by Sandra Heath
The Darch pounded through its valley, filling the air with its thunder, and the sharp smell of autumn was released from the fallen leaves as the horses passed over them. The ground was a carpet of russet, crimson, and gold, and almost directly ahead, the sun shone brightly down through those that had yet to fall from the branches arching overhead. Dappled shadows moved softly, stirred into life by the soft breeze breathing down from the moor.
There weren’t any wheel ruts in the track, for Bellstones was the furthest into the moor that carts, wagons, or carriages could travel. The isolated farms and hamlets dotted over the wild landscape were served solely by strings of horses that were so used to certain routes they needed no drovers.
Christina’s misery increased with each yard they rode, and she wondered how far they would have to go before he considered them to be sufficiently private for the delicate and embarrassing matter to be safely broached.
The hoarse cry of a raven jarred through the trees, startling both horses, and Christina saw the bird’s black silhouette on the shiny green of a holly bush. Startled in its turn, the bird broke into noisy flight, swooping low over the track directly ahead, and then vanishing across the river among the crowding branches on the far bank. Christina’s mare was a little frightened, shying and refusing to proceed. Robert reined in, coming back to take her bridle, and leading the unwilling mare past the place where the bird had been.
He looked at Christina. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Horses can be difficult.”
“Yes. Robert, I’m sure we’ve ridden far enough—”
“No, Christina, for I’m taking you to a particular place.”
“Where?”
“The old bell tower.”
“But why?”
“I’ll explain when we get there. Bear with me, Christina. This is too important to be rushed.”
“I wish ...”
“Yes?”
“I wish you’d have done with this torture,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the thunder of the river.
He leaned over suddenly, resting his hand briefly on hers. “I’m sorry if you feel it is torture, for I truly don’t mean it to be, as I think you’ll understand well enough in the end.” Releasing her, he turned his horse again, urging it on along the track.
For a moment she remained where she was, gazing after him. What did he mean? All she was going to understand in the end was what she understood right now: she’d made a humiliating faux pas, and would have to live with the shame of it for a very long time to come. With a heavy heart she rode on as well.
The Darch became narrower, and the valley began to climb toward the moors, which loomed high all around. Far above, the sky was still a matchless blue, arcing flawlessly from horizon to horizon, without even the smallest cloud to mar its perfection. High on an incline there was a farm, its stone buildings huddled against the slope. A flock of sheep moved up toward it, driven by a shepherd with two black-and-white dogs, but then the Darch curved away and the farm vanished from view.
The sun shone straight into their eyes now. The trees thinned out, and the ground changed to springy moorland grass, dotted with heather and the occasional tangle of gorse. Up here the air was crisper than ever, and the Darch’s water was clear and sweet, babbling among rocks as it was joined by several small tributaries. Christina looked back. The wooded valley curved away behind, and in the distance, detectable only by the glint of sun on its windows, she could see Bellstones.
There was a shallow cleft in the moor directly ahead, and Robert rode toward it. The Darch gurgled between mossy banks, little more than a mountain stream now, and because the thunderous roar of the valley was far behind, the joyous warbling song of a skylark could be heard, although the bird itself was too high to be seen.
Riding through the cleft, Robert reined in, turning in the saddle to smile at her. Then he pointed ahead. “The source of the Darch, and on the hill beyond, what’s left of the old bell tower.”
Christina drew her mount to a standstill, gazing at the wild beauty of the scene. A small lake lay in a dip in the moor, its waters gleaming in the sunlight. Reeds swayed as the moorland breeze moved over the surface, and the song of the skylark gave way to the lonely call of a curlew. Some wild ponies had been drinking in the shallow water by the shore, but as the two riders appeared, they took flight, cantering away across the moor.
Christina watched them for a moment, and then looked at the ruined bell tower. It stood foursquare on the top of its hill, and although only the lower walls remained, she could tell that at one time it would have been visible, and audible, for many miles.
Robert glanced at her. “The view from up there is quite spectacular. Come on.”
