Chapter 27

They left immediately for Rosebriar.

Oh, it was amazing, what confession could bring! Like the earth after a rain shower, Andrew felt cleansed. Reborn. He filled his lungs with clean, sweet air as Newton carried him swiftly along the muddy roads, and gazed about him with new eyes. Three days without sleep, yet he had never felt more alive. Three days of marriage, and a lifetime of hope before him. How long had it been since he'd appreciated the beauty of a hard blue sky reflected in the perfect mirror of a puddle? The winsome sight of a wagtail flitting before them? The joy of simply being alive? His future was uncertain yes, but he now knew he had one constant in his life: Celsie. With her by his side, he would not have to face anything alone, ever again.

As he watched her cantering along beside him on Sheik, his heart swelled and his loins tightened. Oh, how he would love to pull her off the fiery little stallion and into his arms . . . how he would love to plunder her mouth, her body, right here in a grassy verge, in a damp glade. She had given him back the world. She had knelt with him in the muddy street, shielded him from ridicule and speculation, and defended him with all the courage of a tigress standing over its wounded mate. As long as he had Celsie, he was invincible.

It hit him like a broadside of iron. I love her.

His hands tightened on the reins to anchor his suddenly dizzy head.

God help me — I love her!

Such a momentous realization nearly overwhelmed him. He was no longer the prisoner of his own fears, because she had set him free. He was no longer a prisoner of his own fearful future, because she had made lightness out of something heavy, brightness out of something dark. God in heaven, he didn't even have to remain a prisoner in his own house anymore, because she — his own, dear, wife — knew all, accepted all, accepted him.

They were a half mile from Rosebriar; already he could see the big house of rambling grey stone nestled against its backdrop of green hills and heath, of autumn trees dark, scraggly, and bare-leaved against the hard blue sky. Without warning, Andrew pulled Newton up, snared Sheik's reins in his other hand, and as both horses plowed to a stop, leaned breathlessly toward the startled Celsie.

"Andrew, what are you doing?"

For answer, his mouth came down on hers. She melted against him, making a noise of contentment deep in her throat, and for him there was only his wife, her soft lips yielding to his, her arm winding around his neck, the tips of her breasts just touching his chest, her tongue slipping out to playfully taste his own.

Sheik fidgeted and sidestepped away, breaking the kiss. Andrew met Celsie's gaze, breathing hard.

She put a hand to her heart, her eyes glowing with banked silver fire.

With invitation.

And then she gave him a mischievous little grin and looked rather pointedly at the pommel of his saddle. Or rather, at the hardening bulge in his breeches that was just inches away.

For Andrew, the chill November day was suddenly very warm.

For Celsie, the urge to reach out and touch that growing bulge was suddenly very strong.

"Thank you for agreeing to come back to Rosebriar, Andrew," she murmured, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. "I know you're tired, and that this was a bit of a ride, but it didn't seem appropriate to spend our first real night as husband and wife in your brother's house." She edged Sheik a little closer to Newton, and reaching out, dragged her finger suggestively up the side of her husband's thigh, watching in satisfaction as he shut his eyes and groaned softly. She leaned close, and with a coy grin, whispered into his ear, "I think it's time we begin our marriage in earnest, don't you? After all, we have a wedding night to consummate."

"Yes . . . " he leaned toward her once more, his lips brushing her cheek and causing a warm glow to spread through her blood. "Lost time to make up for."

"Wild inventions to create . . ."

"Homeless puppies to save . . ."

"Unfinished business to complete . . ."

His hand had found the small of her back through the woolen pleats of her riding jacket. She sighed in contentment and anticipation.

"Andrew?"

"Celsie?"

He looked at her expectantly, his eyes intense, his grin slow and lazy and full of that famed de Montforte charm. She smiled in open invitation and slowly gathered her reins. And then:

"First one back to the house wins!"

She set her heels to Sheik's sides and squealed with excitement as the fleet Arabian shot ahead like a quail exploding from cover. A moment later she heard the thundering tatoo of Newton's pursuit, and laughing, gave the little stallion his head. The wind sang in her ears. Mud spattered her flying petticoats. The horse's ears twitched forward, twitched back, and suddenly Newton, two hands taller and Thoroughbred-fast, was there beside her, iron-gray mane streaming in the wind, nostrils flaring red, his great galloping legs eating up the road.

