Broken Legacy (Secret Lives Series)

by Colleen Connally

  “Merci. I thought after our conversation last night there was no need to fend an innocent’s modesty.”

  He smiled to himself. A fire lived in his wife. He had not married a meek and submissive woman. Bold. Challenging. She would be a handful to handle, he was certain.

  “I want you only not to be afraid of me.”

  He swept her in his arms and claimed her mouth in a kiss. Desire burned through him. She responded, reaching for him and began unbuttoning his robe. He obliged her, helping her dispense with his clothing. Then his lips locked with hers; they fell upon the bed.

  “I am not afraid.” Her words spoken in a whisper echoed within the stillness of the night’s air.

  For a moment, his gaze burned into her. The translucent gown revealed all he fantasized about the last few days in the most erotic light. Her dark nipples, tight and hard. He reached down and caressed her long legs upward to her full hips, briefly teasing her mound. She moaned, sending spasms of want…lust through him.

  Her breath caught when he kissed her breast through the material. The anticipation had her reeling in his arms. A need swelled within her for his man. Unexplainable …indescribable hunger. The whole of her body betrayed her mind.

  She should have run long before she exchanged those tying vows. She should have never allowed herself to get caught in this trap. Had she not contrived to withdraw from far worse circumstances? But at this moment, her only fear was that he would leave her. She wanted him so badly, consequences be damned. This man she had only just met…had threatened her with exposure…had awakened dormant emotions. She pleaded, “Make love to me. Don’t leave me this night.”

  He paused. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. Instead, he pulled the ribbon that held her gown together and peeled it from her body, revealing her breasts. He latched his mouth on the tip of her nipple, sending a cascade of pleasurable sensations through her body. She abandoned herself in his essence, his kisses that lured her and claimed her with his own desire.

  His every touch excited her…thrilled her. She pressed her body to his, accepting him, aching for him. His every movement made her crazy with a yearning for more of the promise he held with his kiss. Swallowed up in her desire, she lived for the moment in a world of reawakening passion, where nothing outside of it seemed of any importance.

  His head rose and gazed at her. He was no longer smiling. Cupping her face in his hands, he crushed her mouth, ravaging her until a sound of pure ecstasy escaped her lips. She felt his breath and hard muscles. Lost in his touch, she sank into a mist of pleasure. His arms wrapped her tighter into an embrace.

  She touched his arm and shoulder before her arms wound around his neck. Entwining her fingers into his hair, she lost her reasoning. Yet not for one moment did she forget who held her, even as she reached for a remembrance. She melted into him.

  He tortured her with caresses as he moved down her body, from her breasts to the core of her being. Her breathing was shallow and rapid as his fingers stroked that part of her that cried for him. Her skin quivered, with his every touch building a tide of unrelenting want.

  His lips hovered over hers, savoring the warmth of her mouth. She sighed as his lips left hers. Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight as she gave him a long, lascivious look. He feathered her with kisses, wandering over her lips, cheeks, and buried himself in the nape of her neck. She smelled of lavender and he soaked in her aroma as his lips wandered between her breasts. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, teasing her so until she arched against him, begging for the sweet torture he now inflicted upon her.

  He breathed in sharply when he felt her hands reach for his heated shaft. The whole of his being throbbed as her fingers caressed his man’s body. Igniting his hot blood, his need exploded within him, restraint lost in his pulsating desire. He mounted her then. Hot and wet, he plummeted into her depths.

  Covering her completely, he talked in a soothing voice, but she understood none of his words, lost in the hard, evoking renewed sensations of physical pleasure. Her body hungered, wanted, and desired. Unrelenting passion tore through her. She clung to him and begged him as if madness possessed her. Successive pulses of pleasure, longer and longer, overwhelmed her, erasing if only for a brief moment thoughts from the past.

  He took her then...hard...she wanted it even harder. His thrusts stroked emblems of desire exploding in her loins. Then the throbbing ignited into flames of heat. Her body burst with the warmth of his release as waves of pleasure cascaded through the whole of her.

