A Brother's Honor

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “Nor can I.” She looked to the east and France where her father was awaiting the trial that could lead to his death. “I try to believe there is a reason, but I cannot guess what it might be. It no longer matters, does it?”

  “No, it does not.” His thumbs beneath her chin tipped back her face. He smiled as his fingers spread across her cheeks beneath her bonnet. “So let us think of happier things.”

  “I do not trust that twinkle in your eyes, Dominic.”

  “You are a smart woman.” He laughed and released her. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “I thought you might be interested in what I discovered when I returned to the springhouse this morning.”

  Abigail looked at the stone building. “You came back here? Why?”

  “I saw something yesterday that intrigued me, but the time to explore it was not right.”

  “Because Newton would want to join in?”

  “No more questions.” He tugged on her hand. “You shall understand when I show you what I discovered.”

  Knowing how useless it was to pester him with questions, for he was as impervious to them as Lady Sudley had been to her children’s complaints about their lessons, she went with him as he opened the door. She stepped into the cool shadows and listened to the soft whisper of the water in the pool in the center of the room.

  “Take care,” Dominic said as he drew her around the outer rim of the springhouse. “The floor is slick.”

  Abigail gasped with delight when she saw a simple sluice in front of her. The waters from the spring flowed through it and dropped down in a miniature waterfall into a second pool before vanishing beneath the floor. “Why hide this in the darkness?”

  “It was not always so dark in here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come and I will show you.”

  Her curiosity sped her feet to keep up with his longer strides as he continued along the outer wall. When he stopped, she bumped into him. His laugh echoed oddly.

  “Here, chérie,” he said, taking her hands and placing them on the wall. “Wait right here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Have patience.”

  “You are enjoying my impatience.”

  “As you have enjoyed mine.”

  Abigail wondered if he could see her blush through the deep shadows. She could not mistake the meaning of his words. He had been more patient with his ankle and with being away from his ship than with his desire for her.

  She heard a thump, then a second one before Dominic called, “Abigail?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Up here.”

  “Up there?” She tried to see him, but saw only darkness. Then she realized that directly above her head there was a different shade of black about the size and shape of a settee.

  “Take my hands, chérie.”

  “Your hands?” She laughed. “I would if I could see them.”

  He reached down from wherever he was and grabbed her hands. “Hold tight!”

  She laughed again as he pulled her up through a hole in the ceiling. When she sat on its edge, she glanced around. All she saw was more darkness.

  “Move away, chérie.”

  “To where?” She put out her hands but discovered nothing, not even a wall.

  Dominic chuckled as his hands settled on her waist. He lifted her back from the hole, sitting her on something that was softer than the wood at the edge.

  Putting out her fingers, she found the wall. She followed it up and realized that the ceiling in this space was not far above her head. The top of Dominic’s would brush it.

  A thump resonated through what must be a small storage room. “What was that?” she cried. “Dominic! Are you still here?”

  “I am here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here.” His hands edged her face, turning it to the right.

  “What is this place?”

  “The perfect place, chérie.” His fingers stroked her cheeks before sifting up through her hair. The caress of his breath lured her mouth toward his. As her lips found his, he leaned her back. She gasped with amazement when the softness enveloped her.

  As he loosened the ribbons on her bonnet, tossing it aside, she whispered, “Clarissa said they were not allowed in here.”

  “Exactly.” His laugh was low and rough. “No one will disturb us here. No maids bringing hot water to soak my ankle. No footmen bringing polished boots. No Lady Sudley making sure that we are comfortable.” He slipped his arm beneath her as his strong hands pulled her against his hard body. “This is the best comfort I can imagine.”

  Her mouth was tilted under his before she could ask another question. Tenderly he kissed her. She could not fight the yearning his kiss invoked. As his mouth moved along her neck, she gasped with delight. He entangled his fingers in her hair, holding her closer as his fingers slipped up her back. He rolled above her, and she could not silence her moan of need.

  She pulled his mouth down to hers, desperate for this pleasure that should never have been. She did not care about the loyalties that tried to pull them apart. All she wanted was this stolen moment, lighting the darkness with the sweet fires of their passion.

  When he stroked her breast, a flash of ecstasy coursed through her as she softened beneath him. Everything in her world narrowed to his fingers caressing the tip of her breast and his mouth warmly moist against her neck. She enfolded him to her.

  He pulled her over him and laughed, his breath caressing her, as he lowered the shoulder of her gown down her arm at the same time as he was unhooking its back. His finger trailed down her spine, an eager caress as he laved her skin with his fiery tongue. Sitting up, he put his hands on her hips to keep her kneeling on either side of his legs. Slowly his fingers glided up to the drooping front of her gown.

  “This is no good,” he whispered.

  “No good?” She could barely speak the words because she was overmastered by this delight. Wasn’t he sharing it? “Dominic, if—”

  “Hush, chérie. How can I make love with you when I cannot see your face?”

