Donna Fletcher

by Whispers on the Wind

  He stared at her with eyes of fury, his shadow rising in exaggerated length and width and resembling a dark demon on the wall behind him.

  She shivered at the raw, masculine power he exuded. It overwhelmed, captivated and intoxicated. How would she ever deny him?

  She warned him once again, though with much less fervor, “Stay out of my bedchamber.”

  He issued his own warning. “I am lord of this manor and will go wherever I choose. And, my lady, I shall finish what your husband so inadequately started.”

  She yelped in fright or expectation—she was uncertain which—and threw the covers over her head as he advanced on her.

  When he failed to pounce on her, she peeked from beneath the covers.

  He was gone.

  She pounded the bed with flying feet and fists. He purposely didn’t carry out his threat tonight to give her cause for worry and frustration. Now she wouldn’t know when he’d next show up.

  That was it, she’d had it. Tomorrow she would tell John they were moving to the vicarage.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Move to the vicarage? Whatever for?” John asked, bewildered, as he and his new wife shared their first breakfast together in the dining salon.

  Billie had slept little last night. Every creak, every pop of the burning log, every rattle brought her fully alert, fearful that Max had returned to make good on his promise. Her sleeplessness had given her time to think through her motive and she presented it most confidently.

  “The vicar of the village is usually a common man, living a common life. I worry that the villagers will find you inaccessible here at the manor.”

  “Nonsense,” John said, unconcerned by her suggestion. “I will take my appointments at the vicarage and make it clear that anyone is welcome at the manor.”

  Billie felt her carefully formulated plan slip away.

  John reached out and patted her hand. “You worry over the unnecessary. All will be fine. And besides, this manor is yours and you deserve to reside here.”

  She certainly couldn’t confide the truth about Max so she attempted to implement her alternate plan. “John, about last night.”

  His hand began to tremble and he returned the teacup he held to the saucer. “We should discuss this later in privacy.”

  Billie glanced about the room. “I see no one here but you and me. We have all the privacy we require.”

  He lowered his voice. “This is not a proper topic to discuss over breakfast.”

  She grew annoyed. “When is it proper to discuss? This evening in our bedchamber?”

  “Early this evening in the study will do fine,” he informed her, a little too sternly to her way of thinking.

  “I think not,” she said and almost winced recalling that the phrase was a favorite of Max’s.

  “Belinda,” he said firmly.

  “I have something to say and I intend to—”

  Pembrooke walked into the room and John shot her a look that warned her to remain silent.

  She spoke up. “Pembrooke, the vicar and I wish to be alone, please leave.”

  So startled was he by her unexpected and sharp orders, Pembrooke took his leave without even a “yes, m’lady.”

  “That was rude,” John said, tossing his white linen napkin to his plate.

  “I intend to finish what I was saying.” Billie completed her statement and carefully folded her napkin beside her plate.

  John had other thoughts. “Our intimacy should not—”

  “What intimacy? We have none and we will continue to have none if you sleep in the lady of the manor’s bedchamber. You are my husband and I would like you to share my bed.”

  “A lady in England does not share her husband’s bed nightly, only occasionally.”

  “I’m not a lady from England. I am an American and in America husbands and wives share beds nightly.” She hoped getting him into her bed would solve two problems. It would keep Max away and it would help them establish, slowly if necessary, an intimate relationship, culminating in the consummation of their vows.

  To her surprise his frown turned to a smile. “You are a most bold and unpretentious woman.”

  She grinned. “Qualities you admire in me.”

  He leaned over where she sat to his right and took her hand. “I do admire you, Billie, much more than you realize.”

  She locked her hand with his and whispered, “Then sleep with me.”

  His smile vanished, a blush rose to tinge his cheeks and he remained silent as if he was deep in thought and she wondered why such a simple request should trouble him so. After all, he was her husband.

  “We need to take this slowly,” he said, reaffirming the fact that he had no intention of consummating their vows anytime soon.

  “If slow is what you want,” she said, perplexed by his response.

  “I think it wise,” he said, offering no further explanation.

  “Then slow it is, but you will share my bed?”

  He didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes, I will share your bed.”

  She smiled with the exuberance of a young girl who has just received a most wanted gift. Now Max would find it more difficult to pop up into her bedchamber. Her husband’s presence would afford her protection.

  Obviously relieved, John stood and held his hand out to her. “Come. I have planned a small excursion over to Granville. The village has the most wonderful bookshop and an inn that makes the best meat pies.”

  Billie joined him, taking his hand and speaking low. “Shhh, we mustn’t let Matilda hear. She may not let us go if she hears we favor another cook.”

  He whispered close to her ear, his warm breath tickling her sensitive skin. “Then we must make a secret pact to never admit to our traitorous ways.”

  “Agreed,” she said and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and then turned her cheek to him to seal the pact with an identical kiss.

  He hesitated briefly before skimming her cheek with his lips.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his arms wrap around her just as she caught a fleeting spark of passion ignite in his eyes.

