His mouth had never felt as wonderful to Christina. The fear of his rejection when he learned all her secrets made her feel almost desperate to take and to give as much as she could now, before the truth was turned against her.
His kiss was magical, soon robbing her of all her frightening thoughts. Yes, it was magic, for Lyon made her feel so desirable, so loved.
The kiss exploded into raw passion. His breathing was harsh when he pulled away from her. "Let's go back upstairs," he rasped.
"Why?"
"Because I want to make love to you," Lyon answered, trying to smile over her innocent question. He was literally shaking with his need for her.
"I want to make love to you, too," Christina whispered between fervent kisses along his jaw. "Do we have to go back upstairs? I don't want to wait that long."
His laughter confused her until he lifted her off his lap and started undressing her. Then she decided he was pleased by her idea.
They came together in wild abandon, fell to the floor in one fluid motion.
Christina was stretched out on top of Lyon, her legs tangled with his. Her hair fell to the floor, on the sides of Lyon's profile, acting as a shield against the outside world.
She was content to stare into her husband's eyes for a long moment, to savor the anticipation of the splendor only he could give her. Lyon's hands stroked shivers down her spine. The heat of his arousal warmed her belly, and the hairs on his chest tickled her nipples into hardening.
"I'm shameless, for I can't seem to get enough of you," she whispered.
Lyon cupped her soft, rounded bottom in his hands. "I wouldn't want you any other way," he told her. "Kiss me, wife. Christina, all you have to do is look at me and I start throbbing."
Christina kissed his chin while she slowly, deliberately rubbed her breasts and her thighs against him.
He groaned with pleasure. His hands moved to the back of her head. He forced her mouth upward to seal it with his own. His tongue plunged hungrily inside to taste again the intoxicating sweetness she offered him.
Christina was more impatient than he was. She moved to straddle him, then slowly lowered herself until he was completely inside her. She leaned back, tossing her hair over her shoulder in an utterly wanton motion. Lyon pulled his legs up until his knees pressed against her smooth back. His hands fell to cup the sides of her hips. "Don't let me hurt you," he ground out. "Slow down, love. I won't be able to stop."
He quit his protests when he felt her tighten around him, knew she was about to find her own release. His hand slid into the silky triangle of curls nestled against him. His fingers stroked her there until the fire consumed her and she turned into liquid gold in his arms.
He spilled his seed into her with a harsh groan of blissful surrender, then pulled her down to cover his chest, to hold her close, to share the rapture.
It bad never been this good. It kept getting better, too, Lyon realized when his mind could form a logical thought again. "You're a wild tigress," he whispered to Christina in a voice that sounded thoroughly satisfied.
Christina propped her chin on her hands and stared down at her husband. "No, I am your lioness," she whispered.
He didn't dare laugh. Christina had sounded so terribly serious, as if what she'd just told him was of high importance. He nodded, giving her his agreement while his fingers combed through the tumble of luxuriant curls covering her back. He lifted and then rearranged the strands in an absentminded fashion as he stared into his wife's magnificent blue eyes.
"Do you know, when you look at me like that I immediately lose my concentration," he told her.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Christina announced. She leaned down to kiss him again. "You feel so good inside me," she whispered against his mouth. "And now you must give me the soft words, Lyon."
He wasn't sure what she meant by soft words, but she looked serious again. She'd stacked her hands under her chin and was staring down at him with an expectant look on her face.
"What are soft words, Christina? Tell me and I'll give them to you."
"You must tell me what is inside your heart," she instructed.
"Ah," Lyon drawled. His eyes took on a tender look when he added, "I love you, Christina."
"And?"
"And what?" Lyon asked, exasperated. "Christina, I never thought I'd be able to love again. And to actually get married… you've made me change all my old ways. I do not tell you I love you on a whim, Christina."
"But I already know you love me," Christina answered. "I didn't want you to, but I do admit it still pleases me. Now you must praise me, Lyon. It's the way it's done."
"I don't understand," Lyon said. "That doesn't surprise me," he added with a wink. He looked around the room and saw the chaos their hastily discarded clothing had made. The fact that he was stretched out on the carpet in his library with his uninhibited wife draped over him, trying to have a logical conversation, vastly amused him. "Do you think you're always going to be so shameless, my sweet?"
"Do not change this topic, Lyon. You must tell me I'm as beautiful as a flower in spring, as soft and delicate as a flower's petal. And why is that amusing to you? A woman must feel as desirable after loving as before, Lyon." He quit smiling when he realized she was about to cry. Lyon understood what she needed now. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes. He cupped the sides of her face and leaned up to kiss her. It was a soft, tender caress meant to remove her worry, her tears.
And then he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her all the soft words she longed to hear.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
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It wasn't a very joyful reunion with my sister. Patricia acted just like Father. She was happy to see me until she realized Edward wasn't with me. Patricia's husband, Alfred, was as kind as 1 remembered, and he made my stay as pleasant as he could. Patricia told me they'd broken all their engagements to stay home with me, but after a while I realized they didn't have any friends at all. Patricia hated the people of Boston, and I believed the feeling was reciprocated.
