The Wilder Wedding. Lyn Stone

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.

      The only prudent course was evident. He had to back away from her now, to distance himself from what would continue to grow between them if he allowed it. Given his upbringing, Sean knew he was as well versed in sex as any male on the planet. But with Laura, sex was not just sex. It was a mutual giving, a bonding of spirits he had never encountered before in his life, even with Ondine. And Sean realized that the physical union would only strengthen his love for Laura into a veritable necessity he could not live without.

      He could never abandon Laura, however. She was his wife now and needed protection and support, certainly more than most wives did. But he must discontinue their intimacy before his need for her grew to unmanageable proportions.

      How to do that would take some planning in itself. Denying her anything would be damned difficult, next to impossible, but he knew the alternative would prove worse. Loving her fully, without reservation, and then watching her die would tear the heart right out of his chest. A living death.

      “I’m ready,” she said from the doorway.

      Sean pushed up from the edge of the tub, hardly daring to look at her, unable not to. She stood gloriously naked but for the sheet loosely draped over one shoulder, the dark satin of her hair wound in a precarious loop on top of her head. The invitation in her smoky eyes set him afire. Acceptance almost fought its way out of him despite his recent and very firm resolution. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he skirted around her, muttering something inane about seeing to his packing.

      It was a narrow escape. The first of many, he predicted.

      “No one in the world needs this many clothes,” Sean growled as he hefted a leather-bound trunk off the dock. A huffing porter struggled with the other.

      Laura laughed and stepped aside and out of his way. “Of course they don’t. Where’s the fun in buying only what one needs? I’m afraid I did reduce your future inheritance considerably this past week, however.”

      Sean shot her a dark look.

      She wondered why he resented it so whenever she mentioned her legacy. Pride, perhaps. His mood would lighten once he had loaded the baggage and they settled in for the crossing.

      Laura left him to it and went to grasp the forward rail. France was out there. She even imagined she could see it, a faint gray line, probably the point near Calais. Perhaps what she saw were only swells of waves. Excitement skipped through her veins like little fairies. By late tomorrow they would be in Paris, City of Light. How she had dreamed of such places.

      “Should be a fair enough crossing,” Sean remarked as he joined her, that hoped-for smile in place. “Are you a good sailor, Laura?”

      “Yes!” she answered immediately, thinking of the little sail boat she and Lambdin kept on the pond. “Oh, I can’t wait, Sean! My insides are fluttering like the seabirds.” She pointed up at the dizzying flock of gulls that circled the wharf.

      He chuckled. “Be still, widgeon. You’re rocking the boat.”

      “Don’t be silly. This thing’s a ship. ‘Twould take a gale to rock it.” She drew in a huge draft of the damp, salty sea breeze and sighed it out. Huge arms surrounded her and she leaned back against his solid chest, covering his hands with hers. “I feel so happy, Sean. So very happy, just at this moment.”

      Again