A Lord's Flaming Return: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  He looked as rattled by the unexpected situation as she felt. “Good morning, Emmeline,” he said eventually. “You look lovely in that gown. That shade of blue matches your eyes.”

  She blushed, looking down at her pale blue muslin morning gown. “It is just an old thing,” she said awkwardly. “I have had it forever.”

  “I know,” he said, his eyes clouding over. “I remember when you wore it to the Littletons’ morning tea party.” He hesitated, then continued in a strangled voice, “We walked together by the lake. You got blossom in your hair, and I picked it out.”

  Her heart was racing now. She stared at him in utter astonishment. Why was he reminding her of a time when they had been in love? She remembered that morning tea party so well. It was the first time he had dared to reach out and hold her hand. She still recalled how her flesh had leapt at the first contact with his own.

  “Yes, I did,” she said breathlessly, her blush deepening. “But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

  His dark eyes looked sad. “I still remember it like it was yesterday.”

  There was a strained silence between them. The air was heavy with a sorrowful longing, and she simply could not stand it.

  She took another deep breath. “Well, I shall be late for breakfast if I do not hurry,” she said. “As will you, My Lord.”

  “Benedict,” he said in a low, pained voice. “You always called me by my name.”

  She turned her face away, her heart twisting. “I must go.”

  She fled down the hallway, almost tripping as she rushed down the staircase. Her heart was pounding in her ears like a drum.

  Why had he done that? Reminded her of a time that they both should forget. Was he playing with her, now? But every time she blinked, she saw his face again telling her how lovely she looked in the blue gown.

  ***

  She felt his eyes upon her the entire day, almost puzzled. Questioning. He seemed as confused as she was by what had transpired between them that morning. As if he had never intended it and didn’t understand it any more than she did.

  Fortunately, there were no further opportunities for him to speak to her alone. Lady Henrietta monopolised him as always, and Mr Hardy was constantly by her side. But she noticed that he was often silent and distant with the lady; the overtly flirtatious manner he had previously adopted with Lady Henrietta was now gone. It was a mystery.

  She often felt Lady Henrietta’s eyes upon her as well, though blessedly, she kept her distance. The gaze was cold and speculative. Emmeline tried to ignore it as much as possible. But the effort of being in this company the entire day drained her so much that she begged off the evening’s entertainment, claiming a headache.

  In her guest chamber, she could hear the merriment below. The party was playing a game of charades; there were shrieks of laughter and loud voices. She smiled wistfully but was glad of her solitude. She had barely a moment to herself the entire day to think through what had happened between her and Benedict that morning.

  She lay on the bed in the darkness, gazing out the window, having opened the curtains to see the night. A full moon hung in the sky, so bright and luminous it was almost like a lantern. A hundred stars glimmered as well, flickering on and off like fireflies. It was so ethereally beautiful that a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  The shrieks of merriment continued below. But she was happier here, by herself; the beautiful night her only companion. Perhaps later, after the party had retired for the evening and the house was slumbering, she would slip out into the gardens and gaze up at that sky. Feel its full majesty. Perhaps it would give her a brief moment of peace.

  ***

  She listened intently as the party ended, and they all trooped up the staircase to their chambers. Within ten minutes, the house was silent. She knew her chance had arrived.

  Slipping on her dressing gown and slippers, she quietly exited the room. Only a few candles burnt in the hallway, aiding her journey. Within minutes, she was out of the house, walking quickly down a path. There was a seat at the end of it that would be a perfect spot to sit and watch the stars.

  A cool breeze lifted her hair from her face as she sat down. Raising her eyes to the sky, she breathed deeply, taking it all in. The sky was so intensely dark that she could not describe its exact colour. Bluish black, or blackish blue? She pondered it for a moment, so absorbed in its beauty that it almost felt an invisible thread was pulling her into its very centre.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She had forgotten how beautiful the night sky was, having been so immersed in her pain the last few years that she had forgotten everything …

  Suddenly, she stilled, sensing she was not alone, and slowly turned around. Benedict was standing there, watching her, dressed in a white nightshirt and breeches. His black hair was dishevelled, lifting in the breeze.

  “Why have you followed me?” she whispered in anguish. “Why are you here?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “I saw you walking from my window,” he whispered back. “I was compelled. I cannot explain it any other way.”

