This was no passing fancy, no hidden rendezvous. This was Grace, and it was love. And as much as he wanted to reach down and pick her up, to carry her to a secluded corner and make her his in every way, he restrained himself.
Gently he broke the kiss, savoring the taste of her lips, a flavor all her own teasing his senses. Looking down into her green eyes, he swore to never forget the look of passion in the smolder of her eyes and swell of her lips.
I'm the cause of her heated gaze; I am the one who christened her lips, he thought with triumph. Silently he vowed he would be the only one to do that to her, no one else. Which left only one question.
"Grace?" he whispered as he leaned down and lightly brushed her swollen lips with his own, reveling in their softness.
"Ewan." Her voice was husky with desire.
Ewan couldn't suppress the groan as he felt himself once again burn with desire. Closing his eyes to calm himself, he took a deep breath. "Grace, love."
She looked up, waiting.
"Do you think…" He paused, searching for the perfect words, not wanting to rush through without thinking. "Would you ever consider…"
****
Grace waited expectantly, holding her breath. What was he asking? Could he truly be considering marriage? To her? She couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it until her she heard the words.
With exaggerated motions Ewan reached up and smoothed her hair away from her face, trailing his finger down her face causing Grace to close her eyes.
"I love you," he whispered. Grace's eyes shot open as she searched his for confirmation of his words within their depths.
"I love you, Grace. I don't know when I started. It might have been when you were five and I put a frog in your bed." He chuckled at the memory as he continued to trace lines down her face. "Or perhaps it was when you lied to your father and as a result caused me to suffer the worst punishment of my life." He traced her lips with his finger, causing them to burn with an exquisite pleasure. "Or maybe I was simply born to love you and was too ignorant to realize it until I almost lost you. " His hand stilled on her lip. "But it's true, and my heart is yours, only yours."
He trailed his fingers down to her chest and placed his palm on her heart as he reached with his other hand and placed her hand upon his heart as well. "It beats for you." He moved her hand up to his mouth. "I breathe for you," he whispered as he kissed her fingertips one by one. "I live for you, Grace." The clarity in his blue eyes conveyed his sincerity. "Grant me life, Grace, be my wife, because my heart will surely cease to beat without you." He searched her eyes with a vulnerability Grace was humbled to discover.
"Yes," Grace whispered, hardly able to believe she was being asked.
With a blue fire burning in his gaze, Ewan leaned down to find life in his love's kiss.
Grace melted into Ewan's embrace and returned his affections unabashedly. Feeling free in her love for Ewan, she unleashed her careful control and kissed him with all the love in her heart. She was unable to get close enough to him as he pressed his body against hers. She couldn't kiss him deep enough nor long enough. Just as Ewan braced her against the wall, she heard the door to the hall open. Breaking apart from their heated embrace, she saw her father blink, then smile and clear his throat in effort to hide his amusement.
Before Grace could find her voice, Ewan spoke first.
"She's ruined me, sir. I demand she marry me at once," he called loudly to her father, earning a laugh that quickly turned into a cough.
"I see, well, Grace, you must do the proper thing and marry him. Make an honest man of him, you know…" The uncomfortable smile her father gave them caused Grace to grin in amusement. Of all the wicked things to say, Ewan had come up with a clever remark indeed!
"I'll marry him, but as for being honest — well, that we'll have to wait and see."
"Ahh, always my pretty little liar, hmm?" he teased as he brazenly nipped her ear as he whispered the words.
"Who's the liar now?" She shivered in response to his gentle tugging on her earlobe.
"Um, well, I'll expect to see you two in exactly five minutes. Understood?" Her father called as he left them alone once more.
"I imagined him to be a bit more upset in finding me in such a compromising position," Grace mused as she watched her father retreat.
"Ah, well, I did already speak with him and secure his permission for your hand. I can't say he was all too surprised, which in turn did surprise me," Ewan admitted with a wry grin.
Looking up into his glorious face, she couldn't help but reach up and trace the outline of his jaw with her gloved finger.
"I've ruined you, hmm?" She continued to caress his face then tugged at his hair as he groaned.
"Not exactly in the manner one would assume, although I've yet to be compromised by you in that sense." His eyes were smoldering as he took in her hungry gaze. "You've utterly ruined me for anyone else but you, Grace," he whispered, kissing her nose ever so lightly before rubbing it with his.
"Plus," he added, leaning back and gaining a teasing glint in his eye, "I had to find a way to redeem your sinful soul," he teased as he leaned down and placed a lingering kiss to her lips.
"Save my soul? This coming from a rake of the first order."
"Reformed rake," he corrected.
"You had better be…" she half-threatened.
"Oh, believe me, I'm reformed, but back to the saving of your blackened soul…" He poked her pert nose with the tip of his finger.
"Ah yes, how could I forget?"
"After all, you did lie to your father about me over ten years ago…" He trailed off as he leaned down to kiss her again. "In effort to get rid of me," he mumbled between kisses.
"It didn't work," she murmured as she leaned forward to meet his kiss once again.
