A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (26 page)

His eyes twinkled, and a smile spread over his face, and Rothburn groaned inwardly, thinking the old fellow was going to give him bedroom advice. In a way, he was right, but still, for the sake of courtesy, he had no choice but to follow the marquis into the foyer where they could find some semblance of privacy.

"You have a lovely wife. I wish you both all happiness." He held up a staying hand as Rothburn would have spoken, and completed his statement quickly. "I have a cottage not far from here that you could make use of. I know that you have accommodations above stairs, but they will not be as private perhaps. Are you interested?"

He raised his eyebrows in a meaningful manner, waiting.

"Well, of course, I do appreciate your thoughtfulness in thinking of us, but I'm not sure that my bride would be willing to go off—"  Rothburn dissembled, not wanting to hurt the old fellows feelings, but uncertain where all this would lead.

"You must understand that this is not an ordinary place I would send you." Darlington interrupted him gently, drawing him with his eyes. "There is a sort of mystical enchantment there, hard to explain, of course. But I will tell you that in that place I lived my best years and there is where my son was born. You know David, I presume?"

"Yes, happily I do. Fine fellow, your son. One of my closer intimates, actually," Rothburn responded with courtesy, then queried the older man with a final note. "What makes you want to send us there?  In what way would we benefit—other than more privacy?"

"As I said, it is hard to explain, but I will tell you that the Larkspur's and Strongbow's of this area have used these cottages for centuries to beget their best children. Not sure that I wasn't conceived there, myself."

He laughed shortly. "At any rate, if you want it, I've refurbished it recently for other purposes, of course, for I am no longer a man of amorous pursuits. I have a feeling about the two of you. Would like to see you get a dose of the magic—yes, I said
magic
."

With that, he turned back to toward the drawing room and spoke over his shoulder. "There is a footman here named Trapp—on loan from my house—and he will take you there should you decide to go."

He did not enlighten Rothburn further about Alana's resemblance to his Mary. That was beyond his private self.

* * * * *

The house was quiet at last. All guests had departed or retired to their rooms, leaving Rothburn and his new wife alone in their suite. Rothburn gazed at his bride and burned for her. Hesitation laced his voice as he queried, "Are you sure you want to take Darlington up on his offer? A cottage in the woods seems so precarious."

"Precarious Rothburn? How so?" Presenting her back, she waited for him to undo the small pearl buttons of her gown. "I'm sure the Marquis wouldn't offer us a haven not properly cleaned and provisioned."

Stepping forward and working at the buttons with shaking hands, Rothburn spoke gruffly, for his impatience to have her naked in his bed was near to bursting. "You are right, of course, but it will mean another delay, as its near an hour's travel. Are you sure?"

"Yes, My Love, very sure. You say there is magic there? Well, we should add some of our own I'm thinking." She turned as his arms came round her. She lifted her face, asking in a soft whisper, "What then, is one hour after all the waiting we have done?" 

She dropped her eyes in sudden shyness, her voice low so that he had to bend close to hear her hesitant words. "I feel so
exposed
here and not
alone
enough, for there are guests in every room."

"Very well, then we shall go." He pressed her close for a moment, then put her away from him. "But you must hurry, love. I cannot wait much longer for you. I'll just go and see to the carriage. One of the footmen will take us there, according to Darlington."

With that, he strode from the room, nearly turning back as the whisper of silk assailed him when she dropped her garment to pool at her feet. He dared not look back, knowing that they would never make it to the cottage were he to do so.

The small cottage was charming in the moonlight, with its rose garden in bloom and the steep pitch of the roof covered in ivy. The night quiet and peaceful—as only the countryside could be—calmed the senses.

Rothburn and Alana stood on the porch, breathing in the scents of the country air, his arms coming 'round her from behind and his chin resting lightly atop her crown. They listened to the night sounds, their hearts beating loudly in competition with the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.

The magic of the cottage enveloped them in a cocoon of pleasure. It was as though time had departed, leaving them in this place for eternity.

 "The Marquis tells me that my good friend David Strongbow was born here, and conceived here as well. Should we be so lucky, the heir will be made here this night."

"Yes," she murmured softly. "I would love to conceive a child by you this night."

Rothburn turned her in his arms, his lips coming down on hers in utter desperation of his need. She moved back from him, her hands pressing his shoulders to separate them, turning her face away. He dropped his arms. "What is wrong?"

 "Nothing, nothing at all." She looked up at him, shyness mingling with the passion in her eyes that mirrored his own. "I am just somewhat nervous, you know."

Curbing his eagerness, he whispered, "I am sorry. I shall go slow. Be patient with me, Alana, for I have never in my life taken a virgin."

