Love Then Begins (4 page)

The waves flowed all over her, drowning her and her senses and she was dimly aware that she must have moaned from the bottom of her being with the pleasure that overtook her. Somewhere far away she could hear him moaning too, and when the waves ebbed out and she raised her head to look at him again, his eyes were closed and his mouth was opened against her chest.

“Holly,” he whispered as at last they quieted down and returned to their immovable state, “you are . . . ”

“ . . . all yours,” she gasped, “all mine.”

If anything, the sleep that followed was even more relaxed and peaceful than that of the night before. This time, instead of finding themselves waking up at various times during the night feeling surprised at the other’s presence—as welcome and wonderful as it was—this time they sank into a full and deep slumber together, knowing at every level that the other belonged just exactly there. They thoroughly enjoyed the indulgence of lying late in bed, of making love instead of rising and starting a day of work or responsibilities and obligations, of snuggling naked into the warm covers and against each other and falling into that deep second slumber. And when they woke again quite some time later, it was only natural that he should pull her to him and once again they would move together, slowly and drowsily, spending all the time they needed in becoming familiar with one another in every way. In all ways.

Holly no longer felt unsure or timid; her husband found no further need to restrain himself or his desires. In turns throughout that morning they gave and they took, they touched and they submitted. At times they talked and laughed together, and at times they discovered there was no need for words at all.

The “one flesh” had been accomplished fairly soon on their first night together, but it was that overcast and grey morning after that truly made them into man and wife.

“
S
O, MY LORD,” SHE SMILED,
“is this
all
one does on one’s honeymoon?”

“Aside from eat, drink and occasionally sleep,” he grinned, “I believe so, if you have chosen your mate well. Why? Don’t tell me you have tired of your wifely obligations already, my lady.”

“Not a bit,” she let her finger slowly trace the line of his jaw. “It’s just that it feels so . . . decadent. I haven’t been dressed, or been out of bed for that matter, for days.”

He drew his arms around her and pulled her up on to him. “Have I told you how much I love you when you’re feeling decadent?”

“Not in so many words.” Looking down on him through the curtain of hair spilling onto his chest, she tucked one leg on either side of his hips and wriggled slightly, making him close his eyes and groan softly. “But I think I know. And as long as there is not something I ought to be doing instead . . . ”

“I have no other plans,” he murmured, placing his hands on her hips and settling her into place, “have you?”

“Well,” she teased, playfully resisting his efforts, “I have been shamefully neglecting my work these past few days. Perhaps I should—”

“Hold your tongue, woman,” his eyes sparkled as a determined thrust terminated her words in a gasp of surprise and pleasure. “No distractions. Besides, all that’s all ready been taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” Holly pulled up, stilling his slow movements. “What do you mean it’s already taken care of?”

“Just what I said,” he resumed the rhythm, “so I think we might as well discuss that later.”

“
I
think,” she sat upright, compelling him to be still by resting her weight over him, “we may as well discuss it now.”

“Now?” He was clearly baffled.

“Now,” she smiled and wriggled again, “but be quick about it.”

“Very well then,” he sighed, not quite pouting. “McKenna and I have already spoken, and everything is resolved.”

Holly gave him a narrow look. “I beg your pardon?”

He looked baffled and she placed her hand on his chest, pulling away a little.

“I just happened upon him at the Thistle and we agreed it was feasible for him to reconsider your engagement.”

“I beg your pardon,” Holly’s smile faded. “Again. My work is between Dr McKenna and myself. Why did
you
feel the need to speak to him about it?”

“Because, my love, your professional obligation toward Dr McKenna is incompatible with your obligations as my wife.” He smiled, hoping that was sufficient explanation, but her appalled expression compelled him to continue. “It is slightly awkward, I know, but I promise my feelings about the whole thing really don’t come into play. It is purely business and Dr McKenna must understand that.”

“Awkward indeed! So you admit it is wrong of you to interfere and yet you do it anyway?”

He gave her a quick look of irritation—this was not a discussion he had ever envisioned having while in such a delicate position. “No, I admit no such thing. It is
not
wrong, but it
is
awkward and difficult—though, I think, easily enough remedied: your obligation to Dr McKenna is at an end, and any additional needs of his will be undertaken by a new illustrator.”

“A
new
illustrator,” she snapped, crawling away and dislodging him with a very inelegant motion. “And what will a new illustrator know about our vision for this publication? What will someone new do to my existing work? To what we have accomplished so far? I certainly will not allow my work to be cobbled together with
a new illustrator’s
inferior drawings, just for the sake of—”

“For the sake of what, Holly?” Baugham sat up angrily. “Of me? Of our marriage?”

“For the sake of your injured masculinity! My work has nothing to do with us or our marriage.”

“Right,” he grumbled, “it has to do with you and Dr McKenna—just the two of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she tugged the sheet up, covering her exposed breasts. “Can you not put aside your injured feelings for one moment and trust that I know how to handle myself? I cannot just abandon him!”

“Now who’s being ridiculous? I have no injured feelings, except over your lack of belief in me. You will simply have to trust that I, as your husband, know what is best to be done. I am trying very hard to set aside my personal feelings to do what is right and expedient in this particular situation.”

“Personal feelings?” she retorted. “Now you admit to having them after all? Yet you will not even confess those feelings on this particular matter to me? Not to mention
my
feelings!”

He frowned and punched the pillow behind him.

