Secret Night (47 page)

"I love you, Ellie—I love
you.
As long as I have you, I can do without the rest."

"But I shall cost you everything!"

"I don't think so. And later—when all this is behind us—who knows? It is not impossible that I could stand for election as a Whig. But just now I've far more important things to do." Reaching again into his coat pocket, he drew out a folded paper and handed it to her. "It was my intent to return to Barfreston with this, Ellie. I was going to wed you quiedy before the trial."

She opened the paper with shaking hands. It was a Special License to marry without banns. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. "Under the circumstances, we should create quite a scandal, don't you think?" she asked huskily.

"Oh, I'm prepared to concede it quite improper at the moment, but once everything is settled and your mother is with us, I mean to ask you again."

"It will be said that we ought to observe a year of mourning."

"Would Bat have cared?" he countered.

"No—no, he would not. Indeed, he said as much today," she answered. And it was as though she could hear her father's words again, telling her scandal be damned. Smiling up through new tears, she nodded. "I should be honored to be your wife, Patrick." As his arms closed around her again, she clung to him. "I want you to hold me forever," she whispered. "I want you to love me forever."

Barfreston, Kent: May 1816

E
lise closed the book she'd been reading and rose to pace nervously about the small saloon. Her mother looked up from her knitting and sighed. "We shall hear in due time, dearest." "I cannot stand the waiting, Mama." Moving to lift up a heavy drape from the window, the younger woman peered anxiously into the darkness. "Surely they must know by now." "It will happen."

"I would I were half so certain." Elise let the drape fall, then turned around. "Mama, what if I have cost him the election?"

"Nonsense," Emmaline Rand declared dismissively. "He would never even think it."

"But what if it is true? Have you not read what Mr. Cranston wrote to the papers? That the husband of a murderer's daughter ought not to be considered? That Patrick is buying the election with my tainted money? Or that we are an affront to decency because we did not wait the full year to wed?"

Her mother dexterously looped a strand of wool over her finger, then looked up. "Mr. Cranston is a Tory," she observed mildly. "And I for one do not believe the rantings of one desperate man will make one whit of difference." She cocked her head, surveying Elise for a moment. "Much more to the point is when you mean to tell Hamilton about a far more interesting situation."

"I don't know. I suppose I have held it back for consolation should he lose," Elise conceded. "Besides, it is early days, and I have wanted to be certain."

Outside, Button barked furiously, and the two women looked at each other. Elise hesitated, then tore to the window again. "Mama, it's Patrick—oh, lud, but 1 cannot see enough to know one way or the other." Reaching to smooth her hair, she tried to smile. "I suppose it is too late to pray, isn't it?" Before her mother could answer, she hurried out into the hall to await her husband. "Please, God," she whispered under her breath.

Lizzie came skipping down the stairs. "I'll get 'im fer ye, Missus Hamilton. That Button, I don't know what gets into 'im sometimes." Pulling open the front door, she called out, "Come here, ye mongrel cur! Here now, but ye are wakin' the dead!" As the little dog bounded past her, she saw Hamilton. "If he jumped on ye, sir, 'tis sorry I am fer it," she mumbled, scooping up the animal and retreating toward the kitchen. "Come on, ye miserable creature, ye got ter learn better manners," she scolded.

For a moment Elise's heart paused as she looked into Patrick's sober face. Then he grinned and opened his arms.

"Well, Mrs. Hamilton, would you like to be the first to kiss this member of Parliament?" he asked wickedly.

"We won? You defeated Mr. Cranston?" As he nodded,
she felt an intense relief. "Oh, Patrick!" she cried, hugging him tightly.

He wrapped his arms around her, savoring the very feel of her body against his. "It was a near thing, Ellie, but we won," he told her. "You carried it for me."

"I? But I did nothing!"

"If the crowd in the pub can be believed, Cranston overplayed his hand when he attacked you. Most people
think you've been through quite enough, you see."
As she looked up, he grinned again. "To them, you are the woman they see in church every week, not the
shameless hussy he tried to make them think you."

"Did Cranston concede?" she asked eagerly. "Did he
admit you won?"

"As a matter of fact, that's why I am late. He bought me a drink and asked me to convey his apologies to you. Said he wanted you to know it was politics, nothing more."

"And what did you say to him?"

"Oh, I thanked him for the help he gave me, of course."

'You didn't!"

"After what he said about you? The devil I didn't." His grin faded, and he sobered. "I've got it all now, Ellie—everything I ever wished for. You and Parliament—what else could any man want?"

She leaned back in his arms, then smiled. "I could think of something else," she answered softly. "I could think of a bright-haired son or daughter, Patrick. Hopefully one with hazel eyes just like yours."

For a moment he couldn't speak as he searched her face.

She nodded. "Our firstborn ought to arrive with the new year."

If he lived to be a hundred years old, never in his life would he feel again what he felt just now, he was sure of that. Overwhelmed, he could only hold her, thinking he had to be the happiest man on earth.

"I was so afraid I'd cost you too much," she whispered.

"And instead you have given me everything."

As he bent his head to hers, she sought to prolong the sweetness of the moment "Promise me that I shall be the
only
one to kiss this member of Parliament," she murmured huskily against his lips.

"Mrs. Hamilton, you have my word," he promised.

Fleetingly, images of Ben and her father flashed through her mind, then disappeared in the heat of her husband's kiss. There was no dwelling in the past, no time for sorrow anymore. Now there was only a world of grand tomorrows to be shared with him and this child she carried within her.

The award winning author of sixteen books and numerous short stories, ANITA MILLS lives on a rural acreage near Plattsburgh, Missouri, with her husband of thirty-one years, two of their four children, and assorted dogs and cats. A former teacher of history and English, she has drawn upon her love for both to enrich her novels.