by Anne Gracie
But no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t see how it could work. A marriage was more than just feelings, it was a living, day-to-day partnership. His life was here. Hers, eventually, as soon as Count Anton was dealt with, had to be back in Zindaria.
Zindaria was Nicky’s future, his heritage. What sort of a mother would she be if she traded her son’s glorious future for her own selfish happiness?
Gabriel’s whole family was in England: his brothers, his aunt, the many others who’d come to the wedding. His friends were here, too, and they were close, more so than many brothers.
Callie knew the importance of friends and family, she who had so few of either. She had a few distant cousins she’d never met scattered across Europe, and almost no friends in Zindaria. A princess lived a very isolated life. How could she ask him to exchange his full, exciting life for her lonely, routine existence in a foreign land.
He had family, friends, a home, land, and responsibilities. He belonged. What man would give all that up for her?
None. So she should face that and move on from there.
She scrubbed at her skin briskly and tried to count her blessings. She’d made Nicky a little bit safer by her marriage. And she had a wonderful husband, albeit for a limited time. She could mope around feeling sorry for herself, waiting for the day he would walk away, or she could make the most of what she had now. Seize the joy while it was hers to enjoy.
She soaped herself meditatively, aware of her body in a new way, soaping her breasts with their tender, aching tips, and recalling the way he’d suckled on them, lavishing her with pleasure. And the pleasurable soreness between her thighs, aching in places she’d never known could ache.
The last time she’d felt like this about her body was when she’d been carrying Nicky. She remembered being fascinated with its female power and its mystery—this seemingly ordinary body of hers that was actually creating a baby, a living miracle.
Last night her body had amazed her again. She’d never imagined the pleasure it was capable of feeling—that she could shatter in a thousand shards of ecstasy and afterward feel like she was floating in a bubble.
And she’d never in her life imagined it could bring a strong, disciplined man like Gabriel Renfrew to his knees with uncontrollable lust. And it had. Three times in the night. Four, if you counted this morning. She smiled to herself. Again.
She hadn’t been able to stop smiling all morning. She felt like her body: female, powerful, and mysterious.
She suddenly didn’t care that it was temporary, that one day they would live hundreds of miles apart, still legally married, but living separate lives. What good did it do to dwell on that dismal prospect? She’d made the marriage to save her son. That alone was worth any heartbreak to come.
She hadn’t understood Gabriel’s motives for marrying her, had wondered what he would get from the marriage, and now she knew: her. He desired her. Uncontrollably. Her body tingled and ached with the knowledge. And her heart exulted in it.
It was as though somehow, something inside her had burst in the night and drained away, and now she was…different.
She suddenly felt lighter, freer, as if the rain in the night had washed her as clean as it had washed the air. Like a clean slate. Her slate, to write and rewrite on as she wished.
She was going to take that man and love him while she could. And if—when he walked away, as they’d arranged to do, she would know that she had loved, and loved well. And that would be enough.
She dried herself and donned a fresh chemise, then rang for a maidservant to come and lace her stays. While she waited for the maid she brushed her hair.
She was no longer frightened of losing her heart to him. It was too late for that. Her heart had been lost some time in the hours before dawn. Perhaps when he’d put himself so entirely in her hands, so generously. He’d taken her to the top of the mountain and shown her how to fly…
Or perhaps it happened when he’d simply held her in her misery, wrapping her in warmth and wanting to fix it. Or when he’d kissed her tears away, making her feel like something precious and lovely and not at all foolish.
Or maybe it was when he’d carried her back to bed and made love to her for the third time, so tenderly it almost broke her heart, so that she fell asleep feeling utterly cherished.
Whenever it was, her heart was well and truly lost to him.
She would accept these moments of happiness, but she still had enough of her old defenses left to know it would be easier in the end if she kept her feelings to herself.
As Gabriel escorted her downstairs for breakfast the hall clock chimed four times.
“Four!” she exclaimed. “That cannot be right.”
He checked it against his fob watch. “It is.”
“But where did the time go? I told Nicky I’d see him in the morning.”
He gave her a slow, reminiscent smile. “Nicky will manage. It was time well spent, if you ask me.”
She blushed and smiled. She couldn’t stop looking at him. It felt like her whole body was smiling.
“I’m ravenous,” she said as they entered the breakfast parlor.
He stopped dead. “Me, too,” he said, his eyes devouring her. “Shall we go back upstairs?” His eyes were dancing, but he was also quite serious, she saw.
No.” She tried to hide how his words had pleased her, but smiles kept breaking out. She felt so wonderful, so feminine, so…desired. “I want my breakfast.”
“Yes, you need to keep your strength up for tonight,” he agreed.
After breakfast—he’d ordered bacon and eggs and hot chocolate and crumpets and coffee and she ate almost all of it—they walked around to Lady Gosforth’s.
It was just a few moments’ walk. The rain had started again, but it was not heavy and they shared an umbrella. Their bodies bumped pleasurably as they walked. Sometimes the bumping was deliberate; Callie could not stop touching him. They were both in high spirits, jumping puddles like children and laughing at nothing.
