Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Poor Bonnie," Jasmine said with a sympathetic smile. "You shall have no fingers left with which to sew by the time my wedding day comes. First Sybilla and now me."

The seamstress smiled back at the young woman. She was tired, and her poor little assistant was equally so; but neither of the women minded. They knew that their work would be appreciated, and unlike so many in service to great households, they were well-fed and warm at night in their attic bedchamber with its pretty casement windows which looked down across the fields. " 'Tis a pleasure to sew for you, m'lady," Bonnie said. "We've had far more time to complete your trousseau than we did Lady Sybilla's. Now you just hold still a moment more and I'll have that hem basted. 'Tis a beautiful wedding gown, m'lady, and needs just a tiny bit of remodeling. Styles have not changed so much over the years. You're taller than your grandmother, but a wee bit shorter than your mother, so the hem must come up again."

"My grandmother's and my mother's wedding gown," Jasmine said softly. "Oh Bonnie! I am so happy at last!"

"He's a fine man, the marquess," Bonnie said with a smile, and then she bit off the thread holding the basting stitches. "There, m'lady. Now let's get you out of this and then you can run off to your handsome lover. Just a few more weeks and you'll be his wife!"

"A moment," Skye said as she entered the room with Velvet, who had come from Swan Court. "Let me see you, darling girl. I never saw your mother in this gown, for I was in India when she wed Alex. Ahh, how beautiful you are!"

"Wearing your wedding gown, Mama," Velvet told them, "made me feel as if you and Papa were almost with me. My daughter, however, far outshines me with her radiance. The gown could have been tailored specifically for you, Jasmine. The color is perfect! Look at yourself!"

Jasmine, who had not dared to espy herself before, now turned and stared into the tall glass in the sewing room. The gown she wore was the very one that Skye had worn when she had been married to Adam; the same one her mother had worn when her marriage to Alex Gordon was celebrated at Queen's Malvern. It did indeed fit her as if it had been fashioned for her and her alone. The gown had been made in France, for that is where her grandparents had wed.

It was pure, shimmering silk, apple-green in color. The low, square bodice was embroidered with gold butterflies, daisies, and tiny seed pearls. There was a slightly darker green velvet underskirt embroidered to match the bodice. The sleeves were of the style called leg-of-mutton. They were decorated with tiny gold ribbons, and the wristbands were turned back to form a cuff, each one of which had a gold lace ruff. The long wasp waist and the bell-shaped skirt were still very much in style.

Skye had managed to have duplicated the silk undergarments as well as the pale green silk stockings embroidered with grapevines and the delicate silk slippers that had also been a part of her wedding outfit. Bonnie had, on her mistress's instructions, made cloth-of-gold silk roses to decorate the bride's dark hair. "You will wear my pearls," Skye told her granddaughter, and there were tears in her eyes.

Jasmine hugged each of the women in turn. "You are both so good to me," she told them.

"Tell me what you wore on your wedding day to Prince Jamal," Skye asked as Jasmine finally removed the wedding gown.

"I was garbed like an idol to show both my father's wealth and to honor my husband's family," Jasmine told them, and she described her red silk and diamond-studded outfit. "I am quite certain I prefer my lovely silk gown. India and the life I lived there is fast fading from my consciousness. I am an Englishwoman, and I am proud to be one."

Bonnie helped Jasmine out of the gown and its bodice. She had been listening avidly to the young woman's description of her previous wedding finery and now asked, fascinated, "What did you wear under all them silks, gold, and jewels, m'lady? I can't help being curious as a magpie."

"Why nothing, Bonnie," Jasmine told her, her turquoise-blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Nothing? Go on with you, m'lady!" the seamstress said.

"The climate is hot, Bonnie. Hotter than you can imagine, and, except on formal occasions, we wore few garments in India. There are no chemises and other undergarments as you have here in England," Jasmine said.

"Ohhh," Bonnie replied, shocked.

Her wardrobe just about completed, Jasmine went to visit Sybilla at Swan Court. Her stepsister had been pleading that she come that she might show off her new home. Jasmine was quite impressed with Swan Court, for although it was not a large house, it was a most charming one, with a lovely lake which was home to both black and white swans. Tom Ashburne's widowed mother had died three years previously, and so the house had been without a mistress to guide it. Sybilla, well-trained by her mother, quickly set everything in order, and now with spring upon them was directing the gardener in her efforts to restore the gardens. Jasmine stayed with the Ashburnes until a week before her wedding, when Rowan Lindley arrived to escort her home to Queen's Malvern.

"We'll be just two days behind you," Sybilla told Jasmine. "We must come slowly." She smiled archly at her stepsister.

