Always Your Love: A Gothic Regency Romance

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “Are we still… reading the letters?” she asked, and he nodded.

  “I told you we would, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “Very well, then.”

  Hannah reached deep into her pocket, wrapping her hand around the letters, which she had been carrying since she had found them earlier in the day, afraid to put them anywhere else due to fear that she might misplace them before she had the chance to read them.

  She followed Edmund into his library, where they would apparently be settling themselves. Hannah was happy about it, for it was where Edmund seemed to be the most comfortable, and the one room that was actually furnished and had the slightest bit of warmth to it.

  Edmund gestured toward the sofa near the window, but chilled, Hannah walked over to the fireplace, standing before it with her hands out in front of her. Suddenly softness curled around her shoulders, and she was shocked when she glanced behind her to find that Edmund had placed a blanket around her, though he was now walking away.

  “Thank you,” she said, and he didn’t respond, though he lifted one shoulder in answer. Hannah smiled ever so slightly at his attempt to pretend that it hadn’t mattered – but it did. The man who seemed to want all to believe he cared nothing for anyone had noticed her chill. Now that Hannah thought of their conversation at the dinner table, she realized that his order had likely been due to fear for her, and the thought warmed her more than the fire ever could.

  “Are you ready to read the first letter?” she asked, and he took a seat in the chair next to her, his long legs stretching out before him.

  “If you are.”

  She nodded, then sat down on the worn yet soft rug below her and reverently pulled out the bundle, sliding one envelope from the package.

  He lifted a hand in silent supplication to take the letter, and she nodded, for it somehow felt right that he was the one to read it. He stood and walked closer to the fire for the light.

  “I fear for you. The last time I saw Alistair he was in terrible spirits, his mind muddled and his actions incomprehensible. I despair of the thought of you there alone with him. Come visit, please? I will ensure that he will never know the love we have for one another, but at least here I can protect you. Always your love, Andrew.”

  She slowly raised her eyes to her husband, finding him looking down upon her, his expression unreadable.

  “Edmund,” she said, her voice just over a whisper. “That could have been me.”

  “Yes,” he said, returning to her and slowly bending to sit and join her on the rug. “You could have been my brother’s bride.”

  “Do you think—” she stopped, for she had never meant to ask the question. It had come to her unbidden, and she had voiced it before she had given any thought to it.

  “What?” he prodded softly.

  “Do you think that if I had married your brother, that you and I might have come to feel anything for one another?”

  He averted his gaze toward the corner of the room.

  “You and I hardly know each other,” he practically grunted, and Hannah eyed him.

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “I suppose my brother’s,” he said, resting his chin on top of his steepled fingers.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said, playfully slapping his arm in a manner that seemed to surprise him. She wondered when was the last time he had allowed himself to have fun, to not take himself so seriously. “I meant that you continue to avoid my presence as much as you are able to.”

  “I do not—”

  “You do,” she said, though the truth was, she couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t asked for a bride, nor any company at this place where he hid himself away.

  “I am sorry, Edmund, for the fact you had to marry me,” she said earnestly, in the hopes that he understood her contrition to be true. “I hated being that woman, being paraded about at ball after ball in the hopes that some gentleman might be taken enough with my dowry to wed me, despite what he knew of my family.”

  “Because of your sister who ran away with the footman.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I say good for her,” Edmund said, surprising Hannah. “And to all the men who overlooked you because of what she did—well, it’s their own loss.”

  Surprise raced through Hannah at his words. “But you didn’t want to wed me either.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t want to wed anyone.”

  “Right,” Hannah said, and then they were both silent for a moment, staring at the flickering flames, whose crackling provided the only sound to fill the room for a moment. “Why did you agree to marry me?” she finally asked.

  She knew she shouldn’t have. But the question had been weighing on her mind. For the answer meant more than Edmund could ever know, for it would change everything that was to come between them.

  “My father threatened to take away Hollingswood if I didn’t.”

  It seemed like Hannah’s heart crumbled into pieces, with any hopes she had that he had actually felt something – anything – for her slipping away.

  “Did you—did you know it was me in the library?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “I see,” she said, turning away so that he wouldn’t see how hurt she was by his words. A part of her had hoped that, perhaps, despite his misgivings toward marriage, there had been something about her that had drawn him into it and convinced him that it might not be so bad.

  Apparently, it had only been wishful thinking.

  * * *

  Edmund knew he had said the wrong thing.

  But what was he supposed to tell her? He could hardly admit to how much he had desired her, how the thought of marriage to her had not been as objectionable as marriage to any other. For that would be opening himself up to her, leaving him exposed to the rejection that was sure to follow.

  “Why…” he didn’t want to ask, and yet he needed to know, “why did you marry me?”

  She laughed humorlessly as she stood, wrapping her arms around herself as though she was still chilled, the blanket that he had given her lying discarded on the floor.

