First Season / Bride to Be

by Jane Ashford

  “Richard?” she murmured, waking.

  He caught her lips in a hard kiss, not wanting talk, and pulled roughly at buttons and fasteners. He stripped the cloth away, and ran his hands over her lucent contours possessively.

  She murmured his name again.

  “Don’t speak,” he commanded.

  He cupped her breasts, let his hands wander down over her skin. He could see every inch of her clearly in memory, dappled with the shadows of leaves, the sparkle of water. The feel of her under him was driving him to a fever pitch of desire.

  He pushed her knees apart with his own and freed himself from the encumbrance of breeches. He was rock hard and aching for release, and he would have it. She was his to take, a glow of warmth and surrender in the dark.

  She lay still. She said nothing. The last time, her body had begged for his touch.

  Something like anger flashed through him. Something like pain. Richard was assailed by a savage need for her to beg for his touch.

  Fighting his own pounding demand, he set out to make her beg.

  He ran his fingertips lightly up her inner thighs, pausing just long enough to tantalize before moving over her hipbones and along the curve of her waist. He teased her breasts until he elicited a breathy gasp, then let one hand slip down again to rouse her. He touched and caressed until she was straining against his hand.

  When she cried out softly, he felt a flare of satisfaction. He took his own pleasure with a hard, driving rhythm that surged through his body like storm surf. The tempo rose and rose, and exploded in a wave that slammed through every nerve and fiber with an intensity that left him panting. She was his, declared his scattered thoughts. His.

  Emily’s hands moved gently on his back. He pulled away from her and stood. There was no way to see her expression in the dimness, and he didn’t care about it anyway, he told himself. He strode over to the pool and stripped off his clothes, finding a grim satisfaction in the fact that he hadn’t taken off his boots during the encounter. The cool water damped the remains of his fever, soothing him toward sleep. He staggered over a stone once going back to his bed of leaves, and once there, he felt exhaustion dragging at him. He gave himself up to it gratefully, falling into a bottomless pit of black.

  Insensible, he dreamed. He was running, not away, but toward some unimaginable reward that continually eluded him. The harder he searched, the more it receded. He despaired, dreaming, of ever finding the thing that he sensed would make his life complete.

  Birdsong woke him at first light. The sun was still below the clifftop, and the air was cool and damp with dew. Richard sat up, his gaze drawn to Emily, who slept in a tangle of clothes and bright hair. He felt a pang, and rejected it. He had to concentrate on getting them out of here.

  Leaving his coat on the pile of ferns where he’d slept, he moved silently off toward the wall of stone he meant to climb.

  Nineteen

  Emily opened her eyes on a dazzle of leaves and the cry of a jay. The morning was golden and green. She was lying in a nest of her clothes, mostly covered by them, and she was alone.

  How did she know that? Raising her head, she looked at the spot where Richard had slept. Only his coat was there. She surveyed the ground around the pool. There was no sign of him.

  She didn’t know if she was glad or sorry. Yesterday had ended in such a muddle. She hadn’t known how to speak to him, and her feeble effort to joke had obviously gone wrong. Her mind was dizzy with memories of his touch, worry that she had made a fatal mistake.

  She sat up, her hopelessly crumpled riding habit sliding away. She clutched at it, then she let go; there was no one to see. Though the morning was cool, she made her way to the pool and slipped in to bathe. The water was comforting. She glided back and forth, letting it soothe aching muscles. It was quite a while before she climbed out again, refreshed, and stood at the edge.

  Waiting a moment to dry before dressing, Emily had the sudden sense that she was being watched. She turned quickly. The hidden glade was empty. The pile of stones at the entrance was undisturbed.

  There was nothing, no sound to betray a watcher. Yet the feeling remained, and she was suddenly convinced it was Richard, silently back from wherever he had gone.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. A pulse of heat passed through her body as if she’d been dipped in flame. It was partly embarrassment. But it was also something else that she didn’t recognize. That something directed her hands as she slowly picked up her underthings and slid them on. It informed her fingers as she buttoned her blouse languorously, hands lingering on her own skin. It arched her back as she lifted her skirt and dropped it over her head. By the time she was fully dressed, Emily’s breath was coming faster, and she was thoroughly astonished at herself.

  There was no sign of the audience she had been certain was there, and she was glad now to think that she had been imagining it. What was wrong with her? Events of the last few days seemed to have scrambled her brain.

  Memories of Richard’s touch rose up in sharp contradiction. Emily went to sit on a rock and catch her breath.

  “Good morning.”

  She jumped and nearly fell off. Richard had materialized out of nowhere and was bending to retrieve his coat from the pile of ferns.

  “I’ve been up above getting bearings.” He spoke as if yesterday had never happened, as if they were back in the first hours of their flight together. “If we move quickly, we can reach my cousin’s house tonight.”

  Emily stood, brushing down her skirts to mask her nervousness. “That’s good,” she managed. He was intimidating this morning. It seemed this couldn’t be the man who had come so close to her in the dark.

  Richard went to the entrance and began removing the stones they had piled there. She moved to help.