  She reveled in the sudden peace encompassing her. She opened her eyes to find her husband smiling down at her. He leaned down and kissed her, softly this time. He rolled off, but held her tightly in his arms. She settled her head on his broad chest.

  She tried to speak, but her throat locked up to words. Moreover, she felt helpless. His man…this stranger provoked emotions within her she thought dead. She had told herself her boldness would in some way punish him for forcing her into this marriage. Did not English men want frigid, passionless women for their wives? She had not taken into account her own needs. She could not deny she felt drawn to him. She glanced up at her husband. Her husband.

  He leaned down and kissed her lips.

  “Oh, Eloise,” he whispered. “Trust me. I will not hurt you. This was good…we were good together. This is our beginning, but, my love, tell me…however am I going to leave you, even if only for a short time?"

  Chapter Five

  A full moon shone down upon the shore’s edge. Eloise walked barefoot in the rolling waves. Her skirt drenched and her hair whipping in the brisk sea breeze, she paused a moment and pushed back her errant hair. Her mind raced with a million thoughts.

  Three days had passed since she had become the wife of the Earl of Lenister. Three days she had pondered her situation. Since he had left her that first night, her husband had been the epitome of a man bent on satisfying her every need. Charm oozed from his being. They rode in the mornings, played chess in the afternoons and at night…desire was once again reborn; intimacy rekindled; comfort sought in the arms of another and for a time the world around forgotten.

  He laughed. She had come to love the sound of his laugh, his touch. He had reawakened deep, receded feelings she had thought she had buried. For a moment, she forgot how dangerous a man her husband could be to her mission. Then her mind swept to his young children in that dreadful prison.

  Lenister left no less than three hours hence. Her brother’s yacht, the Grand Crest, was readied and in wait to head across the Channel. It would meet the morning light in Calais. She had written letters to her family for Lenister, but he knew—she knew—he would need more. He made clear to her that he would do whatever necessary to save his children, but he insisted she withdraw back to his estate. That she admired, though she had not heeded his directions.

  Now she stood on the shoreline. She needed to think, to plan her next move. She couldn’t with him by her side. She reprimanded herself for allowing the feelings to resurface. How could she have allowed all to have occurred! She well had known better. She had too much to lose.

  All had gone smoothly, having overcome every obstacle. She maneuvered around Wessex with relative ease. Her conscience eased with her sister Susanna’s obvious devotion to Sir Joseph. Nice enough sort, Eloise supposed, but he stood between her and the freedom she so desired. She had been so close, so close…

  Never had she spent one moment of worry when her father had informed her of her attachment to Sir Joseph Fairchild, the eldest son of Lord Reginald, Earl of Wessex. Good family from down along the Cornish coastline. Her father felt the marriage a good one for his daughter of questionable heritage.

  In her manner, Eloise said not a word of protest to her father. Having been introduced to the family that she was to be married into, she immediately comprehended that Lord Wessex relented only under an obligation to her father, which in her mind could easily be overcome. Circumstances had allowed for a delay in her
marriage with the untimely death of her father, when His Grace Percival, the Duke of Rotheward, succumbed to a heart attack.

  His death, although not devastating for he had been a stranger to her most of her life, saddened her. A year to mourn his death had not been questioned in postponing the nuptials. Sir Joseph came often to visit. In turn, Eloise used Susanne as a buffer between his lordship and herself. Watching the two together, she quickly surmised they best suited each other. In turn, making the scene she contrived easier to maneuver her wishes.

  Susanne, quiet and kind in nature, accepted the maneuver without question, for the love the young girl felt for Sir Joseph glittered in her eyes. Any guilt Eloise’s conscience gnawed at her, she scrunched, telling her all was for the best. Susanne obtained a loving devoted husband and Eloise…well, she would have her inheritance and her freedom. Until now and she had only herself to blame.

