by Anne O'Brien
They rode the estate together. Nicholas lent her one of his well-bred horses, a compact chestnut mare with a mind of her own, to replace The Zephyr, who was still recovering. Across the pasture and open meadow, so unlike the confines of Hyde Park, Thea was free to gallop. And did so. Nicholas and his lady were quick to discover their equally competitive nature and revelled in the freedom to exercise it. Who might win did not seem to matter.
He showed her Aymestry, newly aware of the pride and affection in which he held this jewel of an estate. It pleased him to see it through her eyes, the pastures and mixed woodland, the mere where the swans were still in residence with their almost-fledged young. Not a large estate, but beautiful, a gleaming emerald, in a perfect setting of green hills and sparkling streams.
Then on to Burford—the vast house with its classical architecture and extensive estate, where herds of sheep and cattle grazed the pastures.
Thea was an interested and critical observer. She heard nothing but good of Lord Nicholas. He was well received, whether on the estate or in the small town of Kingshall. After her experience of the Maidens, it would not have surprised her to sense some animosity. But here there was no threat of danger. And Nicholas’s manner was easy. He stopped to speak to those he passed, he knew their names, their families and their concerns.
Her admiration grew as she saw the extent of his responsibilities. However much he might be involved in his own property of Aymestry and his dreams of breeding desirable horseflesh, the estate at Burford was never to be neglected. He told her a little about his brothers. And his nephew Tom, Marquis of Burford. If—when—Tom took over the running of the estate in his own right, he would not find it wanting.
So Nicholas was a man quick to recognise obligation and stern duty. Yet he did not crow of his achievements. And Thea had actually accused him of living on the profit and possessions of others. How little she had known of him then! She had the grace to feel ashamed.
When it rained and discouraged their daily rides, they gravitated to the library at Burford Hall. To Thea’s delight, amongst the dusty leather volumes there were novels to be read. Scott’s Waverley and Guy Mannering were soon discovered. And Ivan-hoe, which she declared she liked less well, the plot being more farfetched. She devoured Glenarvon by Caroline Lamb, with her sensational and outrageous dissection of members of society whom Thea was quick to recognise with wicked pleasure. Also a remarkable choice of Gothic novels, which made her laugh and groan at their absurdities. She gave up on Mrs Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho and turned instead with something like relief to Lord Byron’s Childe Harold.
A further source of surprise was the vast number of travel books, which it was impossible for her to ignore. Descriptions of far-flung lands all spoke to Thea’s adventurous heart. But she had never been as happy as she was at that moment in the rural fastness of Herefordshire. And gloried in it.
And could discover another side to the man whom she was coming to know. For the library also contained treatises on estate improvement. She browsed through back copies of the Farmers’ Journal, articles on making use of marls and clover and new grasses. Reports encouraged land drainage and the use of new implements for ploughing and threshing. Arthur Young’s writings on his travels around the country were well thumbed, she noted, as were advice on improvements to cattle and sheep breeding. And, of course, horses.
For Nicholas cared. Thea’s admiration grew, as did her love.
Nicholas, for his part, was totally captivated. Theodora was everything he could want, everything he had dreamed of. Released from the rigid convention of life in the judgmental eye of society, she relaxed, enabling him to see her true nature: an intelligent woman, well read, well traveled, which made her a delight to converse with. Energetic, full of life, she was eager to explore his home, to ask and discover. She was even interested in his plans for the estate, God help him! He was lost indeed! And she laughed. Whenever he thought of her it was to see her eyes sparkling, her lips curved to show her pretty teeth, her face alight. How could he not laugh with her? What more could any man desire in a wife?
As for the physical attraction—he had never wanted a woman as he wanted Theodora. Had never been aroused so readily by a mere glance, by a simple turn of a head, by a brush of feminine fingers against his. Sometimes he did not know how he kept his hands from seizing her shoulders and dragging her into his embrace, into his bed, capturing her mouth with his. He smiled with sardonic humour. She wore his self-control to breaking point—and was well aware of it. For Miss Wooton-Devereux was, without doubt, flirtatious when the mood took her.
