It Happened One Night

by Stephanie Laurens

  “I’m sorry, Willie. I should not have asked. It is none of my business. Let us talk of other things. Tell me about this charity you’re so involved with.”

  Uneasiness showed in the tightening of her jaw and the nervous fidgeting of her hands. She held her mouth in a grim line for a long, uncomfortably silent moment, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, said, “I had a child, once.”

  Ah, Willie. Had?

  “But she was born early and did not live even an hour.”

  “I’m so sorry, Willie.”

  “I named her Samantha.”

  He suddenly felt the blood drain from his face, and his throat went dry. “Samantha?” he choked.

  “After her father.”

  He buckled, as though punched in the stomach, and a sound like a wail poured out of him. “Noooooo. Oh no, Willie, my love. It was our child?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh God.” He wrapped his arms around his waist as though to hold in the pain. “That’s why you left Porthruan, isn’t it? That’s why your mother chucked you out of her house? Because you were pregnant with my child.”

  She nodded again.

  He grabbed her roughly into his arms, buried his face against her neck, and held her tight. For several long moments, they each gave in to pain and grief—silent, sorrowful, heartbreaking grief for a child whose death they ought to have mourned together twenty-four years ago.

  And Sam grieved for more than the loss of a child. Against the smooth skin of her neck, he muttered, “It pains me that you went through all that alone, Willie. I wish more than anything that I had been with you, that I could have shared the burden of grief with you.”

  “I wanted that baby so much,” she whispered, “for it was all I would ever have of you. To lose her so soon after losing you was almost more than I could bear.”

  “And because you had lain with me, because I made you with child, you were thrown out into the world without resources. Ah, Willie. No wonder you took the course you did.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and backed away slightly so that he had to loosen his arms. But he did not let go. He wasn’t ready to let her go.

  “Do not blame yourself for my scandalous career, Sam. It was my choice to become a demirep. When I recovered—it was a difficult, premature birth that might have killed me if I hadn’t been so young and healthy—I clung to James as the only friend I had in the world. He had been kind to me, extraordinarily kind, and I repaid him by becoming his mistress. There was no turning back after that.”

  “But you would never have been forced to make that choice if I hadn’t seduced you in that damned hayloft.”

  “It was a mutual seduction, as I recall. I was a very willing participant.” She smiled up at him, and though a trace of sadness still colored her eyes, she gave him a look that spoke of something else altogether. Attraction. Seduction. Invitation? Was she signaling that she would be a willing participant again? Or was that merely wishful thinking on his part? Perhaps it was just the moonlight.

  “Besides,” she said, “I probably would have run off in time, away from Porthruan and Mama. I was miserable there. I count myself lucky that I found a protector in James. If I’d gone off on my own, I’d likely had landed in the stews and been even more miserable. As it was, I fell into a life of affluence and luxury.”

  She wriggled out of his embrace but allowed him to keep an arm around her shoulders. They sat in silence for a while, Sam lost in his thoughts of young Willie being cast out and then losing the baby, of his role in her downfall. Yet he had to agree with her that things might have been worse. He ought to thank that damned artist for making sure she did not land in the streets. And she had certainly led an interesting life.

  “Were you happy?” he asked.

  “Most of the time. Were you happy at sea?”

  “Most of the time. I certainly grew to love it. But at first I was merely frantic to get back to you. But the Calliope—the ship where the press gang took me—set sail the next morning for the West Indies and there was nothing for it but to hope to get a letter to you at the first port.”

  Her head dropped onto his shoulder. “What a time that was, the two of us pining after each other in our different ways. At least I was in a world I knew. You were thrust into something relatively unknown. It must have been horrid.”

  “In those early days, I used to be frightened to death when the guns were run out and we rammed their charges. That’s when I’d think of dying and never seeing you again. And many a night I’d be standing watch up in the foretop roost, freezing my jiggers off, and the only thing that kept me warm was thinking of you and me curled up in that hayloft like two inkle weavers.”

  Sam ran his hand up and down her arm, tucking her close, thinking again of that hayloft. “But he was good to you? Benedict? He treated you well?”

  “Yes, while I was with him he treated me with great kindness and affection.”

  “Do you still see him?”

  “Occasionally, but not often. He used to be a fixture at my salons. And even all these years later, we are still linked in many minds because of those early allegorical paintings.”

  “His work is very different now, I think.”

  “Yes, though he is still sought out for portraits. Hertford loved James Benedict’s work and was mad for the Muses. More for the model than the art, I always thought. He was determined to own all nine paintings, and went to great expense tracking them down and convincing the owners to sell them. He only managed to obtain seven of them. The Prince Regent refused to part with Erato. And he never could locate the owner of Terpsichore. I was sorry for that, because I’d always liked that one best.”

  “So did I.”

  Willie leaned away and looked up at him. “You saw it?”

  “I bought it.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “You? You are the elusive owner of Terpsichore?”