  “Quietly,” he warned.

  Emily reached for a rock, and their hands brushed, making her tremble. She thought his hand jerked a little. He grasped a larger stone and turned to set it aside. When it came time to move the boulder out of the way, and they had to push side by side, he gave no sign that he noticed her nearness. Emily was torn between wanting to put her arms around him and wanting to give him a thundering setdown. She settled for silence.

  At the outer end of the entry, they paused for some time while Richard reconnoitered. Finally, he signaled with a gesture, and they started out along the rough ground. It was much more difficult than at the start of their journey together, Emily thought. She was deeply tired and terribly hungry and confused. Her feet kept wanting to stumble.

  Richard led them to the end of the valley and then up a tumbled incline to a ridge masked by trees. They followed this north for most of the morning, and when it veered off in another direction, they made their way down into a gully that ran in the right direction.

  Clouds began gathering at noon, and it was soon clear that rain was on the way. Emily concentrated on taking one step after another.

  “There,” Richard said, pointing.

  Emily looked, and saw a manor house on the side of a hill beside a stream.

  “We’ll have to take particular care from now on,” he added. “They must have suspected we’d come here.”

  The shots in the night seemed to have happened ages ago. “That would be sensible of them,” she acknowledged.

  He gave her a quick glance. Something flickered in his hazel eyes, and it seemed for a moment that he would speak, but he didn’t.

  It started to rain.

  Richard led them behind the crest of the ridge, staying out of sight of the house. As they worked their way along it, rain muffled their footsteps. The skirts of Emily’s riding habit dragged at her legs. Cold drops pelted her scalp and shoulders. She trudged along, boots squelching, feeling a kind of misery descend. The strain of being hunted was weighing on her. But as she watched Richard through the rain, she knew it was more than that.

&n
bsp; “We’ll work our way around to the back, and come down on the house from the heights,” Richard said softly. “It’s farther. But I don’t want to arrive until it’s dark anyway. It’s our best chance to avoid being seen.”

  “I know.” Water dripped onto her face from the pine boughs above. She wiped it away. Picking up her heavy sodden skirts, she started walking.

  “Emily.”

  She froze in the middle of a step then turned to him. It was the first time he had used her name.

  He was looking at her as if he needed to tell her something important. She thought she glimpsed a yearning question in his face. But even as she responded, it vanished. His chest rose and fell in a deep breath. “This way,” he said.

  The disappointment she felt then was so sharp that she told herself she’d been mistaken. She was probably becoming delirious from hunger. He had only wanted to tell her that she was going the wrong way. He was not going to explain why he scarcely looked at her now, after he had touched her in a way that…

  Emily banished these thoughts. She was not going to stumble over this rough country soaking, starving, and weeping like a watering pot. She could do nothing about the first two, but she could…she could damn well control the third, she thought defiantly. “Damn well,” she muttered, savoring the phrase.

  Richard heard it. She didn’t know whether she’d meant him to or not, but the utter astonishment on his face was so satisfying that she was glad. It buoyed her up for some time as they plodded on.

  Emily lost all sense of where they were, or how much farther they had to go. Thus when Richard said, “This will do,” and stopped, she bumped into him before the words sank in.

  He reached out and steadied her. She leaned against him. After a moment, his arm encircled her waist and remained there.

  “The house is below,” he whispered close to her ear. He took her hand and led her through the dark, sodden woods. He seemed to know where he was going, and she tried to match his steps and avoid obstacles.

  After what seemed hours, Emily made out a light in a window high above their heads. They came to a wall. Richard put a hand on it and moved left until they came to a gate. There, he stopped to listen.

  Emily could hear nothing but dripping water. Then there was a soft rattle.

  “Bolted,” Richard murmured in her ear.

  In the light from above, she watched him take hold of the top of the wooden gate, pull himself up, and swing over. A moment later, the bolt slid back and the gate opened for her. Richard left it unlocked behind them.

  The windows in this part of the house were dark, and securely locked. Richard moved along the building to another gate and into the kitchen garden. Here, the house showed more signs of life, and a back door.

  Richard strode over to it, listened at the panels, then tried the latch. He made a sharp beckoning gesture. When she reached him, he threw the door open and surged inside. On his heels, Emily hurried in, and came face to face with a trio of startled servants sitting around the kitchen fire. “Fetch your mistress at once,” Richard said.

  The young man jumped to his feet, looking as if he intended to defend the two women servants—one older and one young as himself.

  “I am Mrs. Farrell’s cousin,” Richard told him. “I must see her at once. Privately.”

  The young man eyed them suspiciously.

  They must look like vagabonds, Emily thought, drenched and exhausted and dirty.

  “He brought his mum here,” said the girl. “That Lady Fielding.”

  Richard nodded. The young man seemed unconvinced.

  “We mean no one any harm. But I must speak to Mrs. Farrell.”

  “I’ll fetch her, Sam,” said the girl. She picked up a lighted candlestick and slipped out of the kitchen looking excited.

  The other two servants stared at them. Richard offered Emily a chair, and she sank into it gratefully. They had done it, she thought. They had reached safety. Magistrates would be summoned, the countryside scoured. It was over.

