“Who are you? I seek a moment’s peace, and you stand in front of me like a menacing monster.”
Her voice held no warmth or humour. Something had upset her and he guessed it was something about the Russian officer. He played his best card.
“Ma Cherie, it’s good to see you here.”
He nodded with anticipation of the moment in her presence.
She retrieved her fan, placed it below her eyes, and spoke in a soft voice.
“Monsieur, you are in my way. Take yourself elsewhere.”
He marvelled at how she kept her voice seductive, yet imperious. She exuded feminine wiles worthy of a siren intent on luring a sailor to his doom with lyrical calls. Perhaps she played with him to find out his intentions. He remembered that she carried a small sharp knife in her reticule.
“Au contraire.” He kept his tone mysterious, his smile curled at the edge of his mouth. “Mademoiselle, I’ve searched for you for a long time.” He reached to lean his right arm against the wall, and enclosed her in his vice.
“Your search was in vain, for I am not lost. Whoever you are, remove your person from my presence or you will regret it.”
If eyes could talk, hers screamed at him.
Now he went in for the kill.
“La belle Noelle, it grieves me you don’t recognise me after all we’ve meant to each other.”
The shock of his use of her name accomplished the purpose.
She stepped back until she could go no further.
“Your voice is familiar, yet it isn’t. Who are you? Declare yourself.”
“Ma cherie.” He moved his body closer to her and lowered his voice to a husky rasp. “You were a part of my past, and now you are part of my present and future.”
“If you don’t move away, I’m going to scream at this nonsense.”
Noelle lowered her fan and opened her mouth to shout.
He muffled the sound with a kiss. The seam of her lips parted to his darting tongue — and lingered. In her struggle to push him away, she hesitated long enough to allow him to push his torso against hers. To his surprise, she pressed back at him.
<<<
Noelle wasn’t sure why her inner self betrayed her in such a sexual way. She withdrew and pushed with all her strength but, damn him, he was immovable. His laughter mocked at her useless efforts to pound him.
“If you surrender, ma cherie, I could be persuaded to release you. Does some other gentleman await you?”
The thought of his audaciousness and how she had allowed him such liberties angered her. She attempted to strike him, but his reaction was too quick, like a man used to defence.
A military man? Who was this impertinent oaf?
Something familiar released memories. Noelle stilled herself and studied his full lips. The heat inside her roared like an angry, fierce beast, denied the kill. Blood didn’t flow in her veins. Instead, it poured molten lava.
She wanted to taste him again, but this time her desire yearned to explore his massive shoulders and broad chest, her core so alive with pooled warmth. Full of promise, she wanted to return all he gave and then some. A low moan escaped her lips.
The man in her view was Abingdon – though he had disguised his voice and dialect. Clever scoundrel.
“No. Stop.”
What insanity invaded her senses? On fire, she experienced one too many emotions. Lust, pure and simple, overwhelmed her. Ever since he’d returned, he had occupied all of her thoughts and memories. Now, she allowed him to pull her further into a secluded alcove in the wall, to obscure them from any intruders.
Abingdon’s words pierced the air.
“I want you, Cherie. I believe you want me. Come to my room.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t? Which is it? Does this mean you prefer a few moments of kisses to hours of discovery in my arms, where all we have to do is please each other? You are the only woman these empty arms want to hold — forever. Let me worship you as you deserve.”
“No.” But she didn’t move away.
“I believe you deceive yourself. You forget how well we knew each other. I see the passion in your eyes. Close them, ma petite.”
She did. His voice mesmerised her, caressing in dreamlike expectation.
The back of his knuckle skimmed her cheek. “My touch.” Lips a whisper breath away feathered hers. “Feel. Listen to my words.” He kept his voice low. “Hear. Now open your eyes, my love.” He smiled. “See.” He bit his lower lip and darted his tongue to hers. “Taste. Think of you and me in a naked embrace. You are ready for me to enter you. Admit it. Your core is wet and encourages me to plunge my manhood into your moist channel of love.”
“Curb your tongue.” Her voice trembled.
He responded with the perfect alignment of his lips on hers again.
“Close your eyes again. Kiss me like there’s no tomorrow.”
“It’s too late for us, Your Grace.”
She lowered her lids as commanded.
“No. It’s never too late to rediscover love and passion. I need you to understand who we were, and could become again. Cherie, we were young lovers. Don’t open your eyes yet. Your breath races now at these thoughts, wanton lady. Don’t deny us. Your heart pounds. You are feverish with desire. You think I will let you walk away? Or do you want me to force myself on you so that you can feign innocence and nonconsent? Open your eyes now.”
He locked his eyes to hers in the hope that he’d see behind them, and find some excuse to bring them together again.
“No. Don’t do this.”
When she rested her head on his chest, he didn’t waver but it crushed him.
“Do you ever say yes, La Belle Noelle? Bloody hell, would you like to go to bed with me or not?”
<<<
Abingdon hated himself for the subterfuge, but he sensed her wantoness, and he went in for the kill as he baited her in every way. The question was, did she want him, Abingdon — or any man? Had she kept her heart frozen for all of these years?