A hand snaked around her waist and Celsie shrieked as she was pulled from the saddle across flying space, only to be swept up into the hard curve of her husband's embrace. Laughing, he settled her before him, imprisoning her within his arms and not letting the big thoroughbred slow until they were through the gates of Rosebriar and on their way down the stately drive, Sheik cantering in their wake. As they trotted up to the steps of the front entrance, they were both laughing.

Celsie, her face flushed with wind and her heart pounding, her bottom half on the pommel and half on Newton's withers, turned and pushed playfully at Andrew's chest. "You really are mad!" she cried breathlessly —

And kissed him.

Beneath them, Newton was still moving. Dutifully he carried them up to the steps and stopped, where he tossed his head and waited for them to dismount.

But Celsie was still kissing her handsome husband, loving this new, cheerful side to him that she had only glimpsed before, loving the way his tongue traced her lips before slipping between them, loving the feel of his hand as it moved up the front of her embroidered waistcoat, his thumb pushing against the bottom of one breast. She groaned as he lightly caressed her nipples through the fabric, teasing them to small, hard buds, his hand hidden by her jacket and cloak.

Flushed, dazed, and breathless, she finally pulled away.

"What will the servants think?" Andrew teased, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"That Rosebriar's mistress is madly in love with her husband. Now come, Andrew. I have a present for you, and I must give it to you now, before we meet in bed, before you kiss me again and make me lose all my resolve to make this perfect —"

"A present?"

"A wedding present! Come, let's go!"

She slid out of his arms and landed lightly on the ground. He dismounted, handed the Thoroughbred's reins to an approaching groom, and ran after his wife as she flew up the front stairs. He caught her arm one step from the top and spun her around. She was laughing, her eyes bright and her cheeks rosy from the cold wind as she tumbled into his arms.

"If we're going to make this perfect, I have a few ideas of my own," he said. "First I am going to kiss you. Then I am going to carry you over the threshold as I should have done the other morning. And finally I'm going to let you go for only the space of a heartbeat, because I, too, have a wedding present to give you."

Again their lips met, and she was still kissing him as he lifted her easily in his arms, carried her up the last stone step and over the threshold into the home that had once been her father's, then hers — and now belonged to them both. He didn't bother shutting the door, leaving it swinging open behind them for a servant to close.

In the entrance hall, he finally set her down. "Very well, go get your present, then, and I'll go get mine. Where shall we meet?"

"Top of the stairs in a quarter of an hour!"

Then, laughing, she kissed him fully on the lips and was gone in a whirl of dark woolen petticoats.

Andrew stood there for a moment in the hall, his head reeling, his heart singing. God and thunderation, what the devil had he wasted all this time, energy and worry on? Perfect women did indeed exist! He had one!

And what the devil was he doing just standing there?

He ran to fetch his present to her, which was still packed in the coach that had come down with them from Blackheath. The coach was in the stables, and as Andrew lifted the heavy wooden crate from the vehicle, he cursed himself for not having had it brought round to the house. By the time he lugged the thing back to the house, through the door, and across the entrance hall, he was nearly out of breath. There he set the crate down and paused to look up the grand flight of stairs.

Celsie was there, all right, at the very top, her eyes laughing, her arms empty, watching in amusement as he bent once more and labored to get the huge crate up the stairs.

"Is that my present?" she asked impishly, leaning against the wall and watching him struggling with his burden.

"It certainly is."

"Well, I guess it's not a piece of the famous de Montforte jewelry," she quipped, folding her arms and pretending to be very disappointed. "Unless it's a four-million-carat diamond."

"You're right . . . not jewelry," he managed, stopping to rest for a moment before picking the giant box back up and continuing on.

"It looks fearfully heavy. What's in there?"

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's a surprise."

"What is it made of, then? Solid gold?"

"Solid iron."

"Iron?" she said, trying not to look too disappointed by the fact that her handsome new bridegroom was not as romantic as she had thought. "Really, Andrew . . ."

"Don't laugh, you might like it."

"Yes, I might, if you can ever succeed in getting it up these stairs. All I can say is that I'm glad I married you for your brains and not your brawn." She put her hands on her hips and grinned saucily down at him. "Why, I could have had that thing up these stairs in half the time you're taking!"

"You try picking the confounded thing up!" he said drolly, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his forehead.

