“I’ll be ready in a moment, Maggie,” she said without looking behind her. Gavin’s deep voice surprised her.
“It’s not Maggie.” Rachel turned slowly. He looked different in the fine dress suit and silk hat. He was as handsome as ever, but she realized that she much preferred him in his denim trousers and boots, his black hair tousled by the wind. He was like the country he’d chosen to live in, strong and enduring, bending beneath strong winds like a mighty tree, but refusing to break. He was silent as his gaze caressed her, starting with the filmy veil covering her hair and moving leisurely to the train of her gown that formed a satin pool around her feet. Her breathing slowed as she tolerated—no, delighted in—his perusal. Finally, his eyes returned to her face.
“We have to talk, Rachel.” So, it would be Gavin who called an end to it after all. She should have known it wouldn’t be up to her.
“There are things I should have said and didn’t, and you’ve got a right to hear them before you come down those stairs and agree to be my wife.” Her reply was nearly inaudible.
“What things?”
“I want you with me, Rachel. I don’t know what kind of husband I’ll be to you. I’ll do my best not to hurt you, my best to provide for you. I can’t promise you an easy life. You know what it’s like up there. You’ve seen it for yourself.” He fell silent. Rachel looked into the depths of those familiar steel-gray eyes and felt her heart give.
“Is that all you came to say?” She waited, longing to hear the words, longing to say them herself.
“I came up here to ask you to be my wife. Not because you were forced into it, but because it’s what you want.”
I love you, Gavin.
“Yes, I’ll be your wife. Not because I was forced into it, but because it’s what I want.” Tell me you love me, Gavin. Say the words. He placed his hand on the doorknob.
“I hope I’ll never make you sorry, Rachel. I’ll do my best.” He turned, his hand twisting the knob.
“Gavin…” He glanced over his shoulder.
“There’s no baby. I’m not pregnant.” Now was his chance to change his mind. Now he could make a run for the hills. She had given him his out. Would he take it? His smile was gentle.
“There’ll be plenty of time for babies.” And then he was gone.
“And by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Her heart racing, Rachel turned toward Gavin. His hands lifted the veil, and their eyes met. Her husband. It seemed unreal. Like a dream. She was afraid she would awaken and find it all gone. He cupped her face in his hands as he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. Time seemed to stop. The guests, the minister—all disappeared except for the two of them. I was right, she thought as he kissed her. That day up on the ridge, that first moment she’d realized she loved Gavin. This was what I’ve been waiting for all along.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It had been in a hotel room much like this that she had first seen Gavin Blake. As Rachel crossed the sitting room toward the window, she remembered the way she’d felt when she first looked into his eyes, that jolt of awareness of another human being such as she’d never felt before. If she had been aware that day of what the next few months would bring, would she still have taken the job as governess? She turned and looked at Gavin as he carried her valise across the sitting room to the bedroom. Yes! her heart replied to her silent question. Yes! When he returned from the bedroom, their eyes met. Her stomach fluttered in response. For so long her love for Gavin had been forbidden. She wasn’t sure what to do now that it was allowed.
“I’ve ordered some supper for us,” Gavin said.
“I noticed you didn’t eat anything after the ceremony.” She wasn’t sure she could eat anything now. He came toward her, stopping within arm’s reach.
“You never looked more beautiful than you did today.” She flushed with pleasure.
“I’d better add some fuel to that fire. It’s getting cold outside. You can feel it through the windows.” He turned away from her. As he walked across the room, he removed his suit coat and tossed it across the nearest chair. His tie and collar were the next to go. Watching him, she wondered if all brides were as nervous as she was on their wedding nights. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what was ahead of her. In fact, the knowing brought a rush of anticipation that warmed her throughout. Still, she felt awkward, not sure what to do or what to say. And so she remained standing beside the window, the town beyond
the glass bathed in the darkness of night. He sensed her nervousness and wondered if she had any idea that he was nervous too. It seemed a cowardly, unmanly thing to admit, even to himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in a hotel room with a woman, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the first time he’d bedded a woman either.
But this time it was different. This time he was with his bride. They lingered over the supper that was brought up to them, neither of them eating much as their eyes met and parted dozens of times across the mahogany table. The mantel clock chimed the hour, the quarter hour, the half hour, and still they remained at the table. She was beautiful. She looked so exquisite, sitting there in her rose-colored gown. Did he have the right to take something so fine and delicate to the high country, to a life of hard work and few pleasures? Was it possible that she had freely chosen that life over the one she’d known here, over the one she could have had with Patrick O’Donnell—or had she really had a choice? She was young and innocent. She couldn’t possibly know what she’d done in marrying him. She’d felt remorse over their night of passion, and that had colored her judgment. She’d told him she was marrying him of her own free will, but society and her family were pressuring her all the same. She would come to regret her decision. Eventually, she would choose to leave him. And, God help him, he couldn’t bear the thought of life without Rachel. A calm overtook Rachel, and she was no longer afraid. That same sense of destiny that had washed over her at the wedding, a certainty that here was where she belonged, returned. This was right. She had no reason to be nervous.
She placed her napkin beside her plate as she rose from her chair. She walked around the table, coming to stand beside Gavin. She held out her hand to him. He took it and stood. Then, as naturally as if they’d been doing it for a lifetime, she moved into his arms, tipping her head to accept his mouth upon hers. A sweet yearning began in the secret most part of her, a longing to be a part of the man she loved. It seemed that the only way she could convey to him the depths of her feelings was to be joined with him in the most intimate of acts, to share herself—body, soul and spirit. She leaned into him, her hands moving over the smooth fabric of his shirt, feeling the ridge of his spine with her fingertips. She parted her mouth and gently nibbled on his lower lip, then ran her tongue along it. When she opened her eyes and leaned back from him, she found him watching her with a smoky gaze, a look that set her blood on fire. The yearning for him was no longer tender and sweet. It was demanding, unrelenting, a furious storm raging through her limbs and igniting her loins.
“Gavin.” His name came out in a hoarse whisper, conveying the aching need. His fingers began to play with the buttons on the front of her bodice, slipping them free one at a time. When the last one escaped its loop, he pushed the dress from her shoulders. His hands brushed the length of her arms, causing gooseflesh to rise and her breath to quicken.