"You are not riding? I far prefer to ride. The coach is so slow and too stuffy," Jasmine said.

"Tom will not let me ride … now," Sybilla replied, and she was unable to keep the smile from her face.

For a moment Jasmine stared at her as if she had gone mad, and then she shrieked, "You are going to have a baby! That's it, Sibby, isn't it? You are going to have a baby! Does Mama know?"

"Not yet," Sybilla said as the two hugged each other. "You must not tell her either. Your wedding is April thirtieth, and on Mama's birthday the following day, Tom and I intend gifting her with the news of her first grandchild. 'Twill be born in mid-autumn. I think I may have conceived on our wedding night. Ohh, I wish the same for you, dear Jasmine! I am so happy! Please be happy too!"

Riding across the English countryside with Rowan Lindley by her side, Jasmine considered that she was happy. The feeling had slipped up on her and, casting a look from beneath her eyelashes at the tawny-haired man riding by her side, she also considered the possibility that she might be falling in love with him. She wondered exactly how he felt about her. That he desired her was something he had not hidden even from the very beginning, but Jasmine was wise enough to know that desire would not be enough for her, nor for him either.

"You are thinking," he said, "and serious thoughts too."

"How can you know that?" she responded, smiling at him.

"Your forehead wrinkles when you are pondering, and the wrinkles deepen in relation to the seriousness of your thoughts," he told her.

Jasmine laughed. "How can you know me so well and in such a short time, Rowan?"

"I watch you," he said, "and we have known each other almost a full year now, Jasmine."

He made her feel almost ashamed, for she was not certain that she knew him as well as he seemed to know her. Daringly she asked him, "Do you love me, Rowan Lindley?"

"Aye, Jasmine, I do," he replied in all seriousness. "I have loved you from the beginning, my dear. Tom can tell you that I am like that. So it was with my first wife. I saw her. I fell in love."

"No, no, you cannot possibly love me," she insisted. "That you desire me, I know, but love me?" Her mare shied nervously at the tone in her voice, and Jasmine calmed the beast with a soothing pat.

"I love you," he said firmly, and then, "Are you beginning to love me, Jasmine? I would like it very much if you did."

She drew her animal to a halt and he followed her lead. "Love you? Aye, I think I am beginning to love you, Rowan."

They moved forward again in silence. The road stretched on ahead of them over the green hills which were dotted with colorful spring blossoms and frolicking lambs who resembled small, fluffy white clouds. Behind them, somewhere in the distance, the de Mariscos' coach rumbled forward, heading toward Queen's Malvern, Toramalli within, watching over her mistress's possessions. Jasmine kicked Ebony into a gallop. She needed to run almost as much as the mare herself did. Rowan Lindley's chestnut stallion kept pace with them.

The day, which had been gray to start with, began to look even more ominous. The wind picked up and dark clouds blew helter-skelter across the horizon and above them. There was a rumble of thunder and then the skies suddenly opened up, the rain pelting down on them in large, flat droplets. The coach had been far behind them to begin with, and their gallop had taken them even farther away from it. There seemed to be no shelter in sight. Jasmine pulled up the hood of her cloak and hunched down. They rode doggedly on until Rowan Lindley's sharp eye spotted a small building ahead of them set back slightly from the road. It was obviously inhabited, for from its chimney came a thin stream of smoke. He pointed to it, and Jasmine nodded, directing her horse to follow his.

As they drew near he shouted to her over the rain, " 'Tis an inn!" He pointed to a small sign hanging over the gate which read, THE ROSE AND CROWN. "We're in luck!"

They rode into the inn yard and dismounted, leading their beasts quickly into the small stable that was attached to the main building. There was one rather elderly horse housed within and several empty stalls.

"Can you unsaddle Ebony yourself, Jasmine, or will you need help?" he asked her.

"No, I can care for her, thank you," she replied, working to unfasten the girths from around the mare's belly. Setting the saddle aside, she found the feed and poured some grain into the stall's feed box. "There, my girl, you are settled for the time being," Jasmine told the creature, and she patted her lovingly, looking about. " 'Tis a clean place and the roof does not leak," she noted.

"Aye, the horses will be safe here," he agreed. "Now we must brave the rain again to get into the inn." Taking her hand, they stepped out into the wet weather again and hurried to the inn's front door.

The innkeeper was a pleasant-faced lady who jumped, startled as they came through the door. "Why bless my soul," she exclaimed. "I did not hear your coach, m'lord, m'lady. I am Mistress Greene."

"The coach is behind us some miles," Rowan Lindley said. "We rode and have stabled our horses ourselves. We will need rooms, good madame."

