Harlequin Historical July 2020 - Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  Even more proof he had to unearth the past. Neither of them knew where they stood.

  ‘She didn’t need to.’ Randolph flapped imaginary wings. ‘She practically floated into breakfast this morning all a-flutter, lips all kiss swollen, sighing like a loon…’ Then he broke into a knowing grin. ‘It didn’t take a genius to work out she’d finally stripped the wolf out of his sheep’s clothing.’

  Owen did his best not to look incredibly smug. ‘She seemed all right to you, then? Happy?’

  ‘Exceedingly… Was positively doe-eyed with distraction and most definitely delighted by it all.’

  ‘Delighted?’ Now that was promising. He felt the tension in his muscles ease at the thought.

  ‘Nauseatingly so. Which begs the obvious question. Why didn’t you tackle the difficult subject once the deed was done? It was the most favourable time!’

  ‘It really wasn’t.’

  That comment earned him a stunned scowl. ‘Of course it was! Women are always at their most receptive after they have blossomed and we gents are demonstrably more magnanimous—and, quite frankly, it is ridiculous that the pair of you continue to avoid it. Especially as the stakes have been raised and you have both clearly been speared mortally by Cupid.’ His friend slid off the chair to pace in frustration.

  ‘The conversation isn’t going to get any easier, idiot! If anything, the longer you put it off is only going to make things more difficult as all the poison becomes entrenched and continued avoidance makes it worse. Be honest. Lay your cards completely on the table while the pair of you are away—because if she cannot see your innocence for herself and you cannot ever prove it, you will never be able to move forward.’

  Owen nodded, trying to focus on the positive. ‘Do you really think she’s been struck by Cupid, too?’

  Randolph threw his hands in the air. ‘That’s it? That is the only part of my impassioned, wise and imploring monologue you heard?’

  ‘I heard it…’ And the miserable truth was difficult to swallow. ‘But if the Runner has found something, then it won’t matter.’

  ‘Because she will know she has always been wrong and she’ll fall at your feet in tragic remorse, begging for forgiveness?’

  Something like that.

  ‘My name will be properly cleared and she will stop thinking ill of me.’

  ‘Never mind she’ll feel dreadful and riddled with guilt and will likely never get over it—you will feel superior. And if they find nothing, just as we did, then what? Are you happy to go through life with a woman who thinks you genuinely stole her mother’s jewellery for your own ill-gotten gain? What a tremendously healthy start to a marriage that will make.’

  Randolph jumped back up on the chair and grabbed him by the lapels. ‘People make mistakes, Owen. But true love means seeing past them. No matter what. You and Lydia will never be happy until you both accept that. Stop building a house of cards and lay some solid foundations. You can’t hide behind your pathetic armistice for ever.’

  Before Owen could respond, Slugger crashed through the door and jabbed an agitated finger in his face as well. ‘Is that slimy Runner friend or foe, Owen?’

  ‘Friend.’ And hopefully a less vexing and astute one than blasted Randolph.

  ‘Then get the blighter out of my hallway! He’s making me nervous!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Idly, Lydia traced one of the intricately drawn birds inked into his biceps, feeling thoroughly decadent and thoroughly adored. After two hours of travel to Aveley Castle, followed by hours and hours of socialising, dinner and parlour games, they had fallen into each other’s arms the second they were alone in their allotted shared bedchamber.

  Making love with the lamps still burning had been as scandalous as it had been educational and, with their new familiarity with intimacy, everything about their second coupling had been better. Exquisite, in fact. Lydia still felt drunk on the back of it. Or perhaps that had happened when he had awoken her at dawn to make lazy love to her again? Now, tangled naked in the sheets together, neither of them seemed in a particular hurry to move despite the day’s packed schedule.

  ‘What is the story behind these birds?’

  ‘They are swallows.’

  Hardly an explanation. ‘Then what is the story behind these swallows? There must be one.’

  ‘Maybe I woke up one morning and decided I fancied a flock of swallows tattooed on my skin.’

