Martha Schroeder (26 page)

“Your father believed as you do, angel, but he loved you more than he loved some abstract idea. He did not want to see you hurt by marrying someone unacceptable to the world you lived in.” Gideon heard his own words and almost smiled. He believed them, but it had taken him years to come to terms with the duke’s hypocrisy. Now he loved Amy enough not to want her belief in her father shattered.

She leaned back against him, and he could feel her draw strength from his words. She would learn to see her father as a man rather than a stainless hero, and that would be a good thing. Perhaps when they had children of their own—

“Amy, will you marry me?”

She looked at him with doubt in her eyes. “Are you sure it isn’t because you and my father think it is seemly now where it was not before?”

“I have told you that I know you were right. I know I am still the same person I have always been. Gideon Falconer and Francis Sinclair are only names.” He gazed down at his indomitable, adorable Amy. “I need you beside me, whatever I am called.”

“I have never made a secret of how I feel about you.” For a fleeting moment Amelia wished she had behaved as Society would have had her do—been contrary and coy, flirted with a fan, and flaunted the admiration of other men. Gideon had always been so sure of her regard. He had never had to try to win her. He had only to be who he was, and she was his.

“It is the only thing that has seen me through sometimes,” Gideon said, burying his lips in her hair. “No matter what happened, or what others said about me, I knew that you loved me. You had taken one look at a beaten, bloody, ugly little ruffian, and decided to care for him. That was the miracle, Amy. Not your father’s acceptance or the school’s. Not even the food or the warmth. It was you.” His voice, which had grown lower and lower as he spoke, cracked on the last words. “You have always been my miracle.”

Amelia’s heart seemed to melt within her, and love flooded her body. Gideon had finally uttered the words she had longed to hear for so long. He loved her. And her love, which had sometimes seemed such a burden to her and even to him, had in fact been cherished from the first moment she had bestowed it on him.

“It was always a gift, Gideon. My love was never meant to tie you down or coerce yours in response to it. But I am so glad that you felt it, too, at that very first moment.” She raised her face and took his between her hands. “That is the miracle for both of us, perhaps.”

“Will you—can you—take a chance on me, Amy? I don’t know if I can be a marquess. Or a landowner. I don’t even know if I can be a son and a grandson. I’m not sure I can be a good husband or father.” He took her shoulders in his hands and gazed down at her. The quilt fell off them and pooled on the floor. “But I can’t do any of it without you.”

“You can do anything you want to do, Gideon.” She slid her hands up to cup his cheeks. She was so sure of the truth of what she was telling him. He had to believe her. “You have always done whatever you had to do. Now you have a choice, and you can make it and make it work.”

He shook his head, and she saw apprehension in his eyes. “No, I haven’t a choice, not really. If I accept the name and the title, there are responsibilities that go along with it.” There was a bit of the trapped, frightened little boy she had first encountered in his face. “I don’t know how to be a marquess, Amy.”

“There are many different kinds of marquesses. Some of them never see their estates or their families. They’re in London writing laws or in Arabia buying horses or doing any one of a hundred things.” She smiled and kissed him. “You can be your own kind of marquess.”

“Just as I was my own kind of foundling?” A faint half smile gave her hope.

“And your own kind of gypsy.” She smiled at him, her faith in him so strong she was sure he could feel it through her hands that still bracketed his face. “You can be the marquess of cavalry!”

He laughed then, and she breathed deeply, sure that it would be all right, whatever they decided to do. “Not without you. Will you marry me, Amy? You say you love me, but you haven’t said yes.”

“Wel-l-l-l...” She pretended to consider for perhaps five seconds. “I do love you, but I have been thinking. Perhaps you’re right, and I should try to take the Duke of York away from Mary Ann Clarke. He is a royal duke, after all. I’m not sure I want to settle for a mere marquess!”

He stood then, with her still in his arms and whirled her around, while he laughed. “Have you forgotten how thoroughly you were compromised at the Abbey? I thought you were going to insist that I save your reputation after spending all that time alone with you. And you in only your petticoats!”

