by Lucy Ashford
Good work, Davenant, he reprimanded himself.
He tried to force down his painful arousal. But it wasn’t easy with her standing so near, her dark curls framing the perfect oval of her face and her delicate lavender fragrance haunting his senses. Damn it, she even made that old-fashioned high-necked nightgown somehow sweetly enchanting.
‘I’m sorry,’ he grated. He’d raised himself on one arm. ‘For a while I couldn’t even work out where I was. But now I remember. I had to swerve to avoid something in the road and was flung off, wasn’t I? And the doctor told me this is a roadside inn.’
He saw Belle shivering as she stood facing him. ‘That’s right. There was an accident...’
He swung his legs abruptly off the bed to sit on its edge facing her. He was still wearing his breeches; that was something to be grateful for. He only prayed that in a few minutes he’d get his body—to be specific, his mighty erection—under control. He said, ‘No. It wasn’t an accident, Belle.’
She went to sit on a chair by the empty fireplace. She looked—haunted. She whispered, ‘Then what—?’
‘I told you,’ he said grimly, ‘that I’d thought since we left London someone was after us. And I believe that sapling was laid deliberately across the road to make my curricle overturn.’
She took a deep breath. ‘It could have been some highway thief, perhaps, who saw us coming.’
‘I would be inclined to agree, if I didn’t know you already had an enemy.’ He was on his feet now, going to find tinder and flint to light a candle.
‘Enemy?’ Belle said brightly. ‘Gracious, how you do overdramatise, Mr D.’
He reached for his white shirt and eased it over his powerful shoulders. His eyes were deadly serious. ‘Belle,’ he said. ‘Your enemy—and mine—is Lord Jarvis.’
The colour left her cheeks, but she still managed to tilt her chin in that defiant way of hers. ‘Lord Jarvis? But Adam, he’s your ally. Don’t I know, only too well, how you would do anything to get his land for your railway?’
‘I didn’t get his land, Belle,’ he interrupted quietly, ‘because I didn’t keep my side of the bargain.’
Her hand flew to her throat.
He was buttoning up his shirt with lean fingers, but his dark eyes never left her face. ‘I did make a hateful bargain with Jarvis—something for which I shall never forgive myself. I said that I would persuade you into a betrothal, then end it, in return for the land I needed from him. But I found I couldn’t carry on with the bargain...’
His words in the carriage drummed through her head. I would give a great deal, if we could only start again from the beginning, you and I...
Belle whispered, ‘You—ended it?’
‘Yes. I tried to tell you that night after Lord Horwich’s ball, but you wouldn’t listen and how could I blame you?’
He had tried to tell her. Oh, Lord, she remembered it now. What you heard at Lord Horwich’s was only a part of it, Belle. Things changed...
‘I told Jarvis it was over and he was angry,’ Adam went on. ‘He made threats against you.’
She swallowed. ‘What kind of threats?’
Adam remembered Jarvis’s brutal warnings—how he’d sworn he would bed Belle himself, with force if necessary, then turn her over to his grooms if Adam didn’t give up his entire railway project. ‘Believe
me, you’re better not knowing. But I told him in no uncertain terms that you would not be leaving my protection.’
She could barely speak as understanding poured through her. ‘You ordered me to stay at Bruton Street. You told me I must not go anywhere without one of your men to accompany me...’
‘Exactly. Then I realised I had to go to Somerset to deal with some problems for which I believed Jarvis was responsible. But...’
‘You couldn’t leave me,’ she breathed.
‘I couldn’t leave you, because Lord Jarvis is still in London.’
She sat down, her legs suddenly weak.
‘I knew, of course,’ he went on, ‘that my men in London would be keeping you under close guard. But the thought of Jarvis getting anywhere near you was intolerable.’
And something in his eyes burned so fiercely that Belle felt her ribs aching with the need for air.
She didn’t know what to say. She felt shattered with emotion and bleak despair. He’d told her, after Lord Horwich’s ball: It’s essential for your own safety that you remain under my protection. She’d not believed him. She’d flung his words back in his face. Now she put her palms to her temples.
