The Earl Not Taken Read online

  Dwindling coals gave the only light, but it was enough to see a large draped bed on one side of the room. She stumbled on the edge of a rug, but by some strange magic she didn’t fall.

  Still shaking, she decided it was excitement rather than fear and slipped through the curtains.

  As soon as she put a knee on the mattress, Rhys sat up in the darkness. There was a frozen moment. “Penelope?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” She climbed fully onto the bed and toward his voice.

  He must have been able to see better in the dark than she could. He scooped her into his arms and snuggled them to the mattress. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  She giggled. “I’m not out of bed.”

  He breathed deeply against the spot where her neck and shoulder met. A hum of pleasure rumbled along her skin. “You smell like a garden in spring.”

  “I’ve had a bath.” It came out prouder than was necessary, but she loved the feel of his flesh against hers and the way he reveled in touching and smelling her.

  “That does not explain what you are doing in my bedchamber at this hour.” The words were scolding, but his tone rumbled with love and passion.

  Poppy kissed his forehead. “I knew you would not come to me.”

  He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “You haven’t become feverish again?”

  Turning her head, she kissed his fingers, sucking the smallest into her mouth and humming as it slid out. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and his were wide. “I am perfectly well, Rhys. However, if you are not interested in lovemaking, I shall return to my own room and leave you to your sleep.”

  He stopped her exit as soon as she opened the bed curtains. Pulling her back to his front, he whispered against her ear, “Don’t be so hasty, my love. I’m not turning you away, for that I shall never do. My only concern is because you have recently been very ill and this visit might be too much for you.”

  “I have been asleep for days and even today, I dozed most of the day between meals and chats.”

  Rhys got out of bed.

  Poppy’s heart sank, though his nudity was enough distraction to keep her from complaining about his absence. His broad back bulged with muscles that corded down either side of his spine and led to the most perfect bottom. She couldn’t turn away, making her way down long, muscular legs then making her way back up.

  The spark of the fire broke the spell he had her under. In all his naked glory, he added two logs to the fire and stirred it back to life. In the firelight’s full blaze, he was even more magnificent. Like one of the gods in Greek mythology she’d read about so often in her youth.

  “You’re beautiful.” The words slipped out unbidden.

  He turned, surprised but unashamed of his nudity. “You are the one who is beautiful, Penelope. Come and sit by the fire.”

  It was one thing to sneak down the hall and into Rhys’s bed in the darkness and quite another to stride across the room toward a naked man.

  The notion of running was fleeting. She didn’t do that anymore. Her path was clear. On sturdy legs she rose, and halfway across the room she stopped. Her gaze never left his as she reached up with her left hand and pulled the bow at her right shoulder.

  Eagerness shone in his eyes.

  Buoyed by his attention, she lifted her right hand and tugged the other tie. With the barest movement the nightgown pooled at her feet.

  Rhys’s breath caught. “You are the most stunning creature.”

  Careful not to trip over her own garment, Poppy stepped out of the center and continued until she stood before Rhys. “I’m glad you didn’t send me away.”

  “I never would.” It seemed his voice had grown rough and strained. He ran his hands from her shoulders down her arms and took her hands in his. He threaded their fingers together and stepped until their bodies grazed each other.

  Poppy shivered. It was like being kissed everywhere all at once. Her skin pricked with awareness and need.

  His lips found hers in the gentlest of kisses. First he loved the bottom lip and then the top.

  Not wanting to miss one sensation, Poppy remained still until his mouth opened on hers. She could no longer keep her passion at bay. Fingers still entwined, she leaned forward, tightening their bodies. His shaft pressed hard at her abdomen and forced a satisfied moan from Rhys.

  The kiss was part battle, part rapture as tongues, teeth, and lips warred, made peace, and warred again. Gasps and groans issued from her own mouth as the inability to use her hands became unbearable.

  She struggled to free her fingers, but Rhys held fast.

