When You Wish

by Jane Feather

  She tugged at the waistband of his pants and he lifted his hips, captivated by the range of emotions that played across her face as she undressed him. The hunger in her eyes made him suspect they might share the confection-shop fantasy. She wet her lips and reached out to touch him, hesitant at first, but bold soon enough. Her hand slid down his erection, a single stroke to take in his length.

  Then her hand closed around him and she squeezed. Hard. His low groan felt as if it started in his toes.

  “Enough play.” He caught her hand, his voice harsh. When he opened his arms to her, she stretched out half her weight on top of him. He rolled to his side to reverse their positions. His knee slipped between her legs in the same movement, then his hand caressed a path from her shoulders to the curve of her hip. “I want to touch you first, a little like the way you touched me, only different.”

  The words made little sense, and it showed in her expression. He didn’t even try to explain how he intended to make her body ready to accept him. His hand moved lower, then brushed the downy softness of her inner thigh. Her eyes widened over the intimacy, but her hips arched upward in silent protest when he withdrew his hand. He repeated the small caress and drew a fraction of an inch closer to her heat. This time she also arched her neck, offering her breasts in an unconscious invitation.

  “Wyatt.”

  His name sounded like a plea. He shook his head in a gentle denial. It was far too soon for her to be pleading. Or was it? He caressed her legs again, but this time he fit his hand into the junction of her thighs.

  The heat of her desire was incredible. He felt the dampness on his palm before his fingers even parted her. Little wonder she shifted impatiently, her body seeking more from him by instinct alone. She was ready for him already.

  That left only one worry about their lovemaking. The knowledge that he would soon feel her soft thighs around his waist made it hard to remember his name, much less any worries. He could hardly wait to feel her warm, wet sheath close around him. That thought made him remember his purpose.

  “Put your arms around my neck, Faro.” His voice sounded strange to his ears, barely recognizable.

  As soon as she complied, he eased the tip of his finger inside her. He withdrew and returned again, this time a little deeper. She buried her face against his neck to muffle her gasps. He repeated the movements over and over, as slowly as he could manage, relieved when he failed to encounter a barrier. That lack of physical proof made her no less innocent. Her body felt so small and tight inside that he suspected there would still be some measure of pain, but there could be no more delay for either of them. She gasped each time his finger moved inside her, but now she bit his shoulder as well. The demands of his own body were impossible to ignore.

  Her hips rose to welcome his weight when he positioned himself at the entrance of her body. His hands framed her face and their gazes met to communicate everything that went unsaid. Her eyes reflected her every emotion, doubts and anticipation, uncertainty and desire, then a sense of wonder when he began to slowly ease inside her.

  Her body closed around him, resisting the invasion. With one hard, deep thrust, he buried himself within her body. Her nails dug into his shoulders, but she only gasped at the suddenness of his invasion.

  “I’m sorry, Faro.” He wondered how the words could sound so lucid. He tried to hold himself still until her body could adjust to his, but the incredible sensations of being a part of her made control a thought that came and went. She was small, yes, but perfect for him. Her tight sheath squeezed him in far more seductive ways than her hand, an unconscious invitation that battered at his discipline. Her hands flexed and gripped his shoulders, her toes curled and uncurled against the backs of his legs in the same rhythm. Her whole body beckoned to him. He didn’t mean to speak his thoughts aloud, but he didn’t regret the words. “You are mine now.”

  That simple, possessive declaration made it impossible to remain still any longer. He drew away and sank slowly into her again. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes to appreciate the feel of her. His low groan spoke of intense pleasure. The sounds Faro made alternated between shock and surprise, then pleasure as well when she experimented with a small movement of her own. The last of his worries disappeared.

  The slow, deliberate pattern he set came as a pleasant surprise, the demand for haste tamped down by the desire to savor each moment. Whenever he sensed her need to slow down, he could even stop to cherish her passionate body, to delight in her wonderful responsiveness. She tried to hold his gaze, but often her lashes fluttered closed. She made the lustiest sounds in the back of her throat. A few more strokes and she arched up to meet each of his thrusts, matching his rhythm, yet at the same time, urging him to increase the pace.

  It seemed she took him at his word when he said to be greedy. Soon her legs tightened around him and only her shoulders touched the mattress when he surged into her, then she pressed the soles of her feet down his thighs as she stretched out her legs. She didn’t learn how to make love so much as revel in it. She amazed him, her untutored love-making as wild and untamed as it was beautiful. The look on her face each time she met his gaze was one of sheer bliss. It humbled him to think he could give her such joy.

  “Always, Faro.” He wanted to tell her so much more—how he had never known that making love with the right woman really was making love. How he couldn’t recall his life before she came into it, or conceive of his life if she left it. He had promised to let her go in the morning. He would never let her go.

  He held her tighter, thrust harder and deeper, anything that would ease the need to somehow mark her, brand her as his own. Possessiveness rushed through him, and a hint of desperation.