He’d wanted that land—needed that land, because he cared for his workers. But he’d lost it now. He’d lost it, because he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice her. Yet on the road from Chippenham Edward could have killed him; she herself was almost as culpable, for hadn’t she ordered Matt to follow them from London and tamper with his curricle, to delay him?
Matt—quite rightly—had been unhappy with the whole affair. Messing with those vehicles is a chancy business at best, Mrs Marchmain.
How could she tell Adam all this now? Her fresh despair must have shown, because Adam sighed and started pulling on his boots. ‘I’m going to find the landlord and ask him for a second room.’
‘But—he thinks that we’re...’
‘I’ll tell him you have a bad headache after the shock of the accident,’ he said abruptly. ‘Or something. Anything. We both need our sleep. In the morning—which isn’t far off now—we’ll try to sort out this mess.’
She nodded, feeling sick inside. ‘Very well. But I’ve been so foolish, Adam. Dear God, you just don’t know how foolish.’
She turned away from him suddenly. He saw her trembling.
Adam was capable of immense self-control, but just at this moment his emotions were in tumult. She thought that hideous nightdress protected her. Well, it didn’t, because all the time they were talking he could see it softly outlining the surprising fullness of her breasts, the long, slim length of her shapely legs. He was aroused—more than aroused. He was also full of anger at Jarvis and anger at himself, for thinking he could get away with accepting Jarvis’s blasted proposal without hurting anyone.
‘Damn it,’ he said aloud. He strode across the room to her. She still had her back to him and was doing something with her long dark hair to tidy it, as women did. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her round abruptly.
Her face was very pale, her eyes huge and vulnerable; one tear slid like a diamond from beneath her dark lashes. All Adam’s anger melted away. He felt, instead, something gripping his insides. Something he couldn’t identify, but it burned hotly in his veins.
‘Belle,’ he said softly. ‘Sweetheart. Please forgive me.’
He thought he heard a sob escape her. Quickly he pulled her into his arms, her cheek against his chest, against his heart. He eased his grip just a little and wordlessly she lifted her face to his.
‘Adam,’ she whispered. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
‘What?’ His whole body had tensed.
‘You seem to think that you were guilty of seducing me.’
Dear God. ‘And wasn’t I?’
Instead of answering straight away she lifted her face to his, her expression full of anguish. ‘Adam. Do you remember our first kiss?’
His fingertips caressed her silken cheek. ‘When you came to my house—into the lion’s den?’ He smiled. ‘How could I forget our first kiss? But you detested me.’
‘No. No, I didn’t. In fact, ever since that kiss, Adam, I longed, so much, for—’
‘For what, Belle?’ Tenderly he cupped her face with his hands.
‘For you to make love to me,’ she whispered. ‘I want you to know that and not to reproach yourself, because...’
‘Hush, sweetheart. Hush. Why talk of blame?’
Why talk of anything at all? He was already kissing her. She let out a low moan; her eyes were closed, but her soft, full lips opened so deliciously for him that desire almost got the better of
him. He was ready to pull her on to the bed, and...
Slowly. Be sure, this time.
‘Adam. Please...’
Was it a protest? An endearment? He couldn’t be sure, but he kissed her again and her tongue, like a flame, was mingling with his, drawing him deep. With a groan he lifted her, featherlight, in his strong arms and carried her to the bed. He kissed her again, then started pulling away his own clothes; she was already lifting her nightgown and her breasts fitted his waiting hands so very perfectly.
He bent to kiss them, sucked each nipple in turn, heard her soft sigh as his own arousal throbbed thickly, darkly; he saw how her skin was flushed, her lips swollen with desire.
He’d missed her in his arms. It frightened him how much he’d missed her. He ran one palm slowly over her breasts and down across her abdomen—she quivered with need, moaned his name—and then his fingers were lower, rubbing back and forth at her tender core.
Her dark lashes flew open to reveal the brilliant green of her shimmering eyes. He leaned down to kiss her mouth.
She suddenly shivered. ‘Adam.’
‘What, sweetheart?’
