Lisa Cach - Wish List

That sweet passion she had given him in the library might even now be dying.

He could not let that happen. The time for diplomacy had passed, and it was now time for action. That was the reason he was now creeping toward Copley Grange in the dead of night with a satchel slung over one shoulder and a rope around the other. In a vest pocket he carried a special license to marry, which he had ridden all the way to Dorchester to obtain.

The windows were dark at the grange, as he hoped they would be. He took a handful of gravel from the drive; such stones were the time-honored choice of swains for waking maidens in their bowers. He stood beneath Vivian's window and tossed them at the glass, one by one, wincing at each plink of sound.

He was only on his third stone when she appeared, a pale wraith behind the glass. She must have been awake. A moment later she opened the window.

"Richard!" she whispered.

"Shhh! Stand back. I'm going to toss up the end of a rope." He wasn't going to give her the chance to tell him to go away. He was going to rush up, sweep her off her feet, and carry her to safety. This was something he'd always wanted, and he'd finally found someone who was worth his affection. He wasn't going to let her escape-no matter what happened.

He coiled several lengths of his line into a loop heavy enough to throw, and when she had moved away he gave it a heave.

And missed. The rope fell down the side of the house and into the shrubberies.

"Damn!"

"Where's the rope?"

"Shh!" He scrounged around in the bushes, untangling the line, hoping no one in the house heard him thrashing through the branches like a deranged animal.

Coils once again in hand, he gave them another heave, and this time they sailed through the window. He heard the thunk as they hit the floorboards, and grimaced.

Vivian appeared again in the window. "What now?"

"Tie it off to the leg of your bed."

"Right." She disappeared, and the dangling rope jerked and swayed in the faint moonlight as she set to work. "Done," she said, appearing again.

He pushed through the shrubberies to the wall of the house, and gave the rope an experimental tug. It felt sound. He jumped up and grabbed as high as he could on the rope, and was rewarded with a groaning screech from above and a slow sinking back to the ground.

"The bed! It's moving!" Vivian whispered.

"Damn! Is there anything heavier in the room?"

"No, nothing. But wait, I think I can brace it."

He waited while she did so, flinching with each sound of dragging furniture, expecting at any moment to see the front door open and an outraged Captain Twitchen appear with pistol in hand. The man would certainly shoot him.

"All right! I think I've got it, but I'm going to have to go sit on the chair."

He didn't inquire what she meant, he just climbed. The rope held, sinking only a few inches, the sounds from the room mere creaks of strained wood rather than groans. His head was almost at the sill when he suddenly dropped several inches. That, and the cry from Vivian were his only warning before he began to fall.

He caught himself by one hand on the sill, releasing the rope that snaked past him and tumbled to the ground. With a grunt of effort he pulled himself up to the window, Vivian grabbing his arm and helping him to where he could straddle the sill.

"My knot gave out," she said.

"I gathered." He released a shaky breath, peering back down at the twenty foot drop to the ground, and to the shadows where their escape route lay twisted in the dirt.

He turned to Vivian. Her hair was down, thick and dark against the white of her nightgown. A nightgown under which, he suspected, she wore nothing at all.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. She looked surprised, bewildered, and awfully pleased.

"Penelope wrote and said you were being starved. I've brought you tarts and cakes." He swung his other leg inside, then took the satchel off and opened it, holding it out for her to see.

"You risked your life to bring me pastries?" She looked a bit sheepish, but moved closer, brushing against him, the satchel ignored. He could smell a hint of flowery soap, and under it the scent that was Vivian's alone.

"I came to take you away." He dropped the sack to the floor and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her close. Her flesh was soft and warm under his hand. "Only, I seem to be proving an inept rescuer. I don't know how I'm going to get you safely to the ground without the rope."

"Don't you?"

He was about to say "No, I don't," but then she kissed him and was touching him everywhere, and suddenly there were more important things to do than talk. His other arm went around her, and they stumbled backwards, tripping over the chair laid on its back on the floor as a brace, barely making it to the bed before falling together, sinking into its deep mattress.

