Deborah didn’t like the unholy look on Cornwallis’s face. Military justice was swift and frequently final. “Even so, this is a civil attempted murder case. May I make a suggestion?” Cornwallis nodded. “An indenture. We don’t know for sure about his father, we have only his word, and that is a matter for the courts in England, anyway. This was, mercifully, an attempted murder. A long indenture on one of the Georgia plantations might be just the thing.”
Cornwallis looked over at Kit, who thought for a moment and then nodded. Deborah squeezed his hand in thanks.
The General leaned back, stretching. “I’ll deal with that in the morning. However, the second problem, I apprehend, is your lady mother’s request.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, but I must hold you to our agreement. I need you here, Kit. Your experience may be crucial.”
Kit nodded, and Deborah saw her newfound hopes for getting Kit out of combat fade.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about the second problem, sir, even though your answer wasn’t unexpected. The second problem involves just how Cousin Henry knew where I would be those times he tried to pick me off.”
“Ahhh, yes. That would be a problem.”
Chapter 19
Kit’s arm around her waist provided both affection and support as they ascended the stairs. The house was quiet, and they were lost in their individual thoughts.
Deborah preceded him through the door of his chamber. With all the excitement, she just now remembered that this was her wedding night. This was the time that all those wonderful, mysterious secrets her mother had hinted at would be revealed. Delicious terror wafted though her innards. She would learn why her parents could still emerge from their chamber looking happy and full of life. She would learn those secrets with her Kit…her Col. Kit…her Earl Kit…her…her British lord who should have married an equally blue-blooded daughter of…
His arms closed around her from behind as he nuzzled her hair. “God’s teeth, I thought I’d never get that door closed. It’s been a bloody hell of a day, all things considered.”
He sounded, she thought, exhausted and at the end of his tether. It wouldn’t be right to trap a creature of his glittering, polished world with a little colonial nobody. She had to give him the option, even though it might rip her heart out. “Kit, things have changed so much in the last few hours.” The words started to tumble over each other. “This marriage isn’t really suitable for your rank. If you want to set it aside, there’s still time.”
He wrenched her around. The pain in her ankle couldn’t compare to the pain in his eyes.
“You are the only woman I could ever want for my wife!” He gave her a small shake to emphasize his point. “Would you condemn me to look across the breakfast table for the rest of my life at a woman I detested or even just tolerated simply because she had an approved bloodline? I don’t relish that future! I want to go to sleep and wake up seeing the face of the woman who cherishes my heart as much as I cherish hers.”
He cradled her face to study her eyes. “The only reason I would even contemplate setting aside this marriage is if you didn’t love me. Can you truthfully say that?”
“No!” The word popped out of her.
“Didn’t think so. And that’s a good thing. I couldn’t let you go now if I wanted to.” His mouth curled to that crooked smile she loved. All was well with the world.
“You weren’t raised to be an earl’s wife; well, I wasn’t raised to be an earl. We’ll muddle through. I mean, look at today. Having you at my side was the only thing that kept me sane through the whole thing. “Besides,” he tapped the tip of her nose, “weddings are a form of torture a man should only have to suffer once in his lifetime. I’ve had mine.”
That unseemly remark, she decided, had to be punished, and she reached up to tickle him. Amid the laughter, he scooped her up and whirled her around.
He lowered her to the ground and studied her face. “Frightened?”
“No, yes, maybe. I have a pretty good idea of what to expect.”
“Do you?”
“I mean, I was raised on a farm.”
“Well, horses and cows and pigs can teach you about…um, the mechanics, but they don’t do so well in teaching you about, shall we say, the finer aspects.” A supercilious expression ruled his face, but his eyes twinkled.
“I will, of course, be pleased to be your instructor in this matter.”
Deborah looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Then I put myself in your hands, kind sir.”
He brushed at the curls near her ear and grew serious. “I want you so badly my hands are shaking. I only pray for the strength to go slow.”