  It didn’t really surprise him when she read his thoughts. She cupped his face in her hands, her expression suddenly solemn. “There will never be another for me. You are …”

  Her eyes widened and he watched the powerful release take hold of her. He felt it in every inch of their joined bodies. The beauty of her climax took his breath away. Then the same force reached out to take him as well. He felt caught in an undertow, towed deeper and deeper beneath the waves until he thought he would drown. His last breath came out in a shout. His seed flowed into her at the same moment and the tide of passion suddenly thrust him upward again. He closed his eyes against the rush of emotions that hurtled him toward the sunlight, toward the very stars themselves.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FARO STUFFED THE last of her clothing into the worn satchel, careful to make as little noise as possible. The small click of the latch sounded like a cannon shot and her gaze darted to the bed. Wyatt continued to sleep undisturbed, his head burrowed into a pillow, one leg angled to display his backside in all its erotic perfection. The lump of regret she swallowed down went straight to her heart.

  Nothing lasted forever. She had known that when she pretended last night would never end. The rose-colored light of dawn that bathed her window mocked the folly of those wishful thoughts. She had to leave now, before anything could mar the memories of their last wonderful hours together. It would serve no purpose to part with cross words. Someday he would recognize the favor she had done them both by sneaking off this way. At first he would be angry, but he would get over that anger in a few days as easily as last night had surely cured his lust for her. He would forget her, and they could both go on with their lives.

  Why was it so hard to do the right thing?

  One of her sketches peeked out from under the bed and she walked closer. Her gaze went to Wyatt again as she bent down to reach for the drawing. A pair of golden eyes stared back at her.

  “Looking for something?” One brow rose as his gaze swept the length of her, taking in the dark blue traveling gown she wore. He rolled to his side and propped his weight on one elbow. “Or are you going somewhere?”

  “Today is Friday,” she blurted out. “I am supposed to leave today.”

  It was a ridiculous explanation, but as close to th
e truth as she wanted to venture. Wyatt didn’t seem concerned by the announcement. He yawned and stretched out his body like a big, lazy cat. “Where are we off to?”

  “I must return to London.” Her voice sounded breathless and she cleared her throat to force out a steadier sound. “Lady Saltón invited me to her tea on Monday, and I promised to attend.”

  “Teas are rather boring affairs,” he said, “but I suppose we will manage to live through it.”

  She watched him rise from the bed to retrieve his trousers, then kept her gaze on the floor while he pulled them on. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”

  “Lady Saltón won’t mind my presence,” he assured her. “Not when she realizes we are courting. Indeed, she will likely be thrilled that we chose her tea to make our first appearance as a couple. It’s rather fortunate that her tea is next on your agenda. I must return to London anyway to secure a special license. That will spare us the public nuisance of the banns.”

  “You promised to let me go this morning.” She tried to keep her eyes averted from his face, but found herself fascinated by the way he scratched his chest. The remembered feel of those hard muscles made her fingertips tingle.

  “You are not a prisoner here, love. We haven’t had a kidnapping in the family for at least a hundred years. While the notion holds a certain romantic appeal, it tends to reflect badly on one’s reputation. You may leave Blackburn whenever you wish.” He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a stern look. “However, in case you haven’t realized, I intend to leave with you. No matter where you go.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I can,” he countered. “A measure of discretion will be in order until you let me announce our engagement. We’ll bring my mother along to chaperone. Her presence will ensure that your reputation does not suffer, yet I am certain she will turn a blind eye to my presence in your bed at night. She wants us to wed almost as much as I do.”

  That bit of news came as a surprise. “Your mother wants you to marry me?”

  “Did I forget to tell you?” He gave her an innocent smile. “I am the reason she invited you to Blackburn. She meant to show me the difference between the type of woman I thought I wanted, and the woman who could make me happy.” He looked around the floor, then picked up his shirt and shook out the wrinkles. “I begin to think she is in league with that Gypsy.”

  He spoke so surely of their future together that she was tempted to believe him, to pretend just a little longer. She shook her head to keep that thought from taking hold. “I cannot marry you, Wyatt.”

  “Why not?” Such a simple question. His steady gaze demanded an honest answer.

  The truth slipped out unbidden. “I am afraid.”

  He tossed the shirt on the bed and walked toward her. She backed away until her heels touched the wall. Her gaze fastened on his chest, an overwhelming wall of male strength, yet she sensed only security. He stopped just a step away from her, his voice achingly gentle. “Do I truly frighten you, love?”

  “It’s me,” she whispered. “I will do something wrong and you will stop loving me. I… I have that effect on people. You know about my father, but I lied to you about my mother. She pretended that she loved Hazard and me, but by the time she died we both knew that she didn’t. Even Hazard is starting to tire of me. He scarce listens to anything I say these days. Sometimes I think he defies me on purpose.”

  “Of course he does.” Wyatt caught her hands between his and rubbed his warmth into them. “Your brother is of an age when all young men defy authority. That doesn’t mean he loves you any less. It only means he is growing up.”

  He sounded very certain of his opinion. She wanted badly to believe him. “Do you think so?”

  “I know so.” The corners of his mouth tightened. “However, your parents are another matter entirely. I want your promise right now that you will let our children love you.”

  Her brows drew together in confusion. “You cannot control a child’s love.”

