More than Passion (7 page)

Becca took a deep breath, and then finally nodded.

“Yes.” She hugged him. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

He let out a breath and returned her embrace. He tilted her head up and brushed her lips with his own. He pulled back and stared at her, his bride. He made a move to kiss her again.

“Girl!” Thomas bellowed from belowstairs.

Becca found her voice. “Yes, Father?” she squeaked.

“I want to see you in my study in ten minutes, girl,” Geoffrey heard him shout. “And bring that rotter Kane with you!”

Becca shot him a questioning look and Geoffrey nodded.

“Right away, Father,” she called.

After sharing a tender kiss, she left him to go dress while he saw to his own toilette.

Ten minutes later, they were in Thomas’s study. Becca sat on the chair facing her father’s desk, her back straight and hands clasped in her lap. Geoffrey stood behind her, his hand resting on the back of her chair. Thomas paced behind his desk, muttering to himself, his face beet-red. Finally, he spoke.

“How could you do this, girl?”

Becca opened her mouth to answer, but Geoffrey was faster.

“None of this is Rebecca’s fault, Kingsley. I’m the one to blame.”

Thomas swung his gaze to Geoffrey. “You couldn’t keep your hands off her, could you? And now what?”

“Father, I ….”

Geoffrey touched her shoulder, signaling her to remain silent. “I want to marry her, Kingsley. I hope you’ll give us your blessing.”

Thomas sank down into his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. “Why the hell not?” he grumbled. “You’ve ruined her. No one else will have her.”

Becca sucked in a breath at her father’s low opinion of her.

Geoffrey laughed without humor. “Yes. And I’m looking forward to becoming a member of your family, as well.”

Thomas stiffened in his seat. “Never mind that. When will it be done?”

Geoffrey thought for a moment. Special license, proper clothes …. “I have some matters to attend to. Will three days be soon enough?”

“No banns.” Thomas snorted. “No time. I suppose I’ll have to pay for the license.”

“No.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. He nodded, dismissing them. Geoffrey took Becca’s hand and pulled her from the room. When they were out of her father’s sight, he held her in a tight embrace and kissed her.

Becca stared up at him. “Three days?”

He nodded. “Yes, love. And don’t fret. I’ll take care of everything.”

She blinked in confusion.

He laughed and kissed her again. He pulled back to look searchingly in her eyes. “We will be happy, Becca. You’ll see.”

Becca thought of something. “Where will we live? I never asked you where you make your home.”

Geoffrey shook his head at her. She’d had too much upheaval in the past few days. He wouldn’t reveal the truth of Kanewood and his earldom this morning. “In Northumberland, love. A long carriage ride, I fear.”

“I see.” She still wore a look of confusion.

He smiled. “All in good time, sweetheart. You shall know everything in three days’ time.”

* * * *

When Becca awoke the next morning, she was full of determination. While Geoffrey had assured her that he’d see to matters, which she took to mean seeing to the license and the like, there was still the matter of her wedding gown. The dresses she possessed were serviceable for the work she did at the inn, but she lacked even the simplest dancing gown. Perhaps she’d find something in the attic.

She was free from all of her duties at the inn from this day forward. Her father had told her the previous evening that she shouldn’t work at the inn any longer. She was to be a married woman, he’d said, and her husband’s responsibility. Becca thought she’d seen a tear in the man’s eye as he’d dismissed her. He’d never been one to show emotion, not in the whole of her memory. Her heart twisted as she recalled every attempt she’d made to get close to him when she’d been growing up. Did he even love her? He’d thought to marry her off to Dr. Simon, for goodness sakes! Would he have regretted that? Although the answer was most likely no, she held on to the possibility that he did care for her. He was her father, after all.

She dressed and soon found herself in the attic of the inn, dust motes floating lazily around her in the sunlight streaming in through the small windows.

After sorting through quite a bit of accumulated frippery, she unearthed what looked like an ancient trunk. She tugged on it, dragging it farther into the light. It was leather-bound and of a good size. Becca squinted at the brass plate set close to the latch. Using a corner of her skirt, she rubbed the dust and grime from the plate. She brushed her loose curls back from her face, leaving more than a few smudges there, and peered at the plate. To her astonishment, it was engraved with one word: Raven. Confounded, she worked the latch free and lifted the lid. A bright smile lit her face as she spied the clothing within. Surely these were her mother’s things!

