by Carol Arens
‘I thought if I told you, you would never wish to speak to me again.’
‘How could you misjudge me so badly?’
‘For a long time I did not think you even liked me,’ she said shyly. ‘Not until that evening at Chelwood. Before then you seemed so cold and indifferent.’
‘I was a fool. I liked you too much. But I couldn’t cope with the way you disturbed my peace of mind—and much else besides! You’re not the only one to have skeletons.’
She had an inkling where those skeletons might lie, but her question was tentative. ‘Did your mother’s friends perhaps cause you distress?’
‘One of her friends certainly. I hated her crowd, Lizzie. Hated them with a passion. I loathed the way they descended on Chelwood, even after my parents’ marriage had ended, polluting everything they touched, everything that was dear to me.’
‘You feel very strongly,’ she remarked gently.
‘I have good reason. I was little more than a stripling the last time she visited the estate. She brought with her a group of so-called society women and their husbands. One woman—she shall remain nameless—arrived with her cuckold of a husband and decided that I would make for pleasing entertainment. She came to my room. I imagine I need say no more. But bear in mind that I was not yet eighteen and that her husband was doubtless snoring in the next room. Some young men, no doubt, would be gratified by the attention. But I was not one of them. I was an innocent and deeply shocked. I would know how to deal with her now, but not then. I agonised for days over whether it had been my fault, whether I had perhaps inadvertently suggested to her that I was attracted. At one point I was even going to confess to her husband! Instead I went to my mother.’
‘And what did she say?’ The wretchedness in his face drove her to ask.
‘She told me that I should be grateful for what I could get.’
Lizzie felt quite sick. ‘Now do you see why I do not want her here? She and her cronies are manipulative and immoral. That woman was happy—delighted—to pick on a vulnerable boy for her own base ends. She enjoyed the seduction. So did her husband. So did the whole company who she lost no time in telling.’
‘How very, very dreadful,’ she said in a half-whisper and meant it with all her heart.
For a long time he was silent and when he spoke his voice was filled with regret. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, I should not have told you such a thing. That was selfish of me. I have kept it to myself all these years and should have continued in that way.’
She nestled herself more deeply in his arms. ‘Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you told me—it means that you care enough to trust. I’ve been telling myself that I was an idiot to think you could care for me.’
‘I care a great deal and we have both been idiots, have we not? Maybe we can start again.’
‘I do hope so,’ she murmured.
He tipped her face upwards and smiled down into her eyes. ‘Shall we make a beginning? Right now?’
Chapter Ten
She tangled her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Her mouth softened, waiting for his kiss, and when it came, it was warm and inviting. Then more kisses—showering down on her, growing harder and hotter, gathering in intensity until her lips were bruised and swollen from his touch.
Finally they pulled apart but looked longingly at each other. ‘One more kiss,’ he whispered, ‘and you must go. It is almost dawn.’
‘One more kiss,’ she whispered back. ‘Make sure it is a good one!’
His tongue traced the outline of her lips and now she was opening her mouth to his probing, allowing herself to fall deeper and deeper into the delightful haze that was taking over her body. She pressed him even closer, feeling the hard outlines of his form shaping themselves against her softness. He kissed her eyelids one by one, nibbled at her ears and then his lips were moving down her neck and pressing kisses into the delicate skin of her chest. She took his head between her hands and pulled his mouth down to her bosom. This is where she wanted his lips. He parted the nightgown and found her breasts, kissing them gently at first, one at a time, but then more urgently until she was straining against him, her hands feeling his hardness, her stomach churning in pleasure. The most exquisite ache shot through her whole body as they clung together, hot, liquid, overwhelmed by the waves of desire washing over them.
‘We should...’ he began, but he never finished the admonition. With a groan he threw the blankets down on to the wooden floor and rolled her off the seat to enmesh his body with hers.
‘Are you sure, darling Lizzie?’
