Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

by Janice Preston

  Another shout from the next room wrenched her from her thoughts. She shot to her feet, grabbed her shawl and flung it around her before hurrying to Alex’s bedchamber. She hesitated outside the closed door, raising her candlestick to illuminate the dark passageway, her heart thumping at the low moans sounding from within the room. She tiptoed forward and opened the door, peering around it.

  ‘No...don’t...no...no...stop...please...no...’

  ‘Alex?’ Her whisper threaded through his heartfelt pleas.

  ‘No...no... No!’

  She jumped at his final yell, her heart clenching at the sob that followed. She shut the door behind her, set the candle on a chest of drawers, then crossed the room to the bed. The blankets and sheet were pushed away, leaving Alex exposed. He lay on his side, shaking, curled into a ball, his arms bent over his face, his hands hooked over the top of his head.

  Uncertainty clutched at Jane’s throat. What should she do? Was it true one should never wake someone from a nightmare? What was happening to Alex in his dreams? She lowered herself on to the bed, swung her legs on to the mattress and then inched closer to him until her hip butted against his back. The entire time Alex emitted low, eerie moans that set the fine hairs on her arms on edge. Slowly, she eased over to face his back and—as he had done with her earlier that night—she nestled her body into his, like spoons in a canteen of cutlery.

  ‘No...no... Mama...stop...no...’

  His cries grew louder and, at the same time, more pitiful.

  ‘Shhh...’ Jane laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right. I’m here.’

  Her whispers were barely audible but, somehow, his trembling lessened and his ragged breathing steadied. She continued to soothe, stroking his arm and his shoulder and then, once he uncurled a little, his sweat-damp hair, as he relaxed and the nightmare loosened its grip. She tugged up the bedcovers and listened to his breathing, until she, too, fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Janey?’ A hand on her shoulder, shaking her. ‘Janey?’

  She stirred. As the voice came again, her eyes flew open. ‘Alex!’

  They were facing one another, in bed, his face close to hers.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  His tousled hair revived the memory of the boy, but his unshaven cheeks and jaw were all man. Heat coiled deep in her stomach as his scent curled through her. Gradually, the events of the night before unravelled in her still-sleepy brain. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

  ‘I heard you cry out. You were having a bad dream. So I... So I...’

  He was so close it was hard to concentrate on what she wanted to say. Warm pressure on her hip alerted her that his hand had moved there and the memory of his kisses sent hot tingles coursing down her spine.

  His lips quirked. ‘So you came to rescue me?’ He pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Thank you, Janey.’

  ‘Alex? What were you...?’

  ‘Shhh...don’t think about last night. Not now.’

  Their gazes fused. His tawny eyes darkened and lowered to her mouth. His hand skimmed up her side...settled at her back, splaying there, holding her still as his lips sought hers in a kiss to melt into. She sighed into his mouth, returning the gentle caress of lips and tongue.

  The sound of the door opening ended the kiss. Alex lifted his head.

  ‘Not now, Drabble.’ Behind her, Jane heard the door click shut. ‘Now. Where were we, Wife?’

  * * *

  Some time later—Jane couldn’t quite swear to how long it had actually been—Alex lifted his head from her breast and smiled at her, a devilish glint in his eye.

  ‘You’re a bad influence, Janey. The carriage is ordered for nine. We’d better get moving if we’re to leave on time.’

  Already glowing, Jane felt a hot blush sweep her entire body until it burned in her cheeks. She felt so restless. She didn’t want to move. She wanted more... Alex had woven such magic with his clever touch and with his lips, tongue and teeth that a hollow, yearning ache had taken up residence between her thighs. His kisses had awakened a fire in her, but she knew he was cautious for her sake. Not once had he attempted to touch her in her most intimate place, the place that was now in such need. Last night, one touch between her legs had sent her into a panic and she was grateful for his continued patience.