With that, he turned her into the cottage with a grim determination to hold himself in rigid control as he wooed his lady love.

Once inside, he kissed her on the brow and urged her to the small bedroom, saying, "I'll be just outside having a pipe, sweeting. When you are ready, call me."

Alana watched as he pulled the door nearly closed and disappeared into the other room. She unpinned her hair and shook the rich silky stuff out of the chignon, letting it fall in luxurious curls down her back. Undoing the bodice of her gown, she slipped it off her shoulders and tossed it on a chair in the far corner of the room.

Wishing she'd brought a warmer sleeping garment, she lifted the gossamer night-rail and pulled it over her head. It slid down her body, brushing her taut nipples so that she trembled in anticipation. The intricate pattern of lace did nothing to hide the dark areolas at the peak of each round breast.

She touched herself lightly, feeling a tightening tingle between her thighs as her fingertips glided over the material. Realizing how wanton she'd become since her first embrace with Rothburn, she dropped her hands and smiled to recall his caressing hands.

Outside, Rothburn stood vigil, his eyes glued to the small embrasure that held a freshly washed pane of glass. Glass that framed his bride. He watched her every move, his body reacting violently, so that he clenched his jaw to stem the tide of lust overwhelming him.

When her fingertips brushed her nipples, he thought he'd perish from the strain of holding back. Then she smiled mysteriously and he wondered if she knew he watched her.

Unable to wait for her to call him, Rothburn nearly banged his head on the doorsill as he rushed inside.
Easy
, he admonished himself.
Don't frighten her again. Just take a few deep breaths and go slow
.

He knuckled the heavy oak door to the sleeping chamber, and when she bade him enter, Rothburn stepped inside the room.

His eyes went straight to her breasts where they peeked temptingly through the diaphanous white lace. She stood facing him, hands at her sides, a look of calm in her eyes.

He stepped forward, hands going to her shoulders. The ribbons that held the bodice together slid easily through his fingers as he tugged gently on the bows. The material, as he'd expected, slid apart, exposing a small wedge of flesh, a tempting bit of cleavage. Taking note of the further tightening of her nipples at this bold move, he tugged the edges of the gown down and away.

Rothburn caught his breath at the sight before him, and though he'd often dreamt of this moment, he'd never thought the experience of just gazing on her lovely bosoms could be so titillating.
So exciting
.  

Alana, though eager for his touch, had a sudden bout of nervousness as he lowered the sheer linen nightgown from her shoulders until her breasts were bared to his gaze. Nipples already pebbled and taut—both from the cool air and his hot gaze—hardened even more.

Never having been observed nude by a male, she fought not to put her hands up to cover herself. After a moment the urge disappeared and she wanted his touch in the worst way.

When he finally put a fingertip to her left breast and lowered his head, touching his lips to her right one, she thought she'd expire from excitement. Sighing, she thrust forward in the time-honored way women have offered themselves up to lust since time-out-of-mind. Her reward came instantly with his eager suckling of first one nipple then the other.

Rothburn controlled his desire with difficulty when Alana showed such eagerness in her response. Her sweet flesh in his mouth was as heaven, and her soft moan of surrender all but undid  him. With supreme effort, he held himself in check, and made slow progress  as he unveiled her luscious charms to be far more exciting than the rush of lust he'd experienced earlier.

 Through the night he taught her the mysteries of the marriage bed as the web of magic continued to weave around them.

Sometime in the early morning hours, clouds drifting over the moon cleared for a moment, bathing the cottage in a glow of silver luminance. At just that instant, the Seventh Earl of Rothburn was conceived, giving proof of the magic of the cottage, portended by The Marquis of Darlington.

Chapter Twenty

~~

The newlyweds were conspicuously absent the next morning, but caused no alarm among the members of the house party, for it was to be expected. Everyone thought they were in the suite of rooms in the west wing of the house, and no one could have guessed their actual location.

No one, that is, except the old Marquis, and he was telling no one. The footman who had shown them the way to the cottage gave a note to Sir Gordon, as instructed by Rothburn.

 "I say, they have flown the coop." Sir Gordon looked up from the paper in his hand, his glance coming to rest with affection on Lady Eleanor. "Seems the newlyweds have gone off on their own."

He consulted the paper again, then recounted its contents to his audience. "Rothburn says they are honeymooning in the woods and not to expect them back any time soon. Says to thank you all for attending and they'll see you in London for the announcement ball."

 "Announcement ball? Didn't know there was going to be one." Griffin looked interested, his eyes torn for a moment from contemplating his sapphire-eyed goddess, Allie. "Have plans been made, then?"

