Chapter Nineteen

A week later

When he came awake, it was to a guttering nub of a candle at his bedside table and a relatively cool breeze coming into the room with the scent of rain. Because it nearly always rained in London, didn't it?

Pain still throbbed through his shoulder, but it was more manageable than when he'd first been shot. The faint fuzziness of his brain was an indication he'd been given laudanum at some point, and there was a jumbled set of memories that smelled like toast, felt as if he'd been caught in a fire, but tasted of the bitter medicine mixed with… broth of some sort.

It meant they'd done everything in their power to keep him alive. Gratitude filled his chest, temporarily swept away the discomfort gripping his body.

The surprise grew when he discovered they'd put him to bed as naked as the day he was born. No doubt it had been easier to look after him without needing to manipulate clothing, but the shifting bedclothes created interesting sensations over his skin. As he turned his head, inky shadows on the pillow beside him gave him pause. Was the darkness back to claim him again? Then the shadows moved. A hint of lilacs wafted to his nose, and his pulse accelerated, for his wife lay beside him in the bed.

"Charity?" His whisper sounded like a rusty gate. "Charity?" Why the devil was she here, in his bed, sleeping beside him?

"Michael." Her dear voice was graveled with sleep, but then she gasped, propped herself on an elbow, and as the carriage-style clock on the fireplace mantle across the room softly chimed the two o'clock hour, she peered down into his face with a wide grin. "Oh, good heavens, you are finally awake!" Then she burst into tears, leaned over, slipped her arms awkwardly around him, and hugged him.

A groan issued from him as well as a hiss of pain, but he didn't care. He was alive and his wife was extraordinarily thrilled to see him. Since his right arm had been placed in a makeshift sling fashioned from two cravats, he held her the best he could with his left. "How long have I been out?"

"Seven days at teatime yesterday." Silvery tracks of tears decorated her cheeks where fading bruises mottled the skin with greenish blue smudges. "You were very nearly gone when the Duke of Strathfield and the other rogues carried you off the dock; you'd lost so much blood every one of them was grim."

"I can imagine. I was worried myself." God, but it felt so good, so right to hold her, feel the warmth of her, that he reveled in all he'd been given, and when her breath steamed his cheek, he felt as if he'd truly gone to heaven. Brought home when his shaft shivered to life. "What next?"

"They brought you home, stripped off your disgusting clothing, had a surgeon in, someone that the Duke of Edenthorpe knew personally and trusted." As she spoke, Charity smoothed her fingers through his hair and over his brow. "You developed a fever that we feared was from infection, but it broke a few days ago." Her eyes glittered in the dim illumination, and because she'd never learned how to mask her emotions, there was no mistaking the fear, relief, as well as the love in those sapphire depths. "I refused to let him bleed you, since you'd lost so much blood already."

It humbled him to his core that she had taken charge of his care. "The ball?" he managed to croak, for his throat was quite dry.

"Was dug out by the surgeon. Three of the rogues had to hold you down, for even unconscious, you tried to fight them." When she moved away, he immediately missed her warmth, but she only went around to his side of the bed, poured water from a crystal carafe into a matching glass on the bedside table. "After that, the doctor gave you laudanum, told us that we should pray, that your body would either continue to fight or it wouldn't. I… I refused to give up." Those glorious eyes sparkled in the guttering candle that was on the table at the opposite side of the bed. "Every couple of hours during your fever, I came in and bathed your forehead and chest with cool, damp cloths. I trickled broth and laudanum and water between your lips in an effort to keep you nourished and out of intense pain."

Was it any wonder why he loved her? "Where is Christopher?" He couldn't imagine the fright his son had been put through.

She held his head up so he could take small sips of the water. Was there anything better than the simple refreshment of having liquid in the throat after not being himself? "I thought it best that he shouldn't bear witness to what might happen at such a young age." As she replaced the glass, she frowned. "I sent Christopher to your estate in Essex. Uh, the Duke of Lockwood escorted him there."

"What?" That was indeed a shock.

