Faith (14 page)

Twenty-two

T
he felt him watching her, the weight of his regard dragging her from the depths of sleep. Usually slow to awaken, Faith was suddenly, instantly aware of her husband’s presence. Happiness washed through her, and an unbidden smile reached her lips, but she kept her eyes closed a moment longer, unsure if she was dreaming or perhaps simply wishing.

Gareth watched her stir beneath the covers, saw the soft smile touch her lips, though she did not yet wake. He thought she must be dreaming, and wondered what she envisioned to bring such peace and joy to her face. His chest ached, for
he
wanted to put that smile there, to be the reason she found happiness. Swallowing hard, he looked down at the ground.

Just then, Faith opened her eyes and saw Gareth sitting there, his head quietly bowed. He was shirtless, she saw with surprise, but this time she didn’t look away in embarrassment. Her eyes hungrily took in the muscular expanse of his chest with its crisp, curling dark hair and his broad shoulders that seemed as though they could bear the weight of the world. She ached, she found, to bury her face in his neck, to breathe in his scent, that warm, comforting scent she’d experienced both times she’d slept next to him.

She lifted her eyes to his face again and found him watching her. Their glances locked, hers hungry, his hopeful. And then, without a word, Faith held out her arms.

He was at her side in an instant, lifting and gathering her into him. She made a tiny sound, perhaps a gasp, and Gareth’s mouth was on hers, and hers on his, tasting and feeling and caressing with rising need. He plunged a hand into her hair and eased her back down onto the bed, stretching out beside and above her, his mouth never leaving hers. He licked at her lower lip, and willingly she opened. His heart pounding, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting and tormenting, evoking.

Faith strained closer, aching to touch Gareth with every part of herself, needing him as she had never needed anything before. Her heart thudded in her chest with new and frightening feeling, and still she yearned for something she could not name. All she knew was that she wanted to give herself up, to be swept away in this storm, to lose and to find herself in this man who was her husband. Something white-hot gathered deep within her. She opened her eyes and reached up with trembling fingers to cradle his face in her hands, touched her tongue to his.

Their kiss exploded. Gareth slanted his lips on hers, his tongue plunging in and out of her mouth with primitive abandon. Faith kissed him back, urgent, turning in toward his body, her legs tangling with his. When her knee slipped between his thighs, he caught his breath and pulled her more tightly against him, the evidence of his arousal becoming increasingly apparent.

His hand slipped from the side of her face to settle on the soft mound of her breast, her puckered nipple proudly nudging his palm through the thin material of her chemise. He ached to take that hard little morsel between his teeth, to nibble and suckle at it. He lifted his mouth from hers, intending to do just that, when she sighed and slipped her hands into his hair.

At her touch, Gareth remembered her innocence, and he slowed immediately, his lips descending once more to slide softly across her cheek to her ear. “Faith,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

At the warmth of his breath on her flesh, Faith whimpered and settled even more closely against him. Gareth fought his raging desire and laced the fingers of one hand with hers, then slipped his head down to rest on her pillow, his eyes capturing hers and holding them.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated.

Faith caught her breath, her eyes a luminous silver. She bit her lip, her even white teeth a contrast to the bright pink color left by his kisses. She pulled their clasped hands up, softly kissed each of his fingertips, and spoke. “I want to be your wife,” she said in an aching voice.

Gareth’s heart slammed into his ribs at her words, and he caught his breath at the naked vulnerability and sincerity shining from her eyes. “I would like nothing more than to make you mine, princess,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. For a moment, they simply looked at one another, and Gareth softly kissed her forehead. “But we need to have some things straightened out and understood between us first.”

Faith nodded and waited for him to continue.

“To begin with,” he said, “this is not our home.”

Faith’s eyes softened. “I don’t care where we live, my lord,” she began, stopping when he placed a quieting finger on her lips.

“We have simply been staying here because my home has been uninhabitable up until this point.”

Faith’s curiosity got the better of her. “But who owns this house?”

Gareth raised a brow. “Well,” he said, “I do.”

She frowned.

“This is my caretaker’s cottage, Faith.”

A suspicious look was dawning on her face. “Where is the caretaker living?”

“I’ve yet to hire him.”

Faith looked troubled. “Gareth, I want to be your wife. Even if that means you cannot afford caretakers and stewards and servants.”

He fought back guilt. “Well, that’s just the thing I’ve been trying to tell you, princess.”

Comprehension dawned. Her face cleared and she narrowed her eyes in astute accusation. “You are frighteningly wealthy, aren’t you?” Her lips tightened as if she were suppressing anger, but irrepressible mirth was beginning to dance in her shining gray eyes.

He nodded soberly, though his lips twitched a bit. “I’m afraid so.”

She sighed. “I suppose I’ll be forced to live in some enormous, opulent ancestral mansion,” she continued.

“Do you think you can abide it, love?”

She nodded in mock resignation. “I suppose I can make do, my lord, if you promise not to drape me in obscenely expensive gowns and jewels.”

At that, Gareth finally did laugh, gathering her close to him once more. “I think, my princess, that I’d much rather see your obscenely expensive gowns draped across the floor of my bedchamber.”