"Ahh, and now you see the truth of my statement. I lied as well, and by saying you ruined me, I get to keep you… forever. And therefore, I redeemed your sinful soul by correcting the mistake of your youth." Ewan leaned back but bound his strong arms around Grace's waist holding her firm in his grasp.
"My, my. Aren't you the holy one tonight?" Grace replied dryly as she reached up and wound her arms around his neck.
"Oh, I'm holy tonight, love, but very, very soon…" His eyes were hooded with desire as he leaned forward and nipped her ear before he continued, whispering the next words into her ear. "Soon I'll be exceedingly wicked." He kissed her passionately then, using his teeth to nip at her lower lip and then sucking it before he branded her with his tongue, evoking the most delicious sensations within Grace.
A knock sounded on the door, and Ewan pulled back. "That would be your father," he said, his breathing labored as his eyes roamed over her face and his arms continued to hold her tight.
"I believe we have an announcement to make." Grace smiled up at her husband-to-be, full of joy.
"Indeed we do." He reached out and grasped Grace's hand as they walked to the door.
Epilogue
One year later.
Grace snuggled into the warmth her husband provided as she drifted back into the sweet bliss of sleep.
"Good morning, love," Evan mumbled as he teased the side of her face with a caress before leaning in and placing a warm and inviting kiss on her cheek.
"It's not morning yet." Grace said, keeping her eyes closed. Once again, she thought how she wanted to stay in her husband's arms forever, never leaving them. Although if she were honest, during the past year she hadn't left them often, which her delicate condition proved.
****
"Seems the sun is mistaken," Evan teased as he gently moved his arm around his wife pulling her even closer into the curve of his body. Her scent and profound softness never ceased to awaken the insatiable desire he couldn't extinguish, even with last night's lovemaking. He smiled, thrilled to know that it would always be that way. Never could he have enough of her luscious body or fiery spirit. As his arm caressed her growing belly he smiled as he felt the slightest of
kick to his palm.
"Gregory knows…" Evan teased, waiting for Grace's certain reply.
"No, Georgiana knows." She corrected, turning over to face her husband and grinning in response to the mischief in his eyes.
"Regardless…" Evan smiled as his eyes roamed over his cherished wife's features. "It's Christmas, and he — or she," he added at his wife's raised eyebrow, "knows that today is special. It's the day of magic, is it not?" Evan asked as he took a silken threat of his wife's honey and cinnamon hair and tickled her nose with it, earning a light swat at his hand.
"It is indeed a day of magic." Grace caressed his face with her hand, once again marveling at the bristly texture of his skin from his dark stubble.
"How are you feeling?" Ewan asked, concerned as ever over her condition.
"Sleepy. In fact, I think I'll just lie here and let you take care of the day's festivities…" She rolled over and grinned as she waited for her husband's reaction.
"Oh no you don't!" He pulled her back against him, holding her captive in the strength of his arms. "The last time you tried that, I was left with the responsibility of picking parlor games and refreshments. One of the more awkward moments of my life, thank you very much."
"Whit thought it was funny." Grace giggled at her husband's expense.
"He would be sure to find any situation that caused me discomfort hilarious. He wouldn't let me forget it about it for a month."
"Only because you didn't realize that brandy wasn't considered a refreshment, at least for ladies."
"That was a mistake! I said that I needed brandy, not Lady Specter."
"Yes, well her expression was amusing when she was handed a glass and told it was requested especially for her."
"In my defense, I haven't seen a lady drink brandy that liberally since…"
"That's enough. I don't want to know any details of your past," Grace interrupted, putting her bare fingers over his mouth. "It's doesn't matter, what matters is that you're mine now."
****
"Indeed I am," Ewan said reverently as Grace removed her fingers from his lips.
"And you're mine." He pushed Grace onto her back and hovered over her, careful to not put any pressure on her swollen belly.
"Mine and mine alone," he whispered against her lips as he kissed them teasingly, knowing his wife would be expecting and wanting more. With a hungry tenacity he took his wife's lips with his own, fiercely demanding her response and fully receiving it.
"We'll be late." Grace spoke between kisses.
"Hang it all," Ewan mumbled against her soft lips, as he attempted to remove any clothing his wife had foolishly donned.
"But it is our house party," Grace said but made no move to end their passionate exchange.
"It's only Rachel and Shiply. I doubt they'll even be on time. They were only recently married themselves." Ewan growled as he began to do far more than exchange kisses with his wife.
A few hours later at dinner, Ewan glanced at his wife and shared an amused smile. For indeed Shiply and Rachel had been quite late.
About the Author
Kristin Vaden is blessed. With a love story of her own that is better than anything she’s ever read and four children that only add to the amazing story of her life. Needless to say, life at her house is never boring. She is a homeschooling stay at home mom that loves to researching homeopathic remedies and making her own soap and sauerkraut in her rare free time.
Chapter One
Salamanca – 22 July 1812
“We’ve endured some bad storms, have we not Dev, but I misremember one as severe as this.”
