by Julia Donner
“I shall try. Thank you for attending, Cass.”
“T’was an honor. And I shall be there to help when you return to town, but not for long. I’m increasing again and want to go home to Ravencourt. London is so dirty.”
“Oh, Cass, another child? How splendid! Rave must be delighted. This time could be a son.”
She barked one of her mannish sounding laughs. “If he had his way, we’d have a house full of girls. He loves females and considers those three fellows his children more than his friends. He doesn’t know about the baby yet. You’re the first I’ve told.”
When Elizabeth’s eyes widened, Lady Ravenswold laughed again. “We’re going to be the best of friends, Eliza. With your intelligence and my arrogance, we’ll give the arbiters of Almacks a run for their money. Take good care of Asterly. I cannot tell you now, but one day I’ll explain why his friendship means so much to me. It’s a relief to see him finally settled. Have a pleasant journey, Eliza!”
As Lady Ravenswold leaned down to press her wind-chilled cheek to Elizabeth’s, Asterly came out the door. An infectious smile lit his face. He swiftly kissed the countess and whispered a loud thank you in her ear. He gathered Eliza close about the waist and hurried her out of the entry’s shelter from the wind to the waiting carriage.
The cries of well wishes were smothered when the postilions raised their horns. The coachman lifted the reins and the grooms leapt up on the moving carriage. They rolled out onto Watling Street and clattered down the road, heading southeast to a new life in Kent.
Chapter 27
The escalating noise of driving rain and sleet interrupted their discussion. Elizabeth leaned closer to the window to lift an edge of the protective flap and peer out. “At least the moisture will soften the frozen road.”
“Your carriage is so well-sprung, it scarcely makes a difference. Eliza, you’re beginning to look pulled. Why don’t I switch over to the empty seat so you may stretch out and take a nap?”
Fatigue washed through her, the letdown after the ceremony, combined with a sleepless night. “I do feel sleepy, but stay here on the forward seat. I’ll move across.”
She slid open a drawer under the opposite seat and withdrew a pillow. After she snuggled into a comfy position on her side, he draped the lap robe over her legs and tucked the heated brick against her feet. She didn’t recall falling asleep, only waking up and peering through sleep-heavy eyes.
Asterly sat across from her reading by the dim light of the interior lamp near his head. A frown creased his brow as he held up a document to the flickering light.
A realization made her heart sink. He would leave Marshfield before dawn. They’d have only a few hours together before he made the risky channel crossing in bad weather. The channel, treacherous in storms, often took lives. Once on the Continent, enemies of the past could seek him out. No, she wouldn’t think that way. Wellington would win again, and Asterly would come home.
She had slept long enough for the brick at her feet to lose its warmth. Driving sleet and rain slapped against the coach. Bitter wind pierced through the door seams and she shivered. Clutching her robe tighter, she whispered, “Asterly?”
“Yes, m’dear?” he murmured, involved in what he read by the dim light of the interior coach lamp. He lowered the document and sent her a contrite smile. “I hadn’t realized you were awake. How long have I been ignoring you?”
“I’ve not been awake long. How soon before we arrive?”
He tucked the papers into a leather folder. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“I’m perfectly warm. Pulled on heavy stockings when we changed after the ceremony. Didn’t think more would be needed.”
“How is that possible? I’m freezing and I have all the coverings.”
“You’ve never been given the opportunity to harden your constitution, Eliza. I spent years in the mountains. I’ve slept in the wet with a single blanket. Have done so far too many times and for longer than I care to think about. Perhaps we should stop somewhere if you are that chilled.”
“No, please, do not.”
“I know the houses around here. None would turn us away.”
“I insist we go on. Stopping will interrupt your plans. And as much as I dislike the coachman and postilions enduring this weather, I would much rather we reach Marshfield well ahead of your appointed time.”
“But, if you are that cold, it’s dangerous.” He reached across and tucked his hand under the hem of her fur-lined mantle. Warm fingers found her ankle. “You feel like ice. The brick has gone cold.”
