“Aye,” Rhys had replied dryly, “like a free locomotive.”
“That wasn’t the only reason you forgave him.”
He pulled her against him, kissing her neck. “Cariad, are you trying to convince yourself that I’m a man of hidden honor and secret virtues? I’ll be changing your mind about that soon.”
Helen wriggled in protest as his hand stole to the back of her skirts. She was wearing a ready-made traveling dress, which fit nicely after a few minor alterations made by one of Mrs. Allenby’s assistants. It was a simple design of light blue silk and cashmere, with a smart little waist-jacket. There was no bustle, and the skirts had been drawn back snugly to reveal the shape of her body. The skirts descended in a pretty fall of folds and pleats, with a large decorative bow placed high on her posterior. To her vexation, Rhys wouldn’t leave the bow alone. He was positively mesmerized by it. Every time she turned her back to him, she could feel him playing with it.
“Rhys, don’t!”
“I can’t help it. It calls to me.”
“You’ve seen bows on dresses before.”
“But not there. And not on you.” Reluctantly Rhys let go of her and pulled out his pocket watch. “The train should have departed by now. We’re five minutes late.”
“What are you in a rush for?” she asked.
“Bed,” came his succinct reply.
Helen smiled. She stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “We have a lifetime of nights together.”
“Aye, and we’ve already missed too many of them.”
Helen turned and bent to pick up her small valise, which had been set on the floor. At the same time, she heard the sound of fabric ripping.
Before Helen had straightened and twisted to look at the back of her skirts, she already knew what had happened. The bow hung limply, at least half of its stitches torn.
Meeting her indignant glance, Rhys looked as sheepish as a schoolboy caught with a stolen apple. “I didn’t know you were going to bend over.”
“What am I going to say to the lady’s maid when she sees this?”
He considered that for a moment. “Alas?” he suggested.
Helen’s lips quivered with unwilling amusement.
A whistle signaled their impending departure with two short bursts, and soon they were underway. The locomotive proceeded at a slower pace than the express trains Helen had ridden to and from Hampshire, and the ride was smoother, with subtle vibrations and sways instead of jolts. As the train moved away from lights and buildings and roads, out into the night, the passengers began to retire after a day that had been unusually long and exhausting for all of them.
Rhys went to another compartment while the lady’s maid came to help Helen prepare for bed.
“The bow in my dress came loose,” Helen said as the maid collected her clothes. “It caught on something.” She didn’t feel the need to explain that the “something” had been a set of inquisitive masculine fingers.
“I’ll stitch it back tomorrow, my lady.”
As Helen stood behind the folding doors of the bedroom compartment, the lady’s maid handed her a new nightgown to wear. Looking at the thin, silky length of fabric in her hands, Helen asked, “Is this all there is of it?”
“Yes, my lady,” came the girl’s voice. “Mrs. Allenby selected it for you. Do you like it?”
“Oh it’s . . . lovely.” Helen held it up in the light of the tiny lamp of the bedroom compartment, realizing that the white silk was semi-transparent. The garment was cut low and open-necked at the front, offering such negligible coverage that it didn’t begin to serve the purpose of a nightgown. Blushing, Helen slipped the gown over her head, her breath catching at the coolness of the silk falling over her body.
“Do you need help, my lady?”
“No, thank you,” Helen said hastily. She was virtually half-naked in the scandalous garment. “I’ll retire now. Good night.”
Climbing into the bed, she slid beneath the weight of the soft linen sheets and quilted blankets, sighing in comfort. She was weary in every limb, and the faint oscillation of the train was soothing. Relaxing, she lay with her eyes half-closed.
The folding door was drawn back, and a dark, lean shape moved across her vision. She rolled to her back, one arm curled loosely above her head.
Rhys stood over her, slowly stripping off his shirt, the soft light catching hard curves of muscle all along his torso. Gently he pulled the covers back, his gaze smoldering as he took in the sight of her. He reached down to caress her, his spread fingertip trailing over the fragile silk. “My beautiful love,” he said huskily.
The lamp was turned off, and the gown was drawn away from her slowly. There were movements in the darkness, gentle touches on her body . . . the liquid heat of his mouth, the tip of his tongue stroking in places that made her tremble. He played with the curls between her legs, teasing and stroking with his fingers and tongue, breathing against them until she forgot all modesty and spread her legs wider. His gentle laugh fell against her, and he answered the wanton invitation with a swirling lick.
Helen crooned and moaned and sank her hands into his silky hair. His hands played over her, fingertips following sensitive paths along her skin. Catching the bud of a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he pinched it in a rhythm that matched the electrifying tugging of his mouth between her thighs.
When he could wait no longer, he levered his body over hers and entered her, his heavy shaft spreading her deliciously, pushing deep. The sway of the train rocked them exquisitely, the subtle hint of motion teasing her senses. Her inner muscles began to close on him helplessly, and he followed that secret rhythm, sensitive to her every need. Blindly she searched for his mouth, and he gave it to her. He was so deep inside her, his body caressing her within and without, flooding her with pleasure. Her hips jerked up in that ultimate moment, almost lifting his weight. Shivering, she ran a gentle hand down his flexing back. “Now,” she whispered. “Come inside me now.”
Groaning, he obeyed with one strong thrust, pouring his heat into her, holding her as if he would never let her go.
THE ROYAL HOTEL was a stately three-story Georgian structure in Caernarvon. Rhys had wanted to bring Helen to the North Wales coastal town partly because it was close to his birthplace of Llanberis, but mostly because he thought she would enjoy its romantic appeal. Myths and fairy tales came naturally to this place, with its picturesque ruins and deep green vales, and abundant cascades, pools, and lakes. One could always see the jagged peaks of Snowdon, a mountain of which it was said that a man who’d climbed it would come down either a madman or a poet.
Thanks to Mrs. Fernsby’s skillful planning, the trip had gone perfectly so far. Upon Rhys and Helen’s arrival, they were shown to a spacious suite at the Royal Hotel, with a connecting suite for Carys and her nursemaid. The servants had also been shown to elegant rooms, and seemed very pleased.
The pastor of a local church had consented to perform the wedding ceremony at the remains of an ancient chapel on a hill, just a short walk from the hotel. Massive arrangements of white and pink flowers had been carted to the chapel ruins, which were accessible by a footpath and small bridge. From the top of the hill, one had a view of Caernarvon’s castle, the town, the mountain, and the dark blue shimmer of the Irish Sea.