Thunder and Roses (48 page)

She lifted her arms in welcome, her waist-length hair spilling around her in a provocative mantle. “With great delight, husband.”

As he kissed her, he thought fleetingly of how unexpected life was. Three days ago the mine had been running normally, Owen Morris had been alive, and marriage had been out of the question. Now everything had changed, drawing a sharp line between Nicholas’s past and a future he had never imagined. For better and worse, he had made a binding commitment to the woman in his arms. His life of restless freedom had been supplanted by the prospect of a more conventional existence of family and home. Yet as he tasted the rich depths of Clare’s mouth, it was hard to regret his new course.

This time he would not be swift and heedless, as he had been the night before. Desperately needing her warmth and understanding, he had taken her with violent urgency. T
hank
God she had no longer been technically a virgin, or he would have hurt her badly. She would have accepted the pain philosophically, but he would have hated himself after his wild despair had passed. This time he would use all the skill at his command to show her what passion could be.

She was bewitchingly lovely, not with the lushness that too easily became excess, but with a slim roundness that he found irresistible. As he bore her back against the pillows, he whispered, “Lie back and enjoy, Clarissima. Last night was a synopsis. Now it’s time for the unabridged version.”

Obediently she relaxed, her long hair swirling over the pillow in entrancing patterns. He kissed every luscious curve and hollow until she sighed with astonished pleasure. When she was moist and ready, he positioned himself between her legs so that his hard arousal lay on the tiny nub that was the center of female sensation. He doubted that she knew it existed, but before he was done today, she would.

As he suckled her breast, his heated flesh slid voluptuously against her. The sensual friction caused her eyes to fly open, dazed and deeply blue. “Not … now?” she quavered.

“Not yet.” While continuing to woo her with hands and lips and tongue, he began rocking his hips with blatant carnality. She whimpered, a raspy, drawn-out sound that echoed the rhythm of his movements. Then she squirmed against him, instinctively seeking. He gasped, the hot rush of his breath flowing around her taut nipple.

Bracing himself on his arms, he began making longer strokes, caressing her with the full length of his shaft, from base to head and back again. Her hands clamped on his arms, the nails biting deep, and her mouth opened to draw great, gusty pants of air. He brought her to the brink of culmination and tantalizingly held her there until her torso filmed with moisture and her head twisted back and forth frantically.

He intended to ease the pace a little, but in the white heat of pleasure he pulled back so far that his position shifted. Suddenly he was pressing into yielding, seductive flesh. He held still, muscles shaking, trying to make himself retreat, but she pressed her pelvis upward and he was lost. When he slipped into her body, it clasped him like hot, wet silk.

At first he moved slowly, until he was sure how deeply her body would receive him. Then he began thrusting with a steadily escalating tempo, withdrawing painfully far before surging back with exquisite gladness.

When she cried out, he instantly enfolded her, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Her hands bit into his hips as turbulence rocked her, and he groaned, his ecstasy flowing seamlessly from hers. The hidden depths of her body were the sweetest he had ever known.

They lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and intimate scents, both of them trembling with reaction. When breathing had returned to a semblance of normal, she murmured, “I think I understand why organized religion disapproves of sexual congress. This could make someone forget about God, for it is hard to imagine that heaven can offer anything more.”

He laughed a little. “That sounds like blasphemy.”

“Very likely it is.” Her fingers curved around the nape of his neck. “I’m beginning to understand why you were so keen on seduction. Passion is rather wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Yes—though not always this wonderful.” His hand rested on the gentle swell of her belly and he wondered if a new life was blossoming inside.

“The first time you came to Aberdare, I knew that you would make an extraordinarily gifted bedmate.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I thought you were mostly interested in getting rid of me.”

“That too,” he agreed.

She lifted his arm and kissed the small cut that he had made with the penknife. “Even though the legal ceremony is still to come, I feel very married.”

“Good, because I have every intention of joining you every night from now on.” Remembering the real world, he sat up with a sigh. “However, for the sake of the tattered remnants of your reputation, I’ll come and go discreetly. It’s still early enough that we probably haven’t attracted the notice of anyone beyond my valet and your maid, and silence is part of their business.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “T
hank
you. No doubt it’s feeble of me to care what others think, but I do.”

“Since we’re going to be living in the valley for the rest of our lives, discretion is not out of place.” He bent and kissed her, then straightened, resisting the urge to climb back in the bed. “I’ll send a note to Lucien this morning and ask him to go to Doctor’s Commons for a special license. He’s rather good at arranging such things. We should be able to have the ceremony in about a week.”

She nodded, her gaze following Nicholas as he pulled on his clothing and slipped from the room. Everything had been so sudden that she still didn’t quite believe it. Yet though he had offered marriage reluctantly, he did not seem unhappy. She vowed to do everything in her power to keep him from regret.

Since the earthly part of her life was prospering, Clare decided that it was time to attend to the spiritual. She got out of bed and pulled on a robe, then knelt in the sunshine that streamed through the window. Her hands loosely clasped in her lap, she cleared her mind.