  A wave splashed over her, making her catch her breath in the cool night air. She glanced up. In her sight, a boat loomed on the horizon. They had arrived early. Not a bad thing, she surmised. They would need to be swift to arrive before the Grand Crest, her brother’s yacht.

  A whistle from overhead signaled her advance toward the ship, a signal that all was as it should be. She knew well the signal. She had set it up. Pressing her lips tightly together, she walked silently toward the boat. Men gathered at the rim of the tide with a rowboat. One waved his hand over his head.

  From the gesture, she recognized instantly the cargo had been delivered. It was good. She didn’t want another occurrence. She couldn’t afford it. No one was to have known. The success of her—their—work depended on being an unseen entity. Death waited her on the other side if any found out her true purpose to her smuggling—the sole reason.

  Taking her across the Channel, her father and brother rescued Eloise from certain punishment from the Marquis de Motiere. Her French family hid her from the vengeance that the marquis sought for the death of his son, Henri, Victome de Calognac. Even now, hatred surged through her veins for the man who took the life of her lover. She cared not when the Revolution revolted and Marc Pierre sought his vengeance out on the marquis.

  Eloise shed no tears when she heard the marquis’ head was staked on the outskirts of Rouelay. No, the man deserved his fate…only when his fate linked to those around him—innocent victims—had she allowed herself to feel for anyone associated with the man. Marc Pierre had his own rage toward the family that took the life of his brother so unjustly. His anger stretched out over the land and exploded with the revolt. In turn, no one associated with the marquis was safe from his vengeance.

  Eloise had returned to France after the marquis’ death, bent on finding one so maliciously ripped from her arms. Her quest unfulfilled but the failure left her with a mission. The world she had known crumbled around her. She felt nothing. She had no tears left when the word arrived the hope she had clung to had died. For a time she lived in denial, but reality broke through the barriers she placed. In the end, she arrived at an acceptance.

  Yet within her slowly surged rebellion. If she could not help her Rosabel, she would not turn her back upon others in need, regardless of whom they were or the danger to her own person. No, her life was not her own. She only existed.

  Since her father claimed her as his own, she had not turned from her French family. Her father had assumed she would have had no more contact, but her father did not know her well. No, not at all. Instead, with her actions, she had seen well to their needs. In secret. Always in secret. The legacy that Luc had left for her, she used to benefit those in need. Her family’s need for money; other’s need for freedom and life.

  Luc would have never wanted this, death and destruction as it was now. Luc had been a dreamer. When she had been with him, she dreamed, too. Dreamed of a life away from all that encompassed them, a life far away where one’s birth was of no matter. America! Where years before Luc and Marc Pierre’s father had lost his life in the fight for their independence. But it was never to be…

  “Ah, Lady Granville,” a voice bellowed over the wind. “It is good you, too, are early. The tide is turning.”

  “Then prepare,” Eloise answered, tying the bandana tighter around her head. The slippers she carried in her hand she bent down and placed over her feet. She walked soundly to the rowboat sitting in wait for her. “I take all went as planned.”

  “Delivered seven safely to Monsieur Bolton at our assigned designation. And all settled before we left.”

  “That is well. We can’t have an episode as happened before. I was seen and recognized. The silence cost me, Captain Moreau. You realize the consequences if discovered.”

  “Absolutely, Lady Granville. I hope you were able to silence the…”

  “It was taken care of, but it cost me. I have married. I’m Lady Lenister,” she said soundly, entering the boat. “We have to be more careful. I beg you, Captain. Do not take all lightly.”

  “Aye, you are coming across, I see. You haven’t crossed in weeks. It is bad?”

  “I’m on a different mission, Captain. It will take time and I don’t know how much. Until then, I believe we will have to put all on hold until my return.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do, Captain. You will wait on my orders before your next voyage across. Is that clear?”

  “As always,” Captain Moreau replied in his thick, heavy accent. “We await your command.”

