The Bride Says No (22 page)

“For helping me sort out my troubles. I may have read too much into my own feelings, let alone those of others.” She started walking toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Annefield. If rumors are going around and Mr. Jamerson is standing on the bridge pining for his betrothed, Tara needs me. My being here will only add to the tongue wagging.”

“What of Mr. Stephens?”

Aileen paused. “He doesn’t have feelings for me. You are right.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sabrina said, holding Rolf back as he tried to lick her face.

“But you gave me a chance to reconsider. If Mr. Stephens did have strong feelings for me, wouldn’t he have shown some sign, such as coming to me? Or at least writing a note?”

“Or standing on the bridge, staring at your uncle’s house? That would be a sight, with both Mr. Jamerson and Mr. Stephens on General Wade’s Bridge.”

“That it would, but tigers don’t wait, not for anyone. They either act, or they don’t. Thank you, Sabrina.” Aileen came back in the room to give her cousin a kiss on the cheek, needing to push aside the wiggly Rolf to do so.

“Good luck to you,” Sabrina said. “And don’t worry about the rumors. I’ve already denounced them and will keep doing so.”

“I shall see you at Tara’s wedding,” Aileen called as she left the room.

I
t did not take long for her to pack. Emory, her uncle’s man, drove her back to Annefield in the pony cart.

The sun was setting when she arrived, and the lamp over Annefield’s front step had been lit. Ingold opened the door in greeting. “It is good to have you return,” he said.

“Is all well?” she asked as Simon took her luggage from her and carried it up the stairs.

Ingold leaned forward. “Lady Tara has taken a tray in her room. Mr. Stephens ate with his lordship but has returned to his room.”

“And the earl?”

“In the dining room.”

Which meant he was drinking.

Aileen did not want to see him. “I shall go upstairs,” she said. “Please send a tray to my—”

“Daughter!” the earl’s voice rang through the hall. He came marching toward her. He had removed his coat, so he was only in waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

Aileen drew a deep, fortifying breath and plastered a smile on her face. “Hello.”

“Good to have you home,” he said and then, in the next breath, “Ingold, my coat, my hat. Send someone to have a horse saddled.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler motioned for Simon, who was halfway down the stairs after having carried Aileen’s bag to her room, to fetch his lord’s clothing. Ingold himself then went down the hall to send someone out to the stables.

“You are going out?” Aileen asked, puzzled. “At this hour?”

“I am indeed. Thought I would go half mad stuck here in the country. Had to keep up appearances, but you are here now, and you can chaperone the lot.” He confided, “You won’t have to worry much. Stephens and Tara are a bit like oil and water. They don’t mingle.”

Aileen did not like the way her heart gave a happy little start at the information. “Does that bode well for the marriage?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“The marriage bed will stir them up fine,” the earl predicted. “And if it doesn’t? Well, not my worry.”

“Where are you going?” Aileen asked.

The earl did a little jig. “The widow Bossley needs me for a wee visit. She’s been lonely.”

“Oh, I’m certain she has been,” Aileen murmured.

Her sire’s response was to laugh. “She sends me letters with fulsome promises for breakfast, supper and dinner. I am most ready to take her up on her offers.” He tapped an impatient foot, a sign he was anxious to be off. “We had a good hunt the other day,” he said as if making conversation.

Ah, the hunt. After all that had transpired Sunday evening, Aileen had forgotten about it. She was certain that Ingold and Mrs. Watson had seen to matters. They usually did. “That’s good,” she murmured, as anxious for him to leave as he was to go.

Simon came down the stairs with the garments. The earl smiled and held out his arms for help with the wool jacket in a very stylish bottle green. He tugged on each sleeve, then stopped, as if struck by an idea. “I should tell you, Stephens is interested in the stables. He discussed building his own.”

“Oh,” Aileen said, not trusting herself to say more on the subject of Blake Stephens.

