by Liz Tyner
‘I won’t want to wish it away,’ she said. ‘I’ll hold the memory for ever. It will give me something to treasure of the ordeal we’ve been through. Something to save in my heart. To have that, I need to hold you.’
He put an arm around her waist. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Very.’
Taking her hand, he led her to the doorway of her room. Outside, he released her, and opened the door. She went inside, then turned to him, clasping his fingertips, and led him into the room.
Her hand worked of its own accord, touching his cravat. Silk. She’d known it would be. Soft.
Suddenly, she wanted to touch all the tender parts of him. She asked permission with her eyes and he gave it by stepping closer and holding her waist.
His kiss stopped her plans, or enhanced them. She wasn’t sure which and didn’t care. She only cared that he continue.
Running his hands up her back and then down, he brought her closer and increased the temperature inside her. Desire bloomed, causing her to feel engulfed by the sensations he created and unable to resist her body’s request for more.
She pulled back, but only enough so she could skim her fingers over his jaw, feeling the roughness and the change in texture when she found the softness of his lips.
He clasped her neck, his thumb lingering at her jawline, tracing the texture of her skin and infusing her with the strength she could feel through the light touch.
Hands, soft, but strong, clasped both sides of her face and, this time, the kiss took all of her, surrounding her with an intensity she didn’t know existed.
Lips, warm and wet, kept hers, his tongue dipping inside for a taste, and she held on, awash with new sensations, her senses immersing her in feelings she didn’t want to resurface from, but to go only deeper.
Then he stopped and the world around her appeared again, but she was lost, half in it, half remaining in the place his lips had taken her.
He clasped both her hands in his, intertwining fingers, but his eyes held her even more solidly, bringing his face into focus.
‘You pull my heart closer and not with words,’ he said. ‘I can see gentleness in you. No guile. Nothing but you.’
‘I may be misleading you, if you think that I can take the place of Susanna, or anyone else you’ve had in your life. The children come first with me and I have to go back to them.’
‘I understand. Today, it’s enough to be in the same room with you again, alone, and feel the connection of your heart beating against mine.’
She rested her head against his neck, breathing in the scent of crisp linen and warm maleness.
It wasn’t enough just to be in the same room with him. She wanted to hug him tighter, hold him closer and become a part of him. She wanted a moment she would never forget in this fairy-tale room with its dream of a happy ending emblazoned on everything inside it.
She stepped away, holding his hand in both of hers. ‘I’ll never forget you and I don’t want you to ever forget me.’
‘You have nothing to worry about. I won’t.’ He covered the distance between them, bringing them back into an embrace. He murmured, his face against her hair, ‘Our first night together in the old cottage ensured that. This night means I’ll reflect on you with longing for ever. You’ll be the memory that keeps my heart beating.’
She burrowed into him until he clasped her chin and watched her briefly, before he said. ‘One last time.’
The kiss could never be the last kiss. He swept her into it, holding her, lifting her to her tiptoes, and she didn’t know how she could bear not holding him close.
‘Stay with me.’
She replied with an answering kiss.
He slipped aside the shoulder of her gown, trailing kisses from her neck to her collarbone, kissing each trace of skin slowly unveiled.
She attempted to loosen his cravat, clenched her fingers just as he nuzzled her ear and pulled the loop, making it knot.
Instantly, she realised what she’d done and stepped away, but he smiled and his long fingers undid the damage in seconds, his coat, waistcoat and shirt seeming to fall away with the cravat.
He lifted her to the counterpane, under the roses, and undressed her with care, as if holding a butterfly and he could not risk damaging its wings.
When they embraced again, skin against skin, savouring the sensations, he didn’t hurry, but took his time, as if he wanted to make their time together last until the end of the world.
Touching the ringlet of her hair that had loosened, letting it slide through his fingers, he said, ‘This is the pinnacle of my life, holding you.’
He buried his face in her neck, moving enough to increase the sensations caused by skin caressing skin. ‘I can’t release in you,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t risk changing your life because I want to make love to you. I want you to have no regrets of any kind.’
His hands traced her silhouette, swirling over each curve, interweaving their bodies into one being.
He rested his hand on her hip, his lips remaining near hers, tasting, tingling and savouring her.
Hugging her tight, he rose above her, observing her, before his mouth took over again, and he trailed down her body, kissing her breasts, their peaks and their softness.
He took her hand and held her palm against his face, breath heating her skin, guiding her to experience his jawline, his neck, his chest, and letting the friction of his hair tingle against her.
She caressed him with a sense of freedom, as if touching an artist’s perfect sculpture.
When he rose above her, the second when their gazes locked was the deepest connection she’d ever had. An impassioned statement, from deep within, of their unity.
He gently moved closer, taking his time, easing into her and taking them into oneness.
Thrusting softly, he watched her, aware of nothing else in the world but their togetherness and her reactions. He wanted to give her a release she would remember for ever, and nothing meant more to him.
When her eyes closed and she clenched around him, he savoured the moment and his body reacted. Instantly, he pulled away.
