An Eternity of You

by Sophia Garrett

  He whipped around and stormed out of the room, snagging his heavy coat as he passed through the doorway. Tomorrow he was finding a driver. Along with the maids Fortescue suggested. He had invited Matilda to bring who she needed to temporarily assist her. Perhaps some of them would be eligible permanent candidates. He didn’t mind training so long as the servant was generally competent.

  Andrew didn’t bother with the carriage. He saddled his horse and rode directly to Landess’s small estate house on the corner of Sharrington Manor’s personal grounds, just outside the village. The windows glowed with candlelight. Shadows moved beyond the thin curtains. Unlike the vast majority of homes Andrew had encountered today, this one appeared stately and well maintained. The sight only served to fuel his anger. While everyone else had suffered, clearly his estate manager prospered.

  He dismounted and tied the horse to the post in front of the steps. In one bound, he stood before the door and pounded it with his fist.

  A young redheaded maid answered. She blinked at Andrew in surprise. “Your Grace!” Dropping into an instantaneous courtesy, she looked up at him through her lashes. “How may I help you?”

  “I wish to speak to Mr. Landess. Immediately.”

  The poor girl nearly fell over her own feet as she scrambled to right herself and open the door. “Y-yes, of course. He is in the parlor with the missus. I will fetch him.”

  Andrew gave her a curt nod and let himself into the adjoining library, where a small lamp burned atop a polished table. He took a seat in a high-backed velvet chair, one ankle tossed over the opposite knee. His foot tapped an impatient rhythm in the air.

  “Your Grace.” Landess’s voice rumbled behind Andrew. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?” He rounded the corner, still tugging his half-buttoned vest into place.

  “Sit down, Mr. Landess.” Andrew gestured at the chair across the lavish Persian rug.

  Obliging, Landess fastened the last button on his vest and sat. “What can I do for you at this hour?”

  Andrew’s gaze narrowed. The urge to wrap his hands around the man’s fat neck and squeeze left him clenching his fingers around the chair’s velvet arm. “Where are the letters from Miss Rycroft?”

  “The letters?” Blinking, Landess drew back. “You’re concerned about those ridiculous things? I see the rumors must have reached your ears.” He broke into a wide, placating smile. “Don’t trouble yourself, Your Grace. There’s little to found the absurd claims. Miss Rycroft saw opportunity in your departure and wished to better her lot when she found herself with an unwanted bastard.”

  Anger morphed into sheer fury that burned through Andrew’s veins. He shot to his feet, towering over the fat inconsiderate pig. “An unwanted bastard?” His bellow thundered through the room. “Were you aware, Landess, of my bout with typhus just before my journey to Sussex and my father’s poor decision to employ you? Were you aware, Landess, that she tended me?”

  Sweat broke across the man’s brow, and he visibly shrank into the chair. “Y-your Grace, please. I have only had your interests in mind. I have m-managed your father’s affairs and reported annually. Your father was informed of everything.”

  “My father was not in his right mind! And you knew it! Something as significant as this should have been brought directly to me!”

  Andrew snapped his mouth shut, choking down fury. It was all he could do to not grab Landess by the collar and shake him until his teeth fell out of his head. He clenched his fists at his side. “You have trespassed in a most grievous way and taken advantage of my father’s trust, as well as mine. You’ve interfered at the expense of my villagers and caused more damage to my person than if I had waltzed with the devil!”

  He drew in a shuddering breath, held it until the urge to physically harm Landess passed. More tempered, he asked, “Where are the letters? Did you destroy them?” If he had, Andrew could not be responsible for the damage he would deal the man.

  “N-no.” Like a rat caught in the light of day, he scurried sideways out of his chair. “I kept all non-financial correspondences as your father directed. He intended to review them when he returned from London.”

  Andrew’s gaze narrowed. “You could not recognize my father was not going to return from London? And you did not tell me you were withholding correspondence, particularly Miss Rycroft’s.”

  He flashed a cheeky grin. “I was thinking of you, Your Grace. You were newly married, with a child on the way. A peasant’s fantastical claims might bring unnecessary disharmony. I didn’t want to be responsible for a man being kicked out of his bed, when it was yet so new and joyful.”

