Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘There’s a bow, too, at my waist.’ She half twisted her head. ‘Could you untie it?’

  He didn’t even try to answer this time, half wondering if he’d somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming. Surely only that could explain her asking him to undress her? If it was a dream, however, he didn’t want to wake up.

  He did as she asked, untying the bow and easing the silken fabric away from her skin. Her skirts came loose with a swooshing sound, falling to the floor like a silvery pool around her feet.

  ‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’ She turned to face him at last, dressed in only her corset and undergarments. ‘I’m glad that you did.’

  He kept his eyes fixed on her face, not daring to look any lower. ‘You deserve the truth, Violet. No matter what I’ve done in the past, I intend to act honourably from now on. That means towards you, too. I won’t break my promise.’

  ‘You mean seven years...’ She put a hand on his chest, spreading her palm flat over his heart. ‘What if I don’t want to wait that long?’

  His mind seemed to go blank for a moment. ‘What?’

  ‘What if I don’t want to go away again either?’ Her fingers flexed against his chest as her gaze flickered up to his. ‘Unless you want me to go?’

  ‘I never wanted you to go the first time.’ His voice sounded hoarse, hardly like his own any more. ‘But I promised you your freedom.’

  ‘Can’t I have freedom and you, too?’

  ‘Violet.’ Somehow he managed to keep his hands at his sides. ‘Weren’t you listening to what I just told you?’

  She looked straight into his eyes, her own bigger and bluer and more mesmerising than any he’d ever seen before. ‘Yes. You wanted to be punished. That shows you were sorry.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ He shook his head obstinately. ‘I still deserve to be punished, Violet. Not just for that, but for Arthur and my father, too. I’m not worthy of someone like you. I don’t deserve to be happy.’

  Her eyes flashed with anger before she raised her other hand to his chest and shoved hard. ‘Well, I do! And don’t you dare call yourself unworthy! You’re worth something to me. You gave me back a piece of me that was missing. You gave me my mother. Even if it doesn’t mean much to you, it does to me!’

  She started to whirl away, but he reached up and clutched her wrists.

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘No!’ She glared at him. ‘I won’t live with someone who says he can’t be happy. I can’t bear it again! If you won’t let go of the past, then you really are like my father!’

  ‘Violet!’ He caught at her waist this time, hauling her back towards him so that her chest heaved against his. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘Not if you won’t forgive yourself. You’re not that man any more! You don’t have to let who you were in the past define you now. You don’t have to let it destroy our marriage either!’

  He leaned forward, lowering his forehead to hers. ‘I don’t want to destroy our marriage. I want it—I want you—more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.’

  ‘Then you have to let go of the past. Be my husband—my real husband.’

  She lifted her hands and placed one on either side of his head, slowly drawing his mouth down to hers. He didn’t resist, hardly dared to move as her lips touched his with a sweetness that took his breath away. She tasted like lemonade, he thought inconsequentially, before he stopped thinking altogether and let feeling take over. Her hands slid up into his hair and he gathered her into his arms, claiming her mouth again with a need that caught him by surprise. She felt warm and yielding and irresistible. He wanted her. And she wanted him. Despite everything that she knew about him now, she still wanted him.

  ‘Violet?’ He moaned her name against her lips. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes.’ She murmured the word and he didn’t hold back any longer, his lips never leaving hers as he half lifted, half staggered with her across the room. She tugged at the arms of his jacket while he pulled at the lacings of her corset, tearing it away before they reached the bed and tumbled down on to it together.

  Gently, he slid his hands beneath the rounded curve of her bottom, revelling in the softness of her skin as he pulled the full length of her body against him, tearing at the rest of her undergarments. It would make more sense, a small part of his mind argued, to move away and undress her, but he didn’t want to move away. He couldn’t bear to be parted from her, not for a moment. He wanted there to be as little space between them as possible. Somehow he freed himself from the remainder of his clothes, too, and then they were naked, side by side, arms and legs entangled as they explored each other’s bodies with a hunger that made his whole being ache with need.

  He rolled on top of her and she tipped her head back, arching her back beneath him as he drew a hand across her thighs and then between her legs, caressing her gently until she moaned aloud. Then he nudged her legs apart, pushing himself against the apex of her thighs. She felt wet already and he had to stop himself from rushing, from taking her before she was ready. He wanted her to be ready. He wanted her to enjoy the experience, even if waiting felt like an unbearable torture.

  Slowly, he trailed his lips over her throat, kissing and sucking and tasting her skin all the way down to her breasts, before gently suckling each nipple. Almost. He moaned as she ran her hands over his back, raking her nails over his skin as she squirmed and panted beneath him. Almost. She lifted her head to meet his, sliding her tongue inside his mouth, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He came inside her with one hard powerful thrust, holding her hips steady as he met some inner resistance and then pushed deeper.

  ‘Violet?’ He stilled as she cried out and stiffened beneath him. He’d heard that it was painful the first time, although he’d never slept with a virgin before. And she was so small, so delicate... Had he hurt her? He hardly dared ask.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sounded breathless.

