Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (39 page)

The idea of Donovan being inside of her brought a curious
feeling of awe and exaltation.

It was an unrivaled, inexpressible sensation to be stroked
by him--from within.

Intimacy. She understood the mystery of that word now, and
the inherent delight behind the term. Elizabeth hugged him and kissed his neck.
He arched his shoulders up, his face seeking her lips, and then kissed her with
an intensity that was delightfully overwhelming. Donovan captured her mouth and
at the same time glided deep inside of her. After several such earthy thrusts,
she instinctively lifted her hips, arching in an attempt to match his sensual
movements. It was like a dance. He was being so careful, so gentle. She sensed
his restraint and she loved him for it. It was still a little uncomfortable,
but the pain was giving way to a more urgent rising pleasure.

He stopped kissing her so deeply, as his breathing made it
difficult to keep their lips joined. His muted moans told her he was nearing
his own explosion. As she concentrated wholly upon Donovan, on meeting his
thrusts and giving him the pleasure of her body, a sudden onslaught of
unexpected desire moved through Elizabeth. She was swept up with him on a crest
of intense pleasure more forceful than the timid shivers she experienced during
his earlier love play.

Donovan’s body stiffened. She felt him shudder and heard his
gasp of completion echoing her own. He remained still, hugging her as their
skin sealed together in moist delight.

Pulling back slightly, he gazed into her eyes for a moment,
and then kissed her. So gently, so sweetly, it made her toes curl. When his delicious
kiss ended, he murmured, “It will get better for you, my sweet girl, I
promise.”

Better? Elizabeth thought, with a purr of pleasure. Aside
from the pain at his entry, she couldn’t imagine this becoming any sweeter than
it had been just now.

*******

She is exquisite. Aphrodite. His own sweet Venus, lying
naked in his arms.

Donovan was lying on his side, watching his sleeping bride. Her
face was tilted toward him on the pillow. Her hair fanned out in vibrant waves
of silky copper like a halo circling the head of an icon. Damn. What else could
he say?

Blushing innocence beguiled the rogue
. It sounded
like a bad line from a romantic poem.

How many hours had he spent planning her seduction? How many
nights had he lain awake imagining all the ways he wanted to make love to her?
And all the arguments he thought to use to convince her he could be trusted to
guide her past her fear of intimacy.

Donovan had been determined it was not going to happen.

And then . . . Lizzie happened. She seduced him.

Chapter
Thirty Four

As soon as Elizabeth finished breakfast Donovan insisted she
get dressed.

He kept pushing her as she dallied over her wardrobe. He was
insensitive to the fact that she was deliberating over her appearance on the
occasion of being allowed to go downstairs again after a week of bed rest.

She lingered over a generous selection of dresses he’d
provided as part of her trousseau, a thoughtful gesture on his part when they
married as her family would never have been able to see her turned out properly
as a countess. There were many beautiful silk evening gowns, and several light,
elegant day dresses of muslin. All of them were in the newer Empire fashion,
with high waistlines that came just beneath her bust and with full, billowing
skirts. The heavier silks were more appropriate for special occasions like
balls and formal dinners, but Elizabeth couldn’t help admiring the rainbow of
jeweled hues lining her wardrobe.

“Come now, it’s been half an hour with you mooning over the
contents of that closet.” Donovan stood behind her. “Pick one or I’ll be forced
to conclude you enjoy your confinement and carry you back to bed for more
lovemaking.”

 Elizabeth smiled. “Truly, sir, I would not mind the delay
as much as you appear to.”

“Don’t temp me.” He muttered. “Come, now I have everything
arranged just so.”

 She narrowed the choices to two. The sprigged muslin with
indigo stripes or the solid apricot muslin with ivory lace flounces at the
sleeves and hem?

“That one.” He made the decision for her, hastily grabbing
the apricot gown from its hanger and holding it out for her. “It brings out
your coloring to best advantage.”

Half an hour later, Donovan guided her up the stone steps to
the balcony near the gnarled old tree and the rock wall. A red silk canopy had
been erected to form a shelter against the mid-day sun. Golden tassels secured
the curtains at each corner, forming a luxurious outside room with golden red
walls on opposite ends. A chaise sat beneath the canopy, along with a small
table and two chairs. A pitcher of lemonade and glasses were on the table,
several pastries, and a crystal vase of exotic purple orchids.

