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“I made a promise and I kept a promise. I don’t make a habit of it, but every now and again.” He dropped the bolt into her arms. “I bought enough to make up a half dozen gowns.”
She flushed, the sprinkle of freckles fading into the dusky pink of her cheeks. “They’re all lovely, Brendan. Thank you.”
“To give credit where it’s due, Madame Arana helped. She knew the best warehouses and linen drapers and what colors and fabrics were in fashion. I’ve never been much when it came to that sort of thing. As long as you’re not exposing anything that ought not be exposed, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“You don’t say.” She pursed her lips around a smile, making him acutely aware of his borrowed coat, his haphazardly knotted cravat, and a pair of broken-in boots. So he wasn’t Beau Brummell. He was comfortable.
“I’ll never be a pink of the ton. Never had aspirations to make a splash. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate those who do.”
The curve of her cheek. The curve of her body. When had his room grown so small? When had Elisabeth Fitzgerald changed from millstone round his neck to fire in his blood? He cleared his throat. Snatched the muslin back from her to lay it with the rest.
“One more thing. Spin around.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Quit yammering, turn around, and close your eyes.”
She did as she was told, shivering as he brushed her neck, the smell of her and the sight of the tender skin just behind her ear sending the blood rushing from his head to his groin.
“No peeking,” he barked, furious with himself for behaving like a lust-crazed simpleton. “Very well, you can open your eyes now.”
Her gaze dropped to the necklace gracing her throat, the shimmering opal teardrop upon a thin gold chain.
“This one is just a stone,” he admitted. “Nothing more. Nothing less. But it’s yours to keep.”
She turned, throwing her arms about his neck. “It’s perfect.”
He ducked his head, not completely able to hide his joy at her response. “I don’t know about perfect. Shaw’s sapphires probably cost twenty times what this little trinket did.”
Tears shone in her eyes as she stepped back to stare up at him. “But this is worth twenty times more. How on earth did you afford all of this?”
“Not married a week and already harping over my spendthrift ways?” He shifted uneasily. “I managed to pawn a few things.”
Her gaze dropped to his waistcoat. “Your watch,” she gasped. “You loved that watch. Brendan, you didn’t have to. Not for me.”
Loss twisted his innards, but only for a moment. “I didn’t have to. I wanted to. My felicitations, Mrs. Douglas. You are now officially un-ruined.”
The sc
ent of her filled his nostrils, that lemony-lavender spring bouquet of hers that never failed to catch him unawares. Like the flash in her dark eyes or the way she had of tossing her head or the rousing way she moved, every curve an invitation to sample.
She leaned forward, kissing him at the edge of his mouth. “It’s our wedding day. What say we ruin me all over again?”
His whole body went rock hard. “I hope someday I might look back and say marriage was the best thing I ever did.”
“Let’s make someday now.”
Still floating with a dazed sense of satisfaction, Elisabeth bent over Brendan, kissing his rippled abdomen, his sculpted chest, the side of his neck where his pulse thundered against his skin. He tasted salty, smelled of soap and man and some faint exotic scent she couldn’t place.
So much for calm, placid waters. She’d landed smack in the eye of the hurricane.
Brendan embraced her, pulling her down on top of him, tucking her head beneath his chin, his hand skimming up and down her spine, sending trills of delicious pleasure jolting through her.
“Am I squashing you?” she asked.
A rumble of laughter beneath her ear. “I think my frail body can handle you.” He caressed her ribs, cupped her backside. “You’re hardly a stoning weight.”
She snuggled into him, already feeling signs of his renewed desire between her legs. “No, but nor am I a skinny twig who can live on air.”
