The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(322)

"You're afraid of the war, aren't you?" he asked quietly, cradling her head against his shoulder.



"I am. I can't bear the thought of you being taken from me."



"I need to do my duty, though, if they ask. I mean, I can buy us some time with us being recently married, but not indefinitely."



"Perhaps the thing to do is ask for permission as an officer to bring me with you."



"Oh no," Blake rasped. "It's bad enough having to endure such harsh conditions myself, without making my gorgeous young wife into a camp follower.



"No, I would just as soon leave you here with the Jeromes. Or, you could stay with Charlotte. She seems to be taking the prospect of Thomas going again with a great deal of alarm. Much worse than I would have thought considering she's such a brave and determined young woman."



"Well, she has a young child at home."



"But Sarah is already packing up Alexander and asking Charlotte to look after Little John for her."



Arabella stared at him in horror. "She's mad! She's barely out of childbed. And I thought Alexander was a merchant, and originally French, an emigre, not an English soldier at all."



Blake shook his head. "I don't understand any of this myself. All I know is I'll put off going for as long as I can. But if Charlotte is to be left behind with everyone's children, she could could use your help."



"Everyone's?"



"Clifford is planning to go to. Vanessa insists on accompanying him whether the army gives him permission or not. Jonathan and Pamela say if they all the Rakehells are going, they are too."



"Not Josephine and Henry as well?"



"No. Henry never served, and Josephine is having a difficult pregnancy. She's miscarried in the past. She isn't going to be fit to look after Clifford's children, so Charlotte has drawn the short straw."



"Well, she and Sarah should stay. I wish we could all stay."



"I know. We just have to hope for the best. Anyway, enough talk of the war. We need to talk about our wedding. Is there anything missing at all?"



"Nothing I can think of. I have everything for the morning. Old, new, borrowed and blue. You?"



He grinned. "Come upstairs and I'll show you."



"Isn't it supposed to be bad luck to see the bride the morning of the wedding?"



"An old wives' tale. We're going to do nothing but make our own luck from now on," he said, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her out of the small blue parlor where they had sought refuge as the rest of the family finished the last-minute preparations in the chapel.



Since Arabella had not had time to send to London for Blake's favourite gown, she had decided she would wear the white and gold one from the night he had proposed. He would wear his gold waistcoat and cravat.



He brought his wedding outfit into her room despite her shock at the break with tradition, and now hung it up in the mirrored wardrobe next to her gown.



"Nothing short of an earthquake is going to stop this wedding, darling. So please stop worrying, and help me with this bodice before I rip it," he breathed as he tugged at the fastenings of the pale blue muslin she was clad in.



It whispered to the floor, and her other garments soon followed. As soon she was completely bare and he stood her in front of the mirror.



"Look how lovely you are," he breathed against her ear, one large hand splayed across her stomach, while the other fondled one breast.



She blushed. "Blake, really, it can't be decent."



"No secrets between us any longer," he said, teasing her nipple to crested fullness. "I loved and wanted you from the minute I saw your face, found out you were unmarried. We belong together. Look how we fit."



She gasped as he bent her forward slightly and then filled her to the brim with his pulsating hardness. The sight of Blake making love to her reflected in the mirror aroused her unbearably, and she began to climax. His hand slid from her stomach to her mound, and he watched her expression, the look in her eyes in the mirror, and knew he was truly lost. His orgasm surged forward like the rushing tide, and he trembled uncontrollably.



"Oh, Lord, hold us up," he urged raggedly, grasping her hands to flatten them against the smooth cool wood of the mirrored wardrobe door before clutching her tightly once more and pounding into her.



Her arms nearly buckled with the force of his ardour but she forced her eyes to remain open to watch her response and his. He was glorious, and she pushed her buttocks back against his hips as he drove ever deeper until they climaxed with prolonged and earth-shattering shudders.



Then he weakly grabbed her and carried her to the bed.