 "Oh yes, Griffin," Allie answered with a touch of excitement, "and you have been sent an invitation. But that is not until next month. Your cousin and my aunt will not be back before the season is almost over."

Allie smiled mistily at him, causing her brother to clear his throat, for the pair had been a spectacle these last twenty-four hours, mooning about.

 "You two should go walk in the garden while you have a chance. We'll be leaving in just under an hour." Having made up his mind to return to London and get on with his own wedding plans, Sir Gordon was in a rush to get started.

"Well, go on then, hurry it up," he urged, and watched with some amusement as they rushed away.

With their breakfast completed, the other guests took themselves off to prepare for the journey home.

The last two people to exit the room were Sir Gordon and Lady Eleanor, who lingered over their coffee, chatting about their own wedding plans, among other things.

 "Gordon, just where in the woods do you think they went?  I mean, it is all so unusual." She queried him about the vagueness of the message. "Are they camping?"

He laughed in delight at her artlessness and shook his head, replying, "I should think not. Rothburn does so love his creature comforts and my aunt would be horrified to sleep on the ground. No, my dear, they are definitely not camping. I should think they have found a cozy cottage near here and sped away in the night. Heard Darlington offering it to Rothburn last evening. Seems it's a trysting place for lovers."

 "Oh? Well, then, perhaps we should seek such a place for our own honeymoon." She dimpled at him and came up from her chair, just as he did. They embraced warmly, content in their love.

* * * * *

In the garden, Griffin and Allie gazed pensively at one another, their hands clasped as they stood beneath the spreading arms of an old elm tree. The breeze gently lifted her amber curls, fluttering the colorful ribbons.

 Griffin smoothed back one pale rose ribbon from her cheek, his hand then straying to trace the contour of her lips. His mouth soon followed that path. Attentively, he nipped at her lower lip, then as her mouth opened to him, he pressed his assault until they were clasped in a melting embrace.

Unable to stand another moment of distress born of unconsummated passion, Griffin put Allie away from him with a ragged sigh. When she leaned into his embrace, he gripped her arms gently, moving her back.

"You have not answered me yet about my proposal." He grinned at her, knowing full well he had occupied her lips in such a way that she could not have answered him, had she tried. "Do you or do you not want to wed as soon as possible?"

"Griffin, I want that above all things but I also know that you are only pushing this forward for me." She gazed at him, her sapphire eyes troubled, then looked away, speaking in a near whisper. "I would not want you to miss those opportunities that would further your career. And should we wed now, you might. I know you are worried about it—"

"Never mind that now! I have offered and you either accept or not. Which is it?" He was anxious to have this done, and know their future one way or another. Unfortunately, Griffin was short on patience—being young and headstrong—and had no finesse in these matters.

He saw tears gather in her eyes as she stiffened and drew away. Griffin became instantly contrite, softening his voice. "What I mean, dearest Allie, is that I have thought this over very carefully. I do believe we would do better to wed in the fall after term has ended."

"But what of—" Allie halted when he put a fingertip to her lips.

"Your brother has offered me a position in one of his offices in Manchester with a generous salary. When the new term starts, we'll simply move back to Cambridge. Since it will be my last term, you will only have to endure a grumpy, harassed student for a short while."

 "It does sound so very tempting. Oh, Griffin, if you are sure?" I have been very lonely without you."

She turned to him again, relaxing as he gathered her close and hugged her. "I am as sure as any man can be. Say yes now and stop dithering, Love. You try my patience—of which I have very little."

He squeezed her affectionately and looked down at her, his face suddenly grave and anxious. "I find that life without you is unbearably lonely as well."

"Yes, then. Yes. I shall be glad to marry you in the fall." When she smiled, the small dimple in her cheek drew his attention and he just had to kiss that spot, which led to other kisses and some very intimate caresses. Between kisses, they began to plan for the future.

 "Griffin, do you think we could honeymoon here? I truly like the ambiance, it's so peaceful." She looked around the garden with great satisfaction. "I overheard Mr. Jennings telling Gordon he could have his honeymoon here. The Jennings' enjoy these events. What do you think?"

 "I will go anywhere you ask, and in truth, I like it here well enough." He ogled her with a scorching leer and wiggled his eyebrows in perfect imitation of his cousin's clowning. "But I care not where we are on our honeymoon, as long as we are completely alone."

Laughing at his posturing, Allie spoke of the cottage, a certain slyness in her voice. "I would that we could use this cottage everyone talks about. It would certainly give us the seclusion you seem to crave."