He stopped short and let her slide through his hands until she was standing on the floor, her head spinning a little from love and happiness. Then, with infinite gentleness and love, he bent to kiss her. His hands skimmed down her body and then gathered her in. Still, his clasp was soft as moonbeams. He would not coerce her. He would not even seduce her. She was free to send him away, to save her love until his ring was on her finger.

As his lips freed hers, she rejoiced in her freedom, in the care and respect that made the choice hers. She looked deep into his eyes for a moment, and then flung her arms around his neck and held him tight.

“I love you, Gideon Falconer—Drake—and I will marry you and love you until the end of my days!” Her arms tightened around him fiercely.

“Thank God for that!” he murmured. “Now I can do anything.”

“Anything?” She raised her face to his. The blood was pounding thickly through her veins, and she could feel the heat from his body seeping into hers.

“Anything but leave you.” His dark eyes had grown hot and heavy-lidded with what she knew was desire. For her.

She ran her tongue over her lips and pulled his head down for her kiss. “Good,” she said. “Then, I won’t have to tie you down.”

“That is something about which I may never be able to jest, angel,” he said. He held her hands and gently caressed the wrists that still bore faint red marks from the bonds Blakeley had tied.

“I cannot be sorry for anything that led me to this moment,” she whispered, and he smiled and kissed her again.

Then he laid her on the bed and followed her down, kissing her and caressing her, leaving a trail of fire where his hands touched. She trembled, and he instantly drew back, looking at her in concern. “Are you cold? Am I too rough? I have wanted you for so long,” he went on as she smiled and shook her head, “that I cannot trust myself to be as gentle as I would wish. You must tell me if—

“Stop thinking I am fragile.” Her hands came up to caress the skin bared by the open throat of his shirt. “I am not the silly, breakable little thing you think I am.”

“I know,” he gasped. “Oh, I know. Remember, I saw you with Blakeley, I know what a firebrand you are. Fearless. Beautiful.”

He kissed her again, and she found she felt both fearless and beautiful. Her lips opened to his, and the sensations he evoked gave her a further sense of power. This was what she had felt so briefly in the dower house, she though exultantly. This was what she had craved without knowing what it was.

Her arms tightened around him, as his hands began to explore her with such gentle tenderness that she almost wept. He loved her. She had no doubts. His touch told her how he cherished her, adored her. And under those clever hands she began to burn with a passion she would never have believed herself capable of. She craved the touch of his bare skin beneath her hands, and began to work his shirt out of his breeches, until she began to stroke the smooth muscles of his back.

Ah, she sighed. That was it. Closer. Skin to skin. As if he read her thoughts, or shared them, Gideon whipped his shirt off over his head and then gently, holding her gaze with his, raised her night rail and removed it

They fit. As different as night and day, hard and soft, smooth and rough, still they fit. Nature’s comment on the relationship of men and women. The thought drifted across Amelia’s brain and was gone in the wake of passion that swept over her with Gideon’s hands, Gideon’s lips. Oh, God, she was drowning in sensation, and all she wanted to do was sink into it and savor every drop. He stroked her, loved her, readied her, and when at last he entered her, she felt as if she were finally complete. Gently, quietly murmuring of his love all the while, Gideon brought her to a soft, complete understanding of what love was.

Afterward she found her head cradled on his chest, and she listened, half-awake, to the pounding of his heart.

“Amy?” His voice was tentative. She raised her head to look down into his eyes. To her surprise, they were filled with doubt. “Are you all right? I mean, I didn’t hurt—

She understood. “No, no. It was wonderful, Gideon. I thought for a minute that it would never work, but it was—you were—” She groped for a word. “Wonderful,” she said again.

He grinned at her, reassured and, once again the confident lover. “Thank you, angel. So were you.” His arms went around her like a vise, and he hugged her close, his body warming hers. “I hate having to leave you and creep back to my room. Say you will marry me without delay.”

“Of course,” she said. “We can marry here, as soon as you like. I have no family. None I wish to invite anyway,” she added, thinking of Eustace and Hortense. “Jane is the only friend I want to have with me. And your family is here. Perhaps we can be married before we return to the city. That will certainly give the town tabbies something to meow over.”

