Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
Dawn broke pale and silvery over the park as the carriage rolled through the gates of Ravenswood Hall.
The air was sharp with the promise of rain, the scent of damp earth rising as the horses struck the road that would take them to Lincoln.
Within the coach, Gabriel sat opposite Eliza, the space between them narrow but dense with unspoken words.
They had spoken little that morning. There was comfort in the silence, though it was not an easy one.
The faint creak of the wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves filled the stillness as the countryside unfurled beyond the misty panes.
Two grooms rode ahead, another pair behind, their pistols holstered at the ready.
After what had transpired in the woods, he would take no further chances.
Eliza’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the fogged glass.
She wore her familiar dark cloak, the hood pushed back, her hair drawn neatly beneath a simple bonnet.
Yet stray tendrils had already escaped, curling along her cheeks in soft defiance.
The sight stirred something deep within him—protectiveness, certainly, but also an ache that had nothing to do with duty.
He should have been content to sit in silence.
Instead, he found himself studying her reflection in the window, the delicate slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her chin.
And her lips. But that was dangerous territory.
It reminded him only too clearly of what it had felt like to take those lips with his own, to taste her sweetness and feel her breath as it rushed out on a pleasured sigh.
The coach jolted suddenly, the whole of it shuddering as the wheels dipped into a rut. The motion threw Eliza forward with a startled cry. Gabriel caught her instinctively, one arm curving around her waist as the other braced against the seat to steady them both.
For a breathless instant, she was against him—soft, trembling, her palms pressed to his chest. The faint scent of lavender and crushed rosemary surrounded her, and his hand, resting at the small of her back, felt the heat of her body through the fabric of her gown. She looked up, eyes wide, lips parted.
It was the same look she had given him the night they’d had their encounter in the corridor. When he’d kissed her. When she’d allowed him to kiss her. And when she had kissed him in return.
“Eliza,” he said, his voice low, roughened by restraint.
“Gabriel,” she whispered, though the formality between them felt strange now, absurdly fragile.
Her breath trembled across his cheek. It would have been wiser to release her, to set her back upon her seat and preserve what civility remained between them. But wisdom had no voice in that moment.
He cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her lower lip. The world seemed to still. And then, without thought, he bent and kissed her.
It was not gentle at first—hunger had a way of blunting finesse—but when she yielded, her lips soft beneath his, his restraint returned.
The kiss deepened slowly, their breaths mingling, the sound of the wheels and the creak of leather fading until there was nothing left but her warmth and the heady pulse of blood in his ears.
When at last he drew back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes luminous. He rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, though his voice held no real apology.
“Why?” she asked, her tone unsteady—breathy.
“Because I should not take advantage—”
“If you did, so did I. Do you think, if I didn’t wish for you to kiss me, that I would not say so?”
A smile curved his lips then. “No, Eliza. One of the most charming things about you is that you will always tell me precisely what is on your mind.”
“Then let me tell you this… I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted you to kiss me again since the first time you did so.”
“In the corridor,” he stated, though it was a question.
“No… in my dream. In what I am fairly certain was the same dream—or some variation, thereof—that you had,” she clarified.
“And very much the way I wish you would kiss me again. Right now. But I know that is unwise. I know that we should both be more aware of our surroundings and more circumspect in our behavior.”
Her honesty struck him silent. He wanted to say more—to promise her that this would change nothing, that he would behave with honor—but the lie caught in his throat. He could no more forget the taste of her lips than he could forget his own name.
He released her slowly, settling her once more upon her seat. She turned her face toward the window, but he saw the faint smile that curved her mouth, and it haunted him for the remainder of the journey.
“If it were not for the potential dangers we face, Eliza… we would be spending this journey in a very different fashion,” he said. “And you would have your kiss. And possibly a great deal more than that.” ____
Two hours later, they were in Lincoln, the cathedral rising before them in all its solemn majesty, its spires piercing the morning mist. Once inside, the matter was quite speedy and almost perfunctory.
The common license was paid, the ceremony commenced and all of it happened in a blur of words and vows that ought to have had much more pomp and circumstance to them.
Gabriel’s voice had rarely wavered in battle, yet it nearly did as he repeated the solemn phrases that bound their lives together.
When Eliza’s hand trembled in his, he tightened his hold, grounding them both.
Afterward, they signed the register, witnessed by another couple there for essentially the same reason—a hasty wedding. And then it was done. She was his wife, by law and by God. As they exited the church, he caught her smiling ever so slightly.
“What’s that for? The smile,” he clarified.
“I just thought that the good Reverend Dodd will be utterly appalled that you’ve bound yourself to the local witch.”