 "As I said, Allie M'dear, I will do anything you wish. Just tell me what you want, and I will endeavor to provide it." He smiled at her, but hearing his own words, he became serious and a little sad.

"You know there is much I will not be able to provide for a very long time in the way of material things, even with the added allowance from my father and Rothburn. Nothing like that to which you are now accustomed."

 "All I want is a new gown once a month, a baby in the spring and perhaps a new bonnet to match each gown."

She teased him and watched his face grow red at the mention of a baby. It amused her to see her scholarly swain so discomfited when they spoke of the more intimate details of their marriage. Though she was a shy virgin, Allie would prove a very lusty wife and knew it well.

Having been stirred by the erotic images her comment brought to mind, Griffin was hard put not to pull her into the bushes—as he once had been accused of—but common sense prevailed. He reluctantly set her from him as he told her, "We must go inside, for I cannot be held responsible. I am but flesh and blood, and you tempt me beyond measure."

 "Very well then. Let us talk about what work you will be doing for Gordon. I want to share everything with you, even help you with your studies, should you wish it."

 "I am sure that you will come in quite handy as a wife
and
a tutor. But, truth be told, I'm not sure what I will do in Manchester. He mentioned learning the shipping trade in textiles, but other than that I am in the dark."

Allie then began to ask about the papers he had brought with him, and encouraged by her ready knowledge and quick mind, Griffin let the conversation go in that direction. His condition was such that he was very uncomfortable and he needed to be distracted from his erotic thoughts.

They lingered in the garden as long as they could, but when her brother—somewhat irritated by having to search for them—came to fetch the pair, they moved with great reluctance to return to their separate lives. Their only consoling thought was in a few months they would be wed.

Telling Sir Gordon of their plans, the couple was animated and full of joy, so that the trip home promised to be a happy event for anyone riding in the carriage with them.

The blooded mount that Rothburn had put at Griffin's disposal was tied to the back of the lead carriage and he climbed inside with his betrothed, his future brother-in-law and Lady Eleanor. They were a merry foursome as the horses started up, and their laughter and chatter could be heard by all. 

To make a perfect group, it wanted only the presence of Rothburn's ready wit and Lady Alana's reprimands when he overdid his foolishness. Sir Gordon remarked upon it and everyone agreed they were missed greatly.

Rothburn and Alana had become famous for their public squabbling, though in truth, it was all in fun and everyone knew it. There were varying opinions as to which of them had the readiest wit, but they all allowed that the Rothburn's were a most entertaining couple.

An hour into the journey, dark menacing clouds had begun to form in the east, blocking the sun and darkening the skies. The low rumble of thunder was soon heard and distant strikes of lightning could be seen by the passengers, making them anxious to be under shelter before the blow.

Sir Gordon called out to his coachman to hurry along. The man had eyes and had already determined to hurry, being on the box and exposed to the weather as he was. The carriages behind picked up as well, just as the wind began to rise, blowing the storm in their direct path. This was no small spring shower but a menacing gale. In a matter of moments it was dark enough to light the lanterns on the carriages for safety.

* * * * *

In the small cottage in the woods, Rothburn and Lady Alana listened to the rain pattering against their cozy retreat, their feet to the fire as they sipped mulled wine. When a particularly loud crash of thunder followed a strike of lightning nearby, they both jumped up and went to the windows, aware that this was no mere light shower.

As they stood, arms wrapped 'round one another, the rain began in earnest, beating upon the thatched roof, slashing against the window so they could barely see out.

 Rothburn peered through the muddy runnels of rain on the small window. "I say, I do hope everyone left in plenty of time to get to the Boar's Head before this started up. It appears to be running toward London, so I'm sure it has caught up with them, if not."

He looked up as the thunder seemed to pound the ground, shaking the very walls. "Maybe we should have stayed at the big house."

 "Maybe." Lady Alana—her voice carefully casual—looked up as well, as though expecting the roof to cave, but held her voice steady, for she was not a woman to fear so small a thing as thunder.

Besides, if she showed any concern, she knew that he'd be upset with himself for allowing them to come, and so only commented lightly, "I fear it is much too late to worry about that and so we should just be glad for this shelter."

She grinned at him and added, "Maybe we can pretend we are strangers who have sheltered here and have just met."

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat at her words, the earl grinned back, his hands coming up to caress her face. "I do so love a good play. Whom shall I be? Perhaps I shall be a menacing highwayman, coming home after robbing the coach and kidnapping you."

Warming to his subject, Rothburn allowed his imagination to take hold, his love of theatrics coming to the fore. "Let us say that your horse had bolted and I found you lying in the ditch, covered with mud, and brought you here."