Edith Layton (23 page)

“For how long?” she asked.

“Silly question,” he said. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss along her cheek. “Forever, or as long as we have of it.”

She shivered, and put her opened hand on his chest. She didn’t know if it was to hold him off or so she could feel the living warmth of him again. “But you don’t want a wife,” she whispered. “You said so. You don’t want to be a father. And so much as I love you, I don’t want a man who doesn’t want to be father to my children, that is, if…”

“Oh, no ‘if’ about it,” he said as he tilted her face to his. “But what’s this? ‘So much as I love you?’ You love me?”

“Oh, Daffyd,” she said, going into his arms. “How can you ask?”

“Easily,” he said seriously.

“But all your speeches about not wanting children? About wanting to be an uncle?”

“Well, I recently heard that’s already in train,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “My brother Christian and his lady are anticipating. I’m happy for them, but find I want more for myself. I can still be a doting uncle, but you’ve turned me around, Meg. I want to be a father to your children, and if we can’t produce any, than to those we choose to live with us. I want a house full of prim daughters and knavish sons.”

He cupped her face in both his hands, tipped a kiss on her lips and gazed at her. “No more games. No more jests. Will you lay back and make love to me now? No one will disturb us. The others are riding up front and beside to protect us. We’ll be as private as in any bridal bower until nightfall. Will you?”

And what of after nightfall?
she thought in sudden alarm. With all he’d said about babies and forever, he hadn’t mentioned matrimony. But she was being greedy. She’d take what he offered, because he’d offered her his heart and his children. What would there be for her if she said no? A dreary life, filled
with regrets. And if she said yes? A strange life, filled with regrets? But she couldn’t believe he’d ever desert her utterly.

She felt the caravan lurch and begin to move, the room swayed as it rocked slowly down the road. She could still leave. Or she could run off with her gypsy now. If she left him, she suspected it would be for the last time. But she was being foolish again. There was no way on earth she could leave him now.

“Yes,” she said. “Please, Daffyd, make love to me. Mind,” she added, as she saw his slow smile growing. “I can’t promise I’ll be very good at it, at least, not immediately. But I want you very much, and I learn quickly.”

“Meg,” he said as he took her in his arms and lowered her to the bed, “it’s not a test or a lesson. It just will mean getting as close to me as your skin. It will be us coming together at last.”

She smiled against his lips. And then she couldn’t smile for the joy of his kiss. The bed was deep and soft, his body was hot and strong. She stared when he sat up again to peel off the last of his clothes.

He was delighted to see her expression.

“I’m a country girl,” she said when she saw his surprise. “I’ve heard what women prize in their men.”

It was her turn to be proud when she saw his face after she’d drawn off her gown. “Oh, Meg,” was all he could breathe as he lowered his head to her breast. It was enough for her.

They kissed and touched and tasted. Meg twisted and turned in his arms, warming to furnace heat even as Daffyd did.

But he was more than warm, he was suffering. He hoped she didn’t know how difficult it was for him. He’d thought of this for hours, and the feeling of her, so close at last, ignited him. He tried to be careful, restrained, and cautious. Almost impossible, with her body so soft and plaint, supple and willing. It took all his will to keep building her passion at a slow, steady pace, when all he wanted was to quench his desire.

It was the first time he’d ever had to school himself so strictly. Last time they’d made love he hadn’t been in love. In truth, at no time when he’d made love had he been in love. Now he ached, his body trembling with the effort to slow down as he discovered how different love made the act of love. Different, and beyond anything he’d ever known.

Meg reveled in his lovemaking. It wasn’t only the sensations he brought to her, she could hardly believe she was in Daffyd’s arms again, at last, and against all expectation. His body was smooth and strong, lithe and avid. His skin smelled of soap and herbs and spices as well as the wild scent of the forest. She rolled with him in the gently swaying bed as the caravan moved on, attuned to him, calmed by his heartbeat, excited by his nearness and what he was doing.

She felt her body begin to build to unknowable heights. She exulted as she felt the strong hard evidence of his desire against her flesh. She reached out
to hold him. This time there was no shame or fear. This was Daffyd, and he was hers at last.

