Bride Enchanted (5 page)

“You don't ask me to change,” she said. “Why should I ask you? I've grown used to you being dark-haired. And in truth, I've grown to love the look of you that way. That's not it.” She hesitated, nibbled on her lower lip, and looked up at him.

“What is it about me—
me
in particular, that drew you to me? I must know, because that's the sticking point. I know myself. Please don't suppose I don't like myself, for I do, or that I underrate myself, for I don't. I'm actually pleased with who I am, but I know full well that I'm not that special and fantastic.” She shrugged. “You are.”

“I am? Thank you,” he said, bowing.

“Oh, you know it,” she said. “But I still don't know your motives in choosing me so quickly, and asking me to marry you.”

The laughter faded from his voice. He took a deep breath. “Very well then. The truth. No lies. No protestations of eternal love. No more embraces, delicious as they are, to cloud the issue. Desire's a weed that flourishes in any garden, but love, I understand, has to grow in special soil. It has to be nurtured. I think I can do that; I think you can grow to love me. As for myself? I told you. I saw you and you reminded me of someone I'd been looking for a very long time. When I met you, I realized you were different, of course. All people are. I also realized that although you were very different from the woman I had sought, you suited me.”

“And the other woman? The one I reminded you of?” Eve asked, trying not to sound disappointed. Because although she hadn't believed he'd been drawn to her immediately by some strange wonderful thing about herself that she hadn't known, she couldn't help feeling let down because she'd been right.

“That woman? She's gone,” he said softly. “Oh, long gone. So don't think I deceive myself as to who you are. And I certainly don't want you for any reasons you might find in a Minerva Press
romance. Don't start imagining discarded wives in my tower, or long-lost hidden treasures in your back garden that only I know about.

“I didn't choose you for revenge either, or to spite anyone, or to show anyone that I've gone on with my life. I know myself and my heart. I was drawn to you from the first because of a resemblance, that's true. But then discovered that I want you for yourself. For your company, and the comfort of being with you. And I know you are the one I want to bear my children.”

“What if I can't?”

“You will,” he said. “But why believe me? I'm not a physician. Say then that I vow any child you choose to call your own will also be mine. Now, will you be mine as well?”

She gazed up at him, so breathtakingly handsome, so clever and well spoken. It wasn't just the moonlight and the strange spell he seemed to cast over her. Moonlight, daylight, gaslight, or morning light, wherever she saw him, she liked the look of him. Dark-haired, light-haired, it made no matter. She loved the sound of his voice, his mouth tasted wonderful to her, he even smelled good to her.

So what if she didn't know him better? She was levelheaded, never one to leap into anything, no matter what the lure. And she knew there'd be time. Not only time in the years to come when they
were wed, but time here, now, before the fact.

Because no one in the
ton
ever married in haste, unless there was a good reason, either parental objections that made them run for the border, or a child on the way, or an irate father that made them run to the altar. There'd be time enough during their engagement for her to find out more about him. And if, for any reason, and she prayed not, she discovered something bad, she could be free.

She wouldn't think about that. She couldn't, not here, not now, with his eyes looking into hers. One thing she knew above all. She dared not let him go. He said he'd only ask three times. She was afraid he might not ask again, or if he did, resent her for making him ask. And where on earth would she ever meet his like again?

“Come, Eve,” he whispered. “Let go of harsh reality. Life's an adventure. Step into one, with me.”

She stepped into his arms instead. “Yes,” she said, letting all her pent breath out. “Yes, Aubrey. I will.”

 

It was done. Aubrey rode home alone through the streets of London, smiling. He was relieved and exhilarated. He'd found her and courted her, and she'd said yes. He'd been sure she would, but still, people were difficult to predict, women twice as much so. He'd won her, and there'd been
no coercion or magic about it. He hadn't had to delude her in any way. She wanted him. She was enough like him for him to know that. Her kiss good night had been filled with desire and impatience and eagerness to have him.

They'd have a good life together; he hadn't been lying about that. He hadn't lied about anything. He never did, or rather, he never wanted to. This time, he'd just not said those things she might have asked had she not been so taken with him, with romance, with her fate.