  “You are toying with me,” she said in a low, angry whisper. “Like a cat toys with a mouse. You have made it quite plain that you no longer wish to be acquainted with me. I do not understand you at all.”

  He sat down beside her. “Emmeline,” he said. “I have been so confused I hardly know what I am doing from one moment to the next.” He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “I only know that I cannot stop thinking about you.”

  Her heart twisted. “I do not think Lady Henrietta would be very happy to hear you say that.”

  “I do not care what she thinks,” he said briefly. “I do not admire her. The lady is a fortune hunter. All she cares about is securing a wealthy titled husband. That is all.” He took a deep ragged breath. “I do not think she even likes me … and I definitely do not like her.”

  “You have made a great show of pretending you do,” said Emmeline, shaking her head. “Why do you flirt with her then?”

  He sighed heavily. “Because of you.”

  “Me?” she squeaked, staring at him with shocked eyes. “I do not understand.”

  “I wanted to make you despise me,” he said in a strangled voice. “Because I thought you still cared for me, and I could not handle it.” He paused. “But it has made me wretched because I find I still care for you, even if I have nothing to offer you any longer.”

  She gasped. “I … I do not know what to say …”

  “I have tried to smother my love for you,” he whispered, his face white. “I told myself it is past, the chance gone.” He hesitated. “I am a different man now, Emmeline. A broken man …”

  She stared at him, so flabbergasted she could not speak.

  “You deserve better than me,” he whispered bitterly. “But no matter how hard I try to fight it, I am hopelessly drawn to you.”

  She blinked back tears. “I waited for you,” she whispered. “I waited for so long until I was forced to admit to myself that you were gone forever.” She suppressed a sob. “I have lived a half-life since, existing in the shadow of that love.”

  “I never meant to hurt you,” he moaned. “I never wanted to leave you.”

  “So you say,” she whispered, her eyes glittering. “But how can I believe you? You will not tell me why you could never write to me. You tell me you are a broken man now but will not explain why.” She took a deep breath. “You claim you still care for me but do not wish to. What do you want of me?”

  He was silent, his face anguished. She waited for a moment, her chest heaving with unshed tears. Then she stood up, staring down at him.

  “It is no good,” she whispered. “No good at all. You are not being honest.”

  He stood up, facing her. “I am trying.”

  “It is not good enough,” she whispered furiously, turning to leave.

  He swore underneath his breath, pulling her roughly towards him. She fell against his chest. For a moment, they stilled.
She felt him trembling as violently as she was.

  Slowly, he raised a hand, caressing her face. Her breath stopped for an instant. It was as if time itself were suspended.

  His lips found hers. Gently at first, then deepening. Instinctively, she wound her arms around his neck. He groaned, pulling her closer still.

  His lips. She had forgotten them. The tenderness as well as the heat. In a rush, she felt all the air leave her lungs as the longing intensified. Her knees were shaking, threatening to buckle beneath her.

  It had been so long since she had felt this, but it was still the same. The fire between them, as well as the sweetness. It was as if they had left behind an ember that could be fanned into flames at any given moment.

  He groaned again, pulling her closer still as if he wanted to envelop her entirely. And then his lips left hers, trailing feverish kisses down her neck. Roughly he pulled aside the top of her nightdress, his hand reaching inside, caressing her breasts. She gasped at the shock of his cold hand against her flesh. Her head tilted back as the longing intensified.

  His mouth found a nipple, pulling and sucking upon it until she cried out in need. She felt that old familiar wetness flooding out of her. That heat that only he could evoke within her.

  She was losing herself again. She was losing herself to him.

  She could not do it. Not when he could barely articulate what he felt about her now. Not when the chance of him hurting her again was so strong.

  “No,” she cried, pulling him away, her chest heaving.

  Trembling, she wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her shoulders, fleeing down the path back towards the house. She didn’t stop until she was in her chambers, closing the door firmly behind her.

  She had been so close. So very close to surrendering to him. But she knew that it was much too dangerous.

  He claimed that he still cared about her, but he also claimed that he could offer her nothing.

  He would hurt her again. As surely as the sun rose in the east. And she simply did not know if she would survive it a second time around.

  Chapter 19

  Benedict tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sleep. All he could see was Emmeline. All he could feel was her in his arms again. It had felt like a homecoming. A blessed homecoming where the whole world had been suspended.

