Page 23 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

T homas snorted, and Eamon growled. “’Tisn’t funny. What the bloody hell was I thinking? I have no idea what to do with a wife. What do I do with a wife?” Thomas glanced at Ryan, who grinned. Eamon threw his hands in the air. “Aside from making love to her whenever I can for as long as I can.”

Flaherty scowled at them. “Ye’re all a bunch of bleeding eedjits . Ye’ll not see me leg-shackled like the lot of ye. I can go where I want, when I want. Make love to scores of women, if I want.”

“Given the time we spend protecting the baron and his wife,” Thomas said, “I’m guessing your time is spent changing up patrols from the rooftop to the perimeter, to the patrol to and from the village.”

“Don’t forget the interior patrol,” Garahan added. “That raises the question, do ye need help making the list of that score of women ye plan to bed…once ye find the time to devote to the task?”

Flaherty’s eyes flashed a warning. O’Malley saw it and stepped in front of Garahan, his arms crossed, level with his chin. Flaherty had not been expecting the defensive move, and grunted when his Adam’s apple rammed into O’Malley’s forearm.

“Get the feck over yerself, Flaherty,” O’Malley warned. “I’m needing ye to stand with me brother and Garahan when the vicar arrives. Ye’re family and are just as important to me as the others.”

“So quit being an arse,” Thomas grumbled.

“I’m thinking he’s more like a wilted pair of bollocks,” Garahan said.

“Ah, just what I expected,” Summerfield said, entering the fray. “Another tender family discussion.” Shaking his head, he turned to O’Malley and said, “Vicar Chessy just arrived. Have you decided who will give yer bride away?”

That brought O’Malley up short. “I have not. ’Tis important, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to offer to escort Helen,” Summerfield said, “with your permission.”

“Would ye?”

“I’d be happy to—on one condition.”

“Of course,” O’Malley agreed. “What is it?”

“That whoever started this latest round of familial disagreement apologizes, so we can get on to more important matters. Like seeing you wed Helen.”

Flaherty grudgingly apologized, and the others accepted.

“Oh, and by the by, Phoebe and I have had the guest room at the opposite end of the hallway from the nursery made ready for you.”

O’Malley stared at the baron and slowly shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking about where we’d be staying tonight as much as I was thinking…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’d best not be confiding what I was thinking.”

“I would wonder what was wrong with you if you weren’t thinking of the pleasures the night will hold.”

A sudden thought plagued O’Malley. What if she was afraid of him? What if she asked him to stop at a crucial moment?

Thomas put an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Be patient with yer bride. Take yer time, because ye’ll reap the rewards if ye do.”

“I heartily agree with that,” the baron said. “Now then, I shall go present myself to your intended and offer to escort her downstairs. Oh, one more thing.”

O’Malley turned toward the baron. “Yer lordship?”

“My darling Phoebe had all of the ladies in her upstairs sitting room for tea earlier.”

“That was kind of her.”

The baron chuckled. “After the teapot was empty, she had one of the footmen deliver Mrs. Green’s bottle of whiskey and a decanter of brandy from our library.”

O’Malley frowned. “What in the world would they need that for, if they’d already had tea?”

“Knowing Phoebe, she was having a heart-to-heart discussion with Helen to ensure that there would be no surprises in the marriage bed.” Summerfield shook his head. “There were plenty the night I married Phoebe—apparently her knowledge was more limited than I would have thought—but we managed.”

“Please send me thanks to her ladyship.”

“Caro and Prudence would have added their experiences as well,” the baron said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

O’Malley turned to his brother and cousin. “Thank yer wives for me.”

“Enough stalling, Eamon,” Thomas said. “We’d best get ye downstairs to the sitting room. Vicar Chessy is liable to think ye’ve changed yer mind.”

“Not in this lifetime!”

*

Helen answered the knock on her door and was instantly concerned. “Your lordship? Is something wrong?”

His warm smile eased the edge off her worry. “Not at all. I was hoping you would not mind if I escorted you downstairs. The vicar has arrived, and O’Malley and the others are on their way to the sitting room.”