  Breaking the kiss, he planted a string of kisses down her chin to her neck.

  Waves of desire flooded, her sending pleasure to her center as his tongue traced her pulse. Lower still, he kissed her shoulder and chest, stopping at her nipple to suckle until her knees gave way. Freeing her hands, he wrapped his own around her to keep her from collapsing.

  Poppy hugged him tight, digging her fingers into his strong, smooth back, effectively pressing his head tighter to her breast. He nipped the sensitive bud.

  Another wave of want shot between her legs.

  Taking a black fur from the chair but not letting her go, he spread it on the rug between the two carved wood chairs flanking the hearth.

  Rhys gave the other breast the same attention; only this time when Poppy’s knees weakened, he eased her onto her back.

  The soft fur enveloped her, and each tiny hair touching her skin heightened her pleasure. Rhys’s journey down her body continued as he kissed each rib then dipped his tongue in her navel. This was yet another new sensation, and Poppy yelped with delight and then giggled.

  He smiled up at her but didn’t waver from his intent. He licked the crease where her thigh met her pelvis before gentling her knee to bent. When she was open to him, he slid his tongue between her folds.

  Mind empty of everything but pleasure, Poppy’s hips rolled of their own accord. Gripping his soft hair in her fists, she wasn’t certain if she wanted to pull him tighter or push him away. Her pleasure surged in ebbs and flows like the ocean until the waves cascaded over her.

  Rhys’s mouth silenced the cry. He held her until the last shudder no longer racked her and her muscles relaxed against his chest.

  “You are magnificent.” He kissed her again on the lips, then the cheek, and then each eyelid.

  Too spent to open her eyes, she smiled.

  * * * *

  When she woke, she was in her own bed and the first signs of morning made the sky gray. Frightened it had all been a dream, she sat up in a panic.

  “Hush, love. Everything is all right.” Rhys pulled her back to him, but there was no touch of flesh on flesh. He’d managed to put her nightgown back on her, and he was dressed in blouse and breeches.

  Poppy let out a long sigh. “I meant to give you pleasure, not to fall asleep.”

  With a deep rumbling laugh, he kissed the top of her head. “You do give me pleasure and we have a lifetime to make love. You are still not fully recovered from your fever.”

  She snuggled in deeper, unable to keep the joy from showing. “Still, you foiled my plan.”

  “Your plan was flawed so I came up with a better one. In the future you can show me your plan and I shall be delighted to oblige.” He kissed her again and extracted himself from her arms.

  She groaned a loud complaint.

  “The house will wake soon. I can’t be in your bed any more than you should be in mine.”

  Sitting up, she retied the bows at her shoulders, which he’d made a mess of. “I suppose you’re right and your plan was very good.” A warm blush flooded her cheeks.

  After stealing one more kiss, Rhys stepped to the door. “Since you seem able to walk, you should come down for breakfast today. Be sure to have Jane help you on the stairs, though. Don’t do anything heroic. I want your head squarely on your shoulders when I make you my wife.”

  It was too delicious a portrait to argue with. “I shall be very careful.”

  Chapter 19

  Standing at the front of the small chapel on the property at Thwackmore, Rhys wished it was grander. The simple wood and glass didn’t do justice to his beautiful bride walking toward him in a blue gown. The unadorned nave paled in comparison to Poppy. Her hair was curled and braided, and her color was high. A warm smile spread across her face, and she never took her gaze from his. His heart lodged in his throat; breathing was no longer possible.

  She reached the altar, and elation reflected in her eyes. They faced the vicar, and still she stole glances at him.

  Smiling, he turned toward her. The vicar harrumphed at the unorthodox turn toward the bride but continued to droll on about the seriousness of entering into a marriage.

  Poppy kept her eyes focused on him, yet when the vicar came to the vows and asked if Poppy would obey and serve Rhys, she flinched and lowered her eyes.

