Chapter 10
Marguerite glanced around the lamplit shop while the bleary-eyed blacksmith took his place across from her and Walker at the anvil.
In truth she had never imagined her wedding day with no church, no altar, and no family around her, but that reality did not dim the happiness swelling in her breast.
Nor did the early hour, Walker surprising her with his request that they marry first thing and not wait for daylight.
After what had happened with the highwaymen, he’d said he wanted to get her back safe and sound to London as soon as they were wed and had rested for a couple hours. Now he stood beside her, so dark and tall and handsome, and soon to be her husband! What else could she possibly need?
As soon as they had arrived in Gretna Green before dawn, he’d secured them a room at a comfortable inn across the street and had the trunk brought up, and then left her to bathe and change. Not a proper tub bath but a sponge bath from a basin of tepid water that had nonetheless made Marguerite feel so much better after almost two days on the road.
Then she’d dressed in the pale lilac-colored gown with sprigs of delicate white flowers that Lindsay had helped her to choose, the garment so pretty and flowing that Marguerite truly felt like a bride. Last she’d brushed her hair until it shone, and left it cascading down her back rather than pinned in her usual upswept style.
Walker’s only remark upon seeing her when she’d gone downstairs to the inn’s parlor was one low-spoken word, “Beautiful,” his gaze feeling like heat upon her.
He’d gone upstairs then, reluctantly, she could tell, and had his turn to bathe and change his clothes, too, a navy blue coat and matching breeches borrowed from Jared that fit him perfectly. Lindsay had packed a waistcoat for him, but Walker had opted for wearing only a clean white shirt beneath his coat, the open collar revealing a hint of raven-black hair upon his chest.
Oh, Lord. Marguerite blushed hotly when Walker caught her looking there and he smiled at her, which made her smile at him with some embarrassment and fix her gaze once more upon the rumpled-looking blacksmith.
“Hold hands over the anvil, if ye will.”
At once Walker sobered and took her hand, his fingers so strong and steady while Marguerite knew she trembled.
As the blacksmith’s plump wife and a yawning young man still in his nightshift, clearly their son, drew closer as witnesses, Marguerite felt suddenly so flustered that everything became a blur. She heard Walker declare after the blacksmith’s query that he’d come to wed of his own free will and she murmured the same, and then familiar words followed that she’d heard when her father had performed marriages in their parish church.
Walker’s voice sounded so resonant and clear when he said, “I will,” while her “I will,” sounded so breathless—truly, she’d never felt her heart pounding so madly! Then a filigreed gold band was slipped upon the fourth finger of her left hand. She glanced up with surprise at Walker, realizing Lindsay must have given him the ring for her to wear.
He stared back at her intently, his voice grown husky as he repeated the solemn words after the blacksmith, “With this ring I thee wed…” Before Marguerite knew it, she heard the man say, “I declare ye to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen,” and their wedding was done.
She felt Walker squeeze her hand and she tremulously returned his smile, but she jumped when the blacksmith brought a hammer down upon the anvil with a jarring clang. Walker only chuckled and drew her into his arms to kiss her soundly right in front of their witnesses, while Marguerite was certain her racing heart would leap from her breast.
His lips were so warm and so insistent that she forgot all else around them, her fingers twisting in his shirt…until a gruff cough from the blacksmith made her flutter open her eyes. With evident reluctance Walker released her to accept their certificate of marriage, and then he entwined the fingers of his free hand with hers and drew her with him toward the door.
Her gaze was so fixed upon him that she scarcely realized they had stepped outside until she heard birdsong heralding the sunrise, the sky brightening to the east in fiery hues of orange and gold. No one else was up and about yet, just them. Again Walker pulled her into his arms, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he looked down at her as if memorizing how she looked in that moment, his hand cradling her face as his thumb caressed her cheek.
“My forbidden duchess…”
She memorized his beloved face, too—yes, she knew then how much she loved him!—while breathing in the sweetness of the cool morning air. But when his expression hardened suddenly, she grew alarmed and stiffened in his arms.
“Walker?”
He didn’t say a word, but hugged her more tightly against him. Then he swept her so unexpectedly into his arms that she cried out, but as he strode across the street toward the inn, he nuzzled her cheek as if to reassure her.
Only when he carried her inside into the small foyer did he press his lips to her ear to whisper vehemently, “Before God and man, you are my wife and we’ll not hide it, that I swear.”
She didn’t speak, her heart beating faster when he took the steps leading upstairs two at a time as if she weighed nothing to him. The inn was so quiet, everyone still sleeping. Even the kindly proprietor and his sweet-faced wife must have gone back to bed after Walker had roused them so early. He didn’t stop until he’d reached their room at the end of the hall, where he used his elbow to press down the handle and push open the door.
Marguerite sucked in her breath. When last she’d seen this modest chamber with its four-poster bed, mirrored dresser, and small coal-burning stove, she’d been an unmarried woman and Walker had kept his distance as was proper to do. Now he couldn’t have held her more closely as he set her down upon the floor, her breasts swelled against his chest. She met his eyes, saying nothing, waiting.
“Woman, are you hungry?”
She shook her head, his low query the last thing she would have expected from him at that moment. He looked hungry, but not for food, a breathlessness seizing her as he stared at her.
“Good.”
He released her and left her so abruptly to bolt the door, and deposit the pistols he still bore atop the dresser, that Marguerite could but stand there trembling…knowing what was to come.
Corie had explained to her years ago about what transpired physically between a man and a woman when wedded, but nothing could have prepared her for Walker striding back to her so lithely as if intent upon claiming her. Like a panther she’d seen illustrated in a book and she was his mate, waiting expectantly for him.
