Ever His Bride (49 page)

Oh, patient love.
He’d returned to
this foul place looking to buy back his honor, to win back a wife,
and instead he’d found his heart, right here where he’d left
it.

“I. . . was,” he began, these precious first
words hanging in the damp air like a benediction. “I was . . . a
student here.”

“Dear God, Hunter.” Felicity’s whisper
brushed at him from across the room. He heard admiration and dread.
A prayer and a song.

“It was . . . a very long time ago.” He had
to struggle to put order to his thoughts; there were too many that
wanted the light of day.

“Hunter, do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes. Finally.” He heard a sob catch in her
throat, or had it come from his own? “You, see . . . children. I
learned to read here . . . at the Beggar’s Academy.”

“Mr. Claybourne?” Lady Meath had come to the
edge of his vision, her grim frown a dark reminder of his folly.
Ruination would come swiftly now. But he ignored her for the wonder
in the children’s faces and the light in his wife’s eyes.

“And I studied my sums . . . because I knew—”
His voice broke into jagged pieces, but he cleared his throat and a
rebellious kind of bliss tumbled over him. “Because it was . . .
and it still
is .. .
the only way out, my young friends. The
only
way.”

Robin Hood
dropped from Giles’s hand.
“You, sir?”

“I was a pickpocket, Giles. A thief and a
stray.” Hunter knelt down to the boy, felt the childhood elation of
comradeship, of belonging. “But I didn’t let them beat me down,
lad. Do you know who I mean?”

Giles’s mouth hung open and he nodded. “I do,
sir.”

“I fought them, and I won. And now I build
grand fortunes for them, lad, and even grander fortunes for
myself.”

The room had gone completely silent.

Hunter stood up and glanced at Felicity, his
champion. He loved her eyes: a meadowland, and the sea. Her hair
had come free of its pins, her breathing reduced to quaking. She
was beautiful in her tatters and in her frowning distress.

“Hunter, do you know—”

He laughed and knew he must sound completely
mad. “Well, Mrs. Claybourne, haven’t you read that thing yet? It
needs signing.”

“Sorry, Mr. Claybourne, I’ve been
distracted.” Nearly struck dumb. Felicity’s extraordinary husband
had just confessed his closely hoarded past to the world via Lady
Meath and Lady Oswin and all the children, and now he was impatient
with her? The man was as imperious and coldly unpredictable as
ever! He was standing behind Gran— an odd-looking pair, Hunter in
his fine, starkly black coat, and Gran’s worn-through linsey nearly
obscured by all the children in her arms.

“Read it, madam,” he said again, cocking his
head. “Or didn’t you learn how? What sort of school did you go
to?”

The children giggled, and Gran smiled. And
Hunter seemed to like that immensely, gaining some kind of power
from it. In fact, he seemed a bit unbalanced. Now he was taking his
time coming toward her, sauntering almost, his gaze heating her as
it fixed on her mouth and then her eyes.

“Hurry, please, Mrs. Claybourne.” He was
standing in front of her, his voice gathered low in the space
between them. He was close enough to kiss her, poised and looking
down at her as if he would. Yet he only lifted his hand; brushed
his fingers against her cheek.

Unable to escape him, she fixed her
concentration on the separation papers, the breaking of her
heart.

Transfer of Title,
just as he had
said. But there wasn’t a single word about a separation. Only—

“My railway shares . . . ?” He’d come here
about her miserable railway shares? “I told you I won’t fight you,
Hunter.”

“You’d better not. Read it.”

Bloody tyrant. “Just as it says here, the
Drayhill-Starlington will officially become yours a year from the
date of our marriage, at which time—” But then the words took off
on some jumbled track, and her heart went with them.

“At which time, my love, my wife,” Hunter
whispered, as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear,
sending her pulse singing, “I, we, will take on as equal partner,
in said railway, the institution known as the Beggar’s Academy.
You’ll have your funding, madam, and then some.”

