He settled his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. And felt that there was no further need of words for the moment. It was as he remembered it the night they made love. They could communicate more perfectly through the silence than through the imperfection of words.
“I have a confession to make,” he said at last. “I dreaded having a letter from you to say you were with child, and yet I looked for that letter and hoped for it. You see how in my selfishness I would have made you suffer?”
“I cried when I knew I was not,” she said.
He laughed softly and turned her face up to his with one hand at her chin and kissed her deeply and lingeringly.
“We will have you with child just as soon as can be,” he said. “Tonight maybe?”
“Tonight?” She was laughing against his neck.
“On our wedding night,” he said. “Is it too soon?”
“Tonight?”
“We can wait if you want,” he said. “We can have a planned wedding. We can have it in London if you wish, with half thetonin attendance. I daresay even the king would come if we invited him. But I would rather have it today, Fleur. We could spend our first night here in your cottage. Do you have a guest room for Pamela?”
“Yes,” she said, touching his lips with one light finger. “I have dreamed of having you here with me, Adam. My arms have been so empty without you and my bed so cold.”
“They will not be empty tonight, my love,” he said, “and the bed will be warm. And you will not need to dream any longer. It will all be reality.”
“I won’t need your letter beneath my pillow tonight,” she said.
“Or the pianoforte either,” he said, and they both laughed and hugged each other.
“Oh, Adam,” she said, “I have been so lonely without you. It has seemed such an eternity.”
He turned her face up again and they smiled at each other.
“No longer,” he said. “No more loneliness, Fleur, for either of us. Only our marriage and our children and Willoughby and growing old together. Only our love forever.” He lowered his head and kissed her mouth softly. “And longer than forever.”
On sale August 2006
Simply Love
IT WAS NOT THAT HE FELT INTIMIDATED, BUT Sydnam Butler was nevertheless moving out of GlandwrHouse into the thatched, whitewashed cottage that lay in a small clearing among the trees not far from the sea cliffs on one side and the park gates and driveway on the other.
As steward of the estate for the past five years, Sydnam had lived in his own spacious apartments in the main house, and he had always continued to live there even when the owner, the Duke of Bewcastle, was in residence. Bewcastle had always come alone and had never stayed for longer than a few weeks at a time.
But this coming visit was going to be altogether different from what he was accustomed to. This time Bewcastle was bringing his wife with him. Sydnam had never met the Duchess of Bewcastle. He had heard from his brother Kit, Viscount Ravensberg, who lived on the estate adjoining Lindsey Hall, that she was a jolly good sort, who had been known to coax laughter even from such a perennial iceberg as Bewcastle.
Sydnam was somewhat shy with strangers, especially when they were to be sharing a roof with him. And no sooner had he grown accustomed to the idea that the duchess was accompanying Bewcastle on this particular visit than he received another brief letter from his grace’s secretary to the effect that all the other Bedwyns were coming too, with their spouses and children, to spend a month or so by the sea.
Sydnam had grown up with the Bedwyns. They had all been playmates together, despite a broad range in their ages—the boisterous Bedwyn boys; the fierce Freyja, who had always refused to be treated as a girl; and Morgan, who though the youngest of them all and female to boot had usually found a way to be included in the frolics; and the Butlers, Kit and Sydnam and their late eldest brother, Jerome. All except Wulfric, now Bewcastle, in fact.
Sydnam was not intimidated by the prospect of their coming to Glandwr, then. He was only a little overwhelmed by it. They were all married now. He had met some of their spouses—Lady Aidan, Lady Rannulf, the Marquess of Hallmere—and he had found them all amiable enough. And they all had children now.
Sydnam was not a recluse. As Bewcastle’s steward he had to see all sorts of people on business. There were also neighbors who liked to consult him on farming issues and other matters to do with the land and the community in which they all lived together. And he had a few personal friends—the Welsh minister and the schoolmaster in particular. His acquaintances were almost exclusively male, though. There had been one or two women during the past five years who had indicated a willingnesss to pursue a relationship with him—it was no secret, he supposed, that he was a son of the Earl of Redfield and independently wealthy even though he worked for a living. But he had given them no encouragement. He had always been very well aware that it was his social status and his wealth that had encouraged them to overlook a physical revulsion that none of them had been quite able to hide.
Having to face the bustle of a large gathering at Glandwr was just too much for him when he was accustomed to the vast, empty, quiet house. And so he was moving out and into the cottage, at least until the house was empty again.
He resented the expected intrusion, if the truth were known, even though he knew that he had no right to object to a man’s coming to his own home with his own wife and his brothers and sisters—and anyone else he chose to invite, for that matter.
He did not look forward to the summer.
He would stay out of the way as much as he was able. He would try at least to remain out of sight of the children. He did not want to frighten them. The worst feeling in the world was to see fear, revulsion, horror, and panic on the faces of children and to know that it was his own appearance that had caused it.
One month, Bewcastle’s secretary had written. Thirty-one days, if that statement was to be taken literally. It seemed like an eternity.
