Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Alex moved faster. Harder. And Charley’s response was doubly intense. Her entire body so tight she could scarcely remember to breathe.

  She was out of control again. Deliciously so.

  Sensations continued to build and just when she thought she’d expire from the wild torrent of pleasure he reached between them to that one secret place at her center and she shattered. The world around her crystallized, bursting into a million sparkling diamonds of sensual bliss.

  Floating somewhere between heaven and ecstasy she drifted slowly back to reality, back into Alex’s arms, and sighed, thoroughly contented. “Is it like this for you?” she murmured dreamily.

  “It will be,” he grunted, moving inside her one last time. “Charley, I—” She’d never know what he’d been about to say, in that moment he was lost to her, lost to that place between heaven and ecstasy. Joining her.

  Alex collapsed on top of her, utterly languid. She relished the steady rush of his breathing and the moist roll of his breath against her neck. She’d be content to remain hidden in the cabin, holding him in her arms for the rest of eternity.

  At long last Alex rolled off of her, nestling her into the crook of his arms.

  “One day you’ll have to show me how to do that on the stairs.

  Alex chuckled. “And against the wall, in a coach, and a few other inventive places I’d rather show you than talk about.”

  “I wish we could stay here, like this, forever,” Charley murmured, walking her fingers up his arm. The gold inlay of her wedding band winked in the sunlight. “I have no desire to return to London.”

  Alex stiffened, the movement almost imperceptible, but she was so in sync with him she could not have missed it for a world of distraction. “Nor I,” he murmured.

  “What’s wrong?” She turned in his arms, gently touching the side of his face. Secrets lurked in his eyes. Secrets and sadness.

  “Tomorrow, love.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her palm, and then her wrist, and then her throat, shifting over her once more. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

  Eleven

  Apparently it still isn’t tomorrow yet.

  Perched on the ivory cushioned bench before the pianoforte in the Coverstone House music room, Charley leafed absently through the music, battling the hint of melancholy whispering in the back of her mind for the last month. I’m happy, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. Very happy. Alex had transformed into the man of her dreams. He was attentive, an amazing lover, and looked upon her as though no other woman existed on this earth. Unable to select a musical piece she tapped a few lonely notes. At the very least she should be happy, but as so often happened in life, what was not had a tendency to overshadow what was, and something wasn’t right.

  Since their return to London the week before Alex had been short tempered, quiet—more so than usual—and Charley could not shed the sense he was perpetually looking over his shoulder; waiting for a snake to strike. After three blissful weeks in the country the honeymoon most definitely seemed over.

  Charley trilled the fingers of her top hand, settled over the keys and rolled into a tune from memory. The cheerful notes of Mozart’s Twelve Variations spilled from the grand instrument, carrying away the plaguing uncertainty of her marriage… if only for a moment. Nothing brought her more joy than music, and the pianoforte may very well have been her only true accomplishment. Even Regina could not deny Charley’s uncommon ability to play, though of late, she rarely took the time.

  What could Alex be hiding from her? Over the last weeks Sidney had sent him seven cryptic missives, all in regard to General Witherspoon, and she suspected involved whatever Sid had begun to warn her of the morning after her kidnapping. A chill crept over her skin, something sinister lurked beneath the smooth, guarded façade her husband portrayed. Sinister enough to invoke murder? She shuddered. The fact he would not confide in her about a situation for which her life hung in the balance angered her in no small degree.

  Ever patient Charley had taken care not to pry over much. Alex was a man who locked up when pushed and her last wish was to alienate him from her again, especially after such great strides had been made between them. While Alex did not speak of past troubles he did discuss the present with her. At the end of every day he came home and told her of his business meetings and plans for the Coverstone estates. They spoke at length of planting and livestock and he seemed to genuinely value her opinion. Come spring they planned to tour their lands and visit tenants, ensuring all was well, and to make decisions about the future. They’d become friends as well as lovers and Charley was reluctant to jeopardize that.