“Where did you get this?” She remarked, awed by the opulent
silk tent glowing red in the sunshine as Donovan backed up, and led her beneath
it with both his hands clasping hers.

“In Ceylon. It was the fashion for Pashas to use them when
picnicking with their favorite concubines, so they might woo them with complete
privacy. The canopy will protect your fair skin from the sun. You loved being
outside when we were courting. I have fond memories of us walking through
fields hand in hand in the evenings. You wore your hair undone and you were
lovelier than the most celebrated debutante in London.”

“With chapped hands and a patched, outdated gown?” Elizabeth
completed his idyllic picture. “You must have been bewitched by the fairy folk,
Mr. O’Rourke!”

“I was beguiled by beauty devoid of guile or artifice.” He
countered, leaning close to capture a kiss. His lips were sweet yet possessive.
He lingered, tasting her, nibbling at her lower lip with gentle teeth, teasing
and leaving Elizabeth yearning for more after he released her and encouraged
her to recline upon the silken chaise.

She sank back in a leisurely repose and listened to the
birds singing nearby, the insects thrumming, and the breeze rustling the leaves
of the tree behind them. The sound of waves crashing on the rocks beneath the
cliff and the salt tang in the air was exhilarating. She inhaled the fragrant
scent of musty earth mingled with the crisp sea air.

An iridescent blue butterfly lighted on Elizabeth’s arm. The
wings shimmered like miniature jewels. Another settled on her knee. A third
blue blur hovered in front of her face. As if by magic, the tent was instantly
swarming with blue butterflies as they danced about her in a swirling wave.
Recalling her grandmother’s stories, she closed her eyes and silently opened
her heart to the earth spirits bidding her welcome here.

When Elizabeth opened her eyes, the insects were still
swirling about her in a vortex of rising and cascading wings. The footmen were
staring, open mouthed. Donovan, too, stood immobile, watching her. As a
scientist, he would be fascinated by this unusual display of insect behavior.
Elizabeth remained still as the creatures glided about her in silent wonder.

Finally, her charming ambassadors danced upward as one fluid
body and swirled away.

“Thank you.” She was touched by his thoughtful gift of a
picnic in the gardens.

“This isn’t your gift.” Donovan replied. “O’Leary, go
retrieve our guest.”

Donovan pulled the chair close, sat down and took her hand,
his manner becoming grave. “I have a surprise. It is also shocking.” He paused,
studying her for a moment. “You must prepare yourself, dearest.”

Elizabeth was confounded by his solemnity. “You say it is
wonderful, yet you’re so stern. I am all amazement, my lord. And I am not made
of spun glass. Please, do tell.”

He paused, trying to find the right words. “Sheila told me
of Kieran’s disappearance when you and I were courting. I discovered recently
that he is alive. He resides in Basseterre. He saw our wedding announcement in
the paper, and he’s come here, to meet you.”

Elizabeth’s mind tumbled through the years. She couldn’t
believe it. Mama mourned Kieran’s death all her life, and Sheila, too. “But . .
. how?”

“Fletcher sold him as an indenture on the London docks.”
Donovan explained, as she gazed at him with her mouth agape. He kneaded her
hand as he explained Kieran’s story.

The sound of gravel crunching on the cobbled stones heralded
the approach of their visitor. A tall, slender man walked beside Gus along the
garden path. His brown broadcloth suit was simple, befitting a merchant. Clean
white stockings and buckled shoes provided a more civilized contrast to the
military boots Donovan and his men went stomping about in.

She glanced furtively at the man’s downcast face as he
treaded the uneven cobblestones banked by tall weeds on either side of the
narrow path. His face was clean shaven, his features refined, almost too
delicate for a man. His coppery brows arched up slightly, and his lips were
turned up in the mere hint of a smile. He possessed hair the same fiery shade
as hers. He kept it restrained in a neat queue in a longer style still popular
among older men and arrogant ones like her spouse, who didn’t adhere to the
dictates of fashion.

Enchanted; that would be the word to describe him. He
possessed the majesty of a Faerie prince emerging from a hidden glen. She
imagined him with a cloak of velvet green and a circlet of gold on his brow, a
legend conjured from the forest mists in all of his glory.

“Good morning, Kieran.” Donovan spoke and the image faded as
reality replaced her idyllic vision. Her husband stepped forward and extended
his hand.