“Please, Asterly. It is nothing,” she insisted with chattering teeth.
“You are the silliest creature. And stop calling me by my title.”
Before she knew what he was about, he flipped off the lap robe and scooped her up in his arms, taking her breath away with his strength. He snuggled her on his lap with one arm and arranged the coverings over her legs.
“Eliza, cuddle closer. I can’t bear watching you shiver and the sound of your clacking teeth.”
“Oh, you’re so warm! How can this be, when I’m so cold?”
“I told you why. Wrap your arms around me and go back to sleep. I’ll hold you until we arrive. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
She buried her frozen nose in the heat and hardness of his chest. He smelled of sandalwood and leather. His warmth made her sleepy and she burrowed deeper into his embrace. Never before had she felt so safe and comfortable. She relaxed and exhaled a satisfied sigh when she felt the vibrations of his silent laugh.
She woke a short while later, still comfortably stretched across the seat, braced and embraced. Coming fully awake, she discovered her face buried against his waistcoat. Her cheek itched where a button pressed into her cheek. She dearly hoped Asterly had slept and dared to peek up. His eyes closed, he appeared asleep, but he had a firm grip on her hip to keep her from tumbling down into the foot well between the seats.
The weight of his large hand cupped her hipbone, his thumb against her lower abdomen. His splayed fingers spanned half of her bottom, evoking imaginings of what it would feel like without the layers of material. The thought of his hand there on her bared flesh made her want to writhe closer. Was it only her imagination suggesting that his grip felt possessive, claiming?
She smothered a chortle. How wondrous and exciting to be thought of in such a…primal way.
Cold air bit the side of her face in sharp contrast to where she melded against his warm support. Her left arm encircled him in the gap between the carriage seat and his lower spine. He radiated heat and a vibrant essence she could only think of as virility. He felt as solid as stone, but she’d always known he’d kept himself fit. That much was obvious in the snug-fitting clothes now in vogue.
Through the materials of her glove and the soft superfine of his jacket, she discerned the prominent ridges of back muscles. Rock hard thighs pressed against her ribs. He smelled wonderful, spicy and darkly masculine. He never wore sickeningly sweet colognes. She loved his scent, so much so that without thinking, she rubbed her face into his chest and snuggled deeper into his embrace.
Her eyes flew open when he flinched. His grasp on her hip tightened then released. In a sudden move, he shifted her so that she sprawled across his legs. His gaze no longer reflected mocking good humor but was now narrowed and focused on her surprise-parted lips.
He drove a hand up under the lap robe and her cloak, finding her waist, then slid up to capture a breast. His voice low and rough, he whispered against her mouth, “We’ve just gone through Marshfield’s gates.”
“I—I thought you were asleep.”
He shook his head and stared down, an intense scrutiny that made her shiver. His hand massaged and rubbed, then paused to scratch a nail over the nipple. She couldn’t stop herself from arching up into the pleasure. When he did it again, she gasped and seized his sleeve, not to push him away, but to steady the shock of the startling re
sponse.
He lifted her higher and his mouth took hers, tongue thrusting inside. She’d never been kissed like this, an invasion of wet, driving heat. A strange wildness made her slide and curl her tongue around his then suckle. His deep groan sank into her mouth and vibrated down throughout her body. A greedy, hungry stranger erupted from a secret place deep within. She twisted closer, clutching whatever she could find in the welter of bulky clothes.
Peregrine felt his body seize from the pleasure of her eager response. He released her mouth, crazed and needing more. He longed to direct her searching hands but couldn’t resist the tender skin under her ear, had to taste its silky texture. Her hand grazed what he most wanted her to touch, moved away, but came back and shyly investigated. He lost all reason and restraint. He’d wanted her too long. They were almost at the door. He’d have to wait, again. But she needn’t. He could give her a prelude of what he planned for the rest of the night.
