My mother had been out all night and come home drunk. My father was yelling at her, asking where she’d been and whom she’d been with. She told him it was none of his business. My father shook her and insisted as her husband, it was his right to know everything about her. And that’s when she laughed and told him he knew nothing about her, not even that he’d been raising another man’s child for six years. I didn’t stay to see what they said next.
I think I met my real father once. I was sixteen, and at a boating party in Hereford. He was with his wife and children. It was rather like looking in a mirror for me, but I don’t think it was the same for him. He made no indication he knew who I was, so of course, I didn’t either. If I’m right, I have two younger half brothers. They look like me, too.
Yours,
Andrew
* * *
Dear Victoria,
My best friend is Randolph Asher, whom you met at our wedding. I met him at Cambridge, fighting over a book. I’d developed a passion for the Etruscans at that point, and as you will discover, there is not much known about them. The library at Cambridge only owned a few titles. I was looking for one to reference something and it wasn’t on the shelf. I found out who had borrowed it and tracked him down in his rooms to get it back. It began as an argument over the book, but then we began talking about the ancient world. We wound up staying up all night discussing Etruscans, and our friendship was born. It’s rather sad, now that I stop to think about it.
If this dig is not successful, his family will demand he returns and takes orders in the church, which he doesn’t want to do. I thought you should know. More people are counting on my research than just myself. I probably should have explained that to you a long time ago.
Yours,
Andrew
* * *
“Well, this is unfortunate,” Louisa said.
“Most,” Emma sighed in agreement.
“I’m not sure what’s to be done, Victoria.”
Victoria surveyed the sad state of what had once been Briarwood’s formal gardens. She’d told the girls on their arrival that the garden, once a masterpiece of formal, seventeenth-century landscape design, encompassing several acres behind the house, hadn’t been tended to in more than a generation and was likely beyond saving, but Louisa, in her usual stalwart manner, wanted to do a full survey before surrendering all hope.
They’d now spent the better part of the morning exploring the overgrown wilderness that used to be the gardens. They were all rumpled, scratched and weary and even Louisa seemed ready to declare defeat, having barely made any notes in the notebook she’d brought along for the purpose.
“I did warn you.”
“Warn them of what?”
Victoria startled at Andrew’s voice as he strode up behind them.
“We’ve been examining the old gardens and seeing what’s to be done,” Louisa told him.
“It looks terrible back here.”
“No one’s touched it in decades,” Victoria replied, a bit sharply. “I’ve left it alone because the lands were more important than the garden.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Andrew said. “And we could leave it be, if you don’t want to bother. No one’s needed it in all this time.”
“But the house should have a proper garden,” Louisa protested.
“Why don’t you design something, Louisa?” Andrew suggested.
“What do you mean?”
He waved an arm across the ruined garden. “Rip it all out. Put in something new.”
Louisa’s face lit up with delight. “Oh, Andrew, do you mean it? You’d let me design it?”
“Why not? You seem enthusiastic enough about it.”
“Oh, I am! We could do something all new. Very au courant. No one’s doing these formal gardens anymore, with all the hedge mazes and follies and all. We could do something more informal. Perhaps a wide open lawn, with some trees over that way where you could have a picnic, and maybe a long rose arbor over there. Oh! And we’ll need a greenhouse! With a heated floor!”
“It sounds like you have quite a few ideas already.”
The look in Louisa’s eyes grew ferocious. “Most certainly. Come on, Emma. We have a lot of work to do.”
“We?” Emma yelped, as her sister dragged her off the terrace and back into the wilderness of the garden.
Victoria laughed. “I think you’ve created a monster.”
“But look how happy she is. We probably won’t see hide nor hair of her until it’s time to go back to school.”
Biting her lip, she examined him as he watched his sisters disappearing into the underbrush. He did love them so. Whatever her own issues were with him, she would never fault him on that front. It was what gave her courage to speak.
“About school...”
He turned to face her and raised an eyebrow in question. That expression of his would be the death of her. It always sparked the most ridiculous flutterings in her chest.
“This coming year is already settled, of course, but how would you feel about keeping them in England for school next year?” She held her breath and watched his face. He’d been more than generous with her command of the house and lands, letting her do as she wished and deferring to her almost always. But the education of his sisters was a different, far more personal issue. She might have overstepped her bounds terribly.
When he didn’t respond right away, she rushed to fill the silence. “It’s only that Louisa will be coming out in a couple of years, so she might benefit from some time in a finishing school. Perhaps with Gen—I mean, Lady Grantham. And Scotland is so far away. It would be a shame to send Emma back by herself. And I’ve found a school for young ladies in Kent with an excellent music program and a first-class piano instructor. Think how well she would do there. And if they were closer—”
“Victoria.”
“Yes?”
