Lynne Connolly (10 page)

“You need to remember that he’s your son, Richard. Whatever he does, you cannot hurt him too badly.”

His voice hardened. “I can. He put hands on you last year, my love. He threatened your life. I could have forgiven him most other things, but not that. But I won’t move precipitately, and I won’t move before I’ve consulted with you.”

It was the best I could get from him at the moment, so I didn’t press him further. At least I’d have some notice, unless John did something so unutterably stupid he forced Richard into action. I snuggled closer, caressing his chest, feeling his heart slow down after our exertion of a few moments before. “He must have done something to agitate Pitt.”

“You know he’s been visiting the club?”

“No.” But I had guessed.

“I thought he might. It’s time we put an end to the Drurys’ games. Or restricted them.”

“How will you do that with Pitt and the Fieldings watching?”

“I don’t know yet.” He leaned up on one elbow and bent to kiss me. I loved the way his eyes drank me in, as if hungering for more, and I knew I was looking at him the same way. I loved him so much. “They may be succeeding in their bid for power. The power and privilege I have by birth, they want by taking. But in an underhanded manner. So typical of Julia, never trying an honest way when a sneaky one will do. She could have sponsored her husband into Parliament, have worked with politicians, but that isn’t good enough for her.”

I frowned and he lifted his hand, smoothed the crease away with a tender touch. “I think Steven is tiring of her games. He likes the danger of intimate encounters that her club brings him, but I think he’d have been happy with that alone.”

“He’s led by his cock.” Richard glanced at me and smiled. “True?”

“True. Wouldn’t you say you share something of that?”

He growled and ground his groin against me. Already his shaft was hardening again. “It’s not the only part of me that you lead, my lady. I am yours, wholly yours. Every part of me.” He kissed me again, his tongue insistent against my lips, and we forgot everything else but each other.

Chapter Seven

A few days later Richard went out before breakfast, but he joined me for the meal, one we both enjoyed since we took it informally. The servants laid the food on the sideboard, and we helped ourselves and each other. Frequently someone would join us, Freddy Thwaite, say, or Gervase, or Ian. Gatherings like these enabled the exchange of knowledge, or ideas, and was one reason that John Kneller started his campaign at a distinct disadvantage to the established members of society. But somewhat to my surprise, we found ourselves alone today. Surprised because Ian had promised to drop by with a book he’d bought for me, one I was anxious to read. Perhaps he hadn’t managed to find it, but I thought he had it in his possession.

When I spoke to Richard, he glanced up from his mail, a bright smile on his face. “You’ll probably see him later, sweetheart. Meanwhile, I have something to ask you.”

He got to his feet, dropped his napkin on the table and knelt before me. He took my left hand in his. “Rose, I love you. I’ll always love you.” He gazed at me and I realised he’d stopped because he’d run out of words. That had never happened to him before to my knowledge.

I gripped his hand, wondering. This sounded like a portentous declaration. “You don’t have to say any more, Richard. I know. Every day you tell me, and more importantly, you show me. And I love you too. Very much.” Unlike him, I didn’t need to search for words.

His gave a self-deprecatory grin. “As usual, sweetheart, you strike right to the heart of the matter. Rose, my precious love, will you marry me?”

I glanced at the rings on my left hand. “I already did so.”

His smile turned wry. “I remember. But this recent claim puts the validity of our marriage into question in some quarters. Not by me, never by me, but I want to be sure of you. I want to show you that I’ll marry you, no matter how many times it takes.”

“John’s claim is completely without foundation.” I remained firm—one of us had to be, and this affair had put far more strain on Richard than he was letting me see. I understood what he meant, and if this kept him happy, then I’d do it, but I saw no need for it. He was my husband.

“I know it. But I’ve made enquiries and it won’t do any harm for us to do it again.”