  He nodded, grinning. “I bought it shortly after I saw you when I returned to England for the first time. Your mother had told me about the artist you’d run off with, but she didn’t know, or wouldn’t reveal, his name. But it was easy enough to learn his identity, especially when inquiring after his famous model. I was angry at you and heartsore, determined to carry on without you. But I was hell-bent to see those paintings. Benedict still had most of them, and was pleased to display them for me. They held me spellbound, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Terpsichore, with the movement of the drapery and the way you held the lyre. I fell in love with it. We negotiated a price, and I spent every remaining shilling of my prize money on that painting. I carried it from ship to ship, until I finally bought the house in Sussex, where even now it hangs in the drawing room. Poor Sarah never knew why I loved that painting so much, and I never told her, although it is clearly the work of a master. You see, I never forgot you, either, Willie.”

  She reached up and stroked his cheek. “What a pair we are, two old fools still carrying our youthful torches. My navy lists and your painting.”

  He wrapped his arms around her again and said, “Maybe it’s time we let those torches burn again.” He smiled into her eyes, bent his head, and kissed her.

  Chapter Five

  Instinctively, she melted into his arms—arms still familiar even after all those years—and ignored the small voice in her head warning her that, despite how much she wanted it, she was making an enormous mistake to give in to her desire for Sam. He would never truly be able to forget or forgive her shady past, which would only lead to pain for both of them. But she silenced the traitorous voice and allowed the kiss to deepen. For just this moment, this single moment, she wanted him with a yearning deeper and more powerful than she’d ever known. Because this was Sam. Her first love.

  Was it still for old times’ sake? Was he kissing the Willie of his youth, or the woman she’d become? She would never really know, and all that truly mattered was that he was kissing her. And she kissed him back for all she was worth, matching
each circle and thrust of his tongue with her own.

  When they broke apart at last, each breathing roughly, Wilhelmina looked up to see that his golden-brown eyes had darkened with pleasure.

  “God, Willie. I am on fire for you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more than I have wanted you.”

  “Oh, Sam.” She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Seeing you again is like a tonic. I am humbled, surprised, and delighted to know that you desire me.”

  “Why should that surprise you? Because you’re not twenty any longer?”

  “I’m not even thirty. And though I may skirt the issue of my age with others, you know full well that I won’t see forty again, either. But no, that is not why your desire surprises me. I had thought my way of life had squashed every warm feeling you ever had for me.”

  “Never.”

  “The last time we met, ten years ago—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Please. Don’t remind me of that embarrassing encounter. I was mortified.”

  “Why? I never understood what happened. You sought me out, then bolted after exchanging an awkward word or two. Was it because you disapproved of my marriage to the duke?”

  “No, of course not. It was just…an unexpected surprise.”

  “Because I had reached too far above myself? Or because the duke had sunk too low?”

  “Neither, Willie. It was never that. Deep in my heart, I was glad for you. Glad that you would be out of that other life at last and into something more conventional. No, I did not disapprove. But I was…disappointed. I thought you knew why.”

  “But I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “Truly?”

  “Sam, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply assumed you thought I was getting above myself, or that I had somehow tricked the duke into marriage. In any case, I knew you disapproved. Or so I thought. Tell me the truth. What were you thinking that evening? Why were you so uncomfortable?”

  He looked down at his feet. “Nothing. It was stupid. You will laugh.”

  “Perhaps I will, but tell me anyway.”

  He groaned. “This is devilish embarrassing. But all right, I will tell you. I had thought…I had hoped…Damn. The thing is, Willie, I was ready to make you an offer.”

  Her jaw dropped open in astonishment. “To marry you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Aha. I understand.” Of course he would not have thought to marry her. She smiled. “You hoped to be my next protector.”

  He shrugged. “I told you it was stupid.”

  Wilhelmina laughed. “Sam Pellow, you hypocrite. You, who had once railed at me for degrading myself as a demirep, wanted to set me up for yourself? My, my. How things change.”

  “It was the ultimate hypocrisy. I was ashamed ten years ago and still am. I’m sorry, Willie. It was beastly of me to want that from you.”

  “Is that what you still want, Sam?”

  “No, Willie girl, I would never ask that of you. Besides, you’re too good for me now. A highly respectable woman. A duchess!”

  “I’d be anything for you, Sam.”

  “Ah, Willie.”

  And he kissed her again. Despite all the years gone by, despite the opposite directions their lives had taken, despite the very different person each of them now was, it was nevertheless a hauntingly familiar sensation to be held in his arms. Back in Porthruan, though, they’d both been innocents, both virgins. Now each of them was more experienced in the ways of passion, and desire flared fiercely between them.

  Sam tried to ignore the drops of rain that began to fall on his face, not wanting anything to interrupt this moment with Willie. But when it suddenly began to pour in earnest, he was forced to end the kiss.

  “Damnation. We’ll have to make a run for it, my girl. Follow me.”

  He took her by the hand and rushed to the door of the church, but it was locked. Tugging her with him, he hurried into the nearest shelter: an open stable behind the church.

