The Defiant One (27 page)

Though she eyed him with concern, Amy knew better than to try and persuade her husband to ride in the coach.  The major's pride had been sorely wounded; he would ride his stallion, and none of them would try to talk him out of it.

"All right, let's go," Charles growled, guiding the big horse, who was almost tiptoeing in his eagerness not to unseat his wobbly master, back toward their own coach.  Try as he might, though, he couldn't get any speed or fire out of the big steed.  "'Sdeath, not you too.  I've got a wife to coddle me, I don't need a damned horse doing it as well!"

Andrew and Celsie exchanged amused, relieved glances; then, satisfied that Charles was going to be just fine, they followed him, Contender, and Amy back toward the coach.

~~~~

They rested for several hours at a roadside inn, changed horses, continued on, and just before dawn of the following morning, finally pulled up at the tall iron gates of Rosebriar Park.  Though Celsie urged her new in-laws to visit for a day or so, they were both eager to press on for their home some ten miles outside of London.  Celsie and Andrew bade them good-bye, and stood at the gates watching until the coach, still accompanied by Charles on horseback, faded into the darkness.

"I do wish they'd stayed," Celsie said ruefully, reaching down to gently pull at Freckles's floppy ears.  "It's been a long journey, and he really ought to be resting, not riding."

Andrew made a scoffing noise and dismounted from Newton.  "Of course he should be riding.  He's a toughened soldier, not a baby.  Besides, Contender will take care of him for the rest of the way home, and Amy will take care of him once he's there.  He'll be fine."

"You think so?"

"Yes, but I don't know about that Eva or Evil or whatever the devil her name was.  Once Lucien finds out about the robbery, there'll be hell to pay, and he, unlike Charles, won't grant her the benefit of the doubt — or any advantages — just because she's a woman."

"Knowing Eva, she wouldn't want him to.  Ah, but still . . . can't you just imagine?  The duke of Blackheath versus Eva de la Mouriére.  Now
there's
a confrontation I'd love to witness . . .  from behind suitable protection, of course!"

"She wouldn't have a chance against him, much as I wish it otherwise."

"Oh, I don't know . . . I think I'd put my money on Eva."

Andrew only smiled, for he knew his brother all too well.  He handed Newton's reins to the footman and sent the two servants, along with the coach in which were piled his belongings, on toward the house, leaving him and Celsie alone at the end of the drive.  Then he turned and offered his elbow to his new bride, wanting to make this last part of the journey only with her.  Adjusting his pace so the old dog could follow, he began to walk.

The first blush of dawn was already beginning to plant roses in the gloomy eastern sky.  As they moved slowly up the drive, Esmerelda bounding ahead to explore her new home, Andrew felt a strange sense of peace and homecoming that was as surprising as it was welcome.  Here he was, beginning a new life as a married man.  Here he was, with a woman he actually enjoyed spending time with, a woman whose silken skin and warm flesh he couldn't wait to possess all over again.  Here he was — chained in matrimony but free of his Machiavellian brother forever.

Perhaps fate had dealt him a winning hand, after all.

A chilly breeze came up, stirring the fading leaves of the tall, graceful chestnuts that lined the drive.  He lifted his face to it, watching the sky lightening to the east, the bellies of the high clouds that slept on the horizon shimmering with brushstrokes of brilliant crimson fire.

Celsie paused with him, and Andrew, after a moment's hesitation, slid his arm around her waist, drawing her close.  Together they watched the birth of the new day, their first as husband and wife.  He was happy.  He was at peace.  And his bride didn't stiffen or try to move away, but actually stayed there, as content to be near him as he was to be near her.  Maybe, just maybe, this friendship thing was going to work after all . . .

Though Andrew knew as well as anyone that friends didn't keep secrets from each other.

"So much for wedding nights," he said wryly.

"Well, you can't say we didn't have an unusual one.  Instead of being robbed of our innocence, we were robbed of the very thing that caused us to lose it."

"My God, don't remind me of that.  I think my heart stopped when you got out of the coach and walked up to that she-devil."  He shuddered.  "I don't know many people who would have had the courage to do what you did, let alone the wisdom to take charge and relinquish the potion to that bloodthirsty witch."

