Where Dreams Begin(97)

“Undoubtedly,” she agreed, knowing that he was referring to the crowd of ruffians, dandies and social climbers who ran the gamut from being bad ton to complete wastrels. “Nevertheless, the wedding will be as discreet as possible. You can save the doves and trumpeters and such for Elizabeth's wedding.”

“I suppose it would be faster that way,” he said grudgingly.

Holly stopped on the graveled path and smiled up at him. “We'll keep our wedding small, then, and get on with it.” She slid her arms around his lean waist. “I don't want to wait a day longer than necessary to belong to you.”

Needing no further encouragement, Zachary bent his head to kiss her thoroughly. “I need you,” he muttered, pressing her against his aroused loins to emphasize the fact. “Come back to the house with me now, sweet love, and let me—”

“Not again until we marry.” Breathing fast, she rested her ear against his thundering heart. Despite her own eagerness to make love with him, she wanted to wait until they were properly wed. “I've been compromised quite enough today, I should think.”

“Oh, no, you haven't.” His hands wandered over the bodice of her gown, and he kissed the side of her throat. With a coaxing murmur, he led her to an old stone wall covered with rare yellow camellias, and began to reach for the hem of her skirts.

“Don't you dare,” Holly warned with an unsteady laugh, skittering away from him. “A gentleman should treat his beloved with respect, and here you are—”

“The size of this cockstand is ample proof of my respect for you,” he interrupted, pulling her hand to his swollen crotch.

Holly knew she should have rebuked him, but instead she found herself pressing close against his long, sturdy form. “You're impossibly vulgar,” she said against his ear.

Zachary cupped her hand more tightly around himself. “That's one of the things you like best about me,” he whispered, and she couldn't help smiling.

“Yes.”

He nuzzled into the little space between her lace-edged neckline and the soft, warm skin of her throat. “Let me take you to the summerhouse. Just for a few minutes. No one will know.”

Reluctantly she wriggled away from him. “I'll know.”

Zachary shook his head with a groaning laugh, turning to brace his hands on the flower-covered wall. Dropping his head, he breathed deeply, striving to master his rampaging desire. As Holly approached him hesitantly, he glanced sideways with smoldering black eyes. “All right, then,” he said in a softly threatening tone underlaid with smoke. “I won't touch you again until our wedding night. But you may be sorry you made me wait.”

“I already am,” she confessed, and their smiling gazes locked for a long moment.

Although Zachary had intended to send for Jason Somers the very next day, the young man surprised him with an early morning call. Zachary had slept deeply for the first night in a month and awakened at the hour of eight, unusually late for him. He couldn't remember when he had felt so relaxed. It seemed that after decades of striving and struggling, he had finally reached the pinnacle he had sought. Perhaps for the first time in his life he could truly be happy…and the reason was at once extraordinary and commonplace. He was in love. He had finally relinquished his heart to someone and found that she loved him in return. It seemed too miraculous to be true.

In the midst of his solitary breakfast, the visitor was announced, and Zachary bade the housekeeper to show the young man in. Grim, handsome, pale and dressed as if he were attending a funeral, Somers appeared as the tragic hero of some overblown romance. Zachary actually felt a prickle of something that might have been remorse as he recalled his last meeting with the fellow, during which he had met Somers's earnest request for Elizabeth's hand with a quiet, crushing denial. No doubt Somers remembered every detail of the unpleasant scene, which would account for his resolute expression. It was the expression, in fact, of a valiant knight daring to approach an evil dragon in his lair.

Unshaven and still wearing his dressing robe, Zachary sat at a table in the breakfast room and gestured for Somers to join him. “Pardon my appearance,” he said mildly, “but it is a bit earlier than the usual visiting hour. Will you take some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Somers remained standing.

Relaxing in his chair, Zachary took a long, hot swallow of his coffee. “Convenient that you should choose this day to call on me,” he remarked, “as I had planned to send for you this morning.”

“Had you?” Somers's green eyes narrowed intently. “Why is that, Mr. Bronson? Something to do with the Devon estate, I suppose?”

“No, actually. It concerns the matter we discussed the other day.”

“As I recall, there was no discussion,” Somers said flatly. “I asked for your consent to marry Elizabeth, and you refused.”

“Yes,” Zachary cleared his throat gruffly. “Well, I—”

“You've left me no choice, sir.” Although Somers flushed slightly with obvious nervousness, his voice was steady as he continued. “Out of respect for you, I came to inform you in person that I intend to marry Elizabeth with or without your approval. And despite what you or anyone else thinks, I'm not doing it because I have an eye on your damned fortune. I happen to love your sister. If she'll have me, I'm going to provide for her, work like hell for her and treat her with all the respect and gentleness a man can give his wife. And if you require more than that of any man, you can go to the devil.”