by Stacy Reid
Taking a risk, she winked, and he smiled.
The countess glanced around then leveled her gaze back on her son. “I’ve sent word to Lady Caldwell and her daughter, Lady Beatrice, that you’ve returned.”
“You have?” Gabriel said with mild surprise.
“Yes. I instructed Mabry to send a note.”
And Primrose knew the butler had already responded to his mistress’s orders.
“I’m certain Lady Caldwell will be happy to hear you are well. She’s enquired much after your wellbeing. You know how expectant your father and I are about an alliance with Earl Caldwell’s family.”
There was a tense, almost expectant pause. Primrose stared outside the windows, almost too afraid to glance around. White flakes dropped from the sky, blanketing the grass in pristine white.
“I’ve just returned Mother. I only want to see my family and help with the preparations for Christmas,” he murmured.
“Nonsense, Gabriel, Lady Beatrice has enquired after your return home several times. Such a thoughtful and well-mannered young lady, I’m sure you’d be delighted to partner with her for our annual New Year’s carriage ride to Derbyshire. I’ve invited them to our table tomorrow, for they are quite alone in that monstrosity of their country home since the Earl passed away, and their son is in India and shows no inclination to return to England and assume his responsibilities to his family and title. A dreadful state of affairs.”
Primrose stood, unable to bear hearing anymore. For she knew the countess would soon begin to extol Lady Beatrice’s charm and grace, and should Gabriel agree Primrose would likely pluck his eyes out. And that insipid thought was enough to make her realize it had not been wise to miss her afternoon nap after being awake most of the night, reading over his old letters.
“If you will excuse me, I’ve some presents to wrap for the servants.”
Gabriel stood, his eyes dwelling on her person. With a quick curtsy, she hurried away, her legs trembling so badly they could barely support her as she left the room. Could they truly have a future together? Or would her hopes and heart be dashed because she’d inadvertently set them above her station?
Chapter 2
Primrose darted up the stairs to the second floor, down the winding hall lined with ancient Northcote portraits and slipped into her room. There she leaned against the cold oak door, fighting to control her breathing. The room was dark save for the low fire burning in the hearth. She did not make to light the single lamp by the bedside. How long she leaned against the door, she could not ascertain, but after a while, Primrose made her way to the hearth and stoked the fire to a nice roar.
With jerky movements, she made her way over to the armoire, opened the latch, and tugged at the few dresses she had. She would pack her valise and hope the roads would not be impassable and discourage travel. Now that she'd seen that he'd stayed well and quite alive, she could spend the rest of the holidays with her Aunt Agatha and Cousin Jane in Durham. Primrose would have to politely cry off her acceptance to dine with the countess and earl for Christmas once again. Lady Annabelle would not return to the schoolroom until mid-January, and Primrose was not needed until that time. And worse, what if Gabriel was inclined to wed Lady Beatrice? Primrose had no wish to be at the manor to witness Gabriel courting the charmingly beautiful Lady Beatrice.
It was for the best, for Primrose had nothing to recommend her, and he deserved much better than her. The pure gold necklace, with the attached ring nestled between Primrose’s breasts, suddenly felt cold. Only a piece of jewelry and it held none of the wicked passion and breath-taking promise it had been gifted with, promises which had kept her warm on many lonely nights. A pang tore through her, weakening her.
Snapping her spine taunt, she hardened herself against the emotions. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Gabriel. She did, quite earnestly. But Primrose would never allow her heart to love a man with such depth, that his loss would render her a shadow of herself. Her mother had done that after papa had died. She had followed him to the grave only three months later, and everyone had stupidly murmured inane platitude such as ‘she could not live without him,' ‘such love is rare,' and then there was her favorite one. ‘It is the grief of her loss of Edgar which took her.’ Everyone had thought for love, it was quite fine for her mother to leave a thirteen-year-old daughter without any parent in the world. Primrose loved Gabriel very much, and while she allowed the possibility he could injure her heart, he would never be able to break it.
She would leave tomorrow for Durham, to spend the rest of the wintry holidays with her only relatives. Primrose would give him enough time with Lady Beatrice, and if he still wished to court Primrose, she would be available upon her return. Her reasoning felt pragmatic, but as she tugged her valise from underneath her bed, her hands trembled fiercely. Hopefully, Aunt Agatha would welcome her unexpected arrival. Though Primrose sent a portion of her wages to her aunt and cousin Jane, they lived in strained circumstances. Primrose hadn't wanted to add to the burden of an extra mouth to feed for the holidays. However, she had some savings, thirty pounds, and she would stop in the village and buy gifts and extra food before she arrived.
Having packed, she sat on her bed, which gave a slight creak under her weight. She stared out through the small glass panes of her window into the dull grey sky with a hint of orange cast by the receding sun.
It wasn’t time to rest her head. And usually, after a long walk along the path of the surrounding meadows, she would visit the library and select a book to keep her company for a few hours before retiring to bed. However, she did not want to encounter Gabriel in the halls or on the lower floors. Her nerves felt too raw, her heart felt too anxious. It was best he spent what was left of the evening hours with his family. Tomorrow would be enough time to see Gabriel, even though she missed him so dreadfully.