“He asked about one of my mares.” He reached for his hat and stepped in front of the small looking glass by the door to check his appearance as he put it on. “You know the mare. You used to ride her. Folly is her name.”

Aileen stopped breathing, suddenly afraid.

“Old thing,” her father was saying. “She was a good breeder, but her best days are behind her.”

“What about Folly?” Aileen’s first thought was that Mr. Stephens had exacted the perfect revenge. If he was angry with her for the other night and for leaving the house, there was no more perfect way to hurt Aileen than to tell the earl that his order to put Folly down had been ignored.

“He bought her,” the earl announced. “Told me he was interested in breeding stock and had heard of the mare.” He paused and frowned. “I’d thought I’d ordered the mare put down, but fortunately, I have her.” He turned to Aileen. “And let me tell you, I bargained hard with Stephens. He hardly countered for the price. I sold that mare to him for three times her worth. He’ll be keeping her here until he sets up his own place.”

Aileen thought she would faint from relief. She reached for the stair bannister to steady herself.

If Aileen had wanted a sign that Mr. Stephens cared for her, she could have asked no better.

There was a knock on the door. Since he was standing right there, the earl opened it to the stable lad with his horse. The earl shot Aileen a parting grin. “Don’t expect me home, daughter.” He left.

Had she told Sabrina she “believed” she had fallen in love with Mr. Stephens?

She now
knew
.

Love was not what she’d expected. It wasn’t gallant and noble. No, it was a heady rush of emotion based upon the realization that here, at last, was someone who cared about her as much as she did him.

Here, at last, was a man she could trust.

Aileen went charging up the stairs. She bypassed her room and went straight to Mr. Stephens’s door. She did not knock but walked right in.

He’d best be ready, because she was going to do more than just unceremoniously reenter his life. Oh no, she had come to love him.

B
lake had been feeling as if the world was a bleak place.

Tara had been doing her best to be pleasing the past two days, and without the artifice of pretention. It was as if she truly wished to marry him.

But he saw through her now. She was lovely, a fine specimen of the female species . . . but he found he wanted more. He wanted a woman who spoke her own mind and understood that passion for anything had to be genuinely felt for it to matter.

But that wasn’t the woman he was going to marry.

Word had been passed around London about his Highland wedding. His cronies and Penevey had sent word that they would be present. The worst moment was when Blake had read in Penevey’s letter that Arthur would be his traveling companion. The time to cry off was past.

Blake should have let Tara run when she’d first bolted . . . and yet, if he had not given chase, he would not have met Aileen. He would not have learned that his heart was capable of being moved or that he, too, like every other mortal man, yearned for the connection only love for a woman could provide.

Life had been a shallow experience before he’d met Aileen. Meeting her had been like discovering another half of himself.

And when this was all over, he and Tara would return to London and the life that
would
have made sense to him two weeks ago.

The prospect filled him with emptiness.

And then the door to his room opened.

Aileen marched into his room and back into his life.

She shut the door. For a second, he feared he was conjuring her out of his imagination, and then she smiled. She rushed toward him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with the ferocity of a tigress.

He had no choice but to kiss her back. It was as if his dreams had come to life.

She felt good in his arms. She fit so well against him. She was soft and accommodating in the places he was hard—and he was hard.

Even the scent of her drove him to madness.

This kiss, the touch of her skin, and the taste of her tongue, tickling and teasing his, set his every nerve on edge. He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he did Aileen.

Still, when her hands tugged free the edge of his shirt from his breeches, when she began unbuttoning those breeches, Blake broke the kiss.

His breathing was labored and deep. His desire for her was very real and obvious between them. “Do you know what you are doing?” he asked.

A slow,
knowledgeable
smile curved her lips. She slid her hand between their two bodies. She placed her palm on the length of his erection pressing against his breeches.

Her boldness stole his breath. With what little sanity he had left, he demanded, “Why?”

She moved closer to him to press her lips against the line of his jaw. “Because there isn’t another man in the world like Mr. Stephens,” she whispered. “And I am in the mood to make you very happy.”