He was very pleased. Eve was charming. She wasn't as beautiful as some other females he'd known, but she'd appealed to his senses enormously, and for a wonder, she was also clever. That was a novelty and a joy. He knew he'd enjoy their time together. And, Aubrey vowed to the glowing moon above him, he would be as good to her as he'd told her he'd be. And he might, he thought, even come to love her. That was, to love her insofar as he was capable of it.

He rode home through the shadows, smiling.

E
ve shuddered. Aubrey's lips had left hers, his hands slowly drew away from her body, and now he sat back, only inches away from her. But he was far enough away to restore her to her senses. She took a deep shivering breath as he pulled up her sleeve and the neckline of her gown, and covered her.

“Why?” she asked, without looking at him. “Why did you stop? Did I do wrong?”

“No, too right. That's the point. You do too well. I stopped because we're not married. I can only go so far and no further.”

She raised shaking hands to rearrange her hair. He'd run his hands through the tangle of it as he'd kissed her. It had felt as though each separate hair had a nerve of its own.

“We won't be wed for six months,” she said. “So either we stop doing this entirely, or we do more. What's the difference? We'll be married soon
enough.” Before she could be startled by what had come from her own lips, he answered.

“Not soon enough,” he said. “You want to walk down the aisle by yourself, not with our son in your arms, or at least, not with his imminent arrival visible.”

“We don't have to go that far,” she said.

“I do,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said patiently, “I don't like to feel like a boy stealing kisses in a darkened corner. And I have only so much control. I don't want to dishonor you; neither would you be comfortable with such a thing. But this kissing and nibbling, touching and withdrawing is not enough, Eve. There's satisfaction to be found that way, but it's furtive and unfulfilling. We can do much better, we're adults. Yet we aren't yet wed. And why is that?” he asked, as he reached out a slender hand and gently traced the outer whorls of her inner ear. “The settlements are made,” he added softly. “Your father was too generous, by the way. Your brother likes me.”

“You offered to teach him to drive your chestnuts,” she said, trying not to shiver at his touch. “He'd have given you his soul for that.”

“Indeed? I forgot to ask him for it. Well, let's see what else we've settled, besides any objec
tions your family might have had. The guest list is complete. The banns have been posted, the church selected. We've been wined and dined and toasted to the sky by friends, family, and acquaintances.”

“I haven't met your relatives,” she said.

“Nor are you likely to. I told you,” he said sadly. “There are few, and those are far between, or simply far away. There are no more impediments, Eve. Yet, now, because you want a spring wedding, we must wait longer, through autumn, winter, and then into spring. A season into another season, and then another.” He said the last as though he were dropping the words slowly into her consciousness.

She quivered at his touch on her ear, and he took his hand away. She thought she saw a gleam of mockery in his eyes. She frowned. In that second's time, the gleam was gone, replaced with killing sympathy.

“But now,” she said, “if we change the date, people will think the worst.”

“And if we don't, the worst will be,” he said. “If by that, you mean they'll think we've conceived a child. Because given time, it will become inevitable. The bond between us is that intense, the pull that strong. Do you doubt it?”

She said nothing.

He sat back and studied her expression. “So then, I think, my love, I really do believe that the best thing would be for me to leave you for a while. Just until time catches up with desire. As I said, I've hardly any family left, and those I do have are too feeble to travel far. I think I'd best go to see them, and then to see some more of the world. I could do that, carefully, I promise, because I don't want to be captured and made a prisoner of war. I can follow the sun and sail to the South Seas, or the Caribbean, or I could visit the new world, and yet still return in time for our scheduled wedding. Otherwise, I tell you, my Eve, with all my best intentions, and all my control and good will, I will not be able to keep my hands off you. My hands,” he added, “my lips, and other more to the point attributes.”

She drew herself up. “I am not a slave to my desires. I can resist your irresistible…attributes, you know.”

“Can you?” he asked softly.