  Lydia propped herself up on her elbow and pretended to glare at him and in return he twirled one finger in her hair. ‘Do they, in some way, contravene the terms of our armistice?’

  ‘I got them in Port Jackson.’

  ‘I guessed as much.’

  ‘We all had them.’

  ‘Swallows?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled, looking every inch like a man perfectly content with where he was. ‘Tattoos. Different pictures meant different things. Some had names of loved ones, lost loves or permanent declarations of new. Randolph has Gertie’s name emblazoned on his chest and wrapped in a big heart. But some had broken hearts, too, alongside a few pierced with knives for betrayal. Mermaids and ships were all about the long journey we took…the flags are pretty self-explanatory. Weeping willows were popular because they symbolised grief.’

  ‘Did many people die there?’

  ‘No.’ He paused for a moment, as if debating his answer, then she felt him exhale with resignation. ‘Sometimes. Things could be very hard. But the willow was more a symbol of grief for all that they had lost rather than an actual death. When you’ve been exiled to the other side of the world with scant chance of ever coming back, those last goodbyes to those left behind might as well have been a death. Families were torn apart. Parents separated from children, husbands from wives…’ He tugged her back to lie upon his chest. ‘Those things leave an indelible mark, so I suppose that’s why we added them to our skin.’

  ‘Like Cyril’s tears?’ Those three etched droplets had always bothered her. ‘What do they symbolise?’

  ‘He’ll tell you they are for his late mother if he’s got a drink inside him, or to put the fear of God into his boxing opponents if he’s stone-cold sober, but neither of those is entirely true. He fell hopelessly in love with a free girl in Parramatta and, between you and me, she led him a merry dance. But as is so typical in matters of the heart, love is blind and poor Slugger was the last to realise she wasn’t anywhere near as devoted to him as he was to her.’

  ‘She met someone else?’

  ‘Ran off with someone else, actually—the true father of the child she was carrying a week before she and Slugger were due to wed. It hit him hard and for reasons best known to him, he decided to immediately mark the sentiment with tears that will last for ever. He probably regrets them now, but it seems insensitive to ask.’

  ‘Poor Cyril.’ Clearly the man did have a gentle artist’s soul after all. Her gaze wandered back to the swallows and she realised he must have been the artist. ‘And what do your swallows mean?’

  ‘A safe return…back to here. I always wanted to come home. It was everything. So every year, I reaffirmed that vow with another bird.’ He waited for her to count them.

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘It was almost eight—but fate intervened.’

  Lydia had no clue how he had earned his pardon other than he had done something heroic. Knowing Owen as well as she did, she also knew he would have stepped up to the mark regardless of the reward at the end of it. It was the way he was. A noble soul and a born rescuer. ‘Will you tell me that story, then?’

  ‘We were working at the barracks, the stable actually, and there was a fire. Being winter and therefore, conversely, hotter than hell in New South Wales, it spread faster than people could evacuate. Some were still trapped in the stores and we helped them escape and then managed to douse the flames.’

  ‘We?’
/>   ‘Randolph, Slugger…and me.’

  Such a typically Owen response to a supreme act of bravery. ‘And that’s it?’ When she knew he might add himself last to the list, but would have been the first to run into the flames. ‘Was anybody killed?’

  ‘We got all nineteen out…thank the Lord.’

  Which suggested, even if they had shared the burden equally, he was responsible for saving the lives of at least six of those lucky people. What sort of strength, bravery and fortitude did that take? To risk your own life, very probably over and over again, to get everybody out from a raging inferno?

  ‘You really were a hero.’

  He shrugged it off, uncomfortable with the compliment. ‘As a thank you, the governor pardoned the three of us, so we sold our little hell and came home.’

  Lydia made a note to ask Gertie for all the pertinent details he had left out as soon as they got back. Pushing him to brag about his achievements would glean nothing. However, seeing as he was finally opening up, she decided to push her luck. She needed to know everything about this modest, brave and complicated man she had married.