“I would be honored, but are you certain Lady Phoebe won’t mind if you do?”

“I’m positive.” He held out his arm, and she slipped hers through it. “You look lovely, Helen.”

“Thank you, your lordship.”

It was the last thing she remembered saying to him, though they carried on a conversation all the way down the stairs and to the sitting room.

They stopped in the doorway, and the baron cleared his throat. The room fell silent and all eyes turned toward them as they walked toward where the vicar and O’Malley stood waiting.

Helen could not catch her breath until her eyes met O’Malley’s, and she watched his expression change from one of worry to wonder. Her nerves smoothed out and joy filled her heart as he strode toward her, meeting them halfway.

O’Malley nodded to the baron and held out his arm. “Thank ye, yer lordship. I promise to treasure Helen always.”

“I never doubted that you would, O’Malley.” The baron moved off to the side to stand beside his wife. Josina and Jeanette were gathered with Caro and Prudence, who stood with Percy and Phineas, as their husbands were standing beside O’Malley and Flaherty.

Helen could not stop staring at her groom, and wasn’t paying attention to half of what the vicar was saying. Then O’Malley grinned, leaned close, and said, “I’m thinking this is where ye agree.”

“Agree?”

“Aye, lass, to obey me every word, no matter if ye agree with it or not.”

She glanced at the vicar, who looked like he was choking on his laughter. “I do apologize, Vicar Chessy—you see, I am a bit nervous. Could you please repeat what you just said?”

“Of course. Miss Helen Langley, do you take this man to be your husband from this day forward, to have and hold, love and cherish, till death do you part?”

She slid a glance at O’Malley. “I do.”

“Eamon O’Malley, do you take this woman to be your wife from this day forward, to have and to hold, love and cherish, till death do you part?”

“I do.”

“You may—” The vicar chuckled as O’Malley pulled Helen close and kissed her with gusto. “I believe he was waiting for that part.”

O’Malley didn’t stop kissing her, even when he swept her into his arms. He ended the kiss only to stare down into her eyes and mold his mouth to hers again. When they were halfway to the staircase, he kissed her again. “I don’t want to miss a step and cause ye harm, lass. The taste of ye goes to me head like three fingers of the Irish.”

Heart pounding, head spinning, Helen managed to ask, “Where are we going?”

“If ye need to ask, lass, I’m thinking her ladyship did not explain quite enough about what to expect tonight.”

Helen did not know what to say to that, because what the baroness and the others had imparted had seemed more than enough, though unreal to her. But what did she know? You could fit her experience with what was about to happen in a thimble, or on the head of a pin, and still have room left over.

He reached the top of the staircase and did not even sound winded when he asked, “Didn’t the ladies have a private word with ye?”

She lifted one shoulder but couldn’t bring herself to admit that they had. What if he wanted her to tell him what they told her? She knew she would die of acute embarrassment.

“A shrug isn’t a proper answer.”

“Are you going to lecture me about that again?” He grunted, and she laughed. “I thought we agreed a grunt was not a proper response.”

“A lot has happened since we had that conversation.”

“Are you saying that you don’t remember?”

“We may have agreed.” O’Malley stopped in front of the last door at the end of the hallway. “Open the door, lass.”

She hesitated at the gruff tone of his voice, then remembered Caro’s mentioning that O’Malley may sound angry, but he wasn’t. It would be his reaction while fighting to keep his steely control in place. She opened the door, surprised when he kicked it closed with his heel.

“I’ll set ye down on yer feet, and I’m going to stand over there by the washstand.”

“Because?”

“I cannot be responsible for me actions when we are standing so close to that bed.”

While she stared at him, his eyes grew darker with each beat of her heart. Was he thinking about undressing her? Kissing her? Touching her?

“Whatever ye’re thinking, lass. I promise to do all of that and more.” His voice roughened when he added, “If ye’ll let me.” Yet he still did not move from where he stood, as far away from the bed as he could be while still in the same room.

“Eamon, if I tell you something, do you promise not to be angry with me?”

“Aye, lass, ye have me word.”

