Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘Happy?’

  The sound of his voice made her leap out of her chair in surprise, as if her very thoughts had conjured him.

  ‘Lance!’ She put a hand to her chest. ‘You startled me!’

  ‘Apologies.’ He grinned from the doorway, the whiteness of his teeth contrasting vividly with the black flecks all over his skin and clothes. He looked even more dishevelled than usual, his hair tousled and windblown, as if he’d just arrived home and come straight to find her. Somehow that idea made him even more attractive.

  ‘You were smiling.’ He seemed to be studying her intently. ‘I hope that means you’re happy.’

  ‘Very. I love my new sitting room.’

  ‘Good.’ His grin spread even further. ‘Do I need permission to enter this private domain?’

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then relented. ‘I’ll let you off for today, seeing that you found my mother’s books.’ She gestured towards the new window seat. ‘Where was it?’

  ‘In the attic, as it turned out, though I’m afraid I can’t take the credit. My leg isn’t much use around ladders, but our young friend Daniel was very helpful.’

  ‘I hope you gave him more than a shilling.’

  ‘I did and a job, too. He’s down in the kitchens right now.’ He advanced a few steps towards her. ‘You look very studious.’

  ‘Oh!’ She raised a hand to her head self-consciously. She’d forgotten that she was wearing her spectacles, the ones her father had said made her look even more unattractive. He’d always hated them. No doubt Lance would, too.

  ‘Don’t take them off.’ He put a hand out to stop her before she could pull them away. ‘They suit you.’

  ‘They do?’

  ‘Very much.’ He advanced a few steps into the room. ‘Do you know, I’ve never kissed a woman in glasses before.’

  ‘Oh.’ It seemed a woefully inadequate answer, but she didn’t know how else to respond.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘May you...what?’ Her mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

  ‘May I kiss the bride? I didn’t do it properly on our wedding day and you know what they say—the longer you wait to do something, the harder it becomes.’

  ‘Do they say that?’

  ‘They might.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought it sounded persuasive.’

  Her heart sank. Persuasive. That was all his words were then, empty words intended to charm and convince her. He’d probably used them a hundred times before. It was just a casual kiss for him, nothing more. After all, he wasn’t attracted to her. He was happy to wait seven years...

  ‘And...’ he seemed to read the scepticism in her face ‘...because you look quite enchantingly pretty.’

  ‘In spectacles?’

  ‘You can take them off if you want.’ He moved yet another step closer. ‘Though I’d prefer it if you didn’t.’

  She swallowed, trying to keep her head. Enchantingly pretty. She ought not to be charmed, but he didn’t look as if he were either mocking or toying with her. He looked serious. He looked as if he were really about to kiss her and she, apparently, was going to let him. Her legs were showing no signs of bearing her away. On the contrary, she was afraid that if she tried to move, then they might simply give way beneath her.

  ‘May I, Violet?’

  He said her name softly, like a caress, and she nodded. Slowly, he raised both hands to her face, cradling it between his fingers as his thumb trailed a light path over her skin, leaving a trail of heat that seemed to penetrate deep into her body. She closed her eyes as he leaned in towards her, then his lips were on hers, pressing gently, as if he were taking deliberate care not to disturb her spectacles. His mouth felt tender and yet hard at the same time, barely touching her at first and then starting to move, nudging hers to respond.

  For a few seconds she didn’t know what to do. Then the heat seemed to build in intensity until she couldn’t not move any longer. Instead she responded instinctively, moving her lips against his in a way that made all her insides turn to liquid at once. Her mind seemed to go silent as her body took over. The tip of his tongue slid inside her mouth, stroking the edge of her lips and she reached her own tongue out to meet it, sucking and tasting and exploring as her hands found their way up around his neck.

  She felt his own hands move away from her face and slide down over her throat, down the sides of her breasts and around her waist, scooping her up off the floor until she was standing on tiptoe, pressing against him so closely that she could feel the taut, muscular lines of his chest and something else, even harder and more muscular, pushing between her legs.

  He released her abruptly and she was able to start thinking again—if it could be called anything as coherent as thinking, that was. Her mind seemed to be in turmoil, only slightly less than her body, which seemed to have received some kind of violent physical shock. Her limbs were all quivering with the after-effects.

  ‘There you are, Mrs Amberton.’ His voice sounded distinctly husky. ‘Consider yourself kissed.’

  She opened her eyes. Why had he stopped? She’d had the impression that they were just getting started... Except that maybe he wanted to stop, she thought in mortification. Maybe he’d had enough. He was smiling as if it had been easy for him to stop when her whole body was still trembling with desire.

  ‘Our young friend also found something else you might like.’

  ‘Really?’ She forced her scattered thoughts to focus. ‘That sounds mysterious.’

  ‘Wait here.’ He walked to the door and reached for something just outside. Judging by the shape and size it was clearly a painting, though with the back of the canvas towards her, she couldn’t see what the subject was.

  ‘This was in the attic, too.’ He turned the frame around slowly, his gaze fixed on her face the whole time. ‘Judging by the resemblance, I believe it must be your mother.’