She moistened her lips. ‘You were hurt. You shouldn’t...’
‘Ah, but I’ve made a miraculous recovery,’ he breathed. His lips touched her breasts again. Then Belle gasped because he was moving downwards. Easing her slender thighs apart. Letting his skilled fingers trail again in the honeyed heat, the silken folds of her most intimate place, stroking her, tantalising her.
She trembled with desire. She shook, at the sensations pulsing through her. Then—dear God, he bowed his dark head and his tongue was there, caressing her furls of flesh, pleasuring her. Bolts of rapture shot through her again and again at the sensual onslaught. She cried out his name; she lifted her hips for him, offering herself. She gloried in the spasms of delight that shook her. ‘Adam. Please...’
He was moving up her body to kiss her mouth again, his eyes dark with desire. Taking his body’s weight on his bent arms, he eased his hips between her parted thighs so that the head of his erection was poised at her core.
He was kissing her lips again, tasting her, licking her, his tongue lazily thrusting. She clutched his strong shoulders almost helplessly, her body trembling with acute need. He cradled her bottom as his mouth moved down to one breast, suckling it gently at first, then harder until she began to cry out, and his heavy shaft was nudging its way between her slick folds. Finding her, sliding into her, as she opened to him, calling out his name.
‘Belle. My beautiful Belle,’ Adam was murmuring.
She clenched her legs round him, opening even more to his sweet caresses, finding his rhythm in fresh astonishment and delight. When he withdrew just a little she whimpered with loss, reaching to clutch him to her again; he smiled darkly and kissed her fevered cheek.
He buried his free hand in her raven curls. He drove himself into her again, slowly, deeply, filling her. She had never felt anything so shatteringly beautiful. She was crying out now with his every incredible move, frantically running her hands over his muscled back, needing more.
‘Come with me, Belle,’ he was murmuring, his lips warm at her throat, his fingers caressing that most sensitive part of her. ‘Come with me, sweetheart.’
Wave after wave of ecstasy was building inside her. Her lungs were at the point of bursting. Every part of her strained with need and just when she felt she could bear it no more, the pleasure engulfed her; her world exploded and she soared. And still he was holding her, kissing her, as he drove himself to his own powerful release.
She lay sated in his arms, her heart thundering. Every part of her was stupidly hoping this beautiful dream would last for ever—but like all dreams it was surely made to be shattered.
She could feel him holding her tightly until gradually his breathing became deep and steady. When he was asleep at last, she eased herself away from him and curled herself in the big chair near the embers of the fire so she could just watch him. Remember him.
Pain squeezed her chest. This could never last—but he’d shown her how very beautiful love between a man and a woman could be. She twisted the ring on her finger. The hateful ring. Adam thought Belle had loved her husband. He was wrong.
They’d told Belle she’d looked like a fairytale bride on the day of her wedding and indeed that night Belle had felt like a princess, waiting in the bedchamber for her handsome young officer husband to come to her. She’d been so shy. So—anxious.
Because since their betrothal, her doubts had assailed her thick and fast. Oh, Harry Marchmain was witty and charming, but he’d been so very angry when he’d realised how small her dowry was.
Belle, only eighteen years old and an innocent, had no one to talk to, no one to confide in, about her secret worries that Harry was disappointed with her wedding portion and also spent a little too much time drinking with his friends. He was a recruiting officer and unlikely, he’d told her, to see service abroad; she’d been glad, of course, that he wouldn’t be caught up in the terrible battles of the Peninsula, but she didn’t like the way he and his friends spoke scornfully of the men being sent off to war. She’d even seen him flirting with other women, but she told herself everything would be different, everything would be perfect once they were married.
Disillusionment set in swiftly. On their wedding night, in fact.
Harry had come staggering into the bridal chamber at, oh, it must have been one in the morning. He’d been downstairs with friends and as he pulled her into his arms he smelled of brandy. He’d mauled her with his hands and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Then he’d pushed her away with a snarl.
‘Come on, girl, show some eagerness. What in hell’s name are you wearing? Looks like a goddamned shroud...’
