‘Jane,’ he murmured, ‘you are so beautiful.’
Her heart hammered in her chest as his strong hands swept across her face and brow, gently stroking. His gaze dropped to her mouth and instinctively she leaned forward to meet him and claim the kiss she had been waiting for.
The kiss began softly, gently. Time stood still as she lost herself in him, in the flick of his tongue and his hands in her hair and his chest against hers... Now his hands were on her back, gently stroking, driving her to madness. She reciprocated, thrilling to the sensation of his firm back through the thin fabric of his shirt. His scent was all around her—a heady mix of shaving soap and Robert-ness.
She remained nervous, yet knew in her heart that Robert was not Henry.
They paused, both breathing raggedly.
‘Jane,’ he said, ‘there is something I wish to ask you.’
He shuffled across to rest his back on one of the armchairs, keeping her cuddled within the arc of his left arm.
‘I wish to tell you,’ he murmured, ‘that we do not need to consummate this marriage tonight. Given what you suffered when you were seventeen, I am determined to be slow and careful with you.’
A wave of emotion flooded through her.
‘What a wife you have been saddled with! To prepare for disappointment on your wedding night? Outrageous!’
He sat up straight and tilted her chin so she had to look at him. ‘I promise you I am very well satisfied, with both my wife and my wedding night. Why, just look at me! I am seated in comfort before an open fire, with a beautiful woman in my arms and all our lives ahead of us. We have no need to hurry these things.’
‘Then—then it need not be tonight?’ Abruptly, her last remaining nerves vanished, drowned in a wave of disappointment.
But I want this!
‘It will not be tonight. This I promise you. Tonight we shall share yon bed and lie in each other’s arms. I shall wear my shirt, you your nightgown, and we shall sleep like that for as many nights as is required for your fears to quieten.’
‘Truly?’ Her heart was soaring at his generosity, even as her mind was given over to thwarting his plan for restraint. ‘But—but I was always given to believe that a man’s needs could not be denied...particularly when—when temptation is present.’
‘Ah. Well, as to that... My “needs”, as you describe them, are strong indeed. You are the most bewitching woman I have ever beheld. But—’ He took her hand. ‘I am no animal. I must and shall practise self-discipline. To do otherwise would be to force you against your will, and that must never happen.’ He grimaced. ‘It will be a just punishment for the many misdeeds in my life.’
She shook her head in wonder. What a husband I have!
‘And what if I were to tell you that I very much want this to happen tonight?’ she asked.
‘I should be delighted—if sceptical.’ He eyed her keenly. ‘It would require restraint from me, and honesty from you. Will you give me honesty?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Her throat closed with emotion. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled, and kissed her.
* * *
It took just two hours for the marriage between Robert Kendal and Jane Bailey to be consummated. Two delicious, sensuous, thrilling hours.
The groom had combined all his self-restraint with every seduction method in his arsenal, and the bride, when it finally happened, was entirely caught up in desire.
The monster inside her memory, it seemed, had made an exception for Robert.
‘Perhaps it has gone completely,’ Jane wondered aloud.
They had just come together for the third time in this long, wonderful night, and Jane was both pleasantly sore and in awe of the capabilities of the human body—male and female.
She rolled onto her front and propped herself on her elbow, her spare hand tracing his body from shoulder to chest to navel and back again.
He is so beautiful!
‘In all honesty, tonight I care not! It matters only that it does not overtake you in this bed. Our bed.’ His eyes devoured her firelit curves. ‘This night was worth waiting for. All my life I have wished for a connection such as this. I have finally found it with you, my Jane, my wife.’
Jane stilled.
What is he saying? Can he love me a little already? Have courage. Ask him.
She opened her mouth to speak, but found a direct question too much. Instead she murmured, ‘Your wife, yes... But a wife you were compelled to wed.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘As I highlighted on the day you agreed to marry me, we were both equally compelled.’
There was a sudden air of expectancy between them.
Jane looked directly into his eyes.
I know he loves me. I feel it in his touch, see it in his care of me. In the patient seduction he practised tonight. The way he is looking at me this very instant. He tells me with his eyes. With his body. But it is my responsibility to make us both say the words. He has given me so much. This I can give to him...
Chapter Thirty-One
She took a breath, considering which approach to take. ‘So, if we were both compelled, how can we ever know if we wished to marry regardless?’
This startled him, and then he laughed. ‘Ah, Jane, your courage never fails to astound me. Here we both are, dancing around the edges, and then you take us both directly to the heart of the matter.’
His smile faded.
‘I have sensed,’ he began carefully, ‘a certain affinity between us, which for me began the day you threw cake and tea all over me.’
‘I did not!’ she retorted hotly, sitting up. ‘Not one drop nor one crumb came near you!’
