Free Stormswept by Sabrina Jeffries

“You’re not having any regrets, are you?”
    Had she been so obvious? “Of course not.”
    He nuzzled her hair. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Iasked a great deal of you—to leave your family and abide with me ‘in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer.’ I might be poor for some time, depriving you of luxuries you’re accustomed to.”
    The dear man was as anxious as she. “I don’t care about that. You’re all that matters to me.”
    “You shan’t regret marrying me. I swear I’ll make you happy.”
    She settled herself against his hard body. “And I swear the same.”
    As the horse clopped along, Rhys said nothing else, instead speaking with soft kisses and caresses, his fingers stroking the underside of her breast as he nibbled on her ear. By the time they reached the White Oak Inn on the outskirts of Carmarthen, she’d forgotten every misgiving.
    Until Rhys’s low curse jarred her. “The coach isn’t here. We were to board it immediately, to prevent anyone from finding us. I was told it generally arrives before two a.m. It must be nearly that now.” As a groom ran to take his horse, Rhys dismounted, then helped Juliana do so. “Where’s the London coach?”
    “Ain’t arrived yet, sir. They sent a boy on ahead to say they’d be late by an hour or two.”
    Rhys grimaced. He arranged with the groom to have his horse cared for while they were away, and for the bags to be put on the coach when it arrived. Then he told Juliana, “We can’t stand out here waiting, and we can’t sit around inside where anyone can see us. An hour may turn into five. We’d best take a room.”
    Five! If she and Rhys didn’t leave soon, her familywould come across the note she’d penned for them when they awakened. Though it said nothing of where they’d gone, still . . .
    Rhys took her arm. “Something wrong?”
    She didn’t dare say she’d disobeyed his instructions. “Everything’s fine.”
    He led her inside and found the innkeeper, a hawkish-looking man whose dark eyes flitted about the room as if searching for malcontents. He looked a bit familiar to Juliana, but she couldn’t think why.
    Rhys said, “My wife and I need a room for a few hours to await the London coach.”
    The innkeeper eyed Rhys suspiciously. “Begging y’r pardon, sir, but can ye prove y’re married to this woman?”
    “Of course.” He showed the man the marriage license, careful to keep her last name covered up. “We’re headed to London so I can introduce my wife to my family.”
    “I see, Mr. Vaughan. Well then, I believe I’ve one room available. If you’ll come with me . . .”
    They followed him to the stairs, but Rhys paused there. “I’ve forgotten something in our bags.” Flashing her a mysterious smile, he turned to the innkeeper. “Take my wife up. I’ll be there shortly.”
    As she and the innkeeper climbed the stairs, Juliana felt the man watching her, but her discomfort with that was quickly eclipsed when he ushered her into their room and she saw the bed.
    The innkeeper walked around, showing her where the chamber pot was and extolling the virtues of the room, but she paid attention to none of it. All she could thinkof was lying with Rhys in that bed. The mere thought of it warmed her all over. And made her nervous, too.
    Just then, Rhys entered, a book tucked under his arm. He paid for the room and asked the innkeeper to notify him when the coach arrived. Within moments, they were alone. She didn’t know where to look, what to say to break the awkward silence.
    Then he held out the book to her. “This is my wedding gift to you.” He flushed. “I suppose it’s vain of me, but . . . you see . . . these are poems I wrote myself.”
    “Truly?” Intrigued, she turned the pages, skimming the Welsh verse copied out in a bold, male handwriting.
    “The last few were written for you.”
    She flipped to the back and read aloud, “ ‘Mine is a dank and cheerless song / Hung with