After unbuttoning his breeches he’d rucked up her nightdress, pulled her legs apart and roughly forced himself into her. She’d tried to tell Harry he was hurting her, but he wasn’t listening. She’d felt nothing but pain for a few moments, the fierce pain of male possession. One harsh deep thrust as he spent himself—and it was over. He’d gone to sleep instantly.
He’d tried to take her again the next morning, but she’d been frightened at the thought of more pain and flinched from him. Harry never forgave her after that. ‘God, woman,’ he’d exclaimed, ‘I knew you weren’t going to make me rich, but I thought at least I’d get some bed sport out of you!’
Her fault, Belle had thought. She’d learnt to tolerate his lovemaking—but that was all. Other women sighed with pleasure over the mysterious prowess of their husbands, so it must be that she was simply unable to please a man in that way.
Adam had revealed to her the intensity of her own sensuality and she had misjudged him sorely. He had been trying, in this journey to Somerset, to protect her, not harm her; fresh agony seared her as she lay in his sleeping arms, filled with the sweet warmth of his lovemaking, yet totally full of dread.
As it happened, Harry Marchmain’s plans had gone wrong. He’d been sent to join Wellington’s army in 1814 and during the fighting at Toulouse he’d met his death. God help her, she’d tried to miss him, she’d tried to mourn him, but her marriage had been a disaster.
Now she’d found someone who really cared; someone she loved. But all through the long hours of the night her thoughts were turbulent with despair. Tell him, you fool. Tell him everything. About your husband, and about Edward and the awful accident to the curricle... But then she would have to tell Adam about Matt and her own plans to delay him, which had been so stupidly reckless.
* * *
Adam drew her to him in his half-sleep and murmured, ‘Tell me. Whatever happened to that damned dog?’
Her pulse jolted. ‘Oh,’ she said lightly, ‘he was taken up by some kind passers-by who promised to take him on to Bath for me. I knew that his barking would annoy you, Adam, and I feared you were very badly injured.’
And so the lies begin again. She started to ease herself away from him. ‘It’s almost sev
en. I really should get up now.’
‘Clock-watching, Belle?’ he teased. He was reaching for her sleepily. ‘Mmm. How I love the scent of your hair. I can’t say I’m sorry about the foolish creature...’
She was already on her feet.
He was fully awake now, raising himself swiftly on one elbow, grey eyes alert.
‘You’re regretting it already,’ he said quietly. ‘What happened between us last night.’
She nodded, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his expression.
He, too, was on his feet, pulling on his clothes. He said in a set voice, ‘Rest assured, this is the last time you’ll be able to claim I made you act against your wishes.’
Oh, God.
‘I’ll go downstairs,’ he said tersely, ‘and order breakfast while you finish getting ready. I’ve still got my meeting to think of.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘What do you want to do next, Belle? Clearly you want to be rid of me as soon as possible. Shall I take you to your brother’s house?’
‘No!’ Her denial was so emphatic that he raised his dark brows.
‘That is,’ she went on, flustered, ‘I will call on Edward and Charlotte, of course, but I—I have no desire to put them to any inconvenience. If you could take me into Bath, perhaps, to some small hotel, I would be very much obliged.’
He was standing by the door, ready to leave. She felt quite sick with shame and loss. ‘I still fear,’ he said, ‘that Jarvis might seek some kind of revenge on you.’
She met his dark eyes steadily. ‘Not if I’m no longer in London. He’ll lose interest in me very quickly, I imagine, if I’m living over a hundred miles away.’
‘You’re considering leaving London permanently? But what about your shop?’
She drew a deep breath. ‘I have been thinking,’ she blurted out, ‘that I have had enough of London and London society. You will be anxious about your investment in the shop, Adam, I know, but Gabby can run it all. She is just as talented a seamstress as me and the clients love her. I will open a small dress shop in Bath, perhaps—after all, it is my home. And then I think it would be perfectly clear to Lord Jarvis that I am no longer under your protection. That, in fact, you have done exactly as he wished and so—and so you might even get your land from him—’