Heart in Hiding (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 6)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Thank you,” he croaked, his throat sore from his outburst. Blowing his nose, he fought to pull himself together and leave some of this misery where it belonged. In his past.

  “Better?” She still held him, a rock in his storm, an anchor for his turbulent emotions.

  “Yes, much.” He turned to her, those amazing eyes full of sympathy and concern. What an amazing woman she was to have guided him and helped him through this, let alone finding him and tending to his needs.

  “I’m glad. You have lived through some terrible times.”

  “I’m not alone in that. So many lives lost, Hecate. Between our own lads and the Prussian forces? I heard numbers as high as twenty-three thousand casualties. Twenty-three thousand. Can you imagine that?”

  She shook her head and her eyes now gleamed with her own unshed tears. “No. No I cannot fathom how such a thing could happen. Too many lives lost. And for what?”

  “Well, Napoleon is finished.” He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing into her warmth. “There will be a new Europe now; new borders, better rulers I hope, and a resolve to never allow matters to get to that point again.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she concurred. “But even the peace brings its own set of problems, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Of course. As long as there are politicians, there will be problems. It seems one cannot serve one’s country unless one promises to create problems.”

  She grinned. “You are a cynic, sir.”

  Her face, the glow around her, the ripe and rosy sheen of her lips so close to his…he was but a man, and one in a fragile state. One moment he was looking at her smile—the next, he was kissing her.

  He intended it to be just a gentle touch of lips, a way of saying thank you for everything she’d done, and to apologize for his behaviour. But from the instant he touched her, his resolve vanished, to be replaced with a burgeoning need that shook him from his toes to his eyebrows.

  Her lips were warm rose petals, and she parted them on a slight gasp as he lightly touched his mouth to hers. Unwilling to move, he stayed there, pressed against her, until his tongue could not resist the urge to taste her and he let it lick along the fullness of the sweet folds. She responded instantly, opening her mouth and welcoming his intrusion.

  And that was all it took.

  Fires exploded within Finn, and she was in his arms, cradled on his lap, her mouth on his, their tongues engaged in a sensual duel of slick hot flesh.

  Someone moaned—he thought it might well be himself—and passion exploded, his cock hardening beneath her firm bottom. He wanted her, wanted everything, now, this moment, before his next breath. He’d never felt this crippling urgency for a woman, and it scared him, but he could not—would not—withdraw from their embrace.

  His hands crept to her waist, pulling her closer, one going up behind her head to lock the two of them together, the other slipping down to grasp her buttock and knead it. If he could have opened himself up and pulled her inside him, he would have done.

  It was anyone’s guess where this would have ended, if a log hadn't popped in the fireplace. Had he been able to choose, they’d both be naked on the lovely new carpet, and he’d be balls-deep between her thighs.

  But the loud sound jerked them both from their sensual interlude, and Hecate rose quickly from his arms, blushing and straightening her skirts. “My goodness, Mr. Finn. Well, that was very pleasant.” She smiled. “And quite to be expected after your emotional turmoil.”

  He did his best to hide the uncomfortable evidence of how much he’d enjoyed it, by shifting on the chair and offering a silent prayer of gratitude that robes were a lot looser around a gentleman’s manly parts than breeches.

  She returned to her chair and sat, and he watched her pull her composure back into place. “So now you have some memories. Not good ones, but it shows you are improving.”

  “Indeed I am.” He stood, a bit shakily, but he managed it. “In fact, I have improved so much that I am now happy to introduce myself. My name is Finn Casey, and I am well acquainted with your brother, Richard Ridlington.”

  He gave her a little formal bow, then took a few moments to enjoy the look of utter astonishment on her face.

  *~~*~~*

  “Richard?” Hecate gasped the word. “You know Richard?”

  “I do. We took rooms together in Brussels. I heard about his intended nuptials hours before they took place.” He grinned. “How did that work out, by the way?”