My sister longed to go back to England. She fashioned a ridiculous plan. Once she was convinced I meant to stay in the colonies and never return to my husband, she announced that I must give her my baby. She would pass the child off as her own.
She tried to make me believe she wanted to be a mother, that her life wouldn't be filled until she had a child to call her own. I knew the truth, of course. Patricia hadn't changed over the time we'd been separated. No, she wanted a grandchild to give our father. An heir, father would forgive her transgressions; he'd want to provide well for his only grandchild.
I was vehemently against this deception, Christina. I knew greed was my sister's only reason. I told her I'd never give my child away. Patricia ignored my protests. I saw her destroy a letter I'd given her husband to post to London for me. I was able to get one letter past her scrutiny, though, and I was also secure in the knowledge that my father would find the missive I'd left behind in his winter chest.
Albert kept me supplied with the daily papers to keep my mind occupied while I awaited your birth, and it was quite by chance that I came upon an article about the frontier people.
Journal entry October 5, 1795
~
Lyon and Christina set out for his country manor shortly after a picnic luncheon Christina had insisted upon. They ate crusty bread, cheese, sliced mutton, and plump apple tarts. The fare was spread out on a soft blanket Christina had dragged down from upstairs. Lyon had instinctively reached for his pants, thinking to get dressed first, but his wife had laughed at his modesty, and he'd been easily convinced there really wasn't any need to be in such a hurry.
They were both covered with a layer of dust by the time they arrived at their destination, thanks to Christina's plea to ride in an open carriage and Lyon's agreement to let her have her way.
During the journey he tried to bring up the subject of her father several times, but Christ
ina easily evaded his questions. And once they'd put the city behind them, the beauty of the surrounding wilderness kept Christina fully occupied. Her amazement was obvious. It didn't take Lyon long to realize she had believed all of England was like London.
"Why would you ever want to go into the city when you could stay in such splendor?" Christina asked him.
Splendor? Lyon hadn't thought of the countryside in such a way. Yet the pleasure he could see in his wife's expression made him open his mind to the raw beauty around him.
"We take for granted what is familiar to us," Lyon excused.
"Look around you, Lyon. See God's gifts," Christina instructed.
"Will you promise me something, Christina?" Lyon asked.
"If I am able," she answered.
"Never change," he whispered.
He'd meant it as a compliment and was therefore confused by her reaction. Christina clasped her hands in her lap and bowed her head for a long minute. When she finally looked up at him again, she was frowning.
"My dear, I haven't asked you how to settle England's debts," Lyon remarked. "And my question was irrelevant anyway. I'll make certain you don't change."
"How will you do that?" Christina asked.
"Remove all temptations," Lyon announced with a nod.
"Temptations?"
"Never mind, my sweet. Quit frowning. It will be all right."
"Did Lettie change?"
She knew he didn't like her question. That irritated her, of course, for it was the very first question about his past she'd ever put to him. "Did you love your wife very much, Lyon?" she asked.
"Lettie's dead, Christina. You're all that matters to me now."
"Why is it quite all right for you to prod me about my past and not acceptable for me to ask you questions? Your scowl won't work with me, Lyon. Please answer me. Did you love Lettie?"
"It was a long time ago," Lyon said. "I thought I did… in the beginning…"
"Before she changed," Christina whispered. "She wasn't what you thought she should be, isn't that the way of it?"
"No, she wasn't." His voice had taken on the familiar chill.
"You still haven't forgiven her, have you, Lyon? Whatever did she do to hurt you so?"
"You're being fanciful," Lyon announced. "How in God's name did we get on this topic?"
"I'm trying to understand," Christina answered. "Your sister told me you loved Lettie. Is it so painful you cannot even speak her name?"
"Christina, would you prefer that I act like my mother? All she'll talk of is James," he added.
"Lyon, I'd like our time together to be filled with joy. If I knew how Lettie changed, perhaps I wouldn't make the same mistakes."
"I love you just the way you are. And I'm damned tired of hearing our marriage is only for a short duration. Get this through your head, woman. We're married until death separates us."
"Or until I change like Lettie did," Christina answered. Her voice was just as loud, just as angry as his had been.
"You aren't going to change."
Lyon suddenly realized he was shouting at her. "This is a ridiculous conversation. I love you."
"You love a princess."
"I don't give a damn if you're a princess or not. I love you."
"Ha."
"What in God's name is that supposed to mean?" Lyon reached out to pull her into his arms. "I cannot believe we're yelling at each other like this."
"Lyon, I'm not a princess."
She'd whispered the confession against his shoulder. Lord, she sounded so forlorn. Lyon's anger evaporated. "Good," he whispered.
"Why is it good?" Christina asked.
"Because now you can't tell me I love a princess," he reasoned with a smile in his voice. "I didn't marry you because of your title."
"Then why? You've told me I'm not at all sensible, that I try to make you daft—"
"Your money."
"What?" Christina pulled out of his arms to look into his face. There was a definite sparkle in his eyes. "You're jesting with me. You didn't know I had any money until after we'd wed."
