The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

He kissed her ear. “Did I tell you that I have already bought your Christmas present?”

“Christmas is still nine months away.”

“I dream of sitting in front of our Yule log with you at my side, opening your present. Perhaps there is some champagne in there. Perhaps your father will concoct a special Christmas drink. Perhaps it could be champagne mixed with smashed holly berries. A lovely red color.”

She was still laughing when he said against her ear, “Have I told you recently that I love you?”

She turned slowly in his arms and kissed him full on the mouth. Her breath was warm and sweet. “Not since this morning, just before you fell asleep again, and I’m not really certain that you even knew what you were saying. I had quite wrung you out, my lord.”

“I have been wrung out so much since I met you, Helen, I have decided that a man who manages to find a woman who fits perfectly against him and knows discipline—all levels of discipline—is not only the luckiest bastard on the earth, he is also the one with the biggest smile on his face, at all times.”

“All that,” she said, and kissed him again and again, her hands roaming over his back now.

He kissed her hair, pulled her close, closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek in her hair. “Jordan is now sleeping through the night, a blessing, I say. Your eyes are all bright again.” Then he gave her a dazzling smile. “You know, dearest, Jordan is quite perfect, even his yells sound inspired, at least according to the vicar, who paused in the midst of his sermon on Sunday to listen. I was thinking that perhaps he is in need of a brother or sister. What do you think, Helen?” He kissed her mouth, and added, his breath warm against her flesh, “No, not right away. Even if you beg me for another babe immediately, I won’t let you have your way. We will wait at least two years, all right? Now, how many babes would you like to have?”

She kissed him back, loving the feel of him, the taste of him. She loved him more today, this very morning, than she had even the day before. It was amazing. “More babes, Spenser? I don’t know. My father wants a half dozen, he told me. What do you think? Can we attempt that many?”

He actually shuddered, and she knew he was remembering that very long night he had spent while she’d tried to birth Jordan. He said finally, “I don’t know if I can survive that many more births, Helen. I had an awful time of it. So many long hours I suffered through. Perhaps my memories will fade a bit and I won’t dread the birthing so very much. Yes, we will decide one babe at a time. I want a girl this next time, just like you. Well, perhaps she will have my brain, and that will make everything perfect, don’t you think? Ah, I just felt a raindrop land on my cheek, dearest.”

“The rain—it’s wonderfully warm. But you’re right. The storm is almost on us. In a few minutes it won’t be so delightful.”

He thought a moment, then grinned. “Let’s go into your cave and wait it out. Just perhaps I can convince you to make the smile on my face even bigger. Let me tie the horses beneath those trees to wait out the storm.”

It was the cave where they had found both the iron cask and the lamp itself. They hadn’t been here since Lord Beecham had pulled it out of the cave wall.

They stood in the entrance of the cave, watching the storm finally strike land. Thick sheets of rain came straight down, forming a gray veil between them and the world outside. They could hear the roiling water smashing against the rocks. There were no more birds screeching and wheeling about. All was quiet, save for the crashing of the waves, so rhythmic, steady, predictable.

“Are you cold?”

Helen held her arms over her chest. “No, not really.”

“Thank you for Jordan. He looks exactly like me.”

“Not much fairness there,” she said, “but since I think you are the most handsome man in all of East Anglia, it is all right.”

She turned in his arms and smiled right into his beautiful eyes. “I wasn’t ill for a single day with Jordan. Mrs. Toop told me it was because I somehow managed to make you sick for me, only you were too proud to admit it. She said it was a charming discipline that, as far as she knows, no one else has yet discovered.”

“That’s it exactly. I retched up my innards while you blissfully fattened up and ran my life. Now, I heard yesterday that you had to go all the way to a Level Six punishment with Geordie.”

“Yes, the idiot got drunk and grabbed one of the guest’s maids. He tried to maul her.”

“Did she want to be mauled or not?”

“I asked her most particularly about that. She told me that she is still considering her feelings in the matter.”

“Ah, if she deems him a clod, will you let her inflict some of his punishment?”

“Oh, indeed. Her eyes sparkle when she even thinks about it. I fear she will deem him a clod simply because she wants to conduct the discipline. She wants to punish him herself, and, I imagine, she also wants to examine what he was mauling her with more closely.”

“A bunch of hollyhocks? Will you strip poor Geordie down to his skin?”

“Oh, yes. All the village will come and participate. I believe that the squire and his wife wish to make it into a party. The vicar loves lobster patties, and he has announced that he will provide them to everyone who comes. Of course, only the women will be allowed to whip Geordie. They do it with so much more finesse than men. They tease and stroke ever so delicately, and poor Geordie will moan and groan, much more than last time.”

Lord Beecham rolled his eyes. Lobster patties at a discipline party presided over by the vicar, whose wife would probably be wielding a bundle of hollyhocks. He had never realized how exciting living in the country could be.

Lord Beecham removed his jacket and they sat on the floor of the cave, kissing, talking, worrying a bit about the horses, when Helen said, “Something is different, Spenser.”

“Different? What?”