“I think it’s a marvelous idea.”
“You do?”
“Yes. We’ll bring them home at Christmas.”
She exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
“No.” Andrew reached for his hand. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For caring for my sisters. Giving them a happy home.”
“I love them.”
He smiled, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. She should probably pull away, but they were getting along so nicely at the moment. He’d given her what she wanted where the girls were concerned, and she found herself feeling uncharacteristically generous toward him.
“I know you do. Thank you for loving them. They needed you. I’m...” He paused and swallowed hard, looking suspiciously emotional. “I’m immensely grateful to you for it.”
“I’m lucky to have them.” Her own eyes burned. She tugged her hand free from his to press her palms to her cheeks. It wouldn’t do to get weepy in front of him. And now they were alone together. Drat. Usually, she endeavored to avoid this.
“I should probably go.” She took an unsteady step back.
“Of course.” She began to turn away, but he halted her. “Victoria?”
“Yes?”
He advanced on her, closing the distance between them. Her nerves fired in alarm, but she held still. She would show him no reaction, no matter what he was doing to her on the inside. So many nights of him coming to her bed, and she’d fought so valiantly to remain impassive in his arms. But he refused to let her, damn him. Every night, no matter how many times she promised herself it wouldn’t happen, he brought her to the brink, over and over.
And every morning, resting on her pillow, one of his infernal notes, sharing something intensely personal and intimate. No heart could stay hard against such a campaign, especially not hers. It was true, she no longer hated him. It was impossi
ble, knowing what she knew of his childhood. But trust...that was a fragile thing, easily broken and hard to repair.
He stopped a foot away from her.
“I wanted to tell you.” He reached out and traced the side of her face with his fingertip, running it along her jaw and back to the edge of her ear. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
Her throat ached as she fought to swallow. “You’re planning to visit my room?”
Of course he was. He came every single night except for the few when her courses had come and she’d told him not to. When he’d returned, he’d redoubled his efforts, since there was still a baby to make. She’d nearly been too weak to stand when he finished.
A slow smile unfurled across Andrew’s lips. “I’ve been thinking of it all day.”
“Have you?” She cursed the weakness making her voice so breathy.
“I have. I’ve been thinking of your breasts,” he said conversationally, his eyes dropping down to examine them. As if on cue, her nipples grew hard. She wouldn’t run away from him. Then he’d know he’d affected her. “Have I told you how much I love them?” he continued. “Their weight in my hands, the softness of the skin, it’s like velvet, do you know? And your nipples—”
“You shouldn’t talk like that here,” she hissed. “The servants might hear you.” But she hadn’t been thinking of the servants when she stopped him. Her thighs were trembling. And with a few little words, he’d made her wet. She was terrified of what he could wring from her if she let him keep going.
He chuckled unapologetically. “I suppose I’ll have to save it for tonight when I can show you.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she muttered, finally breaking out of his spell and returning to the house. His laughter, low and teasing, chased after her. Inside, she stopped and gripped the back of a chair, closing her eyes and willing away the desire pooling in her belly. Maybe if she slipped away to her room and took care of herself, this maddening need would ease. But that was a lie. Nothing would soothe the want but him. Tonight he’d touch her and take her and utterly unravel her. And damn him, she couldn’t wait.
* * *
She lay still under him, her eyes fixed on the sky blue canopy over her bed, as Andrew propped himself on one elbow and leaned over her, considering her body. His finger idly traced the shape of her collarbone as his eyes skated over her.
“Can you please—”
“Yes, I know. Get on with it, please. And I’ll answer you as I do every night. ‘No.’”
She squirmed under his gaze, which was somehow more intimate than his touch. He finally touched her, but not where she expected. His finger curled under her chin and he turned her face slightly until she was looking at him. It was so much easier when she could avoid looking into those startling blue eyes.
“Did I ever tell you how beautiful I thought you were when I first saw you?”
Not what she’d thought he would say.
“I didn’t want to be there, and I didn’t want to do what I had to do, but then you stood up and I looked at you and I forgot my own damned name.”
She blinked at him. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“What?”
“All this sharing. You can get me with child without baring your soul.”
He shrugged one muscled shoulder. He now stripped bare the moment he joined her in bed, and he stripped her clothes off, too, which was both disconcerting and wonderful. His body was a marvel. And what he did to hers...well, there were no words. “I like to.”
“You like to what?” She’d gotten distracted by his shoulders and the hard muscles of his chest, and the scattering of black hair that always scraped so deliciously against her breasts...oh, there she went and got distracted again.
“I find I like sharing things with you. No one knows as much about me as you do.”
She snorted in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” he protested. “I’ve told you everything important about me. And if I haven’t, you can ask.”