Callie told herself it had to stop. It was one thing to acknowledge to herself she had feelings for him, it was quite another to be acting like a giddy girl in love. Even if she was.
It was a certain way to heartbreak, that she knew from experience. Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow she’d be sensible.
They reached Lady Gosforth’s after five o’clock. The butler, Sprotton, unbent so far as to give them an almost fatherly smile as they entered. “You will find Prince Nikolai in the nursery, madam,” he told Callie as he took the wet umbrella and handed it to a footman.
When Gabriel inquired after his brother and aunt, Sprotton surprised them both by saying, “Your aunt is Out at present, but everyone else is in the nursery, sir. All of them, sir: Mr. Morant, Mr. Delaney, Mr. Ripton, Mr. Ramsey, also Mr. Nash Renfrew.”
“In the nursery?” Gabriel said in surprise.
Sprotton gave an enigmatic smile. “It was the continuing Inclement Weather, sir. I recalled other Inclement Days when you were a boy, sir, and it gave me a Notion, which I venture to suggest has Proven Successful.”
Gabriel led the way to the old nursery, which was on the third floor. “I haven’t been up here in years,” he told Callie. “I wonder what this notion of Sprotton’s was. He seemed pretty pleased with himself.”
As they entered the nursery the sounds of vigorous masculine debate suddenly stopped. Callie smiled, understanding immediately what had drawn them all up to the nursery. Five men and two boys lay sprawled on the floor in various poses, completely absorbed, while Tibby sat by the fire placidly sewing, an indulgent look on her face, as if she were supervising a room full of boys. As perhaps she was, Callie thought in amusement.
At their entrance all the men had scrambled to their feet, looking faintly sheepish, and bowed to Callie. Ethan hauled Jim to his feet.
Nicky carefully made his way across the floor and greeted his mother with a kiss.
“You said you would come to see us this morning, M
ama. What have you been doing all day?” he asked.
Nicky’s mother glanced at her husband. A tiny smile quivered on her lips. “Playing chess,” she said serenely.
“Best chess I ever had in my life,” Gabriel murmured in her ear. She repressed a giggle.
“Who won?” Nicky asked.
“It was a draw,” Gabriel told him, squatting down to pat Juno, who was temporarily tied to a table leg lest she do any damage to the arrangements.
Callie shook her head. “No, I won.”
“Now that’s a surprise,” Gabriel said softly. “I was certain I had.”
Nicky looked at them both, then shrugged, uninterested. “Mama, I am having a splendid time here and we are at a crucial point, so if you don’t mind…”
“No, of course not, darling,” Callie said. “Tibby and I will go downstairs and have a comfortable coze, and you can all get back to your toys.”
“They’re not toys, Mama,” Nicky told her, deeply shocked. “They’re soldiers.”
Callie glanced at the nursery floor, upon which which had been laid out a huge and very elaborate battlefield made up of hundreds of model soldiers, and at the five grown men who stood politely by, concealing their impatience to get back to the battle only slightly more successfully than her son and Jim.
“Of course they’re not toys,” she agreed.
As she and Tibby left, she heard her husband saying, “The blue company on the left flank is in the wrong spot…”
The following two days were spent much as the first. Each night they made love, sometimes slow, hot, and intense, sometimes ravenous and explosive, sometimes sweet and achingly tender. He seemed insatiable, and to Callie’s surprise, so was she. A look, the merest brush of his skin against hers and their eyes would meet, and the heat and urgency returned.
They spent the nights making love until the quiet hours of the night, sleeping a few hours at a time, only to wake again and make love again. It was like a drug; she could not get enough of it, of him. And when they were not sleeping or making love, they talked.
They talked of Callie’s years with Tibby, of her life in Zindaria, and how she’d always felt out of her depth as a princess. They talked of Gabriel’s early years in Alverleigh house, and of coming to the Grange and meeting Harry. They’d fought, just as Jim and Nicky had.
As Gabriel described the boyhood adventures he had with Harry, Callie came to understand the deep bond between the two men, both excluded from their family. They even talked about Gabriel’s war, and he told her a little of how it felt to be one of the few who came home…
And as they talked they became closer and closer, and she worried about how it would be when it came time to part. She thrust it from her mind. She was happy now, so she would live now and let the future take care of itself.
The days assumed a rhythm of their own: they rose late in the day after making love far into the night and again in the morning. They bathed, ate, and then walked around to Mount Street and Lady Gosforth’s house. They would stay there until evening. Callie would go upstairs to join the two boys and Tibby. Invariably Ethan and one or two of the other men—usually Harry—were there, too. Callie would spend the last part of the afternoon with them, then the two boys would eat their supper.
They read the boys an episode of a bedtime story—Callie was amused to see that Ethan was always present for the story—and then Callie would put Nicky to bed and kiss him good night, while Tibby did the same to Jim.
The two boys shared a room that opened onto two adjoining bedchambers. Ethan slept in one and Harry in the other. Nicky was well protected at all times; Gabriel had seen to that.
Once her son was asleep, she would come downstairs and they would all dine together. Then Tibby and Ethan would return upstairs, Lady Gosforth would prevail on whichever of the young men was present to escort her to some social engagement, and Callie and Gabriel would walk back around the corner to Alverleigh House and make love.