The innkeeper shook her head. "I am sorry, my lord, but I only have one chamber. 'Tis not often I see overnight guests, for the Red Bull is just down the road five miles or so. 'Tis quite large and comfortable, and most travelers stop there. Perhaps if the rain lets up you can go on. In the meantime I will be happy to serve you a good supper if you do not mind that the service is slow. My husband has gone off to market and will not be home tonight. 'Tis just my daughter Lizzie and me.

Jasmine looked around her. The inn was small but immaculately clean. There was a lovely fire burning in the big fireplace that took up almost an entire wall, and the tables were well-scrubbed. A large old black and white dog lay sprawled by the fire snoring. Jasmine smiled and looked up at the marquess. "Let us remain here the night, my lord," she said. "I am not of a mind to brave the elements any longer, and 'tis so private and peaceful here."

"I could sleep down here by the fire," he mused.

"Or you could share the bed with me," she said softly and put her hand upon his arm, looking up at him with a melting glance. "We are to be married next week, my lord. What is the harm of it?"

The innkeeper could not hear their conversation, but she was not surprised when the gentleman said, "We will take your guest chamber, Mistress Greene, and have our supper here by the fire when you are ready to serve it."

"Very good, my lord!" she replied, and then moved to help them with their wet cloaks. "I'll take them into the kitchen, m'lord, and dry them by the fire. They'll be just fine come morning."

"I'm afraid," Jasmine said, "that you will have to take my skirts as well. I am soaked practically through. Would you or your daughter have a skirt I might borrow while I eat supper?"

"Ah, poor lamb," the innkeeper sympathized. "You come into the kitchen with me right now, m'lady, and I'll take care of you. Lizzie," she called, and a fresh-faced girl of about sixteen appeared from the direction of the kitchen. "Run, child," her mother commanded her, "and fetch your Sunday best. The lady is wet clear through to her petticoats." She turned to the marquess. "I'll bring you a tankard of good ale and some cheese, my lord, if you'll wait but just a moment."

"See to my lady first, goodwife," Rowan Lindley said as the woman hurried off out of his sight. His feet were dry in his boots, and his breeches just barely spattered with rain. A woman's skirts were far more vulnerable to a blowing storm. Settling himself in the large single chair by the fire, he reached down and scratched the half-sleeping dog's silky head. Dark eyes viewed him a moment and then closed. The marquess laughed softly. "So you've correctly ascertained that I'm no threat, have you," he said to the dog, and stretched out his legs toward the fire.

Shortly, Mistress Greene returned with a large pewter mug filled with foamy brown ale which she gave him along with a plate of bread and cheese. "This will ease your lordship's appetite until supper," she said. "Twill be a wee time, for your lady's chilled and I've had my daughter bring the oak bathtub so your lady can bathe by the kitchen fire and get some warmth back into her little bones. Why, the lass is as slender as a reed and there's no meat on her at all." So saying, the innkeeper bustled off, leaving the Marquess of Westleigh chuckling.

In the kitchen, Jasmine found herself quickly divested of all her clothing and settled into a hot tub before the enormous fire where several iron pots bubbled and a joint of beef was being turned on a spit by Lizzie. Their wet clothing was spread on wooden racks at one end of the fireplace so it could dry. She was handed a clean cloth and a cake of soap by the innkeeper. The soap smelled of lavender, clean and brisk. Then left to herself, Jasmine washed the stink of the horses from her body and watched, soaking in the hot water, as Mistress Greene vigorously kneaded dough for the cottage loaves she would be serving in the morning.

With the dough left to rise within the bowl, her hostess helped her from the tub, and Jasmine toweled herself off with a rough, clean cloth. Her petticoats and chemise had been dried, for they were but fine lawn cotton, and she was offered Lizzie's Sunday best skirt of red linen along with a low-necked white blouse.

"I've nothing for your feet, and your stockings are still very damp, m'lady," Mistress Greene told her.

"Even fine ladies are known to go barefooted on occasion," Jasmine said with a smile. "The inn is warm, and my feet will not freeze."

"Then go and keep your fine gentleman company while I see to the supper," the innkeeper said. "I'll have Lizzie light the fire in the bedchamber so 'twill be warm for you later."

That she was dying of curiosity, Jasmine could see, and because she had been refrained from asking, Jasmine said, "I am Mistress Jasmine de Marisco, the granddaughter of the Earl and Countess of Lundy. The gentleman accompanying me is my betrothed husband, Lord Lindley, the Marquess of Westleigh. I am on my way home to Queen's Malvern to be married. My coach and servants will arrive later. They will be quite comfortable in your stable, but they will need to be fed."