That outrageous statement made Faith blush furiously and hide her face in his chest. Gareth stroked her hair a moment and suggested, “Would you like to go see your home, darling?”

He’d called her darling. Not princess. Faith’s heart gave a little flip at the endearment, and she nodded. “Yes, please,” she whispered. “Take me home, Gareth. To
our
home.”

Twenty-three

G
areth took Faith’s hand as they walked down the lane in companionable silence, enjoying the dappled shade and the late-spring afternoon. In many ways, it was as though everything had been renewed, that they were just now beginning to know one another. Faith mostly looked straight ahead, but occasionally she would cast a sidelong glance at her husband, and those fleeting glimpses filled her with pride. He was incredibly handsome, she admitted to herself, and bit her lip to hide a smile.

Gareth caught every look out of the corner of his eye and reveled in them. Once he turned his head to try and catch her at it, but she swiftly looked the other way, pretending an absorbed interest in the antics of a pair of sparrows. Suppressing a laugh, he tugged her close again and gave her a small squeeze around the shoulders.

Faith looked up at him, her eyes bright and happy. “How much farther?”

Gareth pointed. “Just around that bend,” he said. “The drive splits and circles around to meet again in front of the house.” He couldn’t wait to see her first reaction to her new home.

But Faith had other plans. She knelt a moment and pretended to adjust her slipper, hiding the gleeful look in her eyes, while Gareth waited patiently at her side. He reached for her hand again when she stood, but she turned and evaded him, taking a couple backward steps away. She tossed him a jaunty smile. “Race you to the bend,” she challenged, and took off without giving him a chance to respond.

Gareth stood still for a second, amazed by the unexpected spectacle of his normally sedate wife running down the lane with her hair streaming behind her, periwinkle skirts flying up around her knees. He gave a shout of laughter and gave chase, catching her just as she reached the bend in the lane. He swept her, laughing helplessly, up into his arms, spun her around once, and looked into her eyes, breathing hard.

“I love you,” he said.

Faith gazed up at him, utterly speechless, but her eyes held a thousand words. The pounding of her heart had little to do with the unusual exertion. She laid a trembling hand on his chest.

Gareth was surprised to hear himself voice the words, but he didn’t regret saying them. It was true, he thought to himself, and probably had been since the evening he’d held her in his arms and waltzed her down that balcony. Not wanting to force the feeling on her, however, he softly kissed her on the forehead above those luminous eyes, then set her down and turned her toward the breathtaking view of Rothmere. She gasped.

The two forks of the circular drive disappeared to wind through rows of evenly spaced birches and reappeared just in front of the house in the distance. Flowering trees dotted a wide expanse of neatly trimmed grass between where they stood and the manor. Two charming ponds with a small connecting stream lay near the center of lawn, a gazebo with a little dock on the edge of one, a lovely willow on the banks of the other, its branches dipping lazily into the water. A flagstone path led to a quaint little footbridge that arched over the gurgling stream.

With a smile, Gareth led Faith down the path toward the house, enjoying the look of dawning amazement on her face. Rothmere was truly a sight to behold, amazing him even now, though he’d seen it several times since renovations on the facade were completed. Every time he approached the mansion, he was filled with a tremendous sense of satisfaction.

Very few structural changes had been made to the original building, but the difference was nonetheless breathtaking. The deep gray stone had been scoured to clear it of the lichen and discolorations that had accumulated during the years of neglect. A wide set of shallow steps flanked by two tall evergreen trees led from the drive up to the front terrace. Additional sets of stairs curved up to the terrace at the left and the right. Gareth had ordered a new balustrade constructed, as the old one had been weathered and crumbling. The new one was made entirely of marble and polished to a high gloss.

The windows along the front of the house rose almost to the second story, were repeated on that level, and topped by high, curved panes on the third floor. Centered above the massive front door was a circular stained-glass window depicting the Roth seal of a falcon in flight under two crossed swords. It had been done entirely in shades of gray and black, and was Gareth’s personal contribution to an estate long without pride.

Faith stopped in the middle of the small bridge and turned to her husband with shining eyes. “Amanda told us you were seeing to the renovation of your estate, but I had no idea how beautiful it was, Gareth.”

He smiled. “Ah, but it wasn’t when I acquired it, love. What you see now is the result of many hours of hard labor. There’s still a great deal to be done inside, but I had the staff rush to make as much of it as habitable as possible. I hope to move in within a few days.”

Faith bit her lip. “I’m afraid I don’t know a great deal about running an estate this size, my lord,” she admitted.

Gareth bent and kissed her forehead. “Neither do I,” he confided.

Suddenly, Faith felt a surge of happiness. She tugged on her husband’s hand. “Take me inside,” she said, looking like a little girl opening a present. “I would like to see our home.” She pulled him across the cobbled drive and up the front steps to the door. “Do you have a butler yet?” Her smile held more than a hint of fun.

“I’m bringing Desmond from London,” he replied, wondering at her dancing eyes and mischievous grin.

She turned the knob and peered inside briefly, then pushed Gareth through the opening. “
You
be Desmond,” she said, then firmly pulled the door closed in his astonished face. She waited a moment, resolutely ignoring the fact that a couple of the gardeners had stopped working to stare.

