“Miss Christina!” The housekeeper appeared before her suddenly, waking her from idle thoughts. “Did you tell him he could come here?”
She frowned. “Tell who?”
Mrs. Draycott gestured at the stage and she looked. Harry Blackwood was there, slowly peeling off his shirt, much to the delight of the audience.
“Don’t just stand there with your mouth open,” Mrs. Draycott exclaimed. “He’s not supposed to be up there.”
But the bidding had already begun, and he encouraged it with a sultry wink at the eager Countess of Warminster as he tossed her his shirt. The man worked the stage like a professional. How he came to be there, she had no idea. Charmed his way in, probably, she mused. He was altogether too keen to remove his clothes, as she knew already.
That little flame in her belly grew taller and hotter. He always had this cheering effect on her, she realized, as if she’d missed him. There he was, disrupting things again, throwing himself whole-heartedly into the fray. The women loved it. Why wouldn’t they?
“How can I stop him?” she murmured.
“Well, I will then!”
“Wait.” Christina grabbed the housekeeper’s arm. “If he wants to make an exhibition of himself, he can. It’s all for a good cause, remember?”
He doesn’t belong to me anymore than I belong to him. But she knew every curve of muscle on those fine shoulders, and her gaze swept them with yearning.
The bidding continued as he began to remove his black cloth trousers. Over the well-dressed heads of the crowd, she caught his eye. He trapped her in his hard gaze, and she couldn’t look away. The cameo brooch at her neck seemed to be cutting off her air. He turned his back to the audience and let his linen drawers fall. Those taut, muscular buttocks were now on display, highlighted to a warm, coppery glow by the subtle light of the gas lamps. Looking back over one shoulder, he grinned at her and made poses like a circus sideshow weight-lifter. The crowd cheered and applauded, their interest piqued as he teased and tantalized, clearly enjoying himself. Several ladies raised their bidding paddles, but the Countess of Warminster was determined to win. Christina feared there might be a slap-down, drag-out fight any minute.
Hands on her waist, she watched him showing off. She was exceedingly warm in her black gown, and restless too. She wanted to leave the room, but couldn’t.
He was turning around, his large hands cupped over his manhood.
The Countess of Warminster had almost fallen out of her chair. Two other ladies were hot on her heels with their own bids. Things had become rather frantic.
He looked at her again and she read the challenge in his wicked gaze. Any moment now he’d take his hands away and a few women in that room would probably faint from shock. She shook her head at him and his grin broadened.
She ought to let Mrs. Draycott throw him off her stage, but how could she be angry at a man so willing to play the fool for her? While she tried to remain solemn and serious, the laughter was ready to bubble out of her, tickling her throat. His comical poses were even making the other men laugh.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear any other woman having him tonight.
Christina pushed her way through the crowd to the front of the stage, raising her hands for quiet.
“The house bids one thousand pounds.”
Ripples of shock flooded the drawing room. The Countess complained it wasn’t in the rules that the house could bid.
“I’m afraid I make the rules here, Countess,” Christina replied coolly. “Do I hear any advance on one thousand pounds?”
Before there could be any, the gavel, wielded by Mrs. Draycott, came down with a thump.
Christina had spent a small fortune on impulse, breaking not only the house rules, but her own.
He pulled her up before him onto the stage, using her to shield his naked body. “I’m your purchase for the night, hellcat,” he said. “Aren’t you going to carry me off over your shoulder now?”
She pursed her lips as the audience laughed. “That’s enough of the comedy performance, thank you.”
“All right then. I’ll have to carry you.” He grabbed her around the waist, tossed her over his left shoulder, and carried her down from the stage, his bold, naked exit accompanied by riotous applause, and at least one swooning lady who was hastily administered smelling-salts by Mrs. Draycott.
Chapter Ten
While the auction continued under Mrs. Draycott’s management, he took her to the parlor across the hall and finally set her on her feet. She turned away to bolt the door, and immediately he was kissing her hair and the back of her neck, his hands unbuttoning her gown. “Why are you dressed like a widow this evening?” he murmured, his breath warm on the nape of her neck.
“I was in the mood for black.”
“Bad day?”
“Yes.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “Very.”
Each piece of skin he bared, he kissed, igniting more wanton little flames along her spine. “A little bit of Harry will make it better,” he whispered.
A lot of Harry, actually, she thought, comforted already because he was there. His fingers now battled her corset laces, while she rested limply against the door, the side of her face pressed against the painted wood panels. “You’re a very expensive purchase, Blackwood. I hope my humiliation out there was worth it. You warned me that wanting you would cost me everything one day.”
“I didn’t mean money or pride.” He freed her arms from the sleeves of her silk gown and kissed her shoulder as the chemise drifted down.
“What else can you demand from me?”
He turned her around to face him and leaned close, his lips almost on hers. “Your heart, Christina.”
“Your price is too high.”
