She understood duty and loyalty and patriotism. Duty called. And Jarrod must answer the call. Her fear was that he would leave her behind at Shepherdston Hall. But Jarrod quickly laid that fear to rest.
"When are you leaving?" Sarah asked, as she lay in the big bed in the master's chamber at Shepherdston Hall, her head pillowed on Jarrod's shoulder.
"We're leaving later this morning," he answered.
"We?"
"If you've no objections." He pressed a kiss against her soft red curls.
Sarah pushed herself up on her elbow and turned to look at him. "I thought you were going to…"
"Leave you behind?" He finished her sentence.
She nodded.
Jarrod frowned. "Why would you think that, my sweet?"
"'We shall install our wives in country houses and keep separate establishments nearby or in London'," she quoted from a long ago memory.
Jarrod immediately recognized item seven from the Free Fellows League Charter. "Where did you hear that?"
"From you," she answered. "A long time ago when you were home from Knightsguild for Easter. You sat on the bank of the pond tossing rocks and repeating it over and over."
"You were spying on me." Jarrod remembered that Easter. His mother was staying with a gentleman at his country home and his father, never one to give up amusements, had remained in London. Jarrod was alone at Shepherdston Hall and missing Griff and Colin who were at home with their families. He'd spent much of his holiday committing the Free Fellows League Charter to memory to remind himself that he had friends and that he meant a great deal to them. Sarah kept sneaking away from the rectory and the solemnity of Holy Week to follow him around.
"It wasn't that hard," she admitted, "since you were always by the pond tossing pebbles and talking out loud." She glanced around and sighed. "You must have been so lonely here by yourself."
"I was," he answered. "And most of the time I was too proud and stupid to welcome a certain red-haired little girl into my life and into my heart." He reached up, tangled his hand in her hair and gently pulled her down for a soul-searing kiss. "And you can bet I won't make that mistake again."
"No?" she asked, her lips a fraction of an inch from his.
"No," he affirmed. "I may have to leave you behind at times in order to fulfill my duties, but it won't be because I want to." He smiled. "I've been alone enough," he said. "And so have you. I greatly prefer this" — he stopped to kiss her — "to solitude."
"So do I," she agreed.
"Then, it's settled," he said, pulling her atop him and settling her comfortably upon his morning erection. "You're coming with me." He gave her a lecherous wink. "Soon, I vow."
Sarah laughed, then wiggled her bottom against him. "I'll see what I can do to arrange it, my lord."
Jarrod groaned in pleasure as she set out to do just that. He'd never entertained a thought of leaving Sarah behind at the Hall. He couldn't. She was a part of him now. As much a part of him as the heart that beat in his chest.
She was his wife and her place was by his side.
In London.
Where she would delight in the pleasant task of showering him with love and making his house a home and where he would take great pride in loving her and introducing Sarah into society as his marchioness.
After four gloriously romantic nights at Shepherdston Hall, Lord and Lady Shepherdston returned to London and settled into blissful domesticity that included enough secret missions and adventures to last a lifetime.
And in the years to come, the merchants of Bond Street and the owners of Ibbetson's Hotel would often boast of the Marquess of Shepherdston's penchant for showering his marchioness with fabulous gifts. Each merchant took great delight in claiming that his had been the most expensive or the most unusual or the most charming gift.
But Gunter's, the confectioner's in Berkeley Square, knew the truth. For every year on the anniversary of their nuptials, the Marquess of Shepherdston ordered two French pastries exquisitely decorated with single pink rosebuds on top; and the Marchioness of Shepherdston ordered one long French eclair with vanilla cream, but no icing — to be sent to their London residence in time for morning coffee.
And according to his lordship's household, those French pastries were the only meal they ate, for Lord and Lady Shepherdston remained in bed all day. Making love.
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