LITMIR.BIZ

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eyebrow and turned back to the minister.

      To Eleanor, the next few minutes passed in a blur, but throughout the ceremony she clung to Garrick, her lifeline in a storm-tossed sea while the necessary words were spoken.

      He, on the other hand, seemed preoccupied, impatient for the conclusion, speaking his words crisply and clearly, tensing when she spoke hers. Considerate, and gentle when he kissed her, bland as he received the well wishes of those present, even generous as he hugged Cecilia and called her his chère sister, he clearly wished it over. Was he already regretting his hasty offer? Eleanor had a strange sense of foreboding, when she should have been happy.

      The moment the vicar sprinkled sand on their signatures in the register, Garrick hurried her down the aisle with his hand in the small of her back, almost pushing her into the carriage when she would have lingered with Sissy at the steps.

      He turned to clasp the Lieutenant’s hand. Garrick clapped a hand to the young man’s shoulder. A look of regret passed between them. This was more than just a casual parting. The thought stuck her like a blow.

      Garrick was leaving. Despite their marriage he was still going to France. And soon. Her stomach roiled as if the lifeline had snapped and all hope of rescue was disappearing into the distance. Somehow she had to stop him.

      ‘Take Lady Cecelia home, Dan,’ Garrick ordered, then climbed into the carriage.

      Married. Garrick eyed his lovely wife on the opposite carriage seat. She smiled at him tentatively. He wanted to smile back, to pull her on to his lap, to bury his face in her hair and inhale her sweet perfume, when what he must do was get ready to leave. And he was going to have to tell her.

      The carriage pulled up outside the door to Beauworth House. ‘Here we are,’ he said to fill the awkward silence when they’d never been short of conversation.

      He handed his bride down. His bride? The beautiful English rose he’d thought he’d lost. But she’d married him to save her brother and her reputation. Would she constantly remind him of her sacrifice, or would she be content? If they never learned the truth about his mother’s death, would she fear him? Hell, if she didn’t she’d be a fool.

      And yet she’d married him. Trusted him with her body and soul. He felt humbled and very afraid.

      She peeked up at him, looking more nervous than she’d been last night, when she ought to have been terrified witless. A need to protect cut a swathe through his determination to remain uninvolved. He swept her up in his arms, bearing his burden with pride. It was what bridegrooms were supposed to do on their wedding day. He liked the way she clung around his neck, the weight of her, the curve of her waist, the bend of her knee, the glimpse of slender ankles when he glanced down to mount the steps to his open front door.

      ‘This is your home now,’ he said, putting her down when he wanted to keep her in his arms and run straight upstairs. ‘Order it as you will.’

      He stepped away while the butler relieved her of her outer raiment, the damned cloak she’d worn the night before, and beneath it the pale blue gown. He’d like to see her dressed in nothing but satins and silks in shades of gold and sapphire. Hell, he’d like to see her naked.

      ‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ the butler said.

      ‘No point in waiting,’ Garrick said. ‘Unless you feel the need to freshen up.’

      She shook her head.

      ‘Good.’ He held out his arm. He escorted her into the panelled dining room, with its twenty-foot table and two places set at one end.

      ‘Will Lieutenant Smith not be joining us?’ she asked, hesitantly.

      The tiny hesitation scoured his heart. He could not allow her to wound him again, not with all that was at stake. ‘Afraid to be alone with me, Ellie? Do you think I will devour you instead of the meal?’

      At that she smiled, a glorious lightening of her beautiful face, and the band around his chest eased.

      ‘Of course not,’ she said. The butler placed several platters on the table, filled their glasses with red wine, then retreated to stand silent at the wall.

      Garrick filled her plate with slices of roast duck, an assortment of vegetables and a slice of beef pie. They addressed themselves to the dinner. Or rather she pushed the food around on her plate, while he drank wine. After ten minutes of utter silence, he waved the butler away. The door closed softly behind him.

      ‘What is the matter, Ellie?’

      She bit her bottom lip, then raised her gaze to his face, her eyes swirling with shadows. ‘I hope you don’t regret…’ she waved her fork as if words failed her ‘…this. Us.’ A tinge of colour stained her cheekbones.

      What had he hoped for? A declaration that her marriage to him was more than a saving of face? He leaned back, keeping his voice cool. ‘To be honest with you, I had not thought of marriage at all. My life is already full.’

      She responded with a lift of her chin. Proud and heartbreakingly vulnerable. He found himself wanting to kiss her. But he wasn’t going to humble himself before the one woman with the power to bring him to his knees. Not again.

      ‘Then I do hope I won’t be in the way,’ she said in bright, brittle tones. ‘After all, it is no business of a wife’s what a man does for entertainment.’ She inspected the fruit centrepiece, as if expecting maggots to crawl out of it. ‘I do not ask you to change.’

      Bloody hell. So this is how she thought they would go on. ‘How understanding, ma belle mie.’

      Her eyes flashed, but she presented an innocent smile. ‘I assume, of course, that I shall have the same level of freedom.’

      So, she would once more cross swords with him. This was more the Ellie he knew, rather than the crushed little figure who had stood at his side in church. But he didn’t have time for games. ‘Not at all.’

      Her hand gripped her knife, as if she contemplated thrusting it into his anatomy. Then her shoulders relaxed and she smiled as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, the little witch. ‘La, sir, shouldn’t what is sauce for the gander be also sauce for the goose?’

      His back teeth ground together. He knew her little games too well. She thought to keep him in England with threats of infidelity. God, he’d always admired her spirit, but in this she’d be disillusioned. He forced a smile and inclined his head. ‘I see.’

      Her disappointment, her hurt, flashed in her eyes, quickly hidden. It was wicked of him to be pleased, but then she should know better than to play her tricks off on him.

      He pushed to his feet and moved to stand behind her. ‘Perhaps I need to remind you that you are mine, chérie.’ He placed his hands under her elbows, bringing her to her feet, unreasonably pleased when she didn’t resist. He kicked the chair out of the way and spun her around to face him. Her gaze searched his face. Looking for what? His surrender? If he had any sense, he’d put her across his knee and spank her bottom. Lust flared at the thought.

      Her eyes widened as if she had read his thoughts. He thought he might drown in their brilliant silver depths.

      He had his orders. Dover tonight, France in the morning. In the time he had available, he wanted her settled and secure, even if he could not ease her fears. He didn’t want her throwing herself at another man in a fit of rebellion.

      He bent his head and kissed her lips. She stiffened and he smiled. She would not resist him for long, she never did. He kissed her gently, a whispering brush of lips, a flicker of tongue. Her breathing shortened to little gasps, her hand came to his shoulder, she pressed her mouth against his and parted her lips. Oh, yes. His woman. His love.

      He picked her up, so light, a creature of air and light and liquid silver who would slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. He carried her upstairs to his bed. He did not know where his next meal was coming from once he left here, but the next hour would be food for his soul. And he would feast.

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