  Bending his knees to catch her gaze, he gave a tiny shake of his head and held one hand up to stop the babbling preacher. “No more than I will serve you, my love. That is my vow and I shall never break it.”

  Faith wept openly in the first pew with the other Wallflowers and Garrett.

  Poppy nodded, smiling, and the vicar blathered on to the ceremony’s end.

  “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” Rhys finished the prayer and slid the simple gold band on her finger.

  She glanced at the ring and then at him.

  “I had high hopes,” he explained. “It was my grandmother’s. She and my grandfather were very happy together.”

  Her smile was enough to steady him for a lifetime.

  When the ceremony was over, the Wallflowers surrounded his wife like a gaggle of geese, and they all made their way back to the manor for an informal wedding breakfast.

  “I wish it had been a prettier setting for you, Poppy,” Rhys lamented.

  Her eyes wide as saucers, she gaped at him. “I am hardly a fancy type of woman, Rhys. I thought it perfect. If you want all of that pomp, we can make my parents happy and be married again at St. Paul’s.”

  “No. We wanted this wedding just for us. I’ll not overshadow it with anything else. If it was enough for you, then I am satisfied.” His heart leaped in his chest. How had she bewitched him so thoroughly?

  In a long silence, Poppy toyed with the cuff of his blouse where it poked out from his coat sleeve. “I suppose we must return to London at some point?”

  “I think sooner rather than later.”

  A long groan and sour face reminded him of how she often looked at him before they became friends and long before they became lovers.

  “The longer we wait the harder the return will be.”

  Mercy said, “I’m afraid Rhys is right, Poppy. You should go back and face your parents. They have no power over you now. You are the Countess of Marsden.”

  It was true, but Rhys shuddered at the scene Lord and Lady Merkwood would make when they heard their daughter married in Scotland without all the social fuss they’d hoped for. “I will be with you every moment.”

  His ferocious wife lifted her chin and nodded. “Tomorrow, then? We had better start back, for it is a long journey and at least we’ll have the time before the horrors of my birth beset us.”

  Everyone laughed, but there was real concern in Poppy’s eyes, and Rhys longed to ease her mind. Unfortunately, until the event, she would worry about the unknown.

  * * * *

  The Earl of Merkwood’s face was purple with anger despite his relaxed stance against the wall of bookshelves lining his study. “I cannot believe you would do this, Marsden. We waited for your return. The church was scheduled. We had to write to our guests and inform them there would be no wedding because the bride had gone to the country for her nerves.” He said the last word with disgust.

  Rhys was biting his tongue, but it couldn’t last long.

  “I would have expected as much from that one, but you should be a better man.” He pointed at his daughter as if she were a pesky rodent in need of a good trap.

  Temper flaring, Rhys stepped in front of Poppy. “My lord, in the future, I suggest you speak of my wife with a bit more respect and courtesy. If you ever refer to her so rudely or point at her again, I will snap that finger from your hand and you will be needing the appendage when I call you out for your insult.”

  Merkwood’s eyes widened then narrowed. He pushed away from the books. “She is my daughter and I’ll speak to her and about her any way I damned well please.”

  Turning around, Rhys checked on his wife. Always a surprise, Poppy did not look hurt or even angry. She met his gaze with a raised brow and amused smile. Of course, she was used to her father’s dismissive and harsh regard for her. She didn’t seem the least bit offended as she smoothed the lace on her soft green day dress.

  Lady Merkwood sat in an overstuffed chair, looking confused but not as enraged as her husband. Like a statue, her stiff back and folded hands appeared practiced and normal for these instances.

  It was not something Rhys was used to, nor did he have any intention of accustoming himself to Merkwood’s rants. Without returning his gaze toward Poppy’s father, Rhys said, “I think we should go now, my dear. It seems you were right and a courtesy call to your parents was a mistake. I had hoped they would see reason and wish us joy, but it seems it is not to be.”

