Perhaps he was being a monumental idiot, but he’d ridden from Tilbury in excruciating pain just to be with her. All worth it, for she had now promised to be his wife.
More than that, she had given up her dream wedding because of him.
She was a beautiful, sacrificing angel.
He wasn’t going to do anything obscene with her.
But he wanted her to know his touch, which would be loving and reverential. The quivering flesh part would come later, once they were married, and his chest was no longer coated in this foul poultice that was necessary to keep him alive and free of infection.
“What should I do with my hands?”
“Keep them primly folded on your lap, if you wish. You needn’t do anything yet.” He was fighting against the laudanum because he wanted to stay alert and focused. Having her all to himself would not last long. His brothers and cousins would be tromping up the stairs shortly. Lord help him, so would Miranda.
He had little time to show Dahlia how pleasurable his touch could be.
Oh, bollocks.
The damn poultice would interfere with this lesson.
But she looked so delectable. “I need to kiss you, Queen Pea.”
At some point, he expected she would club him over the head and tell him to stop calling her that. But he couldn’t help it. The kiss they’d shared after she’d found the pea in the holiday cake had sealed matters for him.
She was the woman he would love to the end of time.
“Again? We just kissed.” She nibbled her plump lower lip, now fretting. But her eyes were still closed.
She looked lovely and trusting and achingly innocent.
She had the most beautifully shaped mouth. He could explore it for hours. Full bottom lip and sweetly curved upper lip. Her mouth was perfectly designed to be crushed against his.
Indeed, he would enjoy delving his tongue into its velvet warmth. “Will my every request be a negotiation?”
“No. But I dare not hurt you.”
“You will never hurt me, sweetheart.” He caressed her cheek, the mere movement causing him agony. But if it was a choice of touch or not touch, then touch would win every time.
She smelled of cinnamon and roses.
Well, his nose was off, so he couldn’t tell exactly what he was inhaling over the fumes of that foul unguent. Something nice, to be sure.
He slid his hand down her neck, brushing his thumb along the gentle line of her jaw. Then he traced his fingers down her throat and further down to cup her breast. Her eyes opened wide, but she did not scamper away. “Ronan?”
“You are beautiful, Queen Pea.” Her breasts were lush but not too weighty. They filled his hands. “Close your eyes. I want you to feel the way I touch you.” He drew her forward and placed his mouth against her breast. It did not matter that there were layers of fabric between his lips and her skin. When she gasped again and arched toward him, he knew she’d felt the intimacy and the promise of passion it held.
But he soon released her with a groan. Even the slightest exertion was causing him pain. “Let’s try this again tomorrow.”
She opened her eyes and kissed his damp forehead. “Then we can close the door and truly explore this magical sensation. Did you know I would respond this way to you?”
“I had hoped.”
“We ought to proceed with all due caution. I would not like you to puncture your other lung on our wedding night.”
He grinned. “It would be worth it to touch and taste you. Your uncle said a punctured lung is not life-threatening.”
“If properly treated. And don’t forget your concussion.” She cast him a prim frown and puckered her lips in worry.
Which brought him right back to wanting to drag her down atop him and kiss those perfect lips quite thoroughly.
Unfortunately, he smelled like a goat at the moment.
Their time alone, which had been pretty much wasted since he couldn’t touch her the way he wished, was now coming to an end. He heard footsteps on the stairs and knew the first family members were arriving and would be anxious to see him.
Miranda and Finn were the first to rush in.
By this time, Dahlia was seated in a chair beside his bed, trying to pull her hand out of his. But he refused to let go of her. “You’re to be my wife,” he whispered, merely intending to convey they were doing nothing wrong.
“Wife?” Miranda came to an abrupt halt, this new thought completely distracting her from whatever she was about to say.
Finn smiled broadly. “Well, I’ll be damned. You took the leap, tadpole. Congratulations to you both. Dahlia, you do realize my brother is getting the better part of the bargain.”
She shook her head. “I am satisfied. No complaints yet.”
“She’s an angel,” Ronan said, realizing how easily she was letting him off. “We’d like to be married tomorrow.”
Finn stared at him. “Sure, I see no problem with that.” He was obviously being sarcastic. “Have you sought her uncle’s permission? Do you have the special license?”
“No to both. John Farthingale won’t deny us. But I’ll need your help to obtain the license. Tynan may be able to pull some strings and get it done for me if you don’t think you can–”
“Who said I couldn’t do it? My connections are better than Tynan’s. He’s just an earl.” He shook his head and groaned. “You arse. Stop manipulating me. Fine. I’ll help you. I suppose the ceremony will have to be held here.”
“Literally here,” Dahlia said. “In this bedchamber. He is not permitted out of bed for the next three days.”
Miranda had been quiet this entire time. “Merciful heavens, three days in bed? Are you dying?”
“No, Miranda. At least, not if I can help it.”
Her expression alternated between wanting to hug her baby boy and wanting to smack him across the head for getting himself tangled in the tow ropes and falling into the icy water. “But you could have died while out there trying to move that blasted ship. It is the lead story in the newspapers today. Viscount Hawley had better approach me on bended knee, or I shall tear him a new ar–”
“Mother!” he and Finn cried at once.
“What? Is this any different from what Dahlia wishes to do to him?” She sat on the chair Finn had drawn next to Dahlia’s beside the bed.
Ronan arched an eyebrow as he glanced at his beautiful bride to be. “Perhaps not, but she would never express it in quite those terms. She’s a lady.”
Miranda was getting that dangerous gleam in her eyes. “Are you suggesting I am not?”
“Mother, you are a harpy. And I mean it as a compliment. I look forward to your cutting a swath of destruction within the House of Lords. My only concern is that I’ll be laughing so hard after you are through with those hapless lords, I might rupture another vital organ.”
She gave a harrumph. “I would do anything to protect my sons.”
“I know.” He was starting to sweat, and his pain was getting worse. But he wasn’t going to confide this to any of them.
As though sensing his discomfort, Dahlia rose and went around to the other side of the bed to read the note her uncle had left for them. “Finn, what time is it?”
He removed his watch fob from his breast pocket. “Five o’clock.”