He was laughing, and raised himself up to smack a quick kiss on her lips. ‘Yet I could not fail to notice you. I remember hoping that if the mysterious Miss Bailey brought a maid to accompany her on the journey, that maid would be you.’
She smiled, recognising the sincerity in his eyes.
‘And throughout the five days of our journey north I came to know you in a way I have never known anyone else. My uncle’s strategy was a clever one.’
She arched a brow. ‘But would that not have happened with any young woman you spent time with?’
‘Well, no. I am an odd creature—as I am sure you have divined. Generally I prefer my own company, or spending time here with the family. For you not to irritate me even once during five long days was something of a miracle!’
His smile indicated that he was half jesting.
‘For me to argue with landlords and drive farm carts was, however, quite another matter. And when you were overcome in the market—forgive me if the memory distresses you—I was beside myself with worry and outrage. I must always, I believe, aid those in need of assistance, but that day I was driven by something much deeper, much more personal—although at that point I was not ready to look it in the eye.’
He sighed.
‘Our idyll ended when we got here,’ he continued. ‘And yet I recall being anxious that you should love this place, and that the people here should love you. And this was before I knew you were a legitimate granddaughter.’
He frowned.
‘My aunt was, I’m afraid, rather cold towards you at first. It made my blood boil to see it, but I admired your calm equanimity in the face of her rudeness. It spoke of good breeding, and strength of character—further reasons, if I needed any, to deepen my high regard for you.’
His eyes pinned hers.
‘Your demeanour as I have been speaking gives me hope and encouragement, so I shall tell you the last. The evening of the soirée, when I saw you in your finery, I thought you had never looked more beautiful. Yet I had already seen beauty in the rosy cheeks of a serving maid and the courage of a woman determined to deliver a farmer safely home. But it was when you sang that I finally realised I was head over heel
s in love with you.’
In the silence that followed Jane thought her heart might explode, so great was her happiness. ‘You did...? You are...?’
How stupid I must sound.
He nodded, a slight frown appearing as he awaited her response.
She smiled—a smile that built deep in her soul and then radiated out of every part of her.
Never has anyone experienced such perfect happiness.
He returned the smile, his containing relief as well as joy. ‘So you love me?’
She nodded furiously, momentarily unable to speak.
‘Then I shall ask you formally—something I did not do last month. Miss Jane Bailey, will you be my wife? Not because we must, but because I love you.’
She found her voice. ‘Yes! Yes! And not because I must, but because I love you too.’
The kiss that followed was one that neither of them would ever forget.
And outside, on a perfect day, dawn was breaking. In the early-morning light a robin flew past, a twig in its beak. Spring was here and there was much to be done...
Epilogue
Mr and Mrs Kendal were, it was widely agreed, the most delightful young couple in the district. Following many years during which their house had been closed to parties and balls and picnics, local society was delighted to discover that the doors of Beechmount Hall had been opened once more.
Once the year of mourning for her grandfather was properly observed, young Mrs Kendal became the most engaging, the most welcoming, and the warmest hostess in the West Riding. She and her adoring husband were welcomed everywhere, and even after their children came along—first little Edward and then, two years later, his sister Marianne—the Kendals maintained their habit of warm hospitality.
Their musical nights, in particular, became well established in the local calendar, as Mrs Kendal—who was learning to play the piano—had the most delightful singing voice. Mr Kendal, it was noted, seemed happy and contented, and less serious than he had been as a younger man. He laughed often, adored his children, and was continuing to do an excellent job as master of Beechmount Hall.
The couple treated their servants and their tenants with great generosity, and were open about the fact that Mrs Kendal had herself spent some years in service, due to an estrangement in the family. Her mother, a retired housekeeper, lived in the east wing of Beechmount Hall, and had forged a firm friendship with Mr Kendal’s mother.
Their friends Lord and Lady Kingswood, along with their children, came to visit at least once a year, and the Kendals frequently returned the favour, visiting Ledbury House as often as they could manage.
On one such visit, well after midnight, Jane and Robert were lying in their dishevelled bed, satisfyingly tired after their recent exertions, when Jane was moved to comment on how strange it was.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Robert, idly caressing her shoulder, trailing his fingers gently down her arm and back again.
‘Every time I come here I remember my life as a maid and how I would worry about my life.’
His forehead furrowed. ‘What worries, my love?’
She gave a half-smile. ‘At the heart of it I lacked constancy. I lost my papa, and my home, and then I was without a home again when we left Miss Marianne’s so abruptly. I felt like—like a tree trying to root itself in quicksand.’
‘How things have changed,’ he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her softly. ‘Beechmount Hall is rooted in granite, not sand.’
He trailed kisses along her cheek towards her ear, but she forestalled him by turning her head and capturing his mouth.