And, if all that were not enough, a thick luxurious layer over all was the conviction that she was meant for him. He had simply been waiting for her all his life. He woke every morning, at ease with the knowledge that he could spend the day with her. The vague dissatisfaction and unease with the future vanished as soon as Thea came to stand with him, or sit or ride. As long as she was there, life could hold nothing more.
Sometimes he saw a shadow in her eyes. It concerned him, but perhaps it was simply a lingering memory of the terror of the Maidens’ attack. It had pleased him that at last she trusted him enough to tell him the truth of that disturbing episode. It had not been easy for her. They had ridden to Dinmore Hill, where they had dismounted to stroll through the woods with their new brightness of leaves and the intense hue of the bluebells.
‘I should tell you, Nicholas …’ She had been quiet for a little time, lost in her thoughts or in the surrounding beauty, but now she took his hand and turned to face him. She did not smile.
‘Hmm?’ He watched the dappled sunlight play over her hair, her fair skin. How lovely she was.
About … about my strange behaviour.’
His brows arched in silent enquiry.
‘The Maidens—when I … when I …’
Thea—I had not thought of it again.’
‘But I have. I do. It was the same when I struck out at you with my whip. I should tell you—’
‘Thea.’ His fingers tightened on hers. ‘There is no need.’
‘I think I must. There should be no shadows between us.’ Except for the one, the darkest of dark shadows, which I dare not name!
‘No. Thea—I asked Agnes. After the incident with the Maidens. When you were so distressed—I thought I needed to know.’ His voice was very gentle.
‘Oh. Well, then …’ It took Thea by surprise. She did not know how she felt about that.
‘She was very loyal, but I pressed her.’
‘And she told you.’
‘Yes. Enough that I might understand.’ He lifted a hand to run his fingers down her cheek, a soft brush of sympathy.
‘I cannot control the fear. It is the overwhelming noise—the crush of people.’
‘I know. I understand, darling Thea. It is not important.’
‘I feel a coward.’ She turned her face to press against his fingers.
‘You are no coward. You are brave and resourceful. And I love you beyond reason.’
His kiss was a confirmation of the care, the depth of compassion that she heard in his voice. Gentle, lingering, a warmth of comfort for a damaged soul until her tense muscles softened and she clung to him in relief and gratitude. Until the gentle warmth of the kiss flared into heat and need, a desire that could not be denied, when the light around them became too bright, the colours too intense. Their senses were stripped naked before the onslaught of their love, leaving Nicholas in no doubt that she was as lost as he.
But he still did not know of the reason for her strange behaviour in London, when he had been so sure that she had deliberately set herself to put distance between them. In effect, to drive him away. He dare not ask her and closed his mind against it.
Nothing must be allowed to encroach on this summer idyll.
Time came to have no meaning for Nicholas and Theodora, measured only by the days and hours and minutes—seconds, even—which they spent in each other’s presence. In ea
ch other’s arms. It was a compulsion, an obsession, heightened by the brush of hands, the touch of lips. Nothing outside their two selves had any meaning.
So, riding on the edge of the estate, they were unaware of the changes round them as the clear light leached from the sky. Storm clouds banked to the west with a sultry heaviness. The first presentiment that they were far from home and the weather would break was a chilling ripple of wind. The sun disappeared behind encroaching high cloud, the far hill withdrawing into an enveloping mist and the first swirl of rain. Picking up the scent of the approaching storm, the horses danced in the freshening breeze, eager for their stable.
There was, of course, the temptation of a nearby barn.
‘Well, my lady? Do we take the barn?’
‘Or do we get wet?’ Thea’s face glowed with the sheer joy of life, of being in the presence of the man she loved. Of being able to reach out and touch him whenever the thought arose.
