Page 90 of A Secret Consequence for the Viscount
He got down the stairs on the wings of elation for this time everything would be done in the correct order. This time he would not fail Eleanor as he had before. This time he wanted everything to be exactly as it should be.
Jacob was reading in his old leather armchair by the fire.
‘Nicholas.’
The restraint that had been a part of their relationship since he had sent the note separating himself from Eleanor could be easily heard in his name.
‘I need to ask you something, Jacob, but I also need to tell you things that you might not wish to know.’
Jacob stood and crossed to pour them both a drink, holding a glass out to Nick after he had done so and pulling another chair closer to the fire, gesturing for him to sit.
When he did so he felt at odds as to where to begin, but was pleased as the brandy fortified his resolve.
‘I love your sister, Jake, and I want to marry her. I want to care for her and protect her and Lucy. I want to make certain that they are always safe.’
‘And the part I might not wish to know?’
‘I have killed a man, and done things in the Americas and here that I have no reason to be proud of. Bowles perhaps was a part of that, too, along with an arrogance and recklessness that came back to haunt me.’
‘You have always been the most dissolute of the four of us, Nicholas, but then I always knew, too, that you had a good heart. I still do know that. Rose says you are like a plant, untended and wild, and that Eleanor with all her gardening skills will make certain that you grow in a way that is perfect.’
‘I like your wife, Jake.’
‘I like her, too.’
‘Will you give your blessing on our marriage? I haven’t asked your sister yet because this time I need to do things properly and I know Eleanor would like her family’s support.’
Jacob stood as Nicholas did.
‘More than a blessing, Nick. I want to be your best man. But right now you had better let me help you back upstairs to bed for you look as though you might keel over.’
* * *
It was late and the fire in the hearth was well banked.
They had been married for six hours and the ring on Eleanor’s finger shone in the light of the flame, where two unmatched diamonds sat in a clasp of rose gold.
‘It is the most beautiful piece of jewellery I have ever seen, my love,’ she whispered, her cheeks flushed from their recent lovemaking and desire.
‘The large one is for you and the smaller one is for Lucy. The two jewels of my heart.’
They were lying on his patched quilt in front of the fire, as naked as the day they were born. The bandage on his leg had been removed yesterday and she traced the thick red line on his thigh with care.
‘Does it still hurt?’
‘Only a little,’ he returned, his fingers coming across the fullness of her breast, ‘and not a bit when I touch you.’
The edges of his mouth were turned up, his hair soft around his face but his eyes held only an unsated need of her body and spoke a language that heralded no words at all.
Today in the tiny chapel in Mayfair they had sworn a troth to each other in front of their family and close friends. Tonight they were sealing the promise in flesh.
‘Let me love you, sweetheart,’ he whispered and she opened her legs to his touch, the wetness there attesting to his other ministrations and endless want.
He came in slowly this time, none of the desperation of the first hours apparent, but a quiet and languid joining. And he watched her with his velvet eyes and his smile, watched as she was pushed over the edge of reason on to the slippery slope of passion and down and down to the river of release.
This was love. This was life. This is what she had dreamed of in all the years of her sadness.
‘Love me for ever, Nicholas,’ she finally whispered when her breath was back.
‘I will, my darling. I promise.’
