by Stella Riley
He looked at Abigail out of eyes bright with hope and wondered how best to explain. And then he realised that he didn’t have to explain – that the words could come later. For now, all he needed to do was to stretch out his hand.
He did so, gently pushing aside the midnight hair to lift her chin. She looked up at him out of eyes filled with an anguished despair too deep for tears; and then, before she could speak, he drew her slowly into his arms. With a tiny gasp, she subsided against his chest, her fingers clutching a fold of his shirt. He could feel her breath against his throat as if she was breathing him in. Neither of them moved.
After a time and still not daring to move, Abigail murmured, ‘Justin?’
‘Yes, my darling?’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because I’ve finally realised something I should have seen a long time ago. I’ve been fooling myself.’ He paused, shifting her closer into his arms and laying his hand on her hair. ‘I thought I could do what I felt had to be done. But I can’t.’
The air froze in Abigail’s throat. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that I can’t let you go. It’s beyond me. And I don’t know how I ever believed that it wasn’t. So there will be no goodbyes … and on Saturday, we’ll leave here together.’
Shock made her move for the first time, so that she could search his face.
‘Do you mean it? Are you … are you really sure?’
‘I mean it – and I’m completely sure.’ His hand left her hair to skim the side of cheek and jaw and his mouth hovered close to hers. ‘I promise.’
He kissed her lightly, almost lazily and continued to do so even when her lips parted beneath his. Only when he felt her lean in to him and the hand that had been gripping his shirt relaxed and slipped up to his shoulder did he gradually deepen the kiss and allow himself to explore her mouth … tasting, teasing, enjoying the sweetness of her response. Her breath fractured and he felt the echo of it ripple through her body as she melted against him.
Without either haste or hesitation, his fingers sought and loosened the laces of her gown to slide it away a little so that his lips could follow his hands in a burning trail across her skin. He explored the tender hollows at the base of her throat, the delicate line of her clavicle, the silkiness of her shoulder; and when she clung to him, sighing his name, he murmured, ‘I love you … I love you. Heart of my heart … say that you love me too.’
‘I love you.’
‘Forever? No matter what?’
‘Yes. Always.’
‘And you’ll marry me?’
‘You don’t have to —’
‘I do. So say it. Promise me.’
‘I’ll marry you.’ She twined her fingers in his hair. ‘I promise.’
He rose, taking her with him to gather the fragrant softness of her closer and closer against him while his mouth brushed hers with tantalising lightness. Her gown slithered to the floor and, instead of the expected impediment of a corset, he discovered only a thin shift … and Abby. He took a moment to order his breathing and kept his hands very still. Holding her cradled against his shoulder, he said carefully, ‘I should have asked. I’m sorry. I want you so much. But if you would prefer to wait —’
‘No.’ She reached up to kiss him. ‘No. I don’t want to wait. Only I ought to tell you …’
He waited and, when she did not continue, prompted, ‘What?’
Abigail leaned her brow against his shoulder and one hand returned to the task of pleating his shirt. ‘That I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.’
Justin captured and stilled her restless fingers.
‘I’ll only be disappointed if you don’t enjoy it. But that would be my fault, not yours.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t see how —’
‘No. Of course you don’t.’ He paused and then, suspecting the worst, said bluntly, ‘Did you think I was just going to put you on your back and have you?’
A jolt of something unexpected shot through her.
‘More or less. Aren’t you?’
‘No. Odd as it may seem, I’d get no more pleasure out of that than you would.’ He wondered what that bastard Barnes had said to her and whether any of it was still lingering in her head. And so, with a gentle tug on her hair, he tilted her face up to his and said, ‘Listen to me. You may do whatever you wish and it won’t be wrong. Equally, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to – and if I do something you don’t like, you can tell me to stop.’
He smiled with more than a hint of wickedness. ‘If you’ll trust me, I’ll show you. And by the time I do put you on your back, you’ll want me to.’
‘Oh.’ This time the jolt brought heat with it. Her arms slid back around his neck and she said simply, ‘Of course I trust you. So show me.’
His mouth swooped down on hers, making her gasp and, minutes later, without her quite being aware of it, she felt her petticoats drift from her waist to follow her gown to the floor. Very slowly, he traced the line of her back, the curve of her hip and the delicacy of her rib-cage before closing his fingers lightly around her breast over the fine lawn chemise and sending an arrow of pure sensation shooting through her. Her pulse thudded and she trembled a little.
Justin released her mouth and smiled at her again. ‘You like that?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
‘And this?’ His palm glided over her, warm and sure.
With a helpless sob, Abigail slid her hands beneath his shirt. Knowing what she wanted, he tugged it over his head and cast it aside. She explored the muscles of his shoulders, his chest, his back, revelling in the feel of his skin beneath her hands. She kissed the angry, half-healed wound on his arm before letting her mouth slide up to taste his throat. Justin gripped her hips and narrowly suppressed a groan. Then, sliding one hand up her body to thread his fingers into her hair, he searched her face with hungry, grey eyes before taking her mouth again in a long, deliberately seductive kiss whilst drawing her hard against him. As he had intended, Abigail felt the force of his own desire and a small involuntary sound escaped her.