Mistress Greene nodded. "I'll be happy to serve you, m'lady. More than likely, however, your coach will pass us by for the Red Bull, believing you to be there. If they do, you can catch them in the morning." The innkeeper curtsied as Jasmine turned and went into the tap room to join the marquess.

"Ohh, Ma, do you think she is telling the truth?" Lizzie wondered, very impressed by it all.

"Aye, she's a de Marisco girl. I saw her grandma once and never forgot it. She was on her way to visit a daughter and they stopped here at midday to water the horses and have a meal. You was just a wee thing and wouldn't remember, but I never forgot her ladyship. She was the most beautiful woman I ever seen. Mistress de Marisco favors her grandma. I wondered why she seemed so familiar when she came in earlier, and now I know. And a marquess for a husband!"

"He's really good-looking, too, Ma, with those gold eyes of his," Lizzie noted, and then she jumped as her mother slapped her. "Maaa!"

"You keep your eyes to yourself, Lizzie Greene! More than one girl's found herself in trouble flirtin' with the gentry!"

"I wasn't flirtin', Ma. I just looked at the gentleman," Lizzie sniffed.

"Well, don't go lookin' at gentlemen, my girl, or so much the worse for you," Mistress Greene warned her daughter. "Now get yourself upstairs and see a nice fire's lit in the guest chamber so's the lord and his lady don't freeze later. Then get back down here and we'll be serving the supper to them. That lass needs food, I can see."

Rowan and Jasmine sat at a small table pulled next to the fire and enjoyed the meal that Mistress Greene offered them. It was simple country food, but well-seasoned and hot. There was a rabbit stew with chunks of tender meat, onions, and carrots; thick slices of the beef Jasmine had seen roasting in the kitchen; a dish of mashed turnip with a knob of butter melting in it; fresh brown bread; and small, hard cheese. When they had managed to consume a goodly portion of this, washed down with brown ale, Mistress Greene presented them with a sweet pudding made with eggs, cream, bread, sugar, and currants.

The Marquess of Westleigh loosened his belt and said to the innkeeper, "If more people knew of your culinary skills, madame, your inn would be overrun with travelers, I vow it!"

"We do quite well, thank you, m'lord, with the day traffic and the occasional overnight guest," she told him with a pleased smile as she cleared the table of the last dishes. "When you're ready for your bed, you'll find the guest chamber at the top of the stairs."

"Will someone wait up for the coach, Mistress Greene?" Jasmine asked her, worried about Thistlewood and Toramalli.

"No need, m'lady. My daughter and I sleep here on the ground floor. If they come, we'll hear them for certain, but I think they have already passed us by for the Red Bull. I thought I heard a vehicle go by earlier on, but with the wind and rain, I could have been mistaken." She curtsied and returned to her kitchen.

Rowan Lindley and Jasmine sat silently for a few minutes before the fire, and then he asked, "Do you wish to retire, madame?"

She stood up and stretched languidly. "I am tired, my lord," she admitted, "and the rain upon the roof does have a soothing effect."

"Go up," he said. "I will join you shortly."

Opening the door at the top of the stairs, Jasmine found herself in a tiny room that was overwhelmed by a bed hung with homespun linen hangings decorated with colored threads. Stepping in, she closed the door behind her. The chamber was as immaculate as the rest of the inn. A well-laid fire burned in the small fireplace, warming the area quite well despite the blowing storm outside. The only other piece of furniture in the little space was a small wooden chair. Jasmine removed her skirt, petticoats, blouse, and chemise, laying them neatly over the rungs of the chair back. She loosened her hair from its chignon, combing it with her fingers. Then she hurried to climb into the bed. Though the lavender-scented sheets were cool, the feather bed beneath them would quickly warm her, she knew. Pulling the quilt over her, she snuggled down, her eyes closing.

Jasmine did not know what it was that woke her, but Rowan was in the chamber and about to enter the bed. "Do you always wear your shirt to bed, my lord?" she asked sleepily.

"Nay," he told her. "I generally sleep without any covering at all. 'Tis more comfortable, I find."

"So do I," she answered him.

Rowan Lindley removed his shirt and laid it with his other clothing upon the seat of the chair. After adding a few more twigs to the fire, he climbed into bed with her. For several long, deeply silent minutes they lay side by side, and then Jasmine began to giggle.

Surprised, he raised himself up upon an elbow and looked down into her beautiful face. "What, may I ask, is so amusing, madame?" he demanded of her.

"We are!" she managed to gasp before being overcome by a fresh fit of laughter that brought tears to her eyes. Finally, however, Jasmine managed to control her mirth, and said, "Oh, Rowan, my love! For months you have lusted after me, and I most boldly have offered to share my bed with you tonight. Here we lie, side by side, naked as the day we were born, and neither of us dares to make a move toward the other. Do you not find that amusing? I do!" And she began to laugh softly again.

