“Would you like some tea, Mrs. Yardley?”
“Oh, yes, my dear. That sounds like just the thing.”
The thought of Harry leaving so soon made her chest tight. He was a pleasure to have around, light hearted and interesting. There was always a tale or joke for her, and he kept her laughing and engrossed in his story weaving when they sat with her father in the evenings. They had, much to her surprise, truly become friends. After kissing him so passionately, she had been afraid that things would be awkward between them, but the two of them fell into a comfortably easy pattern. It was almost as if they had known each other for years.
“How is Mr. Yardley? And the farm?”
“The sheep are doing well, thank the Lord. They have not caught that awful croup that so plagued the Stinsons two winters ago, but are hale and hearty.” Lily nodded absently as the woman chattered. “Mr. Yardley is just fine. He sends his regrets, of course. He had to stay behind and balance the books today or he would have come with us.”
“Of course.”
Which was not to say that she felt any sort of sisterly affection for Harry. No, when he was near her heartbeat would quicken, and her stomach would do odd little flips every time he flashed that charming grin. Every day it became harder to remember that she was looking only for a small flirtation, and nothing more. Because thinking that way would lead only to heartbreak when he moved on, and he would move on. She could see the restlessness that was beginning to plague him. The way he would stop sometimes, and just stare out the window. The look on his face was a puzzle. She longed to reach over and smooth away the frustration she saw there, but knew that for her own good, she should not. And so she didn’t.
“And how is your visitor today, Miss Beaumont? Is he able to join us this morning? I was so hoping the girls…ahem…we would be able to meet him.” Lily suddenly realized she had been drifting and she refocused on her guests. Four pairs of brown eyes watched her eagerly, three faces hopeful and one slyly calculating.
“I am so sorry, but Mr. Connelly is not able to join us today. He is…he is…” She paused, thinking. Not wanting to lie, yet trying to state delicately that he had gone into hiding, was taxing the limits of her weary imagination.
“He is abominably rude. Ladies, I do apologize.” Lily gaped as Harry strode into the room, as if he had merely been delayed a few moments, rather than missing the entire morning. He winked at her as he passed, his action hidden from their visitors. Lily felt a flicker of pleasure and squelched it quickly, so as not to embarrass herself in front of their visitors by making calf’s eyes at the man.
Taking Mrs. Yardley’s hand, Harry bowed low over it and listened politely as she fluttered and babbled, introducing her daughters and revealing much too much personal information in the process. Lily turned her head and concentrated on the drapes, as the woman explained that they would have come yesterday, had it not been for an attack of her gout.
“Mother!” hissed the eldest Miss Yardley, looking like she wanted to curl up and die.
“It’s quite all right, my dear. What’s the point of living to my age and not being able to say whatever I feel like?” Mrs. Yardley said, blithely rolling over her daughter’s protests. She turned to a grinning Harry. “So, Mr. Connelly. Are you married?”
“I am a widower, actually.”
“I am so sorry for your loss, sir. Do you mind me asking if it was recent?” Now all three daughters were looking like they would gladly throw themselves out the window. Lily had found it all amusing at first, but was a little worried at the direction Mrs. Yardley was heading. Harry had not said much about his life previous to his arrival in England even to her, and Lily felt his avoidance of the surely topic must indicate some personal tragedy. Such a thing should not be bandied about drawing rooms lightly. She shifted uneasily in her seat as the cheerful smile faded from Harry’s face.
“Mrs. Yardley, did you mention that the ladies in the village are starting to already plan the spring rout at the assembly hall? Have they picked a theme?” Lily tried to redirect the discussion. Miss Yardley shot her a grateful look.
“What?” Momentarily confused, Mrs. Yardley paused. She dismissed the attempt to change the conversation and continued. “I have no idea. As you were saying, Mr. Connelly?” The woman clung to her conversational bit like a terrier with a rat. She leaned forward, eager to hear Harry’s answer. Despite her better intentions, Lily found herself drawn in, curious as to what he would say. There was a brief silence as they all looked at him. Harry looked back, expressionless. His fingers tightened on the arm rests of the chair.
“I lost Katarina almost three years ago.” Lily throat tightened. Although his voice showed no emotion, the look in Harry’s eyes was desolate. “The American frontier is a rough and wild place. She was taken by an Indian raiding party, while I was up at Fort Knox delivering lumber. It was the culmination of an entire month’s work and would bring in enough money to buy us supplies for the winter.” He paused, and Lily caught her breath. The horror of what he had gone through was tearing little slices in her heart and she was bleeding for him. Her fingers laced together tightly, to still the trembling that had begun.
“I spent some extra time picking out material so Kate could have a new dress. It was the most beautiful blue, with little flowers all over it. I remember looking at it and thinking how much it would please her. Blue had always been her favorite color.”
The room was absolutely silent, except for the harsh sound of Harry’s breathing. Lily sat frozen in her chair, riveted by the play of expressions across his face. Pain, anger, loss…they moved over him like the tide breaking on the shore –rushing forward, then receding, but never very far.
“I loaded up the supplies, and Kate’s present, and then I decided what harm could it do to stop into the tavern and have a drink with some friends?” His bitter laugh was directed inward. The mirthless sound was filled with self-loathing.
“By the time I left town and drove the wagon home, I had been gone almost the entire day. The cabin was empty and our things rifled through. Much of it was stolen or ruined, just for the joy of destroying it. And then I found Kate. They had…used her…then left her to die, out back by the wash house, like a broken doll that they had gotten tired of playing with.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw Mrs. Yardley stiffen. His eyes focused on something in his past, the fact something so personal was never aired in polite society was completely irrelevant to Harry.
“She was gone before I even found her. We had been married less than a year.” No one moved. Finally Lily drew in a ragged breath, blinking back her useless tears. At the sound, Harry raised his gaze to hers and stared at her with haunted eyes. What had been hiding behind that blithe mask had broken free. She hated that anyone was witness to Harry at his most vulnerable; raw and exposed. As their eyes locked he stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair over, and strode from the room without another word.
“Well…I say. I never…”Mrs. Yardley exclaimed weakly. She sat, dazed, and then shook her head, coming back to herself. “Miss Beauchamp, that is a very troubled young man. Imagine –speaking that way with my innocent darlings in the room.” The matron’s outrage was growing as she composed herself. Her shoulders stiff, she yanked on her gloves, her double chins quivering with indignation.
“Mrs. Yardley, I hardly think–” Lily began, but the woman was up and bustling her children out of the parlor before Lily could say more. She trailed behind them, trying to soothe Mrs. Yardley’s offended sensibilities. She was an incessant gossip, and the details of the disastrous visit would be all over the village in no time at all. Harry didn’t deserve to have his pain gossiped about in parlors and at dinner tables, but short of a Christmas miracle, there was nothing to be done. She closed the door behind them and just leaned there for a moment, her head throbbing.
Memory of the haunted look in Harry’s eyes pinched at her heart. To have love and have it snatched away like that. It was too horrifying to even contempla
te, and made her ache to comfort him. Lily shook her head, exasperated with herself. No. She would not fall in love him. He was leaving. She was staying. It was beyond foolish to fall in love with a man who already had one foot out the door. She could only pray she would not be such a fool.
~ 6 ~
Lily jerked upright in bed. Something had woken her. She heard it again. The sound was coming from the other end of the hallway, the set of rooms where Harry was staying. Debating for a moment, Lily sat on the edge of the bed. At the sound of a loud thump followed by hoarse shouting, she jumped up and hastily tied on her robe as she yanked open the door. As she stepped out into the cold hall, wishing she had taken the time to put on slippers, the door opposite hers opened.
“Lily? What’s that noise?” asked her father, peering at her in the dim light. She smiled reassuringly, ignoring a series of muffled thuds from three doors down, and guided her father back to his bed.
“I will go see, but you need to stay in your bed, Father. It is much too chilly and there is a terrible draft in the corridor. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s fine.” Lily tucked him back under his quilt like a child, but when she turned to go he caught her hand in a surprisingly strong grip.
“You need to be careful.”
“Oh, hardly that, Father. I’m sure Mr. Connelly just tripped or…something.” Lily glanced over her shoulder at the open door. The house had gone silent again. Instead of reassuring her, it left an anxious pit in her stomach. Noise no longer emanated from the room down the hall. What was going on in there?
She had not seen Harry since Mrs. Yardley and her daughters had left that morning. He had not come down for luncheon, and having returned sometime in the afternoon, requested a tray for his room. He had left her a note on the kitchen table to just leave the tray outside his door whenever she was able to put something together. Trying to give him his space, Lily had done as he had asked. When she came back a few hours later, the dishes were empty and stacked neatly on the tray, in the exact same spot she had left it.
“Lily, Mr. Connelly is a man recently returned from war, and although his body is healing, his soul has not yet recovered. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?” Her father let go of her hand. Lily looked at him, perplexed by his concern. Harry had been nothing but calm and polite in her father’s presence. Her father could not be aware of what had transpired that morning, having been fast asleep when she had gone up to check on him after the Yardleys left, but he seemed to sense something Lily had not. She had not even suspected that Harry had been hiding anything under that blithe exterior, especially not of the magnitude of the unhealed pain she had seen.
“Yes, of course. I am always careful.”
“Yes. I know, my dear. I know.” Her father lay back on his pillows with a weary sigh, and closed his eyes. Lily waited another moment, but he did not open them again. Frowning, she left the room, silently pulling the door shut behind her.
The hallway was quiet again, and she debated going back to bed, but she just couldn’t do it. Curiosity and concern, and something altogether more devilish, prodded her down the hall to Harry’s door. She dithered in front of it for a moment before taking a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh, and knocking softly on the door. Nothing. She knocked more firmly.
“Mr. Connelly? Are you all right?” Hearing nothing, she felt foolish. The man most likely had awoken with a nightmare or some such, and was fast asleep again. She started to turn away when he spoke in a low voice.
“Enter.”
Lily opened her mouth, and shut it again. She looked down the hall, at her father’s door, firmly shut, and back at the door in front of her. The brass knob seemed to gleam in the shadows of the corridor, mocking her indecision.
Coward.
She reached out and, grasping the knob, slowly pushed the door open. The room was dark, lit only by the waning moon. Lily moved into the room carefully, stopping a few feet in. She strained to make something out in the inky silence and found the long, dark shape of the bed. With a jolt, she spied Harry sitting motionless on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, feet planted on the floor.
“Mr. Connelly? Harry?” Lily moved a few paces forward, almost against her will. Her heart was beating madly in her chest. This was so wrong. She should not be here, in a unmarried man’s room in the middle of the night, alone with him in the dark. And yet, she did not want to leave. From the first she had longed to behave badly, just by being in his presence. She was so very tempted by him.
Lily moved to the dresser against the wall, and fumbling for a few moments in the thick silence, she managed to light the single candle that was always left there. She turned back to the bed. Harry had not moved; his head was bent, his hands dangling loosely in between his knees. She swallowed a gasp as the golden wavering of the candle revealed that he wore no dressing gown, but was clad only in a loose pair of woven cotton pants. The dim light gilded his tanned skin, turning the faint scars on his arms and back silvery. She drifted closer, for a better look, not really even aware of her movement. My, some of those scars are quite impressive. Quite.
She stopped suddenly when he raised his head. She had thought him relaxed, but his posture had been deceiving. He was coiled tighter then a drum, the tendons in his arms standing out with the effort not to move. His eyes burned into hers, trapping her, holding her.
“Come here, Lily.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“If you didn’t want this, you never should have stepped foot in this room.” Harry regarded her almost lazily from under his shaggy, silken hair, but she now knew better then to be fooled. The ease of their friendship had disappeared, as the air fairly crackled with tension. She edged backwards to the door, and he leaned forwards, watching her intently. She knew that she had to leave now.
She wasn’t afraid of him. It was herself she feared. All her self-control seemed to evaporate around him, and this was not the place, or time, to test herself. She was not prepared for this. It had caught her off guard.
“I’m sorry…I…I made a mistake. Good night, Mr. Connelly.” Lily turned and started for the door.
Like a shot, Harry was up and past her, closing the door silently and locking it with a flick of his wrist. He leaned against it, regarding her with hungry, restless eyes. She stood perfectly still as he pushed off the door. Circling her slowly like a wolf playing with his dinner, he was tensed to pounce at any attempt to escape. Lily was entranced with the sight of his sleek body moving in the dim light of the lone candle. The muscles in his shoulder and back were gilded and strong. She had to clench her hands to keep them at her sides, the urge to touch him was overwhelming. Trailing a finger across her collarbone, he pulled forth a shudder, brushing her bottom with his body as he passed. Drawing in her scent deeply, he was close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her.
Lily raised her gaze. His desire for her reflected there, and she was lost. She didn’t even put up a token resistance when he pulled her to him and ravaged her mouth. She gave as good as she got, her lips pushing back at his, her small hands flying up to dive into his hair and tug him closer. He groaned and held her closer, wedging one knee in between hers, making her hitch up against him instinctively. She had never thought herself wanton, but she wanted everything from this man, everything he could give her, everything she could take. She released his head, and started pulling at her robe ties. Frustrated that they seemed to be knotted, she gave them another fruitless yank, with a half sob, half laugh.
“Do you have a knife?”
“What?” Harry shook his head, dazedly, as if coming out of a fog.
“A knife, Harry. Cut the ties. They are snarled terribly!” Continuing to pick at the confounded material, it took Lily a moment to realize he had gone perfectly still. She looked up to find him looking back at her with an unflattering look of horror dawning on his face.
~ * ~
Holy Mother of God.
Harry shook his head again, backing a
way from Lily as if she was a red-hot iron, ready to burn him. Come to think of it, that’s just what she is. He blazed with the fire of passion and she had been the spark.
When he woke from yet another nightmare, he had been drenched in a cold sweat and shaking from the images that he had relived over and over in his dreams. The faces of the elderly, the women and children cut down in cold blood by the Fort Knox militia, just because they were Indians. Because they needed to set an example. And Katarina, always Katarina. Her sightless eyes accusing him of abandoning her when she had needed him the most, of not protecting her as he had always promised to. The memories left a bitter, ashy taste on his tongue. He usually drowned himself in cheap whiskey after one of these episodes, but then his angel had appeared, and she was a thousand times more potent then liquor. He hadn’t been thinking, still caught up in the despair and darkness that the dreams always brought him, and had only wanted to feel alive again, to warm himself with her.
But he couldn’t do it at her expense.
He realized by the puzzled look on her face that he was going to have to be the one to stop this, to protect her. She had no idea who he really was, what he had done –or failed to do. If she did, she would walk out that door and never look back. His angel could never love a killer.
“Lily, we can’t do this.”
“Why not?” She studied him with those big blue eyes, patiently waiting for his explanation. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Her eyes narrowed a fraction. He cleared his throat.
A Summons From His Grace (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 4) Page 10