“A book.” The bemused tone in his voice gave way to a chuckle that was followed by hearty gusts of laughter such as she had never heard from him.
“Frances, my sweet darling Frances,” he said when his laughter had finally subsided. “You never cease to amaze me.”
He eased her onto her back, bracketed her head with his hands and leaned forward. “You are an excellent scholar, my dear,” he said with a grin. “Perhaps you would be interested in learning more about the subject?”
His kiss was tender, lingering, and Frances returned it with mounting ardency. “I am accounted a quick study, my lord,” she said with a teasing smile when he pulled himself back to look at her.
“Are you indeed?” He nibbled at her neck, his hands roaming over the softness of her breasts. “It seems a good time for a second lesson, in that case.”
Their eyes met as he dipped several fingers into her cleft and a hum purred deep within her throat. His mouth covered hers, firm and compelling. Liquid heat began to gather, spinning through her entire body. Frances lifted her hips in response to his skillful probing.
“Yes, please,” she moaned, pulling him closer and melting into yet another perfect storm of sensual delight.
Sometime later—quite some time later, when their panting had quieted, and pounding hearts had slowed, he turned on his side to face her.
“Was it simple curiosity that led you to…” he hesitated, seeming to search for the right words. “Explore the art of…”
“Lovemaking?” Frances finished for him. She brushed his disheveled hair from his forehead. “Will you hear me, Richard, if I tell you the honest truth?” She moved back a little and gazed directly into his eyes. “It does not especially reflect well on me, but it’s time—more than time—for you to know why I was reluctant to return to England.”
He searched her face. “Are you sure you want to do this now…here?”
“Yes.” Frances sat up, wrapped his discarded nightshirt around her shoulders, and positioned some pillows behind her.
“You will get cold.” He reached over to pull the sheets up.
Frances shook her head. “I am comfortable.” She waited until he had stretched out beside her, his hands clasped behind his head.
“The day before I received word of Father’s illness, I happened to be in the library loft. It was the day when Lady Merton came to see you.” She felt him tense, sensed his shock, and hurried on. “It was impossible not to overhear your conversation, and it seemed very clear to me that she was your mistress. This beautiful woman—so lovely, sophisticated, and seemingly skilled in pleasing a man—was the person you would have married if the Manor had not been in such dire need.”
Richard stirred and seemed about to speak, but Frances touched a finger to his lips. “Let me finish.” She paused, swallowing several times in an attempt to dispel the ache in her chest. “It was the worst moment in my entire life.” She let out a short, mirthless laugh. “The whole concept of you with someone else…wanting someone else, was almost beyond belief. I have no idea what I would have done if circumstances had not taken me away almost immediately.”
Frances absentmindedly stroked the silken binding on the sheet and stared, unseeing, at the embers glowing in the grate. “Once in Portugal, it became my excuse. I told myself you were now free to be with your lover. I did not have to face you…her—or your mother. Nor would I have to live in an unhappy marriage with a man who did not really want me.”
“Damn it, Frances!”
Richard sat up, twisting to face her, and again Frances laid a finger on his lips. “Wait, please,” she said. She drew in a steadying gulp of air. If she stopped now, she might never have the courage to continue.
“I felt enmeshed in a safe little wonderland, but as time passed, I began to realize it was not my home, nor Flora’s. She deserved her heritage…she deserved her father.” Frances swallowed and smiled wanly. “I’d already made up my mind to return when I came across a book with the most shocking pictures! I had no idea what men truly liked and thought if I learned, then perhaps I could make you happy and you would not want a mistress.”
He had the strangest look in his eyes. Incredulousness? Anger? Whatever it might be, it certainly was not something that could be mistaken for amusement. There was nothing funny about this, Frances thought glumly as she dragged the sleeve of the nightshirt across her eyes. She would not cry. That would be the final humiliation. First throw herself at him, and then make him think she expected his sympathy?
Frances slid down and covered her eyes with her forearm. “I am so sorry, for everything,” she said in a choked voice. Her stomach twisted and pain pinched her chest into a hard knot. She could literally feel his intent gaze upon her. If only the man would say something! If only she were in her own bed and could burrow under the covers—if only…if only. Useless words indeed.
“Frances, look at me.” Richard pried her arm from her face, lay down next to her and kissed away her tears. “Victoria was never my mistress—not in the sense you mean. She came to me that day hoping to persuade me otherwise. I said things to her I should not have, because I felt sorry for her and knew that to reject her personally would hurt her. Expedience is something that she does understand.”
“You were not lovers?” Frances whispered in horror, sick to think she had so misread what she had heard.
“We were,” he admitted regretfully, “at one time. She is very beautiful, and I’m afraid I was no less susceptible than any other young man. I’d known her for years, of course, with our families living so near. And one day the gawky girl I’d once played childhood games with had suddenly blossomed into a confident, alluring woman. I even thought we would marry at some point, but when I told her I was going away to Europe for at least a year, she turned to George and they married within a few months of my departure.”
He put his arm under Frances’ shoulders in order to bring her closer and she laid her aching head in the curve of his arm.
