by Mary Campisi
“I have waited years for this, Charlotte.”
“Who are you?”
“Did you really believe I would let you steal my husband?” She stepped forward and aimed a pistol at Sophie’s belly. “Why couldn’t you leave him alone?” She swiped a gray-streaked lock of hair from her face. “Answer me, Charlotte, why couldn’t you leave my husband alone?”
“Please. I’m not who you think I am.”
A faint smile played about the woman’s mouth. “But of course you are, Charlotte Seacrest.”
Chapter 26
The sun shifted and Sophie could just make out the woman’s features. She was striking with high cheekbones and a pure complexion, her gray-streaked hair caught in a twist at the nape of her long neck. It was difficult to tell her age but Sophie guessed she must be a few years younger than Aunt Vivian. The woman’s eyes narrowed. “He’s mine, Charlotte.”
“Lady Westover?” Holt’s mother!
“Indeed.”
“But I thought you were —”
“Dead? I spent ten years in an asylum. Locked up like a common criminal.” Her voice turned low as she spat out, “I am of noble blood, mind you. He had no right to do this to me.” A small smile molded her lips. “Until one day, I decided I’d had enough and found a way out.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lady Westover shook her head. “Of course you don’t. Edward sent me away once because of you, but I assure you, that won’t happen again.” She stepped closer and motioned toward the rowboat tied to the dock. “Move.”
“Wait. Please—”
“Into the boat. You shall row, Charlotte.” Holt’s mother pointed the pistol at Sophie’s belly, forcing her to move. “I have dreamed of this day for years,” she said. “You and I would row to the middle of the lake with the bright sun shining around us and finally, it would be done. I pictured your body sinking to the very bottom of this lake.” Her smiled turned serene. “Edward would never be tempted again. I even dreamed of this,” she murmured, “so many times the dreams felt real.”
“You killed my mother.”
“Why would I kill your mother, Charlotte? I don’t even know the woman.” Her expression darkened in anger. “You’re the one I want to kill and then I should like a cup of tea as I wait for them to drag your bloated, lifeless body from the dregs of the lake. Odd, but this does seem so very familiar.” She tapped her chin and nodded. “If I had paper with me I would have you pen a note to that fool husband of yours, telling him you were leaving him. Why not ruin everyone’s life?”
“I’m not Charlotte.” If she reasoned with the woman, perhaps she’d have a chance.
“Get in the boat and start rowing. Now!”
Sophie hurried to the small boat and climbed inside, settling herself on the seat opposite Lady Westover. She searched the surrounding lawns, trying to formulate a plan of escape.
“Take the oar. Yes,” Holt’s mother said, “this is exactly how I pictured it in my dreams. We would row to the middle of the lake. You would look at me as you are now with desperation on your face. And fear.” Her lips worked into a bright smile. “You should have thought of this before you slept with my husband, Charlotte.”
“I didn’t—”
“Do not insult me. I saw the two of you at the gamekeeper’s cottage, rutting like animals. I promised myself then I would have my revenge.” Her voice faltered a second as she added, “But Edward stole me away and locked me up. Why did he do that? Did he think I would not come back? He’s my husband. My husband,” she jabbed her chest with her finger, “not yours.”
“I’m sorry—”
“You fornicated with my husband and you are sorry? No, dear Charlotte, that is not sufficient repentance. You must plunge to the bottom of the lake where your lungs will fill with water and you will scream, but no one will hear you. No one,” she murmured, leaning closer. “Not even the fish.” She stood in the boat, her eyes wild as she lifted the pistol and pointed it at Sophie’s belly.
“Mother!”
Lady Westover jerked her head toward the sound.
“Edward!”
Holt’s large body loomed on the shore. “Put the pistol down and come back to shore so I can speak with you.”
“No. You’ll lock me up again, Edward.”
“I won’t. I promise you, I won’t do that.”