There comes a point for a man when blood can be in only one of two places—the big head or the little one. He can think, or he can react. He can’t do both.

Blake had hit that point. Did it matter what drove her? He wanted this woman, and he would have her.

He backed her onto the bed, the covers thoughtfully turned down by Jones. He attempted to finish unbuttoning his breeches, but his fingers were clumsy.

Thankfully, Aileen’s weren’t.

She helped, and he could finally spring free. He pulled her skirts up, tore at the thin lawn of her undergarments.

The heat of her against his fingers pushed him beyond reason. She had reached the same point. She did not shy away but offered herself to him.

Sweet, merciful heaven
.

He could not wait another moment or he would disgrace himself. Blake lifted her legs with his forearms. She was completely at his mercy.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, meaning the words as he’d never meant them before.

“If you don’t do something right now,” she answered, reaching her arms out for him, “I shall scream in frustration.”

Blake heard himself laugh. She’d surprised him. And delighted him.

Her desire matched his. She was not afraid to demand action, and he felt himself a very lucky man.

With one strong thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

For a moment, he went still, reveling in her heat, feeling her body stretch, encase and embrace him. This was more than just the primal need of a man for a woman. There was magic in this joining and a sense that, at long last, he’d found where he belonged.
With
her.

Beside
her.

In
her.

Her cry let him know he was exactly where she wanted him. And if he released, he knew she would be happy.

But he wanted to make this a moment that would never be forgotten. So he held himself tight, an act of unbelievable restraint, then slowly began moving inside her.

Aileen was a vocal lover. Her sighs and well-pleasured moues were the finest encouragement he’d ever received.

The heat between them built. He found he needed more. He no longer held her legs. She had wrapped them around his waist, holding him to her. He took her by the hips. His thrusts became bolder, more demanding. Her arms gripped his forearms. She was beautiful, she was magnificent, she was glorious. Together they moved toward the moment of completeness, toward fulfillment.

Conscious thought was beyond Blake’s ability. She had him. He was hers. He pushed and pushed, wanting, wanting, wanting—

In one shimmering moment, they were together, and then, in the next, he felt her go over the edge of release. She cried his name, his
first
name, half sob, half blessing. He pressed deep, reveling in the sensation. Her muscles clenched him, holding him.

No woman had ever given herself so completely, so generously to him—and he allowed himself to follow her. He was so rooted inside her that their bodies felt fused together.

Blake’s physical sense of being disintegrated, blending into her in a way he’d never experienced before. They were completely one, bound by a force stronger than any he could have imagined.

He clung to her, silently vowing never to let her go. She was his salvation, his purpose, his meaning, his life. For a man who had never felt as if he’d belonged anywhere, this was a gift.

Her arms held him just as tightly.

Blake wanted to hold this moment forever. But eventually, his heartbeat began to return to normal. He became aware of his surroundings and realized his breeches were around his knees and her dress up to her breasts. “If anyone walked in right now . . . ,” he started.

Instead of her being embarrassed, a smile lit her face. She placed her hand against his jaw. “They would know we had a good time,” she finished.

I love you,
he wanted to say, but he held the words. Everyone professed love after what they’d just experienced.

He wanted that declaration to mean something to her when he said them, and a simple “I love you” would not be enough. For the first time in his life, he understood why men were moved to write poetry.

She ran her hand down the arm that still bore his weight over her. Her blue gray eyes looked up to him. “Would you like to undress completely . . . and perhaps try it again?”

Her suggestion had an immediate impact. He hardened. She had that complete power over him.

She’d noticed his reaction. She scooted back on the bed, her legs exposed to him. “I take that as an ‘aye,’ Mr. Stephens.”

“Oh,
aye,
” he assured her.

Aileen laughed and began loosening the laces of her dress, which was already hopelessly mussed. Blake didn’t waste time removing his own clothes. His boots were particularly stubborn, or was it that he was clumsy, with proof of his desire so evident?