Page 11 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

Ellen’s heartbeat pounded. A part of it was heavy with sadness because they had married without her family present. But it had been beautiful and Paul’s vows had made her heart overflow with joy, pushing her guilt and fear aside.

She loved him. She did not regret her choice.

Paul had left the lamp unlit again, so she opened her father’s letter, rested her shoulder against the side of the carriage and held the paper near the window. The clouds had had begun to clear and the moonlight was brighter than ever on the snow, so she could see.

There were just two lines of his precise, formal script.

Eleanor

You have made your decision and by doing so, made me look a fool. Do not expect a welcome back. You are no longer permitted here.

The Duke of Pembroke

His words hurt. He had not even signed it ‘your father’.

They had been brought up by her mother to call him Papa; he had not once used the childish name himself. Father, he would concede, but he never said it with any emotion.

‘What does it say?’

Ellen looked at Paul. ‘That he wishes nothing more to do with me. I think it would have been the same even if Mr Wareham had arrived before we wed.’

‘Then why send him?’

‘Perhaps just to look as though he tried to stop me; for appearances’ sake…’ She shrugged. She had never understood her father. She would have to be much wiser to fathom his depths.

Paul smiled. ‘Put him from your mind. You have no need to worry over him now.’

She was not worrying over him but she was concerned about her sisters and her mother.

Paul lifted her hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath seeped through her glove.

Then he turned her hand and kissed her wrist above it.

Sensation skimmed up her arm. ‘Do not fret about your sisters either. They have time to mature, and I am certain your eldest, Penny, is tough enough to fight her own battles. She did not seem demurring when I met her.’

Ellen smiled, although moisture filled her eyes. Then she laughed, just a sudden sharp sound. ‘No, she is not demure, she will stand against him if he tries to force her hand, and she will use my disobedience as her example.’

‘And the others will learn from her…’

‘Yes.’

Paul had such an aura of confidence; it filled the air around him.

‘Very well then. No more sulking.’

Her smile lifted. ‘No.’

‘And no more tears,’ he added, wiping one away from the corner of her eye with his thumb.

Her next laugh was a little choked, and then foolishly she burst into tears. But she was happy too; they were part happy tears. He pulled her close and held her, as the carriage rolled on.

Another hour or more passed before they reached Carlisle and the snowy frost bound mud roads turned to cobble. The noise about the carriage changed as it rolled through the streets, and the strike of the horses’ hooves, tack and carriage wheels bounced back from brick houses.

When they turned into an inn, Paul pulled away from her and gave her a smile. It burned with compassion. ‘I know you’ve left a lot behind, Ellen, but now is the time to begin our new life.’

‘I know.’ She was his wife and she was about to become his wife in full. A pleasant ache clasped low in her stomach. She took a breath and her breasts pressed against her bodice.

The carriage halted and all outside was noise. Within, her nerves rioted in anticipation of her wedding night.

‘Come.’ He opened the carriage door, then climbed out and lifted his hand, as he had done so many times during their journey to the border.

She stepped out, her head spinning with emotions.

‘Do you wish to eat in a parlour or in the room we hire for the night?’

‘In the room.’ She was not hungry. Her stomach had tied in knots.

‘Well, then, we had better claim one.’

They walked across the courtyard that had been cleared of snow. The ostler was already helping to free the horses from the traces.

Paul asked for a room for Captain and Mrs Harding and ordered a meal of gammon pie for them both.

Mrs Harding… That was her name now. Her lips lifted a little as the novelty flowed through her.

A maid showed them to a room at the front of the inn.

She walked across and closed the window’s shutters, blocking out the view of the dark street.

The room contained a huge four-poster bed, carved in the Tudor style with garish-looking men and women, and oddly shaped animals and birds.

Beyond the bed, two chairs stood before a small hearth.

The candelabrum on the mantle spread flickering gold light, and a fire burned in the grate, doing its best to fend off the cold winter air.

‘Your dinner will be with you shortly, Captain.’ The maid bobbed a curtsy.

As soon as the door shut, Paul turned and held Ellen by the waist, then swept her off her feet and spun her in a circle. ‘My bride. My wife.’ He grinned broadly.

Her happiness burst into a smile.