His immediate agreement soothed her, but still her pulse began to race to the point where her head felt as if it were no longer where it was supposed to be. “You’ll tell me if I’ve upset you, won’t you?”

“If that is what ye wish, I will.”

It was so hard to get the words out that when she finally did, her voice was barely audible above the pounding of her heart. “I’m afraid.”

“Sweet lass. I know ye are.”

“I always feel safe when you are holding me, Eamon.”

He closed his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “God in Heaven, but ye’re killing me, lass.”

“How? I’m only talking to you.”

“’Tis the look in yer eyes. As if ye want me to strip ye bare and use me lips, teeth, and tongue to explore every inch of ye.”

She blinked, and her vision wavered—Eamon had two heads. She blinked again, and he had but one. “I… I absolutely am not thinking that. Where would I get such an idea?”

Eamon scrubbed his face with his hands and slowly walked over to where she stood by the end of the bed. “Ah, lass, mayhap ’twas in me dreams that ye asked me to do just that night after night.”

“Oh.” What else could she say, when she would have no idea if she wanted his lips everywhere? Well, in truth, she wouldn’t mind having his lips trailing a line of kisses from her lips to the hollow at the base of her throat.

He reached out to cup her face in his large, callused hand. She loved the raspy feel of it and wondered what it would feel like if he ran that hand along her spine to her waist and back again. Her heart beat faster, and she felt her control slipping just out of reach.

“Eamon… I feel faint.”

He pulled her close, anchoring her to him with his wide-palmed hand at the base of her spine, perilously close to the curve of her backside. His other hand was at the nape of her neck, and he slowly speared it into her hair, tugging gently until the pins began to loosen and fall to the floor and her hair fell about her shoulders.

“I’ve got ye, lass. Don’t be afraid of me. I’ll not hurt ye more than is necessary the first time I make love to ye.”

His touch helped ground her to where she could once again feel the top of her head. His words sank in. “Necessary? Why would it be necessary to hurt me?”

“I thought her ladyship spoke to ye about the marriage bed.”

Helen frowned. “She mentioned many things—in fact, some that you just mentioned—but I do not recall her using the words ‘marriage’ and ‘bed’ together.”

His rumbling laugh surprised her. “Are ye certain about that?”

She shook her head. “It’s all a blur—and it’s all your fault. You are too…”

“Too…?” he echoed.

“Tall. Broad. Handsome. Kind.”

“Ah.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Ye must remember some of what she said.”

Images accompanied by the advice she’d received came back in a flash, and Helen decided to share the parts she could tell him without disgracing herself by swooning at his feet. “I was to trust you.”

“And?”

“Not be afraid of you.”

“And?”

“To tell you if I didn’t like the way—or where—you were touching me.”

“Anything else, lass?”

She licked her lips before answering. “She said that you wouldn’t rush me and would be as gentle as you could be… Or mayhap that was something I had hoped she would say. I cannot think straight when you are standing so close.”

“Well now, we both seem to be suffering from the same problem. Why don’t I help ye out of yer gown and ye can help me take off me frockcoat?”

“But I only have the use of one hand.”

“That’ll do, lass. Hold still while I remove your sling and then undo yer buttons and lift this over yer head.”

She stood perfectly still, though she shivered every time the tips of his fingers brushed against the bare skin below her nape.

“Grab on to the edge of me cuff now, lass, and hold on to it. Ye don’t have to do anything else. I’ll do it all, though ye’ll have helped to undress me, which is what I hoped ye’d be doing tonight.”

He slipped out of his waistcoat next, watching her the entire time.

She felt her face warm under the intensity of his gaze as he slipped the coat off his broad frame, revealing the close fit of his cambric shirt. He drew in a breath, and she watched his chest expand and his sculpted muscles push against the fabric until the only thing left to her imagination was if his skin was the same shade as hers. His face and hands were darker, but that could be because of exposure to the sun, or he could have the same healthy glow all over.

Her heart picked up again as she imagined what Lady Phoebe had spoken of…then put her hand over her eyes.

“Lass?” She felt his arms circling her again. “What’s wrong?”

