Barnaby nodded. Wheeling their horses, they headed for the Park.
Later that night, in the earl’s bedchamber, in the earl’s bed, Sarah lay slumped in her earl’s arms, warm, sated, and content, happier than she’d ever thought she’d be. Beneath her cheek, Charlie’s heart thumped, steady and strong. Although every muscle in her body felt unraveled, she tightened her arms about him.
“I had one bad moment above the falls—one dreadful instant when I thought I might lose you.” Lifting her head, she looked into his face, into his shadowed eyes. “You’d just managed to get your arm about the anchor post and I was trying to haul you up—and Malcolm drew the knife from his boot.”
Charlie held her gaze; raising one hand, he brushed back her hair and cradled her face. “You thought he was going to stab me?”
She nodded. “For one fleeting instant.” She shuddered, then laid her head back down, clinging to his warmth, and even more to him, to the solid reality of his body beneath hers. “But it was enough.” She tightened her grip on him even more. “I never want to lose you. I never even want to think of losing you again.”
His chest shook, a small, wry chuckle, then his lips brushed the top of her forehead. “Now you know how I feel. Just the thought of losing you is enough to…eradicate my ability to think.”
His fingers played in her hair, then smoothed, stroked. “I had no idea what he was about. All those things he said of me, most if not all were true, but I’d already realized for myself, or you’d made me see them, made me face the reality and see the need to change. All I could think about was what he might do with you once he realized I wasn’t going to argue, once he realized that I’d already accepted, was already embracing, all he wanted me to. Instead of listening to his lecture, I was thinking about how to get you to safety.”
Her lips curved. She dropped a kiss on his chest. “I couldn’t fathom his direction, either, but I never felt he was a threat to me. To you, I wasn’t so sure.”
“And now, amazingly, it’s over. Like some trial, we’ve won through to the other side, and the future lies before us, ours to make of it what we will.” He paused, then said, “I know what I want.” His hand found hers where it lay on his chest; his fingers closed around hers. “If you agree, we’ll live here primarily, spending only the usual few weeks in London—in spring for the Season, as much of it as you wish, and in autumn when Parliament sits. But for the rest, we’ll stay here, where there’s so much for us both to do. Here where we’re surrounded by family, estate, and the local community. They need us here, at home, and it’s where we should be.”
Her head on his chest, Sarah drew in a breath, held it, then said, “And this is where we should bring up our own family…don’t you think? Here, where we were children, where we know every inch of the land, and where everyone knows us and will know them, and they’ll be safe?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then prompted, “They?”
She stared at their hands, linked on his chest. “I might be expecting, but…I’m not absolutely definitely sure.”
Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes, saw…and narrowed her own. “You know, don’t you?”
From the wild look in his eyes, he wasn’t sure what to say. “I…ah, wondered.”
She drank in the sight of him in a near-panic over how she might react, then she smiled, a cat with a whole jug of cream, stretched up and kissed him. “In that case, we can wonder for a little longer together. I don’t want to tell anyone until we’re sure.”
He nodded. “Yes. All right.”
She frowned in warning as she settled back. “Not even Dillon and Gerrard.”
“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” He blinked at her, then said, “I was thinking…if you’re not feeling up to it, we could skip going to London for the Season—Mama would understand.”
Sarah laughed, feeling even more joyous and carefree. “Not a chance.” She snuggled back down into the warmth of his arms. “There’s dozens of ladies expecting to meet us in the capital and a mere pregnancy is no good excuse. And”—she poked his chest—“if you think to use my condition as an excuse to confine me, I suggest you think again.”
After a moment, his arms firmed around her. “If I can’t confine, can I coddle?”
She tilted her head, considering; her smile felt glorious. “Coddling I might permit.”
Then she chuckled. “Charlie—that is so unlike you. Asking permission.”
Smiling, Charlie settled her more comfortably over him, his arms closing about her more securely. “I’ve changed.” He had; he was amazed by how much. He dropped a light kiss on her hair. “I love you, and this is where I want to be, here, at the Park, with you, and our children when they arrive.”
He finally understood why Gerrard, Gabriel, and all the others had so readily abandoned their London-based lives after they’d wed; London’s delights held little allure compared to what waited for him here, his to embrace. He glanced down at her. “This is where I belong.”
It was, completely and utterly and forever more.
All was right, more than right between them, yet there was one truth he owed her. Eyes on her face, what he could see of it as she lay relaxed and so trusting in his arms, he said, “This—our love—still scares me. I know that it can, and will, control me. It has more than once already, and doubtless will over the years to come. And that…worries me.”
She lifted her head and looked at him, then she folded her hands on his chest and settled her chin on them so she could see his face, meet his eyes. “Why?”
Despite all, his first impulse was to draw back, but he forced himself to tell her. “Because I fear it will…make me do things I shouldn’t, make me take risks that ultimately might place you, or our children, or the earldom and everyone who relies on it, at risk.” He paused, then, his eyes on hers, added, “Like my father.”
