by Sophia James
Her fingers drew a line across her lips now. She wanted him again here on the ancient bed, here as the clocks ticked on towards the noontime and the outside world lazed in the season’s sun.
‘Francis.’ She said his name out loud, liking the music in it and the softness; the name of one of the angels in the Bible. She smiled thinking of his darkness and the scar emblazoned as a brand across his cheek. She wondered how he had got the mark and made a note to ask him. He had said something of the war in Spain if she remembered correctly and being lost in the mountains outside Corunna. The same war where his primary job had been that of a marksman, shooting the enemy when backs were turned or when they had thought themselves safe.
A dangerous solitary occupation she imagined, cut off from others, left to the elements. She had read the stories of the Peninsular Campaign and seen the pictures. She wished he was here next her so that she might turn and take him in her arms to keep him safe or to feel him inside her making her want things she had never thought possible.
A little later the door opened and he was there fully dressed, back today in unbroken black.
‘I wondered when you would wake. You have been sleeping like the dead.’
His eyes were soft, licked in warmth and his hair was back in its severe tie, dragged back off his face.
Reaching up she took his hand and laid it across one breast. The change in temperature between them was startling and arousing.
‘I want you.’ Her words. Uncensored. Shocking in the daylight. She did not even blink as he watched her but moved up against his hand and pushed all the covers away.
The tangle of her hair and the ruin of the sheets. A fallen angel, shattered by passion.
When he sat and lifted her onto his lap she had no recall of him unfastening his fall as his manhood came within her, no warning, no caution. The ache of it made her arch back, but he did not break his motion, intent on his lesson, his mouth against the column of her throat and biting down.
And this morning he taught her that loving need not always be soft or gentle. The other side of the same coin of passion had its paybacks though and when she bit into his shoulder he came, the hot rush of completion running over the cold shiver of truth. Only with each other were they whole.
Then he laid her back and pulled the covers across her. ‘Sleep now, Sephora, until I come again. No one will disturb you.’
And he did come again once in the afternoon and then in the evening to take her in the way he wanted, slow and quiet. It was a netherworld she lived in waiting for him, only breathing until he was there again, the strength of his hands against the sheltered softness of her body.
He rarely spoke and she did not either. She had not asked for the words and he obeyed her. A taken wife used with care until every part of her body became accustomed to his touch.
And when the stars rose amongst the darkness he had food brought to the chamber and he bathed her in a warm and soapy bath and dressed her in a nightgown of fine lawn. The bed was made up too, crisp and new and as he tucked her within it, he kissed her on the forehead and left.
She woke again in the early hours after midnight, refreshed from so much sleep and he was not there. Taking a heavy blanket from the bed she draped it about herself and left the room with a candle to light her way, reasoning that her husband would be downstairs in the library she had seen yesterday.
He sat on a wide leather chair with his feet up on the windowsill and the room was freezing. When he saw her he smiled but didn’t move at all. ‘I don’t sleep well.’
‘And you like the cold?’
Each window was full open, and the cloth from around his neck was discarded on the floor, the vivid scars on his throat easily seen in the moonlight.
‘Maria told me the story of what happened.’ She gestured with her hands. ‘Adam Stevenage relayed it to her. I hope you do not mind?’
‘It’s only a story,’ he said suddenly. ‘Just words.’
‘Can you give me the truth of them, then? I would like to hear it from you.’
Shrugging his shoulders he leaned back, the brutal marks dark in the soft fold of his skin.
‘It was near Christmas and it was cold. I remember looking up in the early dawn and seeing a shooting star and wishing on it. Gold, I asked. I wanted gold to come home and live on and to save the Douglas inheritance as well as to show others here that I was not feckless and reckless and dissolute. I wanted enough to start a family with and to know my neighbours; all the things others so effortlessly seemed to manage but which were lost somehow to me.’
His words were made slower with drink. Whisky, she determined, by the little that was left in his glass.
‘My partner Seth Greenwood came down in the morning and I was tired. He’d risen warm from the bed of his wife and I envied him that. I could hear his babies crying even at that distance and see the flame of the fire against the glass. A home.’ He looked at her then. ‘There is a certain appeal in the word, I always thought. More so perhaps because I never had one.’
Leaning forward, he half filled his glass again and she did not try to stop him. Let him lose himself in the arms of drink she thought as she had lost herself in the embrace of passion.
‘Kennings came after the day broke, quietly on a down-wind track. I saw him come and thought he was there to talk. The dogs didn’t bark though and I should have taken that as a warning. They didn’t bark because he had already been to the house and done his business.
‘I think he’d cut through the tethering of the platform against the bank, maybe when we were away the afternoon before registering our claim. Kennings did not know that then. It was only later he’d have realised that it had all been for nothing.’
His eyes met hers. ‘And that is the final irony of what did happen. The nothingness. The futility. The empty void of oblivion that held no payback for anyone.
‘He shot at us as the rig collapsed. I felt the bullets rifling through the water, five or six perhaps and loaded quickly, but then I hardly think he’d shoot slow with the stakes so high.