  She smiled back. “Extremely well. They’re expecting twins.”

  “Good God.” He shook his head. “Well he was always the one to try and do better than everyone else. I enjoyed his friendship.”

  “I must make sure to tell him. They live here in Devon, too, at their new home, Branscombe Magna. It’s not that far from here.” She chuckled. “Talk about coincidences.”

  “The world can indeed play some strange tricks, sometimes.” He paused, and a frown creased his brow. “I cannot…”

  “What?”

  “I remember Waterloo. I remember my home, now. Ireland. Ahane, just southwest of Cork. Green fields, like velvet they were.”

  “And your family?” Her voice was soft as she asked the question.

  “My mother. My father died when I was ten or so, but we managed well enough. An inheritance from our uncle set us on the right road. My sisters. Three of them. One left for Dublin, and what a to-do that was,” he huffed out a laugh. “You’d think she’d gone to live with the Devil instead of a husband.”

  “Three sisters? My goodness.”

  He looked up at her. “I can’t remember if I went home after Waterloo, Hecate. After the battle…there’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

  She gazed at him. “It’s August now, Finn. August 1816. Waterloo was fourteen months ago. You have no recollection of those months? None at all?”

  “Nothing. It’s blank.” He closed his eyes. “Dear God. How can I have lost an entire year?”

  “It will return, Finn. I’m sure of it. You have begun to reclaim Waterloo and you remember your life until that point…”

  “I do,” he answered. “Just a regular life, my family, the military…”

  “A wife? Children?” She posed the question delicately. “Anyone we should get in touch with?”

  He smiled at her. “No ties, Hecate. But I should send a note to my mother. Unless she already knows I’m all right…” He ran his hands through his hair. “What a mess.”

  “It is a muddle indeed, but we shall persevere. It’s only been a little more than a week since you stared death in the face, so give yourself a little more time. You have come a long way, but there is still a distance to go. Getting you back up to your fighting form must be our priority, since the health of the body can be very closely linked to the health of the mind.”

  She wondered how he would handle the news that there had been tragic losses in Ireland as well, if what she’d seen in her vision was true. “In the meantime, you must rest. You’ve eaten solid food, you’ve stayed down here with me, warm and comfortable for quite some time. I think that qualifies as quite a hectic morning’s activity for someone who has been bedridden for at least a week. So it’s back to bed for you, Finn. Have a long, restorative nap and we’ll see about getting you down here for dinner. How does that sound?”

  He nodded, his eyes looking heavy. “I’ll confess that I could use a rest. And believe me, it goes against everything I am to admit that.”

  “Admit what?” She blinked innocently.

  “Thank you.” He acknowledged her comment with a chuckle.

  “One question before you go,” she remembered something. “The first time we met, when I found you in the forest, you looked at me and spoke a name. Do you recall that?”

  He blinked, then shook his head. “I don’t. Sorry. I have no idea what I was doing in the forest. The most recent thing I remember is you…your face looking at me when I lay in bed, insisting I wasn’t going to die.”

 
“And I was right,” she added with a certain amount of smugness. “You didn’t die, did you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he answered with amusement. “So what did I call you?”

  She swallowed. “You called me Moira.” There was silence for a few moments as he stared into her eyes with great intensity. “Do you know someone named Moira?”

  “I did,” he replied without hesitation. “A long time ago. She lived near to us and came to sit with us on the times our parents were called away. I was very taken with her. In fact, I think she was my first love.” He paused. “You have eyes like hers.”

  Hecate did some rapid mathematics in her head. “How old would you have been?”

  “Uh…four? Maybe five? I’m not sure…”

  “What happened to her?”

  He gave her an odd look, as if the question puzzled him. He shrugged. “I think she went away to marry some wealthy chap. All I can recall was my mother wondering if the lure of a title would sever the ties to her homeland.” He sighed. “Mother never appreciated the opportunities offered by other lands. She was all for Ireland and home. Couldn’t understand why anyone would want to go anywhere else.”

