His love.
The endearment caught his attention.
She was his love.
Many a night, after a bout of robust lovemaking, he would hold her and realize how blessed he was to have her in his life. Blessed, yes . . . wasn’t that part of love? The blessing of love?
Nor did he have a desire to lose her. She was more than his lover; she was a confidant. He could speak his thoughts aloud and receive not only her wise counsel but also her loyalty. For the first time, he’d met someone who would never betray his trust—anymore than he would betray hers. There had even been times over the past weeks when she had understood what he was truly feeling before he could express it himself.
And he understood the same about her. That was the miracle.
In the past, Gavin had been so wrapped up in his ducal responsibilities, he’d rarely had a moment to think of anything or anyone else . . . but he thought of her. All his waking moments. The grace of her visited his dreams as well.
Right now, observing her working, he knew she was frustrated with Rawlins. She claimed he was a lazy actor, always a bit slow with his responses or paying attention to the business on stage.
Only the other night, when Gavin had been saying Rawlins’s lines to help Sarah practice hers, she had exclaimed with exasperation that she wished the actor had a bit of Gavin’s ability. “You are a natural at this,” she had declared.
“If I can’t move the Money Bill forward, perhaps I shall turn to the stage,” Gavin had teased in response. “Facing an audience will be vastly easier than Liverpool’s disappointment.” However, he’d been pleased by her compliment. He took pleasure in his escapade with the theater.
He took pleasure in Sarah.
She was not happy with how Rawlins crossed the stage to deliver his character’s pronouncement of love for the Widow. She accused him of moving like a clod and not a man in love, something that made the other members of the company snicker. Apparently Rawlins was quite taken by the young woman playing the Widow’s sister.
“Quiet, all of you,” Sarah said in a voice that would have made a general proud. “We open in two days’ time. We must pull together. Each of us can do a bit more. This play will be a success. It has everything Londoners like from their theater, but we need to give it our all.”
Several heads nodded. Rawlins even managed to move with more grace.
And Gavin felt his chest swell with pride. His Sarah was a leader. She was clever, bright, and bold, a remarkable woman. She graced his table and his bed and he never wanted her to leave his side. It was that clear, that simple.
He loved her, and the knowledge was humbling because he actually needed her in his life.
Yes, Gavin must marry. If his mother and Dame Imogen believed the Charnock chit was suitable, he would not argue. But he would not give up Sarah. He couldn’t.
Many men were more faithful to their mistresses than to their wives. He would be one. Sarah would lack for nothing.
His mind settled, Gavin left the theater to attend a meeting to negotiate with the Opposition to the Money Bill. It would be a late night. Apparently, Rov had not left London as everyone had anticipated in spite of his being disgraced in the duel. Jane had, thankfully, retired to the country but Rov stayed. It was said he whispered against Gavin but truly, what damage could he do? No decent door was open to him. The man was now beyond the pale.
The hour was late by the time he returned to the house he shared with Sarah. He let himself in, not expecting her to be awake.
Instead, he was surprised to see Sarah working away at her desk, crumpled and discarded sheets of paper on the floor around her chair. She looked up as he entered, the very picture of misery.
He crossed over to her. “Why are you awake? And what are you writing?” Looking down, he saw the names of the characters in The Fitful Widow. “You can’t be rewriting your play. Not at this late date.”
“I worry,” she confessed. She was wearing her nightdress and her hair was down, the way he liked it. “I was thinking that the middle should have more power. Perhaps more drama.”
“It has drama enough.” He took her pen from her hand, setting it aside.
“But the part where Peregrine realizes Jonathan’s true intentions is so slow.”
“Not slow—studied,” Gavin corrected. “Your audience will want to hear the nuance to every word. Isn’t that what you told me last week?” He pulled her from the chair.
“But—” Sarah started to protest until Gavin silenced her with a kiss.
Her body quickly melted against his as if only he could give her strength. He ran his hand over her hair, her back, her hips.
He broke the kiss. “There is nothing wrong with your play,” he said. “It will be a success.”
“You never go to the theater.”