‘The first two ripped across my arm and the third went into Seth’s shoulder. When the water ran red and there was only silence Kennings probably thought he’d done his job and all that was left was to make certain that the claim was his.
‘I couldn’t lift Seth up out of the water so I stayed there with him. Hours later he slipped away into the river and I was hauled up into the teeth of a furious lynch mob wanting revenge and retribution. Seth’s wife had been found by then, you see, and the babies, and Kennings had spread the word that I had done it. Jealousy was the motive, he said, and greed.
‘Seth’s body was gone with the river somewhere, Kennings bullet in him and I was so freezing I could barely talk enough to give my side of the tale.
‘They hanged me from a cottonwood with its bare winter branches and its ragged bark, but they picked the wrong bough and the branch broke. When the lightning came a second later there were those in the group who felt strongly about signs from God and his omnipotent displeasure and so I was brought instead into town, the rope still around my neck and my throat swelling.’ He smiled, but there was no humour there. ‘If the damn hanging did not kill me then its effects nearly did. And after,’ he stopped and swallowed. ‘Afterwards breathing at night was always harder and I could not lie down for a long, long while.’
‘Even now?’
He nodded. ‘Especially now when there are so many more to keep safe.’
Suddenly she understood why there was a gun next to him and another on the flat of the sofa. ‘It’s Anna? You know who tried to kidnap her?’
‘Only a list of suspects, but I am narrowing it down.’
Panic made her stand. ‘It is dangerous, Francis. These people have already shown what they are capable of.’
‘Clive Sherborne was running his own sort of books and because of that Anna is in danger from those who knew about it.’
‘How do you know this?’ She was simpl
y horrified by what he had said. ‘Who are they?’
‘I’ve had people investigating Sherborne’s murder since it happened. Anna’s guardian, Clive Sherborne, had been providing the finance for a number of years to bring spirits in illegally from France, but he got too cocky with the merchandise. He onsold some of the brandy to London pubs at a rate that was more than what it should have been and pocketed the difference. The man who killed him found this out.’
Her mind whirled into a hundred directions and then they all converged into one. She knew the moment he saw the conclusion she had reached as eyes bruised in anger, fell away from her own.
‘Anna was there.’
‘I think Sherborne was in it deeper than his lawyer realised and it was easier to involve a child in the transactions than another adult who might betray him.’
‘My God. The nightmares...?’
‘She thinks she is next.’
This explained why she had wanted all the reassurances of never being sent away from them and why she seldom liked to go outside. But it also threw up other worries.
He reached for her then, opening the cocoon of his blanket, his sleeve pulled back in the moonlight and his jacket gone. Positioning her own wrap over them both she came in tight against him in her thin nightgown and felt his utter warmth and safety.
‘It’s like that time in London,’ she whispered and he tilted his head, still watching the landscape before the house.
‘What is?’
‘You will save her just as you did me.’
The hoot of an owl from a line of trees to one side of the driveway had the edges of his mouth turning upwards. ‘It is said that when you hear a bird calling from the west, good luck will follow.’
‘Is that west?’ she asked and was pleased when he nodded. ‘How many would come here if they had the mind to?’
‘Only a few. The Free Trade is a communal business, you understand, and there are many in it who wouldn’t be there were the government less greedy. Good men, honest men, men who just want to feed their families. Still, every endeavour has those who are less inclined to follow the law and take it into their own hands. Especially with the lure of gold.’ He breathed out and looked at her directly. ‘I had a letter today.’
The words made her stiffen. ‘Unsigned, of course?’
‘The missive threatens further retribution to my family should I continue to hunt for the one who hurt Anna.’
‘So we shall not be safe until he is caught?’
‘Daniel will be here on the morrow. Luce is in Hastings listening to what is being said and Gabe is making a list of the pubs Sherborne supplied in London. We will find them.’
‘That is why you were in that fight at Kew, wasn’t it? For Anna’s sake?’
‘Yes.’
‘And everyone called you reckless and dissolute.’
‘I was never a person to worry about what anybody else thought.’
‘But if you are hurt or...’ She could not even finish.
‘I won’t be. There are only a few hours of darkness left until the morning and no one will come when it’s light.’
He kissed her then quickly, the warmth of his lips across hers demanding and rough as one hand cupped the swell of her breast. Like a promise. She felt him draw in breath as he let her go, watching again and vigilant.
Outside through the windows the gardens of Colmeade House looked magical, mystical and quiet.
‘It is beautiful,’ she whispered, snuggling in, the blanket warm but his body warmer.
‘It is a fortress,’ he returned, ‘and none will harm us here. I swear it, on my life.’
‘I believe you.’
She wondered where the frightened woman of a few weeks ago had disappeared to, for if anyone was to come and hurt Francis or Anna she would kill them with her own bare hands. She swore to the heavens that she would.
And so they sat there until the morning, sometimes speaking, oft-times not, and the old stray joined them just before the dawn, like a guard dog, his ears pinned back as he listened in wariness.
