by Diane Gaston
He stared ahead, and she was unsure if he’d even heard her. Finally he spoke. “What do you know about my reason to come to Rappard Hall ten years ago?”
That question was a surprise. “I know all of it. Mr. Deane told me.”
“Deane?” His brows rose.
Shortly after Mr. Deane purchased the farm, she’d encountered him in the village. They’d walked back together. “I had an opportunity to speak with him once. He told me about the war and explained that you blamed one of my cousin’s odious friends for your father’s death and an attack on your mother. He told me you followed the man here to get your revenge.”
Claude’s expression turned bleak. “I came to murder Edwin Tranville. I cared for nothing else.”
She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Deane explained it all to me. He wanted me to know why, so I would not think badly of you.”
“You knew I was a murderer?”
She gave him a serious look. “You didn’t murder Tranville. Have you killed someone else?”
He appeared affronted. “Of course not.”
“Then I think it is wrong of you to call yourself a murderer.” To Louisa, he was a hero.
“Louisa, you do not understand. I connived to get the job in the stable—”
She broke in. “Mr. Sellars said you were the best worker he’d ever had.”
He waved a hand. “That is not the point. I deceived him. And I used you. I escorted you to the house to learn where to enter it and in which room I might find Tranville.”
Even if he had taken advantage of her company, the essence of their relationship contained so much more than that. Their relationship had been something powerful, something precious. It had been as if they were kindred spirits, always destined to complete each other, even if their lives touched only for a moment.
She’d felt attuned to Claude’s emotions then as she did now. She’d known something sinister had been eating away at Claude then, just as she’d known something caused him to withdraw from her this day.
There was only one piece of the puzzle missing. “Why did you not kill him, Claude?”
“Not for any ethical reason, I assure you,” he responded. “I…I could not bear the thought that you would see…see his body and you would know I had done that to him.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “For me you did not kill him?”
He made a dismissive gesture. “Well, yes, and, of course, I heard you scream.”
That night had been full of violence. At the same moment Claude had entered Tranville’s room, another of George’s horrid friends had broken into Louisa’s room and forced himself on her.
“You rescued me, Claude.”
He laughed derisively. “Hardly.”
The man had almost killed Claude for it. Until Mr. Deane arrived to stop it.
When Mr. Deane took Claude away that night, Louisa thought she would never see him again. Her throat tightened with the memory of how bereft she’d been.
She raised her voice. “Let us speak no more of that night. I said then that you were my hero and my good friend. My mind is unchanged.”
“But—” he began.
“No more, Claude,” she begged. “Let us simply enjoy the day and each other’s company, like we did before.”
They rode on to the stream and sat on the bank while the horses quenched their thirst and nibbled on grass. The tension in his eyes eased and he seemed to relax a little. To Louisa time seemed suspended, as if she were in a glass globe separate from other people and other cares.
She stole a glance at him.
Emotions ran deep inside him. She could see it in his piercing blue eyes, in the tautness of his muscles, in his dark, unruly hair. Her eyes could never get enough of him, his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his muscular legs.
She thrilled at being aware of his body like this, so aware it was akin to touching him. More than anything she wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel his warm bare skin against her own.
She forced her gaze away, but, even then, she felt him near her, heard his every breath and felt more alive because of his mere presence.
He turned to her and her senses leapt. “It is your turn, Louisa. I know nothing of your life these eleven years.”
She could almost hear her glass globe cracking and the water spilling out.
“Things are almost as they always were.” The word almost, however, contained all the meaning. “Lord and Lady Rappard died not long ago, and my cousin George inherited.”
“And you stayed at Rappard Hall? I confess I never envisioned you remaining there.”
She cleared her throat and saw shards of glass raining down upon her. “I will not remain at the Hall much longer.” She paused. “You see, I am to be married.”
Chapter Three
Married?
Claude felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Who is the man?”
Her face lost all expression, as if she was determined not to feel any emotion. “Mr. Wilden from Yorkshire.” She took a breath. “He is a widower, childless, a gentleman of good birth, owner of a nice property with a good income. It is in the country near a village much like ours.”
Claude wanted to protest, to say she must not marry, but what right had he to say such a thing?
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “It is a good match for me.”
“You are happy about this marriage?” He tried to sound calm.
Her head snapped up and her expression was desolate. “Happy? I cannot think of happiness. I will be secure. I must be satisfied with that.”
Claude might not deserve happiness, but he could not bear to think of Louisa being denied it.
She stood and wrapped her arms around herself. “I ought not to sound so churlish. Mr. Wilden is a good man and he offers me my own house to run. It is more than I ever hoped for.” Gazing over at the horses now munching on a patch of grass, she sighed. “It is just that I feel such disquiet lately….”
A feeling with which Claude was quite familiar. A legacy of Badajoz, he’d always thought.
“When do you marry?” How much time would he have with her, he meant.
