The Elusive Bride

highways, it was likely the families would reach Elveden first.

With a glance at the clock, then at Clarice and Emily, Leonora rose. “It’s late, and we’ll need to leave as early as possible.” She looked at the men. “We’ll leave you to organize the carriages, coachmen and horses while we organize the people.”

The men nodded, and returned to their planning.

Rising with Clarice, Emily followed Leonora into the hall. Leonora rang for Clitheroe.

Emily had the simplest task. She explained to Watson what had been arranged, knowing she could rely on him to alert the others and have everyone ready in good time in the morning. Leaving Leonora deep in discussion with her housekeeper, and Clarice issuing instructions to her senior nursemaid, Emily climbed the stairs and headed for her room.

By the time she reached it, excitement had taken hold. Entering, she found herself smiling.

One last push from Mallingham Manor to Elveden, and their journey would be over. Two more days, and she and Gareth could turn their attention to their future-their marriage-to planning both.

She was in her nightgown, but, too excited to sit let alone lie still, she was pacing before the fire with a shawl about her shoulders, imagining, when the door opened and Gareth came in. She halted, eagerness lighting her face.

Closing the door, he met her eyes, read her expression, and smiled. But as he closed the distance between them, he sobered. Halting before her, he looked into her eyes. “Two more days.” He hesitated, then, to her surprise, he reached for her hands, enclosing them in his.

As his eyes searched her face, she remained silent. Wondering.

Eventually he drew a curiously tight breath. “I wasn’t going to say anything, not until this was all over. But…I can’t let us go on, into the next two days, without saying at least this much. Downstairs just now, we made plans, all straightforward and direct-we do this, go by this road, and we reach Elveden and it’s over.” His eyes held hers. “But it won’t be that easy. We know the Black Cobra will be marshaling his forces between us and Elveden, that he’ll have his best troops-his elite-waiting to intercept us. He will be, should be, desperate to seize the scroll holder. That’s what we’re counting on-that he’ll be desperate enough to commit his forces so we can reduce them, and that at some point he’ll make a mistake that will paint him even more definitively as the Black Cobra than the letter one of us is carrying does of itself.

“And all of that,” he went on, “assumes action and real danger. A real threat of death looming along our apparently simple road.”

Gareth paused. His gaze locked with hers, he searched for the right words, the words he had to say. “I haven’t yet asked you to marry me.” His grip on her hands tightened; he felt the delicate bones beneath his much stronger fingers and gentled his touch. “Not properly. I want to-I intend to-but I might yet be killed, or badly injured, and if I was, I wouldn’t want you tied to me.” She frowned, opened her mouth, but he spoke over her. “I wouldn’t want you to stay by me if I didn’t have a life to offer you. But…”

This was the difficult part, and at least she’d remained silent and was listening as intently as he could wish. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he drew strength and steadiness from her moss-green eyes. “I want to marry you, and I want a marriage like Jack and Clarice’s, like Tristan and Leonora’s. I don’t know if that’s possible-if I can do what’s needed to have that sort of marriage-but I think I can, and I want to try. With you. Because I want us to have that, even though I can’t describe what ‘that’ is.”

Understanding shone in her eyes, her expression transformed to one of glowing happiness. The hard knot of trepidation in his chest eased.

She stepped closer. Freeing one hand from his, she laid her palm along his jaw. “I can describe it. I’ve spent the last days thinking of nothing else-looking and studying to learn what made marriages like Jack and Clarice’s, Tristan and Leonora’s, what they are-what makes them work. I know what we need to do-that we need to trust each other, value each other, and share everything in our lives-and yes, I want that, too.”

She smiled, and in that shimmering moment he could see her heart in her eyes. “There is nothing I want more in life than to have a marriage like that, with you.”

His heart cartwheeled, but he raised his hand and placed a finger across her lips. “Don’t say anything more.”

Eyes widening, she tilted her head, looked her question.

“It’s an old…I suppose you’d call it a superstition. A soldier’s superstition, yet there’s logic behind it. In going into battle, any battle, you try to ensure that you, personally, have the least possible to lose. It’s tempting fate to go into an engagement knowing you have something worth more than life itself at stake. More, it’s dangerous, because going on the offensive inevitably clashes with defensive instincts-and you’ll be caught, torn, at the worst possible moment. Facing an enemy knowing you have something of immense and staggering worth to lose gives you a weakness that the enemy doesn’t have. It’s a distraction, a handicap.

“And that is why I want you to know what I want with you, but I don’t want us to speak of it-to make any declarations or decisions now.” He searched her eyes. “Do you understand?”

Her smile only grew more confident. She moved into him, molding her body to his. His hands slid around her, his arms instinctively closing about her. She raised her other hand to join the first, framing his face. “I understand- no declarations, no details, no mutual decrees. But you need to understand something, too-we’re already there. Words are necessary, but actions speak louder, and our actions have been declaring our truth for weeks, even if we haven’t been paying attention. What we need to have the marriage we both want-trusting, valuing, sharing all aspects of our lives, a partnership on all levels-we’ve been working on that, are well on our way to achieving that, and if we continue to grant each other those things, we will win through to the end. To the end we both want. We have to have faith in us-in what we are and can be together. And if we do, nothing-not even the Black Cobra-can deny us.”

Emily smiled into his eyes, her confidence, her faith, her unfettered joy all openly on show. “Together we’re stronger. Together we’ll weather this-whatever comes in the next two days-and then-”

“We’ll speak of our future. Of everything we want our future to be.”

Her eagerness was spiraling out of control. “How we want to shape it, and what it will hold.”

He bent his head. “How we want ‘us’ to be.”

Her lips were deeply curved when he covered them with his. She kissed him back with unrestrained passion, with elation and abandon. Her joy, her welling happiness, were so profound, so powerful, she couldn’t contain them-had to allow both expression.

Had to, was compelled to, reward him. This man-her man, her one and only “one”-was no more blind than she. Thank heaven. To have had to prod and nudge and work to make him see what would be best…she’d been prepared to do it, but to her soul she appreciated his courage in facing and embracing their truth.

This was what they were. What, for them both, their marriage needed to be. Breaking from the kiss on a laughing gasp, she steered him back toward the bed, along the way helped him out of his coat, out of his waistcoat while he dealt with his cravat. His legs hit the end of the mattress and he halted. Mouth watering, she opened his shirt, pushed the halves wide. Savored with hands and eyes while he muttered and reached around her to undo his cuffs.

Then she slid her hands down, palms to his warm, resilient skin, skating over muscles that tensed beneath her touch, to the waistband of his trousers. Two quick flicks and the buttons there were free. But before she could open the placket and reach within, he uttered a breathless laugh. “Shoes first.”

His voice sounded strained.

Eyes dark with desire, he stepped aside and toed off his shoes, stepped out of them, and reached for her. She flung her shawl aside as she went into his arms, needing his heat, rejoicing as it enveloped her.

She lifted her face, wordlessly offered her mouth. He bent his head and took, claimed, filled. She responded, letting the familiar sensations-the welling desire, the burgeoning taste of passion, rising urgency and hungry need- fascinate and absorb them.

While she plotted, planned.

He’d let her explore before, but the pleasure she experienced when he worshipped her with his mouth made her wonder if this wasn’t the time for turn and turnabout. For her to pleasure him.

She thought it would work, but knew of only one way to know for certain. Without breaking from their kiss, from