  “You’ll not see a penny of her dowry.” Arthur Arrington’s lips twisted in a smirk, and a vein in his forehead stood out.

  Lady Merkwood gasped, and her hand went to her throat.

  The notion this had always been about money and power rather than the happiness of their only child grated on Rhys. He turned.

  A triumphant glare made Lord Merkwood even more distasteful. His gray hair and pale eyes gave him the look of a specter, and with his gaunt face red with rage, he might be death himself.

  It took Rhys several deep breaths to control his anger. He would not give Merkwood the satisfaction of pushing him into a fit of temper. “My lord, I have no interest in Penelope’s dowry. However, if you withhold it after boasting about it all these years as the way of bettering your status and relinquishing your daughter, you will enhance the notion you disapprove of this marriage.”

  “I do disapprove.” Merkwood crossed his arms over his chest.

  Rhys advanced until he was only three feet from Poppy’s father. “If you make it known you disapprove of a marriage that you arranged, how will it make you look, my lord? Will the men in the House of Lords be keen to listen to a man so changeable in his opinions and wishes?”

  “No one cares what happens to a misbegotten waif like her. She’s never been accepted in good society anyway.”

  Unable to bear looking at the hurt he would see in his wife’s eyes, Rhys focused on the miserable form of her father. “I will care, sir, and so will all of my friends and acquaintances. She is a countess now. She will be accepted in all society and revered there. You will place those funds in trust for any children my wife and I might be blessed with, or I will see to it you are made a mockery of at court.”

  Merkwood’s face got impossibly redder, the muscles in his neck strained as his jaw ticked, and he muttered something under his breath before he nodded.

  “Good.” Rhys turned to Poppy, who still looked more amused than hurt by her father’s stupidity. “Shall we go, Lady Marsden?”

  With a nod, she turned to Merkwood and curtsied. “Father.” Then her mother. “Mother.” Then she took his arm and walked out of the study.

  They were gathering their things from the butler when Lady Merkwood rushed out of the room and gently closed the door. “Penelope, I would be pleased if you would allow me to throw you a wedding breakfast.”

  “I don’t think Father would be pleased about it.” Poppy took her mother’s hand and smiled.

  “Perhaps not, but I’d like to do it anyway and I do run this house. Will you allow it?” Apprehension lurked in her eyes.

  Poppy leaned in and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Of course. That is very kind of you, Mother. I’m sure my husband and I will be delighted to accept such a thoughtful invitation.”

  A bright smile transformed Lady Merkwood into a stunning older version of Poppy. “I shall contact you with specifics.”

  “Come to tea on Monday, Mother. We can talk then.” Poppy tugged on her gloves.

  Rhys bowed to his mother-in-law, offered his wife his arm, and led them from her parents’ home. Guilty of a grievous error, he didn’t know how he would make amends. “I’m sorry. You were right. I should not have put you through that. I should have dealt with your father on my own.”

  “Nonsense. That was the singular most wonderful moment involving my father of my entire life.” Poppy preened as she stepped up into the carriage.

  Rhys joined her inside. “How so?”

  “You stood up for me. No one has ever done that, at least not with Father. Nor have I ever seen anyone threaten that beast of a man. It was glorious.” She clapped her hands in delight.

  Leaning back against the cushion, Rhys admired her. With a few words she eased his mind and lifted his heart. “Will you never cease to amaze me, wife?”

  “I hope not.” She giggled.

  “Take us home, Patrick,” Rhys called to the driver.

  “Wait, Patrick,” Poppy yelled after.

  Patrick’s dark brown eyes shifted from one to the other, unsure what to do. Finally, he said, “My lord?”

  It was always going to be an adventure with this woman. Rhys shrugged. “Well, where are we going, then?”

  “To visit with the Duke of Breckenridge.”

  * * * *

  The Duke of Breckenridge’s London home was elegant, enormous, and a bit daunting. Steeling herself, Poppy strode up the steps with Rhys at her elbow.