"But you don't like to ride," Lyon reminded her.
"Never mind that," Christina answered.
"Christina, if you don't think you'll be happy with Kathleen, I will assign the task of lady's maid to another."
"Oh, Kathleen seems very capable," Christina answered. "I just don't want any maids."
"Well, you're having one," Lyon announced. "I won't always be here to fasten your gowns, love, so quit scowling at me."
Christina sauntered over to the windows. "You're a bossy bit of goods, do you know that, Lyon?" she announced.
Lyon grabbed her from behind. He placed a wet kiss on the column of her throat. "I really insist that you try the bed."
"Now?"
Christina turned to watch Lyon walk over to the door. When he turned the lock and faced her again she could see he wasn't jesting. He gave her his most intimidating look, then motioned her over with an arrogant nod of his head.
"I'm covered with dust."
"So am I."
She was already breathless, and he hadn't even touched her yet.
Christina kicked off her shoes and walked over to the bed. "Will you always be this demanding with your wife?" she asked him.
"Yes," Lyon answered. He discarded his jacket and his shoes, then went to Christina. "Will my wife always be this submissive?" he asked as he pulled her into his arms.
"It's the wife's duty, isn't it, to be submissive to her husband?" Christina asked.
"It is," Lyon answered. His hands moved to the fastenings on her dress. "Oh, yes, it definitely is."
"Then I shall be submissive, Lyon," Christina announced. "When it suits me."
"A man can't ask for more than that," Lyon said with a grin.
Christina threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. She wasn't submissive now. Her tongue darted inside his mouth to rub against his. She knew he liked her aggressiveness. His hold tightened around her waist and he growled his pleasure.
"My love, I think I'm going to tear another gown," he whispered.
He didn't sound overly contrite. And his wife's soft laughter told him it really didn't matter to her.
The following two weeks were as wonderful and magical to Christina as the early pages of Sir Thomas Mallory's story of Camelot. The weather accommodated her fantasy, for it only rained during the black night hours.
Christina and Lyon spent most of the sun-filled days exploring the vast wilderness surrounding his home.
She was amazed that one man could own so much land.
He was astonished that one woman could know so much about it.
Christina gave him the gift of awareness and a new appreciation for the wonders of nature.
Lyon began to realize how important her freedom was to her. She was happiest when they were outside. Her joy was contagious. Lyon found himself laughing with just as much joy as he tramped through the jungle of bushes in pursuit of his wife.
They always ended their days in front of a peaceful stream they'd chanced upon quite by accident their first day out, and usually soaked their feet in the cool water while they ate the meal the cook had thoughtfully prepared for them.
On one such afternoon, Lyon decided to tease his wife. He plucked a leaf from the nearest shrub and pretended that he was going to eat it. Christina wasn't amused. She slapped the leaf out of his hand, admonished him for his ignorance, and then explained that the leaf was poisonous and that he shouldn't be putting plants in his mouth anyway. If he was that hungry, she'd be more than happy to give him her portion of their meal.
Friday morning arrived too soon for Lyon's liking. He had to return to London to meet with Rhone and their unknowing victims for a game of cards.
Lyon was extremely reluctant to leave his gentle little wife even for one evening.
Lyon awakened early to find his wife sound asleep on the floor again. He immediately lifted her into his arms and put her back in his bed. Her skin felt cold to him, and he used his hands and his mouth to warm her.
He was hard and throbbing when Christina finally opened her eyes. His mouth was fastened on her breast, his tongue like rough velvet as it brushed against her nipple. He began to suckle while his hands stoked the growing fire inside her.
He knew just where to touch, just how to drive her wild. His fingers slipped inside her, drawing a breathless moan from her, then withdrew to tease and torment, and then thrust inside again.
Christina wanted to touch him. "Lyon." She could barely get his name out. His mouth had moved to her stomach to place wet, hot kisses there while his fingers continued their magic.
She couldn't catch her breath. "Tell me you want this," Lyon demanded, his voice hoarse now. His head was slowly moving toward the junction of her legs. "Tell me, Christina," he whispered. His breath was warm against her sensitive skin. His fingers plunged deep and then withdrew to be replaced by his mouth, his tongue.
What he was doing to her made her forget to breathe. Her eyes were tightly closed and her hands clutched the sheets. The pressure grew inside her until it consumed her. Emotion swept through her like a blaze out of control.
"Lyon!"
"Do you like this, love?"
"Yes. Oh, God, yes… Lyon, I'm going to—"
"Let it happen, Christina," he demanded in a rough, husky voice.
He wouldn't let her hold on to her control. The tension was unbearable as the fire rushed through her body.
Christina arched against him, cried out his name in a soft gasp. The splendor still captivated her when Lyon plunged inside her.
He was too greedy to hold back. His breathing was ragged against her ear.
"You like this, don't you, love?" he demanded.
"Yes, Lyon," she whispered.
"Put your legs around me, take me…" The order ended on an intense groan. Christina had wrapped her arms and her legs around him, pulling him high inside her. Her nails raked his shoulders, her grip tight and sweet, as tight and sweet and hot as her sheath.