Celsie, one brow lifting in mocking amusement, waited until he reached the top of the stairs and set the crate down. Shooting him a superior little grin, she reached down to pick it up — and froze, her grin abruptly fading. She might as well have tried to lift an overweight Great Dane. The crate wouldn't budge.

"Very well then, I reclaim my comment about your brawn," she said, straightening. "It's a wonder you didn't break your back! Really, Andrew, why didn't you just leave it downstairs, instead of lugging it all the way up here?"

"Because you, madam, asked me to bring it up."

"Oh."

"It really does belong in the kitchen," he added.

Her face fell, though she tried not to let it show. "Let me guess . . . It's an iron cook pot for the hearth," she said, trying not to sound too deflated.

"No, it is not an iron cook pot. Now, go get my present and we'll open them right here," he said, leaning against the elegantly carved balustrade and crossing his arms. "Unless it's even bigger than this thing?"

"It is much bigger than that. And I couldn't presume to carry it even if I wanted to. You'll have to come with me."

"You would say that . . . I suppose you want me to bring this, then, too."

"Of course. Would you like me to help you carry it?"

He merely shot her an exasperated look. Celsie's eyes sparkled above her grin. She watched as he crouched down and lifted the heavy crate, hoisting it even though Celsie hadn't been able to lift it an inch off the floor.

Now that she knew how impossibly heavy the thing was, Celsie couldn't help but stand transfixed. Very well, then, so her gifted husband had brawn as well as brains. Why, her side of this marital bargain was getting better and better! She watched him balancing the box, and felt a thrill of expectation at the thought of touching those strong, defined muscles . . .

"Stop staring, girl, and start walking. This isn't the lightest thing I've ever carried!"

Celsie laughed and continued on. She was well aware that his appreciative gaze was on the sway of her hips and the narrowness of her waist as she preceded him down the hall, and the thought only made her all the more eager to finally get her husband into bed where he belonged.

She led him past the state bedrooms, past the apartments they would call their own, and into a rich, masculine room that had once been her papa's library but was now empty of books and all signs of recent habitation. Dark mahogany bookcases lined an entire wall. A case clock dominated one corner of the room. Tall, south-facing windows let in the thin autumn sun and overlooked the ornamental pond, its surface now peppered with yellow and brown leaves, in the near distance. The walls were panelled with fine English oak, the doors carved and heavy, the polished floor devoid of furniture save for three long tables, all of them spotlessly bare. All of them, that is, except the middle one, upon which stood a decanter of wine and two crystal goblets.

Celsie stopped, turned, and hands on her hips, regarded him happily.

"Well, here you are, husband. My wedding present to you."

Andrew set down his burden with a grunt and straightened. He looked around and frowned, his expression much the same as Celsie's had been upon learning that his present to her had been a monstrous piece of iron.

"So, what do you think?" Celsie asked excitedly, feigning innocence. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Uh . . . isn't what wonderful?"

"Why, this room, of course."

"Sorry?"

"It's yours," she said gaily, unable to stop grinning. "Oh Andrew, don't look so baffled! There was a real reason why I didn't want you to have the downstairs ballroom for your laboratory . . . I had this room all picked out and ready for you. I thought you'd like it so much better . . . It gets lovely sunshine all day, is away from commotion and the sound of the kennels outside, and was once the domain of my father, the master of the house. Now, as the new master of the house, it is your domain. Yours to do with, whatever you wish."

He stared about him, blinking and amazed, his expression softening into one of sheer, unfettered rapture. A broad, boyish smile overtook his mouth, and he shook his head in disbelief, his eyes glowing with happiness. "Oh, Celsie . . . you couldn't have chosen a nicer gift!"

"There's more," she said.

"More?"

"Yes. Since you are so hopelessly disorganized, Andrew, and since I'm beginning to think that your dislike of paperwork and the meticulous recording of information is one of the reasons you jump from one idea to the next before seeing things through, I have determined to do something about it. This chamber not only comes with all the furniture you see — also part of my wedding present, of course — it comes with its own laboratory assistant." She grinned. "Me."

"You?"

"Me." She flew into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Andrew, I just know you're going to change the world, and best of all, you're going to start right here! I can't wait!"

Overwhelmed, he lifted her high and swung her around once, twice, her petticoats flying. "Celsie — dearest, most delightful Celsie — nothing you could have given me, save for yourself, could have made me so happy!"

"Well since you get me as well as the room, then you should never have reason to be in a bad mood, ever again!"