“My lord.” The man replied in a softened Irish burr.

The man transferred his sea green gaze to her. Elizabeth
stared at him with awe.

“Lizzie,” Donovan crouched beside her. “This is Kieran
O’Flaherty. Kieran, I present my wife, Lady Elizabeth Beaumont, Countess du
Rochembeau.”

Kieran bowed before her. “I am honored, my lady.”

The sound of wind rustling leaves in the nearby tree went
unchallenged. It seemed the world was holding its breath, not merely Elizabeth,
as she stared at her kinsmen with wonder.

She smiled at the ethereal stranger. “Mr. O’Flaherty.”

How often she’d longed for him as a child. At eleven, she
pretended he wasn’t dead as they claimed--he was just away at school. Many of
her friends had had older brothers away at Eton so it was easy to fashion a
fantasy brother as an escape from the constant fear of living with Captain
Fletcher. One day, she would tell herself, Kieran will come home and I won’t
have to be strong one anymore. I won’t have to pretend I’m not afraid for
Michael’s benefit.

But Kieran couldn’t come home to hide with her in the
closet, hold her hand and tell her not to be frightened. Kieran couldn’t come
home because he’d been sold by their stepfather, lied to about his mother’s
death, and sent halfway across the world at the tender age of nine.

“He hurt you.” Elizabeth blurted out, as the pain of the
brutal betrayal choked her throat.

“No, dear lady.” He responded. “Don’t weep for me. I was the
fortunate one. I was sold to a man who treated me as a beloved son. You
suffered the greater part of Fletcher’s evil.”

“You were treated well?” Her voice was reduced to a
high-pitched squeak.

“Barnaby is a kindly old grandfather.” The soft burr
replied, as the image before her remained blurred behind a veil of tears. “I
didn’t know you existed. If I had, I would have come for you. I wouldn’t have
left you to deal with that bastard alone. ”

Was it magic? This fantasy--this childhood game that had
helped her survive the darkness?

“Please, my lady, do not cry.”

“Come now, Elizabeth. This is no time for tears. Fletcher
did not succeed in destroying either of you.” Donovan’s arm wound about her as
he sat close.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I did not mean to make her cry.” The
Irishman apologized.

“Shhh,” Donovan’s big hand moved up and down Elizabeth’s
back in a comforting mien as her tears continued, despite her best efforts to
vanquish them. “Lizzie, my sweet. You’ll have plenty of time to become
acquainted.”

“Sh-sh—“ she whimpered, “Sheila would be s-so r-re—“ She
hiccupped and sputtered. “Relieved.” She gazed adoringly at her brother.
“Sheila never stopped mourning you.”

“Sit Kieran, please.” Donovan intoned, when the gentleman
remained poised before them with his head bowed. “Gus, pour some lemonade.” He
directed Elizabeth’s guard.

Kieran did as Donovan bade, as did the sailor-cum-bodyguard
he’d appointed to keep Elizabeth safe in his absence. The scraping of chair
legs and clinking of glasses as the refreshments were served helped mask the
sound of Elizabeth’s frantic snuffling. Donovan pressed a handkerchief into her
palm as Gus handed him a glass of lemonade.

Kieran nodded to the footman and then to Donovan as he took
his offering. “My lady, may I ask what happened to our grandmother? I always
worried what became of her, but as a boy thousands of miles from home I could
do nothing but hope that fate had dealt with her kindly.” He hesitated, as if
it pained him to speak of it. “When did she actually die?”

“I told him what I knew.” Donovan interjected, gazing at her
with assurance as he knew quite well she had no memory of Sheila’s death.

Elizabeth shivered in the warm sunlight. A paisley shawl was
placed over her shoulders. She looked up, surprised to see Chloe hovering
behind her. Chloe smiled and pressed her shoulder. Elizabeth reached up to
squeeze her friend’s hand.

Fortified by Donovan’s calming presence and Chloe’s stalwart
affection, Elizabeth spoke. “I don’t recall how Sheila died. It was a few
months ago, before my wedding.” She looked to Donovan, uncertain. At his nod
she continued. “I cannot remember the past two years of my life, with the
exception of being abducted. Sheila was our nanny—more than that. She loved us.
She used to tell me stories about Ireland, of Father, and of you.”