Like a stream of living fire, transcendent faith filled her heart. This was the divine peace and joy her father had known daily, and dedicated his life to sharing. As her meditation deepened, she felt a brief, fragile sense of her father’s presence. With wonder, she understood that he had known of her weakness and prayed for her salvation.

Now he had come to share in her awakening.
 

Her father’s presence faded after a few minutes. She smiled a little. Even now, on the other side, he was busy helping those less fortunate, but she no longer resented that.

Tears of awe and humility stung her eyes, and she gave a prayer of t
hank
s. Now that the light had been kindled within her, she knew that it would never be extinguished.

And it was love that had shown her the way.

27

 
Clare was so deep in her meditation that it was a shock to rise and discover that Polly had come and left a pot of tea and a steaming pitcher of water. Remembering how much there was to be done, she washed and dressed quickly, then went downstairs for breakfast. First, however, she made a detour to the library.

Resisting the temptation to stare at the carpet where they had made love, she knelt by the wreckage of Nicholas’s harp. She was studying it when he entered the library himself.

Glancing up, she said hesitantly, “Many of the pegs snapped, and the bow has separated from the box, but it looks as if the pieces can be joined again.”

He went down on one knee and lifted the pieces. “You’re right,” he said when he had finished his own examination. “There is no damage that can’t be repaired.” He stroked the satiny willow-wood. “I’m glad. Tam was a great artist—it was sacrilege to try to destroy his work.”

“Luckily the harp is very solidly made. It put a sizable dent in the wall.” She sat back on her heels. “Last night, when you hurled it away, I felt as if you were also trying to destroy the music in you. I hope you weren’t successful.” She ended with a faint, questioning lilt.

“I suppose that was my intent, though I wasn’t thinking that clearly.” He plucked one string that was still taut, and a melancholy note sounded. “Perhaps I should write a song about the mine explosion. Commemorating the honored dead is an ancient Celtic tradition.”

She laid her hand over his. “Please do that, and sing it at the next local eisteddfod. It would mean a great deal to everyone in the valley.”

His face tightened, and she guessed that he was thinking that it would have meant more if he had been able to effect changes at the mine earlier. Though his grief and guilt were under control this morning, they had not gone away. She guessed that he would never be entirely free of them.

The stillness was broken when Williams entered, a panting young boy at his side. Recognizing Trevor Morris, Marged’s oldest, Clare got to her feet. “Does your mother need me, Trevor?” she asked. “I was about to go down to the village.”

He shook his head. “No, Miss Morgan, it’s wonderful news. My
da
is alive! They found him this morning. Mama sent me tell you as soon as they brought him home.”

Clare’s heartfelt, “T
hank
God,” was drowned by Nicholas’s exuberant, “
Hallellujah
!”

It seemed almost too good to be true, but the proof was in Trevor’s shining face. Nicholas’s face reflected the same joy, and she knew that this news would heal him as nothing else.

Nicholas said, “Williams, order the curricle. Trevor can tell us the story while we ride into the village.”

Within five minutes, they were racing toward Penreith at a speed that would have frightened Clare if the driver had been anyone less
skillful
than Nicholas. Squeezed between them, Trevor explained, “The explosion blew
Da
into one of the older tunnels and broke his leg. He was unconscious for a long time. When he woke up, he remembered he was near one of the
adits
.”

Sparing a quick glance from the road, Nicholas said, “One of the old drainage tunnels?”

The boy nodded. “He had to dig his way through a roof collapse to reach it. When he got to the
adit
, he found that the explosion had dropped the water level, so there was air. He crawled out last night, and this morning a shepherd found him.”

“A miracle,” Clare said quietly.

“That’s what my mother says.”

There was silence for a time. Then Nicholas asked, “How will the families of the men who died manage?”

“There are two friendly societies,” Clare replied. “People put in a bit each week, so there’s money to help those who fall on hard times.”
                            

“So many deaths will put a strain on the societies,” he said. “Do you think that anyone’s stubborn Welsh pride would be offended if I made contributions?”

“I’m sure no one will object.”

When they reached the
Morrises
‘ cottage, Nicholas asked Trevor to walk the curricle back and forth to cool the horses, a task the boy accepted with alacrity.

The cottage door was opened by Marged. The circles under her eyes were insignificant next to the joy of her smile. Clare went straight into her friend’s arms and they had a good cry together. When they were coherent again, they all went inside, where Marged insisted on serving them tea and currant buns.

Voice low so as not to wake Owen, Marged repeated what Trevor had said. “And there’s more good news,” she added. “Two more men were found alive in an air pocket.” She gave the names; Clare had taught children of both men.

Marged continued, “They say there are going to be changes at the pit. Apparently Lord Michael Kenyon wasn’t satisfied with what he’s found, and he’s taking over direct management.”

Nicholas’s gaze sharpened. “What about Madoc?”

Marged smiled with deep satisfaction. “His lordship hasn’t said a word against Madoc in public, but that doesn’t disguise the fact that for all practical purposes, Madoc has become an overseer, only there to carry out the owner’s orders. They say Madoc’s furious, but he daren’t complain or he might lose his fancy salary and house.”