Callie passed through the following days in a happy daze, until suddenly it was Tuesday night, the night of Lady Gosforth’s small party to celebrate their wedding.
Callie dressed with care, choosing her favorite of the new evening dresses, a short-sleeved emerald satin underdress, trimmed around the hem with a border of lace, and topped with a long robe of gossamer net, trimmed with matching lace, silver satin knots, and scarlet beading. With it she wore a dainty pair of scarlet Turkish slippers, a buff-colored Grecian scarf with scarlet embroidery and tassels, long, white lace gloves, and her mother’s tiara.
“How do I look?” she asked Gabriel when he came to escort her downstairs.
“Beautiful as always,” he said.
Her brow puckered slightly. She didn’t want any more gallant compliments from him. “I know I’m not beautiful,” she said. “I don’t need extravagant compliments, Gabriel. I’d be happy if you just said I look nice.”
“So you want me to lie.”
“No, just to tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth.” He cupped her jaw in his hand and said quietly, “To me you are as beautiful as the moon. Your skin is like silk, your eyes are the most glorious color, and you have the most luscious mouth in the world.”
She blinked. The most luscious mouth? Could he really think that? She could not help but smile. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. So don’t tell me what I think, my beautiful wife.” He leaned forward then stopped, saying, “I won’t kiss you now, because if I start I won’t be able to stop, and we have to get to that party.”
He took a velvet oblong box from his pocket. “I thought you might wear your mother’s tiara, so I got you these to go with it.” He passed her the case.
She opened it and said nothing for a long moment. She was stunned. “Diamonds. But—”
“Yes, I know they should be paste, to match,” he said, his eyes dancing. He lifted the necklace from the box and turned her to fasten the necklace. “But I didn’t have time. Now, let’s have a look.” He turned her toward the looking glass. “Perfect.”
She stared at her reflection. Diamonds? It was the sort of gift a man gave his wife. His true, until-death-us-do-part wife. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Like its owner. Now don’t sell these ones, all right?”
“No, I would never—” she began, horrified, and then saw he was teasing. “Thank you, Gabriel. I will treasure it always.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her back, a deep, possessive kiss that made her want to melt.
“Now, come on,” he said after a while. “The sooner this wretched party is over—and we can go to bed—the better.”
“Is that a promise?”
“A vow.”
Then that’s when she would tell him, Callie decided. For the last two days she’d tried to decide whether to tell him how she felt or not. Gabriel had made her feel things she’d never felt before. He understood her, he cared for her, she was sure.
But how much? That was the question. She had to know, to try, at least. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Tonight after the party, when they made love, she would tell him.
Seventeen
“You know when we first talked about this, I didn’t understand your amusement when your aunt said it would be a small and meager affair,” Callie murmured to Gabriel. They’d been standing with Lady Gosforth at the foot of the staircase for nearly an hour, greeting the guests who flowed in a never-ending stream through the front door. Luckily Callie was used to it: Zindarian state receptions were not dissimilar.
“But it is, my dear, positively shabby,” Gabriel retorted imitating his aunt’s fruity tones.
She giggled. Lady Gosforth’s “few intimates for a bite beforehand” had turned out to be dinner for twenty couples. The “small private party, a positively meager affair” meant as many of the ton as could be squashed into the large house in Mount Street.
Callie was in a wonderful
mood. Gabriel had flirted with her all through dinner and she was feeling light-headed and excited and breathless. She couldn’t wait for the night to be over, for the moment when they were finally alone. She kept planning it in her mind…
“Princess Caroline,” a fussily dressed elderly man bowed low over her hand, reminding Callie to concentrate on the matter in hand. With an effort she recalled his name. He’d come to her wedding—Sir Oswald Merri-something. “How do you do, Sir Oswald,” she said.
“I’m well, thank you, my dear.” The old gentleman beamed at her in a fatherly manner. “No need to ask the blushin’ bride how she does—you’re bloomin’, my dear, positively bloomin’! You’re a lucky devil, Renfrew!”
“Thank you, Sir Oswald, and thank you for coming,” Gabriel said and, after Callie had promised him a dance, the old gentleman moved on.
After another half hour, the press of guests had slowed to a trickle and Lady Gosforth sent them off. “Have some fun. Go and dance, my dears.”
A small string orchestra played in the ballroom and as if by some prearranged signal, as Callie and Gabriel entered the room, they struck up a waltz. “Shall we, my dear?” Gabriel asked her and without waiting for a reply, he swept her into the dance. The dance floor had cleared as people stood back to watch the bridal couple take the floor.
Callie circled and circled in Gabriel’s arms. The surroundings were nothing but a blur of color and movement, all she could see was Gabriel. With one hand on his shoulder and the other clasped in his big, warm hand, she twirled and twirled, gazing into his blue, blue eyes as her feet in their scarlet dancing slippers floated on air.
Their first waltz, she thought.
“But not our last,” he said, reading her mind.
She didn’t want to think about the future. Right now, she was happier than she’d ever thought possible.
“So, you’re the little foreign widow who managed to hurry Gabriel Renfrew to the altar,” a sultry voice behind Callie said.