After dismissing much of the trunk’s contents, she found what she sought at the bottom, a gown of lace that she guessed had once been white. She gingerly lifted the garment free of the trunk and held it out in front of her. It was yellowed with age and the lace hung in tatters from the long sleeves. Nonetheless, she held the dress against herself and closed her eyes, reveling in the closeness she felt toward her mother in that moment. What had her mother thought before her own wedding? Had she been as nervous as Becca was? True, she didn’t need her mother’s advice about the marriage bed. A smile teased her lips. Geoffrey had taken care of any such maidenly ignorance on her part. Still, what would it be like to have a mother to confide in? To come to with dreams and hopes and promises? She took in a breath, drawing the scent of dust and neglect deep into her lungs. It was of no consequence. Her mother was dead and nothing could bring her back. Sighing, she set the dress aside and closed the trunk, pushing it back into the shadows where she’d found it.

Becca enlisted Mary’s help and saw to the cleaning of the delicate gown. After soaking the lace for as long as they deemed safe, they carefully spread it on Becca’s bed.

“It’s of no use, Mary,” Becca said sadly. “The yellow stains remain. And the lace …,” she added, delicately fingering one sleeve. “It’s all but a memory.”

“Rebecca,” Mary answered, “perhaps if we mend it, we ….”

Becca shook her head, silencing the girl. “I’ll have to wed Geoffrey in one of my muslin dresses. Perhaps we can find some lace and ribbons to adorn it?”

* * * *

Fields, Geoffrey’s driver, returned from London two days later with the items Geoffrey had requested. That morning, Geoffrey himself had obtained a special license, so all was set in his mind. All but one thing. He went in search of his betrothed.

He found her down at the stables, handing the reins of her filly to the groom.

She turned to find Geoffrey standing behind her. “Geoffrey!”

“Becca!” he mimicked, hugging her tight.

He eased his hold and she quirked a smile at him. “What are you about?”

“I have a surprise for you, love. At the inn.”

She studied him for a moment. With a shrug of her shoulders, she acquiesced. He grabbed her hand and all but dragged her from the stables and toward the inn, her hair flying out behind her. Without giving her a chance to catch her breath, he led her upstairs and opened her door, pushing her ahead of him. She spun to face him, her hands on her hips.

“Geoffrey,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Just where is this surprise?”

He led her over to a large wooden wardrobe. With a flourish, he pulled open one of the doors. Becca gasped, precisely the response he was hoping for. There, inside the wardrobe, were six new dresses. Below them sat shoes to match each one. He’d told Fields what colors to choose and the man did quite well. The dresses were in jewel tones: violet, emerald, bronze, gold, blue and rose, and well-suited to Becca’s fair skin and dark hair.

She looked at Geoffrey, a question in her green eyes.

“They are yours, Becca,” he said. “All yours.”

“How did you …?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have my ways.”

She stared at him, her brow furrowed. He finally took pity on her.

“I had a bit of help,” he explained. “Emmy appropriated one of your dresses and a pair of your shoes. My driver took them to London and found these for you. I hope they are to your liking.”

“Oh, yes!” She came into his arms. “I love them. Thank you!”

He set her from him and gestured toward the chair near the window. On it sat a large box.

“And in that box you will find petticoats and undergarments. I daresay my driver must have been in quite a state having to pick them out.”

“This is too much.”

“Not for my bride.” He turned her again to the wardrobe. “There’s more, love.”

“More?”

He nodded and pulled the other door wide open. There, filling the remaining space in the wardrobe, hung a creamy-white gown, trimmed with pearls, beads, and tiny satin bows. Matching slippers sat beneath it.

She let out a happy squeal. He barely had time to open his arms before she was hugging him again. “It’s so beautiful!”

“It’s your wedding gown, love,” he informed her. “I hope it will serve.”

She bowed her head. “You’ve noticed how ill-suited my dresses are, then.”

“I did.” He trailed his finger over the tight bodice of her day dress. “I daresay they don’t render you any less fetching.” He stroked her nipple through the muslin and she drew in a breath.

“What are you up to now?” She sighed at his sensual touch.