  She watched him swing his legs out of the bed and rise. He was stark naked, standing with his back to her, rolling his shoulders back before stretching his arms above his head and she watched, fascinated by the slide of golden skin over flexing muscle and solid bone, the broad shoulders above a narrow waist. He had filled out since the times they had swum together in the lake. Then, he had been a boy. Now, he was definitely all man.

  Her eyes lowered. To his buttocks. Firm and round. Her mouth watered as she recalled touching them, squeezing them. His legs were straight and well shaped, dusted with dark hairs. They were beautiful. Paler than the skin on his back...did that mean he worked shirtless outside at times? Her heart kicked and her pulse raced. Would she ever get used to his chest?

  He turned and her cheeks burned even hotter at being caught ogling her own husband and then scorched at the sight of his erection, standing proud. He grinned at her, totally unembarrassed.

  ‘That was very enjoyable, Janey.’ His smile faded. ‘You will get over what happened, you know, and I will help you. There is no hurry and, in the meantime, you have discovered other pleasant activities we can enjoy, have you not?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jane’s gaze clung to his face as she strove to ignore his chest and everything below his waist. She sat up, rearranging her nightgown and tying the ribbons into prim little bows, pulses of heat still sizzling through her from Alex’s attention to her nipples. Her face scorched even hotter. My, that had been an education! ‘I had better return to my room and dress if we are to leave on time. It won’t do to keep the horses standing too long.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Janey. You love horses as much as I do. We’ll make a good partnership.’

  As declarations went, it was hardly romantic. But she didn’t expect romance. Not from Alex. At least...maybe in time...? She cautioned herself not to hope for too much. Maybe. Maybe not. For now, she must be grateful she was here, with Alex, and not somewhere with Sir Denzil Pikeford. She suppressed a shudder, the events of two days before sending chills racing through her, effectively smothering those leftover frissons of pleasure.

  Alex scooped Jane’s dressing gown from the floor and held it for her. She got up and, as he helped her into her robe, her roaming, random thoughts seemed to crystallise. Her eyes narrowed. She knew Alex of old—he was well practised in avoiding any discussion of subjects he found awkward and uncomfortable. In other words, any subject that threatened to delve too deep into his feelings. He retreated behind his barriers, keeping everyone at a distance, and pretending nothing mattered.

  ‘Alex...?’ She pivoted to face him. ‘Your nightmare... Do you—?’

  ‘Not now, Janey.’ He spun away and crossed the room to tug the bell pull. ‘Drabble and Peg’ll be up with hot water in a minute. We’ll talk later.’

  * * *

  Except they didn’t. First there was breakfast and the goodbyes to the family, who all gathered to wave them off, amid hugs and kisses and promises to see them again soon. Jane’s father was the sole member of her family to come and say goodbye, bringing with him Jane’s beloved satinwood sewing box which had somehow been missed out of her trunk. He put his arms around her and hugged her close. ‘I shall miss you, Jane.’

  Jane hugged him back. ‘I shall miss you, too, Papa.’

  The exchange brought hot tears to her eyes and she ducked her head to hide her emotion, conscious Alex had completed his farewells and waited now to hand her into the carriage. ‘Goodbye, Papa. You will write to me, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will, Jane.’ He patted her
shoulder. ‘Hurry along now. You’ve a long way to travel. God speed.’

  To give the newlyweds some privacy the Duke provided an additional carriage, for Drabble and Peg and the luggage and, as soon as they set off on the journey home to Buckinghamshire, Alex settled back into a corner, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you, Janey? I’m tired as a dog.’

  What could she say?

  * * *

  She had saved her questions for later, but Alex, it seemed, always had a plausible excuse for not delving too deep into the subject of his nightmares. But she knew they still plagued him, even though he reserved separate bedchambers at the inns they stayed in during their four-day journey. On the first night, when she heard him cry out, she went to his room only to find Drabble already there, tending to Alex.

  ‘There is nothing you can do, milady,’ Drabble had whispered as he ushered her away from the door. ‘I am used to tending to him.’

