank you. But I still think..."

  "At this point you have nothing to lose. Nothing will happen to Darren and Gavin. I give you my word."

  She wanted to believe him, but all the same she was uneasy.

  Yet she remained silent, for she knew she was doing it out of love for her and the boys. Their sons, for so he had begun to introduce them proudly to everyone they met.

  The rest of the evening was spent going over the papers Alistair had sent, and she understood the terms of her guardianship over Darren.

  The lawyer had been slapdash and given her carte blanche. Her brother-in-law Derek could try to interfere, but he would need money to contest the terms.

  That he did not have unless he could find someone willing to advance it to him in the hopes that he would prevail. If anything were to happen to her, though...

  "Michael, would you please come in here for a moment?" she asked him the next morning.

  "Of course my dear," he said, wondering why she was summoning him into the study when he was eventually going to go there anyway.

  "I want to ask you a huge
favour. Well, you and the Rakehells. I want Alistair to draw up papers stating that in the event of my untimely demise before the boys attain their majority, that you shall all look after them. A majority vote would prevail in cases of any extreme importance."

  His brows shot up. "But my love—"

  "I know of no men more decent and upright than you and your friends. I’m certain that Thomas and Blake in particular will always be scrupulously fair and honest. I know you have doubts about your own abilities and health, and indeed any of us can be taken at a moment's notice."

  "Bryony, really, it's not like you to be so morbid—"

  "I'm just being practical. We're a family now, but we're also mere mortals. The boys love you, and we hope we have a long and happy life together, but in the event that we don't, I would like to plan for any contingency now."

  "Yes, I understand all this," he said, trying to subdue the chill finger of fear stroking down his back. "Are you trying to tell me something?" he asked after a time, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

  She shook her head, understanding what he was asking her. "No, not at all," she said truthfully. "I'm hearty and completely well. It simply occurs to me that if we’re opening up this can of worms, we need to think about all of the implications."

  "Alistair won’t proceed if you’re not one hundred percent certain about this," he reminded her quietly.

  "No, you’re right. Darren should have a choice about his own future. And I need to sever all ties with the Dalrymples now, or they will never leave him alone, always be a burden, a thorn in his side for the rest of his life."

  "All right, we’ll do whatever you want in order for you to feel safe and secure," he said, drawing her into the circle of his arms as though he would never let her go.

  Bryony tried to tell herself that all would be well, that she and the boys were safe. But she knew her former in-laws far too well to think that anything but trouble would ensue once they were cast out of the castle by Alistair Grant and the courts.

  She shivered with dread and clung to Michael, seeking oblivion in his embrace, praying love would push back the darkness for them all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  More glorious days and night passed, and the fine spring weather lulled her into a false sense of security. The deep abiding love she and Michael shared made Bryony feel almost invincible. If Michael didn’t make any more significant improvements in his mobility that she could see, nevertheless he was an exceptionally devoted lover, with a breathtaking skill and imagination which only improved over time as he became more sure of her feelings, and she of his.

  She ought to have resented his increased socialising with his friends, riding out hunting, fishing and even going out shopping and to tea, but she was glad to see him ending his self-imposed and gloomy isolation.

  In the evenings they had to attend one Rakehell social function or another, which made their time alone together all the more poignant. She wondered how she had ever enjoyed such empty pursuits, but Michael’s love of music was a balm to his soul, so she endured.

  Most of the time. During one musical evening at the Elthams, they had slipped away to his ground floor chamber to make love, so desperate were they to be alone together. If anyone noticed them missing, they said not a word.

  When Michael finally agreed to host one ‘at home’, Bryony felt he was truly free of the worst parts of his past, and their lovemaking that night was explosive.

  "I think music brings out the worst, or best in you," she said with a sleepy smile as he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him.

  "I think it was your gown, actually. Anything that reminds me of your eyes, and the first time we met. And the fact that I could tell you didn’t have a stitch on underneath when I saw you sashaying around the room whilst I was playing that Bach piece. I practically broke the keys when you lifted your skirt. I’m sure Ash saw you."