He grunted his satisfaction. Christina slowly moved her hips. "Do you like that, Lyon?" she whispered as she pushed up against him again.
He couldn't answer her. But his body showed her how very much he did like it. And when he spilled his seed into her, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
An hour later, Lyon walked with Christina down the steps, his arm draped around her shoulders possessively.
Brown was waiting at the bottom of the steps. After announcing that the stablemaster had Lyon's mount ready and waiting out front, the butler discreetly withdrew so that the Marquess could have another minute alone with his wife to give her a proper farewell.
"Christina, when you get over your fear of horses we'll go riding every—"
"I'm not afraid of horses," Christina interrupted. Her voice sounded outraged. "We've had this discussion before, Lyon. I fear the saddles, not the animals. There is a difference."
"You're not going to ride without a saddle," Lyon announced. "And that's that."
"You're too stubborn for my own good," she muttered.
"I don't want you to fall and break your pretty little neck."
Lyon opened the front door, grabbed hold of Christina's hand, and dragged her outside.
Christina was frowning. She thought he might have insulted her again. Then she reasoned he couldn't know how skilled she was with a good mount. Perhaps he hadn't slandered her after all but was truly concerned for her safety or, as he'd just put it, her pretty little neck.
She wondered what he'd think if he found out she went out riding most mornings. He'd be upset with her, she supposed. She had to sigh over that little deception, then cast her guilt aside. She was always back in his bed before he awakened and really wasn't worried he'd find out. Wendell, the stablemaster, wouldn't say anything to Lyon. No, Wendell was a man of few words. Besides, he thought she'd gained Lyon's permission.
"Christina, I'll be back home by noon tomorrow," Lyon said, interrupting her thoughts. He tilted her chin up and kissed he
r soundly.
When he started down the steps, Christina hurried after him. "I still don't understand why I can't go with you. I would like to see your sister, and your mama, too, Lyon."
"Next time, sweetheart. Diana will be going to Martin's party tonight."
"Will Aunt Harriett also be going?"
"Probably," Lyon answered.
"I could go with them," Christina suggested.
"I thought you liked it here in the country," Lyon returned. "You do, don't you?"
"Yes, very much. But I'm your wife, Lyon. I should do my duty with your relatives. Do you know, it's rather odd of me to admit, but I did enjoy some of the parties. There were some very nice people I would like to see again."
"No."
His voice was so firm, Christina was immediately perplexed. "Why don't you want me to go with you? Have I done something to displease you?"
Lyon reacted to the worry in her voice. He paused to look down at her, then gave in to his sudden urge to kiss her again. "Nothing you could ever do would displease me. If you want to attend some of the parties, you'll wait until I can go with you."
"May I play cards with you and the mischief makers?" she asked. "I've never played before, but I'm certain it wouldn't be too difficult to master."
Lyon hid his amusement. His wife was obviously serious in her request. The sincerity in her voice said as much. "I'll teach you another time, Christina. If you wish, I'll wait while you write a note to Diana and Aunt Harriett."
Christina could tell by his manner that he wasn't going to give in to her plea to go along. "I've already written to everyone, even Elbert and my Aunt Patricia," she informed him. "Brown sent a messenger with my letters yesterday."
They walked on, hand in hand. When they reached his mount, he turned. "I have to leave now, my sweet."
"I know."
She hadn't meant to sound so pitiful. The fact that Lyon was leaving was distressing, yes, but not nearly as much as his casual, dismissive attitude. She didn't think he was going to mind the separation at all. She, on the other hand, minded very much.
It wasn't like her to be so clinging. She couldn't seem to let go of his hand. What in heaven's name was the matter with her? Lord, she felt like crying. He was only going to be away for one night, she told herself, not an eternity.
Lyon kissed her on her forehead. "Do you have anything you wish to say to me before I leave, Christina?"
His voice coaxed a response. Christina dropped his hand. "No."
Lyon let out a long sigh. He took hold of her hand again and dragged her off to the side of the path so that the stablemaster wouldn't overhear him. "I'll miss you," he said.
His voice wasn't coaxing now, but brisk.
Christina smiled.
"Damn it, wife, I want the soft words," he muttered. He immediately felt like a fool for making such a ridiculous confession.
"Damn it, Lyon, I want to go to London with you."
"Christina, you're staying here," Lyon bellowed. He drew a deep breath, then added in a furious whisper, "I love you, Christina. Now tell me you love me. I've waited all week to hear you admit it."
She gave him a disgruntled look. Lyon wasn't waylaid. "I'm waiting, Christina."
"Have a safe journey, Lyon."
Lyon hadn't realized how important it was for him to hear her tell him she loved him until his demand was so thoroughly ignored. He stood there feeling angry and defeated, his gaze brooding as he watched Christina walk away from him.
"Hell," he muttered to himself. He mounted his steed, accepted the reins from Wendell, yet seemed incapable of nudging his stallion into moving. He couldn't even tear his gaze off the stubborn woman strolling to the front door.
Christina couldn't dismiss him this time. Her hand shook when she took hold of the brass door handle. He was so horribly stubborn. He constantly prodded and nagged. He wouldn't let her shield her feelings from him. But he didn't understand the significance of what he was asking of her. Once she'd given him the words, there could be no going back.