  “I say, love. You are a sight for sore eyes after hours of listening to my solicitors drone on about estate business.”

  Alex!” Charley spun, heat flushing her cheeks with the train of her thought. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to witness your musical genius.”

  “Genius, please,” she scoffed, attempting a guise of levity though her stomach floundered in a well of nerves.

  “Did I say genius? Then surely I was mistaken. A word of such paltry nuance could never describe your brilliance. Your music, sweet Charley, is wizardry. Magic as enchanting as the angels. Only a fool would not cherish the captivating songs you choose to bless us with.”

  His praise thrilled her and her cheeks warmed in response.

  He strode slowly, seductively forward. “You captivate me.”

  Charley rolled her eyes and stood, forcing herself to remain focused on the task she’d set for herself. “Enough of the flattery, Alex, it doesn’t become you.”

  He winced and ambled into the room. “That obvious?”

  “Eloquence has never been one of your finer points. I’ve no doubt you spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing that pretty speech behind the door.”

  An oh, so rare, but entirely genuine grin split his handsome face. “Milady.” He clasped a hand to his chest and stumbled backward. “Your doubts wound me.”

  Laughter bubbled from Charley, her resolve to confront him wavering as it always did. She did not want to lose this happiness. “Would you deny the truth?” She quirked a brow, sidling slyly forward. “You probably have a scrap of paper hidden in your boot. Just like when you were fifteen trying to impress Violet Parker.”

  Alex groaned, playfully skirting her advances. “You remember that? Now I am truly mortified.”

  “How could I forget?” she quipped wryly. The ordeal had been life or death in Charley’s young eyes, creating poetry for the boy she fancied herself in love with to recite to another woman had been the acutest torment. At the tender of age of thirteen she’d made a revolutionary discovery… men were totally oblivious to matters of the heart. How she’d adored him and how blind he’d been to the fact. A wan smile touched her lips. “Alex?”

  “Yes, love?” He stepped forward, taking her in his arms. Charley held back and he gave her a queer look. “Something the matter?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Well…” She sighed, resigned. “Perhaps there is.” She chewed her lower lips nervously. “Is it tomorrow yet?”

  “Tomorrow?” He laughed. “Whatever do you mean? It will be tomorrow… tomorrow.”

  “Yes, well, back at the hunting cottage you said you’d explain everything tomorrow and yet I’m still waiting four weeks later.”

  Alex dropped his arms and turned away from her. “Jesus, Charley, not now.”

  “Then when?”

  “I have a screaming headache and we’ve still got to go to Lady Brumble’s damned party tonight.” He glanced to the mantle clock. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go?”

  Probably. “No. I don’t like secrets, Alex. Sidney tried to warn me about you. Perhaps I should have listened.”

  His face turned black. “Sidney warned you about what?”

  Charley sucked in a breath, involuntarily stepping back. “Nothing. You came down the hall before he could tell me anything at all.”


  “I see,” he said darkly, turning crisply on a heel. “You’re to stay away from Sidney. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare.”

  * * *

  Two hours later Charley stared through the carriage window with unseeing eyes. The conveyance rocked and bounced over the uneven cobbles lining the London streets while she fidgeted with the fine white gloves clutched in her hand. At long last she cast a despairing glare toward her pensive husband. “You’re awfully quiet this evening.”

  Alex turned to her, face impassive, eyes shadowed in the meager lantern light. “I have nothing to say.”

  “One would think you could at least make a little pleasant conversation with your wife.”

  He turned a brooding gaze back to the window. “I’m a firm believer in ‘if you don’t have anything to say… don’t say anything.’”

  “I believe the saying is ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

  He shrugged. “To each his own. I frequently have something to say even if it isn’t particularly nice.”

  The dark cloud of unease hanging over her head threatened to open up and rain on her evening. “You’ve been away so long I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to see you at the party,” she pressed determinably.

