by Matilda Hart
Chapter 1 — At Sandcross Abbey
Two months later, the manor house was warm with cheer, the invited guests including Charles and Rebecca Randall and their daughter Mary, the vicar and his wife and two daughters, Lavinia Thacker -- her husband begged off as he could not leave the inn unattended -- as well as his cousins Edgar and Alice, his aunt and uncle, and Edgar’s new fiancee, down for a visit. The occasion was Robert’s thirty-fourth birthday party. Under other circumstances, this would have been a private affair, with only his family invited to celebrate with him. and in his present mood, they might not have been invited either, though he could well imagine his Aunt Eunice roundly reprimanding him for being anti-social.
He stood in the far corner of the parlor, watching as the guests filed in for the evening’s entertainment, which was to include music on the pianoforte by Alice and Mary, and of course, Lavinia’s singing. Her songs were to be the culminating event of the evening, after which he would need to find a way to keep her in his house, so he could find out what she really knew and didn’t know.
She had arrived earlier in the evening, accompanying the Randalls, and when she had been announced, he had found it hard to keep his seat. He had wanted to rush over to her, to whisk her away from all the people watching her, and to stake his claim to her. She was dressed in a fine silk gown of emerald green, and her cheeks were ruddy from the cold. The house had been dressed for the season, and she fit nicely in with the evergreen wreaths and holly. She had mingled with the other guests, and he could see her hosting his parties and setting their guests at ease. She should be the mistress of this house, not a guest masquerading as the wife of another man.
Pulling himself away from those thoughts, Robert listened as his young cousin played skillfully, followed by her friend, whose pieces were somewhat less practiced, but who showed promise nonetheless. The girls were happy with the accolades they received for their performances, and then it was Lavinia’s turn. He was glad that none of his family had known of his marriage, nor had even ever met her, so he was the only one suffering still from shock at the sight of her, hands clasped demurely before her, making the hairs on his body stand on end with the beauty of her singing. She sang two songs he had never heard from her before, and when his uncle, a jolly man from whom Alice got her sense of humor, demanded an encore, she sang the second song again.
It was a song about memory and loss -- “Oft in the Stilly Night” by Thomas Moore -- and Robert wondered why she had chosen the song. It pierced his heart, raising his memories of her and him together -- she had to be his Lavinia! -- and stirring his anger as much as his love.
I feel like one,
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
The lyrics broke his heart, and he closed his eyes against the pain of loss that swamped him as she sang. Her voice was rich and sweet, just as he remembered, and when she ended the song, she was roundly applauded again.
He watched her smile prettily at the ones who went to speak to her personally and to congratulate her on a job well done. He had already discussed a purse with the innkeeper, which had been delivered to him that afternoon. But he had a gift for her alone, one he hoped to make her accept as her own for her performance. It was a beautiful jeweled pin for her hair, one he had bought days before they were married, planning to give it to her for her birthday. He had kept it, because it seemed to him to be the only link he had to the woman who had taken his heart with her to her grave.
The guests who would be departing began to approach, to speak their thanks for the invitation and to wish him again a blessed year. She had not spoken to him all evening, only giving him a shy smile and a quiet “Good evening” when she had been announced, and had come to present him with his gift. It was almost as though she had been avoiding him, which only made him think she had something she wished to hide from him, such as a perfidious heart. He would find out once and for all this night, even if he had to seduce her to do so. He had already decided on the means to keep her after the others left. He waited until she was standing before him, waiting to say her goodbyes.
“Your Grace, thank you again for your kind invitation, and for allowing me to sing for you. I hope you were more pleased this time than the last time I sang.”
“Your performance was superlative, Mrs. Thacker, as always. However, I’m afraid I must ask you to remain a little while longer. There is something that has come to my attention that involves your husband. I think it would be best if you remained behind, and I will ensure your safe return home when our business is concluded.”
He could see that she was a bit frightened by the tone of his words. He had been deliberately vague, but made it sound just bad enough that she would not wish to leave without settling the matter. Bless her treacherous heart, she was still the same Lavinia, ready to protect those she loved. And did she love the hairy innkeeper? Had she feigned her affection for him? Why else would she have left him for a man of lower standing in the community? Had his father been right, after all? Ought he to have chosen from among his own social class? His raging thoughts quieted as she spoke.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Grace, but if there is anything I can do to help, I am more than willing to do so. Please allow me to inform the Randalls…”
“It has already been taken care of, madam,” he said, cutting her off. “If you will follow me, we can speak freely in my study.”
He led the way to his study, glad that his relatives had already gone up to bed, so he would not have to explain why she was remaining behind. Despite his own rakish reputation, he had no wish to sully hers, even if he was afraid she was a bigamous whore. The very thought cut him to the quick, and he rubbed his hand over his chest as he opened the door ahead of her and gestured for her to precede him.
“Please, have a seat, Mrs. Thacker. What would you like to drink?” he asked, and when she declined anything, he poured himself a whiskey and turned to face her.
“It has come to my attention that you are not who you claim to be,” he began without preamble, “and that the innkeeper is not, after all your husband.”
He took a heartening sip of his drink, watching as her face lost all color, and she seemed to collapse into the chair. He waited for her to speak, to defend herself, to confess, but she said nothing. She appeared to have been rendered speechless, and her eyes, when they looked into his, were wide with fear and confusion.