  “Damn and blast.” Sam shrugged out of his wet coat and began to shake it out. “It seems I am destined to ruin all my clothes this day.” He looked up to find Willie flicking her damp skirts. “Here, take my coat. At least it’s dry inside.”

  He placed the coat around her shoulders, then wrapped his arms around her waist beneath it. Bending his head to hers, he said, “Now, where were we?”

  Wilhelmina pushed him away playfully. “No, where are we? Sam, you old sea dog, did you plan this?”

  “The rain? I may be a good sailor, but I cannot control the weather, my girl.”

  “Not the rain. This.” She swept out an arm to indicate their surroundings.

  A slow grin quirked his mouth as he looked around. When his gaze took in the hayloft above his head, he laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “If you did not plan this, please do not tell me. It is much too romantic to be coincidence. Are you going to make love to me in the hayloft, Sam?”

  He pulled her close. “There is nothing I want more, Willie. But only if you want it, too.”

  “You know I do. I have wanted it almost since the moment you invited me to join you for tea in the taproom. I have been determined that we should catch up with each other in more ways than simple conversation.”

  Sam arched an eyebrow. “Willie, what instructions did you give to that hatchet-faced factotum of yours when he came to our table?”

  She smiled sheepishly, and the merest hint of a blush colored her cheeks. “Why do you ask?”

  “I have a hunch that wheel was in perfect condition when I arrived. What did you say to him?”

  “I asked him to do whatever it took to keep you from leaving tonight.”

  He laughed and brushed a kiss against the top of her head. “You cheeky wench. And the blasted pigs? Were those his doing as well?”

  “Smeaton is very thorough and very resourceful. And I wanted this night with you, Sam.”

  “Then you shall have it, my girl.” His heart soared with delight that she had orchestrated his delay. He took her hand and led her toward a wooden ladder leading up to the loft. “Come. Let us pretend to be eighteen and sixteen again, when life was simple and love was new. Just for a few hours, let’s recapture our youth, and each other.”

  He’d been dashing up stepped ladders between decks for years, but he went slowly this time, guiding Willie in front and taking each step with care. When they reached the loft, it was as though years had melted away and they were back in Cornwall in her father’s barn. But Sam had been an awkward, inexperienced youth in that hayloft. He trusted he could perform with more skill and polish in this one.

  He took the coat from her shoulders and spread it out on the hay, then laid Willie down upon it. He untied his neck-cloth and joined her, and took her in his arms and kissed her. He slid his mouth to the sweet, vulnerable skin of her throat, then allowed his lips to cruise the elegant length of her neck. His hands slid over the silky fabric of her dress, tracing the feminine curve of hip and thigh as his lips continued their exploration. She purred like a kitten, and Sam’s blood heated at the sound. He wanted to invade her, to possess her, to transport her to the heights of pleasure…

  “Ouch!”

  He stiffened. “Did I hurt you, my girl?”

  She wriggled beneath him, and not seductively but as though she was uncomfortable. “No, I was just being poked in the neck by a sharp bit of hay. It was nothing.”

  He kissed her mouth again, then buried his face in her slender neck, running his lips and tongue against the base of her ear while his hand took possession of her breast. As he worked his mouth along to the nape of her sweet-smelling neck, silky golden curls tickled his nose and lips. And then something not at all silky. Muttering a curse, he reared up and spat out bits of hay and brushed more from his nose. “Damnation.”

  She looked up at him, blue eyes twinkling with mirth, and soon they were both laughing.

  “How did we ever manage this before?” he asked as he s
at up, brushing the hay from his shirt. “It’s like making love on the back of a hedgehog, for God’s sake.”

  “I think we must have been so young that we never noticed how uncomfortable it was.”

  Sam helped her to sit up, all the while thinking what a mess he’d made of this seduction. She must think him the clumsiest and most unsophisticated of men. No better than the callow youth she’d once known.

  “Don’t look so forlorn, Sam.” She smiled and stroked his cheek. “I know it seems very romantic to think we have come full circle, from one hayloft to another, with two decades and more in between. But it doesn’t have to be a hayloft, you know. I have a perfectly comfortable bed back at the Blue Boar.”

  Hope flared in his chest. “Are you inviting me into that bed, Willie?”

  “Yes. I want to make love with you. Not for old times’ sake, but for now. For tonight.”

  He kissed her. “For tonight. Come on, then. Let’s behave like two adults, get out of this damned prickly hay, and find that bed of yours.”

  Once in her bedchamber, they lost no time in renewing their passion. They each plucked impatiently at the other’s clothes, and their own, until every garment had fallen into a tangle at their feet.

  Wilhelmina was rather vain about her body. Indeed, she was quite proud of it. Because her face and figure had been her fortune, she had taken good care of both. She exercised to keep her muscles taut and youthful, riding and walking regularly, and working in her small garden. And she did not allow herself to overindulge in either food or drink, which helped to keep her waistline trim. It was not a girl’s body—there was only so much one could do to hold back time—but neither was it matronly. She felt no shame in displaying it to Sam.