His hand tested her readiness as it entered her, and she opened her eyes. “Daffyd,” she gasped, “I thought this time it would be…all of it. Us, together, not just for me and then for you.”

He moved, holding his body an inch above her. “It will be. But first, let me give you ease,” he murmured with difficulty. “It will make it easier for us both.”

His hand sought her; she raised her body to allow deeper access, and then was lost as pleasure began to spiral through her. When she gasped with release, she felt his shuddering sigh of relief. Then he lifted her, withdrew his hand and entered her with his body.

She was aware of stretching. A moment’s stinging made her tense. Then it was gone, and he filled her, he was with her, in her, part of her. She was astonished and delighted. She clung to him as he began to move without thought or control at last, and smiled against his shoulder, taking her pleasure in the joy of his. She’d known the effort it had taken him to withhold so long; she’d felt it in the dewing on his skin, the pace of his breathing, the tension in his body. This was not the calm, amused lover she had known. So when he closed his eyes and pounded against her, she held him tight and offered herself to him fully even though she was replete, and unaccustomed to this wild passion.

When he thrust hard and groaned as he reached his moment, she clasped him ever closer, and rejoiced.
Because throughout, his hands had been gentle, and his touch never hurtful. And she was his, at last.

They lay twined together as their hearts’ frantic beating slowed.

He was the first to speak. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes,” she said drowsily.

“It improves for females, with time, and practice,” he said, as he stroked her back. “It’s a shame it isn’t bliss the first time.”

“Is it bliss for males the first time?”

He chuckled. “Trust you to ask that.”

“Ought I not have?”

“Lord, no!” he said fervently, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Ask anything. I love my free-spoken lass. But as to whether lovemaking’s bliss for males the first time? Actually, no. It’s astonishment that it was accomplished at all.”

Now she chuckled, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“But I’m trying to be a gentleman now,” he whispered into her ear. “I don’t want to talk about my past.”

She was silent. “But you do have a past,” she finally said. “How was I compared to…That is to say, how do I—”

“Meg, my heart,” he said, interrupting her. “I’ll only tell the truth. You’re exactly what I want and need. Forget my past. It doesn’t apply. You’re my first and only love.”

She lay in his arms, content, as the caravan
swayed and rumbled down the road. She’d made her bed, and was lying in it. She didn’t know where they were going, or how long he’d stay with her, or what would become of her. She only knew she was with him, and he was her first and only love, too.

“T
ime to wake up,” Daffyd breathed in her ear.

Meg opened her eyes. The interior of the caravan was still dim, but now from the glow of one lamp. She yawned, and reached for him.

“Oh, no!” He laughed, and danced away from the bed. “I’ve just dressed. And so should you. We’re here.”

She sat upright. He was dressed, but no longer in roving gypsy garb. He wore a tight-fitted blue jacket, dark pantaloons, and half boots. His linen shirt was white, she caught a glimpse of a golden waistcoat, and a formal neckcloth was tied round his neck.

She reached for the blanket to cover herself, suddenly feeling shamed.

He sat beside her. His voice gentled. “It’s still me. And still you. No need for embarrassment. Just remember that I’m naked under all this finery, and you’ll do. Now, get dressed. Your horse and cart, along with a note from me, was delivered to your aunts’ house. While he was there, my light-fingered cousin fetched your clothing for you. So put on some finery. We have an appointment. I’ll be back soon, but take your time.”

He rose and strode to the back of the caravan. He looked at her. “Would you want me to send someone to help with your hair?”

She bridled. “I know I look like a wench tossed in a haystack, but I’ve taken care of myself for years, thank you. When you return, I’ll look proper.”

“I want you to look beautiful,” he said. “Since that’s not hard, I’ll leave you, and be back within the hour.”

He pulled back the curtain at the back of the caravan and she got a glimpse of the stars before he left.

Meg rose; noticing intimate twinges and aches she hadn’t had before. She refused to think about it, threw on her shift, and went to the pitcher and bowl on the table. It was filled with fresh warm water. She washed, and began to brush out her tangled hair. Her hands stopped at their task as she wondered where she was. It was night now. So, they’d traveled all day. He’d said he could send someone to help with her hair. Could they be back in London? She listened close. She heard no traffic, and shook her head at her foolishness. It would be bizarre if they’d taken a
gypsy caravan into the heart of fashionable London. It might even be illegal.

