Her breath trembled across his cheek. It would have been wiser to release her, to set her back upon her seat and preserve what civility remained between them. But wisdom had no voice in that moment.
He cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her lower lip. The world seemed to still. And then, without thought, he bent and kissed her.
It was not gentle at first—hunger had a way of blunting finesse—but when she yielded, her lips soft beneath his, hisrestraint returned. The kiss deepened slowly, their breaths mingling, the sound of the wheels and the creak of leather fading until there was nothing left but her warmth and the heady pulse of blood in his ears.
When at last he drew back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes luminous. He rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, though his voice held no real apology.
“Why?” she asked, her tone unsteady—breathy.
“Because I should not take advantage?—”
“If you did, so did I. Do you think, if I didn’t wish for you to kiss me, that I would not say so?”
A smile curved his lips then. “No, Eliza. One of the most charming things about you is that you will always tell me precisely what is on your mind.”
“Then let me tell you this… I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted you to kiss me again since the first time you did so.”
“In the corridor,” he stated, though it was a question.
“No… in my dream. In what I am fairly certain was the same dream—or some variation, thereof—that you had,” she clarified. “And very much the way I wish you would kiss me again. Right now. But I know that is unwise. I know that we should both be more aware of our surroundings and more circumspect in our behavior.”
Her honesty struck him silent. He wanted to say more—to promise her that this would change nothing, that he would behave with honor—but the lie caught in his throat. He could no more forget the taste of her lips than he could forget his own name.
He released her slowly, settling her once more upon her seat. She turned her face toward the window, but he saw the faint smile that curved her mouth, and it haunted him for the remainder of the journey.
“If it were not for the potential dangers we face, Eliza… we would be spending this journey in a very different fashion,” he said. “And you would have your kiss. And possibly a great deal more than that.” ____
Two hours later, they were in Lincoln, the cathedral rising before them in all its solemn majesty, its spires piercing the morning mist. Once inside, the matter was quite speedy and almost perfunctory. The common license was paid, the ceremony commenced and all of it happened in a blur of words and vows that ought to have had much more pomp and circumstance to them. Gabriel’s voice had rarely wavered in battle, yet it nearly did as he repeated the solemn phrases that bound their lives together. When Eliza’s hand trembled in his, he tightened his hold, grounding them both.
Afterward, they signed the register, witnessed by another couple there for essentially the same reason—a hasty wedding. And then it was done. She was his wife, by law and by God. As they exited the church, he caught her smiling ever so slightly.
“What’s that for? The smile,” he clarified.
“I just thought that the good Reverend Dodd will be utterly appalled that you’ve bound yourself to the local witch.”
His own lips quirked in response. Thinking of the Reverend’s disapproving stare directed toward the Ashcombe women during the previous Sunday’s church service, he imagined that the man would be more than simply appalled. In fact, he suspected they would hear a great deal from the Reverend about it.
They did not linger long. Instead, they crossed the main thoroughfare to the nearby inn, a small and discreet establishment overlooking the cathedral’s courtyard. The innkeeper, well accustomed to newlyweds of higher station, greeted them with obsequious warmth and led them to a privateroom upstairs that also had a small sitting area where a serving girl was already laying a meal for them.
As the maid left, he surveyed their lodgings. From the meticulously polished furnishings and the cozy braided rug to the fire that burned bright and welcoming in the small fireplace. Gabriel closed the door behind them, the latch falling with a quiet finality.
“It’s a nice meal for an inn, certainly better than the fare I’ve found at many others. Are you hungry?” He glanced up and saw her shake her head in response. She appeared nervous. “Wine, perhaps something warm?—”
“No,” Eliza interrupted softly, shaking her head. “If I must wait for nightfall… my nerves will undo me before the sun goes down.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and saw the truth in her eyes. She was frightened, yes, but not of him. It was anticipation, the trembling edge between fear of the unknown juxtaposed with desire and her innate curiosity.
He crossed to her in two strides, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Eliza,” he said quietly, “I will go as slowly as you wish. And only so far as you wish.”
“I know,” she answered. “I trust you, Gabriel. If I did not, we would not be here.”
Her courage humbled him. He reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips. The simple touch sent a shock through him. Slowly, he began to undress her, each movement careful, reverent. Her cloak fell first, then the ribbons of her bonnet. When he touched the fastening at her bodice, he hesitated; she nodded once, and he continued.
The laces loosened, the gown slipping from her shoulders. Beneath it, her shift was a whisper of white, translucent where the firelight touched. His hands shook as he brushed a strandof hair from her neck, the softness of her skin warming his fingertips.
He kissed her there, at the base of her throat, and felt her pulse flutter beneath his lips. She drew in a breath but did not step back. Encouraged, he kissed higher, tracing a slow path to her jaw, to her lips.
