THE LEGEND OF NIMWAY HALL: 1750 - JACQUELINE

by Stephanie Laurens

  Wallace read the truth of that threat in Richard’s eyes. Slowly, Wallace’s face set. Then he sat up, clearly intending to get to his feet.

  Instantly, the Hall men tensed, bristling.

  Wallace froze, then slowly subsided. In a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “The deed’s in my lockbox.”

  “Which is where?” Richard asked.

  “In the study,” Wallace sullenly replied.

  “Excellent. You and I will repair there, and while you’re executing the transfer, which, of course, must be done formally, I’ll take sworn statements from your staff and all others in the house to the effect that Miss Tregarth took no harm whatsoever while she traveled in your coach and during the few short minutes she was alone with you here, in the drawing room.” Richard smiled. “I’m sure Mrs. Pickles had her ear to the panel and can testify to that.”

  Richard watched as the very last glimmer of cunning that had lived in Wallace’s eyes faded and died, and all fight—all hope—fled.

  Satisfied that he’d spiked the last of Wallace’s potential weapons, Richard rose. He looked down at Wallace, once again slumped against the sideboard. And finally allowed his contempt to show. “Get on your feet, you cur, and let’s make a start on putting everything you disrupted back to rights.”

  Wallace glanced up, briefly, then he looked down and, somewhat unsteadily, hauled himself to his feet.

  Richard waved Wallace to precede him out of the door, through which Hopkins and several of the other men had already gone, no doubt to ensure Wallace had no chance to escape.

  After one swift glance at Jacqueline, who responded with a look of outright disgust, Wallace turned to the door and, his feet dragging, went out.

  Richard paused to catch Jacqueline’s eye. “Do you want to join us?”

  She thought, then shook her head. “No. The less I see of him, the better.”

  Richard nodded. “Leave him to me. Why don’t you have another cup of tea? This shouldn’t take long.”

  Jacqueline found herself smiling. “Send in Mrs. Pickles—I’m sure she could do with someone to confide in.”

  “Good thinking.” Richard tipped her a salute and went out.

  Jacqueline watched him go, then relaxed into the chair.

  She looked inward, assessing, then she smiled and settled to wait for her protector to put all right, and her husband-to-be to return to her.

  An hour later, Jacqueline walked by Richard’s side through the shrubbery and the adjoining woods to the clearing where they’d left their horses. Behind them, the Hall’s men trudged and talked. All, it seemed, were well satisfied with the outcome Richard had wrought.

  There would be no scandal, and there would be no further threat—not to her, the Hall, or the orb.

  And they’d come away with the deed to Windmill Farm, which appeased the natural demand for recompense, for the villain to pay.

  Of particular note, at least to her, was that, amid the crafting and signing over of the deed to the farm, Richard had thought to send one of the lads running to the boys left to mind the horses, dispatching one boy to ride hard for the Hall, bearing news of her rescue, that she was well and unharmed, and that their party would return to the Hall shortly.

  She smiled to herself. As she’d already noted, Lord Richard Devries was a thoughtful man.

  He was also observant and insightful; he hadn’t bothered wasting breath suggesting she ride back to the Hall in Wallace’s coach. Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine; she’d hated those moments of being sightless and helpless, rocking away to she’d known not where.

  They reached the clearing, and Richard led her to his huge dappled gray, Malcolm the Great. The horse lifted his head and looked around inquiringly. Richard stroked the horse’s neck. “You could ride before or behind me.”

  She smiled. “Before.”

  He lifted her to the saddle and held her steady while she crooked her knee around the low pommel and arranged her skirts. He released her, glanced around to ensure the other men were mounting up without issue, then set his boot in the stirrup, swung up, and settled across the horse’s broad back behind her.

  As his arms came around her, caging and protecting her, and he gathered the reins, she felt her smile spontaneously deepen. She felt utterly safe and totally captured at the same time.

  Richard walked Malcolm the Great out of the wood. When they reached the lane, and Richard turned north, toward the Hall, and at his urging, the big gelding lengthened his stride, Jacqueline relaxed against the warm chest at her back and, finally, allowed herself to sigh.

  With relief, with pleasure, and a sense of going forward. Of finally moving on into the next stage of her life—of having it open up before her.

  The steady, heavy clop of the gelding’s hooves and the rumbling thunder of her men riding behind underscored the feeling.

  When they reached the outskirts of Balesboro Wood, she directed Richard down a narrow bridle path. “It’s significantly faster this way.”

  He softly humphed, his breath wafting her hair. “We’ll see.”

  Sometime later, after he’d instinctively—without any sign whatever from her—taken the correct turning for the Hall, he murmured, “I’ve noticed that whenever I’m riding with you, I don’t get lost—I don’t feel lost. Not as I did when I first wandered into this wood. And earlier today, when I rode back to the Hall… I didn’t think of it then—I was just focused on getting back—but I didn’t once take a wrong turn or even pause to think which way to go.”

  She smiled and made no comment.

  They came to another fork in the path. “Don’t tell me,” he murmured. And, as before, even though it wasn’t at all obvious which path was the correct one, he unerringly went the right way.