"In the event you expired, I didn't want your son to see you like that. I shouldn't think such a young boy should hear his father's cries of pain and delirium… or death." Her swallow was audible. "When the duke offered, I ac cepted. He said his family needed a holiday, and in light of Lady Stover getting away, he wanted to remove them from London for a bit. They will return to Town whenever I write to Lockwood and give him the news you are either alive or dead."

It made sense. "Well, I did offer the estate up to any of the men should they need it, and it is a charming place." His chest was tight with thankfulness. "No doubt my sister will be thrilled with the company."

"During the evenings, I took dinner on a tray here so I could talk to you." A hint of a blush stained her cheeks. "I thought perhaps you might hear me in your delirium and come back." Her voice broke, and his heart squeezed.

"Aw, sweeting." Since his right side was to her, it was awkward to offer his left hand across his body, so she sat on the side of the bed. "You may go ahead and write to the duke, but implore him to continue making use of the estate. Once I've healed further, you and I will travel there, for I still need to introduce you to my mother and sister."

"I would like that very much." Again, she touched his face, caressed her fingers along his cheek, and that barely-there touch would be his undoing. Already, tiny fires were erupting throughout his blood.

Awareness and interest danced over his skin and along his shaft—a clear indication he was firmly among the living and ready to take up the reins of his life once more. "You continue to protect the boy."

"He is your son." She shrugged. "I promised you that I would."

"No, dearest." Michael tugged her down far enough that he could lightly press his lips to hers. Damn, but it had been too long since he'd kissed her, and now that he could, it was all the sweeter. "He is our son." Yes, it felt all too wonderful moving forward in life.

"Oh!" Tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you." Her chin trembled. "During your recovery, you should know that your friends kept vigil at your bedside. I have never seen so many dukes and earls in my life, and knowing they came here, knowing they count you as a dear friend…" A sob interrupted her words. "The true mark of a good man is seeing who he counts as friends. You are wealthy beyond words."

"Do stop." Moisture rose into his own eyes. This time he didn't care if it made him seem weak. Far too much had occurred in his life that had taught him showing emotion, letting himself break, accepting his flaws, only made him a stronger person. "I have done the same for many of them. That is what brothers-in-arms do."

"I know." She dashed at the tears on her cheeks. "Yesterday, I sent them all home. The poor men needed sleep and to hug their own families." With a sigh, she gave him a tremulous smile, and his world tilted. "It was a bit selfish of me, but I wanted to be the one here when you either woke or passed, because… because…" When she moistened her lips, he bit back a groan of pure need. "Michael Ashworth, I love you, now and always, and I don't care that we have only been wed for barely over two weeks, and half of that time you were unconscious."

The words were enough to break down the remainder of the wall he'd kept around his heart since his first wife died. Over the crumbling pieces came wave after wave of love that filled every point of his being and strengthened his soul.

For a few moments, he let himself weep with gratitude and relief. Then he mopped his face and struggled into a sitting position, ignoring the throb of pain in his shoulder. "Sometimes, a person knows another is right for them. There is no rhyme or reason, there is no waving flag or flaring candle or trumpeting fanfare. Love just… is. It comes softly like a thief in the night, and it settles into the heart with all the comfort and familiarity as if it has always been there." And then, he absolutely knew what he needed to do, what he wanted to do now because of those feelings. As he slipped off the bed, he bit back a curse. "Damn, th at hurts." To say nothing of how odd it was to experience the rain-laden breeze on his nude skin.

Immediately, concern etched Charity's brow. "Do you want another dose of laudanum?"

"Not just yet. There are things I would say, overtures I want to make, lost time to make up for, and I don't need my mind clouded by opiates." Honestly, his surgeon wouldn't be best pleased to find him out of bed, but what did those men know? When he'd been wounded in the war, depending on the severity each time, he either went back out on the battlefields, or he tried to leave his sick bed, much to the consternation of the women who served as nurses.