He clasped her, holding on to the moment of love.
When the tempest of emotions calmed inside him, he saw her half-opened eyes and kissed her forehead.
Lying beside her, he thought of how cautious he’d been when he’d tried to make certain she wouldn’t have a child.
And all he could think about was how precious a child of Miranda’s would be and how he would like to hold it, hear the sound of the babe’s mother’s laughter as the infant did what he was certain her child would do. What she’d predicted.
In that instant, he could see the image of togetherness and family stronger than any he’d ever felt and he yearned for that bond.
Only it wouldn’t be their child or their togetherness. It would be other children with another man. He would be a world away.
He took her slender fingers and kissed her palm.
He mourned for what he would never have with her. He tried to feel pleased for putting her feelings before his own and pushed away the part of him that was the child inside that wanted Miranda to see nothing in the world but him.
* * *
Miranda awoke in the morning, with the memory of Chalgrove kissing her goodnight.
Now a maid knocked. As Miranda called for the woman to enter, she glanced around the room. Nothing had changed. The roses were all in place. The room no different.
‘Her Grace has finished her morning meal and would like to speak with you.’ The maid stood at the entrance. ‘I will wait.’
‘Of course.’ Miranda rose, dressed and followed the maid.
In the Duchess’s room, the older woman sat, another maid rubbing a rose-scented cream into her feet.
Miranda took the delicate curved-back chair, unsure why she’d b
een summoned.
‘Some day a man will invent one of these...’ the Duchess waved a hand to the looking glass ‘...which shows a woman only what she wishes to see in her reflection. And the man will become very wealthy.’ She turned away from Miranda and chortled softly. ‘But until then I will make sure never to stand in front of one in strong light.’
The Duchess moved around until she sat with her back to the mirror. ‘Dear. I have some good news of Chalgrove’s courtship. While the two of you were away yesterday, I worked on it. I suspected that after you saw the children, you’d not return.’ She lifted a brow. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’
‘I care for them greatly, but...’
‘Well, that gives me a chance to give you the good news. I’ve found a bride for Chal.’
Miranda put a pleased smile on her face and leaned forward. ‘Oh, Your Grace, how wonderful,’ she spoke swiftly, certain she did not want to hear of the Duchess’s search for a daughter-in-law.
‘Oh, sit down.’ The Duchess waved a hand to the chair, exasperation in her voice. ‘Nothing can be more important than Chalgrove’s marriage. Even catching these cut-throats who so unjustly took his freedom is not as important as his having an heir.’
‘Chalgrove’s marriage?’ Miranda felt a churn in her world and she felt her heart thumping, then it was as if it melted away and left an aching emptiness.
‘Yes.’ The Duchess tapped her jaw and a maid uncorked a bottle and then dotted some scent on her mistress.
‘I let that doxy, Susanna, into my house and served her tea. The best tea—which she was obviously not worth. If not for her, Chalgrove would have fallen in love with someone suitable long before now. She jaded him.’
Miranda stood, wanting to comfort the woman, but wanting more to leave the room. ‘You can’t blame yourself for whom he loved.’
‘He did not love her. I am sure of that.’ The Duchess’s eyes sparkled with ire. ‘Although he might conjure up the idea of himself in love with her. She...’ The Duchess sighed. ‘She had—Never mind. It’s over and done, and I blame myself.’
Miranda took a small step towards the door. ‘You really can’t blame yourself at all.’
‘Don’t leave,’ the Duchess commanded, standing. ‘You’ve spoken with Chalgrove under unfortunate circumstances. Did he mention any regrets at being unmarried?’
Miranda stopped. ‘No.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ She moved closer, taking Miranda’s arm and waving her to the wardrobe. ‘He appears able to find women willing to share their time with him. But yesterday I spoke with someone about this new woman and she will be perfect.’ She held a blue dress and raised it for Miranda’s perusal. ‘A sweet young woman with impeccable family history and even though I’ve not seen her, I’ve seen a portrait. I’ve sent for her and she should arrive in London today.’
Picking at a thread on the gown, she continued speaking. ‘Dear, the dark colours you wear do suit you, but something like this would really enhance your complexion better.’
‘My dresses are serviceable. Suitable for caring for the children.’
‘I suppose.’ She left the wardrobe door open as she took a step away from it.
The Duchess examined Miranda’s face. ‘Your skin is flawless. Hair needs work, though, but nothing beyond Bessie’s skills.’
Something flashed across the Duchess’s eyes, but Miranda wasn’t sure what to make of it.
‘I knew your mother—the one who took you in, before she married your father and moved to the country. Very reserved. Timid. She was the age of my younger sister.’
‘Yes.’ Miranda nodded, chin erect. ‘To lose her was the worst thing of my life. Much worse than anything else.’
‘I would imagine. She surely had great expectations for you.’
‘I think she would have been pleased by my choice to be a governess. I know she would have.’
The Duchess huffed. ‘Oh, I think she would have wanted you to have children, a family. The normal desires of a mother for her daughter. I rather did like her, even if she hardly spoke.’
