For a moment, Andres was tempted to do as she asked. And then he shook his head, trying to give the brooch back to her. “I have taken so much from you, Abby. My conscience will not let me take more—”
She shoved him in the chest with both hands. “Stop this.” Her eyes burned bright in her face. “Don’t tell me to go home again. This is my home. And my place is not with my parents but with the man I married. You swore to cherish and protect me, Andres Ramigio. You made a vow in front of witnesses. I meant the words I said. The promises I made to you. Are you saying you didn’t mean any of the words you said?”
“I did. And I don’t suggest you leave because I don’t want you, Abby. I want you to leave because I am a failure. I am nothing as you think I am, Abby. I’m a fraud.”
He took a step back, almost afraid of himself now … and knew he had to go on.
“I’m not a barón, Abby. I’m the barón de Vasconia’s bastard son. He took his own life, Abby. Shot himself.” He knew this news would not surprise her. “He had nothing and couldn’t live with the idea. I didn’t have anything either. I left Spain and started using the title. Who would care? And it opened many doors.” He realized he was ahead of himself … and so he began at the beginning.
He told all. Once he’d taken a breath, once he’d admitted to being an impostor, the story poured out of him.
Abby listened. She didn’t ask questions or interrupt him. He found himself telling far more than he should have, and it felt good.
At one point, they adjourned to the room that had been the scullery. There was a huge fireplace. Andres used the flint box from the kit in his valise and started a fire, using the broken pieces of wood, presumably from what had once been furniture. Abby helped him build that fire, then said, “Please continue.”
Still wearing their coats, they sat on the floor in front of the fire, where he finished his story, ending with what she already knew. “I was bought off. But what you don’t know is that I’m not to return to London. Ever. Or I forfeit this property.” He looked around the cavernous room. “Dobbins must be laughing. He’s rid himself of me and will receive the property back if I go to him to complain.”
She was silent a moment. She’d been so serious all the way through that he’d not dared to look at her. He studied the fire instead, ashamed of this story that was his life.
He felt her move and he turned, not knowing what to expect. If she was smart, she’d double her fists and beat him bloody. It would be what he deserved.
Instead, she’d reached for the bag and pulled out the jeweler’s pouch, which she now pressed into his hands. It was heavy with the weight of good, solid gold. “I know the brooch is not enough. Here. Take all of this to Newcastle. There is a pearl necklace my father gave me in there. It’s in its own pouch. Be careful with it. I’m certain it will bring more than a pittance.”
“Abby—”
“I wish to keep my ring, if that is fine with you.” She still hadn’t looked at him.
“Of course,” he said.
“Fetch the best price you can. We only need three years, and then my money will be turned over to us.”
“I don’t deserve your support,” he whispered. “Did you not hear anything I said, of the schemes I’ve attempted, the lies I’ve told, the people I’ve betrayed?”
Her gaze met his. “I thought you wished to change?”
“I have.”
“Do you wish me to leave?”
Here it was. If he said yes … she would go. A true nobleman would think of his lady first. Of what was best for her.
But Andres was done with lies and half-truths. “No.”
“Then I am not leaving,” she answered.
He looked down at the jewelry in the bag. Her trust didn’t make sense. Abby was not a woman whose head was turned by a man’s looks. She didn’t hesitate to let him know when she saw right through him. And here he was, confessing everything, and in return, she was giving all that she owned.
“Why?” he asked.
Abby heard the confusion in his voice.
He didn’t understand. Andres, a man who had women throwing themselves at him, couldn’t see her love.
It broke her heart. Made her fear that perhaps she was wrong.
Perhaps there would never be anything between them save—what?
Not friendship. They were already more than friends. More than just lovers. He’d proven that by confiding in her.
Then again, a cynical voice inside her whispered, had he a choice? They were married, bound by the laws of man and God. Just how vulnerable did she want to be to him?
“You’ve stayed beside me,” she said, braving the simple truth. “My father disowned me, but you stayed. No one has ever done that before … not my friends, not Freddie—”
Freddie. He seemed nothing more than a distant memory.
Andres was her present, and her future. Even if he never loved her, she believed she had love enough for both of them.
“You will not regret this,” he vowed, taking her hand. “Stonemoor will be what we both want.”
She could have told him he was wrong. She didn’t care about this shabby, run-down property. She was doing this for him, and it twisted her heart that he couldn’t see that.
“I’m tired,” she answered. The moment she spoke the words, her muscles went lax. She felt beyond exhaustion.
He jumped to his feet. “Of course. Here, let me prepare a bed for us.” He surveyed the room, as if considering what he wanted to do.
Abby watched him, struck by how handsome he was, even in these circumstances. Funny, whereas most women immediately noticed his looks, it had taken her time to appreciate them. He’d become more attractive to her as he’d grown more dear to her.
The lines of his mouth flattened with determination. “This will be a hard night for us, palomita. However, tomorrow will make a new beginning. Wait here while I see what we have in the stables.”