The siege was not going exactly to his plan, but he didn’t want her this way. He wanted her to know the truth. The vile letters would explain all, and together they would conquer the demons, because love could be rekindled amid the ashes of betrayal.
He wanted passion.
He wanted love.
He wanted what they’d once had, renewed, alive, in bloom with vitality and hope for their future.
Abingdon released her.
“I’ll be in the gardens behind the water fountain at midnight. Think of what you desire in life. Meet me there if you care to know me again and make up for lost time. I’ll take you to my rooms and enlighten you about the callous disregard and betrayal we suffered at the hands of others. After, you will be free to go without harm or obligation.” He stepped back two paces. “Your breath races. Is it desire or anger? Compose yourself. I wonder if I know who you have become, you have the look of a warrior woman with your sharp spear prepared for battle. You fought for survival, and now you wonder if the battle and disdain were worth the pain and anguish.”
She raised her chin to him, her gaze afire.
“You can’t think to come back into my life and expect all to be the way you’d like it. I don’t believe in miracles, and I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore. You destroyed everything.” There was not one ounce of softness in her voice. “I don’t believe in you or anything you say or do.”
“After you’ve listened to what I have to say, you may want to come to my bed to say goodbye to who we were. It’s my hope you’ll agree to renew our love. The gardens. Behind the water fountain. At least do this for the sake of the past.”
“The only way I’ll come to your bed is with a knife to stab your wicked heart.”
Abingdon laughed, “La Belle Noelle, before or after we’ve made love?”
He released her and strode away.
Chapter Eleven
Noelle gazed at his tall, broad-should
ered back as his footsteps sounded on the slate covered ground. She walked to a concrete bench and sat, then threw her head back, her eyes on the star-studded celestial sky. It had been easier to castigate him over the years from afar. With a simple question, as if he was inviting her for a glass of ratafia, he asked her to consider a visit to his bed to say goodbye? Anger raced through her every pore. His arrogance was intolerable. At its best, she wanted to slap him — hard.
She then came to the realisation that she held no anger. The misplaced emotion was passion. Ardent passion. Wanton passion. Damn him. The rogue thought he could come back into her life, and charm her? No. There was too much of an echo of the past. Their time and their destiny went and left like a storm that raged, tore houses from their foundations, and then left to allow the sun to shine another day.
Shame had brought her low when she’d found herself with a child in her belly and Abingdon gone. Her name was dishonoured and her future ruined, all because she’d succumbed to his romantic promises. The idea of throwing herself in front of a fast carriage had occurred to her, after she’d left his father’s house, where a servant had slammed the door in her face. If her mother had been alive, she might have been able to mouth the words of her dilemma, but how could she ever have told her dear father about her condition? He’d have wanted to find or buy a husband, but a marriage so started would not endure. Any man interested would be a gambler, a womaniser, mean, or destitute.
“Abingdon, how could you do this to me? To us?” How many times had she asked the question of her mirror, of her empty room, of her broken heart?
After the rejection, she no longer walked with her head held high. Noelle averted her eyes from her friends’ gaze and faded into the background to avoid notice. All of the old wives’ tales, about a woman cast out on the streets, away from family and society, had come to mind. She’d cringed and paced across the carpet, and wrung her hands together, trembling. How many times had she walked the length of the room? Fifty? One hundred?
If only she hadn’t kissed Abingdon. One kiss had led to more kisses and to their engagement on Christmas night.
Those recollections now challenged her, as she faced the current situation with Abingdon, the man who had taken her virginity and walked away without a word.
Yanked out of her memories by the sound of voices from a couple in the lower gardens, she placed her right hand over her chest and took deep breaths.
“Stop, my beating heart. You will not sway me.”
Noelle raised her head to the sky. So many questions filled her mind. How dare he expect her to meet him? To consider a visit to his bed? Such a lack of respect. Abingdon’s words shocked her, but against all caution, she found herself tempted.
Where and why did this wickedness reign over her?
This one time, with more than enough worries, she allowed the tears to fall where they may. Drained of all emotion, the cool blessed air on her face sobered her. She stayed for a while until it occurred to her that she’d been commissioned to ensure that every guest enjoyed all of the estate’s festivities.
“Goodness, I must attend to my duties,” she patted her hands to her cheeks, and returned to the ballroom where guests dined and danced. On the far side of the room, Allyn, Sutton, and Abingdon were engaged in conversation.
Pembrooke stepped across her line of sight. She waved him over.
He came toward her.
“My Lady, do you require assistance?”
“The gardens delayed me with their beauty. Is there anything of which I should be aware? Food? Beverages? Rooms? Wagers?”
“There is nothing of import, my Lady. If so, I would have sought you out.”
“I’ll circulate for a moment, and then I’ll return to the gardens should you need me.” She headed towards Sutton and Allyn. “Where is His Grace?” she asked in the hope he hadn’t decided to retire for the evening. His guests would be disappointed.
Sutton pointed to the grand staircase. “He just left to get some legal documents to show someone.”
She dismissed the someone remark and chose to change the subject.
“Are you generally pleased, Sutton? Money well spent?”
His broad grin and arched brows told a story.
