The Bride of Time (21 page)

Chapter Sixteen

The sun hadn’t cleared the horizon when the Longworth brougham rolled down the drive, heading east-northeast toward London. Now that Longhollow Abbey was out of sight, Tessa breathed easier. They couldn’t be burned alive in the house if they weren’t in it.

Though several storms threatened, the weather held, and they reached London in the late afternoon on the third day of their journey. They stopped to spend the last night at the Golden Cross coaching inn on Charing Cross to rest and refresh themselves for their audience with the Prince Regent the following morning. Traveling as husband and wife, they shared a light supper of mutton stew and brown ale, and retired to a reasonably well-appointed chamber above the taproom.

Tessa sat brushing her hair without the aid of a mirror until Giles took the brush from her hand and began brushing it himself. “They say a woman’s hair is her crowning glory,” he said. “If that is so, my love, you are queen of all. I have never seen the like. It is an artist’s dream to have such as this to work with.”

Tessa smiled. “Well, to prevent it from becoming a nightmare, I think I shall style it differently now that
we’re here in Town. Mr. Gibson’s innovative coiffure would be too shocking.”

“Clever girl,” Giles said. “Though I find your ‘Gibson’ style quite becoming.”

“It’s odd,” Tessa remarked, “but I was desperately searching for a coaching inn the day I stumbled upon the time corridor and came to you. This could be the very one. It’s closest, I believe, to where I was.”

Raising her to her feet, Giles took her in his arms. “Will you show me the gallery where you saw the painting tomorrow?” he asked.

“I will show you where it was. Something else exists there now, I’m certain.”

“I still want to see,” Giles said.

“It was called Tatum’s Gallery,” Tessa said, “just south of Threadneedle Street.”

“That’s convenient,” Giles said. “I have business at one of the banks on Threadneedle. We shall go there after we deliver the painting.”

All at once his lips were upon hers. There was a gentle eagerness about him now, an almost childlike euphoria. How many faces did this enigmatic man have? If she were to pick one word to describe her husband to sum up his many moods, it would have to be “intense.” For he loved and raged and rejoiced with the same volatility. She had never met anyone like him. Could it be the wolf that lurked just under the surface of the man that made him so, or was it simply his nature? There was no way to know.

His current mood was the reason she hadn’t told him about the fire, or that it was his bite that had pierced her lip, and that it had happened while the wolf possessed him under the full moon. She couldn’t spoil his elation. It stemmed from their love, the painting, and his childlike desire to show her his London.

Her heart began to race. He should know these things. She could just imagine his reaction if he found out she knew and hadn’t told him. A vision of him running the whore to ground in the driveway on the night they met came without bidding, and she shuddered, despite his warm arms holding her, molding her body to his, his bruising hardness anxious against her.

Giles’s posture clenched, and he held her away, looking deep in her eyes. Tessa was afraid to meet them, those deep-set, analytical, all-seeing artist’s eyes that saw into her very soul.

“What is it? You’re trembling,” he murmured.

“I just took a chill of a sudden,” she lied. “There must be a draft. I’d forgotten how much cooler it is in London this time of year than it is out on the coast. Another month and there’ll be snow.”

“I know just the thing to warm you up,” he said seductively, leading her toward the bed.

Why did she want to cry when he was so utterly happy? Because he was, and she knew it couldn’t last. They weren’t two ordinary lovers having a shocking tryst, a delicious adventure that would end in marriage vows being spoken. He was cursed, and she could well be also. Soon the moon would wax full again, and she would know for certain what she already feared to be true. Then the smile would fade from his handsome lips and the dark, brooding shadows would bury his eyes again beneath the ledge of that noble brow. How could she bear it? Somehow, she must. Somehow, she had to give him this brief respite, and give herself this glimmer of happiness, for she knew how it would end. She had seen the evidence herself. She had touched the blackened timbers of Longhollow Abbey and heard the caretaker’s speech. Wherever the devil child had gone, he would return to wreak his vengeance upon his guardian; and the insidious thing was that the boy would likely
succeed because he was a boy, above reproach in anything so heinous, for who would believe such evil could be wrought by a mere nine-year-old child?

