You May Kiss the Bride(68)

“God, oh God,” he said, low, “Livia.”

Replete now, suffused with a lovely sort of glow, Livia clasped her arms around Gabriel’s neck as slowly, slowly, he withdrew, eased her down until her feet were on the ground again, did up the fall of his buckskins. There was sweat on his face, and Livia smoothed it away, smiling. He was smiling too, looking boyishly young, and he tilted his head to kiss her, lightly but with a lingering sweetness that brought an immediate flush of warmth to her cheeks.

Gabriel shifted his kiss to her jaw, the soft skin of her throat, then nuzzled at her ear. She made a little purring sound and his smile widened. Lord, she was delicious, she was splendid. The way their bodies responded one to the other—it was like nothing he’d known before. As desire stirred within him again, his body already demanding more, an idea was forming in his mind.

It was . . . neat and tidy. It was . . . brilliant, really. And it would solve all their problems at (so to speak) a stroke . . .

Gabriel gathered her to him, relishing the feel of her firm, heavy breasts, and slid his hands around her backside. He was already hard again. Damn all this clothing between them! “I want you again,” he murmured. “Let’s lie down.”

She laughed softly. “In the mud?”

With his tongue he caressed the rim of her ear and he felt her sway a little. “Yes, why not?” he urged her. “I’ll lay my coat down for us. To hell with the mud.”

Her eyes were sparkling. “You are very persuasive.”

“And you are delightful.” Gabriel brought his hands up to cup her face. He had to tell her now; his idea had formed more fully and his mind raced with the satisfaction of it. It was as if a complicated puzzle, which had been baffling him, suddenly completed itself, all the pieces fitting together cleanly and neatly. They could still lead those separate Penhallow lives, they would avoid scandal, but could share advantages—mutually beneficial ones!—he hadn’t before perceived. The Penhallow way was good after all. “Livia, this could work,” he said, eager to hear her agreement.

“What could?”

“This marriage. Yes, I know it’s a marriage of convenience, not a love match, but why not enjoy the—the physical benefits? Obviously we get along well in that department. And in the natural order of things, you’d produce the heir, and everyone would be happy. What do you say?” He smiled down at her, relieved, confident; the weight of the world was off his shoulders. There was so much to look forward to now.

But . . . why wasn’t she looking pleased as well?

He leaned down to kiss her but she was stiff.

“So nothing has changed for you?” she said quietly.

“Livia, everything has changed,” he said, but aware that there was a new, coaxing note in his voice. “It’s all going to work out. Come; let me have you, my sweet. I want to please you again.” He ran his fingers around the curve of her breast. And realized that everything had changed between them, for she didn’t respond, and it felt like his caress was now a clumsy attempt to seduce her.

She took a breath and stepped away. “No.”



A sick feeling of horror twisted in the pit of her stomach. Livia looked around the lean-to as if seeing it for the first time: the dirt, the mud, the squalor. Making love with Gabriel hadn’t seemed tawdry while it was happening, it had been the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her, but now . . .

Now she was sad, so deeply sad.

It was about the act for him.

Nothing to do with love.

She wiped her palms along the front of her riding-gown, as if trying to clean them, and took her bonnet from where it had nestled atop his. It had once been such a charming confection, with its extravagantly tall crown and a trio of curling ostrich feathers, dyed an elegant shade of russet, festooning its peaked brim. Now the feathers were wet and limp. They could never be made to look pretty again.

“We need to leave,” she said. Quickly she put the bonnet on and tied the ribbons—tight, a little too tight—and went outside onto the crude little porch.

The storm had died down. The wind was now only a mild breeze and the rain had nearly stopped.

“Help me up,” she said to Gabriel, who had emerged from the lean-to. With his tousled hair and his bewildered expression, he had about him once again the look of a schoolboy, and for a dangerous moment Livia nearly softened. But she steeled herself against it, and set her mind elsewhere at the physical contact between them when obediently he lifted her up onto Daisy.

As soon as he handed her the reins, she dug her heel into Daisy’s side—more forcefully than usual, causing that patient creature to look around at her as if in reproachful surprise—and had her trot toward the road, and set her in the direction back to Bath. Gabriel, on Primus, caught up to her within a minute or two. Without looking at him Livia said: