Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Anne Meredith

“How did you come into my life, Rachel?”

  His quiet question, laying open the truth between them, took her by surprise. After a long moment, she lay her palm against his chest, feeling the hair sliding slickly between their skin. “Next time I’ll tell you.”

  A fire lit his eyes. “Next time?”

  “This time, I fear I’m distracted.”

  “Indeed. But why did you never tell me—how short our time was together? I’ve been so foolish—”

  She touched his face. “Some people never find the person they’re meant to be with. They never understand the meaning of love. We’re lucky. We knew, for a while at least—”

  He settled his mouth over hers with urgent need, and he clutched her to him in desperation. “Never say it, Rachel. Say we’ll awaken every morning in each other’s arms, that you’ll never leave me. Say you’ll love me for all time.”

  “That I can promise you,” she whispered, her fingers sliding through the damp, dark locks that curled softly against her palms. “I will love you always.”

  She lifted her mouth to his, drinking from his hope, offering a portion of her own. He gave and took from her, spanning her waist with his hands, settling her over his lap. The searing intimacy sent desire pulsing through her, and her palms skimmed slickly over his broad shoulders. His gaze dipped to her breasts, and he lifted her, fastening a warm, eager mouth around a nipple.

  Her fingers threaded through his hair and she rose to her knees, pushing herself closer. She felt his sharp intake of breath against her nipple at her boldness, and his urgency as his hands roved over her, clenching her hips.

  “Rachel,” he murmured, lowering her until she just felt the heated thrust of him teasing her. “I would have you for my wife.”

  His soft, husky voice, his quaint proposal, his profoundly sexual gaze on her, heightened her arousal to a dizzying level.

  “Grey.” She dared not sort through things like a proposal from a married man, especially in this state. She spread her thighs farther, pressing her pelvis down to reach him. He held her in place with strong hands clutching the soft flesh of her upper thighs and hips.

  “No,” he murmured. “Not without your consent.”

  Her need for him was desperate. Her hands slipped down between their bodies to clasp him. She gave a soft moan at the hard readiness there; she felt the craving in him, saw it in his anxious gaze, in the taut line of his jaw. His soft, disheveled hair fell over her throat as he leaned to suckle her breasts.

  “Will you.” His question was a soft entreaty, an ardent demand.

  She pressed him close, until she felt the soft warmth of his tongue on her breasts. Rachel arched against him, flexing her thighs. His grip tightened on her, refusing the admittance she sought. Then he lowered her slightly, stroking her in a maddening slide. She ached for him.

  “Say it,” he demanded.

  Her mouth dropped to his shoulder; her lips pressed there, her tongue tasted, her teeth sank gently into the soft flesh. Then, acquiescent and soft, she leaned close, moving her breasts against his chest, letting her mouth fall to his ear. “Yes, my darling, I will never leave you, no matter what.”

  He thrust within her waiting haven, finding sultry welcome and provocative seduction in the feel of her. An elemental sound escaped him as she arched into his thrust, her eyes closing, her head thrown back, her hair falling down her back. The sight of her abandoned desire captivated him.

  A fiery current swept through her at the unleased passion that consumed him. He clutched at her waist, curving her closer until his teeth closed gently around one breast. The new angle sharpened the pleasure within her even as he captured her nipple within his mouth, encircled it with his flickering tongue, mercilessly teasing her.

  She felt as if she were one with the waterfall that crashed nearby, the rush of water raging beyond control just as the storm consumed her. She cried out his name and laced her fingers through his hair, drawing him even closer into the whirlpool of pleasure. She felt the resonant cry that rose deep within his throat and moved through her, and he pulled her down to him, burying his face against her throat as he whispered her name. The intensity of his climax rushed through her and intensified her own, until at last they came to rest.

  Eventually they realized that night had fallen around them. The quiet song of crickets arose, along with the mournful cry of a woodland animal, and he stroked her hair, leading her from the water. Reluctantly they helped each other dress.