She studied his face for a moment, then brought his hands to her mouth and kissed them. “I don’t want slowly. Careful, maybe, but not slow. I’ve wanted this for a long time, too, you know.”
“Not slow it is, then.” He pulled the pins from her hair and tossed them on the floor. Threading his fingers through her hair, he tilted her face up to his.
Deborah shivered when his mouth met hers. He gently pried open her lips. Her arms snaked around him. She could feel the cords of steel in his back. His tongue tasted her mouth. This time, hers was ready. Their tongues played touching games until he groaned and whirled her around to work on her buttons. For a moment, the spin disoriented her. Kit’s fingers dispensed quickly, if not neatly, with the buttons. A few pings told her that several buttons joined the pins on the floor. He turned her around and slipped the gown off her shoulders. It obligingly fell to the floor. Deborah thought she knew what a gaily wrapped present must feel like. She pulled and pushed Kit’s jacket off him, determined to let him experience the delightful feeling.
Kit, obviously, had other intentions. He led her to a chair and silently removed her shoes as he watched her face. Almost reverently, he untied her garters and pushed the stockings down her legs. He drew her up and started on the chemise ribbon. It didn’t succumb as quickly as he wished, so he snapped it. The chemise followed the dress to the floor. He picked her up and laid her on the feather bed.
He studied her body for long seconds. She could read the adoration and desire crystal-clear on his face. If she didn’t feel the same way about him, the intensity written there would have terrified her, would have had her desperately trying to cover her body. But it wasn’t fear she was feeling. She rose up on one elbow to watch him strip off his clothes with a speed that would‘ve sent a valet into palpitations. When his breeches went the way of the buttons, chemise, and jacket, she stared at him in open amazement.
He followed her gaze, “I hope you are as ready for me as I am for you.”
When she reached out one arm, it was all the reply he needed. Sliding in beside her, he gathered her into his arms. She pulled away slightly so she could run her hands down his chest. The masculine differences fascinated her: the coarse, springy hair and the muscles of the rock-hard chest. His nipples drew her attention, and she toyed, wonderingly, with them. A quiet, indrawn breath from him stopped her. She looked up.
“Don’t stop on my account, m’dear. Play all you want.” When she circled one pink nipple with her finger, he added, “Its delicious torture.”
When her hand explored lower and brushed his hardened shaft, he grabbed the wandering fingers and brought them to his lips. “Let’s save that. Tonight’s for you.” He sipped the sweetness of her mouth and gently nibbled down her neck and collarbone to her breast.
His mouth closed around it, and Deborah squeaked. “Oh!” He didn’t release his prize, but looked up at her with a twinkle in his eyes.
He brushed the nipple with his tongue. “Liked that, did you?” Without waiting for an answer, he worshiped the twin, his tongue dancing circles around the hard berry. As he did, his hand caressed her belly and then gently spread her legs. He ran his fingers through the curly hair at their apex. His mouth left her breast, and he braced on his elbow to watch her. His hand dipped between her legs to explore the soft petals guarding her feminine secrets. Her bo
dy tightened at the intimate, unfamiliar touch, then loosened at the delight flowing from it, only to tighten again as his finger began a caress of her innermost core.
“Gently, gently, my sweet. Lord in heaven, you are so wet and ready for me already!”
Indeed, she could feel the dampness his finger produced. She only had a moment to wonder because his hand began a rhythmic caress. Instantly, her body reacted of its own accord, clenching around his hand in ever-increasing spirals of pleasure.
Just as she thought she would burst with the pleasurable anticipation, he stopped. She almost cried in that fleeting second, but he rolled onto her and entered her in one swift movement. A stinging flashed through her loins. He froze when she gasped and arched away from him.
“Gently, my love. Let it pass. This is the only time, I promise.” He dropped tiny kisses all over her face until the tension in her body subsided.
His mouth slanted over hers and his tongue slipped inside. At the same time, his hips drove his manhood into her, mimicking the earlier motion of his hand, only larger, more powerful, more, pleasurable. Or maybe the hand was the mimic, she didn’t know, because he was driving the hunger in her body to unbearable heights.