Her expression conveyed her puzzlement, her question.
He drew in a tight breath. “My father…loved us all. Very much. Perhaps too much. He became obsessed with making life better for us—and through that obsession he took risks, financial risks.” He paused, then told her, “He very nearly brought the earldom to ruin. If Alathea hadn’t stepped in, he would have.”
Her eyes lit with understanding, and a compassion he hadn’t expected. “Was that why you…didn’t want to love, and then fought against allowing love beyond this room?”
He nodded. “I thought if I could keep it in here…I never make financial decisions here.”
It sounded ridiculous now he knew what love was, yet she didn’t laugh. Instead, she studied him, then she reached up and framed his face, and looked deep into his eyes. “You are not your father.”
When he opened his mouth, she cut him off. “I knew him, remember? You are nothing like him—not inside. You’re like Serena—capable, practical, and clear-eyed. You would never make the mistakes your father did—just look at your reputation as an investor, at how Gabriel regards you, how Malcolm described you. But regardless of all else, you’re so much stronger than your father ever was. Love might rule you, but it will never cloud your mind to the one duty you hold highest of all. You’ll never put me, or anyone you feel responsible for, let alone love, at risk—you won’t even allow us to be in danger.”
She smiled mistily at him. “Maybe you can’t see that as clearly as I—or anyone else who knows you—can, but you are you, Charlie, always and only you—and what you are, and have always been, is a man devoted to protecting people, not harming them, not putting them at risk. Not even love, with all its power, can change what’s at the heart of you—and in reality, love wouldn’t. Love, with you, will always work with you, not against you. It will strengthen you, not weaken you.”
Pausing, she held his gaze, then quietly said, “There’s no danger for you in love, in loving me. No danger for me in having you love me.”
She searched his eyes; what he saw in hers made his heart contract. Then she smiled, leaned close an
d brushed his lips with hers. “And that’s why our marriage will work—because of our love.”
He waited until she drew back so he could meet her eyes. “And strength. Your strength. My sort doesn’t count.”
She grinned. “And protectiveness—yours, and mine.”
His lips twisted wryly. “And understanding. Yours, almost entirely.” He held her gaze, felt himself drowning in the blue, in the love that shone so brightly he could barely breathe. “And one other thing. Trust. I trust you to be right in all things to do with love.”
She smiled. “And I trust you to be all that you are—which is all that I wish for. And because of that, I always will be right when it comes to us and our love.”
Sarah drew his lips to hers and kissed him—then let him kiss her, let love bloom unfettered, let passion rise and desire burn, and once again sweep them away.
To the paradise they now shared, to the glories of the oneness that together they’d embraced. That together they created.
Later, Charlie settled them again in the billows of their bed. The moon shone brightly, its shimmering light streaming through the window to fall across the covers. Feeling blessed beyond mea sure, grateful and honored to the depths of his soul, he held out a hand, cupping his palm in the stream of light—half expecting, given the magic enfolding them, to be able to sense its weight.
Instead, as he twisted his hand in the pure, silvery light, he recalled an earlier fascination. One that had lured him to this, to the here and now, to the love and the life he now wholeheartedly embraced. To his future and all it would rightly be.
His earlier fascination with Sarah, and with the elusive, addictive taste of innocence.
The same moonlight that lay in benediction over Charlie and Sarah in their bed also shone down, pale and cold, over the Bristol Channel and the Severn Estuary. Slanting over the dark ripples of the waves, it silvered the edges of a black shape washed up by the tide on the shingle of a deserted beach along the shore of Bridgwater Bay.
Sodden, tattered, and torn, the wreck of a man lay cast up on the rough sands, left there by the retreating waves.
But there was no one to see. No one to wonder who he was, where he’d come from, or why he was there.
No one to care.
So it remained while the moon sank and finally set.
But eventually, inevitably, the sun rose. And the world came alive.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author STEPHANIE LAURENS began writing as an escape from the dry world of professional science. Her hobby quickly became a career. Her novels set in Regency England have captivated readers around the globe, making her one of the romance world's most beloved and popular authors. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and two daughters.
For more information on Stephanie Laurens and her books, including details of upcoming novels, visit her website at www.stephanielaurens.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Also by Stephanie Laurens
CYNSTER NOVELS
What Price Love?
The Truth About Love
The Ideal Bride
The Perfect Lover
On a Wicked Dawn
On a Wild Night
The Promise in a Kiss
All About Passion
All About Love
A Secret Love
A Rogue’s Proposal
Scandal’s Bride
A Rake’s Vow
Devil’s Bride
BASTION CLUB NOVELS
To Distraction
A Lady of His Own
A Gentleman’s Honor
The Lady Chosen
Captain Jack’s Woman
Credits
Jacket design by Barbara Levine
Jacket photograph by Mary Javorek
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE TASTE OF INNOCENCE. Copyright © 2007 by Savdek Management Proprietory Ltd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition January 2007 ISBN 9780061755231
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Stephanie Laurens, The Taste of Innocence
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