She smiled to herself as the sun rose across the hills bathing the land in pink and yellow. She would never have seen the birth of a new day as the wife of a duke. She would never have lain in the arms of half slumber as she was doing now, the blankets warm and Francis’s body strong around her own.
She loved him. She had known that for a long while now, but if she had instructed him not to give her the words then she could hardly whisper them herself. But she did inside, as an aria and a melody, her fingers threaded through his and the breath he took mingling with her own.
This was life as it was supposed to have been lived, fearless, brave and uncompromised. The diamonds in her wedding ring winked in the light of the morning and she liked the promise of warmth in the air.
Chapter Thirteen
Sephora watched Anna the next morning as the girl came down the stairs, the dog Hopeful back on her heels and Timothy not far behind.
She was thin and the lines of worry still marked her brow, but she seemed happier nonetheless, more childlike as she giggled watching Timothy attempt a cartwheel and failing. Here at Colmeade House Francis had insisted the son of Mrs Billinghurst be given a position of companion for his ward. The idea had seemed to be working well and the two of them were becoming good friends.
‘What had you planned to do today, Anna?’ she asked from her place at the table. Francis had not come down to breakfast yet and she imagined he would be trying to catch up on at least a few hours of sleep before their visitors turned up.
‘We are building a fort in the attic with all the old furniture left there. Uncle Francis said that we may,’ she continued, ‘as long as we do our lessons in the afternoon.’
Another day indoors then, Sephora thought. The child never ventured outside either, unless they were with her, and she started each time she heard the noise of a horse arriving at the house. Mrs Billinghurst had also made it known that Anna wet her bed frequently and that she still enjoyed reading in a wardrobe with the doors closed.
Complications and complexities.
Timothy Billinghurst was watching her intently and she smiled, the boy blushing so that the skin on his skull showed red under the fairness of his hair; another child who needed careful handling, lost between the death of his father and the brittle poverty of a genteel mother who had been left with very little on the death of her husband.
‘The earl’s friends Lord and Lady Montcliffe will be coming today. Perhaps they would be interested in seeing the fort you construct when it is finished. I know I’d like to.’
A little smile from Anna was her reward, but Sephora had started to treasure these tiny gifts, her heart warming in response.
‘There is some silk in my room you might like to use for the windows. If you want to come and get it after breakfast I would be happy to lend it to you.’
‘Mrs Wilson already found some velvet,’ Timothy replied, ‘so we can use that for the walls.’
‘A communal endeavour, then.’
Sephora only wished that she might spend the morning tucked up with her husband, in the safe warmth of his arms.
* * *
Daniel and Amethyst Wylde arrived after lunch, but the smiling Earl of Montcliffe whom she had met at the wedding looked a lot more serious now and went almost immediately off with Francis to his library, leaving her alone with Amethyst.
‘Would you like to walk in the garden with me?’ Lady Montcliffe asked, giving Sephora the distinct impression that Amethyst Wylde wanted a place to talk where they could not be overheard or listened upon.
A few moments later out on the pathways Daniel’s wife halted in her observation of the formal gardens and turned to face her.
‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you aware that the Duke of Winbury has named the date of his wedding to Miss Julia Bingham?’
Surprise was the only emotion Sephora felt at the news. And relief perhaps too, that Richard might hav
e found a woman whom he could love in her stead.
‘I didn’t know that, but I am happy for him.’
Amethyst stooped to pick a sprig of lavender, twirling it in her fingers so that the scent wafted in the air between them. ‘My father used to say that the world is like a pack of cards. Take one away and the rest fall into new patterns. Perhaps this is exactly what is happening here.’
‘He sounds wise.’
‘Papa passed away a year ago, but at least he saw my children born and he loved them.’
‘You did not bring them today?’
‘No. We left them with their grandmother because...’ She stopped.
‘Because they are safer there?’
‘Then you know?’
‘About Anna and the smuggling ring? Yes.’
‘Did you also know that Francis received a medal in the Peninsular Campaign under Moore for his skills in shooting? He kept a whole regiment from being wiped out by allowing them safe access across a dangerous pass whilst he gave them cover. I should imagine these men will be child’s play for him. Besides he has Daniel, Gabriel and Lucien to help him now. He is not alone.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And you are not alone either, Sephora. If you ever need advice or help you only need ask.’
‘I think in the last few weeks I have become a different person to be honest. I used to think I was less than I am now and that it was normal for a man to tell a woman what to do. Richard did that to me and I accepted it, but Francis doesn’t and yet...’ She stopped.
‘Yet?’
‘The stakes are so much higher because of it and if I lost him I think I might simply fall to pieces. I am sick to my stomach with the fear of it.’
She had not meant to say as much, but under the gaze of kind dark eyes she found herself pouring out her heart and with little censure.
But Amethyst Wylde only smiled. ‘Every wife who loves her husband feels the same, Sephora. In great love there also resides great loss and who cannot dismiss that.’
