A shiver ran through Natalya. She gently disengaged her hands and pulled the pink shawl a little tighter around her.
‘It grows cold,’ she remarked. ‘Perhaps we should walk back to the house now.’
‘Very well.’
They rose and Tristan once more offered his arm. However, when she slipped her hand on to his sleeve he did not move immediately and she glanced up to find he was watching her.
‘Well, my lord?’
‘I am in earnest Natalya, I mean to marry you, if you will have me. So, what do you say?’
Natalya felt the hot tears prickling her eyes again and blinked them away.
‘There is nothing I would like more,’ she answered him truthfully, ‘but let us wait until I am safely returned to Sydney Place.’
‘Very well. I understand that you would like to have your aunt and uncle’s approval, but I shall marry you without it, if necessary.’
Natalya said nothing. In Mrs Edgworth’s novel, the heroine discovered at the end she was neither illegitimate nor a pauper. Natalya thought the latter might not prevent Tristan loving her, but if her birth was not respectable then that circumstance would choke his affection. If there was even the slightest doubt about her birth, she could not marry him. It would cause a rift in his family and she knew how much he loved them. She also knew she loved him far too much to risk his happiness.
As they began to stroll back through the garden the warm air was redolent with the scent of roses. Natalya would associate their heavy perfume with Tristan’s offer of marriage for ever. Only time would tell if she would think of it with satisfaction or regret.
Chapter Twelve
In the bedchamber, a small table had been placed close to one of the windows, to make the most of the evening light. Tristan and Natalya sat opposite one another, exchanging a smile as the servants carried in their dinner. Tristan had had the forethought to bring a full purse with him when he set out and he had given the housekeeper a generous amount to offset the expense of their residence at Farnell Hall. Now, he noted with satisfaction the number and array of dishes that filled the table.
Mrs Sturry had informed them that her master had taken the butler with him to their hired house in town, but he had clearly left behind the keys to the wine cellar, for the claret served for their delectation was excellent and he had no hesitation in recommending it to Natalya to accompany the tender slices of beef he carved for her.
They spoke little and on unexceptional topics, which was unsurprising, with servants bustling in and out of the room, but Tristan knew Natalya was preoccupied. She ate sparingly, taking only small amounts from the succulent dishes before her. He wondered if she was still shaken from her recent ordeal or merely tired.
When the covers were removed Tristan politely dismissed the housekeeper, telling her he would ring the bell when they needed her again. Then he sat back in his chair and smiled across the table at Natalya.
‘That’s better. I thought we should never have a moment to ourselves.’ Her smile was perfunctory and he went on, ‘Perhaps you would like to retire. Shall I ring for the maid to help you undress? You need not worry about propriety; I will take myself off somewhere for an hour.’
‘No, I am not at all tired and I do not want you to leave.’
‘I am very pleased to hear it. Shall we move to the more comfortable chairs?’
‘Yes, please. And perhaps we might have a little more wine.’
He was surprised, but too pleased that she wanted his company to question her request. He went off to find Mrs Sturry and came back with another bottle of claret and a lighted taper with which to light the candles. Very soon the curtains had been drawn across the windows, shutting out the dusk, and they were sitting one on each side of the empty hearth within the golden glow of the candles. Tristan raised his glass to Natalya.
‘Tomorrow you will be back in Bath. I shall speak to Pridham, suggest he takes on extra staff to guard you.’
‘I am sure there is no need.’
‘There is every need! If Pridham will not or cannot do it, I shall hire someone myself.’
‘Really, my lord—’
‘Tristan.’ He liked the way she blushed when he corrected her, almost as much as he liked the sound of his name on her lips when she repeated it.
‘That is better. After all, you are my future wife.’
She put up one hand. ‘I have not yet given you my answer and I will not, until I know who I am. Please, Tristan, do not argue with me,’ she pleaded with him. ‘My mind is made up on this.’
His mind was equally made up, but he did not wish to quarrel and was very happy to talk of something else.
‘Do you wish now that you had gone to London for the Peace celebrations?’
Natalya blinked in surprise. ‘What an odd question.’
‘I beg your pardon. I was casting about in my mind to find something to divert your thoughts away from your current predicament and I remembered there was to be the procession of royal dignitaries into London tomorrow.’
Natalya was touched by his concern, but she concealed it with a laugh.
‘You have achieved your aim, then! Yes, I admit I would have preferred to be in London rather than to be abducted. How could it be otherwise? The Grishams offered to take me with them, you know, but Uncle Pridham would not allow it.’
‘I should have thought he would have been eager for you to attend, as part of your education.’
She shook her head. ‘There was never any question of our leaving Bath.’ She paused, then said shyly, ‘Perhaps you are wishing now that you were in the capital rather than becoming embroiled in my affairs.’
‘I would not want to be anywhere but here, with you.’
His smiled warmed her and gave her the courage for her next words. Nervous excitement pooled deep inside. She took a breath.
‘Then stay with me tonight.’
There, she had said it. Watching him closely, she saw the flash of desire in his eyes, quickly concealed but unmistakable.