"I had to," she said, obviously pleased but a bit embarrassed by his open compliment.  "Besides, I could tell just by looking at you that you were about to do something reckless, brave — and foolish.  I couldn't just allow you to throw your life away like that."

"By stepping in, you probably saved it.  You know that, don't you?"

"Well, someone had to step in."  She grinned.  "After all, you
men
certainly weren't handling things very well!"  She sobered then, her eyes going warm and soft as she gazed up at him.  "Did it really scare you, Andrew?  That is, my confronting Eva?"

"Zounds, yes!"  He cleared his throat and then, in a lower, more controlled tone, "Yes."

"Why, you almost sound as though you care about me."

"Whatever made you think I do not?"

"You don't want me taking up your time, you don't want me in your life, you don't want me at all —"

"Stop right there.  I
do
want you.  And if I could predict the reaction I'd get, I'd take your hand right now and show you the physical evidence to prove it."

"You mean you don't need the aphrodisiac?"

"Men don't need aphrodisiacs."

She laughed, though he noticed her cheeks went suddenly bright with color.

Besides," he added, "I'm glad to see the last of that stuff."

"You're not going to try and get it back?"

"Get it back?"  He shook his head.  "No.  I've decided I don't
want
it back.  Its discovery was an accident, it was of little benefit to science, and the fact that I haven't able to duplicate it, let alone remember what went into it, would only have made me the subject of ridicule from the scientific community.  Oh no, Celsie, I see things clearly now.  It was the cause of nothing but trouble from the very first, and I'm well rid of the stuff."

"Or most of it, anyhow.  There is still that vial in your pocket . . ."

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten about that."

"I haven't."

He glanced down at her, one brow raised.  She blushed and looked away, though she moved her body so that his hand, which had been around her waist, slipped to the small of her back.  She laid her head against his shoulder.  Gently Andrew stroked the base of her spine through the sleek satin gown, then let his hand move out over the curve of her bottom.

She didn't move.

Only closer.

He turned her so that she was facing him, and gently holding her arms, looked down into her tired but smiling eyes.  "Tell me, Celsie.  Do you want your wedding present before or after what remains of our wedding night?"

"Ummm . . . that all depends on what the remains of our wedding night have to offer," she murmured, with a coy little blush.

"What would you like it to offer?"

"You —" the blush deepened and she looked up, searching his gaze — "but only if you're not too tired and eager to get to bed."

"I
am
tired and eager to get to bed, but I can assure you, madam, that once there, sleep will be the furthest thing from my mind."

"Is it the furthest thing from your mind, now?"

He smiled slowly.  "Indeed."

She gave a breathless, self-conscious little laugh.  "Listen to me!  There must have been permanent aftereffects from that potion after all.  I'm behaving like some sort of wanton."

"Are you?"  He grinned.  "Do explain."

She opened her mouth, shrugged, and began digging at a stone with her toe, her cheeks as bright as the sunrise.  "I want to go to bed with you — as your wife.  I want to consummate our marriage.  I want to know you as a woman knows her man, not as a friend, not as an acquaintance, and certainly not as a partner in resentment."  She quit worrying the pebble and instead started stroking Freckles's head, at a level with her knee.  "I want all that, Andrew, but I'm embarrassed for wanting it, I'm not quite sure
why
I want it, and when all is said and done, well . . . well, I guess I'm just a little jittery."

He reached down, and ever so gently, lifted her chin with his finger so that she was forced to meet his gaze.  He smiled, cradled her face in both hands, and tenderly stroked her flaming cheeks with his thumbs.  "I know you're nervous.  We don't have to consummate it tonight, Celsie.  Or even tomorrow night.  We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other."

As hard as it had been to say the words, as difficult as Andrew found the idea of waiting another hour — let alone another day — to get inside her body, he had expected her to be pleased that he was being so considerate.  Instead, her brows came together and her eyes darkened with worry and hurt.  "Are you saying you'd be content to wait a lifetime to consummate our marriage?"

"Hell, no."

"Good," she said, visibly relieved, "because I don't want to wait that long, either.  In fact, I don't even want to wait until tomorrow night."  She stood on tiptoe, put her lips to his ear, and whispered, "I want to do it
now
."

