Page 59 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
He slowly became aware once more of his surroundings—of John, his own sword unsheathed, keeping everyone else at a distance while Arial and Peter had their reunion. Of the asylum’s servants, all herded into a corner by the men who had come with Peter. Of the magistrate telling the doctor that Arial was, in truth, a viscountess and a married woman, and that the earl her cousin had shot himself to avoid arrest for murder and kidnapping.
“I am arresting you as an accessory to kidnapping, and I will be examining all of your records and talking to your patients to see how many other people have been unlawfully confined by you and their relatives,” said the magistrate.
“What do we do with these?” the constable asked, indicated the cowed people in the corner.
“Peter,” Arial murmured, “Mrs. Parker needs to come with us. She protected me from the other warders and was helping me to escape when the doctor caught us trying to leave.”
“Mrs. Parker?” Peter called, and added to the men, “Let her through.”
The woman won Peter’s gratitude immediately by marching up to the doctor and tugging a cloak from his hands, then coming to Arial and gently placing it around her shoulders to cover her from neck to toe. “There you are, my lady.” She put her head on one side and examined Peter. “You would be Lord Ransome, then.”
“I am,” Peter acknowledged. “My lady tells me that we owe you a debt of gratitude.”
The large, tough-looking woman blushed. “I only did what any decent woman would do, my lord. But if you could perhaps see fit to providing a reference? I won’t be getting one here, that is for certain.”
“Come with us, and we will make sure you do not suffer for your kindness,” Peter said. “Magistrate, I need to find a place for my wife to rest. I will leave you to clean up here.”
The magistrate nodded. “I will need to interview Lady Ransome, but it can wait until she has had an opportunity to sleep,” he agreed.
“There’s an inn in the village,” Mrs. Parker suggested. “I can show you.”
Peter took Arial up before him on his horse. John suggested that Mrs. Parker ride behind him, but she declared that she’d probably squash the horse and would certainly fall off. “It is only a ten-minute walk, my lords, my lady. I’ll walk.”
So, Peter and Arial rode, and John walked beside Mrs. Parker leading his horse. Now that Peter had Arial safe and, in his arms,fatigue was dragging at his limbs and weighing down his eyelids. No wonder, after two sleepless nights, a series of long rides, and hours of frantic worry.
Mrs. Parker woke the innkeeper and an ostler and arrange two rooms and stabling for the horses.
“And a room for yourself?” Arial asked, through a yawn. Arial must be nearly as tired as Peter, and John, too.
“My parents live just along the street,” Mrs. Parker explained. “The innkeeper can tell you where. Send for me when you wake up, my lady, and I shall be your maid.”
Arial let go of Peter for long enough to give the stalwart female a hug. “Thank you again, Mrs. Parker. I thank God for you.”
Mrs. Parker proved that the first blush was not a fluke by coloring up again. “Go along with you and get some sleep, my lady,” she said, the tone a loving scold. “A lady in your condition has to look after yourself.”
It was good advice, and Peter wasted no time in availing himself of it. He would have liked a bath and Arial agreed it would be nice, but said, “We cannot ask the innkeeper to be hauling water at this hour, and besides,” another large yawn, “I do not think I can stay awake any longer.”
She was right on both counts. Peter turned back the covers. Arial let her cloak drop and crawled into bed. Peter stripped off his clothes and joined her, opening his arms to receive her as she snuggled up to him. He put his head on her hair, marveling at the feel of her so close to him without acres of night gown, with no mask as a barrier between them. On that thought, he slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Arial woke tofind Peter watching her. The room was flooded with light, and it gilded his hair, including his lashes, which, seen so close up and in the light, were ridiculously long and lush. The fair hairs on his chin, too. She had never seen him with prickles before, and she put a hand out to touch them, which made him smile. “I have not shaved since Three Oaks. I must look like a brute.”
She had woken with his words echoing in her mind and they sprang from her lips without her conscious decision. “My dearest love?”
He did not understand that she was quoting him. “I hope so,” he replied, “for I love you, Arial, with all my heart. When I thought I’d lost you, I did not want to live.”
She returned the words to him. “I love you.” She lifted her lips, and he saluted them with a gentle kiss that immediately turned hungry. Her own passion rose to meet his. She needed this. She needed him.
“Hurry,” she told him.
“Never,” he said. “I intend to enjoy every inch of my beloved wife, and I hope you will return the favor.” He was kissing his way down her neck and pushing the shift down so he could reach her breast with his mouth, skin on skin.
Aaah.That felt marvelous. Arial tugged at the shift to give him better access and ended pulling her arm out of it.
“I have missed you so much,” he mumbled, his mouth full.
“I missed you more,” she challenged, caressing the hair on his nape with one hand while the other explored.