  Abigail squinted as sunlight crashed into the narrow space. He had opened a narrow door in the roof, she realized. A door edged with iron bars, so no one could enter or leave. So many questions battered her lips, but she did not voice them as she grasped his face and slanted her mouth across his.

  With a husky laugh, he hooked his fingers in the front of her gown. His eyes glittered with anticipation as he lowered it along her, but his gaze did not shift from hers, even when he edged the gown off her.

  “You look baffled, chérie,” he whispered.

  “I thought … You opened the window, so I thought you wanted to see—” She sighed in voiceless rapture as he cupped her breast.

  “Your face, chérie. I want to see your face when I touch you, when you touch me, when we are one.” His voice grew more ragged with every word. With a moan, he pulled her to him.

  Her palms pressed to his back as he lowered her to the pallet and placed his mouth on the curves above her chemise. All conscious thought fled as she dissolved into a sea of delights. But not an icy sea, a heated one, for fire burned her skin where his tongue carved a line of ecstasy. With a hunger as voracious as his own, she discovered the shape of his ear as he continued to enthrall the most sensitive skin of her breast.

  Quickly he removed her undergarments as she undid his waistcoat and shirt. She explored his muscular chest, delighting in giving him the pleasure he offered. When he ran his fingertips along her legs, he awoke sensations she had never guessed she could experience. Ripples flowed through her, pooling deep within her.

  “You are the most beautiful woman on this earth,” he whispered as she reached for the buttons on his breeches. He started to say more, but his words vanished into a gasp when she slid his breeches along him.

  “And you are the most beautiful man.”

  His laugh thrilled her when he drew her atop hi
m again. He held her hips to his, and she quivered with uncontrollable yearning as his hardness teased her. She wanted this. She wanted him.

  A cataclysm built inside her as he caressed her boldly, seeking the secrets that soon would be all around him. She moved with the tempo of his touch as his kisses seared deep into her.

  She needed no urging to touch him. Throwing aside every inhibition, she discovered how to bring him pleasure with her fingers and her lips. Each reaction echoed within her, offering him what she knew he had wanted since their eyes first met. Now she did, as well.

  He murmured sweet, wordless endearments against her mouth as he brought them together. His pulsating heat captured her. She gazed up at him as he whispered her name. Eagerly she matched his motions as he led her to delights unknown.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and drew his mouth to hers as she became lost in ecstasy. In one great crescendo of sensation, she shattered into prisms which revealed the very colors of her soul.

  Abigail opened her eyes when kisses teased her eyelid. Smiling, she lifted her fingers to trace Dominic’s lips.

  “Happy?” he whispered.

  “Is that an order, Captain St. Clair?”

  He chuckled and watched her reaction when his laughter brushed her wherever their bodies touched. “How can anyone who tastes as sweet as you be so tart?”

  “I could say the same thing of you.”

  As he grinned, she savored the vestiges of passion on his lips. She put her arm across his chest and snuggled close to him. She did not want the magic to end, for she wondered if she could ever be as happy again as she was at this moment.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “I would guess it was used by smugglers. Or it might be even older. Mayhap it is a priest hole.”

  “A what?”

  Dominic smiled. “A place where English Catholics hid their priests from the fury of the Reformation, when to be discovered meant a heretic’s death by fire.”

  “How horrible!” When he put his hand over hers, Abigail touched the ring on his left hand. “You never have told me why you wear this. All you told me was that the ring is a family heirloom. What is its odd design?”

  “It was my father’s wedding ring.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I am his only son, so when he died during the Terror, it came to me.” Kissing her lightly, he traced the high arch of her cheekbones with his fingertip.

  She batted his hand away and ordered, “Stop that!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I cannot think when you do that.” She laughed as he lifted a single eyebrow. “All right, I can think, but only of one thing.”

  “Exactly.”

  At his satisfied tone, she shoved away his hand again. “You still have not answered me. What is this odd design?”

  As he held up the ring to catch the sunlight, a distant loneliness softened his eyes. She wanted to ask what he was seeing in memory’s mirror, but she waited for him to speak.

  “You know of the Terror?” he asked.

  “After the French Revolution?” She shuddered. “I have heard awful stories.”

  “Such as?”

  “What anyone has heard of King Louis and his family being guillotined.”

  He nodded as he twisted a strand of her hair around his finger. “And have you heard of the others who died for no reason other than that they owned land or had a title or simply were declared an enemy by the new dictators?”

  “’Twas the people who ruled.”

  “Chérie, you are judging France’s revolution through American eyes. It was nothing like your fight for freedom from English rule.” His mouth tightened. “Madness infected a whole nation. Great ideals were prostituted to serve those who grasped for power. That is why we welcomed Napoleon.”

  She bit back the retort she would have made weeks ago. To think of Napoleon as the savior of France went against everything she believed, but she did not want to argue with Dominic. Not when they were lying in the warm afterglow of love. “And your family became victims of the Terror?”

  “My father arranged for me to be taken by my mother from Paris, ordering her to hide, so neither of us could be found. She took me to Bordeaux, but she spoke often of Château Tonnere du Grêion. In English, Castle Thunderstone.”