Imprisoning her head in the crook of his arm, he stared down into her wide eyes dazed by desire and something he couldn’t decipher. He flipped back the lap robe and pulled up her skirts, eager to watch every change, every expression, as he gave her release. His hand glided up her leg. She blinked in confusion then frowned when he abruptly removed his hand to pull down her skirts and haul the coverings back into place.
“Eliza, why didn’t you tell me? You poor thing. As warm as you are on top, the lower half of you is frozen. Can you move your toes?”
She blinked up at him. “My what?”
“Your feet. Can you feel them?”
“It hurts to move them.”
“Poor love. We’re almost at the gatehouse.”
Chapter 28
Elizabeth sat next to Asterly, pressed into his side for warmth but no longer caring about the cold. She studied the buzzing aftermath of their recent embrace. Even though chilled on the outside, she felt on fire inside.
By the time they passed by the abandoned Marshfield’s gatehouse, the driving rain and sleet that followed them from the outskirts of Rochester had blown itself out, leaving behind a drizzling gloom beyond the ice-coated carriage windows. The muddy, partially frozen roads that had slowed their progress improved as they went up the gradual incline to the ancient house at the top of the hill. They came to a halt at the entrance park and waited while a groom jumped down to open the door, which had frozen shut. Asterly had to shove a shoulder against it to get it open.
Peregrine hardened his heart against the familiar lurch of despair and was grateful that Elizabeth’s first site of the fortified manor house would be in the morning from its interior. Marshfield’s exterior started crumbling decades ago. All that was left of her former glory was the spectacular views from almost every window in the house.
They left the coach and flew up sand-dusted steps to the doors Crimm held open. A lean woman with a kindly face stood behind him. Her huge cap and dangling keys draped against a starched, white apron cried out housekeeper. A black wool shawl had been neatly tied around her shoulders, since it was only a few degrees warmer in the vestibule than the weather outside.
Peregrine released Elizabeth’s arm, yanked off a glove, and stretched out a hand to the woman.
“Mrs. Wright, how wonderful to see you again! Elizabeth, this is my caretaker and former nurse.”
Mrs. Wright curtsied. “My lady. Please do not remove your wraps. There is a perishing draft in the entry hall. A fire has been laid in the morning room.”
After lowering the hood of her cloak, Elizabeth said, “I am please to meet you, Mrs. Wright. The morning room sounds delightful. Crimm, please see to John Coachman and the outriders. They’ve had a miserable drive.”
Crimm gestured toward the dark hallway with a candle. “I shall certainly do so after they settle the team and bring in the baggage. Mrs. Wright has a hot meal waiting for them. This way, if you please.”
Peregrine watched Elizabeth disappear down the gloomy hallway with Mrs. Wright and her lamp. He took a taper from Crimm. “No need to show me the way to the necessary. Please stoke up the fire in the morning room. Although she didn’t complain, Lady Asterly’s near frozen.”
A chilly breeze brushed his face as he made his way back to the morning room. He waited in the dark passage for Elizabeth’s return, unsure of which room Mrs. Wright had taken Elizabeth. He heard her voice coming through the darkness. A blob of light bobbed at the end of the passage, brightening as they neared. His heart did an odd, little twist and he realized it was happiness.
The conversation became clearer as they headed toward him. “Thank you for having warm water ready, Mrs. Wright. No matter how one tries, traveling is a filthy business. The simple act of washing hands and face makes a refreshing difference.”
“Yes, my lady. Hot food is also restorative. I’m afraid it’s only a simple supper.”
“Please, Mrs. Wright, we are not particular and would have been grateful for bread and butter.”
Peregrine took Elizabeth’s cold hand in his when she joined him. “Just so you know, it’s her favorite, Wrightie.”
Mrs. Wright’s expression softened. “Wrightie. Haven’t heard that in a long time.”
Peregrine led Elizabeth through the door Crimm opened. The scent of a crackling fruitwood fire overwhelmed the smells of mustiness. Mrs. Wright had done her best to clean the threadbare carpets and furnishings, but years of neglect couldn’t be erased with a cheerful blaze.