Unable to restrain a grin, he chuckled with her, but then he grew serious and said, "Are you certain that you want this, Jasmine?" His heart was beating so fiercely within the cavity of his chest that he wondered that she could not hear it. If he were to restrain himself much longer, he thought, he would burst into a thousand pieces.

Reaching up, she caressed his face with her hand. "We are to be married in seven days, Rowan Lindley. My grandmother, God bless her, is so enthusiastic about this wedding that you would think it was my first marriage and not the second. She has planned a huge celebration. The house will be filled to overflowing with all of my relations and their offspring, some of whom I have not even met. The king and queen, thank God, cannot come. Amid all of this, you and I will be put to bed with great ceremony upon our wedding night. I'm told any sound heard issuing forth from our nuptial chamber will be snickered at and fully interpreted as to its meaning by those up and avidly listening as they swill their wine in the Great Hall of Queen's Malvern."

"Good God!" he said, looking appalled. "Is there no escape?"

"We cannot offend my grandparents by fleeing the scene immediately following our wedding ceremony," she said, and there was genuine regret in her voice. "We are forced to remain and take part in all of the festivities. I therefore propose we make tonight our wedding night, Rowan Lindley. Here at this little inn we are safe and secluded, our privacy protected from prying eyes. Here, tonight, we may make love to each other with all the passion of which we are both capable so that on our official wedding night we may sleep peacefully and foil the gossips."

"You are a devious woman," he said softly.

"I am my father's daughter," she replied. "Now what say you?"

In answer he threw back the quilt that covered them. "Stand up, Jasmine," he said. "I would see you as God has fashioned you."

She arose, and in the flickering firelight she saw a little stool upon the tiled hearth. Stepping up upon it, she looked directly at him. Slowly she raised her arms up, placing them behind her head, revealing the firm, full cones of her breasts to him. Her nipples were large and a deep brownish-rose in color. "Well, my lord?" she purred at him, her turquoise eyes glittering darkly at him.

He devoured her beauty slowly. The magnificent breasts, the long shapely legs, the full hips. She was incredibly voluptuous for such a delicately boned girl. The flames from the fire played over her creamy skin, bringing out a faint hint of gold that darkened just slightly upon her smooth Venus mont. "Turn," he softly commanded her, and with the hint of a smile upon her lips, she obeyed him, revealing to him her long shapely back and a bottom that was surprisingly fuller than he would have suspected, given the way her skirts fell. Her ravenblack hair hung just to the small of her back. She faced him again.

Rowan Lindley arose from the bed. Offering her his hand, he gallantly helped her from the stool and stepped up upon it himself. "Now madame, I offer myself to you for your inspection," he said.

Jasmine stepped back slightly and boldly surveyed him. He was tall and sturdily built, with very long legs. His chest was broad and smooth, his shoulders wide. He had big feet, with toes that seemed quite long to her.

"Turn," she told him, and he did, revealing a hard buttocks and a long, broad back. He faced her once again and Jasmine asked him, "Why is the hair between your legs darker than the hair upon your head, my lord? Other men have the same color in both places."

"The hair upon my head is lightened by the sunlight," he explained with a grin. What a question to ask a man!

Her eyes lingered between his legs where his manhood lay at rest. It was larger than any she had ever seen. Both Jamal Khan, her brother, and Glenkirk had been more than well-endowed, but Rowan Lindley seemed to her to be larger than other men. Her questioning look met his eyes. "Your manhood is very big, I think," she said slowly.

He nodded and agreed, "I've seen none bigger, Jasmine. Boys like to compare their attributes, and mine was always the largest by far."

"Will it fit me?" she wondered aloud.

"Quite nicely, I think," he said with a small chuckle. "I have never met a woman it did not fit." He stepped down from the stool and took her in his arms, his lips brushing the top of her head.

Her cheek lay against the smoothness of his chest. Her fingers made little circles upon his skin. She could feel the rhythmic, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. Lifting her head just slightly, she licked at his nipple, then kissed it with soft lips, moving to the other nipple, which she saluted in the same fashion. Rowan Lindley stood very still, allowing her to set the pace of their lovemaking. She rubbed her head against him, then sliding her palms slowly up his torso, she lifted her face to him.

Taking her head between his two hands, he bent, brushing his mouth softly over hers. Her tongue licked at his upper lip and then the lower lip as she pressed herself against him. The pliant mounds of her breasts aroused him, particularly as she slipped her arms about him, murmuring against his ear seductively. He could feel her firm thighs and her soft belly molding themselves against his thighs and belly. Then, as one of her hands caressed the back of his neck, she lowered her other hand to fondle his manhood. Her touch was like being scorched by flame. He had been touched there before, but never like this. Her slender, skilled fingers brought him as close to losing his control as he had ever been without actually being sheathed within his lover.

