Page 13 of Lady Elizabeth’s Winter Stranger

Elizabeth said yes.

She and Tom married on Valentine’s Day, under the full gaze of society at St. George’s in Hanover Square.

The bride wore white velvet and walked up the aisle with five bridesmaids.

The scent of massed hothouse flowers filled the cavernous interior of the church with the promise of spring not too far away.

Never let it be said that when Elizabeth Tierney at last deigned to wed, she stinted in any way.

The extravagant gown was currently tossed with lamentable carelessness across the back of an upholstered chair in Richmond’s best inn. The bride’s undergarments were scattered across the carpet, along with the groom’s elegant dark blue coat, gray silk waistcoat, neckcloth, and shirt.

She and Tom had been so desperate for each other, that the moment they came upstairs after dinner, they’d all but ripped most of their clothing away. Now only a flimsy shift covered her, and Tom was naked, except for the cream silk breeches that he’d worn for the wedding.

A silver tray of champagne and delicacies waited on a sideboard near the closed door.

Vases of more hothouse flowers adorned the chests and tables furnishing the room.

In the huge four-poster oak bed in the corner, the sheets were turned down.

A fire blazed in the hearth, and massed beeswax candles lent the opulent chamber a golden glow.

The bride released a blissful sigh, as her groom of nine hours raised his head from a passionate kiss. They were standing on a rich red and blue carpet in the middle of the room amidst the chaos of discarded linen.

“I’ve missed your kisses,” Elizabeth murmured, rising on her toes and running her lips along that heroic jaw. She loved that Tom was so tall and strong. It made her feel lusciously feminine.

His laugh was low and as velvety as her wedding dress. “Fie, Lady Fairchild. Are you accusing me of neglect? I kissed you at the ceremony.”

“A mere peck.” She pouted and linked her hands behind his neck, as she glanced up at him through her lashes. When she arched her body, the beaded tips of her nipples grazed the bare skin of his chest. The sensation sent a frisson through her. “It hardly deserved to be called a kiss.”

His lips twitched with the wry humor that she loved. “I kissed you yesterday. And I believe also the day before, if memory serves me correctly.”

“You’ve forgotten.” She adopted a shocked expression. “I’m devastated.”

“You’re a baggage, that’s what you are.” When he said it so fondly, she could hardly object.

After Christmas, their courtship had proceeded along conventional lines, with Tom asking Lord Tierney’s permission to marry his daughter a month ago.

The banns had been called. Elizabeth had met Tom’s family and received a warm welcome that boded well for future relations.

The union of sparkling Lady Elizabeth Tierney with distinguished diplomat and future Lord Blaydon, Stanton Morley-Bridges was the kind of aristocratic match that the ton applauded.

Two fine young people from prominent families, neither tarred with scandal.

A wooing conducted just as the sticklers decreed, with family approval bestowed upon the eventual engagement.

Less publicly, Elizabeth and Tom had found frequent opportunities to be alone. Their short courtship and engagement had featured plenty of kisses, even if hurried and always with an ear for interruption.

“I’m frustrated.” She sounded like she was joking, but she was deadly serious. Since Christmas, their privacy had been measured in intervals of minutes.

With a groan as heartfelt as hers, Tom reached out to grasp her hips. Her stomach lurched with excitement, as the warmth of his touch seeped through the light shift to her skin beneath. The undergarments littering the floor included her drawers. Beneath her shift, she was completely naked.

“Tell me about it. Every time I got into my stride with kissing you, someone decided they had to talk to you about wedding fripperies.”

It was true. Elizabeth had desired Tom from the first, but their snatched embraces had kindled that desire into a mighty inferno. Now she was mad with wanting him.

He caught her up for a kiss that had her bare toes curling against the carpet.

Her heart took a dizzying swoop. Twining her arms about him, she pressed closer to that broad chest with its fascinating scatter of dark curls.

She couldn’t wait to discover all the mysteries of his body.

She couldn’t wait for him to discover all her mysteries, too.

And of course, the greatest mystery of all awaited, when they joined together as husband and wife.

Tom drew away and leveled a searching stare at her. “Thank you so much for deciding that you’d rather marry me than move in with Great-Aunt Agatha.”

“It was a close-run thing,” she said, not meaning it. Great-Aunt Agatha hadn’t traveled down from Scotland for the wedding, but she’d sent the newlyweds a Wedgwood vase of surpassing ugliness to mark the occasion.