She would never be able to go through with this. O’Malley deserved a woman far braver than her. “I’m a coward.”

Warm lips pressed kisses along the curve of her cheek and the line of her jaw. “Ye’re the bravest woman I know.”

“I was terrified when the baron tossed Emily onto the bed and straddled her, spewing such hateful things.”

“Ah, lass, look at me. Come on now.” He nudged her hand until she lowered it to her side. “That’s better. Now take a long look into me eyes.”

“They’re darker than they were, but there is no edge of meanness in them. Hardwell’s eyes looked mean .”

“’Tis best that ye know straight off—all of us O’Malleys have changeable eyes.”

“Changeable?”

“Aye, the color darkens when we are aroused.”

“Are you aroused now?”

“Aye, lass.” He bent to capture her lips in a kiss that promised more. “They turn piss yellow when we’re angry, though sometimes they’re so dark green, they appear black.”

“I see.”

“I hope ye do. I would never willingly hurt ye, but ye must understand that even when I kiss and caress ye in places ye’ve yet to dream of…even when I stretch ye, so ye can take all of me inside of ye, and are begging me to relieve the bone-deep ache, there will still be pain.”

She stared into his eyes and saw the truth of his words. “Mayhap we could start by me helping you remove your shirt.”

He cupped her chin and plundered her mouth until she sagged against him. “Ye’ll need to open yer eyes.”

Helen felt the flush sweep up from her neck to her forehead as she held on to one of his sleeves. He slipped one arm free, then the other, and tossed the garment on the floor behind them. She had not been prepared for the sight of Eamon’s heavily muscled chest. He looked like one of the statues she’d seen in one of Lord Montrose’s books…one Emily had snuck out of his library when her father was out of the house.

“See something ye like?”

She could not trust her voice to work, so she nodded.

“Well then, lass, why don’t ye come closer and touch me? I’ll die if ye don’t. Anywhere at all.”

Helen’s hand shook, but she bravely reached out and pressed her hand right to his chest. The heat of his skin, and heavy beat beneath her hand, had her lifting her gaze to his. “Your heart is racing.”

He reached out and held his hand above her heart. “May I touch ye?”

“Please.”

His large hand was hot where it settled over her heart. The tips of his fingers rested against the fullness of her breast. She drew in a breath and watched his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. But she wasn’t afraid, because he had not moved his hand, nor had he squeezed her hard—like the evil baron had threatened to do to Emily.

O’Malley slid his hand around to her back and pulled her close until her cheek was resting over his heart. The beat was slower now. “Will ye tell me what happened just now? Ye didn’t seem to be afraid of me, then all at once, ye had this terror-stricken look in yer eyes.”

It was easier to tell him when she couldn’t see his expression. She would still know what he was thinking by how his body stiffened beneath her cheek. “I remembered one of the threats.”

His breathing slowed. “What threats?”

“At the inn when Hardwell was waiting in our bedchamber. I tried to yank him off Emily, but he struck me and tossed me aside as if I were a pesky fly. Then he threatened to squeeze her…her breasts until she cried out in pain.”

“No wonder it took me nearly pulling out Aiden’s teeth to get him to tell me what happened after he and Masterson broke down the door.” He eased his hold on her. “Will ye lie down with me? I’m thinking ye need to be held while ye tell me everything ye fear. Then I’ll talk ye through how I can replace those memories with ones that will make yer heart fly.”

She didn’t want to cower from the man she’d married. She wanted what Lady Phoebe had. What Caro and Prudence had.

“I do have an important question for you, Eamon.”

“I’ll do me best to answer.”

She glanced at the floor and back to him. “Are you going to throw every article of clothing onto the floor?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I did not toss yer gown on the floor, now did I?”

She looked at the chair where he’d placed her gown, and then the floor where his frockcoat, shirt, and cravat were strewn. “You did not.”

“Well then, ye have no worries about yer clothing—’tis just me own that I’ll be throwing to the floor.”

She was laughing when he picked her up in his arms and gently laid her on the mattress—and moaning when he leaned over her and kissed every last thought from her head.