“I thought so, too, until today. Suddenly I knew what I wanted—what I really wanted for the first time in my life. I love you.”
He was a grown man who should know better. Stark naked, in her parlor, talking of hearts and love. It was too ridiculous for words. She glanced up over his shoulder to where her mother watched from above the mantle; also naked, but with no love in her eyes, just unhappiness and even a little scorn for the man who’d painted her. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispered, her butterflies multiplying. “And I should never have—”
He kissed her lips defiantly and continued her disrobing as if she’d never spoke. She hadn’t the will to stop him. When her corset and petticoats were finally removed, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the hearthrug.
This time he made love to her slowly, to comfort, not just to thrill. She saw the care in his eyes and in the slight crease of his forehead. He must have known, instinctively that she was saddened that evening, that something dark had happened to her, but he didn’t ask. His fingers stroked her, his lips caressed her, and his tongue charmed her with the skill of a flute luring a coiled cobra from its basket. She was passive this evening. Let him earn his fee, she thought almost sulkily when she considered the thousand pounds she’d thrown away so recklessly.
Her mother would never have done that for a man.
Still, he was worth it. Every penny.
* * * *
“Come home with me, Christina,” he said again as they lay entwined by the fire, her head resting in the curve of his shoulder.
She didn’t believe he loved her, but he mustn’t be impatient. One day she’d know. It had taken him awhile to come to terms with it too.
“North?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“It’s different there.”
“Well…yes…but you’ll like it.” He kissed her hair. “I’ll be with you.”
“I can’t go. You may as well ask me to fly to the moon with you. I’ve never been further from London than the Norfolk coast. Mrs. Draycott took me there once for a holiday when I was six. My mother couldn’t come. She was busy.”
She bent her head back so he could see her face. In the gentle putter of firelight she looked very young. Whenev
er she spoke of Louisa, he thought of his own mother and considered how adversely a wayward, uncaring parent could affect a child. But they were all capable of making mistakes. They were all human. Sometimes people did self-centered, greedy things just to survive, and others were hurt by it purely by accident.
Christina was wide-eyed, watching him. Occasionally her gaze wandered higher to the portrait above the mantle, searching for answers. She was torn.
It wasn’t right to press her. She was young; her whole life was yet ahead of her. It would be wrong to make her devote herself to him; make her promise to love him forever when she had no idea what that meant. Forever to her was probably next week, or a month from now. In a few years she’d be unhappy and leave, break his heart and those of their children too.
He couldn’t be selfish.
Later, while she slept, he kissed her lightly and let her go on with her dreams. “Have a good life, Christina,” he whispered.
As her fingers slid from his that last time, pain trapped in his heart, pulling on it, rendering it full of gaping holes. But if he had anything to learn from his father’s marriage it was this— you can’t make another soul love you. You can’t make another person stay when they want to be somewhere else.
Again he saw his mother walking away, her boots making a quick sound across the gravel path, him running after her, tripping over a flower urn and falling, grazing his knees, making them bloody.
“Mama. Mama! Where are you going?”
She didn’t look back.
“Don’t leave, Mama! Please don’t leave me!”
He remembered a hatbox hanging from her gloved hand, but she must have had other luggage, of course.
He wasn’t quick enough to catch her skirt, and she didn’t wait. Sun burned his eyes making his tears sting. Then she was gone. A boy of ten, like an abandoned dog, could only follow a racing carriage so far, however fast he ran.
Life wasn’t fair.
The beautiful blue eyes of Christina Deveraux were closed, so he could leave her without the additional pang of seeing them search for excuses not to go with him, trying not to hurt the old man’s feelings.
At the door he paused, looking once more at the naked, slumbering beauty among the pillows and blankets of the little nest he’d made for her. She was all copper and gold and silver, her long hair spread out around her, gleaming in the dying firelight. He might have woken her again with a kiss. But he was no prince.
“Goodbye, Christina,” he whispered. “I wish you every happiness.” If he stayed any longer he feared he might kidnap her, take her home with him like a pirate’s captive slave. But sometimes the best thing you could do for a person was let them go.
Chapter Eleven
August 1888
“Well, this is the day, little brother,” he strode into Adam’s bedroom, trying to ignore the pounding headache from the previous night of overindulgence. “Sure about this?”
Adam was fussing with cufflinks, fumbling over them. “Of course I’m bloody sure. I’ve always known Lina was the one for me, and now I’ve finally persuaded her.” He grinned. “It was an uphill task all these years.”
Walking to the window, Harry looked out on the sun-dappled lawn where bowers of white roses, camellias, and dancing ribbon were being erected for the reception later. “You really knew she was the one all that time?”
“You know I did. The minute I first laid eyes on her. I have the scar on my nose to prove it.”
Yes, he remembered that day, six years ago, when Adam had been winning a boxing match on the common, until he suddenly caught sight of Lina walking by, forgot what he was doing, and promptly received a punch that felled him like a tree, breaking his nose. At the time, she’d been another man’s wife. Such details had never troubled Harry’s little brother, however. He knew what he wanted, and he didn’t rest until he had it. Now she was about to become his bride.