“Well done, Lady Fenwick. I was about to get Miss Allyn some orgeat. Would you like a cup?”
“I’m afraid I need something stronger, and such spirits are not at my disposal.”
Chapter Twelve
At the ball in his honour, Abingdon enjoyed the time spent with his nephew and Noelle’s daughter. He admired the young woman who had captured Sutton’s interest, she was not a normal debutante but more of a blithe spirit who wanted to challenge the world.
Some men might find such a woman too modern, but it seemed that her desire for independence was what had won Sutton over.
“Miss Fenwick, I’ve been told you have a sense of adventure and wish to travel to America. What breed of horse does your brother have, may I ask?”
“In western America, there are wild mustangs. He tells us that the Mustang is free-roaming, first descended from Mestengo horses, which were brought to the Americas by the Spanish, and is defined as feral – wild, stray, and ownerless.” She took a deep breath. “It’s taken him three years to catch and domesticate them. He does well.”
“You appear to know much about Mustangs. How admirable,” he said with a sincere gaze at the vivacious woman.
She flicked her fan open and waved it near her face.
“Mother says I talk too much about my brother and the horses. When we get to America, I want to learn all I can from him, and perhaps start my own ranch.”
Abingdon whipped out his quizzing glass, brought it to his eye.
“Do they allow women to own ranches in America?”
With a broad smile aimed at him, Allyn raised her head.
“Yes and no. If a husband is at war, the wife may operate in his absence. The same is true with mercantile stores and other establishments. Each year brings new changes. I could learn many things at my brother’s ranch. I crave independence.”
“Sutton, I hope you’ve listened well to this obviously astute businesswoman.”
More than a question, he meant it as a cautionary statement.
“Uncle, we’ve talked much on this subject and others. You have to admit that Miss Allyn’s enthusiasm is contagious. A horse is a horse, has four legs and a tail, but the difference is in the trainer and breeder. I can see that this divine lady has shocked you.”
“Your Grace, my mother has always encouraged her daughters to do the unexpected. As little girls, she emboldened us to reach for the stars, for how else will we know what heaven is for? Her other words of wisdom were that we should never expect any man to fulfil our dreams, for we each have our private destiny.”
“Without need of a man?” Abingdon questioned, in order to verify her statement.
“With or without a man,” she answered, but the tilt of her head toward Sutton and her risqué smile did not go unnoticed by Abingdon. “There are so many cautions that she taught us, about charming men.” Her eyes landed on Sutton, but then her gaze went to Abingdon.
“Such as?” He laughed at the witticisms.
“We must never trust a man’s promises or his kisses. Certain other warnings I cannot repeat in mixed company, since anatomy is involved.”
“You’re fortunate to have such a unique woman to guide you along the path of life.”
Bereft of close family all these past years, he realised how much he’d missed by his absence. Nostalgia and memories haunted. He’d known many women, one way or the other, but none compared to the one he’d loved and lost — Noelle.
Allyn, still in a talkative mood, spoke of her brother’s venture and inferred that she and the family would soon travel on a great ship and go to join him. The way that she extolled his virtues one would think him possessed of qualities normally attributed to a saint. Abingdon nodded at some statements and laughed at others.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” she spoke. “My brother awaits the sale of five hundred horses to the United States military. When that is accomplished, he will send Mother money to pay off any remaining debts. Enough to also purchase tickets to New York, and then overland to New Mexico.” In a conspiratorial tone to the two men, she added, “It’s a surprise for her. My brother is a special man who’s dedicated his acumen to amassing a fortune.” Allyn wrinkled her nose, and then grinned. “As a young girl, my friends swooned at the handsome sight of him. His easy-going personality and impeccable manners are a definite asset in business, and with the ladies. We never lacked for female friends. He’s not a Greek god, but a god nonetheless. I yearn to see his blue eyes and red hair.” A frown crossed her brow, “His is much like your colouring, Your Grace.”
“Does this model for sainthood have a name?” Abingdon asked of the young woman, whose gaze settled on Sutton.
“My brother?” She tilted her head to Abingdon. “He’s Trevor Duke Fenwick.”
Startled by the information, his voice curious, he asked, “Trevor Duke? It’s an odd middle name.”
“Mother insisted on it. She told us that one day he might want to shorten his name, but she wanted it that way to start with. It always led to hours-long discussions.”
Sutton nodded his head. “The name Trevor appears popular, it seems.” There was no mistaking his wry smile.
“In all my years, I traveled in foreign Muslim and East Indian countries. Even there I’ve not met any men with such a Christian name.”
Questions asked need satisfactory answers, but they were not forthcoming. Yes. Abingdon and Noelle had been engaged. Yes. They anticipated their marriage date, as was the custom for engaged couples. Yes. He had loved her with his heart and soul – he still did. Why would she give her son my name if not…? Could it be that Miss Allyn’s brother, Trevor, was the issue of his loins? Damn, was the lad his son?
“Excuse me. I have remembered that there is a task to which I must attend.” He hurried to his study, his mind running amok with wild thoughts, and rang for Pembrooke. “Pour me a large libation, filled to the top.”
The Duke's Christmas Promise (Regency Christmas Romance) Page 7