Before she could say anything more, he kicked his horse into action again, riding down toward the lake, around its southern shore, and then up the incline to the ruins. He dismounted and tethered the bay, turning to assist Christina as she reined in. She was conscious of his strength as he lifted her down.
She moved quickly away, making much of gazing at the truly staggering view over Exmoor. The hills rolled away on all sides, and to the north, visible as a thin purple line on the far horizon, she could see the Bristol Channel. The breeze murmured around the ruined bell tower, and the air was very sweet, as only moorland air is.
He came to stand just behind her, resting a boot on a fallen stone. “The devil’s said to have had a hand in the making of Darch Pool.”
“The lake, you mean?”
“Yes. The story goes that Old Nick fell in love with an Exmoor maiden who lived with her father in a farm where the lake now is. The girl spurned the devil’s advances, and her father took a stick to him, which so enraged the devil that he seized the farm, ripping it out of the ground, land and all, and tossed it over the moor into the sea. It became Lundy Island, and the hole that it left behind filled with water and became Darch Pool.” He laughed a little. “A fanciful tale, is it not?”
“Yes.” She tried to smile at him, but couldn’t.
“Perhaps this isn’t the time for small talk, Christina,” he said quietly. “Besides, I didn’t bring you here in order to regale you with rustic Exmoor folklore, I brought you here to clarify certain very important, very personal matters.”
Ashamed color immediately flooded into her cheeks again, and she had to move away. She leaned a trembling hand on the side of the bell tower, and the breeze streamed through the ostrich plume in her hat.
“Robert, there’s no need to clarify anything, for I already know in what way I’ve transgressed. You’ll never know how much I regret what happened last night, but happen it did, and now you’re fully aware of how I feel about you. I won’t embarrass you again, for I intend to leave Bellstones as soon as I possibly can. I haven’t thought of a suitable excuse yet, but I will.”
She drew a long breath. “I’m grateful to you for not mentioning anything of this to my father or sister, for I don’t think I could bear it if they knew. I feel so ... disloyal.” She lowered her eyes unhappily.
“Disloyal? Why? Because your heart is a free spirit that cannot be dictated to by arranged terms?”
“That’s not what I mean, and I think you know it,” she answered, looking quickly at him.
“Don’t think I’m making light of this, Christina, because I’ve never been more serious in my life. You seem to be blaming yourself for all of this, but the truth is that I am equally to blame.”
“You?” She turned quickly. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you think my hands rested innocently on your shoulders last night? Do you think I accidentally caressed you? I’m no novice in such things, Christina, and everything that happened happened because I initiated it.” His gray eyes were intense.
He gave a slight laugh then, removing his top hat and running his fingers through his dark hair. “Do you remember the words of that song last night? The one about marriage being a lottery contest?”
“Yes, I remember,” she said slowly, her thoughts milling in confusion.
“I watched you while it was being sung, and I knew what you were thinking, because I was thinking the same thing. The lottery contest has played us a very shabby trick, Christina, and if I allow things to go on as they are, I’m going to find myself marrying the wrong Miss Richmond.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The air seemed to stand still around her. What was he saying? Did she dare to believe she was understanding him correctly? She looked helplessly at him, unspoken questions trembling on her lips.
“Christina ...” Whatever he’d been about to say froze as something in the sky behind her caught his full attention. “Damn!” he breathed, not attempting to conceal his swift anger.
She turned, and saw William Grenfell’s balloon drifting serenely through the air toward them, about fifty feet above the moor.
The crimson-and-blue globe floated silently on the breeze, its silk-covered wings wafting gently up and down, and its red pennants fluttering. But if the balloon itself made no sound, the same couldn’t be said for its four occupants, who began to call and wave the moment they saw the two by the tower. They leaned over the side of the silk-swathed car, making it swing slowly to and fro.
Mr. Richmond clung to a rope, looking less happy than his companions, but he still waved and smiled. Lady Chevenley was at his side, the tall plumes on her green velvet hat fluttering as gaily as the balloon’s pennants.