  ‘How did you cope with that boat journey?’ Because yet again, and despite the rainstorm which had followed them all the way to Aveley Castle, he had still ridden alongside the carriage.

  ‘Better than I did on the way there. But as a paying passenger I could decide whether I stayed in my cabin or not and it was a cabin. Not a cupboard.’ Then he hesitated again, almost as if he were making a decision about something important, before he surprised her.

  ‘On the hulk and then on the transport ship over, we were all crammed into the tiniest space possible below deck. During the day it wasn’t as bad. They removed the chains so we could work or take a little exercise, but every evening after they fed us, they would chain us back up and lock us down below. I hated it. I hated the lack of freedom, the heat, the stench, the humiliation of it. Most of the time I could block it out, but at some point I must have given away my fear to one of the guards and, from that point on, he used my damn bunk as a punishment whenever he felt I was being too insubordinate.’ He laughed without humour. ‘I never did properly learn my place, Lydia. As you know.’

  Her heart wept for him so she kissed him. ‘Hardly a surprise, then, you cannot abide confined spaces.’

  ‘No…hardly a surprise, I suppose.’ He took another deep breath. ‘But it got worse. On the passage to the Antipodes, somewhere in the middle of the wild Pacific, there was a horrendous storm. Heavy rain, huge gales. Waves so tall and angry the ship could barely stay upright.’ Beneath her palm she could feel his heart begin to race.

  ‘It lasted for three whole days and nights and they chained us to our bunks for the duration.’ And that was the real reason why he feared confinement now. ‘For everyone’s safety, they said, but what they really meant was for theirs. If we went down, and for a while it seemed highly likely that was a certainty, the navy didn’t want to have to fight a couple of hundred convicts for the few measly rowing boats which might save their lives.’

  She kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly and he hugged her tighter right back.

  ‘The ship took a battering, the hull began to leak badly and as we were being tossed about I was powerless. Devoid of any control and rendered insignificant. I honestly thought I would die there. Chained to a hard bunk as the vessel was sucked beneath the waves. I’ve never been able to stand being closed in since.’ He shivered involuntarily. ‘Another indelible mark…’ A deep one. But she was humbled he had finally deigned to confide in her. ‘But enough of all that maudlin talk…’ He kissed her thoroughly before he pulled away. They both knew he was escaping the memories and felt awkward at sharing them.

  ‘You’ve made me dally long enough, Wife.’ His eyes had darkened to a stormy deep blue, blatantly drinking in the sight of her still lounging on the pillow and making no attempt to hide the effect she had on him. ‘If I laze here any longer thinking all these sinful thoughts, I shall be late for the Duke and that won’t do.’

  The men were spending the morning shooting and had an early start. The ladies were breakfasting later and then were going to ride the grounds, then visit the village. As she watched him pad deliciously naked to the washstand, Lydia realised that while he was probably happy to be escaping her questions, she wouldn’t see Owen again for hours.

  ‘If I feign a headache and skip the market this afternoon, do you think you might also be able to slip away?’ In case he missed the passionate invitation in her eyes, she stretched on the mattress like a cat, allowing the remaining covers to shamelessly expose her bare breasts because she knew he was particularly partial to them.

  Those stormy eyes swept the length of her. ‘You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?’ She could see the evidence of his desire as he snatched a fresh shirt out of his trunk and wielded it at her like a weapon. ‘What sort of a witch are you to tempt me and give me ideas which will likely haunt me all morning and put me off my game?’ Then he gestured to the impressive state he was in below the waist. ‘I’m going to have to wash in cold water now! I hope you’re happy, Wife.’

  ‘So you’ll creep away, then?’

  ‘How does two suit?’ He splashed water into the bowl, grinning.

  ‘Two suits—unless you can make it at one. Because I shall be here at one. Resting…’ She sat and stretched again, running her hands through her hair like the most practised of courtesans. ‘Very probably naked…’

  Owen soaped his chin with a growl. ‘You are a minx, madam.’