‘I intend to stay here,’ he said lightly. ‘We have already agreed I will be here to watch over you, Natalya.’
‘Not sleeping in the chair.’ Her mouth had gone dry. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. ‘In my bed.’
It was as though the words had a physical presence. They hung in the air between them, almost visible. Tristan was watching her and Natalya held his gaze steadily, trying to convey how much she wanted him. After a long, long moment he rose, shaking his head.
‘It is growing late and I think we have both had too much wine.’ He gathered up the empty glasses. ‘I will return these to the kitchens. Perhaps I should ask Mrs Sturry to let the maid sleep here tonight and make up another bed for me elsewhere.’
‘No.’ Natalya struggled not to sound desperate. It was all going wrong. She reached out and touched his arm. ‘No, please, Tristan, do not leave me tonight.’
‘I think it might be best, my dear.’
His gentle words were like a rebuke and she flinched.
Tristan moved towards the door. ‘I will ask Mrs Sturry to send the maid up to help you undress.’
‘But you will come back?’ Her hands writhed together. ‘You will come back to say goodnight?’
‘I shall return.’ He looked back at her. ‘You have my word.’
* * *
Natalya collapsed on to the edge of the bed, shaking. From everything she had read, both in novels and her studies of history, she had thought it would be an easy matter to tempt him into her bed, but he had refused her. She closed her eyes. So much for her extensive education!
Frustration welled up and with it anger. What good was all her book learning now? Her uncle had said he expected it to yield a significant return. How could that be, except by marriage, or as mistress to a wealthy man?
In the dark r
eaches of the night, when her wildest flights of fancy seemed utterly plausible, she was convinced she would be sold to the highest bidder, or, indeed, that the deal was already done and she had been reared like some brood mare, pampered and groomed until she was claimed by her owner. Freddie had been warned off, she had been abducted. Whoever was behind this would not allow Tristan to thwart them for long.
This morning, with the daylight, her sensible, logical side had taken over. She had weighed up all the evidence and concluded that she was nothing more than someone’s natural daughter. If so, her logical side reasoned that she could not allow Tristan to marry her and cause an irrevocable rift with his family and his friends.
Whichever scenario proved to be correct, Tristan was out of her reach as a husband, but not as a lover. The future might be out of her control, but Natalya wanted to decide to whom she gave her virginity.
* * *
Tristan took the glasses downstairs and was on his way to the kitchens when he met Mrs Sturry, who took them from him, protesting that he should have left them for the servants to clear away.
‘Lord love you, Mr Quintrell, you should not be troubling yourself with such things.’
‘It was no trouble, Mrs Sturry. I was coming in search of you to say Mrs Quintrell is ready to retire, if you could send someone to attend her.’
At that point Tristan knew he should make his request for another bed to be made up, but he could not bring himself to do so. Natalya was clearly distraught from her ordeal and he could not bear the thought of her spending the night alone, of his not being near if she woke up in distress.
He therefore announced he was going out to enjoy a stroll in the moonlight. He took a turn about the lawns, but eventually he found himself among the roses. Their heady perfume was stronger at night. It reminded him of walking there with Natalya, of cutting a rose for her. Kissing her. He looked up at the moon, cursing softly.
‘Confound it, man, don’t dwell on that or you will never be able to keep away from her tonight!’
* * *
When he judged he had been out of the house for a good hour he made his way back to the bedchamber. He hoped that Natalya would be asleep with the curtains pulled closed around her bed. That way he would be able to avoid temptation. The night they had arrived at Farnell Hall he had kept a vigil, sitting at the bedside while she slept, smoothing the hair from her face, dropping a light, tender kiss upon her forehead and vowing to keep her from harm.
He knew now that he had loved her even then, but it was the kiss in the rose garden that had sealed his fate. When he had held her in his arms and she had responded so fervently, he had known without a doubt that he wanted her at his side for the rest of his life. He would marry her, but it must be done with propriety and not before she had had an opportunity to examine her own feelings. She had to be sure that it was what she wanted, too.
He entered the bedchamber to find the candles still alight. Natalya was sitting in bed, propped up against a bank of snowy pillows and wrapped in that ridiculously large nightgown the housekeeper had found for her. It buttoned high to the neck and her hair hung over one shoulder in a decorous plait. He breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing there to tempt a man.
His body contradicted the thought. He wanted her more than ever.
‘You must get some sleep, Natalya. We have an early start tomorrow.’
‘I know.’ She was very pale and her dark eyes were fixed upon him. ‘I wanted to say goodnight. And to thank you. For all you have done for me.’
‘It was my pleasure.’
She reached out her hand and when he took it, she drew him closer.
‘Will you kiss me goodnight?’
The words were low, her voice a little breathless, and the effect upon him was shattering, undermining his resolve to keep his distance. He leaned closer and brushed his mouth against hers. She responded immediately. He felt the tip of her tongue against his lips and it took every ounce of willpower to draw away.
‘Be careful, Natalya, or I shall forget that I am a gentleman.’ He kept his tone light, joking, but it was an effort when his whole being was screaming for him to take her in his arms. With a final squeeze of her fingers he released her and set about pulling the curtains around the bed. Her dark eyes followed him.
