Chapter Eighteen

Anguish and fatigue slowed Quin's footsteps as he trekked to the main house, his bad leg protesting the grueling hours he and his stable hands put in. Days had passed since the storm, one after the other, a blur of hard work and toil as he'd tried to measure the damage done to the estate. Lightning struck several trees, but thankfully none of the workhorses in the field were harmed or lost their lives. Half the roofline to the new stable collapsed, while the hayloft in the original building remained dry. Mud covered the stalls and boxes, and he received a series of unfavorable reports from tenants, reporting a host of other problems.

One thing benefited him, the light and sandy Kentish soil prevented flooding. Markets at Sevenoaks relied on produce from each tenant's croft, and several pounds of oats a day were required for the racehorses at Rolleston-on-Dove.

And then there was his wife to consider.

Cock and crow!He'd done her miserably wrong. Did she feel as abandoned as the drays? He'd been so absorbed in setting the stables back to rights that he hadn't spoken to her since the storm. Arriving and departing late at night and early in the morning prevented their meeting by chance. But he had chosen to handle things this way, not to worry her, not to disturb her with details of the damage.

Liar!

Guilt kept him away.

She knew his cousin was the Black Widow of Whitehall, and that Bess had put his name on Lord Steere's eligible bachelor list. Would she despise him forever?

He couldn't take the chance that she would return to London and request an annulment. Imagining a life without her was sheer torment, especially when he firmly believed that he loved her.

They'd come far since that day at the park, their connection beginning with a game of chance. And luck had led him to the Lyon's Den to enlist Bess's help. If it wasn't for his cousin and Grey's help recognizing the brooch he'd sketched, they might have never met again.

No. Anonymity wasn't in the cards now.

While he hadn't lied to Augusta about Bess being the only family he had left, he had kept the information from her. Worse, he protected another damaging secret regarding Bess's relationship with her cousin Lottie. Information he had planned to confess the day of the storm, away from eavesdropping servants. Her violent reaction to the news proved his plan sound.

He'd lost much in life—his parents and the family farm—and received more from Bess and a stranger who'd taken him in and shown him compassion. His first major lesson being lies had no place in life or matters of business. Since Jason Prendergast had taken him in, he'd refused to play old gooseberry. And yet, the Devil had had his way with him for far too long, from young hemp to Old Robin to being smart as a carrot. Whether a youth or a proficient or smartly dressed, at his core, he was still a farmer's son in surly boots and three skips of a louse.

Society measured a topping man's worth differently than nobility. How would his wife interpret a viper's reserve?

Augusta had flourished since she'd arrived at Rolleston-on-Dove. Country life recommended her. Still, he was not immune to the truth. A piece of her was missing, her mirror image, a connection no other human being could fully understand.

Marching through the back door, he discarded his muddy boots and greatcoat before heading to the library for a drink, stiff and sore and bone-weary. He was determined. Someone had to take the dragon by the horns. His marriage was in trouble. Augusta had the power to annul the marriage if she wished, as it hadn't been consummated yet. He'd tried to be a gentleman, hoped to whisper her into his arms like he would break in an unridden horse. He'd held off his marital rights because of her anxiety for Delphi and his guilt for not telling her the truth. He'd allowed her to settle in, while he sat opposite her wallowing in despair, and gutted with self-loathing.

If only they'd had more time. The very thought of her leaving him, of being forced to live without her, made him queasy. He staggered, exhaustion taking a toll. One drink to heat him from within, and he would go to her and plead for her forgiveness. It wasn't too late. It was never too late to fight Fate, to keep from losing love again.

Pausing in the corridor, the avenue of his thoughts shocked him.

I love her!

It took him long enough to admit it. Shaking his head in disbelief, he opened the door to the library, and quietly stepped in, his mind and body at war. Cold, wet, tired, and hungry, he let out a growl, hardly knowing where to turn to get his life back on track, and stretched his back. One thing he understood. Their marriage wouldn't stand a chance if he didn't confess his feelings.