He seated Elizabeth at a deal table placed near the fireplace. Covered dishes waited on the hearth where he and Harry had sat as boys, toasting bread and listening to their mother read. He took the chair across from her at the small table, while Crimm and Mrs. Wright uncovered and set out the meal.
Elizabeth immediately poured out steaming cups of tea into delicate cups bright with a flower pattern in gold, black and green. “This a lovely service, Asterly.”
“Mother’s favorite. I’m surprised there are enough left to match up.”
He heard the stilted tenor of the conversation. Knowing the reason, he kept the façade going until he and Elizabeth were alone.
While watching Crimm prepare the table for the light meal, Peregrine said, “It’s been years since I’ve been here, Crimm. I’ve no idea what kind of shape the rest of the house is in. Where have you and Mrs. Wright put us for the night?”
“Mrs. Wright opened the Sea View Suite. The chimneys are free of bird nests. After two days of hot fires, the room is no longer damp. If my lady permits, we opened temporary servant quarters on the floor above until the dormitories and below stairs have been put in order.”
Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around the teacup. “Whatever you think is best.”
Peregrine smiled at Mrs. Wright before she left and curbed his impatience while Crimm replenished the fire and carried the plate covers to a tray. He ate what he could, scarcely able to swallow. The memory of what had happened in the coach set his appetite for something else. Holding her while she slept had been torture and bliss. Had his urgency frightened her? He didn’t want to distress her by asking if he’d been too rough or too eager.
He looked down at the steaming bowl and settled his impatience with the knowledge they were married. One step completed, his promise to Devon fulfilled. The next part would be the best but then would come the separation.
And for what reason was he leaving her—a war he no longer wanted to fight—a commitment to country he no longer wanted to keep? Ingrained duty to his country was all that remained of his youth and ignorance, when he harbored the naïve notion there could be glory in battle, an idea that made no sense any more. Only his feelings for the woman sitting across from him held meaning.
The memory of their brief, hectic embrace in the carriage ride roared through him, followed by the desolation at the thought of leaving her here, alone in his crumbling house. Stalwart Eliza would make the best of it, get the dispatches delivered, and faithfully wait. What had he done to deserve this woman? She would stand beside him through any
challenge, help him mold a future of purpose and promise. All he had to do was survive.
Chapter 29
The burn that tingled Elizabeth’s cheeks had nothing to do with the soup’s steam bathing her face. Asterly had to be remembering what happened moments before arriving at Marshfield’s doorstep. What could be more embarrassing—the way she’d responded or her impatience for the night to come?
As much as she’d adored Devon, a tiny seed of doubt had whispered there had been something missing. It had only taken one kiss from Asterly to help her understand. With Devon, there had been plenty of love but no spark, none of the fierce passion she held trapped inside. Something about her present husband compelled that hidden part of her to waken and demand attention.
She dipped her spoon, submerging its wide bowl under the fragrant bouillon and allowed herself to relive the brief episode. A discreet noise brought her back to the present. How long had she been holding the spoon midway to her mouth? She managed a few bites of bread and butter then asked to be excused. Asterly stood and went to yank the bell. The rotted pull came apart in his hand. He went out to fetch Mrs. Wright, leaving Elizabeth alone and in a jumble of fearful anticipation.
Mrs. Wright held a brace of candles high to light the way down drafty passages. A fire had settled into smoldering heat and taken the chill off the bedchamber. Heavy draperies had been drawn over the windows. The muffled sounds of pattering rain on glass seeped through the material.
Elizabeth removed her outerwear while Mrs. Wright quietly lit tapers and set a warming pan on the hearth. Logs were added to the fire. Obviously Crimm’s doing, knowing how she disliked the use of coal. Heated water was poured into a porcelain bowl and covered with a towel. Her personal items were set out beside the bathing water and nightclothes laid out on the bed.
While unfastening the buttons down the back of the carriage dress, Mrs. Wright murmured, “I do not wish to overstep the line, my lady, but is there anything you should like to ask?”