In response, she tore at his shirt, desperate to feel his naked skin against hers. She was sure, of course she was. Convention could beat its empty drum for she loved him too much, she wanted him too much. And he wanted her—badly. His hands were caressing her legs moving upwards in gentle, stroking motions until she thought she would die of this new-found pleasure and harbour no regrets. Her nightgown was cast aside, his breeches and shirt joined it, and they were naked at last, body on body. She felt herself carried aloft on a torrent of such intense feeling that the whole of her being sang with passion. Surges of pleasure, one after another after another, until she felt that she could bear no more. Then a crescendo of desire and they were together at last, trembling, ecstatic, two bodies melded to one.
For long minutes they lay locked together, their passion spent, their bodies adrift and unable to move. Then Justin rolled to one side and reached for the nightgown so carelessly discarded.
‘You must not catch cold else I shall be hearing from Mrs Croft that you have contracted pneumonia,’ he warned, covering her carefully with one of the blankets. ‘If you fall ill, she will fuss endlessly, I know, and insist that you keep to your bed.’
‘That would be hateful. Imagine being confined to the house—even more than I am already!’ She smiled up at him.
‘In time she might allow you a gentle saunter in the garden,’ he teased. ‘Or perhaps not. I think she has a dread of this place. I’ve noticed that she never walks here herself.’
‘There could be reason for that.’ Lizzie was hazed in pleasure still, but his words had brought back the terrors of the night. ‘Do you think that it was a smuggler who disturbed Mrs Croft’s granddaughter and caused her death?’
‘I’m beginning to think it might have been,’ he said sombrely. ‘That gang has much to answer for. It would be splendid if we could bring them to justice, though at the moment I cannot see how.’
She could not either, but as she gazed through the small window set high in the stone wall and watched rags of clouds pass across the face of the moon, a tremor passed through her. A thought had arrived, but one that trailed malevolence. ‘Justin—’ she clutched at his arm ‘—they will know now that you are not one of them. They will come looking for you.’
‘It’s possible.’
His tone was too careless. ‘But don’t you see, you will be in danger. They are quite, quite ruthless.’
‘I am a pillar of the community, Lizzie, and I doubt they will lay a hand on me. Nor on any of my people—I made sure that I acted alone. They would be foolish to do so, for they would be very quickly found out and hanged for their trouble. If they come calling, I will simply tell them that I have changed my mind and that I find the undertaking too dangerous for my liking.’
‘But if they tell tales—spread rumours about you?’
‘If they threaten to expose me—though I doubt they will, since that would make clear their own wrongdoing—I shall deny all knowledge of my involvement. And who is likely to gainsay me?’
‘But how are you to explain me? The smuggler with the gun—he saw me.’
‘He saw only a woman in night attire. I shall say that I was followed from my house by one of my maidservants who has a tendency to sleepwalk.’
She burst out laughin
g. ‘That sounds as far-fetched as anything I could concoct.’
‘It’s pretty good, isn’t it? They did not see your face and can have no idea who the mad woman in the cloak and nightgown might be.’
He scrambled to his feet and began quickly to dress. ‘Come, Lizzie, we should go. It must be nigh on six in the morning.’
She glanced towards the window again. Even through glass streaked with the dirt of recent storms, she could see that the faintest rays of light were already filtering through the clouds. It really was time to go.
They walked together up the garden path, hand in hand, Lizzie no longer caring who might see them. ‘Your disguise is no more,’ she said sadly, as they reached the back door of Brede House, ‘and the risks you took have all been for nothing. Gilbert is still missing and we have no idea where he is.’
For a moment Justin’s shoulders sagged. ‘I hate to admit failure, but at the moment there seems little more that we can do. I dare not even tell the Armitages what we have discovered so far. It is only suspicion, after all, but it would kill them to think that Gil might have been involved with such a gang and with a woman like Rosanna.’