"What are you about?" She turned on the bed's edge to better look at him straight on. With her legs naturally parted and clad as she was in a delicate, frothy creation of a night dress and her black hair resembling spilled ink down around her shoulders, she was a vision, the angel he'd dreamed of while lost in a fevered haze.

"Telling you what I should have on the dock." The act of kneeling would tax him this early in his recovery, so he pulled a wooden chair close and perched upon it. "Forgive me. I am not a young man anymore and neither do I think I could get back up with the arm not useful. "

"There is no need. I understood the gist of it that afternoon."

"Ah, but you deserve so much more." But how could he put all of that into mere words? Not knowing, he vowed to try, and when the words failed him, he would use actions. "While it's true I married you out of convenience, to save us both from gossip and scandal, so that I could protect you from further attacks, over the course of our time together, our relationship has become something… different."

"Something you had hoped it might be?"

"Yes. Of course, yes." He took one of her hands in his operational one and stared upward into her face, holding her gaze. "I thought at one time I could never give my heart to a woman again, because it would hurt too much if something were to happen to you, because grief is so all-consuming for a bit. I just didn't have the strength." Slowly, Michael shook his head. "Or so I thought, but then I met you, and you truly needed me. Me ."

She frowned. "Since I'm a no name woman thrust into the beau monde ?"

"Absolutely not." Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed the back. "You are exactly who you were meant to be, and you are brilliantly perfect for me." The longer he stared into those sapphire eyes, the more he wanted to dive into those pools. "I have come to admire your daring, your bravery, your fierce protective instincts, your willingness to continue on in the face of danger, the latitude you give me for my broken mind."

"Even a broken clock gives the correct time twice a day, Michael." This time, she brought his hand to her lips. "Your scars from the war are merely on the inside instead of on the outside. It doesn't take away from the lovely man you are."

A lump of emotion lodged in his throat, but he swallowed it down the best he could. He'd assumed he could never know the level of such acceptance again, but Charity had surprised him in that as well. "In you, I have found… home." It was as simple as that.

"That was beautiful." The tremor in her voice went through his heart yet wrapped that organ in a cloud of comfort. "It is exactly how it feels, and I haven't been home in a very long time indeed."

Then he couldn't stand it any longer; he had to kiss her, tell her without words how he felt. Moving to the edge of his chair, he snaked his left hand around her nape, brought her forward, and then claimed her lips with his. In that one meeting of mouths, he knew exquisite peace and oddly enough, safety in her embrace. Seconds, minutes, days went by while he moved gently over her mouth, and she did the same to him .

When they parted merely to breathe, a shuddering sigh came from her.

"I want you, Michael. When I didn't know if you would live or die, I was nearly out of my mind with sadness, for I hadn't had enough of you during our short marriage." A shiver racked her body and brought his attention briefly to her hardened, dark pink nipples visible through the thin lawn of her night dress. "I will wait, though, since you have only just regained consciousness."

"I can manage something not quite as taxing as full intercourse." It was insane how much he wanted her, especially after suffering such a horrid injury, but life was to be enjoyed by the living. Needing to touch her, he stood and buried the fingers of his good hand into the dark waterfall of her hair. "I adore your hair."

"It vexes me too often."

"A pity, for it is as perfect as you." Then he claimed her lips, couldn't have enough of her—his wife. "Marry me."

"Perhaps you should go back to sleep. We are already wed."

Michael couldn't help but grin. "Then remain married to me, but not just for convenience. In all the ways that matter, for everything marriage will entail, even…" As emotion welled in his throat, he swallowed around it. "Even if our couplings might result in a child." When he attempted to ya nk at the hem of her night dress, it was a disaster. "Damned difficult with one hand."

"Let me help." With a couple of tugs and squirms, Charity removed her night dress. When the filmy garment fell to the floor, he gave into a shiver. Seeing her thusly made him temporarily forget about the pain in his shoulder. "Are you certain you are well enough to do this?" As she spoke, she slid her heated gaze down his body, and his length twitched and hardened further.

