by Ingrid Hahn
Far better to push her away. Far better to keep her at a distance. The sooner he could remove himself from her company completely, the better. He had to be strong.
But hardening his heart against her wasn’t an option. It would have been easier if he could have. But this was the woman he loved. For good or for ill, he couldn’t change his feeling for her, no matter the pain their ultimate parting would inflict.
Part they would, and soon enough, at that. If this was the last thing she could offer him, this is what he would take.
Harland bowed. In kind, Abigail curtsied. He held out an ungloved hand. Her own slipped into his, bare skin to bare skin. A shiver coursed his spine. They’d been locked together in the most intimate embrace a man and woman could find together—he’d moved himself inside the warm embrace of her body. Yet this simple contact sent the thrill of daring excitement through his blood that he was allowed to touch this woman in such a manner.
He took her into his arms, their position together closed.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to waltz, my lord.”
“Shh.” Without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. “I’ve seen you dance. There’s nothing to this, you’ll see. Stay up on the balls of your feet. Then all you have to do is follow.”
The steps of the waltz were slow, but not hesitant. She echoed his lead, allowing him to take her all about the room in a simple, improvised arrangement.
They longer they went, the more confident she became. As if she were blooming. Just the way she had when he had his mouth on her—
Without warning, she pulled away, chest falling up and down as if she had trouble catching her breath. “I’m sorry, my lord. I can’t—I can’t do this.”
A new hope he hadn’t known he’d been holding snuffed out of existence. He went stiff, bracing himself against the shattering crash of disappointment. Dash it all, she’d said no once and made no real indication of changing her mind. Why did this have to be so difficult a second time around? “I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Abigail—”
“Together we’re not alone, you see.”
“What?”
“Harland, I love you.”
Time hung on the balance of a single moment, one second having forgotten to fall into the next, his heart having forgotten to beat.
That was odd. He didn’t remember finding himself at the bottom of a bottle of spirits. And when he did—which had been only once, given the harsh consequence bound up in the light of the next morning—he hadn’t dreamt so vividly as this.
“It’s true, my lord, I do. I can hardly believe it myself, but I lied, and living so excruciatingly in the hours since having rejected you—well, you’re right. I mean about secrets. Carrying them well…it’s just no good, is it?”
“But—”
“I know. I know. But I was afraid. Surely you must understand that. You’re…” She gestured at him. “Well, you, and I’m—I’m nothing.”
“Never say you’re nothing.” The words came from his lips as if taking on a life of their own. “You’re the woman I love.”
“I’m nothing without you.”
“You must be certain. I can’t endure more heartbreak.”
“If you’ll still have me.” She stepped close, head leaned back to gaze up at him, and slipped her hand into his, their fingers locking.
“You think me so faithless?”
“No, my lord. I don’t. That’s what inspires my own faith that this isn’t the work of a moment and bound to be our undoing. I think instead it shall be our salvation.”
“Then you shall be my wife?” His throat closed around the w-word, this time not out of fear and apprehension, but because his heart leapt. “You’ll have to be mine for always. I shall accept no less.”
“I shall. You have my heart and it shall stay that way, forever and always. Except…on one point, you’ll allow me to make an amendment?”
He clipped the quick denial from his tongue, steadying himself into a rational response, though still having to speak carefully. “An amendment to what?”
“The answer I gave you back in the cottage—the one about the best gift I ever received.”
Unease abated. He smiled. What a time that had been. And now they had a lifetime of even better nights before them, all theirs for the taking. Beginning tonight.
Harland ran a tender stroke down the side of her head. “Oh?”
“Yes, because, you see, the kitten is only the second best gift I’ve ever received. The first, my love, is you.”
Epilogue
One year later…
Abigail didn’t feel like a marchioness with bits of hay stuck in her lose hair tumbling about her shoulders. That was all well and good, because she felt like a wife, which was much nicer. A very happy, pleasured, pampered wife. Harland’s head was between her open legs, his hands on her bare thighs as his mouth coaxed her pleasure deeper and more intense with every swirl and suck.
She didn’t hold back when the orgasm burst through her. They were the only two people in the barn, so what did she have to hide?
When she was released from the sweet raptures, they collapsed together, boneless and panting. It was cold outside. The puddles in the paths stayed frozen over during the day. But between the warmth of the hay and the vigor of their activities, they were far from the icy grip of winter.
“I can’t believe we did it again after what we did this morning.” Which wasn’t to say Abigail wasn’t glad they’d done it again.
Eleven months into their marriage and he didn’t show any sign of losing his ardor for her. On the contrary, their hunger for each other had only intensified. Although it had taken a small dip.
The last four months or so had been quite difficult as she’d been so very ill. One look at a plate of food was enough to send her running from the room with her hand over her mouth in search of an obliging basin to abuse. The smell of certain dishes that had once been her favorites… Thank goodness that was over.
After the doctor had assured Harland several times that husbandly attentions would pose no danger to Abigail’s condition, their amorous life had resumed. With gusto.