Lady Beaumont snuggled up to her lord, her head on his shoulder. They’d celebrate three blissful, if unusual, years of marriage in a month’s time. Hopefully this time they’d be back in England and she’d throw a party like none before.
“The lightning was so bright at one point I thought it struck our tent.”
“At least we had some cover.” Honor sighed. “Those poor soldiers have little shelter and Wellington will expect them to perform their duties regardless.”
“We are at war, my dear.” Lord Beaumont pulled his wife closer. One more day and they’d be on their way home to enjoy three months leave. One more day…
So why did Devlin dread the coming dawn?
Another burst of thunder overhead shook the ground, and lightning lit up the meagre bivouac.
“The intensity of this storm is shocking. It must be all of two hours since it began, and silly as it sounds, I almost feel it is on a personal mission, a vendetta.” Honor traced Dev’s lips with her finger. “Perhaps we should distract ourselves?”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Pushing the unidentified dread to the back of his mind, Devlin kissed his wife long and hard.
“That’s a good start.” She returned his kiss and followed where he led.
* * * *
The growing light of dawn chased the storm away that had left a field of mud in its wake. Honor’s even breathing failed to sooth Devlin. The niggling apprehension slithered snake-like through his system. Had his concerns added intensity to their lovemaking, or had they shed every inhibition knowing the thunder would drown out their cries of ecstasy?
Grunts, groans, and cursing outside rose in crescendo as more and more soldiers began the rituals of another day at war. The day before, certain Marshal Marmont would not open an attack, Wellington had ordered the baggage and supply carts to retreat a good way to the rear. Word had spread that they wouldn’t break camp today, but would continue to observe the movements of the French divisions.
“Bonaparte’s sent them to stop us from marching upon Madrid,” Wellington told a select few the previous day. “I admit they may equal us in numbers and they’ve taken the Grand Arapiles and the woods behind. I do not wish to fight an action, unless it is to our advantage, or becomes essential.”
So, Dev asked himself again as he slipped out of Honor’s embrace, why did this sense of foreboding not only stalk him, but increase in strength? For the few hours in her arms during the night he’d managed to push it away. Tonight they would set out for home. The beginning of three months' leave. He searched for his clothing and carefully folded Honor’s and laid them at the end of the cot. They may have been under cover for the night, but the rain had seeped through the repaired tears and soaked everything in the way; those that missed the downpour were damp anyway.
He shrugged into his bright red jacket and reached for his watch. Six o’clock. In the distance, the cooks struggled to light the rain-sodden wood. Another cold meal to start the day, but happily for him and Honor, it would be their last army breakfast for several months.
With care, he let the tent flap drop behind him and made his way to Wellington’s quarters.
* * * *
Honor woke with a smile on her lips. The storm, now gone, had become their audience, roaring applause when she and Dev rose to new heights together. She reached out and sighed upon discovering his side of the cot was empty.
One more day. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and inhaled the dank after-storm mugginess. With a groan, she wriggled into her under-garments, shuddering at the cold dampness of the material against the warmth of her skin. How like Dev to gather up the clothes they’d scattered about the place, and fold them neatly for her.
The day before, Wellington had sent all the other women who followed the drum to the rear with the baggage and supply carts. “If I thought you would obey my orders, I‘d pack you off with them,” the earl told her at supper later.
“I’m so pleased you did not.” She knew Wellington liked to have pretty women around him, and while he never dallied with married ladies, he’d let her remain as much for his own pleasure and hers. “You are a level-headed woman, my dear,” he’d told her a few months after her arrival in Spain. “I didn’t approve of your husband’s insistence you join us, but there…” He patted her hand. “You have made yourself indispensible and I am glad Dev wore
me down.”
She’d soon understood how overworked the army medics were and she’d set about learning how to assist them in their work. From the women following the drum, she’d learned about the power and various uses of local herbs to help aid the sick and wounded men. No more did the doctors insist upon amputation as the only solution to a shattered arm or leg. To begin with they’d looked askance when she’d applied lotions to clean and draw out putrefaction from the wounds and ease the boils so often suffered by the soldiers.
It didn’t take long for word to spread that chopping off a limb wasn’t the only option and men sought her out for treatment, and as their trust grew she soon got to know many of them well.
A double-edged sword, she thought now. The pain of loss never lessened, and she took it upon herself to write to the families of each man lost. A small thing, she had thought, until she received letters of gratitude from the grieving relatives.
She’d set about learning from the doctors how to treat the wounded and had attended so many operations she often felt she could do one in her sleep. Honor smiled. Of course she couldn’t, and she hoped no one would ever ask her to. But army surgeons became victims of enemy fire as easily as their fighting companions.
Only the day before, too fatigued and starved to hold onto his reins, a medic had fallen from his horse and broken his neck. On the same day another took a sniper’s bullet in the forehead during one of the regular skirmishes with the French troops.
Covering her head with her shawl, Honor lifted the flap and searched the camp for any sight of her husband.
Phillipe, his batman, hovered close to Wellington’s large tent. Was it her imagination, or were Dev’s orders more detailed today?
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