  Fantastical claims… Another shot of fury surged through Andrew. “Give me the letters, Mr. Landess,” he bit out through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Landess bustled out of the room.

  In seconds he returned with a burlap bag. His hand shook as he passed it to Andrew. “Miss Rycroft’s are inside, along with condolences for your parents’ passing, congratulations on your marriage, and various invitations sent mistakenly here before your address in Sussex was passed along. Everything, Your Grace.”

  Andrew snatched the bag out of his hands. “You are removed from your duties, Landess. I want your belongings out of this house and your family off my properties by tomorrow night. If you are not, I will personally remove you.” He stalked to the entryway, where he stopped beside the young maid who had been eavesdropping.

  She looked up from the table she pretended to dust. Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to overhear your—”

  Andrew chuckled beneath his breath. The only thing servants did better than tend the household was overhear conversations. “You will report to Miss Rycroft’s home tomorrow morning. Ask her what she desires of you. Tell the remaining staff they are all employed at the manor now. I expect them promptly at sunrise. You will all be paid double for your trouble.”

  He secured his grip on the bag and jogged to his horse.

  …

  Rebecca slunk through her front door, so tired she could have crawled if not for the indignity of being on all fours. The tiny house was quiet, Thomas fast asleep. She dropped her bag on the first solid surface she encountered and navigated through the dark to her bedroom. Moonlight shone through curtains she’d neglected to draw, making it unnecessary to light the lamp. With weary fingers, she untied her blood-stained apron.

  As she twisted to toss it in the laundry, a sharp pain shot up her back. Grimacing, she pressed a balled fist into the base of her spine. Her body might be worn out, but at least Octavia Randolf’s baby had come with little difficulty. She only wished the woman’s labor had not begun quite so late into the evening. It must be well on midnight by now. Perhaps tomorrow would be slower, as the village prepared for Christmas Eve.

  Thomas and hers would be meager. They did not even have a Yule log, much less evergreens to string about. The last few weeks had seen her too busy to make arrangements for fresh greens.

  She peeled off the rest of her clothing down to her shift, stepped over the bucket beside her bed, and crawled beneath the quilts. As the quiet engulfed her, the thoughts she had forced out of her head returned. She could not fight them here, no matter how she might want to.

  She should have known, should have considered Andrew’s fever might erase the memory of the night they shared. Medically, she could not expect less. But he had passed the point of crisis in his illness, his fever breaking, and most of that evening he’d been lucid. Had the fever returned as they slept? She could no longer remember if his skin felt overly warm when she awakened.

  Too much emotion blurred the memories.

  But I wrote to him. What happened to those letters? Landess must have destroyed them. She should have assumed such, given the man’s derogatory accusations that she wanted merely money.

  She rolled onto her side, facing the window, and sighed heavily. Drifting into whimsy, she pressed her fingertips to her lips, reliving the feel
of his mouth against hers. This last kiss was not the product of fever. Could this mean…?

  She squeezed her eyes shut as a sharp pain pierced her heart. No. Those days were gone now. Andrew might not have cried off his son, and he might very well desire her. But the future they had spoken of was nonexistent. He had a daughter now. He dared not risk the embarrassment Alice would suffer by his marrying down into the working class. At best, all they could share was a scandalous affair. And though tempting, Rebecca could not survive watching him take a second wife, as he likely would, after sharing his bed again. Not to mention the hard work it had required to escape the last scandal. It was best to forget.

  She was too tired to rationally think on this now. Tomorrow they would have to discuss things in detail.

  A sharp whinny outside her window intruded on her thoughts. She lifted to her elbows, peering out into her front lawn. In the moonlight, she could just make out the shadow of a solitary rider.

  Rebecca groaned as she swung her legs off the bed. “What now?” she muttered. It was no wonder her father had been forced to erect a gate and keep it locked after the supper hour. She’d abandoned that practice when the needs in the village became too great for a timetable. Now, she wished she hadn’t traded the iron.