"God's nightshirt," he groaned, catching her hand and pulling it away from him. He was as near to spilling his seed as any green lad.

"Does it shock you that I touch you?" she asked him curiously.

He shook his head. "Your touch has magic in it, my love, but I am aroused almost beyond all bearing."

" 'Tis anticipation," she replied wisely.

He laughed weakly. "Aye. I do not think I have ever desired a woman as much as I desire you, Jasmine, but I want to enjoy this wedding night of ours. More important, I want you to enjoy it with me. I think, perhaps, that I should make love to you rather than you make love to me. Afterward I will be pleased to have you caress me as you have just now caressed me. Will you let me lead the way, my darling?"

"Men are quick to pleasure, my lord. Far quicker than a woman," she told him. "Since I but sought to please you, then you must, if it pleases you, gain your pleasure as you will. If in doing so you give me pleasure, so much the better!"

He laughed again. "I do not believe that any woman has ever spoken so freely with me, Jasmine de Marisco. You are honest and, it would seem, totally without guile. I fell in love with a beautiful girl, but the woman I wed is, I think, far better than I deserve."

"All women possess some guile, Rowan. Never believe it otherwise," she told him. "I am frank with you because it is my nature to speak thusly."

"Let us be done with talk," he said softly, and one arm about her supple waist, he reached up with his other hand to cup a breast within his warm palm. Gently he crushed the soft flesh, and his thumb stroked at the tender nipple. "Such perfection," he murmured softly into her perfumed hair. Then he bent, taking the nipple into his mouth and suckling hard upon it.

Jasmine's eyes closed, and she sighed deeply. Each tug of his mouth upon the sensitive nub sent a shiver of sensation deep into the secret places of her body. When he straightened himself, lifting her into his arms and walking with her to the bed, it was almost a relief of sorts. Gently he lay her upon the feather bed, joining her immediately, his mouth closing over her other nipple. Fiercely he drew upon it, causing her to cry out softly.

His tongue licked at the nipple and then began a leisurely exploration of her person. "I need to taste you," he said low as he moved from her chest to her belly to her thighs. Then turning her over on her belly, he licked her flesh from ankle to shoulder, nipping occasionally at her, causing her to squeal and squirm nervously. Rolling her over onto her back again, he slid down the bed to kiss her feet, saluting each toe in its turn and making her giggle. Moving slowly back up to where he was level with her, he slid a hand along the inside of her legs, rubbing, stroking, caressing. His gentle fingers insinuated themselves between the folds of flesh protecting that most sensitive of places a woman possesses.

Jasmine could feel that she was already moist with her rising passion. She bridled anxiously at his touch, remembering the last time he had touched her there; touched her and made her wild with a desire he had left unsatisfied. "Please," she said, flushing at her own word.

He continued to softly caress her, and she shivered with the sensation. "Open yourself to me," he said low, pushing gently at her closed thighs, and when she answered his request, his tawny head dipped between her legs and he drew them over his shoulders, his tongue finding her with an unerring aim. "Ahh," he groaned, "you are sweet, my love! So very, very sweet!"

"Ahhhhh," she half sobbed, his teasing tongue taunting her with long-awaited pleasure. "Ohh, yes Rowan! Please, yes!" She was aching with a need so great that it threatened to overwhelm her in its intensity as his tongue played havoc with her. She shuddered with her first release, but despite it the edge of her passion was greater than it had been before. "I need you inside me, Rowan," she pleaded with him. "Please! I will die if you do not put yourself within me!"

He rose up above her. "Look at what you have done to me, my love!" his voice grated harshly at her. "Open your eyes and see what I will pleasure you with, Jasmine, and I will pleasure you, my love, more than any other man has ever pleasured you! Look at me!"

She was fast being overcome with her own desire, but Jasmine forced her eyes open and almost cried aloud with joy, for his manhood, aroused, was huge. Rather than being afraid, she welcomed it, reaching out to caress it, guiding him eagerly into the depths of her very being. With a groan he sank into her flesh, feeling her young body encasing him tightly, yet at the same time opening to allow him passage deeper and deeper until finally he could go no farther. Slowly he withdrew himself almost to the tip of his spear, and then he began to pump her vigorously over and over and over again until their soft cries of pleasure, mingling with their kisses, drew them over the brink of sanity and down into the depths of unbridled passion.