  He held her arms, gravely regarding her. “You gave your promise.”

  She nodded.

  “And you swear by it? No matter how long it takes?”

  “Yes.”

  The look he gave her held hope and sadness and question without answer. He linked his arm around her waist and they walked quietly back to town. The silence of the night was broken only by the quiet, occasional conversation of a man and woman who were content in their love.

  When they turned the corner near the Trelawney home, he froze. Alarmed at his sudden anxiety, she let her gaze follow his. Three men stood there, one of them watching the couple approach.

  “Who is that?”

  “Stephen Clancy. The sheriff.”

  “Oh, dear.” Thinking of Jennie near her time, she rushed forward, and he followed close behind. “What’s happened?”

  The sheriff gave him a grim look. “Lord Windmere, I would have a word with you in private.”

  She saw Grey’s troubled glance. “No. She’ll stay.”

  “Your wife—” The sheriff cast her a quick glance.

  “Out with it, man,” Grey snapped.

  Clancy met his eyes impassively. “I’m here to arrest you, Grey.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she looked at Grey. All traces of their lingering contentment were gone. What remained was a weary man.

  “Lady Windmere’s body was found in the James River. And you’re charged with her murder.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Rachel felt as if she were caught in a bad dream. Unbidden and unwanted, the memories rushed through her mind. Grey’s strange distance of the past few hours, as if something weighed heavy on his heart. And then, his impassioned vow, the night they’d first made love.

  Nothing shall ever stand between us. No man. No woman. No law of heaven or earth.

  Was it possible? No. Immediately, she rejected the thought. No man so devoted to honor would commit such a dishonorable act. He’d traveled for years to keep a promise to his mother.

  And on the way learned slave-trading, which he found abhorrent—yet was able to tolerate, to meet his greater goal.

  No, she told herself again with insistent resolve.

  “You’re making a mistake, sir.”

  “Mind your own business, madam.” The sheriff’s gaze raked her damp clothes. “Whatever that might be.”

  “You’ll apologize,” Grey snapped, anger glittering in his eyes.

  The sheriff’s gaze was speculative even as he apologized to Rachel. “Come with us, my lord.”

  “On what grounds do you make these charges?”

  “Two witnesses who saw you drown your wife, sir.”

  She felt fear slowly steal over her.

  “Give me but a moment.” Grey’s eyes moved over her as if memorizing her. “Rachel, look at me.”

  Please, she thought, trying to blot out the thought of someone having witnessed the crime. Not just yet.

  She slowly raised her face, and his dark brows wrinkled as he searched her eyes. At last, quiet resignation descended over him.

  He turned to the sheriff. “I’m ready.”

  “No!” She clutched at his sleeve. “You don’t understand. I thought—”

  Clancy keenly watched her, and she dropped her hand abruptly. This was all going to end up in court, if they deigned to give him a trial. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Clancy.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “And how are you so certain?”

  She hesitated. “Because—”

  �
�Just go inside,” Grey rasped. “Please. Emily’s watching.”

  She glanced at the upper floor windows. Emily stood at one, rubbing tiny fists against her eyes. Rachel saw her lips form the word Papa. He lifted his hand and blew her a kiss, and she mimicked his gesture in confusion, darting away from the window.

  Exactly as she had that morning so long ago, the first moment Rachel ever saw her.

  She shivered at the premonition that stole over her. She hesitated, torn between Grey—who even now turned to go with Clancy and the gaolers—and Emily, who any second now would be racing out that door. Knowing his agony, she did what she knew he would have her do. She ran through the gate and to the door to intercept the child. She stopped, turning her head for a last glance at him, but they’d rounded the corner and were gone. She opened the door and heard Emily’s excited footsteps on the stairs. “Papa?”

  Rachel caught her at the bottom of the stairs. “No, darling. He had to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Well, he’s going home.” She stroked Emily’s shivering body. “Here, let’s close that door. It’s cool out.”

  “But why didn’t he wait to kiss me goodbye?”

  “He told me to kiss you, and to tell you—” Her voice trembled. “That he loves you very much.”

  Emily sighed, crestfallen.

  “Rachel?”

  She heard the gruff voice at the landing. Thomas leaned one hand on the rail, watching her in confusion. She gave him a meaningful look. “Let me put Emily back to bed.”

  After tucking Emily in, she returned to find Thomas waiting in the hall, his gaze questioning.

  “Grey’s been arrested.”

  His face went slack with incredulity. “Why?”

  “Letitia’s body was found in the river.”

  Slow recognition traveled over his face as he arranged facts. “Dear God, this looks very bad. I’m his father, and it’s bad even to me.”

  “And,” she added blankly, “he thinks I suspect him.”

  “Oh, certainly not.”

  “Yes. I don’t know whether Jennie has told you or not, but, um, well, Grey and I—”

  He raised his hand. “I have eyes to see. But as it happens, she did tell me.”

  “He’d told me he’d let nothing stand between us. God help him if I’m called to testify against him which, after tonight, I likely will be.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head free of the last remnants of sleep. “I’ll go see what I can do.”

  She was downstairs in the drawing room, staring blankly at the harpsichord, when Thomas hastily descended, pulling on his waistcoat as he came. In one arm he carried his coat.

  “I’ll be back soon. There’s nothing to concern yourself over.”

  No, nothing at all. The man she loved had been arrested for the murder of his wife. The case against him was grim. Nothing at all to worry about.

  Thomas was gone for only a few minutes. When he returned, he seemed even wearier. “They wouldn’t even let me see him. He’s to have no visitors before the arraignment.”

  “Thomas?”

  The soft, sleepy voice came from the landing above. Jennie stood there, watching in confusion. “Is something amiss?”

  “Go back to bed, my dearest. ’Tis something I’d prefer you weren’t worried with tonight.”

  Predictably, Jennie lumbered down the stairs. “What is it?”

  “Letitia’s body was found in the James River, and Grey’s been arrested for her murder.”

  “Oh, my heavens!”

  The three gathered in the kitchen, where Rachel put water on to boil for tea.

  “This is ridiculous. Why would Grey want to kill her? He had no motive.”

  “Jealousy.”

  The women turned to Thomas.

  “That’s precisely what they’ll name as his motive. The woman’s lascivious nature was chronicled in the seedier conversations at Raleigh Tavern. In the end, they’ll say, he flew into a jealous rage.”

  “Grey had every reason to want her alive,” Rachel argued. “He stood only to lose by killing her.”

  “Were he not the passionate man he is, such a foolish act would be unbelievable,” he agreed. “But the fact is, he is known as a man with a tempestuous nature. And the lady was rumored to have taken up with Donovan Stuart.”

  “That isn’t true, though. I overheard her proposition Donovan—and he rejected her.”

  Jennie waved her hand impatiently. “The more obvious question is this. If not Grey—and we’re agreed it isn’t—then who?”

  Thomas leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his abdomen. The corner of his mouth quirked wryly. “You question who detested Letitia Trelawney? Our work might be shortened were we to list those who didn’t.”

  “Well,” Jennie said, “perhaps we first consider those who hated her enough to kill her.”

  “I had no great love for her,” Thomas admitted. “She abused my Emily, and knowing that would have been quite enough for me to’ve throttled the woman.”

  “Cast out any heroic notions this minute,” Jennie said plainly.

  Rachel placed three cups on the table, then poured tea. “What about one of her lovers? Did she have any former beaux here? Aside from Donovan?”

  Thomas gave an impatient snort. “Again, the list may be long. Truth to tell, I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps,” Jennie said, “it’s the opposite. Perhaps she found a willing liaison, who grew skittish at discovery. While court is in session, ours is a town full of the gentry, many of them away from their wives. Any number of them would be destroyed were the news of an affair to come to light.”

