His wife.
Even their arrival at the hotel had been a part of a memorably wonderful day. As the door to their suite had closed behind them, he had felt that he was home, that they were. That anywhere they were together was home. It was a moment of realization that had warmed him to the heart.
He wished he had not called her a friend as he had suggested it was time they made love. It was not a very romantic word to use on such an occasion, was it? Theywerefriends, especially as she had insisted that he take her down from the pedestal he had created for her and see her as a person on a level with himself. But surely they were more than just friends.
Of course they were. They were lovers. But even before they were, when they had still been out there in the sitting room…Even then he had loved her. And it seemed to him that she loved him just a bit too.
It seemed incredible that Elizabeth couldlovehim. Did she? Inthatway, that once-in-a-lifetime way? That see-someone-across-a-ballroom-and-instantly-know sort of way? He smiled.
It was how he loved her. It was how he had loved her since Christmas Eve.
But inevitably he remembered something else. Something he had pushed ruthlessly from his consciousness for more than ten years. It had been bubbling back up recently and had broken into the forefront of his mind tonight.
Tell me about your father.
Innocent enough words. And he had begun to tell…until he could no longer do so. He had been unable to tell her or even, perhaps, himself. For he had always told himself, always believed, that it was his mother who was the chief source of pain in his life. And there was enough truth in that belief, heaven help him. But his father…
Did you love him?
Yes, he had. He had loved Wren first and foremost and then his father. After Wren had left and supposedly died, he had turned all his love upon his father and excused his unresponsiveness as just part of his natural reserve. He had interpreted his father’s agreeing to his going away to school as an expression of love.
And perhaps he had been right. Perhaps he had been right about everything. And if it was true that his father had sent for Aunt Megan to come and take Wren away, perhaps he had done that too out of a sort of love.
Or perhaps he had been wrong about everything. Those words spoken to the vicar after Justin’s funeral…
He would not think of them. He must think about them. He must confront his mother with his unanswered questions. Or…
Or someone else.
He would think about it tomorrow. Or later today, he supposed he meant. In the meanwhile, though this was no longer his wedding day, it was still his wedding night.
There had been sheer joy in the first part of it, in the disrobing and lovemaking and falling asleep in the certain knowledge that they had set the pattern for all the rest of their days—and nights. They had become each other’s family yesterday and last night. It was up to them to make it a happy family even if there were only ever just the two of them.
He wanted her again, he discovered, just as he had warned her he would when he offered to remove to the other bedchamber.Or, on the other hand, I may,she had told him when he had started to warn her that he might want her again tonight if he remained in her bed. And he had been given the distinct impression that she meant it.
He moved her hair aside from her face and feathered kisses down from her temple to her jaw. She muttered and stirred and turned her head until their mouths met.
“Mmm,” she said, and stretched, her body against his. She had a beautiful body—slim and shapely and perfectly proportioned.
“Mmm indeed,” he murmured against the side of her neck beneath her ear, and he felt her waking up.
He moved over her and mounted her. She was warm and compliant and hot and relaxed in her depths. He loved her with quick, hard strokes as she awoke to the rhythm and matched it with inner muscles and the motion of her hips. And when he released into her, he knew that she was with him at the pinnacle and crested it with him.
He moved to her side, slid an arm beneath her neck, and turned her against him while he drew the covers over them.
“I warned you I might be troubling you again,” he said.
“It was a great, vast trouble,” she said, laughing softly and warmly into the hollow between his neck and his shoulder, causing him to shiver with contentment.
And for all his resolve to remain awake to savor his discovery of love and family, he sighed and slid back into sleep.
•••
She was so glad he had been adamant about reserving the suite of rooms at Mivart’s Hotel rather than agreeing to spend the night with her at the house of South Audley Street. And she was glad she had backed him up when the rest of the family had tried to talk him out of it.
Having breakfast together at the small table in the sitting room felt cozy. It felt like being at home even though it wasnothome. They sat down late after lying in bed, talking, after they awoke. And they ate their meal in a leisurely fashion and ordered more coffee to prolong the meal while they talked and laughed over frivolities. They could put behind them the intense, wonderful emotion of yesterday and simply enjoy being together without any time constraints or the chance that they would be interrupted by the return home of relatives—herrelatives.
“I need to go out,” he said eventually. “I need to pay a call.”
