Harlequin Historical November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2

by Carol Arens

  * * *

  It was only the arrival of a letter mid-week that for a few hours cast Lizzie from his mind. He read the missive, read it again in mounting anger and then stuffed the sheet of cream vellum behind the stack of books which littered his study floor. He would not think of it or its contents. He would walk out to his furthermost field and check the progress of the men who had been hired that week to hedge and ditch. In that way he could keep his mind a deliberate blank.

  He had passed the bailiff’s office and was following the path which wound along the boundary of the estate, when he almost cannoned into Lizzie travelling in the opposite direction. They both stopped in their tracks, for she was as taken aback as he. His eyebrows rose in silent query and just as mutely she held out the basket she carried, as an explanation.

  ‘It’s a pie,’ she said, when he had taken hold of the handle. ‘Mrs Croft was insistent I bring it. It contains pheasant—your cook apparently has a great liking for Hester’s pheasant pie.’

  The words were delivered dully as though she were finding it troublesome to speak and he thought he knew why. She was regretting their indiscretion as much as he and he must make this encounter as brief as possible for both their sakes.

  His greeting was courteous, but formal. ‘It is very good of you to walk so far, Miss Ingram. The pie is a most kind thought of Mrs Croft.’

  ‘It was Mrs Croft’s express wish that I make the delivery.’ She was making it clear, he thought, that she was not here willingly.

  He tried to keep his eyes averted, but could not fail to see that in her green-velvet spencer she looked as lovely as ever. She had tied an emerald-green ribbon through her chestnut curls and he could not take his eyes from their bright sheen.

  Fighting to bring his wandering mind back into order, he asked, ‘Would you wish me to take it to the kitchen or perhaps you would prefer to present it yourself to Cook?’

  ‘It would help me if you could deliver the gift yourself. I have much to do at Brede House. Mrs Croft has been unwell and needs my constant attention.’

  Before he could ask after the health of his father’s old friend, Lizzie had turned and begun to retrace her steps. He watched her retreating figure in silence, but then, quite suddenly, she stopped and twisted around to face him.

  ‘Who was that man you were talking to by the river?’

  For the moment, he was bewildered, then enlightenment dawned. ‘What man was that?’

  If he had thought to distract her, she was not to be put off. ‘It was a few days ago, in the early morning. You were on a cliff ledge and talking together.’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ he was forced to admit, ‘but where were you? I did not see you.’

  ‘I was walking,’ she said vaguely. ‘Who was he?’

  He would need to be evasive, Justin decided. ‘No one you would know, Miss Ingram, but someone perhaps who can help me. If you remember, I made a promise that I would get to the bottom of the mystery.’

  His voice had grown strained at the mention of the pledge made to her that night, but she was not to be deflected.

  ‘You will not tell me, then, who he is or why you were meeting him,’ she said flatly.

  ‘It is far better that you know nothing, Lizzie.’ He could not maintain the formality, for she would always be Lizzie to him.

  She was staring into the distance with her lips pursed and he could see that she wanted to kick against his refusal to say more. She felt cheated, he supposed, that in some way she’d had her adventure taken from her.

  ‘It really is better this way.’ Despite his vow to stay aloof, he could not stop himself smiling and she could not help but return the smile, her crossness disappearing beneath the warmth of his expression.

  ‘I did wonder...’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘You must not worry. The man you saw is a means to an end, that is all. Things will turn out well, you will see.’

  She gave a small nod and was making ready to walk on when he blurted out, ‘Will you allow me to escort you to Brede House?’

  What was wrong with him? The words had come instinctively, but what was he doing? He should let her go quietly and be grateful their conversation had been unexceptional, but here he was inviting himself to walk with her.

  ‘You have to deliver the basket,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Yes.’ He flushed. ‘Of course, I had forgot.’

  ‘You could leave it by the hedge. No harm will come to it until you return.’

  * * *

  What was wrong with her? What was she doing accepting his escort? He had not properly explained his meeting with the villainous man, yet she was immediately willing to trust his assurance. It was her heart doing the talking—yet again—and it was telling her that he was too beautiful a man ever to do wrong. Or for that matter to care seriously for her. Hadn’t she decided that she must never be alone with him? Yet here she was walking by his side. It was because she had met him so unexpectedly, she tried to reassure herself. He had startled her, appearing out of nowhere, filling the image she’d held in her mind since they last met. And filling it wonderfully.

  They started along the path together, walking in silence, painfully aware of each other. He did not attempt to take her arm, but she could feel his warmth, his step matching hers, his body so close. He wore what she imagined were working clothes, though he looked smart enough for a parade. His face above the crisp white shirt was tanned and lean, his hair a bright sun in the overcast day. She wanted to reach out and touch: hold his hand, clasp his arm, ruffle his hair, smooth his cheek, feel his lips. This was madness, she told herself. One step along that road and she knew she would succumb to him completely and what would be the result? She would be a lost woman, that was what. She must stop thinking, stop imagining what might be, and start talking. Anything to break the tense silence that had grown alongside their bodies’ longing.