  After a moment, she laid a hand on his sleeve and softly said, “If you don’t fight it, you will always find your way back to the Hall.”

  Richard felt her touch, felt the reality of her observation settle like a benediction on him, and finally, let go.

  Of all resistance to the legends of Nimway Hall.

  He relaxed and rode on, allowing Malcolm the Great—or whatever was steering him—to find his way, tacking from one bridle path to the next as they passed beneath the towering trees of Balesboro Wood.

  And as he’d expected, without let or hindrance, he led their small procession to the door of Nimway Hall.

  Chapter 11

  Their return to the Hall was triumphant, and the news of their betrothal sent the entire household into alt.

  Congratulations and good wishes rained down on their heads.

  Richard suggested, and Jacqueline readily agreed, that in light of the many who had a right to know the full tale of Wallace’s perfidy and the true nature of the threat that had been leveled at Nimway Hall, a general gathering in the great hall was in order.

  Everyone leapt on the idea, and summonses were gladly run to the farms and the cottages.

  Three hours later, as dusk took hold, all the people of Nimway Hall—men, women, and children—gathered in the great hall.

  At Jacqueline’s nod, Richard commenced their retelling at the point where, lost in the wood, he’d come across a then-unknown gentleman and his accomplice discussing a diversion of the stream. That information immediately fixed the attention of everyone there. Richard continued, relating Wallace’s subsequent offer of water and his attempt to seize the orb—which Jacqueline had, once again, brought down to the great hall and placed on the mantelpiece there for all to see that the Hall’s good luck charm was still with them.

  Eventually, Jacqueline took up the tale, describing her kidnapping and the gist of her moments with Wallace at his house.

  Rumblings among those gathered suggested it was as well that they hadn’t sought to bring Wallace back as a prisoner. But then Jacqueline described Richard’s arrival and that of the other men, and the consequent vanquishing of Sir Peregrine Wallace and the comprehensive overturning of all his plans, and her eloquent
descriptions returned the smiles to every face.

  Richard concluded by outlining the penance they had enforced on Wallace and hinted at the retribution that would ensue should Wallace again step over any line with respect to the denizens of the Hall, and relief and resurgent happiness flowed through the assembled crowd.

  Then Hugh cleared his throat and, in ringing accents, announced that as Jacqueline’s guardian, he was pleased to announce her betrothal to Lord Richard Devries, known to the assembled throng as Richard Montague.

  Although the news of their betrothal had already filtered through the crowd, hearing it officially declared as well as learning Richard’s family name—one even those in deepest Somerset recognized—set the seal on the resultant celebrations.

  As Richard stood beside Jacqueline, a mug of ale in his hand, and smiled and laughed at the many toasts proposed in their name, he felt more at home than he ever had in his life.

  Eventually, the celebration wound down, and people headed off to find their beds.

  As had become their habit, with the Hall settling into its accustomed peace about them, Richard and Jacqueline were the last to climb the stairs. Tonight, Elinor had gone ahead. Cruickshank, too, had repaired to his room, leaving the great hall already wreathed in shadows.

  With only each other to think of, hand in hand, Richard and Jacqueline stepped into the gallery. The single candlestick sat on the side table, waiting to light their way.

  In the shaft of moonlight filtering through the gallery windows, Jacqueline paused and studied Richard’s face. When he arched his brows, inviting her question, she softly asked, “What made you turn back?”

  He held her gaze for a long moment, then in the same quiet tone, replied, “To understand that, you need to know why I left.”

  She tipped her head, inviting his confidence—confident he would accept.

  Lips twisting in faint self-mockery, Richard reached for her hands; he took one in each of his, then met her gaze. “This is my story—the most important parts, the start and the end of my relevant past. Long ago, when I was barely twenty, I almost fell victim to a young lady who had set her sights on my money and my title. That was all she was interested in, but she was skilled at dissembling, and I believed I was in love with her and she with me. I learned my error, but only just in time. From that day forward, I learned to avoid young ladies who showed any interest in me as a husband.”

  Understanding glimmered in her eyes.

  “But it wasn’t only that that sent me fleeing from here.” Briefly, he recounted the response of the ton’s matchmakers to his great-aunt’s declaration and described his recent escape from being kidnapped and forced into offering for some lady’s hand.

  “Good Lord!” Through the shadows, she stared at him. “I would never have imagined a gentleman might be pursued in such a way.” She paused, then added, “Exactly as I have been.”

  Wryly, he inclined his head. “In many ways, my experience of would-be suitors has mirrored yours.” After a moment, he went on, “So when you showed interest in me, I…didn’t stop to think—I simply reacted. As I invariably have through the years—as I’d long ago learned I must in order to live life as I wished it, by my own choice.”

  She smiled commiseratingly and gripped his fingers. “I triggered a reaction that was too deeply ingrained for you to shrug aside.”

  He nodded.

  “So what brought you back?”

  He held her gaze for an instant, then confessed, “Your wood. It brought me to you, and it turned me back—via a branch to the head.”

  She blinked, then struggled to keep her lips straight. “Really?”

