Page 35 of Under the Champagne Moon
She heard her own shallow breath, and the ticking of a clock, and the rustling of footsteps somewhere in the house.
Gareth’s gaze held steady on hers, perspiration beading on his forehead and trickling down to his jaw.
“Have you your handkerchief?” she asked.
He blinked, and his lips turned up. The corner of his mouth had scabbed from his fight yesterday. She wondered if it would bleed again if she kissed him.
Gareth freed a hand, reached into his pocket, and placed a cloth in her hand. The same one.
“I carried it all through the Peninsula. Took it to Flanders. I didn’t have it with me when I was captured.”
Her vision blurred as she dabbed at his face. “I must make you a new one.”
He jumped to his feet. “You haven’t said yes, but don’t say no yet. I don’t have much, but I have prospects.”
She raised up on her toes, leaned close to his ear, and whispered. “And you have me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Fleur,” Dulcinea said.
“Now, now,” Sherington said. “While you’re deciding, Dulcy and I have an announcement. “We are to marry. You will always have a home with us, Fleur. Unless you decide to make other arrangements. I understand that Mssr. Marceau’s great aunt wishes you to marry him.”
Gareth’s arm tightened around her. “She won’t marry him. She’s going to marry me.” He grinned down at her. “Yes?” All of his great heart shone in his eyes.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I will. And I think… I think we must visit Champagne. I think your enthusiasm for wine must be pursued.”
“Bien,” Marceau said. “At last. You see, Ardleigh, the Hardouin blood runs true. You will not regret it, cousin, and you will be much happier married to Ardleigh than to me.”
* * *
A few weeks later.
The highest andlowest families filled the pews of St. Beonna’s for the double wedding of two joyful couples. The joint wedding breakfast took place at Bicton Grange, after which George Sherington carried his new bride off to Sherington Manor.
But Fleur and Gareth would spend their wedding night in a cottage on the grounds, one hastily spruced up for the newlyweds. The larder had been filled, but they would otherwise have to do for themselves, which suited them just fine.
When they arrived, Gareth swept her up and carried her across the threshold, and then into the bedchamber with its tester bed and new mattress. Covered plates sat next to a bottle of champagne—vin de comete--nestled in ice. The bedding had been turned back and a nightgown laid out.
Gareth settled his arm around her. “Shall we turn in early?” he teased.
“I see my nightgown. I’m wondering where is your night shirt?”
His low chuckle tickled her ear. Moments later his lips followed, moving from her ear down to the place below it, sending shivers through her.
She turned in his arms and linked her hands behind his head. “Dulcinea thought it necessary to explain the wedding night to me.”
“I would have loved to have heard that lecture.” He swept one finger along her jawline, past the pulse in her neck, and along the edge of her decolletage. Pleasure pulsed along the places he touched.
“As if after years of her sly innuendos, not to mention living on an estate where animals were bred, I wouldn’t already have a somewhat clear idea of matters. I just never quite understood why the eagerness to engage.”
Gareth blinked and then a slow smile formed. “You, puss, are challenging me.”
“Am I?” She grinned, and then laughed, and when he slipped his hand under her bodice, she gasped and surrendered.
EPILOGUE
September, 1816
Champagne France