  Drabble had been with Alex for years and, before that, he was a footman in the Duke’s household, since before Alex was born. If anyone knew what demons stalked Alex in his dreams, it was Drabble. All Jane could do was bide her time, until they reached Foxbourne Manor. And even on that—surely innocuous—subject, Alex was less than forthcoming. He fobbed off her questions about her new home, simply telling her to ‘wait and see’.

  The only subject he willingly discussed was his horses and, as it was a shared interest, they whiled away the journey by talking about how Jane could help by schooling some of the Foxbourne youngsters to side-saddle, to make perfect ladies’ mounts. She was grateful for the distraction. Periods of silence inevitably resulted in Pikeford creeping into her brain and fear worming its way through her veins. She battled the memory with quiet determination. She refused to become a woman who trembled at shadows just as she had never allowed her stepmother to destroy her spirit.

  * * *

  Finally, the carriage turned through a wide entrance flanked by massive stone pillars, topped with eagles cast in iron. They followed a carriageway that passed through ancient woodland, in which Jane identified beech, elm and ash trees, before emerging into sunlight and continuing through parkland, much of it divided into paddocks in which horses grazed. Then the carriageway swept to the right and Jane caught her first glimpse of Foxbourne Manor, her new home. Her heart swelled with joy as she took in the many gabled, russet-bricked Tudor manor house, visible over a neatly clipped hedge. Sunlight reflected off the diamond-paned windows of the upper floor and, as the carriage drew to a halt before the front door, Jane turned to Alex in delight.

  ‘I had no idea Foxbourne would be so beautiful! It looks steeped in history. I cannot wait to explore.’

  He grinned at her reaction and hugged her. Other than kissing her—often very thoroughly—he’d barely touched her since their wedding night, telling her he would rather wait until they were home to try again, rather than consummate their marriage in a bed where who knew how many others had slept in the past. She had understood his logic, but the delay had done nothing to quell her nerves whenever she thought about the intimacies to come. She had found pleasure in his touch, but she couldn’t help but be afraid she would freeze again if he touched her between her legs. Yet he must if she was ever to put what happened behind her. She was desperate not to ruin the experience for both of them and strove to hide her increasing fears about the night to come.

  ‘I knew you’d like it, that’s why I didn’t tell you much,’ Alex said. ‘I wanted to see your face when you first saw it. I remember you always loved exploring the Abbey and complained Stowford Place was modern and boring and lacking in character. I only hope you won’t find Foxbourne too old-fashioned, though...it still has much of the original wood panelling and dark beams in some of the ceilings. Or too small. It has only six bedrooms plus a nursery suite—nothing like the size of the Abbey or Stowford.’

  That mention of the nursery suite sent hot and cold flushes rolling in waves through Jane. She wanted children, which meant she must overcome her fear and put aside her distaste for what Pikeford had attempted to do. She loved Alex. He had already proved she could trust him and that he understood how difficult it was for her. He, of anyone, knew how memories of the past could rear up at any time and cast ominous shadows over the present. At least his memories of the past were contained, only visiting him in his sleep—proof, surely, it was possible to suppress horrific events with determination.

  This—marriage to Alex Beauchamp—was her dream come true, even though she would have preferred to win him in a more conventional way. And she would make him happy. Maybe he would never love her, but she had enough love for both of them.

  * * *

  Jane loved everything about Foxbourne Manor, from the minute she walked ahead of Alex into the spacious hall with its gleaming panelling and wooden staircase that rose to a half landing before turning back on itself. Alex had sent word of his nuptials to the Kents, who looked after the house, instructing them to hire in local help to prepare for their arrival, and the house had been cleaned and polished from top to bottom until it gleamed. It was dark, but not a gloomy darkness—it had the warm, glowing richness of well-cared-for and well-loved wood.