  Alex snorted, crossing those big burly arms across his chest. “Lady Brumble and her Christmas parties. I’d sooner pluck my fingernails out than attend.” He splayed a hand and regarded his fingers as though contemplating doing just that.

  “If you pulled out just one I’m sure you’d no longer have to go,” Charley quipped. “Lady Brumble would turn you away at the door.”

  Alex glanced up, the hint of a smile quirking his lips. “You’ve a dry wit, love. It’s one of your best qualities.” He half stood and swung across the coach to sit directly beside her. His firm thigh pressed against hers, and his arm draped around her shoulders, nestling her in the fold between his torso and shoulder. Butterflies leapt in her stomach. No matter how much they’d shared his closeness never ceased to engulf her with devastating force. A roughened finger traced the line of her chin, encouraging her to look up and into his eyes. Which she did. Charley’s heart skipped a beat. Soft, smoldering blue reflected back at her… filled with secrets. “Allow me to apologize in advance if this evening is a total disaster.”

  Charley swallowed back a mouthful of nerves. The famed party was to be their first event as a united couple, and Alex’s surly attitude hardly boded well for the course of the evening. “Are you anticipating trouble?”

  He didn’t immediately reply and lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re cold.”

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  Alex sighed and slumped against the seat.

  “What are you hiding from me?”

  “Hiding?” Alex scoffed, incredulous, but the pensive, forlorn lines in his face betrayed him. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m—I’m… protecting you.”

  “From what? Who?”

  He refused to meet her gaze.

  The carriage swayed and slowed.

  This is about me, rang through her mind. Her heart sank as understanding dawned. “Protecting me or protecting yourself?” she accused before the door opened and the opportunity to glean some answers slipped away. “What is going on?”

  “Charley, you must understand, my life—my name—cannot take more scandal. Not now.”

  She scooted closer, resting an encouraging hand on his thigh. “I don’t understand. What Scandal?”

  His head sagged, resting in his palms. “Two years ago—”

  The door swung open, revealing their immaculately clad footman. “My lord, my lady.” He bowed respectfully, not even a hint of interest lining his formal façade though he must have heard at least part of their conversation.

  “Ah, hell.” Alex raked both hands through his hair. “We’ll finish this later.”

  Later? She’d had her belly full of laters. “Alex.” She grasped his arm with both hands, halting his flight. Apprehensively he turned and she explored his face. “Just tell me everything will be alright.

  Piercing, broken eyes fixed on hers. “Do you want me to lie, Charley?”

  She gulped, dread pooling in her middle. Just what did that mean? “Lie about what?”

  Alex took one long, fluid step from the carriage, tugged his uniform into place, and turned back to face her, completely composed, even regal. “Ready?”

  Tremulously she nodded.

  “Good.” Garbed in his clean cut red uniform, neatly trimmed with intricate blue and gold thread, Alex appeared every bit the proper English gentleman, his decorum beyond reproach, but beneath the stuffy cravat lurked an aura of danger. This was not a man of weak conviction, but one who knew exactly who he was. Her heart sank as she slipped her fingers into his proffered hand. Charley was beginning to fear she did not know her husband at all.

  Alex helped her from the coach, tucking her ungloved hand within the crook of his arm. “Wait. My gloves. I forgot them in the coach.” She turned back to retrieve them.

  “They’re of no matter.” Alex half dragged her toward the Brumble manse. “And don’t look so sullen. We must keep up appearances.”

  “Keep up appearances?” she grumbled. “You sound just like your mother.”

  Alex winced. “That’s not fair, Charley.”

  “Keeping secrets is hardly fair or a good means of earning my trust.” She may have said more but the decorative arched door, flanked by black clad footman, loomed. Whisked out of the chilly air and thrust into the receiving line Charley found any opportunity to question her him further thwarted.