Her shoulders slumped. “You chose her. Why would you do that? I bore you three children. I even let you send my beloved Holt away. I tried to please you.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Did I not please you, Edward?”
“Yes, you pleased me. Now come to shore.”
She darted a glance at Sophie. “She is quite beautiful, is she not?”
“Please, come to shore now.”
“No,” she shook her head slowly. “Not until I have removed this temptation from your life.” She inched closer to Sophie, the pistol still trained on her belly. “In my dream, I struck her on the head with an oar and watched her sink beneath the water. It all seemed so very real but here she is, threatening to come between us again. I won’t allow it, Edward. You belong to me. Say goodbye to your precious Charlotte.”
“Nooooo!” A horrific cry smashed the air, reverberating from trees to shoreline to water. Lady Westover jerked her head toward the sound and Sophie took that moment to swing the oar at the woman, connecting soundly with her legs.
Holt’s mother screamed and toppled into the water. “Edward! Edward!” She beat her arms against the water, fighting madly to stay afloat. She sunk once, twice, still yelling her husband’s name before vanishing into the murky water with one final splash.
“Sophie!” Holt dove into the lake and headed toward her, his strong body slicing the placid water in swift, even strokes. When he reached the boat, he hazarded a quick glance at her before diving under the water. Once, twice, five times he dove under, but each time he came up with nothing more than clumps of mud. “I can’t find her.” He sucked in great gulps of air and clung to the side of the boat.
“She killed my mother.”
Holt clutched her hand. “I’m so sorry.” And then he was gone again, diving beneath the muddied waters in search of the mother he thought long dead.
Sophie stared at the spot of water where her husband had disappeared. How long could he stay under water? Hadn’t her father told her this was a particularly deep lake? What if Holt developed a cramp? What if he could not make it to the surface? What if he died, never knowing he was to be a father? By the time he resurfaced, Sophie was sobbing and clutching her belly.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” Holt heaved his large frame into the boat and wiped the water from his face. Then he reached for her. “She won’t hurt you now.”
“Holt—”
“You’re safe.” He stared at the muddy pool of water surrounding the boat. “All these years and everyone thought she was dead.”
“She said your father locked her up. Maybe he knew she killed my mother and did it to protect her. She kept speaking of dreams in which she killed my mother.”
“Perhaps the old man sent her away to keep her from the authorities,” Holt said. “Maybe he wasn’t a complete bastard after all.” He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.
“Your mother found out about the affair . . .”
“And decided to end it.”
“All this time,” she murmured against his chest, “all this pain . . .”
“It’s over now, Sophie.”
“Aunt Vivian—”
“She’s alive, a bad knock to the head but she’ll make it.”
“She told me things Holt, sad things that actually made me feel sorry for her. I’d like to offer her a home with us. Perhaps she can find some peace.”
“Whatever you like. I just thank God you’re safe. If anything had happened to you,” his voice cracked. “I love you, Sophie. With every part of my being.”
“We’re going to have a baby.”
“A baby?”
/> She nodded. “Are you happy?”
“More than happy.” He planted a soft kiss on her mouth and said, “About that ridiculous bargain I made with you . . .”
She brushed her lips against his and said, “If you think I’m leaving your bed because I’m going to have your child, you are grievously mistaken. You’ll just have to get used to the idea of making love to a wife with an expanding waistline.”
“Thank you, my love. Thank you for the greatest gift a man could ask for.” They settled into each other’s arms, lazily drifting toward the shoreline when Sophie suddenly remembered the earth shattering scream she’d heard earlier.
“Holt, what was that horrible scream I heard earlier? Was it you?”
“My God. Caroline. I forgot all about her.” Easing Sophie from him, he turned the boat around and headed for the opposite shoreline and the small figure huddled on the bank.
“Caroline? She spoke?”
“Good Lord, I believe she did.”
“We’re coming, Caroline!” Sophie shouted. “We’re coming!”
“Poor thing, she’s seen too much.”
