could take years. What’s more, I’m an enlisted man. Even if we finish Bonaparte off, I could be sent anywhere, from India to Canada. It could be years before I return to England, and even then I’ve no money until I inherit. Perhaps I’ve had my arguments with the duke, but I’m not villainous enough to wish death on the man. So you must understand…I’m in no position to marry. We can’t have a future.”
She was quiet for a long time, her eyes luminous with disappointment. “I’m glad we have tonight.”
His heart made a wrenching twist in his chest.
She bent her head and pressed light kisses to his neck. “I think you’d better make love to me again. I know we covered the toes…but aren’t there other parts of me you meant to suckle?”
“Yes.” Laughing softly, he drew her earlobe into his mouth. “Yes, my dear. There most certainly are.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bartholomew Cade request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter.
St. George Hanover Church
April Thirtieth, 1814
E LIZA WAITED IN the church vestibule, clutching a bouquet of orange blossoms in one hand and smoothing the front of her silk gown with the other. Just a few minutes before the wedding now. Everything was ready.
Everything, that was, except the bride.
She blew out a slow breath. Well, a lady was allowed a bit of tardiness on her wedding day, wasn’t she? After all, this had all come about so soon. From proposal to ceremony, just within the last few weeks.
With sudden, shocking violence, a man crashed through the church doors, wild-eyed and dark. Eliza jumped and turned, lifting the bouquet of orange blossoms in defense. They wouldn’t be much defense at all, unless this intruder were the sort to sneeze helplessly around flowers. But it was what she had.
When he saw Eliza, the man doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. “Don’t.”
She bent her head and studied the crazed stranger. The recent news of Napoleon’s surrender in France had taught her to hope, despite all her best intentions not to. That dark hair and raspy voice made her heart flutter. It had been almost a year, but this man almost looked like…even sounded like…
“Harry?”
“Don’t.” He sucked in a breath and pleaded with the carpeting. “Marry. Don’t. Eliza.”
Harry.
“Oh my goodness.” She went to his side. “Harry, what is it? Do you need a doctor? Are you having some sort of attack?”
He shook his head. He put a hand to the wall for support, and his breathing slowed a bit.
“Ran,” he said. “Ran all the way from your house in Grosvenor Square.” He finally managed to stand tall. His gaze swept over her hair and gown. “What the devil are you doing?”
Eliza shrugged and lifted the bouquet in her hands. “I’m—”
He plucked the flowers from her grasp and heaved them against the wall. Petals exploded in silent bursts, like muted, fragrant fireworks.
“That was unnecessary,” she said.
“I disagree. I think it was imperative.” His eyes flashed with anger and hurt. “This is a wedding. What happened to, ‘I’ll wait for you, Harry’?”
“What happened to, ‘Don’t wait for me, Eliza’?” She stared at him, wide-eyed with amazement. “You told me you’d never marry me. You said we had no future.”
“Yes, but you weren’t supposed to believe me. In all the years of our acquaintance, when have I ever given you cause to believe a word I say?”
Eliza raised a hand to her mouth and quietly laughed behind it. She couldn’t help it. He was so adorably confounded, with his jaw defiantly set and his brow scrunched up in anger.
And he was here —alive and whole, if a little leaner. The red uniform wore so well on him, delineating his strong shoulders and setting off his brilliant green eyes. His roguishly handsome face was brown from the sun, and a few new wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t shaved.
Darling man. How I’ve missed you.
“Harry, please. Let me
She was quiet for a long time, her eyes luminous with disappointment. “I’m glad we have tonight.”
His heart made a wrenching twist in his chest.
She bent her head and pressed light kisses to his neck. “I think you’d better make love to me again. I know we covered the toes…but aren’t there other parts of me you meant to suckle?”
“Yes.” Laughing softly, he drew her earlobe into his mouth. “Yes, my dear. There most certainly are.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bartholomew Cade request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter.
St. George Hanover Church
April Thirtieth, 1814
E LIZA WAITED IN the church vestibule, clutching a bouquet of orange blossoms in one hand and smoothing the front of her silk gown with the other. Just a few minutes before the wedding now. Everything was ready.
Everything, that was, except the bride.
She blew out a slow breath. Well, a lady was allowed a bit of tardiness on her wedding day, wasn’t she? After all, this had all come about so soon. From proposal to ceremony, just within the last few weeks.
With sudden, shocking violence, a man crashed through the church doors, wild-eyed and dark. Eliza jumped and turned, lifting the bouquet of orange blossoms in defense. They wouldn’t be much defense at all, unless this intruder were the sort to sneeze helplessly around flowers. But it was what she had.
When he saw Eliza, the man doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. “Don’t.”
She bent her head and studied the crazed stranger. The recent news of Napoleon’s surrender in France had taught her to hope, despite all her best intentions not to. That dark hair and raspy voice made her heart flutter. It had been almost a year, but this man almost looked like…even sounded like…
“Harry?”
“Don’t.” He sucked in a breath and pleaded with the carpeting. “Marry. Don’t. Eliza.”
Harry.
“Oh my goodness.” She went to his side. “Harry, what is it? Do you need a doctor? Are you having some sort of attack?”
He shook his head. He put a hand to the wall for support, and his breathing slowed a bit.
“Ran,” he said. “Ran all the way from your house in Grosvenor Square.” He finally managed to stand tall. His gaze swept over her hair and gown. “What the devil are you doing?”
Eliza shrugged and lifted the bouquet in her hands. “I’m—”
He plucked the flowers from her grasp and heaved them against the wall. Petals exploded in silent bursts, like muted, fragrant fireworks.
“That was unnecessary,” she said.
“I disagree. I think it was imperative.” His eyes flashed with anger and hurt. “This is a wedding. What happened to, ‘I’ll wait for you, Harry’?”
“What happened to, ‘Don’t wait for me, Eliza’?” She stared at him, wide-eyed with amazement. “You told me you’d never marry me. You said we had no future.”
“Yes, but you weren’t supposed to believe me. In all the years of our acquaintance, when have I ever given you cause to believe a word I say?”
Eliza raised a hand to her mouth and quietly laughed behind it. She couldn’t help it. He was so adorably confounded, with his jaw defiantly set and his brow scrunched up in anger.
And he was here —alive and whole, if a little leaner. The red uniform wore so well on him, delineating his strong shoulders and setting off his brilliant green eyes. His roguishly handsome face was brown from the sun, and a few new wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t shaved.
Darling man. How I’ve missed you.
“Harry, please. Let me
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