Vivian was going to be his wife. If he could not take her through the window, he would take her here, on the bed. Then she would be his forever, and no one could put a door between them ever again.

The Feast of the Epiphany

"It's almost morning."

"It was the nightingale you heard, and not the lark," Vivian said, and giggled at her paraphrase of Juliet's famous words. She stretched as she lay naked against him, loving the feel of her skin touching his, then threw a leg over his thigh.

"Perhaps you're right." He lay his hand on her leg, his palm gliding up to her buttock.

"Don't move," she said, and slipped from beneath his hand. She found the satchel and brought it back to the bed. "I'm hungry."

"After what we just did, I am not surprised."

She dug a tart out of the satchel and handed it to him. He took it, and she found a half-crushed pastry for herself and downed it. "Heavens, that tastes good." She found another and devoured it while he laughed.

"I have a confession to make," he said, as she handed him a small cake.

She stopped chewing, her heart skipping a beat, a sudden fear taking hold of her. "What is it?" She almost didn't want to hear the answer.

"I seduced you for my own selfish reasons."

"Oh?"

"I was afraid I might not manage to get you out of this house, so I made you mine to be certain Captain Twitchen could not separate us again."

She released her breath and smiled, then started to laugh.

"What?"

"You!" she said, her relief making her giddy.

"Why are you laughing?"

His frown made her laugh all the harder. Then she said, "You didn't seduce me, I seduced you!"

"Nonsense."

She leaned close, her breasts brushing against his chest, and kissed him. Five minutes later they emerged from a tangle of limbs, sheet, and satchel, hearts thumping with newly aroused passion.

"I seduced you," she said again.

He shrugged, and she could see he was trying to subdue a smile. "All right. But why would you try?"

"For the same reason you gave, and-" she started, and then cut herself off, not knowing if she should continue.

"And what? Speak your heart, Vivian. You know you can always do that with me."

"And I wanted to be sure you could not be rid of me."

He pushed himself upright and grasped her by the shoulders. "Rid of you? I would never want to be rid of you. What could have possibly given you such an idea?"

"Mrs. Twitchen told me about your broken engagement to that other girl," she said weakly.

"Oh, Vivian." He pulled her to him and held her cradled against his chest. "I caught my fiancee pinching Sara, and calling her a little bastard. She had pretended to me that she adored the children, and I had not been wise enough to see the lie."

"She hurt Sara?" Vivian asked in horror, trying to look up at him and seeing only the hard line of his jaw. "How could she? How could anyone?"

"She thought she had the right."

"Why then did you take the blame for breaking the engagement?"

"Because I did break it. She would have gone through with the marriage."

"But the public apology…" she asked, confused.

"I thought it easier to give them what they asked. I did not need vengeance: I just wanted to be free of her."

"I am so sorry."

"It was not one of the happier times of my life, and I'm afraid it has attached itself to my name. People think I have no honor."

She reached up and lay her hand against his cheek, coaxing him to look at her. "You are the most honorable man I have ever known."

He met her gaze, his dark eyes sheened with tears. "I love you," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You do not know how long I have waited to find you, Vivian Ambrose."

"And I you, my love."

And that was when the door opened, and with a gasp and a cry Mrs. Twitchen fainted to the floor.

# # #

"I think it was only that special license in Mr. Brent's jacket that kept Papa from shooting him," Penelope said, putting the finishing touches to Vivian's hair. "I have never seen him so angry! And the words he used! So vulgar! I'll have a hard time of it in London, with the way he'll be watching me after all this, afraid I'll come to the same bad end. I suppose I deserve it."

"Do you think he'll allow you to visit me?"

"He'll soften in time. Mr. Brent is, after all, a good catch once you overlook a few small details." She paused to examine her work. "There. All done. You look like a princess, as every bride should."

Vivian grasped Penelope's hand, and held it. "Thank you. For everything."

"It's only a gown."

Vivian squeezed her hand and released it, both of them knowing that it was more than the gown that she meant.