From France, with Love: League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 1

by Gill, Tamara

  Using one hand to guide the horse, he wrapped his other arm about her waist, hoisting her harder against him. She gasped, and she could hear his rasping breath against her ear. Her own breath was ragged as if she’d run a footrace. In years past she would’ve turned, kissed him as they walked along, but now she could not.

  As much as she hated to admit, Tate’s mother was right. The man behind her needed a woman fit for the role of duchess and Ava, with her breeches and half boots covered in mud, her love of horses and racing would never suit the role. He needed a lady in the truest sense. She would never be one of those. Not really.

  And yet, damn it all, a part of her wanted him with a fervor that chased any chill away. She was not suitable as a duchess, but that did not mean they could not come to some other kind of arrangement. One that was pleasant for them both.

  Ava placed her hand over his and squeezed it a little. “I know you’re worried, but truly, I think it’s a sprain. I’ve had worse injuries coming off horses before, as well you know.”

  He growled his displeasure and surprisingly she felt the slightest touch of his lips against her hair. “I cannot lose you again. When I saw you fall, I thought you’d been shot, or that the horse would fall on you.”

  She rubbed his gloved hand, liking him comforting her more than she ought. This was bad. She should not allow such liberties, such intimate touching, but how could she refuse.

  “I do not think he was a good shot.”

  He chuckled and the movement seeped into her soul, lighting it up in ways it had not for many years. This time he did kiss her hair and tears sprung in her eyes. Ava put it down to the pain in her wrist, but it was not the reason. The man, his care, and sweet nature had always made her defenses crumble.

  How would she deny herself him when she wanted him so very much? Just not the role of duchess.

  Ava bit her lip, torn about it all.

  The pull of Tate whenever she was around him grew stronger each day. More so than ever before, now that they knew the truth as to why they were separated in the first place. To ignore that pull was a battle she fought daily, and sometimes she didn’t want to anymore. Sometimes she wanted to walk into his arms, lean up and kiss him like she used to and see where he would carry her.

  To a future she’d once dreamed of, but had learned to live without.

  * * *

  Tate was in as much agony as Ava who now lay slumped against his chest. The sweet scent of rose wafted up from her hair and he breathed deep, the smell bringing up memories of days lazing about in the sun, simply talking or reading together.

  Soon they would be home and he would have to move her. Have her shift from his arms and the thought did not bring comfort, only annoyance. He didn’t want her to ever leave his arms again if he could help it, and the thought of how close she was, how both of them could have been killed today, made his muscles ache with tension.

  The bastard who had shot at them could have killed her. He would not stop until the fiend was brought to book for doing such a thing. Tate was certain above anything else that the man who ran from them had something to do with the fire at his own estate and that of Lord Morton’s.

  No-one innocent ran away from anything. They faced the issue and dealt with it, then and there.

  “Tell me about France,” he asked, needing to distract himself from having nearly lost her.

  She looked over the land surrounding them, lost in thought a moment. “Southern France was beautiful, and the school had a small vineyard and we helped with the making of the wine sometimes. The headmistress was stern, but accommodating and as much as I missed Papa and home, I did make some wonderful friends, Hallie being one of them.”

  He pulled her closer to him, holding her against his chest, loving the fact she did not pull away or tense at the action, but simply melded into his embrace and welcomed it.

  “What about you?” she asked, turning to look up at him. “What did you do in New York?”

  Tate inwardly cringed at his antics in the great city. The nights of unlimited imbibing, the many ladies that had graced his bed, the horse races and gambling. The over-indulged future duke that was acting out against a girl he thought guilty of playing him the fool. When in truth, she had been as miserable as he. “I hate to remember what I was like, both in New York and London upon my return. I’m ashamed to think how I acted out against my circumstances that I wholly laid at your door.” Tate met her gaze, her wide brown eyes watching him with no judgement. She should judge him. He’d been a rogue of the worst kind. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “If I could change the past, I would.”

  She threw him a tentative smile. “It was not your fault and nor was it mine. We were tricked.”

  Tate lost himself in her gaze, the pull of her, the need that coursed through his blood at having her in his arms once more was too much to deny. Her eyes grew heavy, slipping to look at his lips and he leaned down, just as the shouts and laughter of someone nearby caught his attention. He glanced up and realized with a great deal of annoyance that they were back at Ava’s estate.

  Cursing the fact, he’d missed an opportunity to kiss her, he walked the horse on before stopping before the front door of Ava’s home. A servant ran out with a candle now that the sun was dropping in the western sky. He jumped down and then helping Ava do the same, didn’t give her a moment to walk, but simply scooped her back up again and started for the doors.

  “Have Doctor Bradley sent for in Ascot immediately. Miss. Knight may have broken her wrist.”

  The servant followed them indoors and bowed. “Of course, right away, Your Grace.”

  Without thought, he started up the stairs, ignoring the knowing giggle from Ava as he made the first floor landing. “I’ll take you to your room and ensure you’re tended.”

  She grinned, nodding without opposition. A maid came out of a room further along the corridor. She bobbed a quick curtsy, her eyes widening in shock at seeing Tate carrying her mistress.