  “Hmm.” Hecate thought furiously. The dates would seem to work… “How old are you, Mr. Finn? Forgive the question, but I have a reason for asking…”

  “I will turn twenty-nine this year,” he said, his gaze once again fixed on her face.

  “Then, sir, I believe you had the pleasure of being watched over by my mother.” She watched his astonished surprise. “Her name was Moira and she was Irish too.”

  Chapter Eight

  With Finn tucked up in bed and sound asleep, Hecate had plenty of time to herself to consider all she’d learned that eventful morning. She shook her head in astonishment at the vagaries of Fate and the universe.

  What were the chances that her anonymous patient would have ties to the Ridlingtons? To her family? Her mother? Knowing that Finn had shared rooms with Richard—well, somehow it made him less of a stranger. Hearing him talk of Moira…well, that was something far beyond what she could have imagined.

  Somehow she could sense the outlines of a master plan, the framework vague and just outside her grasp, but centred here at Doireann Vale.

  As one with the utmost respect for matters beyond the ordinary, Hecate accepted the notion that Finn had been brought to this place by a power greater than his own legs. And she’d been there to save his life at the whim of that power.

  The question thus became why?

  Some might have spent hours pondering and turning that simple word over in their minds, but not Hecate. Her beliefs assured her that all would be revealed in good time. Finn was alive, his memory was returning and soon they would know all they needed to solve the mystery deepening around them.

  Other than that, the only matter that needed some more thought was…his kiss.

  Just the memory of it, the way they had fit together like pieces of a puzzle…things inside Hecate liquefied as she recalled the warmth of his lips and the taste of him, the silken heat of their mouths crushing against each other, and the way he’d held her closer than close. It hadn’t seemed nearly close enough…

  A tiny shiver rippled through her. Nothing like it had happened before, and she admitted that Finn was the reason. While it was easy for her to say to herself that he was the one, believing it was something else again. Her past had not exactly reassured her that she was prepared for—or even capable of—deeper affections.

  Her father had believed her mad, and she’d heard him threaten to send her to Bedlam. She’d couldn’t have been much over six years old at the time, but the menace in his voice, the implied threat, had sent her running as far from him as she could go, and from that moment on she’d taken up residence in the tower rooms. They were cold at first, drafty and inhospitable. But she could disappear there, out of sight, and soon her siblings began to slip one or two comforts her way. Simon had tapped on the door with pillows and warm blankets for the lumpy bed. Letitia and Kitty conspired to liberate some curtains and they spent a cheerful afternoon deciding how to hang them. When Richard appeared with a couple of small rugs rolled beneath his arm, Hecate’s sanctuary was complete. Edmund had gone to sea but his letters were full of affection and encouragement.

  This, she realised, was the love of a family, showing even back then. Small things, but they meant so much. Those deeds surpassed the distaste exhibited by their parent and it wasn’t too long before she realised that her father didn’t care much for any of them. That knowledge had created a strange bond amongst the siblings, one that had grown and matured into a closeness that was difficult to describe. It wasn’t the love created naturally by a warm and secure upbringing. It was the need for closeness and the touch of something familiar, deepening into something unique and sustaining. It was the quick hugs, the smiles amongst them as they grew from childhood into youths and finally to adults. It was now unbreakable.

  They’d been united by a parent who couldn’t give a damn about them.

  But they were united. And that was a miracle in and of itself.

  Now, of course, her brothers and sisters had overcome the last of the old Baron’s legacy of callous dismissal, and given their hearts to their mates. From what she’d seen, the extraordinary glow that bloomed in their eyes was genuine; they had found love despite everything.

  So the question remained. Could she?