Jane stood with William, her hair very red in the sunshine. She’d removed her bonnet, and was waving it in her hand so that its ribbons flapped. Her voice carried clearly as the balloon drifted nearer. “Christina! Robert! Oh, you should have come with us! It’s wonderful up here!”
Christina stared up at them. The spell of what had been happening a moment before still enveloped her, and she felt a sharp pang of conscience as she looked at her smiling, happy sister.
Robert recovered from his initial anger, waving in return. William discarded the wings for a moment, cupping his hands to his mouth to call down, “I trust you enjoy the rigors of the return ride, mes enfants. We’ll be traveling in much greater style!”
“That depends upon your definition of style!” Robert shouted back.
This brought forth a gust of laughter, except from Mr. Richmond, who looked as if he had very firm notions indeed concerning what was and wasn’t style.
The breeze was playful, veering its direction a little so that the balloon shuddered. Jane gave an excited squeal, and William reached out instinctively to steady her. She held on to his arm for a moment, then the balloon settled again, and he bent to retrieve the wings, moving them quickly up and down in an attempt to gain a little more altitude.
Lady Chevenley, evidently already a seasoned aeronaut, hastened to check that the flap valve was fully closed. The breeze veered a little more, and the balloon revolved slowly, drifting perceptibly away from the bell tower toward the lake. Its reflection shimmered in the water, spangles of crimson and blue that broke and reformed with every ripple. The cleft in the moor lay ahead, and, unseen beyond it, the Darch valley; the balloon floated slowly on the gentle current of air, its path taking it toward distant Bellstones.
Neither Robert nor Christina spoke as they watched the taffeta globe move further and further away, and Christina found that she was holding her breath until it vanished from sight beyond the hill. Suddenly everything was quiet again, and the only sounds were the murmur of the breeze and the distant call of the curlew.
Robert turned to her, his voice soft. “Don’t listen to your conscience, Christina, listen to your heart. Jane is the wrong Miss Richmond for me. It’s you that I want, you that I’ve wanted for a long time now.”
It was too much to take in, and she recoiled. “No ...”
“Yes.”
“You can’t mean it,” she whispered, confused and disbelieving.
“I’ve never been more earnest in my life, and if words alone don’t convince you, maybe actions will.”
Without warning, he pulled her close. His lips were soft and warm, tender jailers that allowed her no chance to escape. He kissed her slowly and seductively, extinguishing her resistance, and assaulting her helpless senses in a way she’d never dreamed was possible. A wanton, voluptuous desire moved richly inside her, and with a sigh that was almost a moan, she surrendered, returning the kiss with all the heady passion she’d felt from the first moment she’d seen him.
As she responded, so he held her more tightly, and his lips became more urgent. She could feel the hardness of his body, and his warmth and strength seemed to invade her. She wanted to submit completely, to allow him full possession, for she needed him, needed his love.
His fingers curled in the warm hair at the nape of her neck, and he whispered her name as he bent his head to press his lips against the pulse throbbing at her throat.
She closed her eyes, sensuous shivers of joy trembling over her entire body. She felt as if she was alive for the first time, and she was intoxicated by the abandonment of restraint. Thoughts of Jane receded into oblivion; all that mattered was the ecstasy of this wild, incredible moment.
He drew back at last, his eyes dark as he cupped her face in his hands. “This was meant to be, Christina, and we both know it. I can taste it on your lips, and see it in your eyes. You’re the one who should be my wife, not Jane.”
Jane’s name sent the spell reeling away, allowing the cold touch of truth to return. Remorse swept icily over her. “No,” she breathed, “no, this is all so very wrong ...”
“My betrothal to your sister is far more wrong.”
“No.” She began to pull away from him.
He held her. “Look at me, Christina.”
“Please ...”
“Look at me!”
Unwillingly she did as he commanded, and as her eyes met his she felt the current leap through her again, a compelling and magnetic force.
