A Reckless Encounter

“Yes,” he said at last, “I’ll say them to her.”

A faint smile curved her mouth as she drifted back to sleep, this time untroubled by dreams. It was as if she were sinking in a deep pool like a heavy stone, down into oblivion.

When she woke again, it was late; lamps had been lit, rosy glows shedding small pools of light across the room, shrouded by the heavy drapes around the bed. She looked immediately toward the chair by the bed. It was empty.

Disappointment knifed through her. Then she felt a movement beside her and turned. Colter lay next to her. He smiled a little when she let out a relieved sigh.

“Looking for someone, my love?”

“Yes,” she murmured, “and it seems I found him.”

He reached for the hand she held out to him, held it in his fist, his thumb raking over the backs of her fingers in a caressing stroke. “God,” he muttered, his eyes suddenly intent. “I hope so.”

“Oh…oh, Colter.” It was all she could say for a moment, the sudden enormity of it all descending like a blanket. She held her breath as he touched her face with a gentle brush of his fingers.

“We’ve been married over a month now,” he said when the silence stretched too long, “and have yet to go on our extended bridal tour. It’s customary, you know, to travel to foreign places so that the beautiful bride can enjoy exotic foods, customs and people.”

He lifted her hand, fingers tucked into his palm, and licked lightly at her fingertips. She drew in a shaky breath. “I never knew that.”

“No? Perhaps things are done differently in America. A foreign country with strange customs, in my experience.” He smiled wickedly. “I have acquired a new ship—a steam ship—and the Moreland Shipping Concern has a thriving market in the United States.”

“Is there a reason for telling me this?” she asked, her heart thumping as he continued to smile at her.

“I thought perhaps you’d like to start our bridal tour with an ocean voyage. You said you’ve never been to Spanish California, I believe. We could visit there as well. I’ve made arrangements to take a year to travel with my lovely wife…would you like that?”

“Yes,” she agreed softly, and drew her hand over his face, the stark angles and planes that were so familiar to her, so loved. Should she tell him that?

Should she tell him that, despite everything, she could not envision a world without him now? It was true, so true, and she ached at the thought of being apart from him.

“Celia…” He caught her hand, pressed his mouth into her palm, then held her by the wrist, his tone suddenly low and fierce. “I’m not used to caring about someone else, not like this. It will make the way I’ve lived different, this responsibility for another person’s emotions. Christ, I’m doing this badly, but I’m not much of a hand at it. Out of practice, I suppose you could say, with elegant words.”

“But, would you mean what you say to me?” She ran her fingers over his mouth, saw that he hadn’t shaved; a rough stubble darkened his jaw. “Elegant or not, if you feel them, say them.”

“Yes, easy enough, I suppose.” He tilted her chin up with his fingers, looked into her face, his eyes a deep, shadowed blue, serious and fathomless. She held her breath as he scraped his thumb over her lips. “I love you, Celia, my green-eyed little wife, my heart.”

He’d said it softly, but there was a wealth of emotion in his voice, a husky intensity that reached down into her very

soul. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him silently, then she leaned forward to press her forehead against his, heart in her throat and eyes as she whispered, “And I love you, my lord, my husband—my life.”

As he held her against him, she moved into his embrace with a lingering sigh, the past slipping away from her at last. Now there was the future, stretching endlessly ahead.

Colter kissed her, gently at first, then with rising passion. She gave herself up to the luscious stroke of his hands over her body, beneath the nightdress, familiar and sensuous, his hands on her breasts and thighs, and she clasped him close to her as their bodies joined and became one. And now, at last, as he moved against her with a piercing sweetness, he whispered his love in her ear.

“Sweet Celia, my heart…my love, I will always love you.…”

“Yes,” she said, rising to meet him, her body quivering with delicious anticipation, “as I will love you—forever.”

“Love conquers all; let us too yield to Love”

—Virgil

Epilogue

Sunshine filtered through heavy-leaved trees, dappling the graves that lay beneath a blanket of green. Beyond, in the distance, the roof of the White House could barely be seen. But here, in this cemetery just outside Georgetown, it was quiet and serene.

Celia knelt beside her mother’s grave, sunlight gleaming on her lovely blond hair. Standing behind her, Colter didn’t speak, but waited patiently. She looked so vulnerable, so sad, her slender shoulders shaking slightly with remembered grief. He wanted to ease her pain but knew there was nothing he could say.

Finally she stood up, turned toward him with a faint smile; her cheeks were still wet. “I wanted her to know how happy I am now, and that she will never be forgotten.”