Suddenly it seemed her senses had come alive and she smelled him, all masculine with the barest hint of sweat. Her breath caught when he took her hand and drew her toward the bed. Not quickly, but with a determined purpose that thrilled her, she couldn’t deny it. Did he smell her scent, too? Was his heart thundering like hers?
He stopped with her at the side of the bed and turned her slowly around so that her back was to him, and then he began to lift her gown from her body.
Not quickly, either, but with agonizing slowness as his hands slid the muslin up the length of her…her calves, her thighs, her waist, the sides of her breasts. She could hardly breathe, she was so conscious of his fingers skimming over her, grazing her skin here and there…
Heaven help her, did he think her less disconcerted to have her not looking at him as he undressed her? Nothing could be further from the truth!
She was dying inside, and closed her eyes as he slipped her gown over her head and tossed it onto a footstool beside the bed. She had nothing left upon her but her short corset and chemise, both of which could also be slipped over her head. Yet he paused to pull her close against him and nuzzled her neck, and then he lifted her hair and gently kissed her nape.
“Oh, Walker…” Marguerite leaned her head to one side as shivers plummeted to her toes.
The sensation of his breath warming her and his lips barely touching her was almost more than she could bear. As if realizing that her knees had begun to grow weak, it seemed that within a moment he had divested her of all clothing but her white silk stockings to her knees and her kid leather slippers.
Instinctively, she crossed her forearms over her bare breasts, and only then did he turn her around and hold her at arm’s length so he might look at her.
Stare at her. His dark midnight eyes drinking in the sight of her as his gaze swept her from head to toe and back again. She felt a slight trembling in his hands where he held her upper arms, but she was trembling, too! So much so that she dropped her arms to her sides and heard his sharp intake of breath when his gaze fell to her breasts.
She dropped her eyes, too, and flushed with such heat to find her nipples hard and rigid, the areolas a deep blushing pink. As if inviting Walker to touch her there…kiss her there, Marguerite glancing up when he suddenly sat down upon the bed and pulled her to him.
She gasped when his mouth covered a nipple, his large hands cupping both of her breasts…the stirring sensation of his lips teasing her, suckling her, unlike anything she could have ever imagined. She closed her eyes and moaned from deep in her throat, so primal a sound she had never heard herself make before.
Now she was certain her knees would buckle, her trembling become a quivering that seemed to come from deep between her inner thighs.
Dazed that his tongue flicking at her, his mouth hungrily nibbling at her could elicit such a response from her, she leaned into him even as he groaned and rose abruptly from the bed. She had no more opened her eyes in surprise when she found herself lying upon the bed and Walker pulling off his coat and near ripping the shirt from his body.
She could but stare at the magnificence of his chest and the midnight mat of hair that trailed down his powerfully defined abdomen to where he worked at his belt, flinging it to the floor, and then kicked off his boots. An instant more and his breeches were gone and he climbed onto the bed to straddle her.
His breathing hard now as if something animal had unleashed within him, he parted her legs with his knee. She could but stare into his eyes, mesmerized by the heat reflected there.
She knew what was to come…and yet she didn’t know, just as she hadn’t known how wondrous his tongue could feel licking at her nipples. Suspended above her on his arms bulging with muscle, he swept his burning gaze over her again as if claiming what he saw lying beneath him with her legs spread wide.
Her breathing quickened, too, when she saw the turgid shaft between his thighs plunging toward the very heart of her.
She arched her back at his first thrust, so deep that whatever pain she’d felt disappeared at once as he filled her, a roar bursting from his throat that made her cry aloud, too.
In pleasure. In wonder. In heat and fire as he thrust into her again…and then again, and without knowing it she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips to draw him closer, deeper.
He kissed her face, her neck with each powerful lunge until, his entire body shaking, he captured her mouth with his and groaned his release into her.
She shuddered, too, her legs around him gone rigid as something white and blinding burst before her eyes, her climax so intense that all conscious thought fled.
She could not have said how long she lay there limp and satiated beneath him, their jagged breathing gradually slowing…when finally Walker rose up on his elbows to look down at her.
A familiar wry smile upon his lips.
His fingers lazily swiping strands of hair from her face as he actually began to chuckle. Chuckle!
She smiled up at him, too, their bodies still joined so completely that she felt his laughter deep inside of her. She reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat from his brow, marveling at the muscular weight of him atop her though he bore much of it upon his arms.
“Something amuses you, my lord?” she said softly, not surprised when he shot a glance at the door.
“I believe we might have awoken our neighbors. Or at least, you did.”
“Me?” A blush fired her cheeks though she knew he teased her. “What of you, husband? I heard that roar of yours and I’m certain the rest of the inn did, too!”
He laughed and bent his head to kiss her, Marguerite’s hands reaching up to cradle his face. Not a ravenous kiss or a lusty kiss, but so sweet and loving and gentle that she felt a swelling of emotion unlike anything she’d known before.
How she loved him! Might he feel the same way about her, too? She prayed it was so, dear Lord, she prayed it was so!
Yet when he raised his head to stare down at her again, this time he shifted his hips and to her surprise, she felt him swelling hard within her.
“Did you think once was enough for me, wife?”
His husky query made her shift her hips, too, which made him suck in his breath and begin to move slowly…oh so slowly, in and out of her.
“I’m quite new to this, my lord, but I like it very much. If anyone’s left sleeping, shall we wake them?”
Her low giggle was silenced by his kiss, not gentle at all this time but as wild and impassioned as the way she kissed him back.