  “I can walk perfectly well, you know, duke,” Ava said, the only person in the world he allowed to call him that. Even though the first time she did they were arguing with each other, but it did have a sweet, private notion about it, something just for them. “Do not worry, Jane,” Ava said as they passed her maid. “The duke thinks I have broken my leg instead of my wrist.”

  He glanced down at her, not amused at her teasing. “Are you laughing at me, Miss. Knight?” he asked, raising his brow.

  “Always,” she said. He placed her on her feet beside the bed, his attention not on their surroundings or the staff bustling about them, but Ava, only ever Ava.

  Miss. Evans rushed into the room, coming over to them. “What happened? I saw the duke carry you upstairs and I didn’t know what to think?”

  From her knowing look Miss. Evans gave them both, Tate would wager she knew exactly what to think. He masked his amusement. “Miss. Knight fell off her horse and landed heavily on her wrist. It may be broken.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Miss. Evans said, calling out instructions for the maid to prepare a cold compress and tisane for pain.

  Another maid bustled into the room, pulling down the bedding for the night and going into the dressing room and coming out with a shift.

  Miss. Evans met his gaze and she smiled. “We will take care of Ava from here, Your Grace. Old friends you may be, but propriety must be upheld. Once she’s settled and the doctor has called, I shall send word to you about her condition.”

  He nodded, looking back to Ava. “Miss. Evans is right, but I will not return home. I’ll wait downstairs until the doctor has left, and please do not hesitate to ask me for anything that you need.” Her sweet, angelic face looked up at him and he had the overwhelming urge to clasp her cheeks and kiss her. Damn he longed to taste her sweet lips once more.

  How many times while away had he dreamed of her, of being just so, alone in her room. No-one to interrupt them or stop them from what they’d both desperately wanted before they parted
. A couple of times they had both almost lost control of their emotions, but thankfully they had not. And yet now, five years later, the emotions she wrought inside of him, it only felt like a matter of time before they both combusted from them.

  He lifted her uninjured hand and kissed her glove. “Good night,” he said, walking from the room.

  Tate strode down the passage heading for the stairs and the library below. He had to get hold of himself. There was no certainty that Ava even wanted him in the way that she had all those years ago. He might be dreaming up all her reactions to him, seeing and feeling things that were no longer there for her. His own yearning for more might be wholly on his own behalf and not be reciprocated.

  He entered the library, which also acted as Ava’s office, and slumped down in the leatherback chair before the well-stoked fire. A decanter of brandy sat on a table beside his seat and reaching for the crystal, he poured himself a glass.

  Sipping his drink, he thought back over the day, all that had occurred. Once he knew of Ava’s condition he would write to his Runner and also to Lord Morton to notify him as to why they had not arrived this afternoon. He would ride over there tomorrow and see how they fared, talk to the older gentleman and see if he could give any more details on the fire and if anyone saw anything not yet mentioned.

  The thud of horse’s hooves on the turf outside sounded and Tate stood, looking out the window to see the doctor pull up his horse before the door, Miss. Evans going out to greet the elderly gentleman.

  Tate stayed where he was knowing Miss. Evans would have everything in hand. The fact he could not go into Ava’s room, in any case, meant his presence was unwarranted. There was little doubt Ava would be dressed for bed and it would not be appropriate for him to attend.

  He pushed the thought away, not needing to imagine what she looked like lying on her bed, hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes heavy with sleep and reminiscent of what they looked like when she was thoroughly kissed.

  Tate went back to the chair before the fire, sat, and settled in to wait for news.

  When Ava had been hurt, the crippling fear that he could lose her had been telling indeed. If there had ever been any doubt that trying to win her love once more would be a mistake, today proved otherwise.

  The moment she fell, Tate knew at once that he could not live without her. But could she live without him? That was a question he could not answer.

  Certainly she reacted in his arms as she always had, and if he kissed her, there was little doubt in his mind that she would respond favorably. But that did not mean Ava wanted him for a husband.

  There were certain times of the year that they would need to travel away from Berkshire to Town. Mingle and be seen, and of course he needed to attend the House of Lords. Upon marriage Ava, would become responsible for managing his many households, a mistress to hundreds of employees across all his estates. It was no mean feat, but Tate was certain she was capable. An intelligent, forward-thinking duchess was what he’d always wanted, if only she would give him a second chance.

  With his hand in marriage, came responsibility. A duty that he wasn’t convinced she wanted. Not now that she had tasted independence, and was answerable to no-one but herself. Not that he would curb or box her into any sort of life and keep her under strict rule, but that didn’t mean that Ava did not believe that being a duchess meant that anyway.

  And if she did not have those worries before, his mother’s words the other day to her would’ve most certainly placed them in her mind. Tate frowned, drinking down the last of his brandy. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and not including the rebuilding of his stables or catching the culprit who had burned them down, but winning back the love of his life…

  Chapter 10

  The next two days were a blur of pain and restless moments of sleep. No matter which way she moved in bed, or walked about the house, the action caused her hand to shift and therefore her severely sprained wrist to ache.

