Lyn Stone - The Wilder Wedding

“Thank you, God.” She closed her eyes and whispered with a grin. “I don’t think I’m quite so angry with You anymore.”

Sean hefted the tray onto his left palm and entered the bedroom. The newly arrived letter in his pocket rustled as he turned to close the door. This one, delivered right to his rooming house, bothered him more than the one sent to his office. Prepare to die , it said. Someone—very probably Luckhurst—was toying with him. But he couldn’t concern himself with that right now. The writer of the dratted things would surely give up the game by the time Sean had finished his business in Paris.

If the fool meant to frighten him, Sean could almost laugh at the pitiful effort. For the past ten years, he had lived daily with danger that bore no forewarning at all. His first ten years of life had been much the same. Worse, really, due to lack of training to deal with the perils he encountered. Watching his back became second nature, a way of life. These little scare tactics didn’t unnerve him in the least. But they did present a bothersome puzzle, and puzzles distracted him from more important matters.

He would have to dismiss the letters. Just forget them. Today he had a greater puzzle, a distraction and an important matter all rolled into one. A wife.

Sean smiled at the sight greeting him as he entered the bedroom. Laura nestled amid the pillows with the sheet tucked just beneath her arms. Her smile shamed sunshine and was, thank God, not so rare.

“Food!” he announced as he carefully set the tray on the bed beside her. “Don’t fidget, sweetheart. You’ll spill the tea.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, snatching up a fat sugared biscuit. Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as she chewed. The blue gray eyes rolled with pleasure.

He had to laugh. “Such a greedy child!” Had he ever seen anyone so gluttonous for every moment’s worth of joy?

Recalling the reason for her hedonism sobered him immediately. She never knew just how many moments she had left. Laura could only be certain of this particular one.

“Such a gloomy face!” she admonished, drawing her brows together. “Don’t frown so. It puts lines between your eyes.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said, tapping her nose with his finger.

She choked down the food and took a swallow of her tea. “When do we leave?”

“Two hours,” he told her. “We must be at Dover by this evening. I sent to the hotel for your things. They should arrive directly. Will you need a maid?”

“Never had one. Will you need a valet?” she teased.

Sean grinned at the thought of having someone dress him. Now someone—this particular someone— undressing him was a different matter altogether. No time for that now, unfortunately. He handed her a sausage. “Silly widgeon. Finish your breakfast while I draw your bath.”

He left her tucking into the substantial plate of bangers and eggs he had requested from the kitchen downstairs. The announcement of his sudden marriage had prompted instant motherly attention from his landlady and her staff. Until this morning, he had only been the object of curiosity and gossip who hardly rated a wary word of greeting now and then. Now he was “the young bridegroom.”

Falling fully into the role certainly tempted him. There was nothing he’d have liked better than to crawl back into that bed and spend the day with “the young bride.” He couldn’t recall ever having held a more responsive woman in his arms. She made love the way she did everything else, full steam ahead and damn the consequences. The mere thought of her enthusiasm had his body thrumming even now.

He turned on the tap in the huge, claw-foot tub and tested the temperature of the water with the back of his hand.

The timing of this unexpected honeymoon could be worse, he supposed. What if he were embarking on a case involving a life-threatening situation? There had certainly been a wealth of those, not that he minded. Danger proved addictive. He thrived on that sort of job and it was what he did best. For the past few years, Sean admitted, the adventures held far more appeal than the rewards. This coming endeavor, however, only relied on his keen eye for deception and his solid reputation as a reliable courier.

Working for Burton was child’s play, a holiday in fact. This time he only had to verify the authenticity of a painting. If genuine, he would complete the deal for Mr. Burton, director of the National Gallery, bring the picture home, and that would be that. No rush, no danger, large fee. Not that he needed the money particularly, but one never had too much of that commodity.

Laura would be disappointed when he told her about the tame task, he thought with a smile. After his warning of possible danger, she would be geared up for murder and mayhem. Her thirst for adventure would be amusing under different circumstances.

His heart contracted painfully every time he thought of Laura dying. How could he bear to watch that bright little light blink out? The world would seem a dismal place without it now that he knew her. She touched him, threw his senses awry in some way he couldn’t quite fathom; had done so from the moment he had first seen her. Innocence, he supposed. Something he’d had so little experience with in his twenty-eight years. Surprising he even recognized it at all.

This whole affair seemed unreal. The hasty wedding, the lovemaking, and letting her accompany him to Paris were all so uncharacteristically impulsive of him. He could scarcely believe he had allowed any of it. For a man who planned every move he made with the precision of a well-oiled machine, Sean knew he had slipped an important gear somewhere along the line.

In his early life, quick decisions had equaled survival. But later, he had learned to consider the long-term effect—weigh all his options, however briefly—before he acted. For the first time since the wedding, he forced himself to stop and think exactly where all this might lead.

Laura had given him no time to plan or consider or project. Because she had so little time to give. So little time.

Steam from the bath made him sniff. Surely that was what caused his eyes to water this way. He shut off the faucet and brushed a hand over his face. Laura Middlebrook had blown into his life like a whirlwind. She stirred up feelings he thought he had eliminated, and some he hadn’t known existed at all. How did he think he could direct events toward a satisfactory future? Laura would not have one. God, how that thought hurt. It shouldn’t bother him this much. He, of all people, knew there were things worse than death. He’d even told Laura as much. Cruel truth.

But he had never met anyone as alive as Laura. He must be out of his mind to admit such a thing, even to himself, but he could love this woman, was probably half in love with her already. After letting down his guard and risking it that once with Ondine, love only equaled disaster as far as Sean was concerned. It ripped away all the hard-earned control over his life as though it were wet tissue paper. He needed control the way he needed air to breathe. How could he possibly surrender that again?

Despite their recent betrothal, Camilla Norton’s subsequent desertion had not affected him much. Not in the least, except for the small dent to his pride. He would suffer a great deal more than that with Laura’s leaving, unless he took immediate charge of things.

If he continued down this road with her, the outcome could only be total devastation. After Ondine’s untimely death, he’d had fury at her betrayal to sustain him. Even then, the pain of loving her and losing her had almost destroyed him. He had rebuilt the wall inside himself once. He didn’t think he could do it again. This time he would be left with nothing but soul-deep grief. There would be no saving anger to draw on. Nothing.