Her suggestion bypassed Andrew's brain and went straight to his genitals.  He laughed, not quite believing what he'd just heard.  "You
do
?"

"Yes."  She went back down on her heels, her eyes glowing with coy shyness as she looked up at him through thick, tawny lashes and embraced his waist with her hands.  She held his gaze.  Let her hands slide downward.  And now he felt her palming him through his breeches, testing his hardening bulge.  "
Now.
"

Andrew sucked in his breath.  Already he was a slab of stone down there, pushing against the protesting fabric of his breeches.  God help him.  She wanted him. 
She wanted him now
, and this had nothing to do with the damned aphrodisiac!

"Andrew?"

He couldn't take any more.  His hands cupping her buttocks, he pulled her so close that even through the voluminous fabric of her petticoats, he could feel her pelvis pressing against his erection.  The sensation inflamed him all the more, tightening his groin, causing his heart to pump madly.  He kissed her.  She made a sighing noise in her throat and returned the kiss, her tongue eagerly seeking his own, her hand now roving up his neck, her fingers tunnelling through his hair.  Still holding her bottom, he pushed his fingers against the heavy satin of her skirts, trying, failing, to find the junction of her thighs. 
Damn these hoops.  Damn these petticoats.
  Finally he lifted her petticoats, slid his hand between her legs, and quickly manipulated her to a gasping climax.

"Oh, God," she murmured, burying her face against his chest and panting as she clung to him.  "I . . . I think we'd better go inside."

"Now."

"Oh, yes. 
Now
."

She gave a shaky little laugh.  He lifted her head with one finger and kissed her.  Light glowed behind his eyelids, and opening his eyes, he found that around them, everything seemed to be holding its breath as the landscape turned to molten gold.  Wanting to treasure this moment of rare joy before he brought her inside and spent the morning making love to her, he drew back, turning her so both could watch the sun as it finally rose from its bed.  And here it came, a brilliant ball of fire, higher, and higher . . .

Andrew bent his head to kiss her once more — and from just behind came the slow, rising sound of thunder.

"How odd," he murmured, his lips brushing her sunlit nose, and then her mouth, his breath warm against her cheek.

"What?"

"The fact that it's starting to thunder when the only clouds in the sky are high and distant and peaceful."

"I don't hear any thunder," she said on a sigh, her arms going around his neck, her breath mingling with his as she raised her lips for his kiss.  "Though I certainly
feel
some!"

"What do you mean, you don't hear it?" Andrew asked, frowning and pulling back as the noise grew alarmingly loud now, rising in crescendo and volume without break and sounding quite unlike any thunder that
he'd
ever heard.  The hairs on the back of his neck rising, he turned his head to look over his shoulder — and saw a huge silver monster sailing straight over the treetops toward them.

He gave a hoarse cry of terror and instinctively threw Celsie to the ground as it passed overhead, covering her with his body until the deafening roar peaked and rolled and finally grew distant.

When he lifted his head, his skin was pale, his face damp with sweat, his body shaking.

And Celsie was staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.

"Andrew?" she whispered, in a tiny, nervous voice.  "Are you . . . all right?"

Chapter 23

"No," he said with sudden sharpness as he got to his feet.  "No, I'm
not
all right."

And with that, he spun on his heel and stalked off down the drive toward the house, leaving Celsie standing there with Freckles and staring after him in confusion, dismay, and hurt.

"Andrew!"

He kept walking.  He paused some fifty feet away and turned to look at her, fists clenched at his sides, his very stance stiff and defensive.  His face was terrible.  "Leave me be, Celsiana.  Leave me be while I try to figure out a way to tell you just what sort of monstrous freak you've married."

She took a step toward him; he extended an arm, palm thrust out, as though warding off one who might catch the plague. Then, and only then, did he turn and continue on toward the house.

Celsie could only stand there in confusion and disbelief.  Everything inside her bade her to run after him and demand an answer.  What was wrong?  Why did he keep
doing
this, to her, to their blossoming friendship and now, to their marriage?  This wasn't the first time he'd acted strangely, was it?  Her mind raced back over the past several weeks.  There was that time at de Montforte House in London.  There was his behavior during the sword fight with Gerald.  And there was the evening of her charity ball, when he'd looked up at the ceiling, his eyes strangely distant, and then fled —