Then I understood. If in the future our marriage came into question, it would take an expensive court case and perhaps an unresolved one to ensure the validity of the heirs. What if my grandson and the grandson of Richard’s cousin and current heir became embroiled in a legal dispute? They could throw the whole Kerre fortune away pursuing the case, and only the lawyers would win. I’d seen it happen, and greed could be the only reason for it. The child I carried in my womb could be a boy, in which case, if we married now, he would be legitimate beyond dispute. Lucy Forder, John and Susan’s mother, was dead, so even if John’s claim came to court and they decided in John’s favour, Richard was currently a widower and free to remarry. Free to make a son and heir, one to step in once John’s claim was found wanting.

I thought Richard was worrying too much, and I couldn’t imagine that any court would find for John, but if Richard wanted this, I’d do it for him. As he said, I’d marry him as many times as it took. So I smiled and raised his hand to my lips, kissing it before I said, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, my love.”

So it was that later that day our carriage drew up outside a small church in the City—one of the number designed by Gibbs after the Great Fire. I’d heard rumours about Gibbs and the churches, that he was involved in nefarious activities, superstitious nonsense that fuelled the mob. Today the church contained a vicar, Richard, myself, Gervase, Ian, my brother James, his wife Martha and my sister Ruth, together with Richard’s parents. So that was why Ian hadn’t come for breakfast. I grinned at him as I walked up the aisle, my hand resting on James’s arm.

Unlike the last time, I wore something comfortable but still pretty, in pink and green. Instead of a priceless parure of diamonds, I wore a set of pearls that Richard had bought me, and I had a wide brimmed bergère hat on my head, instead of an elaborate hair ornament of butterflies and flowers. Last time I wore blue and silver, and I entered Exeter Cathedral with most of polite society watching us do the deed. Richard had slept with half of them—the female half—and he’d wanted our highly public wedding to serve as a statement of intent. They’d have to find another stallion. I hadn’t realised he meant that at the time, but it hadn’t taken me long to understand.

This time it was almost the wedding I’d wanted. Just people I cared about, although I missed my sister Lizzie. Ruth scowled at me. I was tempted to scowl back just to show her how unlovely the expression looked.

I felt almost dreamlike, a weird sensation of repeating my actions but not quite—I wasn’t sure I liked it. But when I saw Richard’s encouraging smile, everything returned to its proper place and I walked up the aisle to him considerably faster than I had the first time.

And this time I listened to the words. Before, my trepidation and sheer terror had removed much of the experience from my mind, but now I knew what awaited me, and I could say the words in the full knowledge of the happiness that awaited me. Hopefully nobody waited outside the church with a pair of pistols, ready to remove us from the picture. That had been on the instigation of Julia and Steven Drury, and they had since relented, or decided to take another route to personal power.

When Richard said his vows, he looked at me and only me. Anyone watching would see what I meant to him. I swallowed back my tears, not wanting to mar the occasion with inappropriate emotions, but I knew I’d weep later from pure joy. A tear must have escaped because he lifted his hand and gently brushed my cheek. I saw the liquid on his forefinger before he brought it to his lips and kissed it away.

I had taken my ring off on the journey to the church and transferred my ruby betrothal ring to my right hand. Now he put the wedding ring back. I caught a glimpse of the engraved message inside, known only to Richard and me, and then I gave him my right hand, to remove the ruby and replace it where it belonged. I slid his ring on his left hand after I made my promises. Not all men wore wedding rings, but Richard had elected to do so.

After our previous wedding, Richard had led me to the vestry, where he took me in his arms and kissed me. His reticence at that time would have made him uncomfortable to show such emotion in public, even in such close company as we were now, but today he showed no such disinclination. His kiss was no polite kiss of greeting, but he crushed me close and took my mouth with all the abandon he showed in the bedroom. Except, of course, his hands remained sedately around my waist. I felt his heat and I wanted him.