He took off before she could comment. Abby sat pensive before the fire, too tired to move. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had been hours since she’d eaten, but she wasn’t really hungry.
Andres was gone for almost half an hour. Abby grew anxious and stationed herself at the window to watch for him.
She had to admit she liked that so many rooms looked out over the back courtyard, and she liked a view of the stables as well. For a moment, her imagination could conjure a vision of this house whole and well cared for. Whether she wished it or not, a spark of what was possible took hold of her.
After all, if she had not come with him, what would she have been doing now? Mooning over Freddie? Lamenting an upcoming marriage and immediate motherhood?
Oh no, this was a thousand times better.
She heard Andres then. He was in the house. He came into the scullery carrying an old chair with three legs, a small stool, and other pieces of broken furniture, along with a bucket of water.
“I found a pump,” he said happily. “It’s off the kitchen door. I gave the pony water.”
“Good,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You did very well,” he said encouragingly. He was smiling and full of energy as if the work—and the confession—had renewed him.
“The water is cold,” he continued, “but tastes very good. Sweet.”
Abby had never thought of water having taste.
“I can’t find a pan to heat it up,” Andres continued, “but I shall find one on the morrow. There are all sorts of things tossed aside behind the stable.”
“Tossed aside?” Abby crossed her arms against her stomach. She’d been a rich man’s daughter. She had never used anything that had been “tossed aside” or, at least, not as far as she knew.
He seemed to catch wind of her concerns. “It will seem hard at first, Abby. But I will succeed. You do believe in me, don’t you?”
“Yes, Andres, I do.” Certainly she had many doubts, but more about herself and less about him.
Andres would succeed because he’d spent a lifetime fighting for everything he had. In fact, his background and his experience made him very well suited for this sort of endeavor.
The question was, how would she fare? And she realized that perhaps Stonemoor and building its reputation for horses was not a dream she could grasp … but supporting him, loving him, was.
He smiled at her, a smile that reached those amazing eyes of his, a smile that told her she’d made him happy. “Thank you, Abby.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You will not have any regrets.”
“I will if I don’t sleep shortly,” she said.
“I know, I know,” he answered, already out the door. “I’ll return in a moment. Stay right there. One moment.”
She watched him sprint across the courtyard with the energy of a man on a mission. He went to the hayrack and returned with his arms full of old hay. He made a bed on the floor for them, using the broken chairs as a makeshift frame and her coat and his jacket as a cover for the hay mattress.
“Tomorrow I will find you a better bed,” he promised, pulling off his boots.
Abby ran a distracted hand through her hair. “You’ve made many promises for tomorrow.”
“And I will keep them,” he said.
Believe in me. That was all he asked.
“You are tired, Abby. We both are. Let’s go to sleep.”
She nodded and all but dropped on the hay bed, not bothering to undress. The “mattress” was not that uncomfortable. She lay on her side, making a place for herself, her face toward the fire. She slipped off her shoes, kicking off one, then the other—
Her husband started undressing. She was so aware of his every move that she could hear him pull his shirt over his head, then fold it and set it aside. He sat beside her and pulled off his boots. One hit the ground, then the other. He picked them up and placed them by the shirt.
Abby closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Conjugal rights aside, it was one thing to promise to trust him, and another to open herself completely to him.
She didn’t know what she felt or what she wanted.
And yet she was attuned to his unfastening each button of his breeches. He slid them down his legs. Long legs.
He must have shucked off his socks at the same time because she did not hear a separate movement.
Andres stretched out beside her, pulling his heavy greatcoat over them.
Their bodies did not touch; they didn’t need to. His body heat and the spicy hint of his shaving soap proclaimed his presence.
Her heart pounded in her ears so hard that she almost didn’t hear him whisper her name.
She didn’t respond. She was tired. She was “asleep.”
And making love to her husband might ask her to risk more than she could afford—
He curled his body around hers.
Even through all the layers of her clothes, his arousal was very real and present. She braced herself, even as a part of her longed for what he offered.
However, Andres didn’t move. He sighed as if content … and all went quiet.
Had he gone to sleep ? Had he drifted off as content as a baby while she lay here almost overwrought with a hundred different emotions? Here she was, armored against him with all her layers of clothing and he hadn’t even tried to kiss her, let alone make love to her?
Abby was tempted to pull her arm forward and shove her elbow into his chest. How dare he ignore her? And the worst was that he’d gone to sleep when she needed him to hold her in his arms to reassure her. She wanted to feel him inside her, needed the heat of him—
“Do you really believe I would go to sleep on you, my palomita?” his voice whispered in her ear.
Abby turned, surprised. His face was inches from hers.
Too late, she remembered she’d been pretending to sleep. He’d caught her. His lips curved into a devilish grin and then came down to claim hers.
Chapter Fourteen
No one had ever sacrificed so much for Andres. And it made him love her more.