Lifting her, Justin moved a little closer to the bed and then very slowly eased her shift from her shoulders and let it fall. He looked at her and she flushed but did not attempt to hide from his gaze. His eyes suddenly intent, he trailed his hands up her ribs until they found her breasts, deliberately pausing for a moment before he let his thumbs stroke her. Abigail gasped as a wave of pleasure engulfed her. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she said raggedly, ‘Please, Justin … I want … I want …’
‘I know. But not enough. Not nearly enough. Yet.’
Capturing her mouth again for another long, enticing kiss, he picked her up and laid her on the bed. Then, briskly and carelessly, he discarded his own clothes. She watched him out of wide, dark eyes and, when he was done, reached out a hand to him. He took it and, smiling, lay down beside her and pulled her firmly against the length of his body so that they shared the first tingling explosion of delight as flesh met flesh. His hands embarked on a leisurely voyage of discovery … and, in due course, his mouth followed them, till every inch of her skin seemed to be on fire. His tongue tormented her breasts while his fingers drifted lightly over the silky skin of her stomach and legs. Shaken by pulses and no longer aware of anything but his delicious assault on her senses and the crescendo of pleasure he was creating in every fibre of her body, Abigail pressed herself even closer. Her bones had dissolved, her blood was flowing through molten channels and there was a hot, melting emptiness that overwhelmed everything else.
Shifting a little so that he could kiss her and, still without any sign of haste, Justin slid one hand beneath her knee, lifted it and then trailed his fingers lazily up her inner thigh. He caressed her lightly at first and then with increasing intimacy. Her body arched against him and she sobbed his name, her hands gripping his shoulders.
‘Justin … please … I can’t … I want you so much.’
Holding fast to the last shreds of his self-control, he moved to lie above her and exerted just enough pressure to enter that first little way. Her eyes widened and she said, ‘Oh. Yes.’
Justin managed a half-smile and said raggedly, ‘Yes. And now you’ll have to forgive me.’
She said nothing but her hips lifted slightly and her hands tightened on him.
And so, with infinite care, he sheathed himself in the hot sweet core of her … stopping immediately when she bit hard on her lips and her muscles tensed about him. Not without difficulty because his own desire was fast running away with him, he stroked her hair and waited for it to pass. Gradually, she relaxed again. The expressive face told him when she began first to recognise his presence inside her and then to welcome it. Cautiously, almost experimentally, she moved against him causing the breath to hiss between his teeth.
He murmured, ‘Just let go. Come with me.’
And felt her response even before she spoke. ‘Take me.’
So he did.
*
Abigail awoke to dancing sunlight and a feeling of delicious lassitude that deepened with returning memory. As once before, she was alone; but this time there was no note on the pillow beside her – only the imprint of Justin’s head and a couple of long, walnut hairs that she twisted foolishly about her fingers. She stretched a little, discovering the flagrant disorder of the bed and an unfamiliar stiffness in even less familiar muscles that made her search for some sense of shame at the hours of delight that had caused them. But there was none and the only thought that brought a flush to her cheeks was the hope that tonight would be no different.
An hour or so later she walked slowly into the frenetic activity of the outer ward to find Justin briskly supervising the collection of firearms. His hands were full of papers and the ground around him was an arsenal of pistols, muskets and powder-flasks. He looked across at her and all his crisp efficiency vanished with his smile. He thrust his lists into the hands of the nearest man and moved swiftly to pull her into the dark privacy of a doorway so that he could take her in his arms.
He kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her hair and finally, sighing, he said, ‘I’m sorry I had to leave you wake alone but you looked so peaceful I couldn’t bear to disturb you. And there is such a lot to be done before we leave.’
‘I know. It doesn’t matter.’ She melted against him and felt his hold on her tighten. ‘I love you so much.’
‘And I you,’ he whispered, kissing her again. Then, ‘There is so much to say – but not now. Will you … may I come tonight?’
The diffidence in his voice made her ache. She said, ‘Of course. If I see about some food, do you think we might avoid dinner downstairs? I don’t know what to say to Lucy.’
‘I’ll take care of that.’ Laughter stirred in his eyes. ‘Though if she sees you, I imagine you won’t need to say anything.’
The truth of this remark was proved when, on her way back inside, Abigail encountered Nancy Lucas and found herself subjected to a shrewd brown stare.
‘Well,’ said Nancy. ‘And about time too.’
Abigail flushed and gave a tiny laugh. ‘It’s as obvious as that?’
‘Yes. You look like a first-day bride. And how does Justin look?’
‘Busy,’ retorted Abigail cheerfully. And then, becoming suddenly serious, ‘What will you do, Nancy? Jonas and his friends will close the town to you. Where will you go?’
‘Into keeping,’ came the prompt reply. ‘I’ve had an offer – and a decent one, at that – so don’t you worry about me. I’m going up in the world. You just look after the Captain. He’s one of the good ones.’
‘I know,’ said Abigail simply. ‘And I’ll do my best.’
*
After taking Rex for his walk, attempting to organise her possessions ready for packing and tidying both rooms, Abigail visited the kitchens, changed into the apricot gown and left her hair optimistically loose. Then, in the same mood of sweet expectancy that had possessed her all day, she sat down to wait.