He’d thought Adam a fool for carrying a torch so long for one woman. Now Harry understood. Once fate dangled the right woman before a man, there was no going back.
He twisted the window latch and wrenched it open for some fresh air, hoping to chase away his grim mood. “So you’re really planning to stay here at The Grange, make it a home for you and Lina?”
“Yes. She likes it here, and I’m sick of London. You don’t mind?”
“You’ve done a good job fixing the place up,” Harry remarked distantly, still frowning. “Father really let the house and grounds fall into disrepair. I didn’t think any of it was salvageable.”
“That’s the difference between you and me. I’m an optimist. You’re a pessimist.”
He said nothing, but glowered out at the copse lining the far edge of the lawn. The rusty iron latch squealed as he moved it back and forth.
“What’s the matter with you, Harry? You seem out of sorts this morning.”
He rubbed his brow. “Too much brandy last night. I don’t know how you can be so damned chipper.”
Adam laughed. “Youth. I bounce back quicker than old fellows like you and Luke. How is he this morning?”
Oh, Luke was all right, Harry sulked inwardly. Luke was happy as a horse in clover because he, too, had a woman to love now. Just the month before, he had married Daisy Wellfleet, a copper-haired beauty who, apparently, swept the grumpy, unsociable fellow completely off his big feet. Neither Harry nor Adam had known anything about the marriage, until Luke arrived at The Grange yesterday with his new bride. His new pregnant bride. That would give the village gossips something to chew over.
“He and Daisy are on their way to the church already,” he muttered. “They took my carriage since I’m riding with you.”
Adam nodded, still fumbling with his cufflinks. “By the way,” he said awkwardly, “I wanted you to be the first to know…I’m not only making The Grange a home for me and Lina.”
“Oh?”
A slow smile eased across Adam’s lips. “We’re having a baby.”
Harry groaned. “You too? Does no one else in this family take precautions?”
The smile turned into a low chuckle. “Lina doesn’t want anyone else to know about it just yet. You know how she worries about being proper. I told her she can forget about all that once she’s married to me.”
“Quite. Doesn’t she know what she’s getting in to?”
After another chuckle, Adam turned somber. “Thank you for agreeing to be my best man, Harry.”
He swung away from the window. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? You’re my little brother.” He smiled.
“But we haven’t always been close. I wasn’t even sure if you’d come down for the wedding. I know how busy you are with the mill.”
It was true that they’d drifted apart over the years, all three brothers having full lives of their own, but Harry decided it was time they got back in touch, made more of an effort for each other. It was, after all, just the three of them now that their father was gone.
Well, it wasn’t just three anymore, was it? Now there was Lina and Daisy.
His smile faded. It seemed as if Harry was the only one in the family who would remain alone. Pushing the thought aside, he drew a deep breath.
“For the love of God, Adam, come here and let me fix those cuff-links or you’ll miss your own damn wedding.”
* * * *
She was late. As the carriage pulled up by the church, she saw the strewn petals and rice littering the path under the lych gate and knew she’d missed it. The one place where he’d be today. When she saw the notice in the newspaper about the famed architect Adam Blackwood’s wedding, she felt it was a sign from her guardian angel on high. Suddenly, staring at the news print, everything became clear to her. She’d been desperately unhappy since Harry left, all the pleasure and excitement of life was gone.
At first, she thought he’d come back; appear in her life as he had before. But he never did. She couldn’t forget what he’d said to her, how he’d cared and loved her when no one else but Mrs. Dray
cott ever had. She’d thought, in time, her feelings would fade, but they only grew worse, so she had to find him now, today. She absolutely refused to go another day without Harry.
Catching sight of the parson rounding the side of the small stone church, she quickly leapt out and ran under the gate arch, one hand holding her bonnet in place.
“Excuse me, sir, was there a wedding here this morning?”
The parson shielded his eyes from the sun and beamed at her. “Indeed there was, young lady. Mr. Adam Blackwood and his lovely bride Evangeline. But they’ve all gone now.”
“Yes.” Her shoulders slumped. “I see.” He was gone north again already. Slipping away from her grasp. She was a fool for coming. He might not want to see her anyway.
“They’ll all be up at The Grange for the reception. I’ve been invited to join them later myself.”
Hope lurched back to life. “The Grange?”
* * * *
They sat around a long trestle table on the lawn, under the shelter of floral bowers and billowing ivory linen that reminded him of the pirate sails in his imagination. The guests were merry and the wine flowed. It was a pleasant pastoral scene, but Harry felt oddly detached from it. An outsider looking in, not quite belonging. He regarded his brothers’ wives and thought of the children they already carried. Soon he would be even further outside their circle, because his brothers were moving on without him. He was stuck in time. They would soon be fathers, and he would be old, mad Uncle Harry.
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