The envelopes were in no particular order and her heart squeezed as she began sorting through the multitude of letters and often small scraps of papers. And as she did so, her throat tightened.
Bills, reminders, and vowels.
It wasn’t until she’d nearly finished going through them all that she came across what she was looking for.
She was just unfolding the document when Luke entered through the back door and lowered a large sack of flour onto the floor.
She read through the familiar certificate a second and then a third time. Luke leaned over her, one hand resting on the table as he read it as well.
“Is this going to be a problem?” she finally asked, pointing at the blank space beside her own signature.
“It could be.” His breath whispered near her ear. He exhaled and rose, squeezing her shoulder. “But I won’t allow it to be.”
Naomi glanced at him, puzzled. “How?”
His jaw was set as he rose to his full height. “I need to speak with the local vicar, in confidence. This situation could prove to be delicate.”
Chapter Fourteen
Five days later, having written to Blackheart about the license, and with his remedy for Naomi’s predicament well underway, Luke experienced a small amount of relief, even knowing his time at Milton Cottage was coming to an end. He would ensure she did not need protection even after he returned to the front.
He’d spent his days completing the more pressing repairs to the house, and his nights in Naomi’s arms. How had he ever lived without her?
The fates had been kind to them though, and her maid had stayed away longer than originally expected. Never in his life had he experienced such contentment.
The end of his time here was nearing but he refused to focus on anything but her. Until the day he had to depart, he would lavish his affection on this woman—this soft, determined woman lying beside him—this woman who had captured his heart.
As the orange light of the sun crept into his chamber, he turned his head and soft hair tickled his chin. But that he could wake up every morning to the sweet floral scent of Naomi—tucked against one another like two spoons in a drawer.
“Mm…” The caress of her voice was all the encouragement he needed to slide his hands over her round belly to between her legs.
As soon as he could assure Naomi and her child’s security, he would not be able to delay his departure any longer. The voice of his conscience had become increasingly annoying.
He closed his eyes, dipping his face into her hair, and imagined he heard the distant clomping sound of horses’ hooves approaching.
Being with her was heaven. His hands skimmed over her thighs, intent upon giving in to the demands of his cock. It had had a mind of its own despite a vague awareness of rolling wheels creaking along the gravel drive, heralding the imminent arrival of one or more carriages.
And then, God help him, voices outside had him shooting off the bed and scrambling in search of his trousers.
Because if he wasn’t mistaken, one of the speakers sounded suspiciously familiar. Of course, Blackheart would act most efficiently. He ought to have expected him sooner.
Naomi’s startled eyes would have had him laughing if he’d not been dragging his shirt over his head so that he could tuck it in and fasten his breeches.
Instead, he only took a moment to capture her with one arm before she could locate her night rail.
“Good morning,” he growled against her mouth.
“Luke,” she whispered. “We can’t.” But she didn’t pull away. She just went right on kissing him, sending tiny bursts of joy exploding in his chest. He wasn’t used to this ultimate sense of satisfaction. He’d known carnal pleasure in the past, but only as a means for existing. He’d been mostly intent upon surviving.
The pounding on the door, however, had become loud enough to be more than an annoyance. He stole one last taste and then handed over her night rail, which had been caught up along with his trousers, and ran a hand through his hair.
“Who would come so early?” Naomi was still whispering and this time, he couldn’t bite back his grin as he reluctantly crossed barefoot to the door.
“I have my suspicions. Nothing for you to worry about. Don’t come down until you’re ready. And don’t worry,” he reminded her as he slipped out of the hallway and downstairs.
When he finally unbolted and then opened the door, the face on the opposite side was a familiar one. Because by now he easily recognized the sounds of Blackheart’s carriage from halfway across England. It was as though his brother instilled his own brand of arrogance into everything that existed in his domain.
Standing tall and straight, Blackheart appeared languid even while he waited impatiently on Naomi’s recently refurbished porch. Another uncanny ability of his.