  A scent, a glorious intoxicating scent captured her attention. Turning, she discovered a loaf of bread on a board and a round of golden cheese on a plate. Beyond politeness, she reached for them.

  Seeing her move, Richard turned. He picked up a knife to slice the bread, and Emily nearly snarled at him before realizing that he meant it for her. When he handed her a thick sandwich, she tore into it before he could cut another for himself. Oblivious to the stares of the servants, they ate like the starved creatures they were.

  Footsteps approached. The door swung open, and Lydia Farrell entered the kitchen in a rustle of silk. “Richard! Miss Crane!” She looked stunned. “You can’t be here. Come with me.” Taking the candle from the servant, she gestured urgently for them to follow her. Emily snatched the bread from the table as she obeyed.

  “Don’t go near a front window,” Richard commanded as they moved down a corridor.

  Lydia looked upset. “Come,” she repeated. Opening a door, she revealed a staircase. “Down here.”

  They descended quickly into a large brick-walled cellar. The light of a single candle did not reach into its corners. “This way,” said Lydia. She strode across the floor. Opening a thick wooden door, she added, “You’ll be safe here.”

  Richard went through it. Emily followed. The door thumped closed behind them, cutting off all light. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, and then silence.

  Emily clutched her loaf of bread to her chest. “What…why did she…?”

  Richard cursed.

  “I don’t understand,” said Emily.

  “It appears that we have made a mistake.”

  * * *

  Richard sat on the stone floor of what he took to be a storage room. He had explored the perimeter, reaching as high as he could, and found only brick walls, without windows. Five paces square, with a sturdy plank door and a lock in sadly good repair. It was pitch black and silent, assuring him that sounds made here were unlikely to carry beyond the basement.

  “Couldn’t we talk a little?” said Emily. “It’s so…oppressive in here.”

  Her voice wavered a bit, and Richard felt a pang of guilt. He had shouted at her when they were first shut in, furious with himself and the situation. “There doesn’t appear to be anything else to do,” he acknowledged.

  “There’s no way out?”

  He shook his head, realized she couldn’t see it, and said, “Just the door.”

  Richard listened to the silence. It felt thick, like a blanket draped over him cutting off the air.

  “Mrs. Farrell… You don’t think she’s…?”

  “She wants my land,” Richard answered. “She tried to buy it from me.”

  “Because of the coal?”

  “I suppose they discovered it some time ago. No doubt the seam runs through the Farrells’ estate as well.”

  “And they want it all for themselves.”

  “Yes.” He felt like a fool for not having seen it.

  “So, you think…they hired those men in London?”

  Richard sighed. “Hired them, and when they failed, Lydia came up to town herself to see what could be done.” His short laugh was humorless. “She settled in my own house, made a friend of my mother, who is now her hostage, and persuaded me to come to Wales where I could be more easily disposed of.”

  “But if you were dead…”

  “The estate would pass to my mother as nearest kin. I never made any other provision. I’m sure Lydia thinks she can bilk her of it.” It was almost unbearable—to have been so deceived, to have failed to see any signs of Lydia’s true thoughts and purpose. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d thought he’d developed keener instincts.

  “That is…difficult,” Emily said in an oddly tentative voice.

  “It’s damnable.”

  The sile
nce returned. Richard found that now he couldn’t tolerate it. He had a sudden desire to see Emily’s face. “Are you all right?” he asked instead.

  “You mean, aside from being wet and cold and shut up in the dark? Probably about to be killed?”

  Despite their circumstances, Richard smiled. Nothing they had endured, not even imprisonment, had broken her buoyant spirit.

  “I stole the loaf of bread,” she added.

  “Prescient of you.”

  “You don’t think it will attract rats?”

  “I don’t think we will give them time to notice it.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t sound comforted. “Would you like some now?”

  He wasn’t particularly interested in eating. But he wanted to be closer to her, to feel her as a real presence rather than a voice out of the dark. “Yes,” he said, rising.

  Emily’s skirts rustled.

  “Stay where you are. Just say something, and I will come to you.”

  “Uh…do you think perhaps there are no rats, since this room is empty?”

  Following her voice, he found her sitting against the opposite wall. It was a great relief, somehow, to sink down beside her and feel her shoulder warm on his. When she handed him a piece torn from the loaf, he realized that he was still hungry. He ate it, and then they finished off the rest between them.

  She shivered, and Richard pulled her close without even thinking. She nestled in the curve of his arm. “It’s so dark.”

  He said nothing. There was no cheering answer to this.

  “What will she do with us?”

  Richard considered various vague answers. But he knew Emily wouldn’t believe them for a moment. “I suppose she is sending for her hirelings, to put us in their hands.”

  “The ones who shot at us?”

  “Yes.”

  She assimilated this silently. He had never met a woman with such courage, Richard thought. Or a man, for that matter. She took each catastrophe as a new obstacle to be overcome. She would continue fighting right to the end of her strength. A fierce protective anger blew through him. He had to find a way to get her out of this.