She said, ‘You are a good man, Tristan Quintrell.’
His mouth twisted. ‘You do not know how hard I am working to remain so! Sleep well, Natalya.’
Closing the final curtain, he blew out the candles until only one on the mantelshelf remained alight. Silently he stripped off his coat and waistcoat and sat down on the armchair to remove his boots. The room was warm, stuffy. He went over to the window and threw up the sash, leaving the curtains drawn back to allow the faint summer breeze to come in.
His body was still thrumming with desire. Even if he had been given the finest feather bed in England, he doubted he would sleep much tonight.
* * *
Tristan made himself comfortable in one armchair, resting his feet on the seat of the other, but he could not stop his thoughts wandering to the woman in the bed barely a few feet away. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to drag his mind to something else, but the best he could do was to think of Natalya as he had seen her at her birthday party, dressed in that glittering white gown with her raven hair piled up on her head. In his mind he saw himself reach out and pull the pins from her hair. He watched the heavy locks cascade down over her shoulders like a black waterfall, enveloping him, drowning him...
* * *
He must have slept. When he opened his eyes, he realised he was staring at the hearth, a black square outlined by the pale marble surround. He heard his name. A soft whisper, barely more than a sigh. Sleepily he turned his head.
Natalya was standing beside his chair, her naked skin gleaming like ivory in the moonlight.
‘What the devil!’
He scrambled to his feet. He was not dreaming. She was really there, in front of him. Her hair, black as pitch, was loose over her shoulders and a few dark locks hung down over her breasts. He clenched his hands at his sides to prevent himself from reaching out and pushing them aside.
‘I cannot sleep.’ Her voice was soft, but powerful as a siren song. She stepped closer. ‘Take me to bed, Tristan.’
Another step and her naked breasts pressed against him. He could feel the warmth of them through his shirt and his breeches were suddenly too tight.
‘Natalya—’
Her hands slipped around his neck, pulling his head closer.
‘You intend to marry me, do you not?’ she whispered the words against his mouth. ‘Then why should we wait?’
It took a supreme effort of will for Tristan not to kiss her. He reached up and pulled her hands away. He held them against his chest and gazed down at her, trying to ignore the allure of her parted lips, the insistent demands of his own body.
‘You are under my protection.’ Dear heaven, he was so on fire he could barely speak. ‘I have vowed to return you safely to your home.’
‘Home!’ She gave a ragged laugh. Even in the dim light of the moon he could see her eyes were swimming with tears. ‘I have no home. Unless it is with you.’
Her voice trembled on a sob and it was too much. His iron will broke. With a groan he took her in his arms, crushing her to him. He kissed her, a hard kiss to which she responded eagerly.
He was on fire, the blood pounding through his body. He raised his head, dragging air into his lungs as he sought to control the raging desire. She lay back against his arm, looking up at him, her black eyes luminous in the moonlight and blazing with a desire to match his own. She was his, not in the eyes of the law, but that would follow. His spirit soared and he felt a primeval urge to throw back his head and howl in triumph.
‘Tristan?’
He smiled down at her, suddenly humbled by her trust in him.
‘Patience, love. This is too important a moment to be hurried.’
He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he placed her down gently on the covers. She lay very still, but he was aware that her gaze never left him as he undressed. Her sharp intake of breath when he joined her on the bed suggested she had never seen a naked man before. Her innocence was exciting, but it also sobered him. He must not rush this.
* * *
Natalya tensed as Tristan drew her into his arms. She was eager for his touch, but a little frightened, too. Then he kissed her and her fears melted away. She responded, her lips parting, and she relaxed as his mouth worked its magic. She sighed as his lips left hers and began to move over her cheeks, trailing kisses along her jaw. A moan of sheer pleasure escaped her when he nibbled gently at her ear.
His hand caressed her hip, then slowly brushed over her waist, smoothing gently over her skin until he was cupping her breast, his thumb circling the peak that was suddenly hard and aching. She was on fire, shifting restlessly against his touch. Such was the aching pleasure his fingers were wreaking she was only vaguely aware of his lips moving down her neck, placing butterfly kisses along her collarbone. They stopped briefly on the dip at the base of her throat, then moved on down to her breasts and she gasped at the double onslaught as his tongue caressed one hard nub while his thumb continued to pleasure the other.
She sighed and arched her body, offering herself up to him, no longer afraid, but revelling in the sensations he was arousing. Her own tentative caresses became more certain, she ran her hands over his flesh, exploring the firm sculpted muscles of his back. He shifted slightly, his mouth sought hers again and he kissed her with renewed intensity.
She was almost swooning with delight as his hand roamed over her skin, down across her stomach, and she lifted her hips, inviting him to go on. Her bones had melted. She had never felt more alive, receptive to his every caress. His fingers slid between her thighs and she felt herself opening, moving restlessly against his hand as ripples of excitement began to build inside. Her own hands slid down his back. She tried to pull him on to her. He resisted, murmuring softly against lips.
The Mysterious Miss Fairchild (HQR Historical) Page 17