  She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. It was undoubtedly her mother. The similarity was more striking than she could ever have imagined, as though she were looking into a mirror, at a serious-looking young woman with white-blonde hair, luminous blue eyes and large, wide-set features that perfectly matched her own. She felt a stinging sensation behind her eyelids, as if there were tears pressing against them.

  ‘Violet?’ Lance sounded concerned. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘You haven’t.’ She shook her head, hardly able to express what she was feeling. She seemed unable to drag her gaze away even as he placed it to one side, leaning it against a chair before coming to stand just in front of her. ‘It’s just a shock.’

  ‘Then you’re pleased?’

  ‘Yes. I just never knew...never imagined...’

  ‘That you were so much like her?’ He looked down at her intently. ‘You are. You’re just as beautiful, too, Violet. Would you like to hang it in here?’

  ‘Yes.’ She rubbed a hand across her face as a lone tear escaped and trickled downwards. ‘How about over there, instead of the seascape?’

  ‘Wherever you like.’ He lifted down the old painting and hung the portrait in its place. ‘There. What do you think?’

  ‘Perfect. I think she looks perfect. I could look at her all day.’

  ‘Then what if we eat dinner in here tonight? You’ve made it so cosy, it seems almost a shame to go downstairs.’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She gave a small start. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost six o’clock.’

  ‘In the evening?’ She looked down at her dressing gown in dismay. ‘But I never even got dressed!’

  ‘I did wonder about that.’ He grinned. ‘Not that I mind informality, of course.’

  ‘No wonder Mrs Gargrave looked so disapproving.’

  ‘Wait until she finds out that we plan to have dinner in here.’

  ‘I’ll t
ell her that you’re a bad influence.’

  ‘And she’ll believe you.’ He put a hand to his heart as if he were wounded. ‘She’ll be scandalised, of course, though I do believe it’ll be one of my lesser crimes.’

  ‘Shall I tell her?’

  ‘No, let me. I need to have a bath and a shave first anyway. I’m still covered in dust.’

  ‘Then I’ll get dressed finally.’

  ‘Pity. I rather like you in your nightclothes.’ His gaze flickered downwards, lingering over her hips, and she felt her blood start to heat again. What did it mean when he looked at her like that? What did their kiss mean? Surely it had to mean something! What was he thinking?

  ‘You know, you really are just like your mother, Violet.’ He gave her the answer as their eyes met again, his own dark and intense, as he made for the door. ‘You look perfect, too.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lance pulled his shirt over his head and flung it aside in exasperation. Had he really just told his wife she looked perfect? The words had taken him by surprise—even more so the fact that he’d genuinely meant them. He hadn’t simply been flirting with her, though in truth he’d been starting to feel almost like his old self again—with one significant difference.

  In the past, flirtation had always been a game, one played with willing partners, but a game none the less, the women largely interchangeable with each other. This time he was only interested in one woman, a tiny fairy-tale creature in a rumpled dressing gown and pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, with tousled blonde hair and a look of pure joy when she’d been gazing at her books. She’d looked...perfect. That was truly the only word for it. And altogether more gorgeous than he was quite comfortable admitting, as if she’d somehow grown into her body while she’d been away.

  So he’d kissed her. He shouldn’t have, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. She’d looked so serious and studious at her reading that he’d found his mouth pressed against hers almost before he knew what he was doing.

  Not that she’d stopped him or pulled away either. On the contrary, her lips had parted and her tongue had sought his with an ardour that had seemed equal to his own, though perhaps he’d imagined that. She’d felt soft and warm and deliciously tempting, but he’d known he had to resist. If it hadn’t been for their agreement, he would have been seriously tempted to take her to bed right then and there, but instead he’d forced himself to step away.

  That hadn’t been easy. He let out a low moan at the memory. Never mind seven years, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her for one day! He had no idea how he was going to get through tonight. But he’d made her a promise. Freedom was what she deserved, not to mention a better man for a husband, but since she was stuck with him, he could at least do the decent thing and leave her alone. He wouldn’t sully her by dragging her down to his level. She was a hundred times better than that.

  He tore off the rest of his clothes and lowered himself into a steaming hot bathtub. The heat eased the pain in his leg, soothing the damaged muscles and making it feel almost restored again. Almost. Not that it could ever be truly restored.

  He ducked his head under the water so that he was completely submerged. His body would never be completely the same, the camp surgeon had been clear about that, but he felt no resentment about the fact. His leg was simply the punishment he had to accept for his past misdemeanours, but what about the rest of him? Could his self be restored?

  He emerged out of the water and rested his head against the back of the tub. He’d come home from Canada with only two intentions. To save the estate and then drink himself into an early grave. Violet had helped him with one and prevented the other, although to his surprise he didn’t resent that either. He’d been afraid that if he stopped drinking then he might be overwhelmed by his memories, but instead he’d found himself slowly coming to terms with them.

  While she’d been away, he’d forced himself to keep sleeping in his father’s old chamber, to the point where it now finally felt like his. For the first time in six months, he was starting to feel that he might be able to accept the past and move on. The only problem was that he didn’t want to do it alone. He wanted to do it with his wife—a real wife, one he could share both his heart and his body with. He wanted to do it with Violet, the woman he’d promised to set free.