They kissed long and lingeringly, until she broke off to add, ‘That is not what I have learned, though. It is not Beechmount Hall that has quieted my worries. It is you. And us. And the children. Yes, the place is important. But it is the thing between us that makes it home.’
‘Love?’ he said gently.
She nodded. ‘Love.’
* * *
If you enjoyed this book, why not check out
these other great reads by
Catherine Tinley
The Earl’s Runaway Governess
And be sure to read
The Chadcombe Marriage series
Waltzing with the Earl
The Captain’s Disgraced Lady
The Makings of a Lady
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Rescued by the Viscount’s Ring
by Carol Arens
Chapter One
New York Harbour—December 1889
Madeline Macooish was not one to use ugly language, even under her breath. Which did not mean she did not think of colourful words on occasion—on this occasion, to be precise.
No matter how she tried to outwit Bertrand Fenster, she could not. He trailed her like a pesky fly or a bad odour. Like a bout of hiccups that returned time after time.
Like a suitor intent on acquiring her grandfather’s fortune, which, of course, was exactly what he was. She ought to have known better than to be led astray—far astray—by the deceitful smile of a scoundrel.
Feeling his greedy gaze on her back, she spun about, glare at the ready.
All she saw were masts bobbing at anchor, along with red funnels spewing smoke and steam towards the mass of grey clouds stretching from the mouth of the Hudson to the eastern horizon.
Oh, but he was here. She’d felt his lurking presence on and off ever since she parted company with him in Chicago a few months ago.
She ought to be used to it by now, to not feel threatened by his secretive pursuit, but she would feel more at ease with an ocean between them.
Truly, what sort of false-hearted cad continued to trail his prey even when she had informed him, from the very beginning, no less, that she was no longer entitled to a fortune? Indeed, she had made it clear that in running off with him she had forfeited any money Grandfather would have given her.
And not because he would cut her off. No—he would never do that—but because she had betrayed him by running away and did not deserve one cent from that dear man.
Sadly, for all that she considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, she had fallen under the spell of the hoodwinker’s charm, had believed him to be sincere when he vowed his eternal devotion.
It was her own fault that she was in this situation. Had she been more level-headed she would not have run off, but married the man Grandfather had intended her to. That union would not have been the love match she had always dreamed of, but neither would she have been missing her family as desperately as she did now.
She had to conclude that love was blind, as the saying went. However, looking back on things, she now realised it had not been love she had felt, but rather infatuation.
Luckily she had come to learn that Bertrand was a bit dim in spite of his winning facade and handsome face.
The deep bellow of a ship’s horn thrummed over the harbour. Another answered.
Straightening her shoulders, Madeline gathered her smile and approached the ticket office. It was time to sail for Liverpool.
She had worked hard at odd jobs to earn the fare and had exactly enough money for a steerage ticket, but no more.
‘Good day,’ she said to the ticket master standing behind the window. ‘I’d like to book passage on the first ship going to Liverpool.’
‘That would be the Edwina, at dock right there across the road.’ He nodded towards the large, modern-looking vessel. ‘She’s sailing on the hour.’
Truly, that was rather perfect. It was unlikely that
Bertrand would have time to follow her even if he did have the funds to do so.
‘Oh, that will do nicely.’
‘Will that be steerage, miss?’
Her plain but clean gown should have made that obvious. In the past when she had travelled with Grandfather her frilly gowns made it clear that she travelled first class, no matter the mode of transportation. This was bound to be a far different trip than any she had taken before.
She nodded, smiling. She was going to find Grandfather, to beg his forgiveness for what she had done to him. If need be, she would cross the ocean, sleeping on the deck. She missed him more than she could ever have imagined.
‘That will be thirty dollars.’
That much? Madeline gulped past the tight button on her collar. She withdrew the money from her purse, counted it out to the ticket master, knowing it would be two dollars short.
‘Oh, dear.’ She blinked at him, pressed her lips into a tight circle. ‘I must have lost... Oh, I was certain I had the full fare only an hour ago.’
‘There’s the Sea Minnow sailing next week. She’s a smaller vessel, but seaworthy. Her fare is only twenty-five.’
‘Oh, but my situation is urgent.’ She glanced over her shoulder, spotted Bertrand emerging from behind a stack of crates. ‘Is there perhaps something cheaper than steerage on the Edwina?’
‘I’m sorry, miss.’ He shook his head. She believed he did regret having to turn her away. He had a kind face and rather reminded her of Grandfather.
‘Sir, I can’t look back, but is there a tall, slim gentleman approaching?’
‘A dashing-looking fellow with a bit of a swagger to his walk?’
‘He’s not a bit dashing, but, yes, that is him. His attentions towards me are not welcome.’ Oh, good. The ticket master was frowning past her shoulder. ‘I must get to my grandfather.’
Rags-to-Riches Wife Page 26