Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Probably not. She remembered Lady Lydia, now her grandmother-in-law, her veiny old hand lightly patting Hallie’s as she leaned close, smelling like ironed lace and the fresh lemon wax she rubbed into the eagle head of her cane, and whispered, “Jason is a fine young man. Give him what he needs, Hallie.”

“What do you think he needs, Grandmama-in-law?”

“He needs to have his heart rekindled.”

He needed to have his heart rekindled? What did that mean? He needed her to love him?

Was what she felt for him the same as what she’d felt initially for Lord Renfrew? She didn’t think so. This was deeper, richer, more urgent.

Did she love Jason? Well, if it was love she was feeling leaping out of her, she wasn’t about to blurt it out to him. No, she realized, lightly laying her hand on his belly, feeling the muscles tighten unconsciously, what he really needed was to trust again. To trust her. And maybe that would rekindle his heart.

Her new father-in-law approved of her, she knew that, and he’d said as he’d touched his fingertips to her cheek at their wedding breakfast, “Trust is a precious commodity, fragile yet binding once it’s accepted by both the heart and the intellect and has

burrowed deep inside. Be yourself, Hallie. All will be well. My son isn’t a dolt.”

“No,” she’d agreed. “He isn’t.” What trust was, she thought now, was an elusive commodity.

It was a meaty goal, this trust and rekindling business, after what this Judith woman had done to him five years before. She snuggled next to him, wondering if it would be all right to wake him up. Why not? He’d told her she could jump him any time. She eased down his body, kissing every inch in her path. When she took him into her mouth, he nearly arched off the bed, fisted her hair in his hands, and groaned like he was in mortal pain.

When he came into her, still not entirely awake, she pulled him close, felt all of him deep inside her, closed her eyes, felt his whiskers against her cheek, and thanked God for sending her to Lyon’s Gate that particular day two months before.

Once again, early the next morning, Hallie lay on her back, panting for breath after the cataclysm, her eyes nearly crossed. She felt she could sink through the bed, perhaps sink through the floor as well. What room was beneath the bedchamber? She didn’t want to move. Her eyes jerked open at Jason’s appalled voice. “My God, it looks like I killed you!”

“Wha—what?”

“Oh God, how many times did I take you?”

“What a strange way to say it. Take me—like I didn’t have any say in it.”

“Hallie, it doesn’t mean anything. Wake up.”

“I don’t want to wake up right now, Jason. My brain isn’t working well, only my mouth. I certainly remember the last time you, ah, took me—just five minutes ago. How can you even talk?”

“Hallie, are you all right?” He sat down beside her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

Her head fell back against the pillow, and she moaned. “I feel like my bones have faded out of me. Let me lie here in endless bliss, Jason. I’m all right, I must be since I did speak to you.”

“Yes, but you looked ridiculous while you spoke, grinning like a loon with no sense.”

She giggled. He looked harassed. She watched him rake his fingers through his hair, stroke his whiskered chin. She realized he was now looking down at her belly, perhaps even lower, and somehow the covers were gone. She yelped, trying to pull the covers over herself. He stayed her hand. “Ah, damn me and damn my randy self. Forgive me, sweetheart, I had no idea, I mean, I know that virgins bleed the first time, but—oh God, blink your eyes at least three times at me if you’re really awake and not just grinning like that because you’ve fallen back asleep and are dreaming.”

“I’m awake now, Jason. What are you doing? Don’t look at me. Please, it’s very embarrassing. What do you mean, bleed?”

“Nonsense, I’m your husband. Don’t move. I’m going to clean you up. It’s just a bit of blood, nothing to worry about. I’m sorry about waking you up that third time, Hallie.”

“It was the fourth.”

“That’s right, you woke me up the third time. I’m innocent of that one. Hmm. The second time as well if I remember rightly. Four times? Well, that’s nice now, isn’t it?” He looked immensely pleased with himself, looked at the blood smeared on her thighs again and paled.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I did. Don’t worry, I’m all right. I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he said and prayed he was right. He’d never heard of a bride bleeding to death from her wedding night.

When he went to fetch a cloth and the basin of water on the commode, she jerked up, pulled up the sheet, and said, “You really don’t need to do this. I’m fine, at least I think I am.” She tented the white sheet over her head and looked down at herself. “Oh dear, perhaps I am a bit of a mess. But I don’t think I’m dying. I feel wonderful. You said I was supposed to bleed?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, all right. Hand me that cloth.”