“A splendid idea. I will ask Sir Richard—Uncle Richard, I suppose I must learn to call him—tomorrow morning if there is any way of obtaining a special license, so we do not have to wait for the banns to be read.” He leaned over and kissed her, his hand stroking her hair. It was lovely, she decided, lying next to the one you loved, talking like this after making love. She was going to love being married to Gideon.

“Do you dislike it here so much?” Amelia hoped that his transition to Drake Sinclair, Earl of Mountjoy, would be easy. But that wouldn’t happen if he left before he’d gotten to know his new family.

“No, it isn’t that Although I do not know what is going to become of me. Once removed from the cavalry and from being Gideon Falconer, I’m not sure who I am or what I will do.” He tightened his arm around her. “You are the only constant in my life. Pray God you do not stop loving me.”

“Never. Even your terrible condescension when you were fifteen and came home from Eton for Christmas couldn’t make me change my mind—or my heart.” She turned a little toward him, loving him more in the aftermath of lovemaking than she had ever thought possible. “So you can’t expect that a change of profession will do so.”

“I hope not.” He tucked the sheet and blanket firmly around her shoulders, then, too, her hand. “I don’t think I can leave them, Amy. Not after we just found each other. I am beginning to believe that it isn’t a dream, that I may really have a family after all.”

“I think that will make them very happy.”

“And you? Will you be happy here do you think? It won’t be London. Though we can go there whenever you want. I don’t want to bury you, angel.” He smiled at her. “Well, actually I do. I’d like to keep you all to myself forever, but I know that you will want to go to London, see your friends.”

“And you? Can you be happy here, Gideon? It will be very different from London and from the regiment.” She was a little worried that he was going to be sorry if he changed his life too drastically.

“If you are here with me, I think I will. I think a new challenge is what I need to keep me from becoming bored. And learning about being a landowner with tenants and crops and God knows what else should keep me busy for the foreseeable future.” He kissed her and felt her, warm and loving, pressed against his side. “The sun is going to come up in a very short while, angel. I think I hear the clink of coal scuttles already. So unless you want to start life at Southbridge in the midst of a scandal, I had better go back to my room now.”

Amelia pouted a little but eventually let him go. She watched with appreciation as he put his clothes on and moved toward the door. He was about to open it when he came back and kissed her once again. “I hate to leave you when you look so rosy and warm and well loved.”

“If you don’t stop fishing under the covers, I won’t let you leave.” She pulled his head down for another kiss.

“I am leaving now,” he said, grinning at her gasp as he caressed her breast one last time. “Truly.” He rose and tiptoed to the door. “I love you. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

She grinned at him. His face was turned back for one last glimpse of her when he walked into the hall and headlong into Sir Richard.

Chapter Twenty

Sir Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “You have just returned from an early morning—or late evening—constitutional with Lady Amelia?”

“My promised bride and I were making—wedding plans.” Gideon crossed his arms across his chest and glared. His implacable stance dared Sir Richard to say anything more.

The older man bowed. “My sincere felicitations. She is not only brave and beautiful but kind and loving as well.”

Gideon’s answering smile was as bright as the dawn. “Yes, she is all that and more. I am the luckiest man in the world this morning.”

“What have you decided to do about the other change in your life?” Sir Richard took Gideon’s arm. “If you are not still sleepy, perhaps we might cajole a crust and some coffee from Cook. I would like to try to make my peace with you, if I can.”

Gideon shook his head. “There is no need. Amy helped me to see that nothing that has happened can change who I am. A name and a title really make very little difference after the streets and the hussars.”

They descended the stairs together and made their way to the kitchen. “So long as you do not blame me for catapulting you into a new family and a new life. I never stopped to ask what you wanted.” Sir Richard’s smile was rueful. “I am glad to have you as a nephew, Gideon. I may have as much trouble thinking of you as Drake as you will.”

“No matter what anyone calls me, I am who I am. And,” he added with a sheepish grin, “Amy loves me.”