He walked to the door and shut it tight.

“You shouldn’t be in my room with the door closed. It isn’t proper.” She couldn’t help smiling at the roguish look on his face.

He pushed off the door, removed his coat, and tossed it on the chair near the window. “Ah, Becca. When I’m with you, being ‘proper’ is the last thing on my mind.”

He stopped in front of her, bringing his hands up to caress her shoulders. She stared up at him, her eyes dark, and he brushed her lips with his.

He pulled back and regarded her closely. “No,” he went on. “I don’t want to be ‘proper’ at all.”

“Really?” She breathed.

He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Really …. And, Becca?”

“Yes?”

“Neither do you.”

She went to him and proceeded to prove him right.

Chapter 8

“Rebecca,” Mary said breathlessly. “You look like a princess.”

Becca regarded herself in the mirror. The dress Geoffrey gave her was the prettiest thing she’d ever beheld and in it she truly felt like a bride. Geoffrey’s bride. Her nerves, in a tangle since waking this morning, settled as she took a deep breath.

“I hardly recognize myself,” she agreed.

A knock sounded at her door.

“Yes?” Becca called.

“Girl,” Thomas boomed, “are you ready?”

“Yes, Father.” She crossed to the door and pulled it open.

Thomas stood there, his mouth agape. “Rebecca,” he said, using her name for the first time in years. “You look beautiful. Just like your mother.”

Becca didn’t know what to say to that. Moved by his words and the strange yet tender expression on his face, she stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

Thomas cleared his throat and took a halting step back. “Well, let’s get going. Kane isn’t going to wait forever.”

He crooked his arm, Becca placed her hand on his elbow, and he led her to the top of the stairs. They descended slowly, coming to a stop at the entrance to the elegant little parlor.

Geoffrey was standing there, so dashing in his black formal wear and white cravat. Her father led her to Geoffrey’s side and put her hand in his. He left her to stand beside Peter Jenkins. He and Emmy were the only guests present for the ceremony, but well-wishers would come afterward to join them for the celebration to be held in the inn’s dining room.

Geoffrey bent his head to Becca’s. “You look incredible, love,” he whispered.

She drank him in with her eyes. “You look so handsome,” she answered softly.

He flashed her a dazzling smile and turned her to face the minister. Reverend Grey began the ceremony. When he recited Geoffrey’s full title during the exchange of vows, Becca went still. It couldn’t be! The minister had to repeat the words to elicit a response from her.

“Rebecca Kingsley, do you take Lord Geoffrey Michael Kane, the Earl of Kanewood, Viscount Darlington ….”

Geoffrey was an earl? She stared at him, taking in his ordinary clothes and open countenance. No. There was nothing ordinary about Geoffrey. He was clever, and handsome, and he made her laugh. He made her dream.

“Becca?” Geoffrey asked, his voice soft yet holding a note of worry.

She looked at him and saw that certainty once again. She nodded and whispered her vows. The rest of the ceremony was a blur. Geoffrey accepted her, promised to honor and cherish her, and turned to her expectantly. She blinked up at him, confused. He smiled then and bent his head to hers. He kissed her tenderly, sealing their union. Peter and Emmy clapped enthusiastically.

Thomas stood perfectly still, shock clear on his flushed face. “An earl?”

A short while later, Geoffrey and Becca stood together, greeting the wedding guests. Word of Geoffrey’s title spread quickly.

“Congratulations, Lord Kanewood,” those gathered said. “Lady Kanewood.”

Becca blinked as people she’d known her entire life used her new title. Geoffrey was an earl? He never should have married her. She’d do something to embarrass him and make him regret their hasty marriage. Her heart twisted at that thought.

Geoffrey leaned toward her. “Whatever is the matter, Becca?”

“Nothing, Geoff … my lord … I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call you.”

He smiled down at her. “Geoffrey, love. Just call me Geoffrey.”

She relaxed then, seeing once more the Geoffrey she’d known before learning of his title.

Her lips curved in a small smile. “Geoffrey.” She breathed.

The feast the cook had spent the last two days preparing was served in the dining room. Becca and Geoffrey, however, planned to take their wedding supper in the privacy of his room. With expressions of gratitude to the wedding guests, they ascended the stairs.