  ‘How is your work at Chelwood progressing?’ she asked, her voice uncomfortably thin.

  ‘Well, I thank you.’ His own was studiously neutral. ‘The horrible Mellors is proving worthy of his salary and taking much off my shoulders.’

  ‘Is he still waging his crusade against poachers?’ she could not resist asking.

  Justin smiled slightly. ‘Since that misfortune, he has acted more prudently and in time I am sure he will make a bailiff of which Chelwood is proud.’

  She cast a sideways glance and was quick enough to see his smile fade and a frown take its place.

  ‘You still seem worried.’ It was a mistake, she knew, but she had ventured into the personal.

  ‘Not about Chelwood—there is a great deal of hard work ahead, but Mellors and I are both clear what we must do to bring the estate back into profit.’ There was a pause before he added abruptly, ‘I have had a letter from my mother.’

  She glanced across at him again and saw him shrug his shoulders, as though by doing so he could shrug away the parent he so disliked.

  ‘You have unwelcome news?’ She ought not to concern herself, but it seemed impossible to stand aside.

  ‘Her husband—the duke I told you of, the one who drips money—has left her. He appears to have found solace in Italy. I cannot say that I am surprised. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before the marriage failed.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear such news.’

  ‘So am I,’ he said grimly. ‘Particularly as her letter hints that she may wish to return to Chelwood.’

  Lizzie let out a little gasp. No wonder he was so perturbed. He must have hoped his mother’s marriage had relieved him of all responsibility for her. But from what Justin had said, Lady Delacourt and Chelwood would seem a poor match. ‘I imagine that your mother would prefer to stay in her London home.’

  ‘You would think so, but there is a possibility that the less-than-honourable d
uke will sell it beneath her feet and so render her homeless. There is also the little matter of embarrassment. Having boasted to her cronies of the opulent life she was leading, it will come hard to confess that she has been abandoned, an ageing woman, and without a penny to her name.’

  When he spoke so bitterly he seemed another person, Lizzie thought. It was clear that whatever he had suffered at his parent’s hands, he had neither forgotten nor forgiven. They walked on and the sound of their footsteps echoed in the silent air. Eventually she plucked up courage to ask, ‘Will you allow Lady Delacourt to return to Chelwood?’

  ‘I have little choice in the matter. Whatever else she may be, she is my mother and if she has nowhere else to go... She will have grown frailer with the years and age must command some respect, I have always believed. But it sticks in my craw to have her here.’

  ‘Perhaps it will not prove as difficult as you fear.’

  ‘You are ever the optimist, Lizzie. I wish you were right.’

  ‘Surely the power she once wielded is gone. Your father is dead and can no longer be hurt by her.’

  ‘No, thank God. She can hurt neither of us any more. I suppose I must write to her and tell her that if she is in distress, she may come, but she is to come alone. No entourage.’ The two words chopped menacingly at the cold air.

  ‘What kind of entourage does she have?’ Lizzie asked wonderingly. It was a glimpse into another world.

  ‘The horde of banshees she runs with. They will not be welcome at Chelwood—ever.’

  ‘Are they so bad?’

  ‘They are. You have no conception.’

  ‘But once you return to your regiment, your mother would be quite alone at Chelwood. She will be in need of a friend, I think.’

  ‘If she comes here, she comes alone or not at all,’ he said inexorably. And then, when his intransigence drew a questioning look from her, he burst out, ‘I am a grown man and there is not a harpy alive who can discomfort me. But I have not forgotten what it was like to be eighteen and at the mercy of such a one.’

  ‘Then let us hope, for both your sakes, the duke is generous,’ was all she could say.

  They were nearing their destination and covered the short distance that remained in silence. His words had brought home in stark fashion how strongly the past was still with him, how fiercely he would fight anything that threatened to make him vulnerable. She had suspected that he would never give himself wholeheartedly to love and here was the proof: his fear of humiliation was too great. No wonder his transient life as a soldier suited him so well.

  * * *

  The gates of Brede House were visible and its avenue of trees beckoning. At this hour the sky above them seemed enormous, its huge expanse flushed by warm light, apricot mixed with a cold, bright blue. In the distance she glimpsed the river lying calm, not a breath of wind touching its surface as it meandered its way to the sea, unravelling like a broad twist of beaten metal. The main gates remained locked for no carriages had come or gone from Brede House that day, but a small wicket stood to one side and it was this that Justin opened. The space was narrow and she could not help brushing against him as she passed. A spark, electric in its intensity, surged through her. Then the familiar weakness, her limbs losing their strength and her stomach dissolving into water.

  The gate remained open behind them for he had not turned to close it. She felt his hand sweep her ringlets to one side and his lips on the nape of her neck scattering soft, small kisses. Now his mouth was nibbling at her ear, pulling and tugging gently at her lobe, until she could not stop herself uttering a small cry of pleasure. His arms enfolded her, wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her urgently into him. She felt the hardness of his body through the muslin of her dress, felt the longing it contained. His hands moved upwards to cradle her breasts, caressing them slowly, rhythmically. His fingers brushed against her nipples, circled and returned, his touch intensifying all the time. Somewhere deep inside she was pierced by an indescribable ache. When it seemed that she could bear no more, he spun her around and his mouth clamped fast to hers.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he groaned.