A fire blazed in the hearth, a welcome sight. The heat lured him closer and he made a mental note to commend Ellis for arranging the welcome upon his return from the stables. But wait. Something was different. He squinted, catching sight of movement on the floor. There, a blanket was spread with a feast fit for a king. His stomach growled immediately, and a half-smile crossed his face as he spied Augusta stretched out next to a basket, bold and wild and wanton in her thin muslin gown.

"This has gone on long enough," she said, rising onto her elbow.

"I could stand here and look at you all night."

Firelight outlined the shape of her body, leaving nothing to his imagination as the gown slipped from her shoulder, exposing a delectable mounding portion of one breast. If he'd been hesitant to make love to her before, he wasn't now.

Her golden hair cobwebbed a silvery path down her back, haloing her head. Stunned by her daring, words clung to his tongue like glue—half anticipation, half dread. He had shut her out—repeatedly. Literally locking her in a room to keep from deflowering her. To protect her from men in their cups. Because he thought he wasn't good enough for her. And because of his lies.

Longing filled him as he looked her over seductively. Why had he wasted so much time lying to himself? He loved her. He had to put this right.

"I am determined, Quin. You can stand there, thunderstruck like a deer in early morning, or you can come to me. But one thing you cannot do is ignore me forever. If this marriage is going to succeed, things have to change. We must—"

"Trust one another."

"Yes," she said smiling and coaxing him toward the blanket by the fire. "I agree, most heartily."

"I have been an unmitigated ass." He moved closer, drawn like a moth to a flame. "I have been dicked in the nob, done to a cow's thumb." Crazed and exhausted and making a fool of myself. He took her hand, wondering what he had ever done to deserve her as he sank helplessly to his knees. "You did this... for me?"

"It seemed the best way to get your attention." She peered into his face, locking her gaze with his. "We could not finish our last picnic."

"You did not look like this before the rain."

"I would have caught my death dressed like this in the rain."

"Don't say that."

"Forgive me. That was a bad choice of words. Why don't we start where we left off?" Her voice was warm and rich and a secretive smile softened her mouth. "You were telling me about your cousin, if I recall."

Her nipples pushed against the thin gossamer veil like perfect flowering buds. "I was? Forgive me. I find myself suddenly distracted." A fire coiled inside him fed by aching need. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, taste her, teach her the infinite skills of lovemaking, but he held back. She expected him to explain Bess's importance in their lives. But how did he do that without estranging Augusta further? "Bess is... She's... It's complicated."

"Nothing needs to be complicated between us," she said, her slender hand enveloping his. "She is a wealthy widow. She lives in London, and... Rolleston-on-Dove makes so much more sense now. You named the estate after your mother and her sister, didn't you?"

"Yes." There was no going back now. "I had every intention of telling you before our marriage, Augusta, but there was so much pressure to meet your father's expectations that I feared anyone discovering the truth. Bess is the owner of the Lyon's Den. She got Jason Prendergast to take me in after my parents died."

"Where is the gentleman now? I should like to thank him for raising such a good and loyal man."

He dropped his gaze. A mistake since her slender legs were slightly bent and—"He is gone. Lost like the others." By all intents and purposes, he'd almost lost Augusta.

"I am terribly sorry, Quin." She brushed her fingers over his face, her soft cheeks flush with color. "Your life has been such a struggle."

"I cannot lose you too, Augusta, but I cannot betray Bess. You understand, don't you?"

"I do now." She pointed to a stack of letters nearby. "I received these from Delphi. She is well," she hastened to assure him. "On her travels, however, she has learned a lot about our family, things neither she nor I were privy to. Things that corroborate what you told me the day of our picnic."

"Shhh." He put a finger to her mouth. "No one must overhear. Nevertheless, I am a wretch for not telling you sooner. The night we were to appear at your townhouse, I panicked and introduced my cousin by the pet name I've always used for her. Pigeon. She never forgets and she will eat almost anything, she puffs out her feathers and struts, when deep down she is docile and sweet."

"That does not sound like the Black Widow of Whitehall to me."

"You do not know her the way I do." He grinned, lightly tracing a path over her skin. "But let's not talk about the past. We are here together, now. Let's discuss us." He studied her, drinking her in, fearing one wrong word would seal their fates forever. "I am no young blood of Fancy, Augusta." He wrapped his arms around her and slid his hands down her back. "But I am loyal to a fault. You have my promise that I will not keep any more secrets from you and that you will never want for anything."