Gareth opened the door and peeked out at her. She gave him an indignant look and hissed, “I didn’t knock yet!” He promptly closed the door.

Faith raised her hand and knocked firmly.

Nothing happened.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

She was just reaching for the doorknob when it was wrenched open from the inside. “Keep yer pants on, snapped Gareth. “I may be slow, but I ain’t deaf.”

Faith stared uncertainly. “Gareth?”

“I’m being Desmond,” he whispered. “You’ll love him,” he added with a little wink.

Faith recovered her composure and stuck her nose in the air. “I’m here to see the Marquess of Roth,” she informed him in an imperious voice.

“He ain’t in,” Gareth snarled.

Faith stepped out of character. “Yes he
is,
” she corrected in a stage whisper. “You have to invite me in.”

Gareth didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll let ‘im know yer here, Miss…?”

“Ackerly. Miss Faith Ackerly.”

“Well, come in, Miss Ackerly, even though yer not expected.”

Faith stepped inside with regal grace, then abruptly dropped the charade and looked around in undisguised awe. “Gareth,” she breathed, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling three stories above. “It’s beautiful.”

Gareth’s face softened as he looked around with pride. “It’s the first thing that has ever completely belonged to me,” he said softly. “I know it’s entailed, and will always stay with the Marquess of Roth, whoever he may be. That, however, is who I am at the moment, and this"—he spread wide his arms—"is what I’ve done.”

Faith stepped up to him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “
I
belong to you, my lord,” she said in a quiet voice.

As she felt his arms close around her, it occurred to her that Gareth was leaving the renovation of Rothmere as his mark upon the world. He was improving his title—a title that would be handed down to the child she would someday bear for him.

The thought made her blush hotly. She kept her head down to hide her flaming cheeks as he led her through the various rooms of the house. She was so consumed with the direction her thoughts had taken, she barely heard him telling her the history associated with different objects throughout the estate.

Gareth watched his wife nod and smile with a distracted air during the tour, but she didn’t comment. His heart fell a little each time she asked no questions and displayed little interest in the things that had become such a source of pride to him. He began to fear that she was humoring him—and not at all well. For that reason, when they passed servants busily working to make the place habitable, despite the fact that he knew them all by name, Gareth didn’t introduce his quiet bride to any of them.

By the time they reached the master bedchamber, a slow anger had begun to build inside him. Was she so much better than he that she could dismiss so easily all he had accomplished? He let go of Faith’s hand and walked inside ahead of her.

“This is my room,” he said curtly and strode to the doors that led to the bathing area that connected his chamber with hers. He walked through it and had almost reached Faith’s chamber when he realized she was no longer behind him. Infuriated beyond reason, Gareth turned on his heel and stalked back into his bedchamber. He found Faith standing frozen, staring fixedly at the enormous bed that dominated the room, her cheeks flushed bright red. “Faith?”

Lost in thought, Faith didn’t hear him say her name. She recalled her conversation with Grace about physical intimacy, and knew that when she moved into this home, Gareth would expect her to fulfill her marital obligation. She recalled the tender way he’d held and kissed her that afternoon. It didn’t seem possible that something so wonderful could end up being painful, as Grace had said it might, the first time. Without warning, her mind flew back to her childhood, and she was once more lost in the maze with the spider, only this time, it wasn’t the chambermaid’s breast upon which Duncan was feeding…it was hers. She shuddered.

“It appears you don’t find your home quite what you expected, princess.”

Jolted from her thoughts by his taut voice, Faith raised confused eyes. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she stammered. What he’d said hadn’t registered, but the tone of his voice had, and Faith found herself suddenly even more off-balance.

“No, Faith,” he said with resignation. “I am the one who is sorry.” He saw her glance again at the bed and quickly look away, biting her lip. He felt a small pang of regret as he realized she still did not want to share a bed with him, that they weren’t going to have quite the life he had envisioned. His anger abruptly dissolved, leaving a lump in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m certain you are tired,” he said in a quiet voice. “Let’s go home.” Regret surged through him again.
Home.
Somehow, he doubted she would ever feel this house he had painstakingly renovated and modernized for his marchioness was her home.

“Gareth?” Faith’s voice was small as he walked past her to open the door. He stood silent, his face impassive, and patiently waited for her to precede him from the room. Confused, she stopped next to him and looked up. “Gareth, have I made you angry?”

Gareth looked down at her upturned face and for a moment his heart wrenched. He resolutely repressed the emotion, because he would not force her to feel things she naturally did not. “No, Faith. I am not angry.”

She stared at him a moment longer, felt the distance between them, and drew her eyebrows together in a little frown. As always, when presented with something she didn’t understand, it seemed more prudent to retreat into herself to analyze and assess, so she said nothing.

Gareth watched his wife carefully. She hadn’t responded to his declaration of love, a fact he’d attributed at the time to shyness or surprise. Now, given her ever-increasing levels of disengagement, he read far more into her silence. “Shall we?” He bowed a little and indicated the door.

Faith gave him an odd look, then turned and left the room without a word.