  He kissed her then with precision and power that surprised her and her need for him kindled.

  His softly spoken words only fueled her desire for him. “I want it to be right for us, Billie. I want you to always remember our first moment together as husband and wife.”

  He kissed her again before she had a chance to comment and then he tugged her alongside him as he hurried out of the room with a shout to Pembrooke to have the coach brought around.

  Though the sensual tingles lingered inside her, she felt pleased. Time and patience were needed for now. Eventually they would share an intimate life together. Her marriage had been a wise choice. All would be right.

  o0o

  Those words haunted her three weeks later. Their marriage had taken on a common routine and the part that irritated the most was when John climbed into bed in his nightshirt that trailed on the floor, turned on his side and fell fast asleep. And need she forget that she never woke with him beside her in the morning? He was always gone before she opened her eyes.

  Tonight he had been called away to pray over an ill villager. He would probably be gone most of the evening.

  Her investigation into the wreckers had yielded nothing. Bessie and Marlee changed the subject every time she attempted to question them, and she was growing more suspicious of them by the day. What, or better yet who, were they protecting or frightened of?

  And Max had grown unbearable to tolerate, though he had managed to keep his distance from her bedchamber. He harped incessantly on the changes that were still going on in the manor. He frequently offered derogatory comments on her husband’s inadequacies in being a proper husband and he kissed her much too often in demonstration of what she was missing from a man who was well aware of husbandly duties.

  Billie climbed the stairs with a heavy burden on her mind. She did love John dearly. He had proven to be an excellen
t husband in all areas except one and she had no idea how to rectify the problem. She only knew it could not continue in this fashion.

  She yawned, closing her bedchamber door behind her.

  Max popped out of the corner shadows, startling her. “Alone again.”

  “My husband shares my bed as you well know.” She brushed right past him to plop down on her vanity bench and began to pluck the pins from her hair.

  Max walked up behind her, focusing on her reflection in the mirror. “And his husbandly duties? Has he seen to them?”

  Billie fought with a pin tangled in her hair. “That is none of your business.”

  He pushed her hands away from the mass of unkempt waves and untangled the pin with steady and gentle fingers. “This manor is my business.”

  She tried not to think about the way his fingers rummaged so tenderly in her hair or about the tingles that shot through her body when his fingers stroked her scalp as he disengaged the captured pin.

  He tossed the pin to the vanity table and his hands returned to her hair, running up from the nape of her neck to the top of her head, around the sides and back down again. He repeated his slow and steady massage and Billie relaxed considerably.

  He spoke softly and yet with a firm resolve that captured Billie’s attention. “You possess a passion for life in all things you do. You embrace every moment and challenge every day. You require a man of equal strength and character. One who can enhance your passion, not bury it.”

  His fingers moved to her neck and he skillfully massaged the tense muscles.

  She moaned from the exquisite feeling of her tight muscles melting away. “John is my husband,” she said, unable to think of any other argument to offer.

  Max dropped down behind her and kissed along the column of her silky neck before whispering in her ear, “Not yet he’s not.”

  He continued to apply the most ardent of kisses to her neck and shoulders while his fingers worked to free the back of her garment. He eased it down over her shoulders, the straps of her chemise joining the plunge.

  “I love the taste of you, so womanly.”

  She watched in the mirror as his lips traced a path over her shoulder and his hands further freed her from the confines of her garment.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered and cupped her naked breast in his hand.

  Billie stared mesmerized by his play of fingers to her breast and nipple. His touch felt so good, so right. His gentleness turned forceful, his fingers squeezing her nipple to hardness.

  “Look at the way you respond to my touch,” he urged.

  She shut her eyes, embarrassed to watch her own desire quickened so willingly to his command.

  “Look, Billie, look,” he whispered and moved alongside her to tease her nipple with his tongue.

  Her eyes drifted open, catching his intimate action and she was unable to pull her gaze away. The tip of his tongue flicked across the hardened bud unmercifully and then he suckled like a man who would not be denied. She watched until she thought she would go mad with the want of him.

  John, a small voice in her head reminded her. John.

  Max raised his head and stared at her wide-eyed expression in the mirror. “Don’t deny us this.”

  “Deny us what?” she asked regrettably. “We share nothing but passion. You deny me even the simple request of the truth. I made my choice.”

  “To marry a fool,” he said, standing and walking away from her.

  She hastily slipped her dress up and over her shoulders before turning to face him. “I married a good man and I will be a good wife.”

  “And what if you lost this manor and wealth, what then?”

  She answered quickly. “I would still have my husband’s love. No one can take that away from me.”

  He looked at her with sorrowful eyes. “Then perhaps it is I who am the fool.” He stepped back, the deep shadows swallowing him whole.

  “Max?” She called out to him and when she received no response she knew he was gone.

  Her heart ached for him and for herself. This had to end; she had to discover the truth. And the truth was hidden somewhere in St. Clair. Someone had to know something and if she dug deep enough she would surely find it.

