“With all my heart,” Merryn whispered, reaching up to kiss him.
Garrick patted the pocket of his coat. “I brought the special license with me. Was that very presumptuous of me?”
“Frightfully,” Merryn said. She looked at him under her lashes. “When?”
“I thought tomorrow?” Garrick said. “If you are in agreement and if the vicar of Kilve agrees.”
“What do we do until then?” Merryn said, more softly still.
“Well,” Garrick said, “you need to take a bath for you have almost been drowned in a quicksand and threatened, and sustained any number of shocks and it is remiss of me to have kept you from your bed for so long…”
Merryn smiled. “I bespoke a bedchamber but it was the last one available,” she said. “I am afraid that you will have to sleep in the taproom.”
“And have Mrs. Morton assume that we were already in marital difficulties?” Garrick said. “I thank you, no. I have no wish for her to press on me her sovereign cure for impotence, nor for my alleged shortcomings in the bedroom to be broadcast to all of her acquaintance.”
Merryn was betrayed into a giggle. “She could help you,” she said. “She told me in the carriage that she has a range of remedies to cure all ills.”
“Thank you,” Garrick said, “but I do not recall you having any complaints before.” He scooped her up in his arms and strode to the parlor door. Out in the hall, Mrs. and Miss Morton were lighting their candles at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Morton gave a little shriek to see Merryn once again clasped so tightly in Garrick’s manly grasp.
“Good night, Mrs. Morton,” Merryn called as Garrick took the stairs two at a time.
“I do not believe those two are married at all,” she heard Mrs. Morton hiss to her daughter. “And they call themselves the Quality!”
U
P IN THE PRIVACY
of a tiny chamber under the eaves of the inn Garrick stripped the blue gown from Merryn’s body, peeling off her underclothes with gentle hands, shaking out the sand that seemed to have penetrated every fold of her dress and clung to her skin, making it salty and rough. He concentrated very hard on the practical task, trying to ignore the delicate curve of her breast as she stepped out of her shift, trying to blot from his sight the luscious arch of her hips, the long, pure, tempting line of her bare leg. He had been quite enough of a brute keeping her downstairs in the parlor, cold and filthy, while they talked. He felt racked with remorse. The best way to make it up to her, he thought, was to see her safely into bed, make sure she was wrapped up warm and tight so that she did not catch an ague, and then retire to the taproom for a long, frustrated wakeful night alone and Mrs. Morton’s impotence aids be damned. This was no time to be thinking of ravishing Merryn. He would wait until she was recovered from her ordeal, wait until they were wed, wait until he had the marriage lines and they were respectable as the Duke and Duchess of Farne. He looked at Merryn as she rolled the stockings down her legs and felt the heat rise over his body, felt the color sting his cheeks and his eyes burn and he turned away so that she did not see the evidence of his arousal.
A hipbath stood in the corner, the scented water steaming. It smelled divine of lavender and herbs and he heard Merryn give a little greedy moan. She skipped across the room, all rosy skin gleaming in the firelight, and slipped beneath the water with a sigh of pure physical pleasure. Garrick gritted his teeth hard and turned his back. Unfortunately that brought the wide bed into view, with its fresh white sheets turned down so very invitingly. Garrick stomped across to the window and stared out into the snowswept darkness. That was better; a cold winter night should chill his ardor.
There were splashes, more sighs of bliss and then Merryn’s voice, deceptively innocent. “Garrick, please could you help me wash my hair? I cannot reach…”
With a tortured sigh Garrick turned back and walked across to the bath, dropping to his knees beside her. Her skin was pink from the heat of the water now. Her shoulders gleamed wet and pale in the firelight, the shadows leading down to the hollow between her breasts and lower. Garrick’s mouth dried to sawdust. He wrenched his gaze away so violently it hurt.
Merryn placed one hand on his arm, compelling him to look at her. Slowly, very slowly, her blue gaze came up and met his. Her eyes were burning as deep and rich as sapphires with a flame in their depths. The moment spun out like a golden thread between them and Garrick thought he had never been so aware of her, of every inch of her beautiful body begging for his touch. And then she smiled at him and his heart expanded under the radiance of it and she held out her arms to him and he swept her up out of the water and laid her down before the fire, following her down. For a while they lay there, his breath shortening, his arms about her, his palms flat against the smooth skin of her back. Then she gave a little sigh and raised her lips to his and he kissed her with passion and hunger, as though he were starved. Her hands were moving over him now, tugging at his shirt, eager and clumsy with haste. She pressed her lips to the point of his shoulder and bit down, making him groan, then feathered tiny kisses across his chest and lower over the taut skin of his belly. She was all quicksilver and fire and impatience, fumbling with the fastenings of his breeches. They defeated her and she made a soft sound of irritation and he covered her hands with his, showing her how it was done. He kissed her again, the passion and greed easing into tenderness, running his hands into her hair, nipping at her throat and lower to her breast, tugging the nipple to a tight aching peak. Her eyes were closed, her breathing quick and sharp as she held him, digging her fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders, sliding her hands down his naked back. He kissed the hollow of her throat and the cleft between her breasts. She tasted sweet as honey with the tang of salt still faintly on her skin and he licked the underside of her breast up to the nipple and heard her moan. He watched the play of the firelight over her skin, stroking her in graceful curves, tracing the lines of her body until she arched beneath his touch.