Then could they be in some gypsy camp? But he’d said he wanted her dressed well. Could they be back at the viscount’s manor in the countryside? She frowned. It was one thing to be Daffyd’s lover when they were alone. But if she came to the viscount’s pleasure house as his woman, that would set the seal on her disgrace. Meg bowed her head and swallowed hard. This was the path she’d taken, and she had to walk it.

But she wished she hadn’t thrown her life away for love.

And she knew she wouldn’t have had it any other way, because she’d had no life without him.

Meg found a traveling case and the gowns Daffyd’s light-fingered cousin had brought for her. She smiled. Typical. He’d left her simple gowns, and brought only the most extravagant. She chose her coral gown, tied her hair with a matching ribbon, put on her pink slippers, and sat and waited. And worried.

“May I come in?” a familiar voice from outside the curtain asked.

She shot to her feet. “Yes. Of course,” she said, because she didn’t know how to say no. She ducked her head.

The curtain parted. “Why, you look lovely!’ the earl of Egremont exclaimed. “And happy! I’m so relieved. When that madman told me what he was go
ing to do I didn’t know in what kind of state I’d find you. He thought carrying you off in a caravan was perfect. I’d my doubts. I should never have doubted you, my dear.” He took her hand. “Are you ready?”

He was dressed for an evening in London. His eyes were kind and filled with understanding. But she didn’t understand. “Ready for what?” she whispered.

“I shall kill that boy!” the earl said angrily. “Another jest. Or maybe, give him his due, maybe it was just that he wanted me to be the one to ask you. Yes, that makes sense. He’s strangely unsure of himself when it comes to you. My dear,” he said, “I’m here to ask if I may be the one to give you away.”

Her eyes flew wide. Her hand went to her throat. There were too many dreadful things to contemplate at once. “To whom?’ she asked in a whisper. “Give me to whom?”

“I will kill him,” the earl declared. He shook his head, and looked at Meg. “Give you to Daffyd, in the state of matrimony,” he said more softly. “Since you have no father, I’d hoped you would permit me that honor.”

She stared at him.

“I’ve made arrangements for the necessary permits and papers and a special license,” the earl said. “I did the moment he wrote and told me what he was planning, and invited me to be part of it. You could wait until you return to London and use them then. But the wretched boy wants the deed done immediately, if not a minute sooner, and he felt it would take
too long to get to London. He likes the irony of this, and orchestrated the whole of it. Meg, he wants to marry you here and now.”

She digested the information. She raised her head. “I would be proud and honored if you acted as father to me in anything. But I will not marry anyone who hasn’t asked me.”

“Lord!” he said, “That slow top! Of course. Quite right! I’ll tell him.” He left, smiling.

Meg paced as she waited.

Daffyd didn’t ask if he could enter the caravan. He swept aside the curtain and marched in. “What’s this?” he demanded harshly, his voice at odds with his expression. He looked worried. “There’s an impediment? The earl said there’s an impediment. You changed your mind?”

“I’d nothing to change it from,” she said angrily. “You never asked me to marry you, never.”

He looked dumbfounded. Then he grinned. And then he laughed. He took her in his arms, and rocked her back and forth. “Did I not?” he asked. “I asked you to run away with me. I told you it would be forever. I told you I loved you. I compromised you thoroughly. Good lord, Miss Shaw, what else do you want of a poor gypsy lad?”

“You never asked me to marry you,” she said stubbornly.

“Well, then,” he shouted, stepping back and gripping her by the shoulders, “Why the devil did you run away with me? Gads, woman, have you no sense at all?” He shook his head, eased his grip and spoke
in calmer tones. “I’m shocked and appalled, Meg,” he said, with every evidence of both. “You know better than that. Or should.”

“Because I love you so much,” she said. “I couldn’t bear to have you leave me.”

“What a buffle-head you are,’ he said tenderly. “What a bad decision.” He chided her even as his arms tightened around her. “Running off without a promise of marriage? Lying with me without knowing your future? Didn’t the aunts teach you better? Didn’t I? What did you think I meant to do with you? Gads. Don’t tell me. How could you think it of me?”