She looked down at her lap. She'd have sworn she could. But just before, in his arms, in his hands, drinking in his breath from his lips, feeling the warmth and power of the man, she'd been a heartbeat from giving him everything, with joy and delight. She couldn't deny it.

“And it will be a long, cold winter,” he added. “I
hate the cold. I'll write, of course. I'll think of you. I'll travel abroad, wherever war is not. Then I'll return to you with the birds in the spring.”

“No!” she said.

“No?” he asked quizzically.

He might travel into danger, Eve thought. The Continent was dangerous even with Napoleon pent on his stony island. There were pirates and storms on the seas, and unimaginable dangers even on the sunny shores of other lands. He might find risk to himself. He could discover trouble, or an old lover, or someone new, someone more to his taste, in his travels. She had the feeling that if he left he mightn't be back. She knew that if he didn't return she'd never wed because no one would ever suit her as he did, ever again. Worse, she thought he knew it.

“You're taunting me,” she said.

One thin dark eyebrow rose. He looked at her with new respect. “So I am,” he murmured.

“Worse,” she said with more spirit, “you're threatening me.”

He put his head to the side as a smile quirked his lips. “Excellent, Eve. I am.”

“And you expect me to put up with it?” she asked, caught between anger and laughter.

“No,” he said. “That's why I said it. But you know very well what I expect, Eve. Few other
women would. That's only one of the reasons I want you so. And so…?”

“You want me to tell you here and now that I'll marry you immediately? This decision will be for the rest of my life.”

“So it is,” he agreed.

“There are still so many things I don't know,” she said anxiously.

He gazed at her curiously.

“Little things, but important ones. What do you do?” she blurted. “Oh, I don't mean for a livelihood. Gentlemen don't work, I know that. But how do you pass the time? I know you don't frequent London clubs, because you haven't been here that long. We've never spoken of it. So, do you collect butterflies? Collect horses, or great art, or dabble in paints yourself? Are you political?”

“As to that last, not at all,” he said. I've seen too much of the damage done by both reformers and those who don't want to change a hair on a wig of the justices. Butterflies are better off in the sky than pressed into a book, don't you think? I don't collect creatures, but I like horses, dogs, cats, birds, and fish. I don't have to own them to enjoy them. I appreciate art too much to try to paint. But I do read. I love music. I like to grow things. I ride and swim, winter as well as summer. You don't have
to worry that I'll hang on your sleeve. I've many interests, but my foremost now is you.”

He sighed. “Eve, do you really think time will make your decision easier? I don't think so. Not in our case. Either you know now, or you don't. I think time will not mend matters. It will only add frustration and distrust.”

“Yours or mine?” she dared ask.

He shrugged. “And so?” he asked again.

“And so,” she said, raising her chin. She thought another moment. “And so I think that an autumn wedding could be as lovely as a spring wedding. We can have autumn leaves instead of May flowers for my bouquet, and acorns and berries instead of peaches and cherries for dessert.”

“And we can have joy in the winter instead of just longing,” he said, as he drew her into his arms. “And maybe even a babe of our own by spring.”

She drew away and gazed at him uneasily.

“What?” he asked to her unspoken question. “Where is the objection now? If we marry in September a June babe will be as safe from the gossips as you being a June bride would have been.”

“It's not that. I just think that it's odd that you speak about a baby so much. Most men, I think, wouldn't be talking about babies instead of their honeymoon.”

“I am not most men,” he said, and kissed any other doubts, or thoughts, from her mind.

 

“But why such haste, child?” Eve's father asked her.

“He means,” her brother said, from where he lounged by the window of his father's study, “is there need for haste? If there is, then Ashford's a fast worker, I must say. You've known him less than three months, and here you are engaged, bedded, and begging to be wedded.”

“Sheridan!” her father said, shocked.

“Sherry,” Eve said, clenching her fists and rounding on him, “you are going to die. But before you do, I'll have you know there's no need for haste.” She colored, raised her chin and added, “Except perhaps, because I don't want him to get away and change his mind about me.”

Sheridan looked genuinely shocked. “
You,
level-headed sister of mine? I'm the one who falls for crazes and has no sense at all. What has the man done to you?” he asked, so seriously that Eve believed him for once.

