by Diana Bold
“I’m glad you think so.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her with lingering heat before he pulled away. “I’ll cherish the gift you gave me tonight for the rest of my life.”
“You should.” She snuggled even closer, resting her head in the crook of his arm. “I’d like to stay just like this, forever.”
Oh, this was good. This was very, very good.
“Let me stay with you for the rest of the night. Please. I want to wake up with you in my arms.”
For a moment, she didn’t say anything. He feared he’d ruined it. Perhaps she’d forgotten she wanted her privacy. Now that he’d reminded her, she’d probably send him away.
“I’m so afraid,” she whispered instead. “I’m afraid this will pass. I’m afraid I’ll grow used to having you beside me, and then you’ll leave.”
“That won’t happen. I’ll never leave you. Never.”
Dylan’s promise rang with truth, and Natalia wanted to believe him. His lovemaking had been so beautiful, so breathlessly tender. She no longer wanted to maintain her distance. What good did it do, to deny her heart’s desire? She couldn’t love him any deeper, couldn’t hurt any less if he walked away.
“I believe you.” The time had come to take a leap of faith. In retrospect, her last attempt hadn’t worked out so badly. The road had been difficult, but her decision to dance with Dylan had been a defining moment in her life.
She didn’t want to live in fear of what might have been. Life was too precious not to live each day to the fullest. So, she would trust in him, believe in herself, and see where it took them.
DYLAN AWOKE IN THE pitch dark. His heart raced, and sweat drenched his entire body.
“What’s wrong?” Natalia’s soft voice startled him. It took a moment to realize where he was.
He’d fallen asleep, in Natalia’s bed, after an amazing night of lovemaking.
“I’m all right. I just had a bad dream.”
Natalia drew herself up on one elbow beside him and brushed the damp hair off his forehead. “You’re trembling.” He could barely see her face in the dark, but he could sense her concern.
“Don’t worry.” He reached over and lit the candle with unsteady hands, desperate to chase away the dark. “Go back to sleep.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” She shifted closer and stroked his brow with her soft, cool hands. “Were you dreaming of the war?”
He supposed it would be impossible to live with her, to sleep in her bed every night, and not expose her to his nightmares. Still, his weakness embarrassed him, made him want to snap at her and flee. But that would ruin the closeness the night had brought, so he took a few calming breaths and tried to relax.
“No, this one wasn’t about the war.” He sighed and reached for her free hand, needing something to hold onto. This nightmare dated from his childhood, but it had been years since this particular vision of hell had come to haunt him. He’d hoped never to experience it again. The blood and guts of the Crimea didn’t terrify him nearly as much as this silly childhood terror. He supposed it made sense he’d have it here, during his first night back at Aldabaran.
“Tell me about it. I want to know everything about you. Especially the things that hurt you.”
He tried to remember why this particular dream had frightened him so badly as a child. More importantly, why did it still have the power to frighten him now?
“I’m here, at Aldabaran,” he began. “There’s a bad storm brewing at sea.” With a groan, he leveraged himself to a sitting position. “I don’t want to tell you this. It sounds ridiculous.”
“I won’t laugh,” she told him solemnly. “I promise.”
He snaked one arm around her hips and gave her a sharp tug so she fell across him, straddling his thighs. “Let me make love to you again.” He buried his face between her bare breasts, trying to distract her. “That will make me forget all about it.”
She gave a breathless laugh as he stirred to life beneath her. “All right,” she agreed. “But first, tell me about the dream.”
Her nipples were already hard. He stroked one with his tongue. God, she was so sweet. He could make love to her every night for the rest of his life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Her breath caught, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she whispered, shifting against him. “And it’s working.”
“Good.” He rolled his hips, and she gasped and clung to his shoulders. This was much better. The nightmare was fading already.
“No, it isn’t good.” She tilted his head, so he had to look at her. “I love making love to you. But I want there to be more between us than that. I want you to take me into your confidence. I want you to tell me things you’ve never told anyone else and trust me to guard your secrets after you do.”
“I already have. I already do.”
“Then tell me this. Rob it of its power to haunt you.”
He sighed. In truth, he supposed he did want to tell her. This closeness she spoke of—the sharing of secrets—he craved it even more than the ecstasy of being inside her.
And he knew then that he loved her. He’d loved her all along.
“I’m standing at the edge of the cliffs.” His voice grew husky with his new knowledge. “Rain is pouring down my face, and lightning is flashing across the breakers crashing on the beach far below.”
Natalia ran a soothing caress over his shoulders as he spoke.
“Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a man come toward me out of the darkness.” He shuddered and bowed his head. How could she fail to think less of him after hearing such a cowardly tale?
“Who is this man? Does he have a face?”
Her question gave him pause. He tried to think, tried to conjure the man’s image in his mind, but something inside him shied away from taming his demons.
“No. It’s just a man in a dark coat. I can’t see his features.”
Natalia didn’t look as though she believed him, but she didn’t argue the point. “Are you a man in your dream or a child?”