  * * *

  He had to force himself to wait another hour before returning to the sitting room, refreshed but no less frustrated, to find all the armchairs pushed back and a small dining table set in the centre.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Violet gestured at the arrangement proudly. She was wearing her azure-blue evening gown again, the one she’d worn for their first dinner, though her new fuller figure made the neckline somewhat more close-fitting. The mounds of her breasts were bulging in a way that affected him in a much lower area, too, intensifying his sense of frustration.

  ‘Very snug.’ He tore his gaze away from her cleavage. ‘Perhaps we should do this more often.’

  ‘I don’t think we could get away with it too often. Mrs Gargrave already came to ask if you’d gone mad.’

  ‘And you said?’

  ‘I said you seemed the same as ever to me.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment. I don’t suppose anyone’s ever called your Mr Felstone mad.’

  She gave him a reproachful look. ‘He’s not my Mr Felstone and they’ve called him lots of other things.’

  He snorted derisively. ‘Anyone can get a bad reputation. It takes a lot more commitment to be called mad as well.’

  She laughed as a pair of kitchen maids appeared carrying plates of winter salad and a basket of fresh bread.

  ‘May I?’ Lance pulled out a chair for her.

  ‘Thank you.’ She sat down and spread a napkin over her lap. ‘I was so engrossed in my books that I missed lunch. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.’

  ‘I see you’ve been eating well.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her hand wavered in mid-air as she reached for a piece of bread.

  ‘Just that you look well.’

  ‘Because I’m bigger?’

  ‘I didn’t mean...’ He took the chair opposite, wincing at his own tactlessness. ‘I meant that you look better.’

  She held his gaze suspiciously for a moment and then smiled. ‘It’s funny, Ianthe’s the one who’s having a baby and I’m the one who looks like I am. I won’t fit into any of my dresses soon.’

  ‘Good. You were far too thin before. I’ve never understood why some women compete to wear the tightest corsets. Whoever invented the garment clearly didn’t like your sex very much.’

  She looked mildly shocked. ‘Are you allowed to mention corsets in polite conversation?’

  ‘Probably not, but then, you are my wife. Surely we can keep etiquette for other, less agreeable occasions?’

  ‘All right.’ Her lips curved upwards. ‘Then I have to admit I agree with you. They can be very uncomfortable.’

  ‘Hence the dressing gown?’ He winked. ‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t wear them at all when you’re at home. As part of your pursuit of freedom, I mean.’

  Her expression became incredulous. ‘You don’t think I should wear underclothes?’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can wear as much or as little as you want. A modest wrap should be enough to spare Mrs Gargrave’s blushes.’

  She stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds before bursting into a peal of laughter and he found himself grinning back. He’d promised himself that he’d behave, but somehow he couldn’t resist flirting with her. The sound of her laughter was almost intoxicating. And he was only joking after all—half joking, anyway.

  ‘I might have to abandon corsets altogether if I keep on eating like this.’ She popped a potato into her mouth as if to demonstrate her intention of doing so. ‘Or I might burst out
of mine one day.’

  ‘I’d like to see that.’ He grinned broadly. ‘I’d be there to catch you, of course. Trust me, Violet, you have curves in all the right places.’

  She dropped her gaze to her plate as her cheeks darkened. ‘It’s funny, but I love food. I never realised it before, but I do. Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘That you never realised it? I suppose so.’

  ‘My father said it was unladylike to eat large portions so I thought I was always just hungry, but it’s more than that. I love food. Now I can decide what to eat and how much, I relish every mouthful.’ She made a face. ‘I’m not sure I’m explaining myself very well.’

  ‘I think you are. You mean you’re learning new things about yourself.’

  ‘Yes! Who I am, what I like, who I want to be... My father used to make every decision for me. Now that I have my own choices to make, I feel like I’m finally discovering who I am.’ She gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Better late than never.’

  ‘Some of us get too many choices too early.’ He put down his knife and fork, losing his appetite suddenly. ‘I had all the choices I ever wanted. Second sons are lucky that way. The oldest son gets the money and the title, but the second gets to take more risks—in my case especially.’

  ‘Why especially?’

  He frowned. Why had he started this? They’d been talking about corsets and food. Why was he spoiling the evening by bringing the past up again, telling her things he’d never told anyone, even Arthur?

  ‘After my mother died, my father let me do whatever I wanted. He put all the pressure on Arthur and left me alone.’

  ‘Didn’t it make you happy to do whatever you wanted?’

  ‘For a while—or maybe not even that. I thought it did, but...there was always something missing.’

  ‘Maybe you wanted some of your father’s attention, too?’

  He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Maybe, though I would never have admitted as much back then, not to myself or him. I resented him too much. I blamed him for her death, you see. I was only eleven, but even at that age I knew there had been something strained between my parents. She was so full of love and he... In any case, I knew he hadn’t made her happy. I thought that if he’d loved her then maybe she wouldn’t have left us, that maybe she would have wanted to stay. I know it sounds ridiculous, but there’s a difference between knowing something in your head and in your heart.’