He came sooner than she had dared to hope, entering the room quietly to gaze at her with faintly smiling reticence. He said, ‘You are so beautiful and I am very dirty. Will you excuse me for a moment?’
She rose and came to stand before him.
‘No. Your work is done. Let me do mine.’ And, lifting her hands, began to unbuckle his baldric.
A pulse quivered in Justin’s throat as he watched her lay his sword carefully on the carved chest and unwind the silk sash from about his waist. She folded it neatly and put it aside before returning to unlace the grease-smeared buff-coat. And all the while, he thought of the two words she’d spoken last night as she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and her fingers tangled with his. Two words that, even now, threatened to bring him to his knees.
‘Thank you.’
He realised she was saying something. ‘I’m sorry. What was that?’
‘Nothing,’ laughed Abigail. ‘Just wash and change your shirt. That one is a disgrace.’
She sat by the table, resting her chin on her hands, watching the muscles play in his back until he pulled the fresh shirt over his head. Then she said, ‘There is food here and wine, if you want it.’
‘I only want you,’ he replied simply. And, still making no move to touch her, ‘But perhaps the wine is a good idea. This time we have to talk.’
‘Do we?’ She sensed but could not understand his anxiety. ‘Why?’
‘Because I have to explain about last night.’
Smiling, she shook her head.
‘You don’t. I understand that you changed your mind – and that’s all that matters. You don’t have to provide me with reasons.’
It was a long time before he spoke. Then he said slowly, ‘I think, in all my life, you are the only person who has ever held me in perfect trust … and I could worship you for that alone. I only wish I was more deserving.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Pour the wine, Abby. We’re going to need it.’
Apprehension clawed at her spine but she did as he asked and then sat patiently on the stool waiting while he drained half the cup. Then he came to sit at her feet on the hearth, frowning a little and still silent until, looking up, he said abruptly, ‘Last night you promised to marry me. Before you do, I think you should know that my full name is Justin Ambrose Templeton … and that my father was Lord Templeton of Trent.’
Silence stretched out on an invisible thread. Finally, Abigail said weakly, ‘Was Lord Templeton …?’
‘Yes. He died just over a year ago.’
‘I see. So that makes you —’
‘The eighth baron,’ supplied Justin with irony. And then, differently, ‘It’s a long and complicated story and the details, if you want them, can come later. For now all you need to know is that my father was a cold man whose standards were so high I doubt anyone could meet them. Certainly, I never did. Neither, apparently, could my mother because she ran off with the bailiff when I was seven. That was when he first started to dislike me. Four years later, when he heard she was dead, he started trying to get a replacement. He’d have married any tavern trollop who could give him a son but none of them did. So he married a widow with three children – Bernard, John and Jenny. They were grasping and devious and they still are. Because of my father’s dislike, it was easy for them to discredit me in his eyes. I was sixteen when the inevitable happened and he disinherited me. I won’t bore you with chapter and verse, but —’
‘Jenny,’ said Abigail flatly. ‘Jenny was part of it. Wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ He looked to her, pale and intent. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d remember. She was pregnant and she said I’d forced her so they’d blame me, not her. But I swear to you that I didn’t —’
‘Stop it!’ Careless of her favourite gown, she dropped to her knees beside him. ‘Even if you hadn’t already told me that you never touched her, do you think I could ever believe that of you? Or don’t you trust me at all?’
‘Oh God!�
�� He pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair. ‘I’m sorry. But all this must come as a shock and you have every right to feel deceived and betrayed. My only defence is that, after eleven years, secrecy becomes a habit.’
Abigail put her arms around him and held him close.
‘Finish the story.’
‘Like this?’
‘Yes. Like this.’
‘Very well.’ He drew a long breath and felt some of the tension seep from his body. ‘When I left Trent, I shed my father’s name and went off to earn my own living – you know how. Then fate devised a chain of events which resulted in Bernard French becoming aware of my presence here in Banbury. And because – for reasons I can’t even begin to guess – my father had changed his mind and reinstated me as his heir, Bernard sent Hannah Rhodes to kill me.’
Abigail flinched and her hands tightened about him.
‘I thought she was a spy.’
‘She was. And so, as it happens, is Bernard.’ He paused and then said, ‘I paid him a visit when I was in Newark – one which he’s unlikely to forget. He informed me that Trent is under a sequestration order … and, at the time – mainly on account of the oaths I’d be required to swear - I didn’t seriously contemplate compounding. Now, however, I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Because of me.’ It was not a question.
‘Because I can’t give you up,’ he corrected gently. ‘At this point, I should probably mention that there isn’t any money. The King had it all. And the composition fine is likely to be massive. Also, Bernard and Jenny are still living there.’
‘So how —?’
‘Well, that’s the thing. Originally, I’d thought to sell as much land as it took to raise the money but I’ve realised that might not answer. There’s going to be so much land for sale after the war that prices will be poor. So I’m going to sell the house.’ He paused, looking at her. ‘It’s quite a nice house – at least, I imagine you would think so. To me, however, it’s … something else.’