The last thing she needed was to become even more intimate with him, so she had no idea why she was going to ask him this question. Who knew where it even came from? Simply an irritating curiosity about his life before her, she supposed. Perhaps if she knew it all, she’d finally know how to feel about him. “How old were you when you first had a woman?”
“Except that.”
“Come now, you said you’d tell me anything.”
“One doesn’t discuss former bed partners with current bed partners.”
“Is this a rule?”
“I just made it one. Ask something else.”
“I don’t want to ask something else. Now I want to know.”
His lips flattened into a line as he considered. And then his face relaxed into that seductive expression she’d have hardly believed he was capable of a month ago. It turned out, it came quite naturally to him. “What will you give me if I tell you?”
“Give you?” she stammered. “Well, I’ll share the same.”
“No good. I already know yours. I was there, remember?”
Her cheeks heated and he smiled in smug satisfaction.
“Well. What do you want?” His smile made her almost sorry she’d started this game with him. There was a great deal he could take from her that she wasn’t ready to give up.
“Your hand.”
“Excuse me?”
“On me.”
She laid her palm on his shoulder. “Like that?”
He rolled his eyes. “No. Perhaps somewhere more intimate.”
Her eyes went wide as she made the connection. “Oh.” She’d never touched him that way. In their intimate moments, he’d initiated almost everything. That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious, though. Beyond curious. The skin looked so delicate, but the thing itself was so rigid.
“Of course if you’d rather not...”
“All right.”
“All right?”
“You tell me first.”
Heat burned behind his eyes as he stared down at her and she wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten to this place. Wasn’t he supposed to be coming in, climbing on her and getting the job done? Instead they were swapping secrets and she’d agreed to do something to him with her hand she didn’t fully understand. None of this had much to do with begetting an heir.
“Lilah Poole,” he said.
“Who?”
“She was a waitress at a pub on Downing Street in Cambridge I frequented.” The tips of his ears were turning pink. How fascinating. “We were friendly, and Randolph dared me to stay after closing one night and walk her home. She was grateful for the company.” He coughed and the color spread to the tops of his cheekbones. “Um, very grateful.”
“How old were you?”
“Nearly twenty.”
“So old. I always imagined the gentlemen got to it much earlier.”
“Many do, I suppose. Edmund certainly did. I believe my father brought him to a prostitute when he was fifteen. But I had no such fatherly care. And remember, I spent many years hiding in libraries with dead Etruscans.”
“I suspect you were the fortunate one.”
“Perhaps.”
She cleared her throat. “I suppose it’s my turn.”
The seductive look was back again. He lifted her hand with his, his eyes trailing down her arm to where their fingers were entwined. “I suppose it is.”
“You’ll have to show me what to do.”
He rolled off her, keeping his arm around her shoulders until he was on his back and she was the one propped over him. “Trust me,” he told her. “It’s quite easy.” He brought their joined hands down to his member and first wrapped her fingers around it, and then curled his over hers.
<
br /> Yes, the skin was soft, and very smooth. Almost silky. But what was underneath, there was nothing soft about that. He tightened his hand and she followed his cue, making a fist around him. He groaned.
A sort of heady pleasure shot through her. Even though this was all about him, her hand stimulating him, his response sparked some erotic pleasure in her she wouldn’t have expected. Was this what it was like for him, when he drove her to release each night before he ever entered her? No wonder he was so set on doing it.
He showed her once how to stroke up and down, and the rest came instinctively. Up and down, tighter and tighter. He threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. His back arched off the bed. The sense of power, the pure eroticism of it, was about to undo her. Her own thighs clenched in desire. Her breasts tingled and her nipples pebbled and he had yet to lay a hand on her.
“God, Victoria, I need you,” he groaned.
Curling his hand around her thigh, he tugged her leg over him until she was straddling him. Good God, she hadn’t even ridden a horse astride and now she was...and he was...and oh...
“Lift up, darling.”
She did so, levering herself to her knees. He set himself in place and when she lowered herself again, he slid inside her, so, so deep. He’d never been so deep. She closed her eyes and moaned.
“I do have a question.”
Her eyes flew open. “What? Now?”
“I was the first like this,” he said, rocking his hips, which caused her to undulate deliciously against him. Frissons of sensation raced down her limbs and her eyes fluttered closed again. His hands gripped her hips, moving her over him easily, driving her closer to her release as he sought his own.
“Who was the first kiss?” he asked. His question bounced off her in a haze. How could she think when everything in her was spiraling, coiling in so tightly, ready to explode outward at any moment?
“What?”
“Who kissed you the first time? Who first touched your lips?”
“It was...” She gasped as he tilted her and a spear of hot bliss shot through her. “It was you, of course.”
He groaned. “God, I want to kiss you again. Victoria, let me kiss you.”
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