"Quite certain. Or I can at least give it a good try." Once more, he sat on the edge of the chair, brought it close enough that he could easily put his head and shoulders between her splayed thighs.

"Good." His wife opened her legs wider as she put a hand to his nape. "Make me fly, Michael. Since Christopher is away, we needn't be quite as quiet."

Fuck me!

"Well, thank goodness for that." Then he couldn't wait any longer. He pressed a kiss to one of her knees. "You have turned my world upside down and I couldn't be happier." When he dropped a kiss on the opposite knee, she shivered.

"You have done the same for me, and what's more, you've given me a family. For that, I will always love you." She kissed his lips, caressed a hand through his hair. When her gaze met his, he caught a wicked twinkle there before the candle snuffed itself out. "Put a babe in my belly. You are my husband, and I can't wait to begin our lives together."

Oh, God.

Determined to show her the depth of his regard, Michael caressed first one of her legs and then the other. When he drew his fingertips up the inside of those limbs, skimmed his touch along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, a moan escaped her, prompting a chuckle. "I wish I had full use of both hands."

"You are doing a fine job with one." As evidenced by the gooseflesh on her skin.

Wanting to see her spend as soon as possible, he played with her pebbled nipples, made certain to ramp her need before he returned to bedevil her legs and thighs all over again. Needing more, he buried his face between her thighs, and ran his tongue along her heated folds.

"Oh, oh…" The darling woman squirmed from his attention. She reclined back onto her elbows, which gave him greater access.

And he enjoyed every moment tasting her. It was only the second time he'd treated her to such an act, but from her expression, it seemed she'd taken to it with alacrity. Either he was skilled, or she was already primed, for it took next to no time before she fell over the edge. Her fingers in his hair tightened, pulling as she rode a tame wave of release. A tiny scream left her throat as he lapped at the moisture escaping her core.

"That was gorgeous."

Passion kept a blush on her cheeks and her eyes dilated. "Clearly, it wasn't my best work."

"Well, to be fair, you have been unconscious for a week." She winked. "Perhaps you'll make a better showing some other time."

Was it any wonder why he adored her? "Ha. I'll do so now." With a growl, Michael kissed his way up her body as he stood. Every inch of skin he covered with kisses or licks or gentle nibbles depending on his whim, and when he finished exploring her with his mouth, he did it all over again with his fingers, tongue, and teeth. The pain in his shoulder was forgotten as heat came over him and fire filled his blood. Already, he was hard to the point of pain.

"This pace will drive me mad," she whispered and clutched at his shoulders, but when he hissed with surprise and discomfort, she immediately dropped her hand from his right side. "I forgot about your injury."

"So did I, but perhaps I am too awkward to finish you tonight." And that was a crime in and of itself.

Her lips pulled into a pout. "Move onto the bed. I will guide you to spare you the exertion. "

"This is what I mean when I say you are perfect," he said on the heels of a grin, but he did as she dictated. As soon as he planted his arse on the mattress, she pounced.

"You flatter me far too much, and to be honest, I adore it." When she straddled his lap, Michael nearly came too early, for that innocent glide of skin over skin, the friction of his shaft rubbing against her bottom left him breathless and aching with need.

"You deserve every good thing, and I will endeavor to give you all of it."

She rested a hand on his chest. Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I love you. There is nothing more I can say that would convey what I feel."

"Agreed." Like everything with her, it was akin to coming home, where peace and calm waited—everything he had sought since leaving the war. He took one of her nipples into his mouth, and simply enjoyed that pebbled texture on his tongue.

"Oh!" She squirmed, which only exacerbated his need. "More," she asked and held him close to her with a hand at his nape. "Much more of that."

"Gladly." When he switched his attention to her other breast and she cried out, sharp desire surged through his shaft. "I won't last."

"You don't need to; just do your best. It's been a taxing time." As she leaned backward, his erect member brushed against her arse. "Love me."

"Haven't I been doing that since our first meeting?" But he nipped and nibbled the skin of her neck, her breasts, her shoulders. "I will never grow tired of being with you." It wouldn't be long before he completely lost himself in her.