“What if Caroline witnessed your mother killing mine? Here on the lake?”
“Dear God.”
When they reached the shore, Holt jumped out and dragged the boat onto the grassy bank. Sophie scurried out of it and rushed to Caroline, who lay huddled in a ball, her long hair covering her face. Sophie clutched her sister to her. “It’s all right now. It’s over.”
Holt eased onto the grassy bank and lifted the child into his arms. She raised her head and tightened her grip on Sophie’s hand. “Soooo-ppphhhieee.”
“You spoke!” Sophie threw her arms around her husband and her little sister.
“Yes,” Holt said softly, “she spoke.”
Sophie met her husband’s gaze as he lifted his right hand and moved his fingers in the familiar sign, I love you.
She smiled and imitated his finger movements, I love you, too. Then she flung her arms about him and held on tight, reveling in the glory of her husband’s love — today, tomorrow, always.
Epilogue
He stood in the doorway, watching her as the tiny infant suckled her breast. It had been two months since Steven Alexander Langford, future Earl of Westover, joined the world with several lusty wails. Holt recalled the night well. He’d ignored the doctor’s raised brows and insisted on staying by his wife’s side. Of course, he’d vowed never to touch her again if only she would be spared. Her moans of pain had driven him crazy and in the end it was Sophie who reassured him all would be well.
Holt stepped into the nursery, his gaze intent on his wife and son. Sophie looked up and greeted him with a tender smile, so full of love and devotion his chest tightened at the sight. She was beautiful in motherhood with her auburn hair trailing freely down her back, her emerald eyes touched with gold. The ruby medallion hung from her slender neck and rested on the swell of her breasts. Motherhood had nicely rounded the curves of her already splendid figure. Damn, but he never should have made that vow to leave her alone. He knew he’d never be able to keep it. From the look on his wife’s face, it would appear she did not want him to honor his promise; at least not that promise. Holt leaned forward and kissed the hollow of her neck. “I want you.”
“Do tell.” She ran a hand down his arm and onto his thigh.
“You little tease. You’ll pay dearly for that.”
“Oh, I do hope so,” she sighed. “Caroline should be here soon to see to Steven. She wants to read to him.”
“Good.” The child had not stopped talking since she’d regained her ability to speak. “She and Julia can occupy him while I occupy you.”
Sophie slid a long, slow smile over him and whispered, “And I have much to occupy you with, dear husband. So very much to show you.” Her lips touched his, hot and burning with need, and as their baby nestled between them, they pledged their love to one another, deeply, fiercely, eternally.
***
The late afternoon breeze sifted through the clouds, swirling about the scantily clad couple as they nestled on a large blanket beneath a towering oak tree.
“Alexander?”
“Yes, wife?”
“I’ve been thinking about Jason Langford.”
Alexander Bishop rolled onto his side and eyed his wife. “No.”
Francie blinked her eyes open, and frowned. “No, I cannot think of Jason Langford?”
She was the most exasperating woman he’d ever met. Bedlam and beyond was where he’d be headed if he could not quell his wife’s fanciful ideas. The woman possessed absolutely no control when it came to keeping her pretty little nose out of other people’s business. What did she have to do with Jason Langford? “Does this have something to do with Julia Langford’s confession to you the other day?” he mused. “The one she swore you to secrecy not to repeat?”
“Pooh. You are my husband.” She grinned and added, “You do not qualify.”
Alexander cleared his throat and feigned outrage. “I do not qualify? That is not something a woman says to her husband mere minutes after he has thoroughly satisfied her.” He stroked a finger along the swell of her breast, easing it over the lush flesh to circle a pink nipple. “Is it, Madame Wife?”
She shook her head and a delightful riot of curls spilled around her. “No,” she managed on a choppy breath.
“I thought not.” He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth.
“Alexander,” she sighed, weaving her fingers through his hair. “I cannot think.”
“Then don’t.”