  Ava rolled over in bed, the morning sunlight streaming into her room and pulling her from sleep. The sight of a male form sitting in a chair beside her bed pushed all sleep from her body. She sat up, cringing as her wrist protested the movement. “Tate, what are you doing in my room?” she looked about quickly, noting they were alone. “You should not be in here,” she whispered.

  Tate sat on a chair, a discarded book laying open in his lap. He leaned toward the bed, reaching for her hand. “I came early to watch Titan on the gallops and wanted to be here when you woke. I brought you up some breakfast,” he stood and walking to a sideboard in her room, picked up the tray and placed it beside her on the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Ava adjusted herself on her pillows. “Other than my wrist aching, the rest of me feels very well. The tisanes Hallie has been having made for me work very well. I’m not sure what she’s having put in them, but whatever herb she’s found is very beneficial. I’m thankful for her company.” She glanced down at the bandaging about her wrist, her shift gaping a little at her throat. Ava clasped her blankets and pulled them up over her chest. Tate stared at her a moment, before he sighed, coming to sit on her bed.

  “I was so scared there was more to the injury and I cannot tell you how thankful I am, you were not shot. The doctor says you will be fine, after a week or two of rest.”

  Leaning back on the pillows she could imagine what she looked like. A woman who’d been unable to do a lot for herself these past three days, and having just woken up, her hair would be askew, her eyes puffy from sleep. And yet, the look of utter adoration that she read on Tate’s face reminded her of how he used to look at her when they were courting.

  “Do you remember when you taught me how to swim?” she asked, watching him.

  He smiled, nodding a little. “I do. You had me showing you all these different strokes that I was so worldly and knowledgeable about and all the while you already knew how to swim. I discerned in that instant you were trouble.”

  Ava chuckled, remembering he’d gone as red as a beet when she’d told him the truth of her ability. “You were so embarrassed and thought I’d tricked you. Which in a way I had, I suppose?”

  He looked down at the bed, his finger following the line of the embroidered flowers on her bedding. “What made you think of that time?” he asked, looking up and catching her gaze.

  The urge to run her hand over his jaw, shadowed with the smallest amount of stubble was impossible to deny. He’d always been there for her, wanting to please and be her friend, a protector. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’ve been thinking of our past a lot lately and that is but one of many memories that makes me smile.”

  “As good a swimmer as you professed to be, you were lucky I was there the day you had cramp and went under, flailing about, if I recall.” He grinned and she chuckled, although at the time it was far from amusing.

  “There are going to be times in our lives when accidents or situations occur where we’ll not be together. I wanted you to know that what happened to us three days ago was completely out of our control. You don’t have to stay and keep watch over me, Tate. I’ll be fine.” Ava reached out and placed her hand over his, reveling in its warmth and that he turned his palm up and clasped her hand in return. “And anyway, is it proper that you’re in here, Your Grace?” she asked, smiling mischievously.

  His intense stare, loaded with too many emotions to deal with at this time bore into her. “Do you want me to leave?”

  She thought on it only a moment. Ava shook her head, going against her better judgment, against her own promises, that she would forever be her own person. Answer to no-one and be owned by none.

  “I don’t want you to go, no,” she said at last, meaning every word.

  “That is good, then,” he said, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Because I do not wish to leave,” he whispered into her ear.

  Ava shivered and turned, placing her lips enough to kiss him. Her injured wrist forgotten, her attention
snapped to his lips, still as soft and as tempting as they ever were. A fierce longing tore through her at having been denied him for so many years.

  She wrenched back as the door opened and her maid came in with hot water and fresh linens.

  Tate did not move for a moment, and then with a heavy sigh sat back. His intense stare left her breathless and she could feel her cheeks burning. What was he thinking after their almost kiss? Was he waiting for the maid to leave? Or was he simply debating whether to wait at all and kiss her anyway, spectators or no.

  He leaned over and picked up her breakfast tray, placing it before her. “Thank you,” she said, picking up her cup of tea, and taking a sip. Ava dismissed her maid, and also ignored Jane’s startled visage at being asked to go. “I must admit that I feel ravenous this morning.”

  “So do I,” he murmured, no mirth in his tone. “I will call on you tomorrow, Ava. There are some things that I need to discuss with the Bow Street Runner about the fire. He arrived today from London. Apparently there is the possibility that it’s Lord Matthew Oakes, the viscount who’s been starting the fires.”

  A cold shiver tore down her spine at the mention of Matthew, a man she never wanted to set eyes on again. A man she’d promised herself that she would never be a victim to again.

  Ava reached out and clasped Tate’s arm, halting his departure. “No wait, Tate. I mean, Your Grace. Are you sure it’s Lord Oakes that you suspect? I thought he was in Spain.”

  “He was, but he returned only a week before the fire at Cleremore.”

  Ava gasped and he frowned, studying her a moment. “What do you know of Lord Oakes?”

  Sickness pooled in her stomach at the thought of telling Tate what a fool she’d been only last year when she’d returned to England only to hear that Tate was in London, living life to the fullest with a bevy of women, all of whom were not her. That she’d acted out of jealousy and with her foolishness, a mistake that had almost cost her life and reputation.