Tom gave an exaggerated shudder. “Don’t I know it? When your father looked so smug walking you down the aisle, I was terrified you’d take umbrage and pick up your skirts to scarper.”

The memory of that moment made her smile. She was too happy to muster much resentment for Papa’s machinations. She’d got what she wanted. If her father did as well, good for him. “He was rather pleased with himself, wasn’t he?”

“I wanted to shout at him to stop looking so self-satisfied.”

She gave a horrified giggle. “I’m glad you didn’t. The vicar would have had conniptions. Anyway, Papa spends most of his life looking self-satisfied. You’ll get used to it.”

He angled her hips toward him. “So you’re not going to run away?”

She shook her head and shifted from foot to foot, too jumpy to stand still. “I love you too much to want to leave you.”

Oh, dear…

A bristling silence crashed down. Elizabeth regarded Tom in dismay. He looked shocked, then his brows drew together in what she couldn’t help but read as displeasure.

She blinked against the sting of tears. She refused to spend her first night as a bride bawling like a lost calf.

That would be outside of enough. Sweet heaven, what a miserable henwit she was.

Why didn’t she keep her mouth shut? She’d guarded her secret throughout their engagement, not sure if declarations of love would place too much pressure on their brief acquaintance.

Yet here she was, babbling out the fateful words and likely to spoil their wedding night.

“You’ve never told me that before,” he said slowly. She couldn’t interpret his tone. He didn’t sound angry. Or was that just wishful thinking? “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.”

She bit her lip and tried to back out of his hold, but his grip tightened, keeping her where she was. “I know.”

He still looked troubled. Which annoyed her. That was better than feeling like she wanted to disappear into the wallpaper or turn into a sniveling mess.

“Long enough to marry,” she said with some vexation. If he told her that she was a silly girl who didn’t know her own mind, she would run off to Great-Aunt Agatha.

At least he didn’t say that. It wasn’t much consolation. “Yes, but somehow love seems the ultimate commitment.”

Shocked, she met his gaze. “More than vowing to spend our lives together?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t have to.”

She summoned all her pride, difficult when she felt so vulnerable. Elizabeth detested feeling vulnerable, which was why she’d hugged her burgeoning adoration for her fiancé so close to her chest. “I’m not asking anything of you. I promise I won’t make emotional scenes.”

To her surprise, he responded with sardonic amusement. “Yes, you will.”

Yes, she probably would. If he took a mistress, she’d pitch Great-Aunt Agatha’s vase at his head and grill his heart on the drawing room fire.

“Can we forget I said anything?” she asked in a small voice. She’d imagined telling Tom of her feelings at some stage. Preferably after he’d already declared his eternal devotion to her.

His frown deepened. “Why would we do that, for heaven’s sake?”

“Because you obviously don’t love me back,” she said in an even reedier tone. She didn’t want to cry, but if this went on much longer, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.

“What nonsense is this?” Impatience edged his deep voice. “You know I’ve been head over heels with you from the moment you scowled at me in Hyde Park on that snowy Christmas morning.”

It was her turn to frown in confusion, as her frantic mind winnowed all their interactions. “No, I don’t.”

He let her go and stepped back. It shouldn’t feel like a distancing, but it did. “Well, you damn well should.”

“You never said.”

“Neither did you.”

She swallowed, knowing that the next few seconds would set the tone for her entire marriage. “Tom, what are you saying? Please be plain. I don’t want to get this wrong. Do you love me?”

He sighed again and ran his hand through hair already rumpled after their storm of kisses. Those lighthearted moments when they’d rushed up to the room felt like they’d occurred an eon ago. “Yes, I love you. I assumed you knew.”

She shook her head as a new kind of happiness found a home in her heart. Tom had made her happy from the first. But this joy descending upon her now carried a weight and significance that would nourish the rest of her life. “I knew you liked me. Or else you’d never have asked me to marry you.”

“I’d never have asked you to marry me if I didn’t love you.”

Of course he wouldn’t. What on earth had she been thinking? Love had turned her brains to custard. An elated smile curved her lips, as she held her hands out toward him. “I’m a silly wigeon. I should have guessed.”

“Yes, you should.” He caught her hands and brought her closer. “I always knew how I felt. But I was never sure you loved me back.”

More confusion as she peered into his face. “But I’ve kissed you every chance I got.”