"How astute of you to remember," Lyon said. He kissed the frown away from her face, then draped his arm around her shoulder.
Christina rested against his shoulder. The continuous clip of the horses and the rocking motion of the carriage made her sleepy and content.
"Lyon? You haven't asked me why I married you," she whispered several minutes later.
"I already know why you married me, love."
She smiled over his arrogant comment. "Then explain it to me, please. I still haven't come to understand it."
He gave her a squeeze to let her know he wasn't amused by her announcement. "First, there are the scars. You happen to love my flawed body."
"And how would you know that?" she asked, pretending outrage.
"You can't keep your hands off me," he told her. "Second, I remind you of a warrior."
Christina shook her head. "You haven't any humility," she told him. "And you are a warrior, Lyon. A vain one, yes, but a warrior all the same."
"Ah, vanity," Lyon drawled. "Does that mean you might have to use your knife on me?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Lady Cecille. You did threaten to—"
"So you were listening to our conversation in the library." Christina sounded stunned. "You lied to me. That is shameful."
"I lied to you?" Lyon's voice was incredulous. "You, of course, have always been honest with me."
"You will have to cast Lady Cecille aside," Christina announced, flipping the subject to avoid another argument. "I won't be wed to a roamer."
"A what?"
"A man who chases other women," Christina explained. "I shall be true to you, and you must be true to me. Even though it is fashionable in England to take a lover, you aren't going to have one. And that's that."
He was surprised by the vehemence in her tone. He hadn't known she had such an assertive manner. In truth, her demand pleased him immensely. "You're a bossy bit of goods, do you know that?" he whispered. He kissed her again in a leisurely fashion.
Christina realized he hadn't given her his promise, but she decided not to press the issue. Later would be soon enough.
She was about to fall asleep when they reached Lyonwood. Lyon nudged her out of her sleepy state. "We're home, Christina."
The carriage rounded the curve in the road. The wilderness suddenly disappeared.
The land had been transformed into a lush, well-manicured lawn. There were sculptured bushes lining the circle drive of gravel, with wildflowers of bold colors woven between the trees. At the top of the gently sloping hill stood Lyon's magnificent home.
Christina thought it looked like a palace. The house was made of gray and brown stone, double storied, with windows one above the other all across the front of the house. Bright green ivy splattered the stones.
"Lyonwood is as handsome as its master," Christina whispered. "I shall never remember how to get around."
"You get around me well enough," Lyon remarked. "I'm sure you'll conquer your new home just as swiftly."
Christina smiled at his teasing manner. "How many of your family members live here with you? Will I meet all of your relatives today, do you suppose?"
"I suppose not," Lyon answered. "I live by myself." He laughed when he saw her astonished reaction. "Now, of course, my gentle little wife will live with me."
"How many bedchambers are there?"
"Just twelve," Lyon answered with a shrug. The carriage stopped in the center of the circle just as the front door opened. Lyon's butler, a stout, dark-haired young man by the name of Brown, led the parade of servants down the four steps. The staff lined up behind their leader. Their uniforms were starched, as well as their stance, and though they kept their expressions contained, every gaze was directed upon their new mistress.
Lyon refused assistance in helping his wife out of the carriage. Her hands were cold and her nose pink from the brisk, windy r
ide. He thought she might be a bit nervous meeting his servants for the first time, and so he kept her hand clasped in his.
It didn't take him long to realize she wasn't the least bit nervous. Her manner was worthy of a queen… or a princess, Lyon thought with a grin. There was an air of quiet dignity in her bearing. She was gracious as she greeted each one, attentive when she listened to their explanations of what their duties were.
She captivated them, of course, just as she'd captivated him. Even Brown, his dour-faced butler, was affected. When Christina took hold of his hand and announced that it was obvious to her he'd done his duty well, the man's face broke into a spontaneous smile.
"I shall not give you interference, Mr. Brown," she explained.
Brown looked relieved at that announcement. He turned then to address his employer. "My lord, we have prepared both your chamber and the adjoining one for the Marchioness."
Christina looked up at her husband, fully expecting him to set the man straight. When Lyon simply nodded and took hold of her elbow to walk up the steps, she forced a smile for the watching servants while she whispered her displeasure to her husband.
"I shall not have my own room, Lyon. I am your wife now. I must share your blankets. And I really don't want a lady's maid." Looking around, she added, "Heavens, Lyon, this entryway is larger than your whole townhouse."
Christina wouldn't have been surprised if she'd heard an echo. The entrance was gigantic. The floors were polished to a gleam. There was a large sitting room on the left, another of equal proportions on the right. A hallway began to the left of the circular staircase. Lyon explained that the dining room was adjacent to the sitting room, with the gardens behind. The kitchens, he added, were on the opposite side.
Their bedrooms were linked by a door. "I'll have your clothes moved in here," Lyon told Christina when she gave him a good frown. He motioned to his bed with a raised eyebrow and asked her if she'd like to see if it was comfortable enough.
"You look just like a rascal," Christina laughed. "I should like a bath, Lyon, and then I would like to see your stables. You do keep horses here, don't you?"
The Lion's Lady Page 24