“Richard...” she began, but he gently shushed her.
“Let me tell you the rest.” Richard paused and idly stroked the hair that had tumbled over her back. “When I returned—and this is not something to my credit—Victoria and I had several encounters. I could plead that my father’s death, and the pressure of trying to find a way to rescue the property, had forced me to seek out solace. The truth is I was weak and stupid. I have never felt adultery is acceptable and there I was, betraying my own beliefs—and a man who had been a family friend for years.” His voice roughened. “But I swear to you, it was ended before we married. Victoria had grown into a person I did not like very much. I did not much like myself!”
Frances felt her world shattering into a multitude of jagged pieces. All the righteous justification for her actions was swept away in an instant. Oblivious to her nakedness, she bolted upright and almost leapt from the bed, momentarily forgetting its height and landing with a thump on the floor. Groping for her peignoir, she shoved her arms into the sleeves whilst still on her knees and then struggled to get to her feet.
“What the devil are you doing?” Richard, too, sat up, his eyes glittering in the dim light. He snagged her sash as she tried to tie it. “Come here,” he said, tugging her off balance so that she fell onto the bed.
“I should not be here!” Frances rolled to the edge, but before she could escape, he landed on top of her. “Richard, stop. Let me go!” She fought for release, but facedown as she was, with her arms pinned behind her in his firm grip, she had little leeway.
“No, I will not,” he said in a patently calm voice.
The too-quiet tone penetrated her panic. He was seriously annoyed, and she knew it was foolish to rile him further when she had no chance of besting him anyway. Her breathing still ragged, Frances subsided, all the fight draining from her, leaving her weak and shaken.
“You can let me go now.” A long pause, then Richard’s weight lifted and he flipped her onto her back.
“Hell
and damnation, woman. You are enough to try any man’s patience.”
His wary, puzzled expression made her feel even guiltier, and her eyes filled with tears. Furiously she blinked them away. What was wrong with her that she seemed ready to cry at every little thing these days?
She was trembling, almost unable to speak through the lump in her throat. “I am so sorry…for misjudging you…for staying away…for believing what I did. It’s unforgivable. I know it and you are right to be angry and hurt.” She choked back a sob and scrunched her eyes closed, unable to face him.
“You,” he said after a long silence, “are an idiot.”
Frances’ eyes flew open in surprise.
“Yes, you heard me correctly,” he said in answer to her expression of disbelief. “Come here.” He propped her up just long enough to strip off her peignoir. “Now get yourself under the covers before we both take a chill.” He rose and turned back the quilt.
“You want…?” Frances stared at him in wonder.
“I want you in this bed.” He calmly picked her up, dropped her in place, and was stretched out beside her before she was able to say another word.
“Richard…”
“Go to sleep, Frances. You are exhausted…I am exhausted—and since I have no intention of sending you anywhere, we can finish this discussion in the morning.”
Frances felt his arms surround her. It took her a moment to digest it all, then minutes more to convince herself this was not the end of everything, but possibly the beginning. “You really don’t want me to leave?” she whispered, still seeking reassurance.
“On the contrary.” His tone was almost harsh. “I plan to keep you so close that you will never escape me again.”
“Oh.” Frances smiled and snuggled against his neck, her eyes slowly drifting shut. That sounded nice. Very nice, indeed.
Chapter Thirty-four
Frances was still spooned tightly beside him when Halcombe awoke soon after dawn, her derrière planted solidly next to his cock. It was most…agreeable, he decided, and wondered why they had never spent the night together in the past. Perhaps because he had never known his parents to do so? An unsatisfactory reason, but it was not worth pursuing. They would sleep together, in this bed, in the future.
Careful not to disturb her, he eased up on one elbow and moved the covers aside to expose her shoulder and breast to his feasting eyes. For all her thinness, his wife’s breasts were full and perfectly rounded. A proper handful, some of his men might say. Halcombe smiled. He wanted to fill his hands with her now, and would before they began the day—but not yet.
Her cheek bore the faint trail of last night’s tears. She’d thought he would put her aside, but the truth was he wanted her more than ever now. Not that he had told her as much. It was too new, this feeling of a huge burden lifted from his shoulders. Their emotional encounters over the past week had left him raw and hurting. Who would ever have expected his shy child-bride to ripen into a woman full of passion?
Halcombe lay down and pulled Frances sideways just enough for him to slide his hand along the sweet curve of her hip. She loved him. He knew it with absolute certainty. She could not have pleasured him as she did unless she truly loved him. And her fervent, lusty seduction had come from a book! The recollection made him grin and speculate further on what else she might have learned. She had a lifetime of nights to teach him and he had a few more things to teach her as well.
Halcombe did not blame her for thinking what she had about Victoria. That she had thought him dishonorable was painful, and he was not certain he would ever completely understand why she stayed away for all those months. Nor was he certain he would completely forgive her, he admitted. It might always be an invisible weight upon their marriage, but he had his own share of faults to shoulder. No marriage was perfect, and theirs was bound to have more highs and lows than some. They would get by it. He desperately wanted a family, a happy home, and her in it. They had to make it a success.