But for James clearing his throat I might have been the one to take matters further. As it was I found that I’d put my hands around his waist, under his coat, ready to slide them under his waistcoat at the back and drag his shirt clear of his breeches. My lamentable desire to seek skin had led me astray more than once. But only one man’s skin, only one man’s touch, could ever satisfy that need.

Richard drew away with a laugh and without embarrassment, took my hand and led me to the vestry, where we signed the parish register. James and Gervase followed us to witness our signatures. Richard only let go of my hand so that I could sit down to sign the book, while he explained to the vicar, “If our first marriage remains uncontested, then this service is an affirmation of our vows. If not, then you may be required to show the register as proof of our marriage.” The clink of gold coins followed and the vicar’s unctuous assurances that the register would be carefully guarded and shown to any official who required it, but not to the casual passerby.

Richard helped me to my feet after leaning over me to add his signature to mine. Unlike the first time, my name flowed from the pen and I marvelled at how accustomed I had become to it. At one time I had considered becoming Richard’s mistress, when I thought there was no other way I could have him. His hand pressed my shoulder before he raised me up, and once again, heedless of the squawks from the religious behind us, kissed me with the same fervency he’d done before. This time I regained a semblance of my sanity and drew away first, to see his softened, fond smile. The one I saw most mornings now.

“I am so glad,” I said. He didn’t need to know what I meant. He knew it already.

“I will marry you again and again, if need be. I think my mother saw the glimmer of escape, but not my father. He sees the advantage of the bird in the hand.” He released me but slipped his hand into mine.

The snort of laughter came from Gervase. “Our father is a pragmatist, but I think some of the romantic remains despite all our mother’s efforts to suppress it.” I gave my hand to him and he kissed it, brushing the back in the approved manner.

I released Richard’s hand to give my brother a hug. “Hopefully this is just a precaution. You’re not to worry.”

“I don’t. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and you’ve achieved that.” He glanced at Richard. “Although I had my doubts that such an exquisite was the right husband for my hoyden of a sister.” I laughed and touched my simple, though highly fashionable gown. I didn’t have to say anything.

At home I fed the inner child—or children—and Richard remained at my side, sharing my impromptu meal. Once he never would have considered ordering something quick and tasty like fresh bread and cheese, but I’d taught him to appreciate simple pleasures, or so he assured me when I offered to order a more substantial meal for him. I didn’t trust the way his eyes glinted when he offered me a glass of wine, and I was right not to.

As I made to pass him after we’d eaten in the breakfast parlour, he reached out his hand, which I took without conscious thought. “Should you rest now, sweetheart?”

I stared at him doubtfully. “I don’t feel particularly tired.”

He paused, looked up at me and smiled, then without warning pulled my hand so I overbalanced and fell into his lap. His protective arms about me, he kissed me. “You shouldn’t stand so close,” he murmured, “Or be so beautiful.”

I laughed, knowing better than to remonstrate with him. “And what if someone comes in?”

“They’ll know how much I love you, but since most of the upper servants are aware of that already it won’t come as a shock to them.” He drew me to him again.

I couldn’t really object since I found it so agreeable, so I put my hand behind his head and returned his kiss with interest.

“Every morning,” he said eventually, “I wake up and when I see you beside me I look forward to the day. It’s the first time I’ve felt like that since I was a boy.”

I smiled. “And you’ve made all this so easy for me, made me so happy. Don’t you think I know how much you spoil me?”

“It’s my pleasure. I wish I had more, so I could give it to you.” He dropped kisses on my nose, my lips and my chin, working down my throat.

“We have more than enough,” I answered him, little gasps punctuating my words. “Sometimes I feel guilty that I spend more on a gown than some people earn in a year.”

“It’s the way of things,” he said lightly, but I knew he cared, perhaps not as much as I did, but he noticed it too. “But if you want to…” he paused and laid a gentle hand on my stomach, “…after the baby, you could find a cause to support. Many ladies do so. Mr. Coram’s orphanage is always looking for patrons.”