His own lips quirked in response. Thinking of the Reverend’s disapproving stare directed toward the Ashcombe women during the previous Sunday’s church service, he imagined that the man would be more than simply appalled. In fact, he suspected they would hear a great deal from the Reverend about it.
They did not linger long. Instead, they crossed the main thoroughfare to the nearby inn, a small and discreet establishment overlooking the cathedral’s courtyard.
The innkeeper, well accustomed to newlyweds of higher station, greeted them with obsequious warmth and led them to a private room upstairs that also had a small sitting area where a serving girl was already laying a meal for them.
As the maid left, he surveyed their lodgings. From the meticulously polished furnishings and the cozy braided rug to the fire that burned bright and welcoming in the small fireplace. Gabriel closed the door behind them, the latch falling with a quiet finality.
“It’s a nice meal for an inn, certainly better than the fare I’ve found at many others. Are you hungry?” He glanced up and saw her shake her head in response. She appeared nervous. “Wine, perhaps something warm—”
“No,” Eliza interrupted softly, shaking her head. “If I must wait for nightfall… my nerves will undo me before the sun goes down.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and saw the truth in her eyes. She was frightened, yes, but not of him. It was anticipation, the trembling edge between fear of the unknown juxtaposed with desire and her innate curiosity.
He crossed to her in two strides, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Eliza,” he said quietly, “I will go as slowly as you wish. And only so far as you wish.”
“I know,” she answered. “I trust you, Gabriel. If I did not, we would not be here.”
Her courage humbled him. He reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips.
The simple touch sent a shock through him.
Slowly, he began to undress her, each movement careful, reverent.
Her cloak fell first, then the ribbons of her bonnet.
When he touched the fastening at her bodice, he hesitated; she nodded once, and he continued.
The laces loosened, the gown slipping from her shoulders. Beneath it, her shift was a whisper of white, translucent where the firelight touched. His hands shook as he brushed a strand of hair from her neck, the softness of her skin warming his fingertips.
He kissed her there, at the base of her throat, and felt her pulse flutter beneath his lips. She drew in a breath but did not step back. Encouraged, he kissed higher, tracing a slow path to her jaw, to her lips.
The kiss began softly, an echo of the one they had shared in the carriage, but deepened with each passing heartbeat. Her hands, tentative at first, rose to his shoulders. When he drew her closer, she did not resist.
He guided her toward the bed, kneeling briefly to remove her shoes, pressing his lips to her ankle before rising again. She watched him, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed with color.
“Tell me if there is something that frightens you… something you do not like,” he murmured.
“If… but I don’t think that will occur. Either of those things,” she said again, her voice scarcely audible.
He bent to kiss her once more, his lips moving with unhurried devotion.
The ribbon at her shift loosened easily, and when the fabric slid down her arms, he caught his breath.
She was breathtaking. Not a goddess carved in marble, but real and warm, her flesh gleaming like gold from the small fire in the dimly lit room.
He touched her reverently, his hands tracing the curve of her shoulder, the slope of her breast. When his mouth followed, she gasped—startled at first, then easing into something else.
Something pleasured and sensual. He smiled faintly against her skin, murmuring reassurances between each kiss.
Her body arched toward his touch, her response eager and guileless.
He worshipped her quietly, learning the shape of her, the texture of her skin, the touches that made her gasp and those that would make her cry out or moan with pleasure.
Every touch, every kiss, every was designed to coax her from hesitation to wonder, to lose herself in passion.
When her trembling became too much, he soothed her, his words a low rumble against her skin.
He eased his hand along her thigh, slipping between them with a reverent touch. Her breath caught, but she made no move to stop him. Instead, she took a deep breath, exhaling as she forced herself to relax, to open for him. It was the sweetest of invitations, and one he was helpless to resist.
Caressing that tender flesh at the apex of her thighs, finding her slick with need, he kept the touches light at first, gentle and easy as he introduced her to that intimacy.
Her response was open, honest, unguarded.
Every sigh, every gasp, every arch of her hips as she sought more from him was something to be treasured.
He brought her to release with a patience that bordered on reverence, holding her close as her body shuddered in his arms.
When it passed, he gathered her gently, her cheek resting against his shoulder, her breath still uneven. The fire crackled softly, casting gold across her hair and the bare curve of her neck.
She stirred after a time, her eyes lifting to his. “That was lovely… but terribly one sided,” she whispered, the words fragile, intimate.
“Bringing you pleasure is its own reward. But there is more. So much more,” he whispered to her as he brushed his thumb along her cheek, his voice low. “Eliza… are you ready?”
Her lips parted, her eyes luminous in the firelight. “Yes,” she breathed. “I am.”