She tried the latch and it opened to her touch. ‘I left by this door and thank goodness Hester has not come down during the night and turned the key. I may even gain my bedroom without being discovered.’
‘You should try to get a little sleep before the household is up and about.’ He bent his head and found her lips again.
‘I will,’ she said softly in his ear. She twined her arms around his neck and her breasts, rubbing against him, were tantalisingly erect. In response he pulled her roughly towards his hardening body.
‘Go, you must go,’ he said hoarsely. ‘There will be another invitation on your doorstep tomorrow. Please accept it, Lizzie. I want to see you back at Chelwood.’
She turned and stroked his cheek. ‘I will, Justin. I promise.’
* * *
He walked back to Chelwood through the dewy early morning, the sky gradually turning from ice blue to an undertow of the palest pink and then, as a majestic sun rose over the tree tops, into a wash of peach and apricot. The once-green lane had turned into a tunnel of dull golds and reds and walking through its splendour, he felt at one with the world. Great surges of happiness swept through him at the thought of what the night had brought. He hardly felt his fatigue though he was without sleep and had walked nigh on fifteen miles. Euphoria was keeping him afloat.
* * *
The household was already up and at its work when he trudged through Chelwood’s front entrance straight into Chivers, hovering in the hall. His butler’s stare of surprise brought him up sharply but he was too tired to conjure a credible explanation for his long absence.
‘I couldn’t sleep, Chivers,’ he managed. It was weak, but it would have to do. ‘Problems with the estate. I thought it best to walk off my worries.’
‘I hope you were successful, sir. Mellors is already in the office if you would care to consult him.’
The thought made Justin blench. ‘Not just at this minute. The fresh air has tired me and I must try to get some rest.’
He could see the butler attempting to arrange his face to one of neutrality and knew that behind the façade, the man teemed with unsatisfied curiosity. It would have to stay unsatisfied for this was one secret his servants would not learn.
He started towards the grand oak staircase, his mind intent on hot water and a soft bed—he must close his eyes, if only for a few hours. But he had gone only a few steps when he became aware of luggage piled high in the furthest corner of the hall. He walked up to it and counted: three large trunks.
‘What is this, Chivers?’
‘They belong to her Grace, Sir Justin. Her Grace and her maid arrived late last evening and are still abed. Alfred will take the baggage to her Grace’s quarters as soon as he is able.’
‘Her Grace? What the deuce are you talking about, man?’
‘Lady Lavinia has arrived.’ The butler gratefully reverted to the name by which he had always known his late mistress. ‘You were not at home, sir, but in your absence I instructed Mrs Reynolds to prepare the blue suite for her ladyship. I trust that meets with your approval.’
Justin slowly retraced his steps. ‘Are you telling me that my mother is here at Chelwood?’
‘Indeed, yes, sir. Lady Lavinia has come to stay for a while. I understand there has been a few problems in London.’ Chivers coughed delicately.
Justin clamped his lips tightly together, but could not quite suppress a flicker of fury.
‘I hope I did right, sir.’ His master’s unfamiliar anger was making the butler anxious. Justin recovered himself sufficiently to say, ‘You could do no other, Chivers. I will see Her Grace later.’
Then more concerned than ever to reach his room, he bounded up the stairs two at a time. He had no wish to face the woman he so disliked, jaded and unkempt. His valet was waiting for him and he gladly gave himself up to the man’s ministrations. When finally the door closed and he was alone, he tried to focus on this new problem that had sprung out of nowhere. Chivers had said his mother had come to stay for a while. That was annoyingly vague. He did not want her here for a while—he did not want her here for a week, for a day even. But he knew that he had no choice but to house her. There was nowhere else for her to go, that much was clear, for she would never have come to Chelwood unless she were desperate. The house must be the only refuge left to her. She would hate living in Rye and he would hate living under the same roof. He climbed wearily into bed—it was not a happy thought.