“He's made me love him,” she said simply. “And I suppose, if love makes one crazed, so be it.”

Sheridan's expression didn't clear. Neither did his father's.

“What could he have done to me?” she asked
impatiently. “No,” she said quickly, “never mind that. He didn't do
that
. The point is that I didn't even imagine a man like him would ask me to dance with him, much less marry him. He's intelligent, kind, and witty; polite, well educated, and charming. And so handsome he makes people stare. Especially women. That's not his fault. He doesn't try to attract them. At least, I've never seen him do it. You approved his suit, Father, and now you look troubled to hear that we're marrying sooner than intended. I told you I'm not compromised in any way. So why are you upset? Do you know anything about him that I don't?”

“No,” her father said slowly. “But I had thought to know all about him by now. I don't. I think that's what it is. He came to England not long before he met you. He's lived abroad for most of his life. So I thought time might provide any missing information. But now, this haste of yours, or his. I don't understand it. It isn't like you.”

“What do you think could be discovered to his detriment?” she asked, her nostrils pinched. “He has a fortune, does he not?”

Her father nodded.

“His family is old and well thought of, is it not?”

Her father looked hunted.

“Then do you think he's some sort of Blue
beard, with headless wives littering a dungeon somewhere?”

Her father waved a hand at her nonsense. Her brother's eyes widened.

“He's eminently eligible,” her father admitted. “But I'd thought you'd give yourself time to get to know him better.”

“This isn't exactly a race to Gretna Green, Father,” she said proudly. “We'll have known each other over three months by our wedding day. I know that isn't very long, but if you know your heart it is. I do, I'm no ingénue.” She took a breath, controlled herself, and then asked seriously, “Father, am I that much of an antidote that this match is unbelievable to you? Never mind how I feel about him. Is it that odd that any woman would feel that way about Aubrey Ashford? Is it
that
strange that such a man would want me so much?”

She stopped because tears threatened. She wanted to know if there was a problem, and yet she didn't want to know.

Her father and brother eyed her. She wore a simple blue gown this morning; her curly hair was pulled back by a ribbon. Her eyes were shining, as they'd been since she'd met Aubrey Ashford. She sang as she walked about the house these days. She never had before. She looked younger and
happier than they'd ever seen her too. In all, she was charming to look at, but even so, and though they loved her, they couldn't claim she looked spectacularly beautiful. Aubrey Ashford was incontestably spectacularly handsome.

“Well, I'd have thought he'd go for a dasher, Eve,” Sherry said with truth, adding nervously, because of the looks he got from both his sister and his father, “Not that there's a thing wrong with you. Pretty as you can stare. But you're a pixie, and such a chap usually goes for the dashers, is all I'm saying.”

“So why do you think he's asked me to marry him, and begged me to move up the wedding day?” she asked, one slipper tapping the floor in tune to her rising heartbeat.

“Maybe he doesn't like competition,” Sherry said unwisely.

Eve's eyes narrowed.

“Because love ignores everything but the heart,” her father said. “Hush, Sheridan. Your mother and I didn't always see eye to eye. Aye, she was a forceful woman, and I was content to let her rule our roost. But I loved her, even so. I never thought I'd come to love a managing female. Still, I did. I wish she were still here. She'd know what to say and do now.”

He held up a hand. “But now there's only me,
and what can I say? No one's been able to explain love, though the greatest philosophers and poets have tried. So how can I? Ashford loves you, you love him, and there's an end to it. A happy end, I hope. I suppose,” he said, looking at Eve, “I just didn't want to let you go so soon.”

She was three and twenty, and he'd never paid much attention to her in her entire life, so Eve knew this was a lie. But she didn't care. If it was a lie, it was a kindly one, and she didn't want any more opposition. It woke too many doubts in her own mind. “Thank you,” she said.

Sheridan levered his long frame from off from the wall where he'd propped his shoulders. “Father's right,” he said simply as he stood up straight. “But remember, if there are any problems with him after the marriage, you can always come to me.”