‘She’d accept my unmarried state. She understood marriage doesn’t always bring what one expects.’
The Duchess studied Miranda. ‘Of course it doesn’t, dear Miranda. Romantic love is a sham and has probably destroyed more marriages than it created. It’s nothing more than a gauze draping over one’s eyes to keep truth filtered out. Have you ever been embroiled in romantic love?’
‘I believe as you do,’ Miranda spoke simply. ‘Romantic love is...unnecessary.’ In that statement’s aftermath inside her, she wondered if she lied.
‘Well, you do have the life of a wife, almost, without the husband. A family around you and a man left to his own devices.’
The Duchess smiled, and looked at the blue dress still in her hands. ‘I did, of course, love my husband dearly. Not romantically at first, but realistically, and I liked him. He could irritate me more than anyone else in the world and he could make me laugh for hours. I’ll always miss those days we shared. I’ve considered searching out a new husband, or pretending to. But first I need to get Chalgrove settled.
The Duchess continued speaking, her gaze now on Miranda. ‘Your company pleases me and you have pleasant features, which with my help could be improved upon. A woman of beauty should not have to work—her beauty should work for her.’ She waved her hand, flicking the words in Miranda’s direction. ‘Dear. You could learn so much from me.’ The older woman shut her eyes, gave a negative shudder of her head and leaned back. ‘Are you returning to be with the children?’
‘Of course. Dolly and Willie are important. They have been my life and I cannot let them go.’
The Duchess opened her eyes. ‘I certainly understand that.’ She moved and the maid at her hand followed her as if they were one, never raising her eyes. Then she stood, got a handkerchief and blotted the Duchess’s brow, and moved to the other side.
The Duchess pointed one ringed finger at Miranda. ‘I had been worried that your employer might sack you, assuming the worst. And I searched my mind for another job for you. I know a woman who needs a companion. If you were to need employment, please see me. I would not want you to live with your stepmother, although I am sure I saw her on a bad day.’
‘That is gracious of you.’ Let her fashion the truth she wished for, but she’d not seen her stepmother on a bad day. The offer of employment was kind, however.
The Duchess’s face scrunched, then she forced her eyes wide again and her countenance bland. ‘Face cream,’ she called out, tossed the garment to the bed and moved to her chair, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes. A maid grabbed a pot and smoothed a dollop of a clear mixture at the edges of her mistress’s eyes. The Duchess sat straight again and gave a pat under her chin.
‘I want you to see the woman I’ve picked for Chalgrove. She’s now in London and I’d like your opinion of her. You seem sensible enough.’
The last thing in the world she wanted to do, even less than she wanted to live in her father’s house, was to meet the woman picked for Chalgrove. She could not do it. She could not. ‘I should be here in case news arrives from the magistrate.’
‘We’ll only be gone a short time. Two eyes are sharper than one. Four eyes are even sharper than two. You’ll go with me. It will be a lark. Please wait for me in the library. Chal’s there. Just ignore him.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Miranda noticed the skilled needlework on the arm covers and matching scarf over the back of the armchair in the library. The furnishings didn’t appear as severe as she recalled. The absence of a constable helped.
The air in the room alerted her to the fact of it being a masculine domain. She didn’t think Chalgrove smoked, but the hint of tobacco lingered and mixed with the bold scents of a man’s daily life within walls.
Then her view locked
on Chalgrove.
‘I wanted to let you know the constable has informed me that the culprit’s camp has been located.’ He spoke ever so properly. Ever so formally.
Miranda could feel the sensation of claws coming closer, taking her world from her.
Chalgrove poured them both a glass of wine. Their fingers touched when she took the glass.
She saw the wavering of the liquid, took a sip and quickly sat the glass on the table.
This time, Chalgrove shut the door with a click and, as the sound reached her ears, she swayed towards him.
The window light softened the room, but Chalgrove’s presence added a blast of life she’d never felt before.
He moved close and she raised her face, and his kiss caught her lips. ‘I’ve missed you. Our making love. I can’t stop remembering it.’
‘But you mustn’t think about it,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t.’
She faced Chalgrove and put her hands behind her back, stilling them. ‘We must forget. Everything.’
His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t comment on the movement. ‘I could tell myself that all day and it wouldn’t change.’
‘It’s the only way I can continue.’
His eyes tightened. He walked to the window, and then returned to stand in front of her.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Then you need to know that after the old woman’s camp was found, she slipped away. The constable continued after her and found word of a group who’ve been staying not too far away. The woman has to rest one place or the other. We’ll keep giving them surprise visits until we find her.’
‘But...’ she swallowed ‘...I don’t want to see her hanged or in the madhouse. Can she not be left free?’
Chalgrove frowned at the request.
Miranda turned her face from his, hiding the anguish plunging into her. ‘You know how horrible things could be for her.’
‘She should be punished. Abducting you. Her granddaughter. Taken by ruffians. Thrown into a room with an unknown man. We cannot let this happen to another woman. Miranda, you’re a child in the ways of the world. So much worse could have happened.’
