Neither said a word for quite a while, content to hold each other and enjoy the blissful solitude.
Christina didn't know where he was taking her, and she didn't particularly care. They were finally alone, and that was all that mattered to her.
'Christina, you don't seem frightened of the closed quarters today,' Lyon remarked. He trailed his chin across the top of her forehead in an affectionate caress. 'Have you conquered this dislike?'
'I don't think I have,' Christina answered. 'But when you're holding me so close to you, and when I close my eyes, I do forget my worry.'
It was because she trusted him, Lyon told himself. 'I like it when you're honest with me, Christina,' Lyon said. 'And now that we're married, you must always tell me the truth,' he added, thinking to ease into the topics of love and trust.
'Haven't I always told you the truth?' Christina asked. She leaned away from him to look up at his face. 'Why are you looking so out of sorts? When have I ever lied to you?'
'The Summertons for one,' Lyon drawled.
'Who?'
'Exactly,' Lyon answered. 'You told me the Summertons raised you, and we both know that was a lie.'
'A fabrication,' Christina corrected.
'There's a difference?'
'Sort of.'
'That's not an answer, Christina,' Lyon said. 'It's an evasion.'
'Oh.'
'Well?'
'Well, what?' Christina asked. She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips, trying to turn his attention. It was their wedding night, and she really didn't want to have to lie to him again.
'Are you going to tell me the truth about your past now? Since the Summertons don't exist…'
'You really are persistent,' Christina muttered. She softened her rebuke with a quick smile. 'Very well, Lyon. Since I am your wife, I do suppose I should tell you the full truth.'
'Thank you.'
'You're welcome, Lyon.'
She settled herself against his shoulder again and closed her eyes. Lyon waited several long minutes before he realized she thought the discussion was over.
'Christina?' he asked, letting his exasperation show. 'Who took care of you when you were a little girl?'
'The sisters.'
'What sisters?'
Christina ignored the impatience in his voice. Her mind raced for a new fabrication. 'Sister Vivien and Sister Jennifer mostly,' she said. 'I lived in a convent, you see, in France. It was a very secluded area. I don't remember who took me there. I was very young. The sisters were like mothers to me, Lyon. Each night they'd tell me wonderful stories about the places they'd seen.'
'Buffalo stories?' Lyon asked, smiling over the sincerity in her voice.
'Why, as a matter of fact, yes,' Christina answered, warming to her story. She made the decision not to feel guilty about deceiving her husband. Her motives were pure enough. Lyon would only be upset by the truth.
He was English, after all.
'Sister Frances drew a picture of a buffalo for me. Have you ever seen one, Lyon?'
'No,' he answered. 'Now tell me more about this convent,' Lyon persisted. His hands caressed her back in a soothing motion.
'Well, as I said, it was in a very isolated spot. A giant wall surrounded the buildings. I was allowed to run barefoot most of the time, for we never had visitors. I was terribly spoiled, but I was still a sweet-tempered child. Sister Mary told me she knew my mother, and that is why they took me in. I was the only child there, of course.'
'How did you learn to defend yourself?' he asked, his voice mild.
'Sister Vivien believed that a woman should know how to protect herself. There weren't any men around to protect us. It was a reasonable decision.'
Christina's explanation made good sense. She'd answered his question about her confusion with the English laws, the reason she preferred to go shoeless, and where she'd seen a buffalo. Oh, yes, the explanation tied up some of the dangling strings all right. It was convincing and logical.
He wasn't buying it for a minute.
Lyon leaned back against the upholstery and smiled. He accepted the fact that time was needed for Christina to learn to trust him with the truth. He'd probably know all there was to know about her before she finally got around to telling him, of course.
Lyon realized the irony. He was determined that Christina would never find out about his past activities. He meant to keep his sins from her, yet he persisted, like a hound after a meaty rabbit, in prodding her into telling him all about herself.
He wasn't, however, the one insisting he was going home. She was. And Lyon knew full well the mythical convent wasn't her real destination.
She wasn't going anywhere.
' Lyon, you're squeezing the breath right out of me,' Christina protested.
He immediately softened his hold.
They arrived at their destination. Lyon carried her up the steps to his townhouse, through the empty foyer, and up the winding staircase. Christina barely opened her eyes to look around.
His bedroom had been made ready for them. Several candles burned with soft light on the bedside tables. The covers had been drawn back on the huge bed. A fire blazed in the hearth across the room, taking the chill out of the night air.
Lyon placed her on the bed and stood there smiling at her for the longest time. 'I've sent my staff on ahead to open the country home, Christina. We're all alone,' he explained as he knelt down and reached for her shoes.
'It's our wedding night,' Christina said. 'I must undress you first. It is the way it should be done, Lyon.'
She flipped her shoes off, then stood beside her husband. After she'd untied the knot of his cravat, she stood back to help him with his jacket.
When his shirt had been removed and her fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants, Lyon couldn't stand still any longer. Christina smiled when she noticed how his stomach muscles reacted to her touch. She would have continued undressing him, but Lyon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her up against his chest, and claimed her mouth in a hot, sensual kiss.
For long sweet minutes they teased each other with their hands, their tongues, their whispered words of pleasure.
Lyon had vowed to go slowly this night, to give Christina pleasure first, and he knew that if he didn't pull away and help her get undressed soon he'd end up ripping another gown off her.
She was trembling when he dragged his mouth away from hers. Her voice had deserted her, and she had to nudge him toward the side of the bed. When he sat down, she pulled off his shoes and socks.
She stood on the platform between Lyon 's legs and slowly worked the fastenings free on her sleeves. It was an awkward task because she couldn't seem to take her gaze away from Lyon to watch what she was doing.
'You'll have to help me with the back of my gown,' she said, smiling because her voice sounded so strained to her.
When she turned around, Lyon pulled her down onto his lap. She fought the urge to lean against him, impatient now to get her scratchy gown out of the way. Her hands reached to her coronet, but she'd only pulled one pin free before Lyon pushed her hands away and took over the task. 'Let me,' he said, his voice husky.
The heavy curls unwound until the rich, sun-kissed locks fell to her waist. Christina sighed with pleasure. Lyon 's fingers were making her shiver. He slowly lifted the mass to drape it over her shoulder, paused to kiss the back of her neck, and then began the arduous task of unhooking the tiny fastenings.
His heart was slamming against his chest. The scent of her was so appealing, so wonderfully feminine. He wanted to bury his face in her golden curls; he would have given in to his urge if she hadn't moved against his