  ‘Should I stop?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head determinedly and he almost panted with relief. Even now, lying vulnerable and exposed beneath him, there was something indefatigable about her. Something that made him want to push even deeper, to possess every part of her. So he did, burying himself in her body as deeply as he could, as if he could truly lose himself in her.

  Then they were moving together. She matched his rhythm at once, wrapping her legs around his as he gripped the bedsheets, trying to hold himself back. Of all the women he’d ever slept with, he couldn’t remember any ever affecting him so powerfully, so completely, as if she were trying to drive him to the very limits of self-control. He gritted his teeth as she writhed against him, gasping until her muscles all seemed to tighten at once and she cried out, clutching at him a second before he found his own release. For a few moments, her body continued to tremble and pulsate beneath his and he rolled quickly on to his back, pulling her with him so that she was cradled on top of his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

  He didn’t know how long they lay there, nor how long it took for him to come back to himself, but when he did, it seemed as if some blinders that had been over his eyes had been lifted. The past was the past. He felt genuinely, absurdly happy, and it was all thanks to Violet. The fact that she still wanted him, despite everything he’d done, everything he had been, was enough.

  She was asleep in his arms and he drew her closer, tucking her into the crook of his arm. She was his wife and he loved her. He should have told her so, he realised, before they’d made love, though perhaps it could wait until the morning. Maybe he’d find a way to make it special somehow. Maybe he’d take her to the centre of the maze and tell her there. Maybe he’d make love to her there again, too. Now he knew that she wanted him too, his mind was suddenly alive to a whole range of possibilities. The very thought made him wish it were morning already.

  He’d tell her he loved
her, just as soon as they woke up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Violet fluttered her lashes until her eyelids finally opened. She felt cold, or more correctly, one side of her body felt cold. The other side was extremely hot, nestled against Lance’s shoulder and enveloped in his body heat. Both of his arms were curled loosely around her, but without any blankets her exposed skin was still covered in goosebumps.

  Carefully she moved his arm away and sat up, tugging the coverlet gently up the bed, though it was no comfort. She was hungry, too, she realised. No, not just hungry. Their night-time exertions had left her ravenous. She glanced down at her sleeping husband and smiled. Their night together had been more wonderful and surprising and just more than she’d ever imagined, as if once he’d decided to stop living in the past, he’d been determined to make up for lost time. It had hurt a little, but not in any way that she’d minded. Now the soreness between her thighs was a reminder of what had just happened between them and she wouldn’t take that back even if she could.

  She draped her legs over the side of the bed and wriggled into her dressing gown before quietly opening the door and stealing downstairs. Considering the amount of food provided for supper, there had to be something left over. Judging by the darkness, it wasn’t dawn yet either so she was unlikely to disturb anyone in the kitchens.

  She was halfway across the hall when she heard a faint scraping followed by a heavy click, like the sound of a key turning in a lock and a latch being lifted. Sleepily, she looked over her shoulder, sure that she must have misheard, when she saw the front door swing open. She stopped dead in her tracks. The last of their guests had left just after midnight, the servants had all been given the morning off to recover, and it was unlikely that anyone else would be entering the house at this hour. Anyone who ought to be there anyway.

  She sucked in a breath, too shocked to call out. There was no time to look for a weapon. No time to do anything but hide, she realised desperately, darting behind one of the armchairs beside the still-smouldering fireplace, and then peering out from around the edge.

  A black silhouette in the shape of a man wearing a tiered greatcoat stood framed in the doorway, as if he were reluctant to actually cross the threshold. In the darkness it was impossible to make out any features, although something about him seemed strangely familiar. Was he a burglar? Slowly, she reached around the side of the armchair and slid the poker from its place by the fireside, gripping it tightly in one hand. Surely no one with any good intentions would creep into a house in the dead of night?

  The stranger stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, staring straight ahead of him as if he were somehow transfixed. Then at last the draught made the fire flicker and he stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly behind him. Violet watched closely, wondering whether or not to scream. But if she did, then Lance would surely coming rushing to find her and the last thing she wanted was for him to trip on the stairs and hurt himself.

  Maybe if she made a run for the servants’ quarters instead? There was another staircase at the back of the house. If she could reach it and find Martin, then there was no need to frighten Lance. Silently, she raised herself up on her haunches, ready to run. The stranger was coming closer. She had to move before he reached her, had to...

  She let out an audible gasp as he moved into the faint puddle of light thrown by the fire. It was Lance! Except that it couldn’t be, her confused brain realised. She’d just left him sleeping upstairs. Which meant that there was only one other person it could be, but he was dead...wasn’t he? A shiver raced down her spine. Was it a ghost?

  Whatever, or whoever, it was made a movement towards her and she leapt up, wielding the poker above her head like a club.

  ‘Don’t come any closer! Get back or I’ll scream!’

  ‘Wait!’ The ghost raised a hand as if to defend himself and then dropped it again, looking almost as surprised as she was. ‘Miss Harper?’