This still made no sense, nor did his
delicious mouth against hers. Her head was reeling and she shoved
him away.

“But, Hunter, you told them all about
yourself. What will they say? Lady Meath and Lady Oswin . . .
didn’t you see them there?”

“Good God, woman, do you think it matters
anymore?”

“Hunter, what happened? What did Meath do to
you?”

He only held her and brushed his lips against
her ear. “I’m afraid I took the easy way, love. I let all the rats
scurry out of their holes and into the sunlight. But please don’t
despise me for it. I shall hold them to their word.”

“To their word, Hunter?” She had no idea what
he was talking about, only that he seemed inordinately pleased with
himself. “What have you done?”

“I’m thinking of running for the Commons. Do
you suppose anyone would elect a true man of the streets?”

Lady Oswin appeared at Hunter’s elbow. “Oh,
if I could vote, Hunter Claybourne, I would cast my ballot for
you!”

Lady Meath was behind her, her eyes damp and
her hair sprung from its golden pins. “We won’t tell what we’ve
heard here, Mr. Claybourne. Not a word.”

Hunter only grinned. “Then, I’ll have
to.”

“Hunter, are you sure?”

He gazed down on her, held her face between
his huge hands. “I love you, Felicity. I have been censured, and my
name reduced to nothing. I’ve lost an irreplaceable position as
Commissioner of Railways—one I thought meant more to me than
anything else I could have imagined. But then . . . never in all my
life could I have imagined such a priceless treasure as
you.
I am nothing without you and your goodness.”

“Oh, Hunter!” He cradled her head against his
chest. She soaked up his scent and the magnificent feel of his
arms, and then his salty-sweet mouth seeking hers.

Then he was kissing every inch of her mouth.
“I will promise to amass great fortunes, my love, if you’ll promise
to spend them for me. I’m no good at that, and you seem to know
where it will do the most good. But just now, I want to take you
back to our home—”

“Home? And what if I’m not sure I want to go
there?” Her eyes blazed as she pulled herself away to look hard at
him.

Hunter panicked. “Not go home?” He never
considered—

“You dismissed me, Hunter! You got angry and
then dismissed me, as if I were a housemaid caught stealing the
silver. I will
never
be dismissed by you again.”

“Oh, my love, you never were.” His heart was
pounding a terrified dirge. “Turning from you was the most
difficult thing I have ever done in my life. And I could never do
it again. I
never
will.”

“Then from now on, when you get angry with
me, Hunter, you will take your miserable hide out to the clearing
and chop yourself a cord of wood. Then you’ll come back inside, and
we will discuss the matter rationally. And we will love each other
through it all. Is that clear?”

“As crystal, madam.” He cradled the back of
her head. His eyes went wonderfully soft, and the light of his
heart blazed there. “I will be your husband irrevocably and forever
more, my love. If you’ll have me.”

Felicity was about to answer when she felt a
tug at her skirt, and looked down at Betts. “Yes, love?”

“Is the big man happy again, miss? Is he?”
She looked so full of hope.

Gran was grinning, nodding her gray head in
twinkle-eyed mischief. Lady Meath and Lady Oswin were gripping each
other’s hands, and the children were all waiting.

Felicity smiled up at Hunter; touched his
mouth with her fingers just to assure herself that he was real.

“Oh, I think Mr. Claybourne is going to find
himself irrevocably happy.”

Then he kissed her madly, while the whole of
the Beggar’s Academy looked on and applauded.

“D
id you ask after
the ship’s load line, Giles?” Hunter crossed his arms behind his
head and lay back against the soft grass. The March sun was
marvelously warm on his face, and the sweet, rich aroma of
Felicity’s herb garden made him grin with lusty memories.

They’d had to modify their lovemaking in the
last month, when her child-ripe belly had become unwieldy. In the
process, he’d discovered that his wife was as inventive as she was
passionate. She’d wanted him to meet her here, and so he would
wait, most happily.