Jasmine bit her lip until she could taste blood. Her nails raked savagely down his back. He filled her as no man had ever filled her, stretching the walls of her sheath until she thought they could stretch no more. His manhood throbbed its message of desire within her fevered body. She could barely breathe, and gasped desperately as the intensity built and built inside her until finally she gained release.

He could feel her tensing within, and then her quivering little flutters of satisfaction as she crowned the head of his manhood with her own sweet honeyed libation of pleasure. The warmth of it sent him out of control, and his own love juices burst forth in greater measure, searing her hidden garden with an intensity of ecstasy that left Jasmine weeping wildly with relief and happiness. Gathering her in his arms, he held her against him. There was nothing left for either of them to say. Together they had experienced the kind of passion known to few lovers, and they were both sophisticated enough to realize it.

After a time Jasmine said low, "I do not know if I can live through another such bout, Rowan Lindley. Never have I known such a lover as you, my lord. Never!"

"Not even Glenkirk?" He hated himself even as he said the words. What the hell was the matter with him? He could not allow his jealousy to eat away at him like this. He would drive her away.

"Not even Glenkirk," she answered him, understanding and wanting to reassure him. "He has neither your skill nor your other far more superior attributes," she teased, gently patting his manhood. "In fact, I find my appetite for you has increased rather than decreased, Rowan Lindley, my dear lord, my betrothed husband."

"You are worldly-wise enough to know that even the best lover must have rest, my darling," he said with a smile.

In answer she arose from the tangle of sheets and, walking across the room, found a basin and pitcher of water by the fire. Pouring some of the water into the basin, she took her chemise, dampened it, and wringing it out, returned to the bed to gently bathe his sex. He was fascinated by her actions, especially as she told him, "In India we always keep a basin of perfumed water and half a dozen love cloths by the bedside. It aids lovers in their renewal." Finished with her task, she bent over him and took his flaccid manhood in her mouth.

Rowan Lindley gasped with surprise, but as her mouth began to suckle upon him, he found himself unable, not unwilling, to make her cease. "God's foot, Jasmine!" he groaned. My God, he was being aroused by her teasing little tongue and mouth so quickly that he was scarce able to believe it himself. He felt himself growing hard, and hot, and aching with a renewed need to possess this incredible woman who was to shortly be his wife. Roughly he pulled her head from him, yanking her into their bed, driving himself back into her and reveling in her cry of pleasure. This time neither of them gave quarter; driving each other beyond desire, beyond passion, to a white-hot intensity that scorched their very souls.

When the spring dawn came, they arose from their bed and tenderly bathed each other with the remaining water. They should have been exhausted, but rather, each felt renewed and alive. Rowan left the bedchamber and returned with Jasmine's clothing, which was warm and dry after its night before the kitchen fire. She folded the damp chemise and stuffed it in the pocket of her skirt. Together they devoured a huge country breakfast of barley cereal, ham, boiled eggs, bread, cheese, and apple cider.

"Your coach never came," Mistress Greene told them. "It surely went on to the Red Bull. You'll catch up with them quick enough and be home by noon, m'lady, m'lord." She beamed at them as she bid them a farewell, her usual good nature made even more good-natured by the single gold coin the Marquess of Westleigh had pressed into her hand. It was more money than she and her family would see in five years, and she realized that Rowan Lindley's generosity was due to his obvious happiness. Curtseying, she stuffed the gold piece in her pocket and waved the lovers off with a cheery, "God go with you and bless you with many children! Sons!" she amended.

"Ohh, Ma! Is that a real gold coin?" Lizzie's eyes were wide with amazement. "Wait till Pa gets home and sees it!"

"You'll not be telling your pa about this coin," her mother said warningly. "Think, girl! Since the Red Bull opened up we just get by, thanks to my cooking, but if I was to die, where would you and your pa be? This gold coin will buy you a farmer's eldest son, my girl! You can be the wife of a propertied man, Lizzie. Your father would waste this coin on some fool scheme or another, and who would have you to wife then? Some itinerant tinker? Oh no! This coin can be your dowry and our little secret, eh?"

Lizzie grinned at her mother. "I hope I can be as happy as them two," she said, gazing after Jasmine and Rowan Lindley.

"Happiness is for the gentry," her mother said. "A God-fearing man with a good farm is all you'll ever need," Mistress Greene said, but she smiled as she watched her guests departing.

"You gave her far too much money for an evening's lodging," Jasmine scolded Rowan Lindley as they rode. "You should not be so generous, my lord."

"Not even to you, my love?" he teased her.

Jasmine laughed. "Now do not go twisting my words, my lord. My grandfather loves to do that to Grandmama."