  The other matter that needed immediate resolution was the consummation of her marriage. She had hoped by now the problem would have resolved itself. She had begun to fear it never would since John never took their relationship past anything but a kiss.

  He had never even attempted to touch her intimately and she wondered the reason for his strange behavior. Too many things had seemed strange to her since her arrival and she had become too complacent in her attempt to discover the truth of things.

  It was like a puzzle: All the pieces were there, she just had to fit them together properly and then she would have her answers and solutions.

  Determined to wait up for her husband in hopes of at least an attempt at seduction, Billie changed into her night rail and climbed beneath the covers, bracing herself against the pillows. She reached for her book on the night table beside the bed and began to read.

  Two hours later John found her fast asleep, the book lying open across her chest. He moved the book away and tucked the quilt around her.

  He bent over her, brushed her hair away from her closed eyes and was about to deposit a kiss to her cheek when he focused on her lips, so soft and plump like young fruit ripe for the taking.

  He groaned, the sound reverberating low in his chest. He tore his eyes away toward the ceiling. “Dear Lord, give me strength,” he prayed.

  But when his gaze descended once again to his wife he realized the Lord was on her side. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, gently so as not to wake her but enough for him to torture himself with the sweet taste of her.

  Helpless and unable to deny himself, he tasted her more fully, nudging his tongue between her lips, teasing her to open to him and slipping in the moment she surrendered. He kissed her like a starved man, knowing his time was brief, yet needing this intimacy he had craved so badly.

  She moaned and he drew away in a flash, stepping back from the bed.

  Billie licked her lips, her tongue searching for its mate and with a disappointed sigh she snuggled beneath the covers and mumbled, “Go away, Max.”

  John shook his head and walked behind the dressing screen to change into his nightshirt as was his custom each night. He removed his glasses, leaving them on the night table by his side of the bed. He extinguished the candle, slipped beneath the covers and stayed on his side of the bed.

  “John?” Billie asked sleepily.

  “Shhh, Billie, go back to sleep,” he said softly.

  Boldly she curled up against his back, forcing her hand beneath his arm to hug his chest.

  “I missed you,” she whispered, her hand stroking his chest.

  “And I you. Now go to sleep.” He removed her hand, tucking it back beneath his arm to her side.

  She yawned.

  “You’re tired, sleep,” came the stern order.

  “Go away, Max,” she whispered with a slumbered breath and cuddled closer to her husband.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pembrooke coughed upon entering the conservatory, alerting Billie to his presence before he spoke. “M’lady, a—” he paused a moment as if in search of an adequate word and then continued. “A villager wishes to speak with you. He was actually quite adamant about it.”

  Billie looked up from her perch on the floor where she sat, surrounded by various sized planting pots as well as flower bulbs, herb plants and a wooden bucket filled with soil. She held a small shovel in her gloved hand and carefully cradled a plant barely two inches tall in her other hand.

  “Did he give his name?” She ignored Pembrooke’s snort of disapproval before he responded.

  “Bart,” he announced with distaste.

  Billie’s brilliant smile irritated him all the more. “Send him in.”

  Pembrooke was about to express
his opinion when Billie firmly added, “Now.”

  With a curt bow, Pembrooke mumbled, “As you wish,” and left.

  Billie was on her feet, her gloves and apron discarded on the wooden bench when Bart was ushered in.

  Bart, cap in hand, bobbed his head and addressed Billie as soon as Pembrooke took his leave. “I’m sorry to disturb you and I would never have come to the front door of the manor if I hadn’t thought it important—”

  Billie interrupted his rushing speech. “It’s all right, Bart, you’re always welcome at the manor.”

  He bobbed his head again. “Thank you, m’lady, but it’s news that I brought you, important news.”

  “Tell me,” she encouraged, walking up to him so they could speak more quietly.

  Bart’s glance darted around the glass-walled room and, satisfied that no one spied on them, he spoke. “I heard that Derry Jones has a meeting with someone tonight near the caves here in St. Clair.”

  Billie grew excited, sensing a break in solving this mystery imminent. “Where on the shore?”

  “Near the manor, by the caves,” he whispered.

  “And the time?”

  He shook his head. “Sometime after dusk—the person I learned it from wasn’t sure.”

  Though the time span was wide, Billie didn’t mind. This was finally a chance to possibly uncover the identity of the mystery person who Derry answered to.

  Bart nervously asked, “M’lady, do you plan on going there tonight?”

  She nodded, already formulating a plan in her head.

  With worry in his voice he told her, “I have work in St. Simon tonight, I can’t go with you.”

  “I’ll go alone.” She thought nothing of the solitary excursion, but Bart did. He twisted his cap until Billie thought the wool would knot.

  “It ain’t safe,” he warned.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “Now come with me, I have something for you.”

  Bart protested. “It ain’t necessary, m’lady. I don’t mind helping you.”

  Billie persisted. “You went through a great deal of trouble for me and I wish to extend my appreciation.” And with a smile she added, “Please?”