  He grimaced. “Malcolm the Great jibbed and distracted me, and I ran into a branch. I fell from my saddle and was jolted enough to set my wits spinning. When they settled…I realized what I’d done.” His eyes found hers through the dimness. “That this time, in you, I had finally found a lady I loved, one who might, possibly, love me back. And I saw that I was fleeing from what might prove to be my one and only chance to create the sort of life I truly wanted.” Holding her gaze, he raised her fingers to his lips, first one hand, then the other. Then he drew breath and stated, “Finally, I saw things clearly. That a life with you, by your side, is my heart’s one true desire.”

  Jacqueline smiled, letting the emotions welling inside her invest the gesture. “I’m glad you came back. Even had Wallace not seized me, my heart would have sung simply to see you return—I love you so much. More than I’d imagined could be. And yet with every day that passes and I learn more of you, I only love you more.”

  He held her gaze, his expression serious, yet filled with hope. “I’ve heard it said that love is a journey during which one learns more and feels more intensely with every passing season. I pray our love will be like that, forever growing. I’m sure there’ll be challenges, yet…”

  Her voice clear and strong, she took up the creed. “Yet as long as we’re together—meeting life side by side—come what may, as we did today, we’ll meet every challenge and triumph.”

  His lips curved. He raised one of her hands and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Come what may. Into the future as lord and lady, side by side.”

  Eagerness unfurled inside her. She curled her fingers and gripped his. Holding his gaze, she let her certainty speak for her. “Our future, my lord, starts now. Tonight.”

  He searched her eyes as if to confirm her meaning. When she only looked more eager, his lips curved, then he murmured, “I feel compelled to ask—are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Her voice had grown husky, her tone sultry. Allowing her expression to underscore her answer, she released one of his hands and, still gripping the other, her eyes locked with his, tugged and stepped toward her door. “Come.”

  For a second longer, Richard searched her eyes, her face, then he leaned to the side, blew out the candle, and went—finally, after all his years of resisting, he surrendered and followed an unmarried young lady into her bedchamber.

  There, the moonlight fell in soft swaths across the polished boards, reaching to shed a gentle radiance upon and about her bed.

  He closed the door behind him and heard the latch click. Signaling, for him, an end and also a beginning.

  Jacqueline walked to the clear space before the bed; when she halted and swung to face him, the moonlight paid homage to her beauty.

  As he walked toward her, he catalogued anew the silver gilt of her hair, the delicate lines of her features. Her eyes, those glorious eyes that had fascinated him from the first, that had reached into him—to his soul—and touched, caressed, were wreathed in shadows and mystery.

  He halted before her, and she tilted her head. Then she stretched up, her hands rising to his shoulders as he grasped her waist and drew her nearer. Drew her to him. She came up on her toes as he bent his head, and their lips met.

  In a kiss of exultation. Of triumph.

  Their lips melded and matched, then he traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and she opened for him. Bold and confident, he slid his tongue between the soft contours and settled to explore. To learn and to entice, to engage her senses.

  She followed eagerly, with an innocent abandon—an implicit trust—that touched and tamed him. That gave him the strength to ignore the primitive urge her transparent surrender evoked and, instead, devote himself to her pleasure. To ensuring it above all else.

  Jacqueline found her wits whirling and inwardly marveled. So this was what giddy delight felt like.

  Assiduously, she set herself to follow his lead, eager to learn the paths, to explore any and all byways.

  Along the road to passion. To the fulfillment of their desires.

  There was no impediment. This was meant to be. She’d waited for years for him to come to her, and now that he was there, acknowledged as her betrothed before her people, accepted by all, she was eager to take the next step—to pass through the veil of sensual innocence and explore what lay beyond.

&n
bsp; With him. In truth, she couldn’t imagine taking this path if it wasn’t him in whose arms she stood. He was the key to unlocking the door of passion for her.

  When his hands shifted, palms and fingers gliding over her curves, up to feather over her bodice, over the swells of her breasts, setting the sensitive skin exposed above her neckline prickling, she caught her breath on a rush of desire.

  She knew it was desire, that anticipation that sharpened her senses and set her nerves on edge. That triggered the compulsion to kiss him more fiercely, to return his escalating ardor in full measure. His palms settled over her breasts, and her breath suspended. His hands weighed, then his fingers shifted and firmed, seeking and finding the tightened buds of her nipples beneath the fine brocade of her bodice. His fingertips gripped, squeezed—dexterous and deliberate—and sensation streaked through her, and she gasped through the kiss.

  Immediately, he soothed her, drew back, and let her sparking nerves relax, but when, wordlessly through their kiss, she pushed for more, he repeated the exercise, his touch, this time, more forceful, the result commensurately more potent.

  Within seconds, she felt drunk—drunk on the pleasurable sensations his clever fingers evoked and stoked.

  Richard couldn’t get enough of the woman in his arms. A goddess who was his and his alone to worship, to his senses, she personified all he desired. Her lips moving beneath his entranced and captivated; the delights of the succulent haven of her mouth lured him in and trapped him. In that moment, he knew nothing more than his flaring need to be her lover, to make her his and give himself to her.