She inhaled a deep breath. “The first banns are to be read on Sunday, so it is four weeks until the wedding.”
Four weeks. No time at all.
She sat down again, clasping her hands around bent knees. “Let us talk of it no more. Fill my mind with all the wonderful things you have done and will do next. Where do you go after this visit to your mother? Back to Tennessee?”
He shook his head. “I will not go back there.”
He closed his eyes and saw again the fields, lines of slaves tending crops. At least he’d been free to leave.
She made an effort to smile. “To France then?”
“Perhaps.”
France was beginning to rebuild her horse breeding programs. There might be opportunity there. Perhaps the French had even put the war behind them.
He shrugged. “In truth, I have not thought beyond a trip to Ascot. I should like to see an English horse race.” He was also to meet a man at Ascot who wished to see his horses.
“Ascot.” She sighed. “It has been an age since I watched a horse race. I used to sneak in to the races sometimes. I’d borrow boy’s clothes, and not even my father noticed I was there.”
He looked at her in surprise. “In Newmarket?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I remember how very exciting it was. All the lovely horses.” She paled. “I do not suppose I shall ever see another one.”
“Will your husband not take you to horse races?” he asked.
She blew out a breath. “He is a very sober gentleman. I do not know if he will even approve of me riding.”
Louisa unable to ride? Unfathomable. “Surely he will allow you to keep a horse of your own?”
She gave a wan smile. “Perhaps. At least he is prosperous enough to keep a horse for me.”
It sickened Claude that her husband might not indulge her every desi
re. He certainly would. “How did you meet this man?”
“My cousin George brought him to meet me. He spent two days at Rappard Hall.”
He shook his head in dismay. “You have known him only two days? Louisa, why are you marrying a man you have only known two days?”
She lifted her chin. “Because I need to. Because I am no longer welcome at Rappard Hall—”
“Your cousin is banishing you?” This was an outrage!
“He is not!” she shot back. “At least, it is not quite that bad. He is married now, and his new wife prefers to be the mistress of her own house. Which is as it should be. If I stayed, there would be nothing for me to do.”
The previous Lady Rappard had depended on Louisa to do everything, Claude remembered. She handled the servants, planned the menus. Everything.
She went on. “My cousin George and his wife cared enough to find a husband for me. I am grateful to them for that.” Her voice sounded defensive. “My situation will be much the same as at Rappard Hall, only it will be my house…and…and I will have the say of running it.”
Claude’s insides twisted, because he knew she would also share her husband’s bed.
He could not form another comment. Instead he stared out at the pristine beauty of the stream tumbling over rocks.
Finally she spoke. “When are the races at Ascot?”
“In a week’s time.”
He ought to have known that his time with her would be achingly brief. They’d always been fated to part from each other.
She released a long sigh and glanced toward the dipping sun. “I suppose I should go back.”
Claude stood and reached out a hand to help her up. As he pulled her to her feet she put her arms around him and held him tight. Her body was flush with his and every curve made his senses flare. He hungered for more of her, a taste of her lips, the feel of his fingers on her warm skin. He held her close, controlling his desires, trying to accept that merely holding her was more than he had a right to expect.
“I am so glad you returned here, Claude. I will have much to remember now.” Finally she loosened her embrace and glanced up at him. Her face was pale, and her warm brown eyes searched his face as if she were memorizing every feature.
They returned to the horses and rode slowly back to Rappard Hall, while his very soul ached with the fear that this would be their final goodbye. They did not speak until reaching the ridge where they would have to part. Dismounting, she embraced Claude once more.
But this time he sensed a change in her, a growing strength, an intensifying determination.
She pulled away abruptly and looked him directly in the eye. “Will you do something for me, Claude?” Her expression was unflinching. “If I ask you, will you do something for me?”
“Of course,” he rasped. “Anything.”
Her voice turned low and resolute. “Give me one last adventure. Take me with you to Ascot.”
Chapter Four
Two days later Louisa sat in a public coach bound for Manchester, where Claude would meet her with the horses. They would ride to Ascot. Three glorious days on horseback.
She’d informed the servants at Rappard Hall that she would be visiting an old school friend with whom she corresponded. Her cousin George and his wife, who remained in London, would not even know she was gone.
Already the trip seemed like an adventure!
The coach slowed to a crawl. Could it not go faster? She leaned out the window to see what caused the slowdown. A farm wagon lumbered ahead of them. At this rate she would never reach Manchester!
And Claude.
When the factory chimneys of the town finally came into view, Louisa gripped the handle of the basket she carried, hardly able to remain in her seat.
Eventually the coach crossed under an archway into the yard of the Bridgewater Arms and came to a stop. The door of the coach opened and she and the other passengers disembarked.
Louisa looked about for Claude.
He emerged from the shadows.