“I didn’t,” she said, burying her head in his neck. “I didn’t want to think anymore. I just trusted in you.”

“You’d better let
me
see to the raising of our daughters,” he said sincerely.

He stepped back a pace, locked his arms around her waist and gazed down at her. “But I’m glad you were a fool for love, because I love you, Meg. I’ve never said that to a woman, and thought I never would. I know my shortcomings. Heaven help you, so do you. Few men in England had such a dishonorable birth, or led such a disreputable life. But I can learn, and I do. I’ll be entirely respectable for you. You took one step already, can’t you be just a little more disreputable, for me? Meg, will you marry me?”

She nodded. “Yes, Daffyd, I will.”

“Good!” he said, his eyes alight. “Now, I worked on this mad scheme for days. Why wait for London? I thought to marry now, here, just over the border, in Scotland, where it’s legal, and take our honeymoon
in the caravan. That way you can tell our children how it was when you ran off with a gypsy. It would be a better ending to our story than any of the sad old songs. It might start some new, merrier ones.” He sobered. “Marry me, Miss Meg, and now, please.”

“You’ve arranged it so quickly?”

“No, I had a week to plan, and I think I came up with the best for us. Something unforgettable, something amusing and romantic.”

She still couldn’t get over the fact that she’d been about to leave everything she knew, including respectability, for the sake of love. Now it appeared she could have it all, and Daffyd, too.

He frowned at a sudden thought. “Of course, I’m not a couth fellow. I had no upbringing at all. So, I don’t know. It occurs to me now that what appeals to me might seem a clumsy scrambling sort of wedding to you. I suppose it is. What do I know of sensibilities? I could never afford them. But if this is too alien to your feelings, Meg, you don’t have to do it. We’ll turn right around and go back to London and marry properly, in the eyes of Society. I wouldn’t know about that, but you and the earl can arrange it. It’s your wedding, and your decision. It doesn’t matter, so long as I end up with you.”

The reception to celebrate the wedding of the earl of Egremont’s ward Daffyd to Miss Margaret Shaw was magnificent. The earl opened his London townhouse to the
ton
, and spared no expense. The bride was dressed beautifully, her gamine charm won over
everyone, and the groom was as wickedly attractive as could be hoped. The flowers were profuse, beautiful and out of season, as were the hothouse fruits that graced the exquisite menu. Musicians played; there was a ball, and then an after-midnight supper. The guests varied between the influential and the exotic, and made the event the talk of the town for at least a month.

But some in attendance never forgot the actual wedding of the earl of Egremont’s wild young gypsy ward and his lovely bride, the one that had taken place a month earlier.

Not the blacksmith, who married them over the anvil at Gretna Green, though he’d married dozens of runaway couples before. Not the groom’s four brothers, two of his blood and the two of his heart, who’d been summoned and came running, and stood beaming throughout the brief ceremony. Certainly not the earl of Egremont, who was as touched by the event as he’d have been were he the bride’s real father. Nor the grand lady who stood, silent and veiled, at the back of the blacksmith’s shop, to watch her son marry, nor the old gypsy woman who wept where she stood, close to the couple. The other gaily dressed Romany, who came in a string of wagons and caravans to see the event, talked about it for a generation. And the bride’s two bewildered aunts, who’d been carried off in a gypsy caravan to be witnesses, never forgot either.

After the wedding there was drinking and eating on the lawn in front of the blacksmith’s shop, and
dancing under the moon to the tunes of fiddles and drums and squeeze boxes. They drank to the bride and groom, and then to all their friends and family. They even drank to the Baron Osbourne’s runaway daughter in Canada, who was toasted as the “greatest matchmaker of the century.” The celebration didn’t end until dawn.

By then, the wildflower-covered bridal caravan drawn by flower-bedecked horses was long gone down the road.

As the sun rose the next morning, the groom in the bed of the swaying caravan rose up on one elbow and looked down at his bride. She reached up and pulled his head down for yet another kiss.

“Right,” Meg sighed. “Oh, Daffy, you’re right again. It gets better with practice.”

“Good,” he said earnestly, as he bent to her. “We’d better to get to it then. We’ve only got all the rest of our lives, you know.”