Page 33 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

He shook his head, and Mallory feared she’d misspoke. “No.”

“No?” She knew her face paled for he leaned close, his hands cupping her face once more.

“No, I’d prefer you stand at my side—my partner in all matters, not follow my lead.”

Not follow his lead, Mallory pondered.

Pushing to her tiptoes, she asked, “Do you truly mean that, my lord?”

When he nodded, Mallory pressed her lips to his, their bodies drawing close—his arousal evident in the way his hard length pressed against her belly, even through the layers of clothes, she felt every glorious inch of him.

Oh, though theirs was a marriage of convenience—managed and arranged by others—Mallory had little doubt it would also be a love match.

The Christmastide moon as her witness, Mallory would love this man for as long as fate allowed her breath.

Chapter 15

April 1812

Mallory sat in the atrium at Ditchley Hall, allowing her eyes to drift shut and a smile to settle on her lips. The humid air and scent of budding blossoms was her solace for the morning as servants scurried about the estate in preparation for her wedding to Silas.

She set her pruning shears on the workbench beside the sack of soil she’d carried in from the old, decaying shed in the far corner of the lawn area without opening her eyes. The room, with its many varieties of plants and flowers, had become one of her favorite spots at Silas’s country estate since she and Aunt Hettie had become regular visitors after they departed Cornwall.

Servants and family alike gave her time and solitude during the early hours of the day.

Sybil, Silas’s precocious younger sister, feared what the humid air did to her ebony locks. Slade was more often than not in London—or the local tavern in search of a wager. Aunt Hettie’s knees made it nearly impossible for her to move through the cluttered atrium.

Odd that she’d come to think of Sybil and Slade as family. They’d eagerly stepped into the roles of doting brother—Slade—and eager-to-please sister—Sybil. Mallory was happy for their welcoming nature and the opportunity to be a part of an actual family. They cared naught about her peculiar ways, nor judged her for her tendency to shy away from the unknown.

Since the new year passed, Aunt Hettie and she had come to think of Ditchley Hall as home.

Mallory sighed, opening her eyes and returning to her task as footsteps sounded on the cobblestone floor. The solid, confident stride was one she’d come to know—very well—over the past several months.

Silas.

Only he dared invade her brief hours of quiet.

His steps stopped directly behind her, and his hands settled at her shoulders, gently caressing. In quick order, his lips pressed to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he mumbled, trailing his lips down her neck.

The intimacy sent a shiver through Mallory and was likely one of the reasons she continued to visit the atrium each morning. Without fail, Silas came to her, and they were afforded a few moments, sometimes hours, of privacy before anyone came looking for them. If Aunt Hettie suspected their secret rendezvous spot, she mentioned nothing of it to Mallory.

“I am certain.” In truth, besides her commitment and budding love for Silas, there was nothing she was more certain of.

“It was much for Sybil to ask.” He straightened behind her, and the warmth of his lips at her skin receded.

“I am to be your wife—a countess, no less—and it will be partly my duty to see that Sybil’s debutante Season is a crush.” Mallory had never thought she’d readily agree to spend any time in London, let alone chaperoning and sponsoring Silas’s youngest sibling. Yet, when the girl had begged her to journey to town during the height of the Season, Mallory was helpless to do anything but agree. “Besides, I must familiarize myself with town life…it is long past time.”

“What about your…” His voice trailed off, and they both knew what he spoke of.

“They hardly come anymore, and none since our time in Cornwall has been the least bit unsettling,” Mallory said, setting her shears down and turning to face Silas. It was another peculiar occurrence. Her visions had receded, only invading every few weeks. And they spoke of happy years to come. Was it Silas whose presence kept the visions at bay? “With your mother returning to France after the wedding, even with your aunts’ assistance, Sybil needs a familiar face by her side.”

“And you are to be that familiar face.” He leaned down, placing a kiss to her forehead. “Yet, I cannot think to allow you to compromise your well-being to accommodate my family.”

“Our family,” Mallory proclaimed, stepping back to look up into his clear blue eyes.

“Yes, our family,” he said with a chuckle.