Harland pulled her close and kissed her temple. “What would you think of riding me astride?”
She smiled at him, warm and wet between her legs, and quite ready to have something thick and hard inside of her. “I think I should like it very much.”
But as she was sitting up, a small noise caught her ear.
“What is it, love?” Harland sat up and looked about.
“You didn’t hear that?” She strained her ears, waiting to see if it would happen again.
“Hear what?”
The tiny mewling sounded again and the pair looked at each other.
Abigail crawled back into the narrow space between the roof and the piles of hay to where the sound had originated. Sure enough, at the very back was a kitten. She grabbed it by its scruff and held it up.
Its fur was pure black, with a bit of white at the tip of the wispy tail, as if it had tried to use itself as a brush. “About five weeks, I should think—at the most.” Abigail held the tiny thing close. “Where’s his mother? He probably needs milk.”
“We can always give him goat’s milk. Give him here.” He reached for the kitten.
The moment Harland took hold of the mewling ball of fluff, Abigail knew the two would not soon be parted. The look that came over his face as he stroked the kitten’s fur said it all. It was as if her husband had been reunited with a tiny missing piece of his soul. The kitten seemed to know it, too. Almost as if the two had been waiting for each other. He curled right in Harland’s hand, closed his eyes, and began purring much too loudly for such a small creature. Abigail had never seen anything like it.
The tenderness between them made Abigail’s hand move unconsciously to the slight swelling. So far, all she’d really gotten was a thickened waist, and she
was as impatient for her belly to grow as she was to feel the little kicks.
But right now, the moment was perfect. Her heart was overflowing and she couldn’t have asked for anything better. What a father this man was going to be. What a lucky child grew inside of her. What a star she’d wished upon that had brought her to Harland.
Coming November 2017…ONCE UPON A WISHING WELL
When an accidental wish is granted, can two surprised lovers overcome their past?
Beatrix Crofton doesn’t believe in wishes. But when she’s blackmailed with a packet of her father’s incriminating letters, she’ll do anything to escape being forced into marriage. Which is how finds herself at a wishing well. In the dead of night under the light of a full moon, she closes her eyes and makes a desperate wish. But midway through, her mind wanders back to a long lost love…
When Beatrix first rescues Hugh Thacker, the Duke of Vandemere, then comes to him for help, he knows exactly what to do. Losing her once froze Hugh’s heart. This time, he’ll marry her himself to save her from a despicable fate.
Marrying Beatrix is easy. Keeping her is something else. Old hurts and betrayals come to the surface once more as Hugh must try to help Beatrix’s father, a man he once exposed as a fraud. Their painful history might be too much to overcome, and time is running out. If Hugh loses Beatrix a second time, it will destroy him.
Please enjoy a currently uncorrected and unedited first peek at the first chapter!
Chapter One
April 1815, the wilds of —shire
“When I said I would do anything, I didn’t mean this.” Beatrix Crofton trudged up the incline trailing her friend, Sarah Blythe.
It was the dead of night—with a bit too much emphasis on dead for Beatrix’s taste, especially when they’d cut through the churchyard to find start of the old cow path. A full moon spilled silvery light upon the earth. From the trees came the call of a long-eared owl. She inhaled, that earthy smell of overgrown land after a recent rain a heady perfume in her nose.
Up until last week, she’d have done anything to help her father. Anything. In fact, time and again, she’d done exactly that.
“My grandmother said that when she was a girl, the wish she made at this well was granted within three days.” Sarah’s tone was purely factual, as if discussing how to treat a sick prize pig with a worried swine farmer.
Beatrix huffed. “I don’t believe in such things.”
“But it can’t hurt, can it?”
No sooner had Sarah posed the question than Beatrix’s toe came into contact with something hard. Very hard. Wincing, she cried out, pain flashing up her leg. Insult to serious injury—for she already faced being forced to marry that odious man who was blackmailing them.
Oh, she’d do it. If she had to. But there were any other choice—any at all—she’d __. Which is how she’d ended up allowing her friend to talk her into this absurd lark and how she still found herself pushing through the overgrowth, brambles catching on her grey woolen cape. Beatrix might not believe in wishes. If the unseen forces of the world held a different view, however, she was willing to attempt exploiting it.
“Are you all right?”
Beatrix leaned one hand on the rough surface of a nearby tree trunk for balance while holding her assaulted appendage with the other. “I think it’s a sign we ought to turn back.”
“I thought you said you didn’t believe in such things as signs.”
“I said I didn’t believe that wishes could be granted.” Beatrix tugged off her half boot and held it under her arm to more properly massage the aching toe. Desperate though she might be, she was beginning to feel ridiculous.
“Well, it’s practically the same thing, isn’t it? Signs appearing as if guided by the hand of Fate and the granting of wishes.” Her friend’s voice was soft and earnest in all the ways Sarah herself was soft and earnest.