  “Yes, you can.” He reached out to stroke her cheek, his expression filled with patience. “Don’t you see, sweetheart? Rather than avoid your mother’s mistakes, you seem determined to repeat them exactly.”

  “I will not!” The notion terrified her. She wanted to run as far from that fear as possible. “I will not marry you, which means I cannot possibly repeat her mistakes.”

  “So you would live out your life alone? Deny yourself the love of a husband and family?” He shook his head. “How much different would that life be from your mother’s?”

  Her eyes widened. Deep inside she recognized the horrible truth of his words. He reached out and placed his hand over the curve of her belly.

  “You took my seed more than once last night and may carry my child already. Would you deny that child your love because it would remind you too much of the love you would deny between us?”

  “No!” She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling. Did her mother truly close her children out of her heart because they reminded her too much of the love she once shared with their father?

  Wyatt read the doubts in her expression. His finger tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “You will never know the whole truth of what happened between your parents, but you do not deserve to bear the burden of their unhappiness. Let go of the past, love. Make a future with me.”

  He made it sound so simple. She could not let go of her fears so easily. “I am still afraid.”

  “No more than I am afraid when I think you might someday leave me.” He drew her into the warm, safe circle of his arms. For a long time he just held her. “Our fears are the same, sweetheart. We can conquer them together. If you accept my love, you will make it invulnerable.” He leaned back to look down at her, his voice laced with tenderness. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  The answer came upon her without warning. He would never deny her his love, no matter how vulnerable that made him. She searched his eyes and saw all the love there she had ever craved. A trace of fear as well. Last night he had sworn over and over that he would never leave her. Now he waited to hear the same.

  “I love you.” The words came out so easily that she said them again, this time against his lips as his mouth closed over hers for a long, sensual kiss. When his kisses moved to the column of her neck, she whispered into his ear. “I will never leave you, Wyatt. I swear it.”

  “The rest,” he demanded between kisses. “I want to hear the rest of your pledge.”

  She smiled and rubbed her cheek against the warm satin of his hair. “Yes, I will marry you, my love.”

  EPILOGUE

  NEITHER FARO NOR Wyatt guessed that their love would grow even stronger over the years. Together they truly were invulnerable. Granted, they experienced their share of disagreements, but nothing could shake their faith in each other. Not even Faro’s insistence that they name their first child Esmeralda, after the color of the bottle that first brought them together. Wyatt refused to name his precious baby daughter after a rock. Anyone with eyes could see that the child needed a name that would reflect her grace and beauty, something along the lines of Anne or Patricia.

  And so it came to be that Esmeralda developed an odd fascination with the silver-and-green bottle. The first time Faro saw à flash of green clutched between her toddler’s chubby fingers, she nearly fainted. It took an hour of questions from both parents before they were satisfied that the bottle had revealed nothing of its secrets to the innocent child. They repeated the questions again and again over the years, for it didn’t matter where they might hide the bottle. It would only reappear a few days later in Esmeralda’s hand.

  Although Esmeralda showed clear signs that she had inherited her mother’s gift, the little girl swore she saw nothing when she held the bottle, that she sensed only a vague impression of happiness. Edward and Andrew inherited their mother’s gift as well, but even when they were babies and bright, shiny objects tended to attract their curiosity, they would not
touch Esmeralda’s bottle. Eventually Wyatt and Faro decided the bottle was a talisman of sorts for their daughter. If nothing else, it protected her from her brothers’ pranks as they grew older. Just the sight of that bottle was enough to make the boys think twice about putting frogs in her slippers, or dipping her braid into an inkwell.

  No one realized that Esmeralda was simply the bottle’s temporary guardian, until the day she came home from the village fair without it.

  “I gave it to the witch,” she said, when Faro questioned her.

  “The witch?” Faro echoed, casting a horrified glance at her husband.

  Wyatt set his paper aside. The secretive smile in his daughter’s pale blue eyes made her look nine going on ninety. “What witch, Essie?”

  “The one at the village fair, the one who tells fortunes.” Esmeralda looked across the table at Faro. “She is much better at it than we are, Mummy, but she says I will get better with practice.”

  “What did this woman look like?” Wyatt demanded. “And why did you give your bottle to a perfect stranger?”

  “Because it belonged to her.” Esmeralda pushed more of her scrambled eggs under a slice of toast and hoped no one would notice. “She said you and Mummy didn’t need it anymore, but she knew someone else who did.”

  “Essie, look at Daddy.” Wyatt waited until he had his daughter’s undivided attention. “Was this woman a Gypsy?”

  “Oh, no, Daddy. She might travel in a Gypsy caravan, but she is a genuine witch. The good kind, though. You mustn’t worry that she meant to harm me.”

  Wyatt thought about the Gypsy he had met on the way to Blackburn shortly before his marriage. She had looked older than God almost a decade ago. A witch, indeed. The thought of his daughter so close to a woman that mysterious and powerful made him blanche. “What does she plan to do with the bottle, Essie?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Esmeralda looked around the breakfast table. Her father turned very pale. Her mother fanned herself with a napkin. Grammsie and the twins just stared at her. She gave them all a bright smile. “The witch said a strange little spell, then she dropped the bottle into a cask of brandy. Isn’t that the oddest thing?”