Lowering herself she unlaced her boots and tugged them off. Then she stood and undressed, removing her winter bonnet, the wide puff-sleeved day dress, the stiff corset, and crinoline, and hung them in the armoire. Primrose left her chemisette on and tugged the flowing white cotton nightgown from the peg and put it on.
Fat heavy drops of rain descended from the sky, slapping against the glass panes like pebbles. With a contented sigh, she turned down the coverlets on her bed. How she enjoyed snuggling in the warmth of the blankets, listening to the rain as she drifted to sleep.
The door was shoved open without the courtesy of a knock. Her heart hammering, she swung around. His gaze flew to hers, and her chest constricted. An odd emotion erupted through her heart. “Gabriel, what are you doing?” she cried as he closed the latch with a soft snick, walked over to the small table by the fire and rested an ornately carved wooden box on its surface.
His jacket, cravat, and waistcoat had been discarded, the top buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned and she could see the skin of his bare throat. Flushing, she glanced up to meet his gaze. Surely his family thought it odd he departed shortly after her.
He sauntered over to Primrose, his eyes devouring her. He looked at her so intently, as though he were memorizing every line and curve of her features, as if he'd missed her as she'd missed him. She departed from the warmth of her bed, standing to look up into his tender expression. “The countess—”
The rest of her words muffled against his chest as he pulled her into a fierce hug. With a soft cry, she returned his embrace, her cheek pressed against his chest, his fiercely pounding heart a soothing rhythm.
“You escaped as if the devil were on your heels. Surely you knew I would come to you before retiring to bed.”
The awareness of how alone they were seeped into the air. “This is a risk we cannot take,” she whispered, pulling away from his intimate embrace.
“I waited a few minutes before I excused myself. Even visited my rooms first. My family understands that I am tired and have retired for the night.”
He tucked his finger beneath her chin and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Why did yo
u leave in such haste? Are you well?”
It took so much courage to meet his regard after the thoughts she’d been pondering. An alarming flip went through her stomach. His admiration and regard hadn’t waned. She worried for naught, for his eyes glowed with something wicked and tender. “I could not bear hearing your mother speak of a possible courtship between you and Lady Beatrice,” Primrose said steadily, refusing to hide from the feelings which had torn through her.
He nudged her chin affectionately. “I have loved none but you, Miss Markham. I want to marry you, and there is no force on this earth capable of changing that.”
Her breath hitched, and her heart somersaulted. She stepped closer to him, lifted her hands, and cupped his strong jawline. She slid her fingers over his face, the angles and planes, memorizing his handsome features. If only she could have him forever, or even this brief moment in time. How she desperately wished to kiss him, to fulfill the promise of passion he so teased her endlessly with. “You haven’t experienced all society has to offer as yet; maybe if you did meet other ladies, courted Lady Beatrice, and then decided that you still wanted me, it would be—"
She faltered in her speech and narrowed her eyes at his soft, amused laughter.
“I graduated Cambridge at twenty, and then I spent several months abroad in the continent. I returned home and experienced all the lavishness of the season and town life. I gambled, I partook in races, I indulged in the theatres, the operas, and a few scandal sheets thought it noteworthy to link my name to a few actresses. Then I retired to Sancrest Manor, tired of the frivolities of town life, and met you, and only since then have I anticipated a future with such enthusiasm, and it is because of you, my love. I’ve been off to war for over two years, and my heart and mind and fidelity have stayed with you the entire time.”
She wanted so desperately to believe in him, believe in this. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but her heart ached with something altogether different, a sensation she'd never felt before. Gabriel reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a small pack of letters, bound with a blue ribbon. The one she’d given him so long ago as a sign of her affections. “In the last few months, I did not receive the opportunity I'd hoped to send you my letters.”
He pressed them into her hands, and with trembling fingers, she untied the worn ribbon holding together nine letters. She traced the writing on the outside of a few of the stiff envelopes. “You did not write these last four.”
Curiosity had her lifting her gaze once more to his.
“I was indisposed to pen them myself, but I assure you, my darling, the words are all mine.”
She quickly grasped his meaning. “You were hurt?”
Shadows danced in his eyes. “It was trifling,” he reassured her.
She placed the letters on the small table by her bedside cupboard, before returning to stand before him, and took his hand between hers. “Please, do not leave me in a state of ignorance. Tell me what happened.”
He contemplated her for several moments, then he said, “I was shot in the side at Balaclava, but I’ve recovered.”
Fear rushed through her heart, and a lump grew in her throat. “How long were you abed?”
A grimace crossed his features to disappear quickly. “Primrose it does not—”
“Please, how long, Gabriel?”
They stared at each other in the pulsing silence. “ Six weeks,” he admitted gruffly.
“Surely you cannot be fully recovered!”
“I am well.”
She lifted trembling fingers to her lips, her eyes smarting with tears. “I feel wretched that I did not know you were so grievously wounded.”
He dipped slightly and pressed a kiss to her nose. “What matters now is that I am well, and it was thoughts of you…of our future together that became my reason to recover. I have something for you.” He stepped away and went over to the small table and collected the wooden box and handed it to her.