“I love you,” he said, kissing her again with aching gentleness and saw her smile. She reached up and touched his face.
“Garrick, my love…”
He carried her to the bed and laid her down on the cool white sheets, kissing her belly, gently parting her so that she lay naked, open and spread to him. With shaking hands he cast off the rest of his clothes and came over her and slid into her with triumphant tenderness. Now at last there were no shadows to darken their lovemaking and no secrets between them. Garrick poured out his love for her and felt Merryn meet it and return it, matching his movements with her own, wider, deeper, faster, stroke for stroke, equal at last until they plunged into brilliant ecstasy and he claimed her at last in all love and honor. They slid into the deepest and most peaceful of sleeps and Garrick wrapped his arms about Merryn and knew he would never let her go.
I
T WAS ALMOST NOON
when Merryn woke and then it was only because it sounded as though the inn was in complete uproar. She bent over to kiss Garrick softly and he murmured in his sleep, his mouth curving into a smile of love and gentleness. They had made love again and again through the night, Garrick possessing her with a triumphant passion that had awed her to her soul.
The sounds from the inn courtyard became louder and more chaotic still. Throwing on her nightdress—and how had that come to be left in so tangled a heap on the floor—Merryn hurried to the window and stared out.
The courtyard was in chaos with no less than six coaches all busily disgorging people, portmanteaux, servants, silver, furniture, wall hangings, brightly wrapped presents and one small white dog. Merryn gasped.
“Darlings!” Joanna appeared beneath the window, staring up. Behind her stood Alex with Shuna in his arms. A crimson hood framed Joanna’s face. There were snowflakes in her hair. She looked, Merryn thought, like a fairy princess. Merryn, her hair tousled, her feet bare, wearing no more than a crumpled robe, immediately felt shabby. Garrick came to stand behind her, dropping a kiss on her hair.
“I am so pleased that you are here!” Joanna called. “Are you wed yet?”
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and then the door burst open. With great presence of mind, Garrick scooped Merryn up and tossed her back into the bed, sliding in beside her. A moment later Tess stood in the doorway. Behind her was Alex, Shuna and the Duchess of Steyne, her tiny upright figure wrapped in the most extraordinary traveling furs. Then a tall, dark and shockingly handsome man appeared. Merryn thought he looked vaguely familiar. She heard Garrick gasp.
“Ethan?” he said, and Merryn heard the uncertainty and the pleasure in his voice, the hesitation of a man who had been accustomed so long to being alone and now could not quite believe what was happening to him. A dark-haired woman ran into the room and threw herself against Garrick’s naked chest, planting a kiss on his lips in a way that made Merryn feel absurdly possessive.
“Garrick darling, I never had the chance to thank you,” the woman said. She spun around on Merryn, catching her in her arms.
“Merryn!” she said. “You lucky, lucky girl!”
“Lottie!” Merryn said, dazed. “What on earth—”
“I sent for them,” Joanna said. She had appeared in the crowded room now. She was looking slightly sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said.
Garrick grabbed Merryn’s hand in his. “Of course not,” he said. “But…”
His face, Merryn thought, was a perfect reflection of everything that she was feeling: bewilderment, astonishment and dawning joy.
“But I don’t understand,” Merryn said. “What are you all doing here?”
“We have come to celebrate your wedding, of course,” Joanna said. “And then we thought we might travel on to Dorset and open up Fenners for Christmas.” She looked at Garrick. “Did you not tell her that we planned to follow you down?” she asked.
“I apologize,” Garrick said smoothly. “We had rather a lot to talk about.”
“And to do, by the looks of it,” Lottie said, her bright brown gaze taking in the tumbled sheets of the bed.
“But you hate the country,” Merryn said to Joanna. “You and Tess and Lottie—none of you can stand it.”
“Well, this is different,” Joanna said. “It is Christmas and you are newly wed, Merryn darling, and there is much to celebrate.” She looked at them. “You
are
married, aren’t you?”
“Not yet,” Garrick said.
“Then you had best get your clothes on and get down to the church, nephew,” the Dowager Duchess proclaimed. “At once!”
“Give us an hour,” Garrick murmured, drawing Merryn back under the sheets.
“A half hour,” the Dowager declaimed. “And then I will come back.”
Garrick, ignoring them, rolled Merryn over, and started to kiss her. “Out!” he said briefly, over his shoulder. “If you please, Aunt Elizabeth,” he added punctiliously.
There was a gasp from the Dowager. The room emptied as though by magic.
“I am sorry,” Merryn said, looking up at him. “It seems that when you marry me you marry my family as well.”
“I am content,” Garrick said. He bent his head to kiss he again. “Very content,” he said, as his lips left hers.