  Dancey Miller-James had been a mistake, and she’d known it all along. But it was her first experience with a man who showered her with attention and affection. And yes, she’d foolishly allowed him to sweep her off her feet. She’d turned a deaf ear to her inner voices when they warned her against him, and opened her heart to his sweet words and thoughtful little gifts. He’d made her feel special in that unique way that only a handsome man can do to an impressionable young woman.

  She hadn’t wanted to use her gift to lift the veils of her future. She could have tried scrying, meditating…paying lip service to her inner spirits, while contriving to push aside the warnings she knew were there. But she persuaded herself that his kisses were everything a woman could want, and that his highly-charged air of masculinity merely enhanced his masculine appeal.

  And when she did finally meditate on what lay ahead—her attempts to summon a vision failed. It was as if she had no future at all.

  Which, upon reflection, was very nearly true.

  But it had been Miller-James who lost his life in the carriage accident. And he’d brought it all on himself.

  Hecate did not assign blame, because that was a useless waste of her emotions. She’d been a silly green girl and become entangled with an unscrupulous man who had one goal only…to claim her virginity. She knew now he would have walked away once he’d achieved his goal; that she had been nothing more than an amusing little thing he could play with at will.

  He was gone. His life wasted. She felt sympathy for his family, but little else.

  His legacy was her limp, a hip and leg so badly damaged that by the time the bones had healed, she had to learn how to walk again. And would always need to do so with the assistance of her cane.

  She would never dance, never run to pick up her child. She wasn’t even sure she could bear a child, let alone play with it. It had taken some time for her emotions to heal when these realisations crept upon her.

  Over almost two years she worked to come to terms with who and what she now was. At last, here at Doireann Vale, she could look forward, knowing she had grown through times of pain and trial, and had survived.

  The woman she was now could move on with her life, such as it was.

  Whether Finn would play a role in it…well, that was a question best left unanswered for the present.

  *~~*~~*

  With the arrival of clothing for Finn, procured successfully by Dal on his visit to Bideford, the following days fell into a pattern that Hecate found both comfortable and oddly pleasant.

  An independent woman by nat
ure, and solitary in her habits, it took a little getting used to. Sharing the breakfast table with a gentleman to whom she was not related…it turned out to be more exhilarating than embarrassing.

  Finn’s willingness to help was evident, and Hecate was happy to accept his advice and suggestions, which she noted were readily given when requested, but not otherwise. A restraint she much appreciated.

  Less than a week after that embrace—which neither had mentioned since—she was glad of his presence when a rap at the front door revealed two magnificently moustachioed men, standing erect, inquiring if there might be work to be had.

  Finn had taken one look at them and demanded the names of their regiments.

  Within moments, hands were shaken, salutes and laughter exchanged, and she left them to it while she ordered tea from Mrs. Trimmer.

  Finn glanced at her as she returned and invited them into the salon, which now boasted a fire and a tray including small sandwiches.

  “Thank you, Miss Hecate. They’re good men, these two.”

  At that moment, both “good men” were looking nervous and unsure of what to do with themselves.

  She chuckled. “Gentlemen, please make yourself comfortable. I have tea and some food here, and I certainly shall not be able to eat it all myself.”

  Finn showed them the way, by pouring his own tea and filling a plate. “While you’re busy with all this, perhaps you can tell us what kind of work you’re looking for?” He returned to his seat. “I cannot believe a Hussar would settle for working as a groundskeeper…”

  The taller man, whose name turned out to be Harvey Woodruff, shrugged. “We’ll take whatever we can get, Ma’am,” he said. “Neither Digby nor I can live on air, the army discharged us with little to live on, and there are too many others like us scraping for paying jobs. We’ve managed up to now, but this weather’s so bad that there’s no farm jobs anywhere. Everything else is either filled up or closed up.”

  Digby—Hecate wasn’t sure if that was his first or last name—nodded in agreement. “Nothing but the truth, Ma’am. We even asked up and down the coast, since it’s likely there’s still fish to be had.” He sighed. “There’s ten men ready for each sailor’s boots.”