  * * * *

  The midday sun bore down on Eloise. With each step, sweat began to trickle down her back. She wiped back her forehead. Captain Moreau offered to find her transportation after her arrival along the beach outside Calais, a small coastal town more than a hundred miles from Paris. She refused. She had walked the path numerous times in her youth.

  The captain had other concerns beyond her. His cargo needed to be delivered. Arriving undetected along the shoreline had become increasingly more difficult. Troops began to patrol with more frequency due to the fear of the enemies of the state escaping. The semblance of the government now sitting within Paris had made it of the utmost importance not to let any offender escape their justice.

  The relief in the captain's face upon her declaration to slow their voyages did not go undetected by Eloise. She had pressed him. In that, she realized to the point of recklessness. Captain Moreau would never refuse her. In this, Eloise comprehended well. Not after she rescued his family. So many more needed to be saved and so few willing to face the danger it would entail.

  She took a trail on the outskirts of the town. Calais, as opposed to most of the other provinces of France, had not felt the full effect of the Revolution only because their eyes lay across on England. The constant threat of an invasion never relented, but Eloise was under no illusions. The swift form of justice that the French Republic held was an invariable hazard if one aroused suspicion of any sort.

  Justice reigned down quickly with only an accusation made, no substantiation, no validation needed. France, without a doubt within Eloise’s mind, was ruled by the angriest of passions that had exploded, with all feeling the full force of that passion. Contumacious individuals from the days prior to the Reign of Terror now led the masses.

  The simple minded, the ones who had starved and had been treated with prejudice, allowed themselves to be seduced by the promise of rectifying the wrongs of bygone days. The problem lay with replacing one reign of horror with a reign now of unspeakable terror, where if the truth be known, no one was safe, for at any given time the tide could turn against anyone. This alone caused for the unmerited deaths of many innocents.

  Plotting and enlisting a list of suspects had become an obsession. The Republic had set up many Committees of Public Safety across France to handle these supposed threats. Heading these departments with dissident people, proud and high minded, but not wise. No, Eloise thought, wisdom had little to do with anyone’s actions in France as of late. Most spurned used the full force of their disdainful hate.

  Calais,
spared a portion of this explosion, hushed down the irritation. Mainly, Eloise believed, because the poverty and starvation widespread in France had not been experienced as it was across the rest of the countryside. In turn, the leaders produced a softer report.

  Her family held positions in Calais, but that in turn wielded little power in Paris. She held little doubt within her that Lenister understood their position. If she allowed, gnawing doubts surfaced that Lenister wanted, needed, her to wield influence over Marc Pierre Bernard. Influence? She questioned whether Marc Pierre wanted ever to see her face again, not after their last encounter.

  She walked down the lane from the village. The landscape showed none of the evidence of the turmoil encompassing its people. The grass swelled in its greenery with a warm ocean breeze. Wildflowers bloomed on the side of the road with birds chirping in song. She breathed in deeply. This she needed. A smile emerged on her face when she rounded the bend.

  The house was pleasant and isolated because of the trees that surrounded it. A quaint old cottage lay before her where the trees fell away in front of a small garden. She strolled up slowly where a grapevine hung over some old wooden chairs. An elderly lady with a head full of gray hair pulled back in a tight bun hidden by a large floppy hat sat on the ground, weeding the vegetables that had sprung to life with the call of the spring. Dressed in an old ragged dress, her dry, wrinkled hands showed signs of the years of hard work she had performed. Her knees were beneath her, but Eloise knew well the lady was tall and lean in appearance.

  “Nana Adele,” she said simply, but tenderness oozed from her tone.

  The old woman’s head rose to the sound of her name. Immediately, a large smile greeted her ward. “Eloise.”

  Eloise reached down and gripped tightly her nanny’s hand, pulling her upward in a warm embrace. “Oh, Nana Adele, I have missed you so.”

  “My dear, my dear,” Nana Adele said. Her hand stretched to touch Eloise’s face and her hair, as if seeing if all real.