He couldn’t tell her that. Words were a poor substitute for what he truly felt. Besides, he’d used words before and had discovered they meant little. But Abby was his. No husband, no lover, no one lurked in the shadows waiting to claim her. In a short amount of time, he had come to know her in a way he’d never known another—and she’d freed him. The guilt he’d carried with him was gone. It had vanished the moment she’d put her trust in him. She was his dove, his madonna.
He knew she had doubts. She should. But he would never fail her. That was his vow, a vow he pledged with his kiss.
Abby was ready for him. He’d known she would be. Her heart had been confused and uncertain. He’d lain beside her, waiting for the moment when she’d give up this pretense of sleeping and open to him the way a wife should. Even an uncertain one.
Because here was a way he could prove what she meant to him.
Andres began undressing her. All these clothes had been her armor against what she feared was foolishness.
It wasn’t. She was strong when he was weak; he was strong when she had fear. This had become the pattern between them from the moment they’d met, and he realized it was a blessing—
He became aware that Abby was attempting to break the kiss. He looked down at her in his arms. Feeling a tenderness he’d never known, he whispered, “What is it?”
He had her clothes down over her shoulders, her breast still covered.
She stared up to him, her eyes reflecting the flames in the fire. A small frown line had formed between her eyes. She didn’t speak, but he understood.
“It is hopeless,” he answered her unspoken question. “It has been from the moment our paths crossed.” He placed a kiss on that frown line, laying his hand over her heart, feeling her nipple harden against his palm.
His lips sought and found hers. Slowly, intently, he undressed her. And then he made love to her.
He took her in his arms and buried himself deep, savoring the way she always smelled like fresh flowers and reveling in the texture of her.
Some women controlled their emotions. Abby was not one of them. As she did in all aspects of her life, she gave herself completely to passion. Andres had never experienced a woman who so satisfied him. It was as if they were parts of the same soul.
And this night, as his seed found her heat, as he released himself in the most satisfying, shattering moment of fulfillment, he knew she had been what he’d been searching for in his life.
She was his treasure.
Abby cried out his name. Her legs encircled him, drawing him closer, deeper.
They held each other and he never wanted to let her go.
He felt the tension leave her. Her solemn eyes opened, studying him. Even in the firelight, he could see the deep circles beneath them.
“Sleep,” he ordered softly. “Tomorrow you may worry.” He slid off her and gathered her close. He was exhausted, but he’d not close his eyes until she closed hers.
Her back rested against his chest, her body nestled in his.
It was a long time before he finally felt her find peace.
Abby waited at a small inn in Corbridge while Andres took her jewelry to Newcastle.
She used her morning to visit several local shops and introduce herself. To her surprise, many knew that a Spanish barón now owned Stonemoor. She didn’t correct their impression of Andres’s title, though she didn’t claim it either. The truth was, she didn’t know where to go with it. Continuing with the ruse seemed productive for now. After all, what worth was there to a Spanish title in England? Her “Ladyship” was really more a courtesy than anything else. And now that revolutions and wars had flooded Britain with émigrés, who knew how many others also pretended?
Her innate practicality decided it would be best to not waste time explaining but to allow people to believe what they wished.
She managed to meet a local crofter whose wife was reputed to be a good housekeeper. The cook at the inn where she waited for
Andres approached her about going into service at Stonemoor, and a number of young men took a moment to politely inquire if they were hiring.
All in all, it was a productive day.
But Andres’s was more successful. He received three hundred and forty-five pounds for her jewelry. The pearls had fetched the highest price.
And he’d returned not on the Mail but driving a wagon loaded with furniture. He pulled to a stop in front of the inn and hopped down to give her a bow. “I have a bed. And a table and chairs.”
Abby walked to the back of the wagon to inspect the furniture. It was old-fashioned but well constructed and would match the style of their house. “How did you find this?”
“The jeweler knew a man who wished to rid himself of this furniture. I bought it for a very good price.”
“You have a shopkeeper’s soul,” she said and didn’t mean it as an insult.
He didn’t take it as one but grinned his pleasure at her compliment.
Three hundred and forty-five pounds. Abby sat next to him on the wagon, and they discussed how they would manage this small fortune. The amount would be a pittance to live on for three years in London, but they thought they could manage quite well in the north.
That night, they made love in the bed.
The mattress turned out to be very comfortable.
For the first time in her life, Abby was truly busy. Nothing she’d ever experienced compared to life at Stonemoor—and she relished every single moment.
Within two weeks, she’d hired maids and made the house relatively inhabitable. There was still much for the workmen to do, but once the windows were repaired, the house became livable.
Andres spent his time working on his beloved stables. The horses, tools, and equipment he’d ordered from London arrived at the end of their first week. Abby had been anxious about how they would pay for it all. Growing up, she’d been protected from the bills and daily chores of a household.
Andres didn’t protect her. He answered her questions and she admired the way he skillfully dealt with their creditors. Her husband had the gift of a golden tongue. He convinced the stable owner who had delivered the two horses to accept partial payment with the promise of full payment in six months’ time.
His Christmas Pleasure Page 17