  Alex’s pride was clear as he showed Jane around the L-shaped manor: the great hall, now an impressive drawing room, decorated in green and gold; the library, its bookcases crammed with books; the parlour, facing east to catch the morning sun; the dining room, with its polished rosewood table large enough to seat six couples; and Alex’s business room—remarkably tidy and organised and not at all what Jane had expected of the man whose public image tended towards that of a devil-may-care rebel. The kitchen, butler’s pantry, larder, scullery and other offices were housed on the ground floor of the side wing.

  Upstairs, as he had said, were six bedchambers, including a master bedchamber linked via an internal door to a feminine, if a little old-fashioned, bedchamber for the mistress of the house. The side wing housed a nursery suite, with accommodation for children, nursemaid and a governess’s room. The servants occupied the attics, but Mr and Mrs Kent who had, until now, fulfilled the roles of butler-cum-footman and housekeeper-cum-cook, had a separate bedchamber on the first floor, reached via a spiral staircase leading up from the butler’s pantry.

  The Kents and Sally, a housemaid, had been at Foxbourne from the time of Alex’s predecessor. As well as hiring in temporary help to prepare the house for Jane, Alex had also instructed Kent to hire additional permanent staff in the form of a cook, a footman, a kitchen maid and a laundry maid. Alex’s focus had always been on the business and ensuring he had enough grooms to care for and help train his horses, but he’d not once complained or quibbled over the need for a full complement of indoor servants now he was married and Jane couldn’t wait to begin turning Foxbourne into a happy and comfortable home for them both.

  ‘Now you have seen inside, would you care to visit the stable yard?’

  Alex’s attempt at nonchalance was not lost on Jane. What she really wanted, after travelling from nine that morning, was to enjoy a hot cup of tea. But, more than that, she wanted to please her new husband. And he, she could see, was eager to continue her tour of her new home.

  ‘I would love to.’

  * * *

  Alex felt awkward and yet excited in equal measures. Never had he even contemplated sharing Foxbourne with anyone on a permanent basis, yet here he was, married. He suffered no illusions about himself and he’d had no time whatsoever to prepare for this change in his circumstances, but...Jane was his friend. If he had to choose a wife out of all the women he knew, she would always have been the most obvious choice to share his life and, to his surprise, he was more physically attracted to her by the day. How had he never noticed that Jane, the quiet little wallflower, was a flower waiting to burst into bloom?

  He would make Jane happy to the best of his ability. He coul
d offer her happiness, but he couldn’t offer her love. Love meant letting down his guard...allowing another person closer than he’d ever allowed anyone...and the very thought terrified him.

  No. He saved all his love for his horses and now, having shown Jane around the house, he couldn’t wait to show her his real love: the stables, the horses, the schooling paddock where he worked with them.

  He knew, instinctively, she would prefer to rest first and take refreshment, but... And there was his selfish streak. He had much to learn. He’d never had to consider anyone else’s needs other than his own—he wanted to show her the stables and so that is what he had demanded.

  He hauled in a deep breath and smiled ruefully.

  ‘I’m sorry. You would prefer to rest first—I’ll ask Mrs Kent to send a tea tray to the drawing room.’

  ‘No!’ She clutched his sleeve. ‘No. Really. I am longing to see where you work your magic with the horses.’

  And there was the difference between them. Him, selfish. Her, generosity itself. Always eager to please him. It had been the same when they were children. Jane had always given way to Alex’s demands. A niggle of shame prompted him to say, ‘They will still be there in an hour’s time. Come...’ he took her hand and led her to the stairs ‘...we’ll have that cup of tea before we go outside’, and was surprised by the sense of satisfaction he felt at putting her first.

  * * *

  Later, Jane took his arm as they walked the track leading to the barns and stables where Alex spent most of his time when at home. Jane was every bit as enthusiastic as he anticipated—their mutual love of horses had cemented their friendship long ago.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ Jane breathed, as they leant on a post and rail fence and watched an iron-grey filly with a light grey mane and tail float around a paddock at a trot. ‘Was she born here?’