Nicholas turned his head, picking up her mood. ‘Will you then gamble. Will we run the storm?’ The wildness of the approaching elements was in his blood. There was a reckless challenge in his face that she loved and it seduced her utterly. She saw the challenge and loved it, allowed the seduction.
‘Yes. And yes.’
‘Come, then.’ He stretched out a hand in imperious demand, manoeuvred his bay close, then leaned to allow an arm to steal around her waist. A kiss. Necessarily brief, a mere meeting of mouth on mouth. But hot and hard, a thrill of passion, of burning need.
For a moment her lips parted beneath his, her heart increasing its beat, a pulse that shook her and had nothing to do with the storm, but everything to do with the fever that engulfed her at his touch, the sheer sensuality as his tongue outlined the delicate shape of her lips.
Then he released her. ‘Let us do the thing.’
And they fled before the storm, the rain and wind urging them on.
A crazy ride. At full, headlong gallop, control stretched to the limit. Sleek lines and straining power, horses and riders moving as one. They leapt small obstacles, ditches and hedges. Flew as if the hounds of hell pursued them in full cry as thunder rolled over the hills of Burford Edge behind them.
And the heavens opened, a deluge that drenched them to the skin in seconds. Thea failed to suppress a shriek as cold rain fell on her heated flesh. And laughed aloud with the exhilaration of it.
Nicholas slowed the pace. ‘Do we shelter?’ He had to raise his voice over the lash of wind and rain.
‘No. Home.’
They picked up the pace and soared over the stream that bordered the home pasture. Extending again to thwart the worst of the relentless downpour. When they clattered into the stableyard and Nicholas lifted her down, the steaming horses were turned over to waiting hands and they ran for the house. Madness was in their blood, as elemental as the lightning that flashed across the sky.
In the entrance hall they stood on the worn slates and dripped. And looked at each other.
‘I am drenched.’ Thea tentatively lifted the clammy skirts of her velvet riding habit.
‘And I.’
‘We lost the gamble.’
‘Did we?’
The shock of recognition between them was beyond experience, as electric as the storm that raged without. Breathing shallow, their eyes caught and held. It was impossible to look away, one held captive in the existence of the other. Chains of pure gold bound and held them—and neither resisted the gentle but inexorable tightening of the bond.
Nicholas smiled, both tender and a demand. Held out his hand, as he had at the onset of the storm. And Thea, breath caught in her throat, was compelled to respond, palm to palm, fingers interlocked. A remarkable seduction that tempted and beckoned them on into a depth of emotion and desire which neither could have envisaged. And both fell.
‘My lord.’ Mrs Grant had arrived unnoticed. ‘I see you were caught in the storm. And Miss Thea.’ She clucked indulgently at the puddles on the floor as she approached. They looked like children daring the power of the elements, she thought. Carefree. And Nicholas—as if a boy again, shedding the responsibilities that he had so willingly shouldered. Energy and vitality burned through him, his face alight with it.
‘Can I be of help?’
‘No.’ Her question brought them back to the present. ‘Thank you, Mrs Grant. No. I will deal with it.’ His smile was preoccupied.
With Thea’s hand in his, they climbed the stairs together, leaving the housekeeper to watch them.
No. Lord Nicholas was no longer a boy. The expression Mrs Grant had seen in his face and eyes had nothing to do with youth and immaturity. She hoped fate would be kind to him. And stepped back into the shadows.
This vibrant, laughing girl had brought him to life again.
No further words passed between them. They were beyond speech as they came to a halt at the head of the stairs where decisions had to be made. Nicholas tightened the clasp of his hand on hers, the slightest pressure, his gaze questioning. Theodora responded by moving to his side. Answering the unspoken, he led her along the corridor to his bedchamber.
Outside the storm raged on—capricious gusts of wind swirling the rain to lash unmercifully against the windows, distant thunder rumbling ever closer over woods and hills. Thea and Nicholas stood within his room, the door barred to all, oblivious to the onslaught. Within that wood-panelled room, safe and warm and offering every comfort, the elements were set to rage no less ferociously.