“But I thought you did believe.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“If I’m the one who has to believe for this to work, we might never have set out in the first place. I’m never going to believe.” Beatrix set to work replacing her shoe. “Never.”
“We’ve come this far. You don’t really want to turn around, do you?”
“I left the comfort of a warm bed for this.” In a little patch of open earth to one side, mushrooms of various sizes stood together in a ring, the moonlight seeming to make the pale forms luminesce with an otherworldly glow. Even Beatrix had to admit—and only within the privacy of her own thoughts—that a little fairy could appear there any moment.
She sent a cautious look to her friend to see if Sarah had caught sight of the mushrooms, too.
But Sarah was occupied with studying Beatrix thoughtfully. “What a shame it would be to give up now, don’t you think?”
Beatrix cast her gaze up to a spangled sky and shook her head. She inhaled, then let out a long breath.
“You needn’t sound like that.” The night sky emitted enough light to illuminate the way Sarah’s brows drew together. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Sound like what?” Beatrix frowned.
“Like you’re so very put upon, with your great sighs.”
“I am indulging you in this nonsense, you know.”
Sarah made a moue. “Be that as it may, I’d appreciate it if you indulged me a little more quietly.”
“I must own that I feel terribly foolish. Surely you must have some sympathy, however little, within you for that.”
“You’ll feel far more foolish if you’re stuck for the next twenty or more years as Sir Walter’s wife.”
“I could do very well without hearing his name spoken.”
“And what does that tell you, exactly?”
There Sarah had her. Anything was better than that, even going to a wishing well and pretending that the Fates were watching, ready to intervene at the moment Beatrix made the proper appeal. “Are we really almost there?”
“Yes, we’re really almost there.”
They trudged on over the rocky, uneven ground laced with gnarled tree roots. The farther they went, the thicker the trees became, and the darker the night. Until at last they came through a small clearing.
“You see? I told you we were almost there.”
“Where is it?”
The open space was clear of any indication of a well.
“Over here. Watch yourself, now.” Sarah took Beatrix’s hand as she brought them up a small rise. “Mind you don’t fall in.”
They came to a gaping hole in the ground. Not what Beatrix had expected. “It’s an old well.”
Sarah nodded.
Beatrix was putting her foot down for the last step when the lumpy ground beneath her tread wiggled. She jumped, tumbling backward, and landing with a hard thump on her backside.
“What is it? What happened?” Sarah leaned over her, reaching to help her back up again.
The lump where Beatrix had stepped issued an insulted croak and hopped away into the tall grasses. “I think I stepped on a toad.” She climbed back to her feet, rubbing herself. Come tomorrow, there’d be an unsightly bruise on an unmentionable place.
“A toad? Well, don’t let it get away. We have to find it so you can kiss it.”
Beatrix froze. “What?”
Sarah burst out laughing. “Oh, I wish you could see your expression. How could you really think me serious?”
“It makes about as much sense as throwing something into a well and—oh. I forgot a ha-penny.”
Sarah gave Beatrix an odd look. “Whatever do you need money for here?”
“I thought I had to wish by throwing a coin into the water.”
“Oh, no. Anything will do.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What do you have?”
Beatrix thought for a minute, making a mental catalogue of all she had on her person. Oft-repaired stays. Worn chemise. Sturdy gown. Darned stockings. “Oh! Hairpins.”
“No, that won’t do.”
“Why not? You said anything would.”
“Yes, but that’d be a waste of a perfectly good hairpin.”
“But if my wish is granted, I’ll be able to buy as many hairpins as I please. And I am going to wish for money.” Beatrix was lying. Unbeknownst to Sarah, the problem was a little more complicated than a simple lack of funds. Unfortunately, some things couldn’t be spoken aloud. Best to let her believe it all came down to the need for a quick fortune.
Because in truth, Sir Walter wasn’t pressing his suit upon Beatrix to help her out of poverty. He was blackmailing her. Years ago, Beatrix’s father had penned some damning letters. They should have been burnt immediately by the recipient. They hadn’t been. Her father had retrieved them, but only to lose them in a game of cards. He’d said he’d thought he couldn’t lose. Funny that, because he usually did.
She needed a way out. A lifetime of marriage to Sir Walter was far too high a price to pay for her father’s indiscretion. She’d do it if she had to—what choice did she have? But she’d do anything, even make a silly wish in a wishing well to be given another option.
“Oh, no you have to be more specific.”
“How can I be more specific than wanting money?”
“You have to think about the means. It’s not just going to rain money. And I have to say that if your wish is granted, I think you’ll still be as much of a pinch-penny as ever. It’s in your character.”
“I’m not a pinch-penny. I’m frugal. I have to be.”
“I know. I know.” Sarah gave Beatrix a nod that was nothing if not indulgent. “But with yourself, you most certainly are a pinch-penny, even you must own that. You’re extremely generous with others, almost to a fault, and I say if you ever took it into your head to wish for money and the wish was granted, you’ll give it all away except enough to live on simply and be quiet content with your lot in life.”