"And does she fluster as easily as you do, my love?" His gold eyes were twinkling with merriment. "I adore you, Jasmine. I do not think I can wait a week to marry you."

"But you must," she said primly. "Besides, who is to know if you steal into my chamber at night? I cannot bear to be without you, my darling!" Her glance was meltingly torrid as it caressed the region between his legs, and she licked her lips suggestively.

"Witch!" he groaned, feeling a familiar tightness in the area of his groin. "You will simply have to behave yourself, Jasmine. I do not want your grandparents, or your mother and stepfather for that matter, privy to our affairs, er, personal matters."

But Skye took one look at Jasmine as the betrothed couple returned to Queen's Malvern and chuckled wisely. Jasmine was radiant, and Rowan Lindley had the look of a cat who had swallowed a particularly delicious canary, despite his great effort at dignity. She was pleased to see that her judgment had not failed her. Jasmine was more than ready to begin a new life with a new husband.

As the wedding day drew nearer and Queen's Malvern filled with all the children and grandchildren of Skye O'Malley de Marisco, Jasmine grew quiet and a trifle withdrawn. How different this all was from her first marriage to Jamal Khan, and yet there was a sameness to it. She remembered all the aunts, and the pleasure they gained from her wedding. How were they now? Did they all still live? Salim, of course, would be kind to them. His mother would see to that. She thought of her little palace on Wular Lake in Kashmir; of Ali the fisherman. Did he ever think of her? And she thought about Rugaiya Begum.

"What is it, my darling girl?" Skye asked Jasmine the night before her wedding, when the young woman's thoughts were particularly troubling. "What disturbs you? You have begun to love Rowan Lindley, that I can see, but something else distresses you greatly. Tell me and perhaps I can help to ease your mind of whatever worries you have."

"I cannot bear that my mother not know how happy I am, or that I am remarrying. It pains me that she will never see her grandchildren, Grandmama. She did not deserve to be alone in her old age," Jasmine said. "She was a good and loving mother."

Skye nodded. Loyalty was something that she well understood. "There is always a way," she said thoughtfully to her granddaughter. "We need to find a means by which we can communicate with Rugaiya Begum so that your brother does not learn of it. You know these people best of any of us. Think, Jasmine! Is there such a way for us to speak to Rugaiya Begum so that only she can hear and understand? Your cousin in Cambay can deliver the message, but how? Only tell me how and I will see it done!"

"My mother enjoys her garden," Jasmine said thoughtfully, "and she would know that my father often called Candra his English Rose. What if Alain O'Flaherty, himself, brought two rosebushes to Mama Begum. English rosebushes! He could speak to her using the roses to explain my situation. She would understand. I know that she would!"

"Perhaps," Skye said. "Perhaps you are right, my darling girl, but it will be at least ten months before our ships leave again for India. In that time you may have other news for your Mama Begum. That, too, would please her every bit as much as I know it will please me and Velvet."

"Now I can be happy," Jasmine said softly. "Thank you, Grandmama! I do not know what I should do without you. May I never have to know it!" She hugged Skye hard.

"Nonsense, my darling girl," Skye O'Malley de Marisco said. "I shall be with you for many a year yet. I am just now skirting the edges of old age, but there is a great deal of living left in me! A great deal of living indeed!"

At dawn the next morning the family and their guests crowded themselves into the chapel at Queen's Malvern. As there were but four carved oak benches within, most were forced to stand about the room, in the rear, and out into the hallway. The rising sun lit the stained-glass windows, casting shadows of red, blue, gold, rose, and green that gave the place a magical glow. Upon the marble altar with its Irish lace cloth sat a gold crucifix which was flanked by tall gold candlesticks burning pure beeswax tapers.

The bride, radiant in her apple-green silk gown with its charming gold adornments, was escorted by her proud grandfather. Adam looked extremely handsome in his elegant suit of dark green velvet. He beamed with pride, and tears shone in his blue eyes as they traversed the narrow aisle. He and Skye had been in India when Velvet had married Alex. He had not had the privilege of giving his daughter away, and had always felt the loss of that singular, special moment. When Jasmine had asked him to do the honors for her, he had been overwhelmed with delight, and readily accepted.

Now as they reached the altar rail, which was carved around with grapevines, he bent down to place a kiss upon his beloved granddaughter's cheek, even as he put her hand into the hand of a besotted Rowan Lindley.

Jasmine smiled at him, and reaching up touched his cheek tenderly with her other hand. "I love you, Grandpapa," she told him softly.

Adam stepped back to join Skye, the tears now slipping quite unashamedly down his cheeks. Wordlessly, his wife handed him a handkerchief, squeezing his hand in hers as the Church of England priest began to speak the beautiful words of the marriage ceremony.