Pleasure burst over her in a thrumming rainbow of pleasure and joy and feeling so overwhelming that all she could do was wrap her arms and legs around him and hold on. A moment later, he groaned and buried himself as deeply as he could into her.
She was still enjoying the last of the small shivers racing through her body when he lifted himself off her and kissed her nose. When he got out of bed, she leaned up on her elbow to watch him. “Where are you going?” Deborah was half-afraid of the answer.
He went to the commode and looked back at her with a smile. “Going? The only place I’m going is back to bed.” He dampened a flannel in the basin and did just that. He tried to spread her legs, and she resisted, a little apprehensive. “Here, don’t fuss. This will make it feel better. The first time can be a little rough.” He washed between her legs with the care a mother would lavish on a new-born. Finished, he tossed the cloth towards the commode and climbed in beside her, pulling the quilt over them. He slipped his arm under her head and drew her close. “Goodnight, wife.” He kissed her gently.
“Goodnight, husband.” Her arm snaked up over his shoulder, and she closed her eyes.
**
The next morning Cornwallis again sat in his chair in the small parlor. Lt. Harvey, at an improvised desk, prepared to record the proceedings. Officers and one civilian, who Deborah thought to be the local magistrate, stood about or sat in the available chairs. Talk was subdued, and there wasn’t a smile in the room.
Deborah wasn’t smiling either, but she was as happy as possible, given that her brand-new husband was leaving in a few hours. Last night, she thought, last night was more wonderful than anything she could have imagined. Her mother’s hints and clues hadn’t come near reality
Was it possible her mother hadn’t known how wonderful…? No, that didn’t ring true. No, her mother and father were just fine in that field.
For a moment, Deborah missed her mother more intensely than she had all these months. Sarah was a wonderful friend, but her mother… her mother was her confident, her confessor, and her best friend. Abigail would understand about the joys of new love as well as the worry over sending that love off to war. She would understand the intense relief at the removal of a threat to her beloved. She would acknowledge the sadness that the perpetrator had to be punished.
Scamp’s wet nose under her hand drew her out of what threatened to be a maudlin reflection. He sat in her lap in their chair at the side of the parlor. As excited as he had been to see his people again, he curled quietly into her skirts, almost knowing something was wrong, and that his job was to comfort rather than play.
Sarah hurried in just before the proceedings were to start. “What in the name of all that is holy happened last night?” She took the chair next to Deborah.
Cornwallis called the court to order.
“You’ll see,” Deborah promised solemnly. Sarah opened her mouth to demand more, but Deborah turned toward her, face blank and unyielding. Sarah harrumphed, turned in her chair, and froze.
“This is a military tribunal convened in the case of the treasonable actions of Mr. Henry Marshall insofar as he did three times attempt to murder Col. Christopher Marshall, Earl of Westridge, including, but not limited to, instigating an attack upon a column of His Majesty’s soldiers by brigands disguised as rebel soldiers, and two other attacks on Col. Marshall’s specific person, the most recent being last night.”
“God’s blood,” Sarah whispered in awe. She grabbed Deborah’s arm in support and sympathy and then breathed, “Earl of Westridge!” She started to withdraw, but Deborah caught her hand and looked into Sarah’s eyes. “Now, more than ever, Sarah.” Sarah relaxed and their hands clasped over Scamp on Deborah’s lap.
Kit, Lt. Bradley, a soldier she didn’t know, and finally Henry testified. Everything went according to the script. Henry had been given his options with regards to his plea and wisely chose to admit his guilt with the resultant indenture. After all, his other option would have involved a rope.
**
The trial broke up and Sarah rounded on her, “What do you mean by…?”
Deborah rose, still holding Scamp. “Sarah, please, I ask your indulgence for just a few more minutes. They’re leaving now. My husband’s going to track down my father!”
“Merciful God, little one!” Sarah hugged her so hard that Scamp yelped. In a heartbeat, she released her. “Go!” she ordered.