And just when life had seemed so right. Well, almost right. He was no nearer finding what had happened to Gil than he had been weeks ago, and he dared not contemplate Caroline’s face if he were forced to tell her that he had discovered nothing. He’d had few hopes for tonight’s plan, but while there had been a small chance of finding where Gil was incarcerated, he had thought it worth the risk. In joining the smugglers, he had exposed himself to danger and possible future reprisal. All for nothing as it turned out. If only Lizzie hadn’t followed him...but she had. She was a courageous girl and she had done what she thought right. And how could he regret her arrival on the scene—had it not led to their reconciliation?
And what a reconciliation! His eyelids closed at the memory of her soft arms twined around him, the memory of her soft lips opening to him, their bodies moving as one, two halves made whole. It had been an extraordinary passion. He had never thought he could so completely surrender himself to a woman, give himself in the most exquisite way—and glory in it. But he had and he must cling to this new and wonderful knowledge whatever the difficulties ahead. As he drifted into the soundest sleep he had enjoyed for weeks, the face of Gil Armitage floated across his inner vision. From the start the image of his dearest friend had been entangled with that of the girl he had come to love. Why was that? he mused dreamily. They were both exceptionally dear to him, but surely there must be more to it than that. Was it that Gil had disappeared from his life at the very same moment that she had walked into it, that with Gil’s eclipse he was saying a final goodbye to his childhood and to the unhappiness and prejudice to which he had been heir. Maybe. But he could not say goodbye to Gil just yet. He had to know what had become of his friend and Lizzie was as much involved as he in that quest. He fell asleep pondering the strange quirk of fate that had brought these two very different people together in his life.
* * *
His valet did not wake him until midday but he felt so well rested that he did not reprimand the man for leaving him to sleep. His unwelcome guest, it appeared, was this minute in the dining room and partaking of a light nuncheon. The thought of food roused him fully, for he had not eaten for hours and was extremely hungry, and though he did not relish joining his mother at the table, it clearly behoved him to welcome her to Chelwood
. He might wish her miles away, but he needed to talk with her. Since he’d left Lizzie early that morning, he had been turning over in his mind an idea so shocking that it almost stopped his breath. It was hardly possible, he knew, but the idea would not quite go away, and whatever plans Lady Lavinia entertained might matter greatly for his future.
Despite the pangs gnawing at his stomach, he took time to dress carefully. A single-breasted blue tailcoat, a striped-silk waistcoat and pantaloons of muted grey were set off by a dazzling snow-white cravat arranged in precise and intricate folds.
In half an hour he walked into the dining room, complete to a shade. His mother had been making ready to leave and tripped prettily towards him as he entered, exuding a heavy, sweet perfume with every step.
‘Justin!’ She threw up her hands in an exaggerated gesture. ‘At last, and how very good to see you!’
‘Is it? It has been some years since you felt the need to see me, has it not?’ His voice was bereft of all emotion.
‘Years indeed, but you have changed little.’ She could not quite conceal the sourness. ‘It’s true that you have grown—taller, broader. But that was inevitable, I imagine, for a soldier’s life demands physical strength, does it not?’
He had no wish to talk about soldiering, no wish to converse on his army career. At this moment his mind was fizzing with doubt and possibility, and he had no intention of sharing those feelings. What he did intend was to talk about his mother’s future and its likely effects for him and for Chelwood. Food would have to wait.
‘Shall we repair to the library? An excellent fire is burning and we can discuss your situation there without fear of being interrupted.’
‘And what situation is that, Justin?’ she cooed, her tone at odds with the frown that furrowed deep across her brow.
‘Come, let us go.’
He led the way out of the dining room and across the hall. His words were not for the ears of even the most trusted of his servants and he would not speak until the library door was firmly shut. Lavinia followed him unwillingly. She eschewed the comfort of a fireside chair and instead perched herself on the arm of the large, leather Chesterfield, as though ready to take flight at any moment.