“Miss Finch?” He doffed his cap like the stable lad he’d once been. He did not meet her eye. “I’ll carry your basket, miss.”
If someone happened to know her, they would not question a servant coming to meet her, but was there ever such a servant as Claude?
Her portmanteau was tossed from the coach’s roof. Claude caught it and inclined his head. “We go this way.”
She followed him out of the yard and down to the end of the street, where he turned and smiled at her.
Butterflies fluttered inside her. Every inch of her flesh tingled merely by being near him.
“How do you fare, Louisa?”
She skipped to his side and took his arm. “I am splendid!”
He gazed down and searched her face. “No regrets? You still wish to do this?”
She held his arm closer so that her body brushed against his. Her senses throbbed with desire for him. “More than ever, Claude.”
His expression conveyed less certainty, but he went on. “I found an inn three blocks from here. The horses are stabled and fed. We can dine there. I believe you must be hungry.”
“Famished!”
She thrilled with the pleasure of walking with him the rest of the way to the inn. They entered and he escorted her to her room, already arranged and conveniently located next to his. Louisa changed out of her travelling dress and soon was seated across from him in the inn’s public room eating a fine dinner.
In the low, warm lamplight Claude’s dark good looks made him appear like a dangerous rogue. It was tremendously exciting to be in his company.
She was almost too exhilarated to converse. “How did you explain to your mother and Mr. Deane about bringing a lady’s saddle with you?” she managed.
He shrugged. “I said I wished to show the horse to a lady. They believe I am looking for a position with a breeder.” She loved his voice, so low and manly and uniquely accented.
“Are you looking for a position here?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to travel to some faraway place.”
“I am not looking for a position.” He stabbed a potato on his plate. “I merely wish to show this breeder my horses.”
“Will you sell your horses? I thought you gave them to your mother.”
“I did.” He chewed the potato and swallowed. “The breeder is interested in procuring some American horses to expand his stables. If he likes my horses, I can advise him which Americans breed horses most like them.” He put a piece of meat into his mouth.
She enjoyed watching him eat. She’d never noticed a man eat before. It was tremendously sensuous, she thought. At the same time, she felt impatient for the meal to be over. She asked him more questions about American horses to make the time go faster.
When their meal was finally finished, Claude escorted her back to her room.
“Do you need a maid to attend you?” he asked at her threshold.
“No.” She’d made certain to bring clothing and corsetry that she could manage herself.
He gazed down at her and the butterflies returned. Very gently he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Her muscles melted at his touch.
“Good night, then,” he murmured.
He stepped back and waited until she closed the door. Louisa immediately put her ear to the door, listening to him enter his room. Touching her cheek, she took a deep breath and hurried to undress. She washed, brushed out her hair and donned her sheer muslin night-dress. She wrapped her robe around her and mustered some courage.
This would be, perhaps, the most daring part of her escapade, but she’d thought it through very carefully.
Who would it hurt? Certainly not Mr. Wilden, who would never know.
She knew she was fortunate that Mr. Wilden wished to marry her, even if her value to him lay primarily in her ability to run his house and manage his servants. His heart was no more engaged than hers was, however. Would it be so terrible of her to grasp this one chance at real passion, her only
chance with Claude?
She’d decided she must, although her hands shook and her knees trembled.
She left her room and rapped lightly at Claude’s door.
He opened it, clad only in his shirt and trousers.
“Louisa?” His eyes flicked over her dishabille. “Is anything amiss?”
She took a breath, and tried to convince herself her actions were the right ones. “Nothing amiss. May I come in?”
Looking puzzled, he inclined his head and stepped aside. “What is it then?”
She entered the room and faced him. “I…I want to ask you to do something else for me. I need for you to do it, actually.”
His eyebrows knitted. “Of course. Anything.”
Wrapping her robe tightly around her, she closed the door behind her.
“Take me to bed, Claude.” Her voice wobbled. “Make love to me.”
Chapter Five
Claude’s senses flared at her words and at the sight of her, hair tumbled over her shoulders, the outline of her body evident from the clinging fabric of her robe.
He forced himself to remain in control, although blood was already racing through his veins. “You cannot mean this, Louisa.”
She stepped forwards, loosening the belt of her robe. “I do mean this. I have carefully considered it—”
He covered her hands with his to keep her from removing her robe. “Louisa.”
She looked up at him. “I am entirely serious, Claude. I want this more than anything.” Wariness mingled with raw desire in her eyes. “Do you not want me?”
Involuntarily he pulled her closer. “Of course I want you. But I vowed I would not take advantage of you. I will not make love to you.”
Her lips trembled. “Why not?”
He stepped back and dropped his hands. “Is it not obvious? You are about to be married. To bed another man could ruin that for you.”
“But it won’t.” She spoke excitedly. “I have thought this through. I once overheard the maids talking about how to fool a man into thinking you were a virgin. I know what to do, so it cannot matter. He will never know.”