Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

They reached Nottingham by ten. Had a license in hand shortly after and by eleven, were standing before a cleric in St. Mary's Cathedral. The coachman and the cleric's wife acted as their witnesses and the ceremony was painfully brief. Indeed, when it was all said and done, the whole of it took only a matter of minutes. How strange, Desmond thought, that something so momentous in one's life could be over practically within the blink of an eye.

Ushering Belladonna out of the church and back to the waiting landau, he saw her eyeing the simple gold band he'd placed on her finger. Edwina had given it to him the night before. It had been their mother's. She'd never worn it, preferring instead to wear the ring Thomas had given her that had been in his family for generations. Putting it on her finger had felt right. Destined, even.

"If you'd like something else, we can visit any jeweler in town. Or if you prefer, we can get something from London," he told her.

"Oh, no! No. This ring is lovely. I've never worn anything so fine. I feel rather like a fish out of water in my borrowed finery and wearing something so precious on my hand," she said.

"Belladonna, we have never had a chance to discuss my financial situation. But you should know, I have been very successful in my business endeavors. Successful enough that you need never worry about such things again. It is my fondest hope that you will soon grow quite accustomed to having a bit of luxury. Heaven knows you've earned it given all you've been put through."

She looked at him with an expression that he couldn't quite read. "I have never wanted for anything. I may not have been able to indulge in luxuries as you say, but I never did without. I never went hungry or had to worry about having a roof over my head. It may not seem like much, but I do love my little cottage. I've been very happy to live there."

He leaned forward taking her hadn't in his, rubbing his thumb over the gold band on her finger. "Would you be happy to reside with me at Highwood Abbey?"

"With your sister?"

Desmond shook his head. "No. Edwina has decided that the memory of Thomas looms too large for her in that house. Or rather the memory of what she and Thomas should have shared in all the years to come. She means to take a residence in the village proper. Something smaller and easier for her to manage on her own or with only a modicum of staff. I think she craves a bit of solitude."

"And my cottage?"

Desmond smiled even as he settled her hand more firmly in his. It wasn't simply to grasp it but to twine their fingers together in an intimate way, in a way that stated very clearly that he intended for them to be close. Closer, perhaps, than she realized. "It is your cottage, Belladonna. I cannot profess to know all it is that you do, but I know that it is part of who you are. And I would not interfere in that for all the world. I do not want you to feel that marrying me means sacrificing something else. I would give you the world if I could. Granting—no, that isn't quite right. It isn't mine to grant, is it? Choosing not to interfere with your independence and your life's work is surely the very least I can do."

"You must stop," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

"What am I doing to you that is so wrong, Belladonna?"

"I can't love you," she said. "I won't. And at every turn you are doing all that you can to make that an impossible vow to keep."

"Then do not. Do not keep such a silly vow. Whatever you fear, we can face it together," he urged her. "That is what marriage is. You are my wife. The only woman whom I have ever considered spending the remainder of my days with. I have never even been tempted until I met you."

"Don't you see? That is why this cannot be! It isn't real. What you think you feel for me is nothing more than the curse at work."

He laughed. "No, it is not. I will not deny that circumstances for you have been harsh or that your family has not endured significant losses over the years. But what I feel for you is not about a curse laid upon you. What I feel for you is about the fact that you are beautiful… desirable. That you are kind and caring, even to those who do not deserve it. That when you touched me, though it was only to tend to me while I was recuperating, no touch has ever effected me so. In short, Belladonna, it is you. Not a curse. Not a spell. Not a potion. The magic of it all is only you."

It was the way he looked at her, Bella realized, that was her undoing. She'd been looked at with contempt, with suspicion, with lust and envy. She had been looked at as an object of pity or scorn for most of her life. But he looked at her as though she were a gift, as though her very presence brought him happiness.

Against all reason and better judgement, against the very vows she had made to herself, she did the unthinkable. She threw herself into his arms, kissing him with a fervor that shocked them both.

It was as different as the other kiss they had shared as night was from day. There was no restraint. No caution or careful testing of the waters. It was raw and hungry, insistent and all consuming. Quite simply, it was unlike anything she had ever known. Certainly it was well beyond anything she had ever imagined. If this was the sort of desire that had taken the other women of her family, swept them headlong into doomed love affairs, she could now fully understand why it was that they had fallen.

But if she was swept away by the sudden onslaught of unfamiliar desire, Desmond seemed to navigate those waters very well. He shifted her on his lap so that she sat astride his thighs, her knees resting on the seat. It was an undeniably intimate position, one that presented possibilities which were both gloriously tempting and also terrifying.

His lips left hers, but only to press elsewhere against her feverish skin. He rained kisses along her jawline, her neck, the delicate and terribly sensitive spot just behind her ear. It was glorious and maddening all at once. She was clinging to him, wanting to be as close to him as she could possibly be.

The heavy velvet cloak Genie had insisted on her having was suddenly cast aside. The puffed sleeves of the silk gown were tugged down her arms until the bodice sagged. Then his mouth was there, pressing hot and fevered kisses to the swells of her breasts. Everywhere he touched her, she burned.

Somehow, with fingers far too quick and too skilled, he'd loosened the ties of her dress until it simply fell to her waist. Even with only her chemise and stays covering her, she felt no shame or embarrassment. Her unusual upbringing and her connection to the natural world had left her with what most would deem a shocking lack of modesty. But she'd been taught, all of her life, to treasure and take pride in her feminine form, to know that all women contained magic within themselves.

He drew back, his gaze roaming over her. "You are magnificent."

"I do not want words." Half in challenge and half in invitation, she continued, "Show me."