With a smile, she took the box and flipped open the small silver latch. There were several smaller packages, about eight in total, all carefully wrapped in fine yellow paper. Primrose lowered herself to the bed and pulled the first one open. It was a sweet. Round and yellow with a dusting of whites all over it. She had a notorious sweet tooth, and even the village confectionary shopkeeper teased her unmercifully. She had only mentioned once, quite fleetingly, how her father would always bring her sweets from London whenever he visited and returned to their home in Derbyshire. And Gabriel had remembered.
She slowly unwrapped another package. Chocolate. Unable to help the need she broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth and chewed. It broke apart in her mouth, the sweet, yet slightly bitter flavor rich and decadent.
Thrill rose sharply in her bosom, and her anticipation welled.
She unwrapped another paper and withdrew another small ball coated in frothy white. Her eyes fluttered close in pleasure at the first taste. It crunched under her teeth and a delightful sweet burst on her tongue.
“That is spiced almond nut, coated in caramel and dipped in sugar from Vienna.”
He lowered himself to his knees, so they were at the same height, leaned in and licked the corner of her mouth. Her heart began to clamor, sending a dizzying rush of desire coursing through her veins.
Gabriel gave her a lazy, roguish smile. “A dusting of sugar,” he murmured.
He kissed the bridge of her nose. “I’d not forgotten you, every day it was thoughts of you that got me through the difficult times.”
She turned his hand, clasping it palm up, within hers.
“Try another,” he murmured.
She took up another small round ball, dusted with sugar. She bit into it; cream filled her mouth, and she purred her delight. “What is it?” she asked, uncaring that her mouth was still full.
“Truffles, from France.”
She glanced down at the box and the several different types of delicacies remaining. Primrose licked the sugar from her lips. “Where else do they come from?”
“Nougat from Brussels, Turkish delights and toffee from the shop in the village.”
“I want to eat them all, now,” she murmured.
He laughed, and the sound rolled through her in heated waves. Gabriel cupped her cheeks gently between his hands. They felt different, more callused, more commanding. Wings took flight in her belly, and she swallowed.
“Tomorrow after dinner, and when we are in the drawing room exchanging gifts, I will announce our engagement to my family.”
She gasped audibly, so many emotions tearing through her at that pronouncement. Joy and trepidation in equal measure. Primrose knew the countess would not take kindly to such news, not when she had her heart set on her son marrying Lady Beatrice. Primrose hated the anxiety trembling through her heart. “The countess will object.”
Remarkably he smiled. “I love my mother, but I do not need her approval. All I need is you. As a retired captain, I’m on half pay, and I daresay we will live in comfort if not style.”
And all I need is you. The words trembled on her lips, but they did not spill. She slid her bottom closer to the edge of the bed so she could hug him to her. There was still a separation between their bodies, and he touched the top of her knee and with firm pressure opened her legs until her thighs widened enough to cradle him between them. The intimacy of it had heat flushing through her entire body. Surely, he could feel the heat of it through his clothes.
They hugged for several minutes with his face buried in the crook of her neck, and her cheek resting against the side of his jaw. He pressed a soft kiss to the exposed arch of her throat. Her pulse tripped, a million butterflies took flight in her belly, and her heart raced. They stayed like that for a breathless moment.
“I missed your smell, the taste of your skin,” he murmured roughly, inhaling deeply as if wanting to trap her scent into his lungs.
“I missed you too,” she whispered achingly.
“Did you read the book?”
&n
bsp; This time the question was asked right at her ear. She felt tempted to lie, for the mortifying truth was that she'd devoured every scandalous word and erotic picture. Primrose felt the manner in which her entire body blushed indicated that she had indeed read the very naughty and provocative book which had been delivered to her encased in several layers of wrappings six months ago. She’d almost fainted when she’d opened the package and discovered its content. “Yes,” she said.
This time he placed the kiss on the tip of her ear. “Good.”
Her heart began to beat a little harder. “And why is it good?”
She felt the curve of his lips against her cheek as he smiled.
“I did not want to shock your sensibilities on our wedding night…now you’ll know what to expect.”
She shifted even closer, butting her cheek against his, pressing a kiss of her own against his jaw. There was a sense of anticipation burning through her veins, and nothing would ease her anxiety. Or was it more than that? Her breasts ached to the point where the simplest press against his chest abraded the sensitive tips of her nipples, and between her legs was mortifyingly wet.
Releasing her clasp from around his shoulders, she leaned back slightly so they could see each other’s face. “It was a very naughty book,” she said softly.
A guarded look entered his expression. "Were you horrified for having been exposed to such lascivious wantonness?"
“No.”
She brushed locks of hair from his forehead, then with the tip of her finger, she gently traced the small scar at the corner of his mouth. “Do you wish to debauch me in such a manner?”
His thumb dragged softly over her bottom lip. “God help me, but I do, my Primrose. But we shall speak more on the matter after our marriage,” he said gently with a smile of such wicked promise her mouth dried.
A shiver, half dread, half anticipation, ruffled her composure. “Gabriel?”