  He sighed, turning over and punching the pillow. He had not meant to seek her out. It had been serendipity, as always, as if fate was throwing them together.

  He had never meant to come to this house party. The invitation had arrived at the last minute. He hadn’t known that she was also attending. And then they had encountered each other in the hallway before breakfast, sparking the fire. He been drawn to the window where he had seen her walking beneath the moonlight on the spur of the moment. He had been fully intending to climb into bed before that and go to sleep.

  He sighed again. Yes, it was fate, or destiny, or some such thing. All these moments that created the whole. It seemed they were somehow meant to be together, even though they both were so desperately trying to fight it.

  He knew that she didn’t want to surrender to it any more than he did. She was too hurt, too distrustful. He had let her down badly once, and she did not want to risk it again. But he also knew now that she loved him still. Just as he knew that he still loved her.

  What were they going to do?

  He turned over in the bed once more. His lids suddenly felt heavy. Sleep was upon him at long last, and he yielded to it gratefully.

  ***

  His eyelids flickered. There was brief darkness before it cleared like mist.

  She was there. Emmeline. She was walking towards him slowly, dressed in her nightdress, as white as snow. Her shining brown hair fell like glossy sheets around her face.

  His eyes roamed over her, taking her in. Drinking his fill of her. Her creamy small breasts, the nipples hard, beneath the soft fabric of the gown. The line of her neck and the sweep of her collarbones. The way that her hair brushed against her shoulders.

  Her hair. The smell of it. He buried his face in it, breathing deeply. A pulse sprang to life in her neck, beating like a small drum. He touched it briefly, flicking it with his thumb before he gathered her in his arms.

  There was no stopping him now. Urgently he lifted her nightdress. The silky smoothness of her legs before he plunged his hands into her depths. He groaned with need, caressing her. She was as slick as a seal. He could not wait a second longer.

  When he dove into her, he knew. He knew that it was the beginning and end of everything. A sacred communion that could never be broken.

  Desperately he moved, again and again, straining into her. He was almost there. He watched her face twist with desire. Suddenly, he exploded. It seemed to go on and on, like a white stream of light into her …

  He woke up with a gasp, sitting upright, his heart pounding. The dream had seemed so real. He was almost convinced she was in the bed next to him.

  He peered into the darkness, trying to slow down his breath. He was so hard it was almost painful. Desperate and craving. He felt as if he was about to combust, as if a mere feathery touch would tip him over the edge.

  He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Emmeline. His blood was beating her name, and he knew now that he could not stop it. He wondered why he had ever thought that he could. Their love was as inevitable as the waves crashing the shoreline … and just as powerful.

  ***

  The next day before breakfast, he sought out Ralph in his chambers. He had to speak to him. To resolve what had happened in India once and for all before he could finally tell Emmeline the truth of it. Before he could finally let go of the past.

  “You look as pale as a sheet,” said Ralph. “Did you not sleep well?”

  Benedict shook his head. “No, I did not. But there were good reasons for that.” He stared at his cousin. “Can we sit down?”

  “Of course,” said Ralph in a puzzled voice.

  When they were both seated, he turned to his cousin. Ralph gazed at him expectantly. His mouth suddenly went dry. It still wasn’t easy. Perhaps it never would be.

  “I wanted to apologise,” he said in a clipped voice. “I promised Uncle Richard I would retrieve you safely, and I failed.” He took a deep breath. “I let myself be taken by them. If I had planned it better, you would have been saved, and we both would not have suffered for all of those years …”

  Ralph stared at him, a bewildered expression on his face. “What are you talking about? You were overrun. You walked into a trap. They never intended to release me.” He paused. “Ben, you tried to save me. You risked your life to do it. And then you paid the price a million times over for your trouble.”

  Benedict was silent, staring at the floor.

  “If anyone should be apologising it is me,” continued Ralph, his voice shaking. “I am the one who handled things badly to begin with. If it weren’t for my foolishness, you would never have had to come to India in the first place. Do you know how guilty I have felt?”

  “You shouldn’t,” said Benedict. “You know I do not hold it against you.”

  “And I thank you for that,” said Ralph, his eyes moist with tears. “But I hold nothing against you, either, Ben. If it wasn’t for you, I probably would never have survived. You helped me through that bout of tropical illness … and then there was the incident in the jungle when we finally escaped …”