  She wrapped an old coat about her shoulders and lit the lamp. Heading to the front door, she intended to intercept the visitor before he could rap and disturb Thomas. Late night patients had a habit of pounding like they sought to wake the dead.

  Lamp in hand, she opened the door to Andrew’s lifted fist.

  Surprised, she stumbled back. “Andrew?” Dear Lord, had something happened to Alice? Fortescue?

  He stepped inside, into the light, and a gasp slipped off her lips. His hair stood on end, as if he’d raked his hands through it like a madman. Some deeply etched emotion she could not name drew harried shadows across his face. In his eyes, a troubling light burned as he watched her, his mouth opening slightly, then closing, as if he struggled for words.

  She set a hand on his arm, worry tripping her heart into an uneven cadence. “What has happened?”

  To her complete surprise, Andrew sank to his knees at her feet. His hands spanned her hips, and he turned his grief-stricken face up to look into her eyes. “Forgive me, Rebecca. I never meant to cause you pain. You are the only woman who has ever mattered.”

  As his voice hoarsened and he laid his cheek against her abdomen, her knees wobbled dangerously.

  Chapter Seven

  All Rebecca’s wounded handwritten words drummed incessantly through Andrew’s head. He couldn’t escape them. Each joyous remark, each angry insult, picked away at his heart until he had to touch her. The rough cloth of her coat scraped against his cheek, and he tightened his grip on her waist. He spoke because he must. Because perhaps by speaking he could somehow undo the anguish they had both suffered.

  “I thought it was all in my head, that I dreamt of making love to you. And I knew if I returned after the season, I would not be able to maintain the friendship we shared. I didn’t think you would truly have me.”

  “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered. Slowly, she lowered to her knees and framed his face between her roughened palms.

  He pushed his fingers through her long chestnut hair. His eyes searched her face as he willed her to accept his errors. “I married to purge you from my head. It was the only way to guarantee I would not be tempted to return to Sharrington. I stayed in Sussex near Georgina’s family for Alice’s sake. I blocked everything out of weakness. Allowed Landess to continue overseeing until Father died, though I knew he was incompetent.” He closed his eyes to a monstrous wave of regret. “And every time I touched Georgina, I yearned for it to be you. I tried my best to do right by her, but I could not give her my heart. All the while you were here, telling me each tiny detail of Thomas’s life, and I never knew. I would have returned to you in a heartbeat, had I known. I would have given up everything. Embraced every scandalous whisper.”

  Tenderness softened one corner of her mouth. “Where did you find the letters?”

  “Landess.” He inhaled deeply, dragged his thumb across her high cheekbone. “Alice was my only joy. I could not abide the thought of creating another heir. It was too unfair to Georgina. And then, seven months ago cholera took her. It claimed her parents, mine…almost Alice. And yet I waited, terrified to return, all the while taking my time and telling myself I must secure the right man to manage Sussex in my absence. Oh, Rebecca…” Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers. “I am so very sorry.” He paused a moment, then added, “And such a damned fool.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he absorbed the warmth of her supple body. She was thinner than he recalled, but then, she was no longer the well-off surgeon’s daughter.

  He didn’t know how long they sat that way, on their knees in the near-dark. But his body warmed to the nearness of hers, and each breath he took filled his head with the faint scent of lavender he associated with Rebecca. As he breathed her in, soaking up the simple pleasure of holding her in his arms, the yearning in his soul deepened. He was so very tired of fighting what he most wanted to confess.

  He brushed his nose against hers, and finally, finally set it free in a whisper. “I love you, Rebecca. I have not stopped, and I never will.”

  She went rigid in his arms for a heartbeat. In the next, her mouth dusted across his. That slight acceptance touched Andrew’s soul. All thoughts of logical circumstance, of where they were, of what came with the morrow, fled. He sought her mouth with a hunger that had been buried for as long as he could remember.

  Rebecca gave willingly, the tangle of her tongue every bit as starved and needy. She wound her arms around his neck, slipped her fingers into his hair. She pressed so close, and yet remained so far away. He slid a hand down her spine to the small of her back, molding her tighter to him, needing to be part of her very existence. His free hand slipped between their bodies and gently closed over her breast.