**
All the way up to their chamber, Kit held her. He hadn’t let go of her since she’d left Sarah’s side at the trial’s end. When they were alone, he gathered her in his arms, his face buried in her hair, breathing in the unique scent that was Deborah. The thought of leaving her was tearing at him, ripping at the foundations of this new life he was beginning. Hadn’t it been rocked and shaken enough in its brief existence, already?
When he left his family in England, it was with the knowledge that he might not return. He had walked away from his mother’s tears with only the smallest, quickly forgotten, regret.
This was as different as night from day.
When he pulled slightly away to frame her face, he could see Deborah’s eyes were dry, but they looked like storm-ravaged lakes of grief and sadness. He didn’t want to look and pulled her back to his chest. As he gently rocked her, he could feel the hitches in her breathing.
For the shortest of long whiles he held her. Then he kissed the top of her head. “I have to go, my love.” She nodded into his chest, but didn’t move away. He had to go. He never felt less like doing something in his entire life. Still, he gently levered her arms away from him.
Keeping one arm around her, he went to the armoire. Pulling out a packet, he handed it to her. “There are my…our papers: marriage lines, commission, financial instruments. This,” he tapped the leather envelope, “gives you access to all the funds you could want. It also has my mother’s directions. Could you write to her?” Deborah nodded. “I’m sure you’ll want to tell your folks, too,” he added with a wry smile. “I just hope your father doesn’t forget Cornwallis and come after me personally for stealing his baby girl. I know I’d be inclined to if the positions were reversed.” His thumb teased the slight smile on her lips.
“I’ve assigned Mr. Thomson to you personally. Use him any way you need to and, oh God, take care of yourself!” His arms locked around her with all his strength. Some small part of his mind said it couldn’t be comfortable for her, but he had to keep her as close as possible for these last few minutes. She didn’t object as he lifted her face to his. He rooted blindly for her mouth and found it. His mouth pried hers open so his tongue could taste her essence. He knew he wasn’t gentle, but she aided and abetted his invasion. Her hands clawed at his hair and back, pulling him closer. He devoured her mouth and then started on her chee
k, her nose, her ears, her eyes.
A yelled order outside dropped him back to earth.
“I have to leave now. Walk with me.”
At first she refused to move. He tossed the document packet back in the armoire and gently pushed her. “It’s time.” He watched her bite the bottom lip that must be sore already. He rubbed it with one finger. “Take care of that lip. I want it in good condition when I get back.” The quip earned him a watery smile. He urged her towards the door.
**
Dearest Lady Westridge
Too intimate—I don’t even know the woman.
To my dearest Mother-in-Law
Merciful heavens, give the lady a heart attack as soon as she opens the letter.
She crumpled the paper and tossed it aside to join the others. Deborah looked at her attempts to simply begin the letter and grimaced. At this rate, she’d run out of sheets. This was not going to be easy. What exactly did she want to say? The facts were not in question; how she wanted to present herself was.
Putting the quill back into its stand, she sat back to think. Scamp pawed at her skirt, so she picked him up. Stroking his wiry, gray fur calmed her. He’d grown, she noted absently.
She tried again.
“Lady Westridge, It has been a tumultuous few days, so I ask you to bear
with me. Kit requested that I write to you because, yesterday, we were married. A few hours
after that I made the unfortunate acquaintance of Mr. Henry Marshall and his terrible
news…”
Deborah reread the letter. Hopefully the sincerity of her condolences and her feeling for Kit were plain among the chaos of the recent weeks.
The final signature presented an ethical question. The title of “Lady Westridge” belonged to her now, but Deborah couldn’t bring herself to style herself that way. I’m no more a “Lady” than I am a frog, she thought. Her glance shifted to her hand, half expecting the finger her wedding ring rode on to be a pale green. She snickered. Yes, she could imagine a slight tinge of green. Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite do it. “Deborah M…” a moment’s hesitation, “…organ Marshall.”