He bent his head and kissed her, his heart so full of joy and adoration he thought he was going to burst. It was a long time before he finally set her back, tenderly gripping her upper arms as he gazed down into her eyes.

"Do you know, Celsiana Blake de Montforte, I am dangerously close to admitting that I could quite easily fall in love with you. In fact, I am dangerously close to admitting that I'm already half in love with you as it is."

"Well then, if you're half in love with me, and I'm half in love with you, does that make us a whole?"

"Sorry?"

"Does that make us wholly in love with each other?"

He laughed. "Well, now, that's rather interesting logic, isn't it? I hadn't quite looked at it that way, but yes, I do suppose it must."

"Well then, show me how much you half love me by letting me open my present!"

He looked suddenly shy, and she saw a faint red flush suffusing his cheeks. "Oh, well, nothing I could ever give you would even come close to what you've just given me."

"You're probably right," she said jokingly, trying to lessen his sudden embarrassment. "I cannot imagine what a huge chunk of iron is going to do for me! But never mind, you've intrigued me, Andrew. I'll open it now."

She knelt down beside the large crate, flipped open the rope latch, lifted the cover —

And blinked.

"Do you like it?" he asked, standing over her shoulder and displaying the same false innocence she had shown just moments ago.

She just knelt there, staring rather stupidly at the pulleys and wooden crank handle and gears with their wolfhound-sized teeth, at this strange concoction of iron that was the ugliest and most unromantic wedding gift imaginable, and didn't know quite what to say. She didn't want to hurt his feelings; he sounded so excited, so eager for her to like it . . .

Whatever "it" was.

"Um, Andrew . . . it's, uh, rather interesting, but I haven't the faintest idea what it is."

"Guess."

"Um . . . it's the inner workings for a new clock you've designed?"

"Try again."

"Something you've seen in one of your visions?"

"No — you've got one more guess."

"Something to do with a new carriage."

"Wrong again. Shall I tell you what it is, then?"

"I think you're going to have to," she said, trying not to sound too glum.

"It's a mechanized roaster," he said happily. "To go into the kitchen. To turn the meats. To turn the meats over the open fire, Celsiana, so that your little turnspit dogs can now go looking for another line of work."

It took a moment for his words to sink in.

To turn the meats over the open fire, Celsiana, so that your little turnspit dogs can now go looking for another line of work.

Celsie's gaze flew back to what had been, just a moment ago, a confusing and ugly jumble of iron and wood; and then, suddenly, a lump caught in her throat and all those gears and pulleys and strange bits of metal went blurry beneath the sudden sheen of tears.

Her hand went to her mouth.

"Oh, Andrew," she breathed, turning to look up at him over her shoulder with huge, watery eyes. She felt her jaw quivering. "I can't believe you did this . . ."

His cheeks were a little red. He shrugged, trying to make light of what he'd done, but she saw the pride in his eyes, the vulnerability, the desperate hope that she'd like what he had made for her. "Oh, well, it didn't take long," he admitted. "I got the idea when we were in London. I know the blacksmith in Ravenscombe quite well, and he was happy to fashion this to my specifications —"

"You mean to say you thought this up just like that?"

He shrugged. "That's how I think most things up," he confessed, almost apologetically. "I can't help it."

"Andrew, you're absolutely brilliant!" She leaped to her feet and hurled herself into his arms, kissing his face, kissing his lips, while huge tears of happiness slipped down her cheeks. "Do you know what this is going to mean to all those poor little dogs burning their paws off in so many English kitchens, running their tiny legs to the bone? Do you realize how this is going to revolutionize the way kitchens are run, the way food is cooked? Oh, Andrew — I thank you! All those little dogs who are currently being so abused thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He caught her as she hugged him around the neck, nearly choking him and more happy than he'd ever seen her. His own grin was a little cocky. Well, damn . . . if this was all it took to make the lady happy, the road ahead wasn't going to be so difficult, after all!

"Do you know, I couldn't have asked for a better present," she said, wiping at her streaming eyes. "I am the happiest woman in England. I have the smartest husband in the whole wide world. And the only thing that could possibly make me even happier is if my smart, handsome husband were to lift me in his arms and carry me off to our marriage bed."

He smiled lazily down at her, and in one neat, easy movement, scooped her up. "Well then, dear lady — your wish is my most eager command."