  “Thunderstone?” she gasped. “That is why you were so surprised when I told you about Aunt Velma’s stories.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Exactly, chérie. It was where my father lived before he was swallowed by the shadows of hate.”

  “Your father lived in a castle?”

  “There are many who reside in a castle besides the family that owns it. My mother is proud of her peasant heritage and the years of service her family gave to the duc’s. Those who once lived in Château Tonnere du Grêlon are scattered before the Terror’s tempest.”

  “Have you looked for them? You might have other family.”

  “To no avail. My mother can tell me little, save that my father died bravely. I wear this ring to honor his courage.”

  Taking his hand, she moved it so she could see the design more clearly. The design was a slash of lightning cutting through a rock. “Thunderstone,” she whispered. “Castle Thunderstone. That sounds so awe-inspiring.”

  “Whatever it was, it is gone. Nothing for me waits there, so I have chosen my own life.” He smiled. “And it had been a very good one up until the day I found a rare prize awaiting me on an American ship.”

  As her fingers combed through his hair, she whispered, “And that caused your good life to change?”

  “Need you ask, chérie? My life has been good, but it has taken a turn for the better now.” His smile melted into her lips. When his arms tightened around her, she knew he wanted to be done with talking so they could savor this desire that refused to be quiescent again.

  That pleased her, as well. She wanted this pleasure for as long as it could be hers. Once they left this haven he had found among the eaves of the springhouse, they would be surrounded by the war again, forced to be enemies. Here, there was only joy. Here, there were better things to do than to argue about things that could not be changed. Here, she could delight in joy … and love. She loved Dominic St. Clair. That was one thing she doubted would change as long as they both lived.

  But she knew how short a time that could be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Abigail could not help staring. She had never seen so many glorious gowns. Even the richest shipbuilder in New Bedford would have looked like a poor relation amid the splendor in this London townhouse. Scents of sweet perfumes swirled around her like the dancers in the middle of the large ballroom. Light from the crystal chandeliers overhead bounced off the gems that were liberally scattered among the guests, perching in upswept hair or clinging to fingers. Even a simple walking stick in a gentleman’s hand glistened with what was obviously gold.

  And Abigail was elegant, too. The pearl white dress had been one of Clarissa’s and hastily altered to fit her. It was finer than anything she had ever worn, because the fabric seemed to float about her, drifting about her ankles like a cloud with every motion. The one bit of color was provided by the pink rosebuds at the center of her bodice and on the lace at the hem of her short sleeves. Lady Sudley had been disappointed that there had not been enough time to have matching rosebuds sewn onto Abigail’s white slippers.

  Hearing Dominic’s laugh beneath the lilting melody played by the orchestra in a gallery above, she pulled her gaze from the ballroom to see his smile. “Chérie, you look like a young girl with a new doll.”

  “I feel like a doll. I cannot believe Abigail Fitzgerald is in a place like this.”

  He put his finger to her lips. “Take care what you say. Even your true name could be a betrayal here.”

  She nodded, chastised. She could not allow her excitement at this grandeur make her forget why they were here. “How long?” she whispered.

  “How long until what?”

&nbs
p; “Until we slip away to find your friend.” She was careful not to speak Evan Somerset’s name.

  Dominic laughed as he adjusted his white gloves that matched his waistcoat and cravat beneath his black coat. His breeches took on a silver sheen in the candlelight. “Have you learned to read my thoughts before I utter them?”

  “I have seen how you are eager to devise any excuse to slip out of the house. It takes very little imagination to guess why.”

  “I hope you are the only one with that imagination.” He became somber. “When I take my leave, I will let you know.”

  “You? I thought—”

  “It would best if you stayed here, chérie.”

  “I thought you trusted me,” she said, not willing to be cut off.

  “I do. That is why I am leaving you here to cover my absence with some tale that I am certain you can spin with ease.” He sighed. “It is the harder task I am giving you, but where I will be going is no place for you.”

  She grasped his hand. “Do not forget I am a sailor’s daughter. Where you will be going cannot be that different from places I have been before.”

  “True.” He eyed her up and down. “So you know how much attention you would call to us if you arrived there looking as lovely as you do now.”

  With a smile, she plucked at the lapel on his coat, her fingers lingering against the front of his waistcoat. “So that is why you insisted on this dark coat. You will blend in with the shadows.”

  “I have come to like the shadows.” His eyes narrowed, but the sparks of desire within them could not be concealed. “I will miss them, chérie, now that we are away from Sudley Hall.”

  “We will have to find new shadows.”

  His fingers swept along her face in a swift caress. “Or the bright sunshine, so I can see all of you quiver as I watch the pleasure on your face.” He looked past her, and his tone changed. “Thank you so much, my lady, for inviting us to join you this evening.”

  Lady Sudley fluttered a befeathered fan in front of her face and smiled. Even though she was dressed much more grandly than the simpler frocks she had worn in the country, the lady’s warm expression remained the same. “You are very kind, when you should be chiding me for failing to introduce you to my other guests, Mr. St. Clair.”