Even Giles himself was loath to treat the boy harshly. Monty wasn’t even blood kin, and was suspected of provoking Giles’s pregnant sister’s death; yet still Giles honored what he saw as his obligation in caring for Monty even after the boy bit him, infected him with the same strange malaise that turned him into a ravaging beast when the moon was full.

Moraiva had said there were many like Monty among her people, and the boy’s mother was a pure-blooded Gypsy. What dark curse had been passed on to the child in the womb? What evil had inhabited that small, deceiving body since birth? What power granted such cunning to so small a host? There was no doubt of the havoc the child was capable of wreaking—even now, in his absence, he had made a shambles of her.

All at once, another thought struck Tessa like cannon fire. What if she were to conceive? It could already have happened. Would she give birth to a child such as Master Monty? And if, as she feared, she was infected also, what sort of creature would it be with both parents cursed?

“You really are cold,” Giles said, rubbing her upper arms vigorously. “You’re trembling all over! Climb into bed while I stoke up the fire; can’t have you taking a chill on our little holiday.”

He let her go then and strode to the hearth. It was blackened with soot from an improper draft that belched the stuff back onto the brickwork like tongues of dusky fire and hung in the air, stringy black dust raining down. Giles took up a poker and jiggled the little metal door in the back of the fire wall to open the draft, and it began to draw.

“There!” he said, triumphant. Replacing the poker,
he slapped the soot from his hands and swatted the airborne particles toward the suction the flow had created. “That should do it. Damn hearth is set to fall in on itself from neglect. It could use the services of a good chimneysweep. I shall have a thing or two to say to the innkeeper about that in the morning. I’ve paid for this room for two more nights, and I’ll be damned if I burn in my bed from a faulty flu!”

Tessa’s heart slipped its rhythm at those words, and she bit back a moan. Meanwhile, Giles stripped off his clothes, snuffed out the candles with the palm of his hand and climbed into bed beside her, pulling her close in the custody of his strong arm. His body heat warmed her, but nothing could stop her trembling, and he snuggled closer. “Your feet are freezing!” he said.

It wasn’t just her feet. Tessa felt as if an icy hand gripped her heart. It was wrong, all wrong, considering what she knew and he did not. She had no doubt that she would pay dearly for her silence. But he was in her arms, his arousal forced against her, his warm mouth, taking care for her wounded lip, sending shock waves of pleasure through her body as their tongues entwined. Reaching between her thighs, he opened her, his fingers riding her wetness. Sliding between her legs, he thrust inside her, lifting her in order to take her deeply. She could feel his hunger, his insatiable need for her as she clung to him. His hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts, first his deft thumbs and then his lips bringing her nipples to tight, hard buds. It was as if he couldn’t get his fill, like a waif turned loose in a bakery, not knowing which delectable treat to taste first. His excitement was palpable, his ardor overwhelming, and everywhere he touched, everything he cherished seemed to burst into flame.

How handsome he was with the firelight playing
upon his moist skin. Tessa couldn’t help but touch him, feeling his hard-muscled chest and broad shoulders as he thrust deeper inside her. Every muscle in him flexed at her touch. Every beat of her heart resonated with the pulse of his sex as he hammered into her. There was a shadow of desperation in every shuddering thrust, as if their very lives depended upon the coupling. Did he sense what was to come? Was there some primeval instinct in him that fought to beat back the inevitable? Whatever it was, it had driven him deeper inside her—body and soul—than he had ever reached before, to the very center of her being, drenching her in a firestorm of pulsating heat.

Leaning into his thrusts, Tessa followed the sharp indentation of his spine to his firm buttocks. Giles called out her name as she gripped them. His pelvis jerked forward, and he pulled back and spiraled into her, all the breath escaping his lungs on one long guttural groan that resonated in the very marrow of her bones. There was a feral urgency in his release, in his shuddering climax throbbing inside her that triggered hers as she undulated against the hard, thick rod of his sex and milked him dry.

He rolled on his side still coupled with her, his body heat scorching her skin. She dared not tremble now; she was on fire. Giles pulled the counterpane around them and brushed her hair back from her face where he’d mussed it, looking deep in her eyes. His scent wafted toward her, musky and mysterious, with his own male essence and a touch of the oil medium he used, even though he’d scrubbed himself clean of it. It had to be in his blood.

