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“Are you ready?” he whispered, cocking his elbow.
Eliza peered at him through her long lashes, a perfect smile gracing her lips. “I am.”
The young reverend looked at them and nodded. “Let us begin.”
Eliza sat alone at the modest dressing table Thomas had given to her as a wedding present. She had told him it was too much, but he insisted and she loved him all the more for it. Contemplating the day’s glorious events, she brushed her long hair, a permanent smile gracing her face.
She gazed at her reflection in the expansive mirror. God had given her more than she’d ever imagined. He certainly did know how to give good gifts to His children.
As she worked through her tumbling locks, her gaze fastened upon the brown book resting on the table—Father’s book. Placing the brush down, she picked it up. This was the last remaining thing he’d touched, the only tangible thing she had left to remember him.
Her throat swelled and she held it to her chest. How she wished he were here. How she yearned to tell him what she’d learned and most of all—that his own wish had come true. She and Thomas had found each other, and were united as husband and wife. How happy he would be. She replaced the book and went to the window to close the curtains. Staring at the fabric, she drew them together and paused. Somehow, Father knew. She felt it. He’d watched over her from the beginning, just as he had promised, and with God’s help, everything had knit together into a beautiful pattern of love, trust and truth.
A light knock sounded on the door and her
hands went numb. She tugged at the sleeves and lacy collar of the nightgown Clara had given her, making sure it draped her just right, and pulled a shawl around her shoulders.
“Come in,” she said, trying to hide the nervous crack in her voice as she went back to her seat at the table.
The door creaked and opened. Thomas filled the doorway, still wearing the magnificent blue-gray jacket and breeches he’d worn at their wedding—the same suit he’d worn when they’d first tasted of the love that bloomed between them. His broad shoulders filled the fabric and his dark hair and shaven face beckoned her to touch. She was powerless to look away.
Giving her a sideways smile, Thomas entered, removed his coat, and laid it on the edge of the white bedding. A light glow from the two candles resting on her table sent a pleasing pattern across his angled features. He began to unbutton his waistcoat and suddenly Eliza couldn’t swallow. The shirt he wore exposed the outline of his muscular form, leaving little to her imagination.
Thomas remained casual and looked at her with an endless sparkle in his blue eyes as he continued his task.
“I hope I gave you enough time . . . I didn’t know how long you’d need,” he said, an unmistakable teasing refrain in his voice.
Eliza cleared her throat and focused on her words. “Not very long. I’m . . . I’m finished as you can see.” She gripped the buttons on the neck of her nightdress. Her mouth went dry.
Thomas slipped out of his waistcoat and tossed it next to his jacket, his eyes squinting as a royal grin swept over his face. “I can see.”
Eliza’s head tipped backward as he came forward and stood directly in front of where she sat. Restless butterflies swirled in her middle, and her breath caught in her throat. He took her hands and helped her to stand.
She kept her gaze down and moved her arms around her middle, then dropped them to her sides. Her white nightgown, though modest, draped over her unreserved curves leaving her remarkably exposed.
He moved his hands around her waist, pulling her close. Eliza wiped her clammy palms on her gown, while his hands were warm and wanting through the thin fabric.
“Thomas?”
“Hmmm?”
“I, uh . . .” Her voice cracked again.
Thomas raised his hooded eyes. Pure desire possessed his gaze and he kissed her mouth with a kind of passion she’d never known possible. He pulled her against his body, letting his lips and hands wander where they may. Her heart rapped wildly against her ribs and her breathing heated.
Dotting feather-light kisses against her cheek and ear, he broke away but kept his forehead against hers. His breath was heavy and hot, his voice quiet. “You were saying?” He moved his lips down her neck, while his hands wandered over her back and pressed her harder against him.
Eliza tried to calm her runaway heart, but his breath against her skin sent the most tantalizing tingles down her shoulders that every thought escaped her. “I don’t remember.”
“Good,” he said, a husky timbre to his voice.
In one swift movement he scooped her into his arms. Eliza released a nervous giggle, wrapping her arms around his neck. He whispered into her ear as he moved toward the bed.
“Welcome home, Eliza Watson.”