  ‘But you like me anyway.’

  He shot her another heated look and for a moment she thought he might tell her he more than liked her. Instead, he smiled and snapped open his razor. ‘For the record, I should like it noted I rather like these little appointments we have taken to making.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I also like the new spirit of…honesty which seems to be developing as well.’ Suddenly he was using a measured tone rather than the playful one of a second before. ‘So, if you are agreeable…this afternoon perhaps we could also make an appointment to talk?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About…us, perhaps, and the way things seem to be going between us.’ He was staring diligently in the mirror, avoiding her gaze, apparently concentrating on shaving, but Lydia wasn’t fooled.

  ‘I think things seem to be going well, don’t you?’

  He dunked the razor in the water before he answered, making her slightly nervous he’d felt the need to gather his thoughts before replying. ‘They are going well…very well…’ He scraped the blade along his jaw again. ‘And in that spirit, I should like to lay my cards on the table.’

  In case it was bad news, she pulled the sheet around her body and braced herself, wondering if things were moving too fast for him or he felt the need to reaffirm the rules of their arrangement. She could cope with the former, but sincerely hoped it wasn’t the latter. Not now that things had moved on and her heart was fully engaged once again.

  ‘You see, the thing is…’ He still didn’t turn around. ‘I’ve decided I don’t actually want what we originally agreed to.’

  Then it was the latter. Lydia’s throat constricted as her poor heart absorbed the blow.

  ‘Oh…’

  She wished she wasn’t naked. Wished she hadn’t just offered herself again on a plate. Somehow both made her humiliation worse. Fortunately, Owen was concentrating too hard on cleaning his razor again so didn’t see her obvious disappointment.

  ‘When I first suggested marriage I convinced myself it was because I was rescuing you from Kelvedon—but that was a flimsy lie. I suppose, in part, it was…’ He began to drag the blade over his opposite cheek, still completely focused on the task. ‘But the real reason was…’ The blade paused and he finally flicked her a glance. In that moment she saw he wasn’t anywhere close to being as calm an
d collected as he had wanted her to believe. ‘I still harboured feelings for you. Strong feelings…which just seem to get stronger with every passing day.’

  The cords strangling her throat instantly relaxed and she felt the corners of her mouth pull into a smile as she exhaled the lungful of air she had been holding.

  ‘And for quite some time now I’ve hoped that perhaps our marriage might become a proper marriage in every sense of the word.’ He was back to staring in the mirror again, only this time he failed to appear close to being matter-of-fact. He was a little jumpy, his Ts less pronounced and his vowels flatter. And both were music to her ears.

  ‘I should like that, too.’ Why make the poor thing suffer when he was obviously in turmoil? ‘We have certainly made some headway in the last two days.’

  ‘Things are moving very fast.’ Instead of smiling at her admission, he seemed troubled by their progress. ‘Making me fear we are running before we can walk…which is what we need to talk about, Lydia.’ There was no doubting his expression was pained. ‘We can’t keep blindly stumbling forward until we have squared off the past.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter, Owen.’ She didn’t want to argue any more. Never wanted to feel all those awful feelings which the past dredged up. Not now they were happy.

  ‘It does. I wish it didn’t, but it’s lurking like a giant pothole in the road, just waiting to keep us apart.’

  ‘One we have managed to avoid so far.’

  ‘Have we?’ He swiped the last of the soap from his face with a towel, then tossed it in the corner to snatch up his shirt. ‘I know it’s there. You know it’s there.’ His fist tapped his chest. ‘It’s eating away at me, Lydia. I know we agreed to ignore it, but we can’t ignore it for ever because one of these days we are going to fall in that pothole regardless. Then what do we do? We’ll start to hate each other again and that would break my heart.’

  Just as it would break hers. ‘You think reopening the wound will make it better?’ Because she knew it wouldn’t. Every time they kicked that hornets’ nest it ended badly. ‘When we have been getting on so well and moving forward?’ One step forward and two steps back.