"How romantic you are," she said with humor in her voice. She wriggled, obviously hoping he would get on with it. Apparently impatient, Charity leaned over him and kissed him, teased his mouth open, chased his tongue with hers until they were both panting.

"We are going to have a marvelous time together." This time it was he who kissed her. With a mere meeting of mouths and fencing of tongues, he soared, forgot the pain throbbing in his shoulder, forgot there was still a threat lurking out there, forgot everything except the woman in his arms—or rather, arm. Almost giddy, he drank from her again and again as if he wanted to share each breath or commune with her soul. When she held his head between her hands, rested her forehead on his, he shook with need. "Thank you for choosing me, sweeting."

"I could say the same of you." While kissing him, she reached between them, took his length in hand and guided him to her opening. "No more talking," she whispered and wriggled her hips in encouragement, which sent him halfway into her body. "Make me fly."

"Of course. Whatever my lady wants." Awareness and awe raced over his skin. I am so damned fortunate. As moisture gathered in his eyes, he thrust upward into her and didn't stop until she was fully impaled. The warmth of her closed around him, and each time he moved in and out of her honeyed heat, he couldn't help but moan in pleasure. This act, with newly discovered love to guide it, was so much sweeter.

"This feels as if we were always meant to be here." Charity sighed, gripped his left shoulder, and more or less clung to him while he stroked.

Each hard thrust pulled a moan from her lips. Every deep push had him seeing stars behind his eyelids. Urgency rode his shaft. His stones drew tight to his body. When he delved his hand beneath her bottom to encourage her to move faster on his length, she cried out in surrender.

Their gazes connected and his world tilted again. After years of avoiding marriage, this captivating woman had come into his life and changed everything that mattered, to the point that he couldn't imagine life without her.

The thought filled him with renewed purpose, gave him hope for the future despite the uncertainty. Michael drove into her as if joining with her body was as essential to him as living. Deeper. Harder. Longer his thrusts grew, and she slammed down each time he went upward. They moved together in a dance as old as time. Bliss glimmered just out of reach. When Charity apparently went into the void, she dug her nails into his shoulder and chest, but her scream of completion was magnificent. If the neighbors were still awake, they'd gotten quite an earful.

But he didn't care. She was wonderful… and she was his.

"Michael, oh Michael." Over and over, she murmured his name like a litany upon her lips, and he continued his quest for release himself.

Seconds later, he tumbled into it with a swiftness and intensity that stole his breath. After pumping into her warmth one last time, Michael collapsed, melted into the mattress, and layered her body over his as her ragged breathing rasped in his ear.

"I will never tire of this," she said with exhaustion threading through the whisper.

Not for worlds would he admit to the pain that went through his shoulder and arm from being jostled by their coupling, for it had been, indeed, incredible, but he did ease her off his body. When she curled into his side, he grinned. "I beg your pardon. I can't think of something more erudite to say in this moment. "

An unladylike snort escaped her. "Then it must have been a lovely joining."

"Indeed." He couldn't help his own laughter. "Christopher is going to be so happy. He wants to show you everything he enjoys in London, and no doubt he will chatter your ears off."

"I am ready for all that life will give." When she pressed her lips to his chest, he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, but that would need to wait until he'd healed completely. Instead, he wrapped his left arm around her and sighed.

"As am I."

She yawned. "In the event you wondered, when your friends were carrying you to a carriage that horrible day, I managed to retrieve the necklace. We can either donate it to the British Museum or sell the diamonds. If we do that, we can fill your coffers and donate the rest to various causes about Town."

"Our coffers. We are a team, remember." He winked. "I love you so damned much. No doubt we'll have lengthy discussions on the fate of that necklace." While exhaustion claimed him, he closed his eyes. Life often took one on odd journeys fraught with emotion, and the only thing to do in order to survive was ride the waves. Because, once those particular oceans calmed, there was often a beautiful miracle waiting for one if they were strong enough to see.