  She lowered the poker uncertainly. The ghost knew her name, her old name at least, although he seemed ignorant of her new identity. Somehow that fact made her less afraid of him. Ghosts were supposed to know everything, weren’t they? And surely they walked through doors rather than opened them...

  ‘Arthur?’ The truth hit her like a thunderbolt.

  For a moment he looked as if he were about to deny it, before he sighed and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But how...what...?’ She didn’t know which question to ask first. What was he doing there? Where had he been? And, most of all, why was he entering the house in the middle of the night like some kind of criminal?

  ‘I thought you were a ghost!’

  He gave a crooked smile. ‘I feel a bit like one. It’s strange to be back here again.’

  ‘Everyone thinks that you drowned! They found your boat.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There was a search.’

  ‘I thought there might be.’

  ‘Then how... No, where have you been?’

  He ran a hand over his face. ‘You might not believe me if I told you. I can hardly believe it myself.’ He pulled the hand away again suddenly. ‘But what are you doing here, Miss Harper?’

  ‘I live here.’

  His face turned even paler than a ghost’s. ‘You mean that your father bought the house?’

  ‘No.’ She blinked. He was talking as if he knew nothing about the events of the past nine months. ‘My father’s dead. He died three months ago. Your brother inherited the hall.’

  ‘Lance?’ One of his hands shot out and clutched her arm. ‘He’s alive?’

  ‘Of course.’ It was her turn to be shocked again. ‘Surely you knew that?’

  ‘I heard that he was shot. I thought...’

  ‘He’s not dead. He was shot, but he survived.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He bent his head with a muffled-sounding sob. ‘You don’t know what it means to me to hear that.’

  ‘I think maybe I do. I’ve watched him mourn you as well.’ Gently she removed his hand from her arm and moved away. ‘Wait here while I go and wake him.’

  ‘Wake him?’ Arthur regarded her curiously. ‘You mean that you and my brother...’

  ‘We were married two months ago.’ She couldn’t help bursting into a smile at the words.

  ‘But...you and Lance?’ He looked incredulous. ‘Forgive me, miss, that is, Mrs Amberton, but I’d hoped to find my brother alive. I never expected to find him married as well.’

  ‘It was a surprise for everyone, us included, but between my father’s will and your father’s hopes for the estate...’

  His expression shifted from incredulity to horror. ‘You mean that their agreement still stood? I thought that it was only made in relation to me?’

  ‘I believe it was supposed to be just you, but my father’s will only mentioned the heir to the Amberton estate and your brother...’

  She stopped talking as Arthur began pacing up and down the hallway, dragging his hands through his hair as he went. ‘I had no idea. Believe me, I never imagined the two of you would have to go through with the marriage.’

  ‘You weren’t to know what would happen.’

  ‘No, but I knew that your father was sick a year ago and unlikely to recover.’ He looked shamefaced. ‘I confess that was part of the reason I left. But I also knew what he thought of my brother, and even if he hadn’t, I would never have expected Lance to go through with it. I thought that with me gone, that would have been an end to the whole business.’ He stopped pacing for a moment. ‘I’ve been so selfish. I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’m happy.’

  ‘With Lance?’ He sounded stunned and she laughed.

  ‘Very. So you can stop being sorry for that at least.’

  ‘Violet?’

  The sound of Lance’s voice calling out from the landing above made
them both start in surprise. She looked up to find him already leaning over the banister, candle in hand, though in the near-darkness she supposed it was impossible for him to see who she was speaking to. All he’d be able to tell was that it was a man. Ridiculously enough, she almost felt guilty.

  ‘Lance?’ She moved quickly across to the staircase. ‘You’d better come down.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Come and see.’ She repressed a smile, part of her tempted to tell him straight away to break the tension, but it wasn’t her place to tell.

  ‘Lance?’ Arthur moved out of the shadows as he reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘It’s good to see you again, Little Brother.’

  There was a heavy silence as Lance halted abruptly, standing so still that for a few moments it looked as if he’d stopped breathing. Then both brothers moved at the same time, flinging their arms around each other in a fierce, bearlike embrace.

  Violet felt a lump in her throat and stepped to one side, unwilling to intrude upon the moment, although it was impossible not to be moved by the poignancy of the scene. Lance’s expression held so many emotions she could hardly name them all. Surprise, relief, joy...yes, even joy. Her heart glowed to see it.

  ‘Let me look at you!’ Lance stepped back finally, though he kept hold of Arthur’s shoulders, clasping tight as if he were afraid to let go. ‘You’re alive! How is it possible?’

  ‘It’s a long story. As I’ve just been telling your wife.’

  They both turned to look at her then and she smiled, sharing their happiness. It was strange, looking at two versions of the same face, and yet despite the obvious physical similarities, the differences between them were more exaggerated now than before. Arthur in particular looked like a whole different man, with cropped hair, tanned skin, and shoulders that seemed to have doubled in size during his absence. He looked as if he’d spent the whole of the past nine months out of doors. A stranger might not even have noticed that he and Lance were twins.