  Her lips parted in readiness. She wanted him, she wanted him. But she must not allow herself the surrender she longed for.

  Wrenching herself away, she said in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘We are in clear sight of the upstairs windows’, and she gestured towards the house. ‘Hester or Mrs Croft might look out at any moment.’

  His arms dropped to his side and his shoulders slumped. ‘Forgive me, Lizzie. I had no right... It is just that...’ His voice tailed away.

  They stood gazing at each other, rumpled, breathless, unable to avert their eyes, still balancing on the tightrope of desire.

  Then he drew himself upright and said decisively, ‘You are right, of course. It was the most foolhardy thing to have done. For my part, dishonourable, too. You must know that I delight in your company, but I have allowed my feelings too much licence. I hope you will forgive me.’

  She could not find her voice; all she could do was to bow her head in acknowledgement. At the top of the driveway, they murmured a brief farewell before he turned to go. She heard the crunch of his footsteps on gravel, a creak of the wicket and then silence.

  * * *

  She hurried to her room, hoping she could snatch a few minutes before Mrs Croft rang the bell. Since her illness, the old lady could be tetchy and at this moment Lizzie felt unequal to dealing with her demands. She was still trembling with the shock of desire—the force of her passion had been shocking. After their lovemaking on the terrace at Chelwood, she should have been prepared, but if anything her need for him today had been even greater. Did that mean that every time they met, desire would get stronger? If so, the ending was inevitable. She knew that she could not fight such overpowering feelings for much longer and it scared her greatly.

  And what of Justin? He was as weak as she, it seemed. He could not keep his hands from her body or his lips from her mouth. But just now he had said something that caught at her very soul. He had confessed that he delighted in her company, had suggested that his feelings for her ran deeper than simple physical desire. Was it possible that even a soldier could fall in love, genuinely in love? She could hardly believe so, but at the thought her anxious expression fled and in its stead a bright glow suffused her face. Then her mind raced on and her pleasure came to a sickening halt. If he were falling in love, and she could not really believe that it was so, his love would not endure. It could not endure.

  Justin had upbraided himself for his lack of honour, but what would he say if he knew the things she had done? She had behaved so very badly. True, she had been a mere girl at the time—but that made it worse. At an age when she should have known only innocence she had schemed in the most shocking way, manipulated a man for her own ends, and only by accident had ended the loser in that encounter. She could never tell Justin her story. It must remain a secret for ever. If he knew the depths to which she had sunk, his love for her, his desire even, would wither instantly. He would not wish to know her.

  * * *

  Lizzie had forgotten that Mrs Croft had nominated this day for the autumn cleaning of the conservatory that clung to the south side of the house, but as soon as Hester reported her returned, the work began. Plants were brought indoors, wicker tables and chairs covered and exiled to the folly, the light voile curtains taken down and washed and in their place heavier brocade curtains were hung. The day was filled with activity and by tea time both Hester and Lizzie were extremely tired, since the old lady’s instructions were as numerous as they were conflicting. With some effort Lizzie had managed to keep her mind on the tasks in hand and only occasionally allow her thoughts to stray into dangerous territory. So it was with considerable surprise that she found one of the footmen from Chelwood Hall at the door around seven o’clock that evening. Her heart j
umped as she saw his outline in the doorway, behind him the sun already setting and turning the sky to a pink marshmallow. It was a splendid evening, an evening for lovers, Lizzie thought, and she dreamed forlornly of spending it with Justin. But it was his footman who was standing before her, a posy of autumn flowers in one hand and a stiff white envelope in the other.

  Hester was fidgeting behind her, shifting from foot to foot, impatient to know what or who had called. Lizzie made haste to thank the man and shut the door. Without a word, she took the posy upstairs, leaving Hester in the hall, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  The envelope contained only one sheet of paper and the message inside was brief.

  Will you come to Chelwood tomorrow? I want to show you all the improvements I am making. No need to trespass this time! It was signed simply J.

  These past few days she had imagined Justin to be every kind of man: a thrilling lover who conquered her with his passion, a dashing soldier taking pleasure where he found it and, just hours ago, a blighted man too hurt ever to care deeply for any woman. And now? Now it seemed that he did care, cared enough to want her close. The thought made tears prick at her eyes. What she would give to visit Chelwood as his special guest, to eat at his table, to walk and talk with him, to share his innermost thoughts. But she could do none of these things. If he knew her secret...if she told him the whole story, he might not blame her for what had happened, but he would not condone her conduct. He was a man of principle and her story would turn a sincere lover into a disapproving acquaintance. She could not bear to see the distaste on his face, the same distaste that he reserved for his mother and her friends. No, she could not suffer that. She would keep his posy as a memory of what might have been, but though it broke her heart, she would not reply to the invitation.