  Later. She ground her teeth, reigning in her impatience. Later I will confront him. For the moment she would smile prettily and pretend she was the happiest woman alive. She dipped into a flawless curtsy before Lord and Lady Brumble, hardly hearing as they expressed their joy at seeing Alex safely home—their own son, Jason, had been claimed by the war.

  Arm and arm she walked with Alex into the ballroom, a benign smile pasted on her lips, and the breath physically left her body. She may well have walked into a dream for never had she seen a celebration so grand. Soft golden candlelight illuminated the immaculate hall. White velvet drapes hung from high peaked windows, pooling gracefully on the shining marble floors. Jewels glimmered and jangled from every foreseeable facet of human clothing while sprigs of holly splashed color across the white linen table clothes. Elegant couples bobbed and weaved in time to the exquisite music drifting along the high ceilings. Charley swayed lightly with the rhythm. A bit of the evening’s magic seeped into her. Perhaps the night, her marriage, could be salvaged yet.

  She squeezed Alex’s arm. “We should dance.”

  Ever the composed gentleman Charley found her husband’s reddening neck equal parts amusing and puzzling. He leaned close. “Charley, you know as well as anyone that dancing is not on my list of accomplishments.”

  “Then we will blame our lack of grace on your limp.”

  He opened his mouth, presumably to protest further—

  “Coverstone!”

  Alex physically cringed at the call and Charley’s stomach dropped. He’d been looking over his shoulder as though expecting the devil to charge him for days. She turned, spotting the elderly Lord Belleview weaving through the crowd, and plastered a smile on her face, tightening her grip on Alex’s arm as he moved away.

  The old man approached and stopped before them.

  “Coverstone, I had no idea you’d be attending this evening.” Belleview flashed a fatherly—or, in evidence of his advancing age, grandfatherly—smile. “Good to see you my boy.”

  “And you, sir.” Alex nodded pleasantly, placing a hand on the small of Charley’s back, pulling her in just a bit. Her heart warmed, if just a little, by the gesture of togetherness.

  “My thanks to you and all our boys in uniform. Lord only knows we need you lads on the continent to keep Bonaparte at bay.” Belleview pumped Alex’s ha
nd, and clapped his shoulder. “I’m sure your wife is more than happy to have you home.” He winked at Charley before moving on.

  “This is hardly a disaster,” she said with a teasing smile.

  “Just wait,” he breathed. “Just wait.”

  * * *

  Catastrophe was sure to arrive at any moment. Alex could feel it in his bones. The same unnatural calm he experienced before a battle. Every sense was heightened as he waited for that first shot to crack the air… the first explosion…

  “There’s your disaster,” Charley muttered dryly. “Your mother is headed right for us.”

  Inadvertently his stomach clinched. He’d insisted he and Charley travel to the party separate hoping to avoid her for at least the first thirty minutes. Alas he should have known better. His mother had keen ability for sniffing out her prey. “I daresay, is that my mother or a male peacock?” Adorned in bright, shiny green with layers of green gauze to match, Regina wore enough colored gems to rival the crown jewels. Feathers bedecked a ridiculously high hairstyle and he was relatively certain she’d combed lampblack through her hair to mask the gray streak lining her face.

  “Alex, for shame,” Charley scolded though she was unable to swallow back a laugh entirely.

  “Tell me it isn’t true.”

  “I live by the motto ‘if there is nothing nice to say—”

  “—say nothing at all,” he finished. “So you don’t deny it.”

  “Who could?”

  “Charlotte,” Regina snapped, “I need you immediately. Mrs. Laciter and I are discussing Alex’s coming home party. Your input and assistance are absolutely necessary. It would be quite unseemly if his wife did not plan the occasion.”

  “Of course.” Charley cast a disparaging glance up to Alex as Regina dragged her away.

  Oh, Christ. Alex scooped a champagne flute from a footman passing with a tray balanced neatly on one arm and quaffed the liquid in one long gulp. Just what he needed. A party. Nothing about his homecoming warranted celebration. Once Witherspoon arrived…