  “I’ve always done what I was supposed to,” she said, looking down, her voice bitter. “Hannah, the good one. Hannah, who always did what was right. My sister, Juliet, she was the rebellious one. It was not a surprise when she ran off with the footman. It was only the latest and greatest scandal. My parents were embarrassed, of course, and despaired for my own marriage. I was never consulted on what I would like. It didn’t matter. Then my father worked out an arrangement with yours, and it was apparently all taken care of, until your brother’s indiscretion.”

  She appeared wistful, as she looked up at his bookshelves, at his great-uncle’s portrait, out the window – everywhere but at him.

  “I wish I could be more like her – my sister. She was rebellious, yes, but she was always so happy. She did what she wanted and didn’t care about the consequences. Whereas I… I was always so worried about doing the right thing, about being the good girl, about not being contrary. It was almost as though I lived to make up for my sister.”

  She sighed and looked up at the timbers above her, as though imploring the heavens for an answer.

  But unfortunately, the only one here to speak to her was him.

  “And now you’re here. With me.”

  “I am,” she said, turning to him now, tilting her head as her voice turned contemplative.

  “Do you ever wonder… if this is how it is meant to be? If everything happens for a reason?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “That cannot be the case. Not after what I’ve seen.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Why do you hide yourself here from the world?” she asked.

  “Is it not obvious?” he asked dryly, wondering why she would even need to question it.

  “I don’t believe it is because of your scars,” she said and he stiffened a
t her analysis of him. “At least, not those on your face. What are you scared of?”

  “I am scared of nothing.”

  “Of rejection?” she continued, as though he hadn’t said anything. “Why do the opinions of those you do not even know matter so much?”

  “It is not those that I do not know,” he said gruffly, “but those that I do. When I returned from war… do you know how many of my former acquaintances, people I called friends, no longer wanted to have anything to do with me? Who scorned me and were continually busy when it came time to visit? The people who had been my true friends – who cared for me, despite what I looked like, what I had suffered, how awful I was to them – were those men who were killed in that prison. The only one who didn’t seem to care was in the infirmary bed beside me.”

  “Falton,” she said.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I finally convinced him to come work for me as I learned I could trust him. Plus, he tolerates me. So I have no desire to go out into the world and attempt to create artificial friendships.”

  She walked over to him, her gaze searching as she looked up into his eyes.

  “Don’t hide yourself from the world, Edmund,” she whispered. Tentatively, she raised one hand up to his face. “And like it or not, I am here now. I have no plans to go anywhere.”

  Her fingers curled over both sides of his face – the good and the scarred – until they met behind his neck. She interlocked her fingers and then tugged his head down to her.

  Why, oh why wouldn’t she just leave him alone? For the truth was, he was powerless to resist her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted another – even from long ago, before he had lost all desire.

  Or so he had thought.

  9

  Edmund hadn’t known it was possible for a woman’s lips to be so plush and soft yet so passionate at the same time. Hannah kissed him with purpose, with intent, as though she was trying to emphasize with her kiss what hadn’t gotten through to him with her words.

  Edmund wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her in closer to him. Her soft, lithe body pressed against him, and for a moment, he despaired. It wasn’t fair to her, to be left with a man like him, who was broken, scarred, and not even good enough for the prostitute who had scorned him.

  But she didn’t seem to care. For whatever reason, she was accepting that he was her husband and taking what he had to offer, as dismal as it was.

  Edmund caressed her lips with his, grateful that his mouth had been left intact, for he was still able to taste her, to love her with his lips and his tongue, to pour into her all of the emotions that he would never be able to otherwise share with her.

  She was so small, yet sturdy, strong, able to carry more of a burden then he would ever want to place upon her.

  For he knew that life with him would never be easy. Yet, somehow, she seemed willing to share it, and for more reasons than the simple fact that her parents had decreed it.

  “Hannah,” he murmured her name as he planted soft kisses upon her lips and her cheeks before tangling his hands in her hair which cascaded down her back. He loved that she wore it down and loose for him, that she didn’t keep it knotted on her head all the time. She left him for a moment, running her fingertips down his arms to take his hands in hers as she led him over to the fireplace. She bent and picked up the blanket that lay upon the floor, flattening and smoothing there.

  She looked up at him with all of the trust in the world before settling herself on the floor, carefully moving the unread letters to the side in a pile. The firelight flickered off the planes of her face as she looked up at him in supplication.

  He knew he could never deny her. She was more than he could ever ask for. More than he deserved.

  And everything he thought he would never have in his life.

  “We shouldn’t,” he managed in a husky whisper.

  And she answered by widening her eyes and asking, “Why not?”

  “Because…” But the truth was, he didn’t have much of a reason not to.