‘I want you. I want you every minute in the day, from the moment that I wake until the second I fall into sleep. Even my dreams are tormented by your presence. Your perfume, your voice. You are in my blood, Thea.’
‘I know it. I know it because my thought mirrors yours.’ How could she not know it? Love washed over her, through her, a relentless tide. She felt the power of his eyes, fierce and intense, a dark midnight blue as they held her own. In response she felt the flush of heat over her skin, a flutter of nervous anticipation in her veins. For him, her smile was answer enough.
‘Shall we ride this storm too, lady?’ Nicholas drew her inexorably toward him, so that he could bend his head and kiss her hands, then take her lips with his own. Impossibly gentle, a mere sensuous brush of mouth against mouth, despite the raging fire in his blood.
‘We can match the glory of anything in nature’s creation.’ Her lips parted beneath his in confident invitation. ‘Love me, Nicholas.’
‘It will be my pleasure and my delight, lady.’
Now their breathing was heightened. Their movements driven by unrestrained need, as wild and urgent as the summer storm. Soaked garments, boots were quickly stripped away until nothing existed between them except the charged quality of the air. Until he lifted her high in his arms, to fall with her to the bed where they rolled, a tangle of limbs, cool damp rapidly replaced by throbbing heat as skin slid seductively against skin. The lightning that speared across the sky was no more brilliant than the passion which consumed them. Diamond bright, it wrapped them around.
Both were already aroused, he hard as stone, she hot and slick with need, desiring nothing more than to be submerged one within the other as their hands united, palm to palm, fingers meshed. Nicholas pinned Theodora to the soft mattress, hands imprisoned above her head. She needed no instruction now, but opened for him, arching her body in silent demand.
‘I love you.’ She gasped the words as shivers ran along her skin at his dominant power. ‘I love you.’
With one powerful thrust he possessed her. And again. Deep and deeper yet. Thea took him in.
‘Thea.’
His name was also on her lips. Both held suspended in that one moment of glorious joining.
‘Don’t close your eyes.’ His voice was low and harsh. She could not look away from the fierce wanting she could see in his face as he forced himself to hold back, a brief hiatus in the turbulence that threatened to overturn all control. ‘Look at me.’ She could do no other. ‘I want you to see me when I am insid
e you. As I need to see myself in your eyes.’
‘Yes.’
It was all the acceptance he needed. ‘Then come with me.’
The storm struck with violent intensity, overwhelming them both as they had been enveloped by the rain on the hill. As his mouth took hers, swallowing her cries, he withdrew, thrust again. And again she arched and moved beneath him, as driven and demanding as her lover. All feminine elegance, all gentle curves and sleek planes, but yet wielding total power over his senses. When her nails seared his back, he was unaware. Nothing existed but this outrageous need to own, to achieve fulfilment—and still to pleasure. For even within the rough madness of it all, this furious craving to possess, was his care for her, woven through the tapestry as bright threads of silver throughout the silken texture of it all.
‘Nicholas!’ Thea answered every demand with intense joy. Never had her strong mind been taken over so completely by the commands of another. Her whole world was suddenly narrowed to this one sharp focus, the man who held her captive and governed her every action with such power. When he touched her, when he looked at her, compelling her with those amazing eyes, she no longer had a will of her own—and rejoiced in the knowledge, the absolute thrill of it.
Beyond any control, Nicholas now drove on, muscles screaming, tendons stretched to snapping point. Until the tight wet heat of her body brought him to his fulfilment.
‘Did we survive the storm?’ Thea managed to turn her face to press a kiss against the dark hair. They lay together in the ruins of the bed.
Beyond the room the storm had moved on. In the quietness the wind had dropped and the clouds began to break, allowing the first gleam of hesitant sunshine to brighten the corner of the room. But neither lover noticed the rich glow of linenfold or the return of birdsong, both too caught up in their own world.