“Oh, Christina,” he said softly, “you’re mine, and I’m not going to let things go on as they have been. I’ve loved you since the night I saw you in the theater in London; you, Christina, not Jane. It was Henry Richmond’s dark-haired daughter I wanted, his dark-haired daughter I expected to meet at last at the Assembly Room ball. I didn’t know it was a second daughter I was engaging to marry, and if I’d realized, I wouldn’t have allowed things to progress at all. I loved you at first sight, and now, having at last held you close and kissed you, I know that it was the same for you. It was, wasn’t it? That night at the ball?”
She lowered her eyes, nodding reluctantly. “Yes,” she whispered.
“And, like me, you tried with all your might to resist?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you’d succeeded, for you avoided me all the time, and you hardly spoke to me when we were in company.”
He paused, momentarily touching her cheek with his fingertips. “I tried to do the honorable thing by Jane, for it wasn’t her fault, and although I knew that William loved her, I was convinced that she didn’t welcome his advances because she was happy to be marrying me. Even after that business with the balloon, I was still determined to conduct myself with all honor. I invited her for a drive the following morning, intending to be sure of her feelings, and she convinced me that I was the one she wanted. I was set on proceeding with the match, and my resolution wasn’t shaken until last night, when I stood by the window in your room, and you came in. I knew then that I couldn’t hold out against my love for you.”
He gave a wry laugh. “I meant it when I said that diplomacy was an art I’d had to perfect recently, for never before have I had to so call upon my powers of tact, discretion, and prudence. I came very close to telling you how I really felt, especially when we went down to dine; in the end I confined myself to telling you how much your answers to my questions mattered to me.”
She looked weakly into his eyes. “I ... I had no idea ...”
“And if you had?”
“
I don’t know.”
“Your conscience?”
She looked quickly away. “Yes.”
“Damn your conscience, I’m not going to let it blight both our lives.”
“And what of Jane’s life?”
“Do you think she’ll be happy in a marriage that’s so one-sided? I can’t marry her now, not when there’s so much between you and me, Christina. Last night, when my aunt suggested that song, I knew I couldn’t ignore the words. ‘But if my fair one will be wise, I will ensure my girl a prize, Though not a prize to match thy worth, Perhaps thy equal’s not on earth.’ Be wise, Christina, accept that what’s happened between us today was meant to happen.”
“But ...”
He put a finger to her lips, shaking his head. “Jane and I would be disastrous together, for we’re chalk and cheese. She longs for London, the Season, and socializing on an endless scale, whereas I love it here, far away from the capital and the sort of life she adores. She doesn’t anticipate my thoughts, nor I hers, but you anticipate my thoughts all the time, and I can sense exactly how you feel about things. We’re the perfect match, and I’m not about to let anything destroy the future that we’re meant to share.”
She closed her eyes to shut out the urgency in his gaze.
“You have to look at me, Christina, for this is happening, it isn’t a dream. Admit how much you love and need me, that’s all I want to hear, then we can return to Bellstones and face them all with the truth.”
Unwillingly she looked at him again. “I ... I admit that I love you,” she said softly, “but I love my sister as well, and she loves you.”
“Does she? Are you sure of that? Christina, you may think you know your sister, but you don’t. If her heart is given anywhere, it’s to William Grenfell, not to me.”
“No!”
“Yes. Oh, I admit that I thought she wanted me, but I was as deceived as you in that respect. I’m not inventing this, Christina, you must believe that. I watched them both at the dinner table last night, and it was clear to me that although William had promised to keep away from her, he was finding it as impossible as I was finding it impossible to deny my love for you. It was also clear to me that Jane was far from immune to him, and so after William had supposedly left Bellstones later on, I’m afraid I stooped to keeping a watch on her room. Sure enough, when she thought the house was asleep, she slipped out, went down through the gardens, and out into the combe, where William Grenfell was waiting. The kisses and embraces they shared were as telling as the one we shared a few minutes ago.”