“Yes, right, very well. My feelings? You are perfectly aware of my feelings! At least I thought you were! Every moment away from you is a waste of time and space. And the fact that I even entertained for one moment the thought of you being closeted with another man, ‘working’ or whatever it is you do, for any span of time, should tell you I am trying to keep my ‘feelings’ well out of this, and be reasonable and just, and treat you with the respect you deserve as a person in your own right and not as my property! Regardless of whatever feudal authority I certainly may have the right to as your husband!”

Holly’s voice came out in a sharp whisper in her effort to keep her voice steady.

“What do you mean, ‘closeted with another man’ and doing ‘whatever it is we do’? Just exactly what are you suggesting my work with Dr McKenna entails? Do I need to bring forth my sketches and drawings to prove my honour to you? Is this how you define treating me with respect?”

He had realised his mistake the moment after he had made it, but still the tone of her voice hurt his feelings.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said in the same suppressed whisper. “I know what it entails since I have had the privilege of watching you two do it and, may I say, the easy communication and companionship that has developed between you could easily give justification for most natural jealousy and possessiveness on my part.”

“It is work!”

“It is another man!”

Holly made a horrified noise and scrambled out of the bed, wrapping herself in the sheet and leaving him exposed and alone. She stood, mouth open in disbelief.

“But it’s not just any man,” Baugham continued, scrambling for a pillow. “Holly . . . I am trying very hard not to . . . because I do know that you would not . . . are not. And neither is Dr McKenna. But neither will I apologise for my selfishness in this regard . . . ”

She was stubbornly staring daggers at him and her breath came very rapidly.

“Darling,” he spoke softly. “I am sorry. But it is true, you know. Please do not be angry with me. Not today, not now. Not like this. I do not want to argue with you.”

She swallowed and looked down. For a moment the world stood still as he waited, but then she met his gaze and he felt his heart slow down and the knot in his stomach dissolve. That softness in her eyes did him in again. He did need her so!

“Neither do I,” she whispered. “Not now. Not any more.”

“It’s not that important, is it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “In view of things, it isn’t I suppose.”

“Forgive me?” He reached out to take her hand and pull her closer. She did resist a little, because it really was not appropriate in her mind that he should turn this around so quickly, but at the same time she knew she had no fight in her. She nodded and took a deep breath.

“Of course. I am sorry, too. I do see . . . I mean, I know.” She bit her lip. “What should I do then?”

“You should come back to bed,” he said, just like she instantly realised he would when she uttered the question and she had to marvel at how easily she was defeated. They had fought so much and over such trifles and she did love him so much. So much she ached sometimes and nothing else did matter except that they were together, and that now . . . now she knew the way to ease that ache inside of her.

“And what will that solve?” she asked even while crawling across the jumbled spreads and quilts to reach him.

“Quite a many things. You would be surprised.” He smiled and drew her down, pulling the protective sheet away from her with one hand while sliding the other along her naked hip.

She had to smile a little as well. He made it so easy for her to smile.

She settled in his arms and for a while they lay there, listening in silence to the quiet around them once more. His fingers moved up and down her arm in a leisurely, tender fashion. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“Holly,” he said above her. “I’m happy. Thank you.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking down at her and her swollen lips, flushed cheeks and glittering eyes before he kissed her hungrily, nearly giving in to his ever rising need there and then. She finally caught his head between her hands and forced him to let go.

She traced his features with her fingers and studied every inch of his generous mouth, his straight nose, the stubble on his chin and cheeks and the way his hair fell down over his forehead and almost hid those incredible blue eyes that saw all of her—clothed or not.

“My dearest heart,” she said, “my dearest most beloved.”

“I love you,” he answered. “There is only you. Everything is you.”

“
B
UT YOU’RE THE MISTRESS, YOU
most certainly
can
change your mind,” the young husband said as he followed his wife down the stairs several days later.

“Certainly I may,” she retorted without turning around, avoiding the danger of his persuasive eyes that had been so effective in keeping her upstairs for so long. “However, I do not wish to change my mind.”

“Holly,” he began softly, but she twisted away from his hands that were just moving to encircle her waist.

“No.” She ran down several steps before turning around and giving him what she hoped was a stern look, though not really trying to hide the smile that hovered behind it. “We agreed this morning. I
am
mistress of this house, and I should like to at last preside over a dinner at my own table.”

He tugged at the knot around his neck, uncomfortable after nearly a week of going without. “I much prefer to see you presiding over a tray on your bed,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come on,” he winked and tilted his chin toward the upstairs, “let’s go back up.”

“But we already sent word to Mrs McLaughlin,” Holly protested rather weakly, “she’ll be expecting us to come down.”

“She won’t mind, love.”

As much as Holly knew that the housekeeper would indeed mind, she found herself in great danger of taking that outstretched hand and allowing herself to be convinced that one more dinner upstairs would not hurt anything. Thankfully, she was rescued in her moment of weakness by the sounds of scraping feet and gruff throat clearing noises at the bottom of the staircase.

“Ah, Mr McLaughlin,” Lord Baugham said upon seeing the man awaiting their descent, “are you here to play butler and escort us to the dining room?”

“No, m’laird,” the man said, “if ye’ll forgive me. I didnae want to trouble ye, but if I might have a minute . . . it’s just, the freeze being so bad and all, the drainage ditches hae iced over and the stables are flooded these past two days.”