No, she'd never be able to go home.
A half smile changed her expression. The truth was both painful and joyful. She'd never really been given a choice in the matter, had she? From the moment she'd met Lyon, her heart had known the truth. Why had it taken her mind so long to accept?
Christina looked over her shoulder. Tears clouded her vision. "Hurry home, Lyon. I will be waiting for you."
"Say the words, Christina." He'd shouted this time, and the look on his face showed his anger.
"I love you."
Several heartbeats passed before he acknowledged her admission. And then he gave her a curt nod. Oh, he was arrogant But his expression was tender, caring, so very loving.
It was quite enough. Christina hid her smile. A feeling of contentment and joy filled her. She suddenly felt as light as the wind.
The truth had set her free.
Christina opened the door and started to walk inside when her husband's bellow stopped her. "Wife?"
"Yes, husband?"
"Tell me you trust me as well."
She turned around again. Her hands settled on her hips. She hoped he could see her exasperation. "Don't push me, Lyon. Savor one victory at a time, like any noble warrior would."
Lyon shouted with laughter. "Yes, Christina, one victory at a time. I've got you now, haven't I?" he asked, his voice and his eyes filled with merriment.
The man was gloating again.
Christina strolled over to the top step. "Yes, Lyon, you've got me. And when you come home from London, you're going to find out just exactly what you've gotten. No more pretenses, husband. No more lies."
"I couldn't be happier," Lyon remarked.
"Enjoy the feeling, Lyon. I fear it will not last long."
She'd called the warning over her shoulder. The front door slammed shut before Lyon could question her further.
Lyon felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders—and from his heart. She loved him. "The rest will come, wife," he whispered to himself. "I'll see to it."
He'd never felt so confident, so very, very peaceful.
The feeling wasn't going to last long.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
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You were only three months old when I bundled you up and set out on another adventure. I left in the dead of night so that Patricia wouldn't be able to stop me. I didn't leave a note for her, for 1 believed she'd send men after me.
You were such a precious infant. Upon reflection, I think the journey was far more difficult for me than for you. You'd just begun to smile, and you were such a sweet-tempered little one.
I had made arrangements to travel with Jacob and Emily Jackson. I'd met them through Sunday church, you see, and took to them at once. They were a newly wedded couple who had sold their wedding gifts so that they'd have enough coins to go in search of a new life. They were very appreciative of my contributions. Emily took to you, too, Christina. She'd sing to you and rock you to sleep while I saw to the night meals.
Jacob was a man bitten by wanderlust. Every evening he'd tell us the most wonderful stories about the courageous people living in the Black Hills. His brother had already taken his family there and had sent Jacob word that he was prospering as a gentleman farmer.
Jacob's fever was contagious. I soon became as excited as he was. Emily told me there were many unattached men working the raw land, that I would surely find a good man to marry. I led them to believe my husband had recently died, I admit to you, and I felt great shame for lying to them.
I told myself over and over that the lie didn't count. Edward would never find me in this vast wilderness.
We joined another wagon train when we reached what I believed was the end of the earth. I fought my exhaustion. Emily was always so cheerful. And then, on a bleak, rainy afternoon, we finally reached the valley below the most magnificent mountains I'd ever seen.
I remember that it was
a bitterly cold day. It didn't matter, though. We were free, Christina. Free. No one could hurt us now.
Journal entry October 11, 1795
~
Lyon had been gone for over an hour when two letters arrived. Both were addressed to Christina, and both required her immediate attention.
After instructing Kathleen to take the messenger into the kitchens for refreshments, Christina took her letters into Lyon's study.
The first missive came from her Aunt Patricia. It was a hateful note, filled with defaming remarks about Lyon. The Countess told Christina she'd learned the truth about the Marquess and felt it was her duty to warn her niece that she was married to a murderer.
The Countess then demanded that Christina return to London immediately so that she could accompany her aunt to the various functions of the ton. She whined about the disgraceful fact that she hadn't received a single invitation since Christina's outrageous marriage.
Christina shook her head. It had been less than a month since the wedding, but her aunt was carrying on as though a full year had passed.
The Countess ended her list of complaints with the statement that she was sending along a letter she'd received from the missionary Deavenrue.
She hoped Christina didn't find ill news.
Christina was immediately suspicious. It wasn't like her aunt to offer such a good-hearted remark. She thought the Countess might be up to her usual tricks. She was familiar with her former teacher's handwriting, however, and the flourishing style of his script on the envelope indicated that he had in fact written the letter. The seal on the back of the envelope hadn't been tampered with, either.
Convinced that the letter was really from her dear friend, Christina finally opened it.
Brown was the first to react to the heart-wrenching scream coming from the library. He rushed into the room and nearly lost his composure altogether when he saw his mistress had collapsed on the floor.
He shouted orders over his shoulder as he knelt down beside the Marchioness. Kathleen, Christina's maid, came running next. When she saw her mistress, she gave a yell. "Did she swoon? What made her cry out, Brown? Is she hurt?"
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