“Zeus, but you’re beautiful!” he panted, grazing her temple with his warm lips. “Tomorrow is our wedding day. I want to make it as wonderful for you as I can,
Tessa, but no matter what, it won’t be anything near what you deserve, and I’m sorry for that. But under the circumstances—”

Her finger across his lips silenced him. “Don’t reproach yourself, Giles,” she murmured. “We’re together.”

“Till death do us part,” he concluded as her voice trailed off into awkward silence, and he sealed his promise with a tender kiss.

Across the way, a burnt log fell in the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. The flames blazed, crackled and sizzled until the spark shower calmed, and Tessa jumped in his arms in spite of her resolve to relax and beat back the nagging thoughts that would not be stilled.

Giles pulled her tighter in his embrace, folding his strong arms around her as if he feared she’d escape. “Shhh,” he crooned. “It’s nothing but the logs in the hearth. Sleep, Tessa; there is much to do tomorrow, and you’ll want to be well-rested.”

“What will we do first?” Tessa asked him.

“We will deliver the painting,” Giles said. “We’re expected at Carlton House in the forenoon. Remember, he may not take it. It wasn’t exactly a paid commission. He expressed an interest and I said I could provide what he was looking for. We may well be returning to the Abbey with that canvas.” He seemed to be preparing himself for failure.

“I doubt that,” Tessa said, remembering the little gallery. “I’m sure he will be captivated by it.”

“At any rate, I shall want to have that settled first.”

“And then…?”

“The special license,” he quickly said. “We shall get it at Doctor’s Commons. It shan’t take long. We can obtain it from the Archbishop of Canterbury or any of his
representatives authorized to dole them out in his stead.”

“Won’t a regular license do? Special licenses were…I mean
are
frightfully expensive, aren’t they?”

Giles laughed. “I’m not a starving artist, Tessa,” he chided. “I can well afford four pounds for a special license.”

“Four pounds?” Tessa cried. “What is the cost of a regular license?”

“Ten shillings, but it wouldn’t matter if it were free. There are too many restrictions. For one thing, we would have to have the ceremony between eight in the morning and noon. Also, the marriage must take place in a church where at least one of us has lived in the parish for a minimum of four weeks, which would mean we would have to return to Cornwall before we could wed. That, my sweet, would have us celebrating the honeymoon, such as it is, before the nuptials, which just won’t do. There have been too many sacrifices already. It’s bad enough we must forgo the wedding breakfast and a decent wedding trip of at least a fortnight, and all the fripperies you ladies indulge in. With the special license, we may do as we damn well please, no restrictions upon time or place, which suits our needs since we are pressed for time.”

“And then what?” Tessa persisted, snuggling closer in a bold attempt to erase the sour note in his voice.

“And then Able will drive us ’round to Bond Street, so that I may outfit you properly for our wedding.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary, Giles,” she said. “My blue muslin will do quite nicely.”

“Indulge me, my sweet,” Giles said, giving her a playful squeeze. “Once we’ve eaten and done the shops, we shall find a likely chapel and have the deed done. St. Magnus, St. Mary le Bow…St. Michael Cornhill…
Yes, St. Michael would be closest to Threadneedle and your gallery.”

Tessa shuddered in his arms. This time he didn’t challenge her on it. Possibly, he made the same connection she had:
St. Michael’s
. So many St. Michael’s churches linking the lay lines. Could this be one of them? Tessa tried to put the thought out of her mind, but his silence only corroborated her fears.

“Well! That’s settled, then,” Giles said buoyantly. “And now that we have planned our whole itinerary, we had best sleep, else you risk another ravishing. I am quite exhausted, and in this state, my…er…passions always grow stronger. Now stop wriggling about if you would have any rest at all this night. I swear you have bewitched me!”

But Giles couldn’t sleep, though Tessa drifted off quite content to lie cradled against his naked torso. How beautiful she was with the firelight bringing out the red in her chestnut hair fanned around them on the pillows. He inhaled its fragrance and suppressed a moan of delight in her—all of her. And she was his—all his. He would be a cuckold no longer. This lovely creature from another time had captured his heart and soul in such a way that it terrified him.