  She chuckled throatily. "He’s seen me before. He’ll live."

  "I damned near didn’t survive. My heart nearly gave out then and there."

  "Sorry, love. My fault. I was just trying to get over the last relic of my relationship with my first husband. He insisted on being in control, when and wherever. Well, now I have a choice."

  "Not entirely, with me like this," he said with a sweep of his hand.

  She shook her head against his shoulder. "It doesn’t matter. For all intents and purposes there’s nothing you can’t do if you’re patient and put your mind to it."

  He was tempted to tell her he had made a great deal of progress re-learning how to walk, but decided to wait a little longer to surprise her. Telling her was one thing. Just think how thrilled she would be when she saw him.

  "Tired?" he asked, his breath tickling her ear as he stroked his cheek down her silky raven tresses.

  "Not too tired if you want to—"

  "I always want to. You don’t even need to ask." His tongue sizzled over her nipple as he laid her back against the pillows.

  She took his hands and wove her fingers between them, flattening them to the mattress.

  Michael understood the gesture, and raised them to stroke her cheeks with the backs of his hands. He gazed into her eyes, and she gave a little nod.

  She rolled over onto her stomach and he kissed up and down her back before finally putting his hands on her buttocks and massaging them worshipfully.

  Then he began to kiss them and even gave her a couple of playful nips. He caresses her feminine center until his fingers were dewed and turned her onto her side.

  He teased her entrance for a moment and then pulsed his huge head into her, caressing her peaks and valleys delicately the whole time he glided within.

  "Darling, I was thinking," he murmured against her ear.

  The fire he was stoking within her molten centre rendered her almost incapable of coherence but she managed to pant, "Thinking? Now? Of what?"

  His quiet words had all the impact of a thunder bolt. "I would simply adore a little girl with your eyes."

  She froze for the space of a heartbeat as she did a quick mental calculation. She blew out a shaky breath and smiled, relaxing against him once more. "Then I say there's no time like the present."

  He withdrew from her convulsing body just long enough to remove her sponge, and then thrust deeply, his hands never still on her breasts and her roseate swirl of passion.

  He drove her on until she was shuddering so violently he was sure every drop of his essence had been wrung from him.

  Yet still she moved, and sobbed his name as she turned her head for a kiss. "I love you," she gasped.

  "I love you, Bryony now and for all time," he vowed.

  His heart sang as he thanked all the heavens for the gift of this miraculous woman, and all the joy she had brought to his life.

  Michael never even knew he had drifted off to sleep until the nightmare caused him to jolt awake. Still buried inside Bryony, he thrust into her so hard she gasped and asked in alarm, "What, what is it?"

  "I dreamed. God, I dreamed."

  "A bad one?" she asked, sliding off his pulsing shaft and turning over to face him.

  After a time he shook his head. "I can’t tell. it was all dark and I couldn’t find you. But it’s the first time I’ve dreamed in I don’t know how long. And the first time I haven’t had a nightmare about Toulouse in almost two years."

  "Oh thank the gods." She kissed him so sweetly he felt like weeping.

  For the dream had truly terrified him—the void had reminded him of what his life had been like before Bryony had arrived. And the fact that he had been searching everywhere and not been able to find her....

  It was only a sick fancy, he told himself. But all the same he clung onto her passionately. Even when he finally climaxed for the last time several hours later, he still scarcely dared let her out of his sight.

  "It was only a dream, darling," she panted. "I’m here, we’re safe. And if we keep this up we really will have a daughter in nine months’ ti
me."

  "All right. I’m sorry," he said, releasing his grip on her at last.

  "Nothing to apologise for." She stroked her hand down the length of his body boldly. "In fact," she said, working her way down a second time with warm open-mouthed kisses, "I’m feeling rather peckish. And I really did adore that position before after all. You’re a musician, darling. I’m sure you’re up to a repeat performance."

  Michael laughed then in spite of his fears. "You’re the musician, darling. Or is it magician? You certainly do the most magical things with my instrument."