  Her back arched, giving him more room, and her lips left his. “Andrew,” she murmured. “Oh, Andrew, I have missed you so very much.”

  He slid his lips down her neck, across the closed collar at her throat, to the buttons on her breastbone. Releasing her breast, he fumbled with the fasteners until the heavy material gave, revealing the thin fabric of her shift. He nudged it aside, pressed a lingering kiss to the deep valley between her breasts, where the scent of lavender collected. As a shudder racked his body, he scraped his teeth across the soft rise of her flesh, fighting down feeling he could not describe. All he knew was he would never survive a life without Rebecca.

  The scrape of her nails against his scalp sent delight sliding down his spine. She arched her back by another several degrees, and following sheer instinct, Andrew closed his mouth around her distended nipple. Muslin scraped against his tongue but soon molded around the sensitive bud. Her hips rotated, and where their lower bodies fused together she stroked his swelling cock.

  Ecstasy slammed into him like a felling hammer. His body jerked forward, forcing him to grip her bottom with both hands so he did not knock her over. The idea of separation was a physical pain that he voiced with a low, hoarse groan.

  …

  Rebecca teetered in Andrew’s hands. The feel of his fingers gripping her backside, his mouth wreaking havoc against her breast—pleasure that she had all but forgotten—made her light-headed. She wanted to cast off the world they lived in and lean back against the hard floor, surrendering her body as she had already surrendered her heart. The need to feel the magic their bodies had created so long ago burned through her veins.

  And yet a small bit of logic forbade her from following the fierce desire. He had wrecked her life once. To go through with this now, aware of the inevitable divide they would face, would destroy her. Hating the reality of circumstance, she untangled her fingers from his thick hair and pushed at his shoulders. “We can’t, Andrew.”

  “Mm.” He pulled more deliberately on
her breast, using his teeth to create a delectable pinch. “I ache for you.”

  She refused to yield to the passion that threatened to wrest her of all sense. Pushing harder at his shoulders, she twisted free of his grasp. “Thomas will hear.”

  He caught her hand, laced their fingers together. A more erotic tangling of digits she had never witnessed. Her breath caught as his fingers slid between hers.

  “There are two doors between your room and his.” Lifting her hand, he drew her index finger between his lips.

  Yes. Oh, yes. She sagged against him, tuning out all reasoning as he scooped her into his arms and carried her inside her bedroom. He laid her on the bed, lowering himself in graceful movements, until his comfortable weight pinned her delectably to the mattress. Slow, languorous kisses filled her veins with a delightful burn that intensified with each shift of his body against hers, each rustle of their clothing in the dark. It didn’t matter if this was right or wrong—she’d yearned for him, for this, for too many years. This was the only world she had ever known, ever wanted.

  Andrew broke the kiss, and with his weight braced on his forearms, smoothed the hair alongside her face with his thumbs. His gaze scored her soul, tender, loving, and filled with words her heart heard long before he spoke. “My Rebecca,” he whispered. “Always my heart. I need you like sunshine.”

  His mouth descended again, capturing hers and carrying her into a world where there was only feeling, only the intensity of bliss and knowing he loved her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, glided them up his back, shifting her body to fuse them more tightly together. His hips sank between her thighs, and despite the barrier of his trousers, she felt the firm insistence of his erection against her feminine center. Andrew nudged that hard length against her, provoking them both into soft groans. Years had passed, and yet her body softened in welcome, as if it recalled the pleasure he created like yesterday.

  Seconds passed, spanned into minutes. Andrew lay unmoving, seemingly content to make love to her with merely his mouth, intensifying the burn in her veins until she could no longer endure the sear. She twisted her hips, seeking an end to the ache that throbbed between her legs. The motion changed his leisurely indulgence. His kiss hardened, becoming more demanding, hungrier. His hands left her temples to slide down the length of her arms, and one drifted up her rib cage, to gather her breast in his warm palm. His thumb grazed over the dampened fabric of her gown, stroking her nipple. The other hand stayed at her waist, the clench of his fingers gathering her nightgown as he shifted his weight to pull it free.