He stared at her, impressed by her questions. Perhaps it would help to take the dream apart and examine its pieces. He was willing to try anything to take away its power. “I’m a child,” he realized. “That’s why the man frightens me.”
She smiled, as though he were a not-so-bright student who had just given the right answer. “What happens next?”
“I back away, desperate to escape him. He starts chasing me, and I scramble over the rocks, slipping and sliding, losing my footing again and again.” As he recounted the story, he got an uncomfortable feeling. Was this a nightmare, or was it an actual memory? It felt so real.
“Does he catch you?”
“No, I hid in the smugglers’ cave, down by the beach, and waited for him to tire of searching.” His words surprised him. There wasn’t a smugglers’ cave in the dream. In his nightmares, the chase just went on and on. He ran until his lungs were ready to burst, then woke up in a cold sweat.
“What happens after the cave?” Natalia could be quite relentless.
“That’s all there is to it,” he lied. “See, I told you it was silly.”
She leaned forward and kissed him with infinite tenderness. “Thank you for telling me. I hope it helps.”
“It did. I’m glad you’re here.” Actually, she’d left him unsettled, with more questions than he’d had before, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Wasn’t there something else you wanted to do now?” Smiling, she reached between them and stroked his rigid length.
He gasped and pressed himself more fully into her palm, letting the bliss of her touch eclipse everything else. This was right. This was real. Nothing else mattered.
Chapter Twenty-three
Dylan remained awake long after Natalia drifted back to sleep in his arms. Soon, dawn poked tendrils of light through the narrow window. Sighing in frustration, Dylan slipped out of bed, careful not to wake
her. He pulled on a robe, then went to the room’s lone window and stared down at the rocky cliffs, at the sliver of restless sea far below. The sight made him uneasy, and he wondered why. As a child, he’d loved to watch the tide come in.
Maybe this bad feeling could be attributed to the lingering effects of that stupid dream. But, more likely, it was because his mother had thrown herself off these very cliffs. He’d told Michael it didn’t bother him that their mother had killed herself here, but somewhere deep down, it did.
Natalia had consumed his thoughts for the past few weeks, so he really hadn’t had time to think about his mother’s death. Now he forced himself to think about those dark days.
And for the first time, he wondered why she’d brought him with her that summer, if she’d known she was going to take her own life. Had something happened, something she hadn’t foreseen when she left London? Something so terrible she couldn’t face the consequences?
In his memory, his mother was beautiful, happy, and always laughing. What could have happened to make her feel life wasn’t worth living?
How could she have left him alone, with a father who hated him?
He didn’t remember much about that last summer. They’d only been here a few weeks before his mother’s death. He couldn’t even recall how he’d found out she was gone or who had told him.
Perhaps Patrick would know, although Dylan really wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. What was the point in dredging up the past?
Fiona Cameron Blake was gone. Nothing would bring her back.
THE NEXT MORNING, NATALIA made her way down to the kitchen, feeling irritable and out of sorts. It was late, nearly noon, she guessed, though there had been no clock in her room, so she wasn’t sure.
She’d expected to wake up in Dylan’s arms, but he was gone, his pillow cold. Her disappointment had been as intense as her embarrassment about what had passed between them during the night.
Surely, no decent woman would behave so wantonly. But wanton or not, all she could think about was his exquisite body in the firelight. The tenderness of his touch. The beauty of their intimacy.
Just love me a little bit.
How she longed to say those words back to him. If she somehow managed to find the courage, would he repay her in kind?
Voices echoed from the direction of the kitchen. Pausing for a moment in the passageway, she tried to school her features into a semblance of calm. How would she ever face him after the things she’d done last night? Should she greet him as though he were a passing acquaintance, as though he’d never joined his body with hers in the dark?
Taking a deep breath, she entered the room. To her intense disappointment, Dylan was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Mrs. Macpherson and a much younger woman were busy cleaning up after breakfast.
“Good morning, ma’am.” The second woman bobbed her head nervously, drawing Mrs. Macpherson’s attention.
“Ah, there you are, lass. We were wondering if you were going to sleep all day.” With a wink, Mrs. Macpherson hurried to Natalia’s side, bringing a tray loaded with assorted pastries and meat pies. “You mentioned yesterday we might hire a cook, so I sent for my niece, Shannon. She arrived this morning to make breakfast—an audition, of sorts. Young Dylan said she would do fine, but he left the final decision up to you.”
Mrs. Macpherson offered her a plate then both women watched with hope-filled eyes as Natalia took a pastry and bit into it. An audition? For the first time, she realized she was in charge of running this household, a responsibility that made her nervous. She wanted to please Dylan, but she had little experience in domestic matters. Fortunately, the pastry was light and flaky, filled with a sweet cherry sauce. If this was a sampling of Shannon’s work, she’d do just fine. “It’s absolutely wonderful, Shannon. When can you start?”
“See, lass, I told you everything would work out.” Mrs. Macpherson enveloped her niece in a huge hug, and then the two of them danced a little jig right in the middle of the kitchen.
Natalia couldn’t remember ever laughing with the help. No one who worked for her father had so much as cracked a smile in her presence, let alone danced about. But their exuberance pleased her, and her bad mood lifted.