“You steal my thoughts.” She arched toward his mouth, whimpering as he lifted her skirts and settled his hand between her thighs.
“Again, dear wife? Have I left you so unsatisfied?”
“No, dear husband. You have left me over satisfied,” she moaned as he inched up her thigh, “and dreaming of being satisfied yet again.”
He lifted his head and stared into his wife’s eyes. “I love you, Francie.”
“And I love you, Alexander. You’ve given me a love I never knew could exist.” She paused. “Which is why I’m so frantic to help others find a love such as ours.”
“Francie.” He was on the verge of making love to his wife again and she had her mind on a debate?
“I know, I’m meddling. I would not have spoken one word but Julia informed me of a very sad story regarding Jason and his one true love and how he lost her. She believes I might be of assistance in transforming his thinking and perhaps providing a new love for him.”
Alexander could not believe he was having such a discussion with his half-naked wife when he was seconds from pleasuring her. His curiosity won over and he asked, “How do you propose to play matchmaker with Jason Langford when the man avoids you as though you are the very devil?”
“I’m working on that little detail.”
“Do,” he said, knowing the man would move to another continent if he discovered Francie were trying to play matchmaker for him.
“Julia said her name was Ariana.”
“Hmmm.” Alexander nuzzled his wife’s neck, determined to stop the conversation and spare Jason Langford from his meddling wife’s overzealous matchmaking attempts.
“Yes, ahhhh, Alexander, that’s what she said.” Francie squirmed and clutched his shoulders as he settled his hand on the inside of her thigh.
“You don’t say?”
“Hmmm,” she sighed. “Julia said . . . she’d help . . . find him . . . oooooohhhhh . . . a wife.” She jerked her hips toward him as he slipped a finger inside her heat.
“Did she now?” Alexander unbuttoned his breeches and knelt between her legs. His wife lay spread before him like a red-haired goddess.
“Yes,” she murmured, opening her legs wider. He plunged inside. “Yes!” She drew her legs around his back, arching to meet each thrust. “Yes!” She sought his mouth for a deep, tongue-filled kiss. Alexander filled her with long, powerful, greedy strokes. Comp
letely. Perfectly. Endlessly. “Yes!” she shouted as he spilled himself into her in a rage of wild, uncontrollable need. She clawed his back, pulling him to her as she cried, “Alexander!” Her body jerked against his, once, twice, three times. “Oh, yes,” she sighed as she clung to him and he collapsed on top of her.
Some time later, Alexander woke to find his wife’s soft blue eyes studying him. He smoothed a lock of hair from her face and kissed her softly on the mouth.
“Alexander?”
He kissed her again. And yet once more. It wasn’t possible to speak when one was kissing, was it? He leaned in to kiss her once more.
“Alexander?” she murmured between his lips.
“Yes?”
“I do have a plan for Jason. A wonderful plan to find him the perfect wife. Would you like to hear it?”
Alexander sighed. He was too exhausted to make love to his wife again and since that proved the only means to still her thoughts of matchmaking Jason Langford, he settled himself against her soft breasts and admitted a glorious defeat. There could be worse punishments than lying next to a beautiful, well-ravished, half-naked woman. He threw an arm around his wife’s waist, closed his eyes and murmured, “You may begin . . . ”
The End
###
About the Author
Mary Campisi should have known she’d become a writer when at age thirteen she began changing the ending to all the books she read. It took several years and a number of jobs, including registered nurse, receptionist in a swanky hair salon, accounts payable clerk, and practice manager in an OB/GYN office, for her to rediscover writing. Enter a mouse-less computer, a floppy disk, and a dream large enough to fill a zip drive. The rest of the story lives on in every book she writes.
When she’s not working on her craft or following the lives of five young adult children, Mary’s digging in the dirt with her flowers and herbs, cooking, reading, walking her rescue lab mix, Cooper, or on the perfect day, riding off into the sunset with her very own ‘hero’ husband on his Electra Glide Classic.