"Including love?" she asked, laying her head perfectly between the hollow of his neck and his shoulders.

"Especially love," he whispered in her ear. "Do we dare speak the truth?"

"I fear my heart will stop unless we do."

She squeezed his arms like she did before, in another library similar to this one. This time he took charge, lowering his lips to hers, drugged by the promise of seduction and release. He wanted to show Augusta how much he cherished her—loved her—but this was not the place for a lady, where anyone could come upon them. Driven by a need to preserve her dignity, he rose and lifted her into his arms.

"But the picnic," she exclaimed, stopping him as he carried her to the door. "Cook labored over it lovingly, and Ellis arranged—"

"I will thank them in the morning, but everything I need is in my arms."

"You are careless." She buried her face in his neck, breathing a kiss there that shot a current of heat through him. "And loving you will surely get me into trouble."

"And do you love me?" He stopped, pausing by the door.

"What is there not to love about a dove?" She sighed happily, threading her fingers through his hair. "I am fond of Crab and... riding Careless."

Moments later, safely ensconced in his bedchamber and eagerly shutting out the world, Quin lowered Augusta to her feet, his body tingling at the contact. She clung to him like a newborn colt, limbs trembling, and he drank in her nearness as he guided her to the bed. The dance they danced—'two shall become one flesh'—was as old as time. Far different than the Claremont's soiree, Augusta's thin muslin preferable to the frock she'd worn that night.

"You haven't said the words I so desperately want to hear," she said as he removed his linen shirt and discarded it recklessly.

"Take off your clothes."

She raised up on the tips of her toes and kissed him with her eyes. "Try harder."

He brushed his fingers along her shoulders until her dress fell away, the swish of the fabric exposing first her perfect breasts, and then her shapely hips and legs as the garment fell to a heap at her feet. "It's getting harder."

He followed suit, discarding his trousers, and closed the distance between them, her eyes growing rounder the moment she understood his double meaning.

The first rule of breaking in a filly was desensitizing her mouth and getting her accustomed to the bit. "This all started with a kiss. But you have not been properly kissed yet," he said placing his lips at the pulsing hollow of her throat. He backed her into the bed and slowly lowered her to the mattress.

"What is happening?" she asked when he buried his face in her neck.

"You are coming alive, my Spirit of the Serpentine." He fought to restrain himself, working light circles on the inside of her thighs, redistributing his weight, nibbling her earlobe, and recapturing her lips. His hands searched for pleasure points, discovering the moves that made her cling to him and sigh. "Allow me to teach you how to fly."

"Quin!" Instinctively, she arched into him, molding her body to his and driving him wild with need as he pulled away. "Don't stop."

Her pleasure was pure and explosive, the raw sensuousness a signal that she was ready to be mounted. Then, and only then, did he thread his fingers through her hair and press himself inside.

"I love you," he said, kissing her to absorb her pain and groaning with the effort it took to allow her to grow accustomed to him. "Sincerely."

Instantly, something changed within him, within her. Riding a wave of promises, they clung to each other, racing the whirlwind, and abandoning themselves to the tight, scorching heat that sent them both over the precipice.

Augusta awakened, feelingsore but gloriously alive. She molded herself to Quin and tilted her head to observe him. "I think I understand what it means to ride careless."

"Do you?" He cracked a smile.

"You know how much I enjoy riding."

"I do." He brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"Then why did it take you so long to show me?"

"‘The wildest colts make the best horses.'"He drew her close, expanding on the quote by Plutarch. "And a man in love must take particular care if he wants his new bride to become a happy wife."

"Oh, Quin. Don't you know, ‘Love can tame the wildest'?" She stroked his chest, her fingers teasing and learning how to bring him back to life.

"Aesop again?" he complained.

They laughed together.

"Personally, I prefer the wild to the tame."

He rolled over with her until she lay beneath him, gazing into his eyes and harnessing a shiver of want. "Then let's ride into the wild together, my love."