Halcombe chuckled. As headstrong and determined as Frances was, he did not expect to be bored. Furious, surprised, irritated—not to mention aroused—yes, but not bored. He turned her to face him and kissed her awake. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Frances opened her eyes and smiled. “Good morning.” An anxious expression clouded her face and she looked seriously at him. “It really is a good morning?”
“It is, wife, and about to get better.”
“Oh,” she said. Before she could ask him to clarify his remark, he rubbed his cock against her sex. Her eyes widened in understanding and she opened her legs, urging him in. He began to move, his gentle penetration growing more forceful with each thrust and she rose to meet him. “It is a very good morning,” she whispered.
***
Once dressed and their fast broken, they went together to visit Flora. Halcombe then left them at play with the Ark animals, a pastime Flora had not yet tired of. He had tired of it, however, and he put his mind to what other toy or game might distract her.
Halcombe was engaged in writing a number of sadly overdue letters when Benson informed him that Thomas Blount was at the manor and requesting an interview. The earl was vaguely aware that his housekeeper’s son visited her at times but their paths had never crossed.
“Have Mr. Blount come in, Benson.” Halcombe sanded his letters, set aside his pen and made a mental note that he needed more ink.
Benson led the young man into the study.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Blount.” Halcombe nodded in the direction of the chair in front of his desk.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Somewhat hesitantly, Blount sat, although his expression was such that Halcombe felt the man would prefer to stand. While understandable, the earl’s preference was to have his visitors at eye level.
“I’m aware you come and go here freely, both to see Mrs. Blount and to assist Lady Halcombe with her enterprise. Since you have not before requested to see me, I gather something has come up that you feel I should know?”
“Just so, my lord.”
Blount looked so relieved that Halcombe’s own misgivings increased. “Does this have to do with Lady Halcombe, Blount?” He trusted it was not something that would disturb the still tenuous accord he had established with Frances. He was very aware that she felt this man to be family.
“In the most general way,” Blount assured him. “It concerns Clifftop.” His forehead furrowed. “You know I am responsible for dispatching Lady Halcombe’s letters and such to the continent, and so have contact with some rather unusual men.”
“Smugglers, I suppose,” the earl said dryly, hoping his wife’s involvement in this practice would not come back to haunt him someday.
Blount acknowledged Halcombe’s hit with a faint smile. “Yes, a few, but most are legitimate traders and fishermen. England is not at war with the entire world, however much it seems that way at times. I’ve come to know some of them, and they trust me. There are rumours of a stranger in the area.” He hesitated, and then went on with less certainty. “It may be nothing, or completely unrelated, but there are signs someone has been in the house at Clifftop.” Blount frowned in thought. “It’s little enough, sir. Some dirt on the floors where none should be, an unaccountable odor, and once a smear on a doorknob. I no longer live there, now that everything has been moved out, but check the house thoroughly every week.” He lifted his shoulders in an ‘it’s over to you now, my lord’ gesture. “I felt you should know, my lord.”
“Indeed, you have done well in this, Blount. It is important information and you can be assured I will act on it.” He picked up a letter opener and tapped it several times on the desktop while he considered what, if any, action to take. “How specific are the rumours?” he asked. “Is there any description of the stranger? Might it be a legitimate traveler?”
Blunt shook his head. “Doubtful, my lord. Although mention has been made of a fellow with light hair, whoever it is only appears at night. One man claims to
have heard him speak with some kind of accent, but just about any stranger is a foreigner to the local men.”
Halcombe nodded and stood. “Thank you for telling me this, and for your assistance to Lady Halcombe.” He held up a hand when the other man looked about to answer. “No, I don’t want any further details. I prefer to remain in blissful ignorance of your methods of transport.”
Blount rose as well. “Of course, but most avenues are nothing out of the ordinary. As I said earlier, communication with the continent is fairly commonplace.”
The earl laughed. “So you say. Go and find your mother, Blount, and get something to eat. I will let Lady Halcombe know you are here. She will want to see you.”
After the man had left, the earl resumed his seat and leaned back, the pen still in his hand. Was this anything to do with Summerton’s suspicions of French agents arriving on the Sussex coast? Halcombe still felt the notion a wild surmise but, then again, what did he know of spies and agents? Nothing at all! Summerton had to be informed at once, however.
He called for Benson, and after requesting a fresh pot of ink, he penned a brief note. This news required immediate delivery to London. He would have Jim deliver it. The groom was trustworthy and had been to the city before. Halcombe scribbled Summerton’s direction on the front of the note.
“Benson, ask Jim to take this to Lord Summerton as quickly, and safely, as possible,” Halcombe said when he left his study. “And send word to your mistress that Thomas Blount is here. I will be out most of the afternoon. Please inform Mr. Compton there are several letters on my desk that need to be copied.”
“Certainly, sir.”
The earl took his hat and gloves from the butler, decided he was hungry, and went downstairs to the kitchen on his way out. Cook always had something tasty to pilfer. He strolled into the huge room, grinned at the giggling maids assisting Cook, and pocketed several of the freshly baked rolls that were cooling on a tray.
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