  Thomas sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll speak to some people in the morning. Peyton Randolph may be helpful.”

  “The cousin of the deceased?” Jennie asked wryly.

  “And the son of Sir John. As well as the King’s attorney, and a close friend of Grey’s. He’ll uphold the truth. At any rate, we’ve time. The spring session is almost concluded, and they’ll likely not hear his case until the winter.”

  “Winter!” Rachel exclaimed. “But …”

  A cry upstairs silenced them, and Rachel skipped up the stairs. She opened Emily’s door and heard the child’s weary whimpers. “Papa … Papa!”

  Rachel rushed to the bed, bending over the child. “Wake up, Emily.”

  A moment later, her eyes opened. She stared at Rachel in disorientation, and Rachel took her into her arms. “It’s all right.”

  “Oh, Rachel, it was awful! Papa gave me a pony, and we went for a ride, and he raced away from me, and I couldn’t catch up to him, no matter how I tried,” she wept.

  Thomas arrived at the edge of the bed, petting the child. “’Twas only a dream, my own love. Nothing more.”

  His eyes met Rachel’s, and she saw the grim fear in his gaze. “You stay here with Emily. I’ll take care of Jennie.”

  She nodded, wishing she could offer him the same reassurances he gave his granddaughter. They both knew his words were no more than that.

  As he rose, he patted her arm awkwardly, and he gave a weary sigh. “This shall be the longest night of our lives.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Just after daybreak the next morning, Rachel strolled down a side street to the gaol with a basket over her arm.

  At the front door, a gaoler stopped her. “Trelawney’s to have no visitors.”

  “I have his breakfast.” Rachel opened the basket, revealing innocuous contents. “He has a right to eat. If you give me trouble, Mr. Randolph will deal with you.”

  He relented. “Awright then. ’E’s there on the right.”

  He swung open the massive wooden door, and she was overwhelmed by the stench. She moved toward the dank cell where Grey was locked. Johnny opened the door, then slammed it behind her and locked it once more.

  The first rays of the sun slanted in through the small, barred window, and her eyes hungrily sought him. He stood in one corner,
a shackle around his wrist chaining him to the wall. A dark growth of beard shadowed his tanned jaw, and Rachel stared. Stripped of his dignity, abused, unshaven, and exhausted, he still raised in her a poignant yearning.

  “Why have you come here?”

  Refusing to be put off by his male pride, she placed the basket near his feet. “I’ve brought your breakfast.”

  His eyes never left her. As she straightened, she saw something move through his eyes so fleetingly she thought she’d imagined it. So, he was going to punish her for her moment of doubt.

  “How is Emily?” He spoke with a civil curiosity.

  Rachel was certain of his ruse now. He was dying for news of his daughter, yet he spoke as if she were but a casual acquaintance of Rachel’s.

  “Fine. Except for nightmares of her father deserting her.”

  He jerked away, staring at the floor. He swore.

  “They won’t let me stay long. I only came to ask you—”

  She saw the weary pain in him when he raised his head and gazed at her.

  “Who might have done it?”

  He shook his head, and each word was the ponderously spaced expression of a night spent wondering. “I don’t know.”

  Rachel lifted the lid of the basket. “I brought you some cakes, and some—”

  “Kiss me, Rachel.”

  His words were so soft, she nearly missed them. They were a demand and a plea.

  She straightened, and his free arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. With despondent yearning, he searched her face. “I shall always love you,” he whispered.

  She lifted her lips to his and tasted his despair, and he held her as though it were the last time he would ever do so. And the terrible fear rose in her that quite possibly, it might be.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.

  Her fingers sifted through the sweet, soft dark locks, curved about the hard jaw, trailed down the rumpled shirt. Her heart ached at the dismal sight of him. It wasn’t this place—Grey at his filthiest was more splendid than any other man at his finest.

  It was the devastation of his spirit.

  “Some good shall come of this. My bondsmen shall be freed even sooner.”