How nice to be among such friendly people.
Shannon came forward, her blue eyes sparkling. She shared Dylan’s striking coloring, and it was easy to see she was related to the Macphersons. In her early thirties, and very attractive, she was far too thin to be a cook. “I promise you won’t regret hiring me, ma’am. My husband passed away last year, and I’ve three wee bairns, so this job is a Godsend.”
Such gratitude made Natalia uncomfortable, but she was glad to give the woman the assistance she needed to support her young family. In fact, knowing the woman’s story, she would’ve hired her even if the food had been horrible.
“We’re glad to have you.” When she had a private moment with Mrs. Macpherson, she’d ask the older woman about Shannon’s living situation. If Shannon needed to bring her family here to live, there was still plenty of room in the servants’ quarters. This big old house needed a few children laughing and playing in the hallways.
The thought made her remember the longing in Dylan’s eyes when he’d asked her if she wanted children of their own. She’d been too overwhelmed to think about the possibility last night, but now she realized how much she wanted a family.
What a wonderful father Dylan would make.
A strange little thrill went through her at the prospect. Unobtrusively, she placed her hand on her stomach. Amazing to think a child could be growing inside her this very minute.
“Where is my husband?” she found herself asking, after the servants had finished their little impromptu celebration.
“Oh, he was up with the sun this morning, lass.” Mrs. Macpherson sat down in the nearest chair and gave Natalia a speculative look. “Looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink, poor lad. Patrick took him down to the village to meet the rest of the tenants.”
“Oh.” Natalia sat down at the kitchen table to finish her pastry. Heat spread across her cheeks as she thought about what had kept him awake.
There was passion between them. No doubt about that. But she wanted more. She wanted his love, and she had no idea how to go about earning it.
If only Clarice were here.
She eyed Mrs. Macpherson and Shannon and wished she knew them better. She’d love to pour her heart out to someone. These women were older and presumably wiser. Might they have some tidbit of information that would help? Some trick to winning a man’s heart?
Now that Natalia had hired Shannon, the two servants were chatting merrily as they went about their work. They were so caught up in their village gossip they seemed to have forgotten their employer even existed.
Besieged by loneliness, she longed for Clarice’s companionship. She had so many questions. About love. About marriage. About sex. Perhaps she would write her stepmother a letter. It lacked the immediacy she craved, but it would be a way of expressing her confusing emotions. Plus, she wanted to tell Clarice how wrong she had been about lovemaking.
As far she could tell, there was nothing distasteful about making love to Dylan. Then again, her husband was beautiful, tender, and kind. Regretfully, Clarice’s was none of these things.
Glad to have a plan, Natalia finished up her breakfast, bid the women farewell, and went back to her room.
“MRS. MACPHERSON? CAN I have a moment?” Later that afternoon, Natalia found the old woman in Dylan’s childhood room, briskly stripping the small bed.
“Of course, lass. What can I do for you?” Mrs. Macpherson straightened, put her hands on her hips, and arched one brow in curiosity.
After writing her letter to Clarice, Natalia had spent the rest of the day wandering the keep, looking for Fiona Blake’s paintings. So far, her search had proven fruitless. No trace of Fiona’s art remained in the solar or any of the living areas. She figured if anyone would know where to find something at Aldabaran, it w
as Mrs. Macpherson.
“Dylan told me his mother was an artist. Would you happen to know if any of her paintings remain at Aldabaran?”
Mrs. Macpherson turned away and gathered up the heap of blankets, her motions jerky with some strong emotion. “Our dear little Fiona. She was always dabbling with her paints and brushes. Such beautiful pictures that lass could paint.”
Which didn’t answer Natalia’s question. Reining in her impatience, she tried again. “Yes, but did she leave any of the paintings here? I’d like to see them, and so would Dylan.”
With a deep sigh, Mrs. Macpherson let the blankets fall back on the bed. “Aye, she left some behind. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go find them.”
The woman’s evasive behavior didn’t sit well with Natalia. Something strange was going on, and she was determined to find out what. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’ll come with you.”
Mrs. Macpherson hesitated, casting Natalia a pained look. “I’d prefer to fetch them myself, lass.”
“I want to go with you.” Natalia refused to back down and a long, tension-filled moment passed between them.
At last, Mrs. Macpherson shrugged. “I’ll take you then. But you must promise you won’t think poorly of Patrick for keeping them. He never meant no harm by it.”
“Of course not,” Natalia agreed, but her mind spun. Patrick? Why on earth did he have Fiona’s paintings?
Gesturing for Natalia to follow, Mrs. Macpherson led her up to the fourth floor. She stopped before a room at the end of the corridor and opened the door. Natalia stepped inside and caught her breath as she saw what lay within.
Though sparsely furnished, with only a neatly made bed and a small armoire, the room’s walls were covered with paintings of every conceivable size and shape. Some were expensively framed, others mere canvases, and some weren’t even finished. The result was a kaleidoscope of color. Natalia turned slowly, trying to take it all in.