‘I am in love,’ he said. Then he put her back on her feet and kissed her firmly, pressing his lips against hers then opening his mouth. It became a kiss like those they had shared in the carriage. Her hands rested on his shoulders as it continued and he pushed her back against the bedroom wall.

All the air left her lungs and a spiralling sensation twisted through her middle, tumbling down as her fingers slipped into his short hair.

He plundered her mouth and she fought to keep up, yet she could sense his restraint as his hands held her hips in a stiff embrace.

Her body longed to be pressed against his.

A knock struck the door.

He broke away with a sideways smile and a dimple cut into his cheek as his hair fell over his brow. He swept his hair back as he turned to the door and called, ‘Come in.’

A blush heated Ellen’s cheeks as men clothed in the inn’s livery entered, carrying Paul’s trunk and her bag from the carriage. A few moments later another man arrived with a small trestle table that he set up in their room. Then their dinner came.

Ellen stripped off her gloves and dropped them onto Paul’s trunk, along with her bonnet. This was Christmas Eve; her sisters would be at home in their beds missing her.

‘Sit down and eat,’ Paul said with a smile, pulling out a chair for her.

Ellen glanced at the bed as she sat down. Soon, they would lie together in that bed…

Paul sat in the chair opposite, then cut the pie. He put a piece on her plate.

‘Thank you.’

‘No need to thank me.’ He smiled. ‘Has anyone ever spoken to you about what will happen in our bed?’

The heat of a blush crept over her skin. ‘No.’

‘Then I will be mindful, Ellen, but you have no need to fear it.’

‘I know. You have been kind…’ Her words dried, not knowing how to express the things she longed for and feared at the same time.

‘A physical relationship between a man and a woman can be a beautiful thing. I think it will be beautiful between us.’

Her face grew warmer still; she must be as red as a ripe strawberry.

‘But I have said enough, have I not? Eat and then you will find out how beautiful it is.’

Now she could eat nothing, each mouthful was tasteless as she forced herself to chew and swallow.

He ate heartily, discussing America. After tomorrow they would travel to Portsmouth to meet his regiment and then catch a ship to Cork, in Ireland. Then from Ireland they would sail hundreds of miles across the Atlantic.

When he slid his empty plate away from him, Ellen ceased pushing the last of her food about her plate and put her knife and fork down side by side.

‘You did not eat much. Are you anxious?’

She was not hungry because she was so nervous and she could not smile.

He smiled. ‘I will have the inn’s staff clear the table. I will be back in a moment.’

When he had gone, anxiety hit her harder.

She stood up and turned to the window. She unfolded one of the shutters and looked out. Clouds had hidden the moon, it was so dark all she saw was her image reflected in the glass, with the light from the candelabrum.

She did not look like herself; the duke’s daughter who must always be perfect.

The woman who faced her was Mrs Harding.

Some strands of her hair hung to her shoulders, having fallen from the pins, and her habit was creased from days of travel.

This woman would follow the drum and live on the edge of battlefields.

She was the woman who would give solace to a soldier.

The bedchamber door opened behind her. She turned as Paul entered. He was followed by two of the inn’s attendants. He directed the men to clear the table. One carried their plates and leftovers away, the other folded the table and took that too.

Paul closed the door behind them. Ellen’s stomach somersaulted as her hands clasped together before her waist.

His smile said, don’t worry, trust me, you will be safe with me .

She knew that was true, but it did not prevent a rush of concern through her nerves.

He walked towards her, intent shining in his eyes, leaned past her and closed the shutter. Then he faced her, and the awe she saw in his eyes reflected the love she felt for him. He kissed her, his palm embracing the back of her head.

It was a brief kiss. ‘I am utterly in love with you,’ he said over her lips.

She smiled. ‘I also – I mean, I am in love with you also.’

His smile tilted sideways, then he looked down and his fingers began tugging the buttons securing the front of her habit loose.

Her heart pulsed so hard it pounded in her ears.

‘Relax,’ he whispered, as he looked up to her face, but continued freeing buttons.

She could not. Her heart beat far too quickly.

Beneath her habit she wore only her chemise. She had not been able put on the short corset alone.

The last button slipped free, then his hand reached beneath her habit and his fingers cupped her breast over the cotton. He looked into her eyes as his fingers held and then released her breast and his thumb brushed across her nipple.

A sharp little pain caught like a pin pricking through her nipple. But that pain felt pleasant.