“And what would a load line be, Mr.
Claybourne?”

Hunter watched out of the corner of his eye
as Giles stretched out noisily on the grass, matching Hunter’s own
pose, even to the bent knees and the fingers laced across his
chest. It seemed he’d grown a full six inches since Felicity had
brought him to live with them.

The first few months had been rocky, with
Giles following him around, baiting him like a belligerent shadow
and then darting away. But the boy had excelled with the tutor,
showed a remarkable skill with numbers, and he’d recently taken up
reading the
Times
and asking perceptive questions about
shipping news.

“If you’re going to invest your shillings in
a cargo, you’d best see how the ship lies in the water when its
full.”

“Ah, I see.” Giles rolled up onto his elbow
and nodded sagely at Hunter. “Can’t have the ship lying too low in
the water. Too risky.”

“Exactly. But don’t count on the shipping
company to protect your investment, Giles. You’ve got to learn to
protect it yourself.”

Giles’s brow darkened and he plucked at the
grass. “But it isn’t my money. Not really. You gave it to me. I
didn’t work for it, didn’t earn it.”

Hunter sat upright, wondering where the
sudden brooding had come from. “Ah, but you have earned it, son.
You’ve made my wife very happy. And that makes you worth more to me
than I could ever pay you.”

Hunter watched helplessly as huge tears
gathered in Giles’s eyes. The road had been a rough one, but he’d
begun to enjoy this fatherly role. Yet he hadn’t the slightest idea
how to tell that to the boy. He thought back on what he would have
liked to have heard as a child. Then he realized—

“You’ve made
me
very happy too, Giles.
And damned proud.”

“Have I?” Giles blinked and hiccuped, and a
pair of huge tears splashed into the grass. “Thank you, sir. I . .
.” He gave a cry and launched himself into Hunter’s arms, all
gangly limbed and too big to be weeping.

Hunter’s own throat constricted as he patted
the boy’s back and held him. Home. Yes, that was the thing, that
was the need for them all.

“This is your home now, Giles. It’s a bit on
the grandish side for a pair like you and me, but it’s home. And
it’s all right to love till it hurts.”

Giles continued to weep, and Hunter couldn’t
blame him. He’d been overcome himself more than a few times in the
last few months; it happened nearly every time he laid eyes on his
wife. His happiness made his heart ache.

“Hey, now,” Hunter said, lifting the boy off
his shoulder. “What say you and I pay a visit tomorrow afternoon to
the West India Docks, and I’ll show you what I mean about load
line?”

“Really?” Giles sat up on his knees and
scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his once-starched white shirt.
“You and me, sir?”

“I’ll introduce you to a few of the captains,
a few of the owners, perhaps—”

“Yes sir! I’d like that!” Then Giles was
looking over Hunter’s shoulder, and frowning.

“Hello, Giles.” Betts plopped herself down
possessively in Hunter’s lap, her short legs dangling across his
folded ones, and handed him a pink ribbon. “Could you please tie my
hair, Papa? You’re ever so good at it.”

He had to swallow hard nearly every time
Betts called him Papa. He’d get use to it some day—the sourceless
guilt, as well as the overwhelming sense of belonging that
fatherhood had brought to him. Three children, and another to come
only a week or two from now. Who could have imagined?

“Where is your mama?” he asked, as he
gathered Betts’s hair into a short, curly rope at her nape. Her
hair had grown from its close crop to her shoulders in bright
springy curls, and she was forever bringing him ribbons to tie it
all up.

“Mama’s in the kitchen with Andy and Mrs.
Sweeney. Do you like lollipops, Papa? Giles does, don’t you
Giles?”

“No.” Giles was still frowning, obviously
irked that their father-to-son conversation had been interrupted by
Betts and her silly ribbons. “We’re going to the West India Dock
tomorrow. Mr. Claybourne and I.”

“I’m going with you!”