“I really did not want my sisters at my wedding,” Merryn said, miserably. “And Lottie as well! They are all so beautiful and stylish—”
“I didn’t notice,” Garrick said. He stripped the crumpled nightgown from her body. “You know I can see no one else when you are by.” His hands started to move over her, with love, with tenderness. “Darling Merryn,” he said, “shall we leave them all here and elope?”
Merryn giggled. “It is very tempting,” she said.
“But poor recompense for the love they have shown us, I suppose,” Garrick said. He raised himself on one elbow. “Will you mind very much being at Fenners for Christmas?” he asked. “I know it may be difficult for you—”
Merryn silenced him with her fingers against his lips.
“It will not be difficult,” she said, “if you are with me.” She pulled him down into her arms. “It is a time for new beginnings,” she said.
EPILOGUE
Christmas Eve
“M
R.
C
HURCHWARD HAS
sent us a letter,” Merryn said. It was very late on the night before Christmas and she was sitting before the fire, wrapped in her new husband’s arms. The room was warm and intimate, lit only by the glow of the flames and the one candle that burned on the dresser. Apple logs and pine scented the air.
Garrick was in a state of delightful undress in just his shirt and pantaloons. Merryn was wearing the most delicious little concoction of gauze and lace that Tess had given her as a Christmas present. She had pressed it on Merryn in advance of Christmas Day, whispering that Garrick might enjoy it, too, and indeed its effect on him had already been most gratifying. Merryn felt beautiful and very, very loved. It was lucky, she thought, that Joanna had had the delicacy to give them an entire wing of Fenners to themselves. Although she suspected that the rest of the family might be celebrating Christmas with its promise of love and renewal and hope for the future in much the same way that she and Garrick had.
She unfolded Mr. Churchward’s letter and it rustled a little as she spread it out and started to read.
“He apologizes for disturbing us with business matters at such a time as Christmas,” she said. She paused. “Poor Mr. Churchward—is there a Mrs. Churchward, do you think, to share the festive season with him?”
“If there is I doubt she can be as happy at this moment as I,” Garrick said. He raised a strand of Merryn’s shining hair to his lips and kissed it before he let it slide softly through his fingers. “Must you read that?” he murmured, brushing the hair aside, his lips moving to the soft skin of her neck.
Merryn pushed him gently away. “Listen. He says that Tom Bradshaw has disappeared.” A shiver touched her. She dropped the letter into her lap. “Do you think he will ever come back?”
“I’ll have him arrested for attempted murder if he does,” Garrick said, so ferociously that Merryn felt reassured. She picked up the letter again and started to read. Then she stilled. Garrick felt her sudden immobility and looked up.
“What is it?” he said.
“Mr. Churchward—” Merryn stopped. Her voice was a little rough with emotion. “He says that he has had a letter from Mrs. Alice Scott of Shipham about her niece, Miss Susan Scott.” Her breath caught. “He says that Mrs. Scott wishes to discuss the possibility of us talking together to see if Joanna and Tess and I might meet Susan—” Her voice broke. Her eyes filled with tears. “You wrote to her, didn’t you?” she whispered. She pulled back and stared into Garrick’s dark eyes. They were soft and so full of love that she thought her heart would burst. “Even though they rejected your pleas you wrote again,” she said. “You did not give up.”
Garrick took her hand in his. “It mattered to you very much,” he said gruffly. “I had kept Susan from you so long and I could not forgive myself.” He pressed a kiss against her fingers. “I would have tried again and again,” he said, “so that I could give her back to you. I wanted to make you happy.”
Merryn touched his hair in the most tender of caresses. “It was the nicest thing you could possibly have done,” she said. “The best present you could give me.”
She bent to kiss him, her tears salt against his lips. Garrick drew her down beside him on the rug and kissed her back and then everything became very sweet and pleasurable as the letter was forgotten in the outpouring of love and healing and happiness between them.
Much later, Merryn lay with her head pillowed on Garrick’s bare chest and her fingers entwined with his.
“It is almost midnight,” she whispered. “Almost your birthday, Garrick Charles Christmas Farne.” She felt his chest move as he laughed and turned her head to kiss him. “What can I give you,” she said, “in return for your generosity to me?”
She felt Garrick’s arms tighten about her with a fierce protectiveness. “I have everything I could ever want here in my arms,” he said and Merryn rolled over to look at him, utterly awed by the fierceness of the love she saw in his eyes.
Garrick scooped her up and carried her over to the vast four-poster bed then went across to snuff the candle. He picked up the letter, somewhat crushed and creased by now, smoothed it out and read the final paragraph.
“‘I must also take this opportunity to apologize for an oversight on my part,’” Mr. Churchward had written. “‘I realize that when I sent the Fenners estate papers to Tavistock Square I mistakenly enclosed a copy of Lord Fenner’s will which should have remained confidential in my office. I do hope,’” Mr. Churchward had underlined, “‘that the perusal of this did not cause any difficulties…’”
Garrick paused, a smile starting to curl his lips. He let the letter drift down onto the table. Mr. Churchward, he thought, never made mistakes. He would have known that Merryn would find the reference to the miniature and would set out to unravel the truth. Mr. Churchward, Garrick thought, was a very unlikely Christmas angel but he had given them a gift beyond price.