  “We are married,” she said earnestly. “You seem to have some attraction to me.”

  To that he could only nod, for he didn’t think the words for what he thought of her could do her justice.

  Suddenly a horrified look came over her face.

  “You’re not… that is, you weren’t injured…” she looked up at him imploringly, as though to ask that he not make her finish the sentence.

  He let out a hoarse laugh.

  “It all works fine,” he said, but then cringed. “At least, as far as I am aware. I haven’t, ah… tried it out since returning.”

  “I see,” she said, her innocence showing as her cheeks turned a bright crimson. A log fell over so heavily in the fireplace that they both jumped, and Edmund suddenly realized that by resisting her, all he was doing was causing her to feel unsure about herself, which was so far from his intention.

  For the truth was, ever since she had stirred his long-dormant desire in the library of his parents’ London town home, he could think of nothing but being with her in every sense of the word.

  So finally, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he threw aside the barriers he had erected around himself, and he let go.

  He let go of his inhibitions, of his concern over what she might think of him – of his face, of his surliness, of his determination to keep the world at bay.

  For right now, all that mattered was the two of them here in this room. She wanted him – he had no idea why – but she did, and all he could do was be as gentle and as loving as he could, to make up for the beast of a man she had married.

  He had warring thoughts regarding the light thrown by the fireplace. For while it allowed him to fully see her beautiful, innocent face, he also knew that his own had likely taken on a more shadowy and sinister appearance. The dark would have been preferable, but she needed the warmth in this chilly old house.

  Edmund took her lips again as he eased her down onto the blanket before them, his fingers running up and down her arms in a caress. He could sense what might be relief, or possibly even enthusiasm as she softened in his arms, her own hands coming up to pull him close to her.

  “Hannah,” he said, breaking away from her lips for a moment to look down upon her face, “do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, her lips lifting slightly at their corners. “Of course I do.”

  Protectiveness surged through Edmund at her words. He thought them misplaced – how and why she would put them into a man like him, he didn’t know, but he would accept her surrender to him and do all he could to keep her safe and to keep her happy. For that mattered more than anything else ever could.

  Hannah began to unbutton his shirt, for he preferred not to wear a cravat at home. Instead, he settled for a shirt and waistcoat or jacket above his trousers. She was hesitant, unsure, but he allowed her to continue, hoping that she would become more confident as she went, though he braced himself for what she would find underneath.

  He heard her intake of breath when she had bared his skin to the light, and he looked down to find her eyes filled with sympathy as she shared his pain with him.

  “Oh, Edmund,” she said, running her fingers over the scars along his chest. “How this must have pained you.”

  “That it did,” he said, taking her fingers so she would leave them be, “but it is over now. They are healed – as haphazardly and disastrously as they may be. Let us focus on the present.”

  How ironic his words were, for he could barely do such a thing, but she nodded, kissing him once more as she pushed the sleeves of his shirt off of his arms. When she lifted it over his head and he was rid of it, he finally began his own exploration. She wore a simple muslin gown, one which she could likely dress herself in, despite the fact that she had a maid.

  With his quick tug, the fastenings came loose and the dress began to slip down her slender shoulders. He helped it the rest of the way, before palming
one of her breasts in his hand.

  She pushed her chest up, clearly enjoying the sensation, which he responded to by leaning down and suckling one nipple through the fabric of her chemise. She breathed in swiftly, holding her breath before releasing it as she kneaded her fingers into his bare shoulders.

  Edmund toyed with one of her ankles, beginning to slide his fingers up her leg, but he became so tangled in her skirts that he finally backed away in frustration. She looked up in surprise at his growl, and he tugged off her dress with more ferocity than he had intended. Worried for a moment at what she might think of him, when he looked up at her expression, he found that the corners of her mouth were curled into a smile, as though she had enjoyed the exhibition of his hunger for her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, but she shook her head.

  “You have no need to be,” she responded, looking so small and delicate lying there in just her chemise. “I’m glad to know that you want me.”

  “Want you?” he said with disbelief. “Goodness, Hannah, that is an understatement if I have ever heard one. Now, come here.”

  He knelt down by her ankles, slowly crawling up toward her head as he skimmed his fingers over her legs, exploring every inch of her. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. She shivered as he knelt, his lips following his hands. He moved over her knee, her thigh, up her hip to her belly, pushing up her chemise as he went. He kissed his way around her navel, up higher and higher until he found her breast once more as he lifted her chemise over her head. Keeping her distracted so as not to scare her, he finally found her center, stroking her, first softly and then with more pressure.

  He needn’t have worried. As much as Hannah was quite obviously innocent, she more than made up for it with her enthusiasm. She was arching up toward him with eagerness, and suddenly it was as though all that he had been holding within him for six years came rushing forward in anticipation. All of those carnal urges appeared in full force at the demand of Hannah’s body.