“I cannot imagine who could have told you such lies, Your Grace, but I can only say neither my husband nor I have done anything that would be frowned upon by God or man.”
Robert swallowed more of the fiery liquid in his glass, and poured some more before turning back to study her face. He could see her now gripping her reticule so tightly in her lap that her knuckles showed white.
“Do you call me a liar, madam?” he inquired mildly, reining in his anger.
“Are you the one who accuses us, Your Grace?” she demanded, her voice low but firm.
“I am indeed,” he replied.
“Then while I would not presume to judge your character with such a term as ‘liar’, I must insist that you are mistaken, at the very least. I have been married to William Thacker these four months, Your Grace, and was before an unmarried woman. I have known no other man but him.”
She blushed as she spoke, and Robert wondered if it was from genuine innocence, or from a recognition of the enormity of the lies she was telling. He had to know, before he sent her home, what she was hiding, or what she knew.
“Did you not recognize me at the inn when I was there the last time you sang, madam? Do you not know who I am?”
His voice had hardened, and Lavinia flin
ched as he spoke. He sincerely believed she was not the innkeeper’s wife, but she had no idea why he did so. He would need to tell her everything, to try and jog her memory. But first, a few more questions.
“Do you remember someone named Robert?”
Her face remained blank even as she shook her head. “No, my Lord.”
She hesitated, and he watched her closely. She seemed to be thinking hard about something, and then she made a decision, and spoke again.
“I...when I first saw you at the inn, you seemed familiar to me, but that cannot be, Your Grace, as we had never met until then.”
She turned confused eyes to him, and Robert wanted to believe her. But he could not so easily allow her to win him over. He had to be sure.
“What if I told you that you do know who I am? And that I find it difficult to believe that you do not remember me?”
Her bottom lip trembled, the way it always had when she had been about to burst into tears. It had never failed to move him then, and it sent him to her side before he could stop himself now. At the last second, he managed not to pull her into his arms, but he did pull her up to stand before him.
“I...I’m sorry, Your Grace. This is very distressing to me.”
A tear slipped free from beneath her closed eyelids, and she bit her trembling lower lip, which only served to heat his blood, so much so that Robert let go of her hands and stepped away. It was more than obvious to him that something was very wrong, something he didn’t understand, something he needed to investigate more fully. But he also needed to maintain distance between them. Until he was sure of her, and certain that she had done nothing wrong, he could not give in to the desires running neck and neck with the anger inside him. She was as off limits now as she had been when he had thought she was dead. And yet he ached for her. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her lips, to devour her and take her, to own her body and love her soul. Pushing those needs away was proving to be much harder than he had imagined they would be.
Chapter 2 — The Interrogation
Lavinia watched the emotions scroll across the face of her host, and felt again that curious sensation, as though someone were walking on her grave. There was such a familiarity to him, such a warmth, such a feeling of safety and love, that she struggled to figure out why she felt that way with him. She didn’t know him at all. They had only met for the first time two months previously, when his wild outburst had brought a rather abrupt end to the evening’s activities. And now he was asking her unsettling questions, which made her wish she could remember anything about her life beyond the last year and a half. He was speaking again, and she tamped down her distress to listen to what he was saying.
“Have you ever been in an accident, Mrs. Thacker?” he asked. “On the highway, I mean.”
She nodded even before he stopped speaking. “Yes, that I do remember ...well, I remember waking up and being told that I had been in an accident. I was wounded, mostly from a bad gash in my head.”
“How long ago was this?” he asked, his intense eyes piercing her to the marrow.
“About eighteen months, sir,” she replied, staring at him wide-eyed. “Why do you ask?”
“What is your given name, Mrs. Thacker?”
His next question caught her off guard, because it seemed so random, and unrelated to anything they had been discussing so far.
“Lavinia, sir,” she said, and then blanched when he hissed as though he had been stabbed. “Are you all right, Your Grace?” she whispered, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch his arm.
“Lavinia,” he repeated, not answering her concern.
Lavinia knew he had been injured in the war, and she wondered if one of those injuries had been to his head. He was not making too much sense, and she was becoming more concerned the longer she stayed with him. And yet, she was not afraid of him. Somehow, she knew he would never hurt her.
Suddenly, he was pulling her to him, and she felt the warmth of his body next to hers, and the evidence that what he was feeling included an urgent need for her flesh. She blushed, feeling her own body rouse and warm in response. She had never felt like this with her own husband who, thankfully, rarely touched her in lust, but she recognized the erection for what it meant, and she grew warmer as she realized she wanted the same thing. And again, something told her she would enjoy it very much with the Duke as she had never done with William.
Still, she was not married to the Duke, but to William, and she was not a loose woman, so she could not allow herself to be seduced. She pulled away from him, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his waist instead and keep them connected at the hips.
“Your Grace, I…”
She was breathless, and unsure of what to say to avoid becoming any more entangled, and of how to avoid offending this man whom she found herself wanting to please.
“Lavinia,” he said in a harsh whisper, “my wife’s name was also Lavinia. Will you believe me if I tell you that you are my wife? That you were stolen from me eighteen months ago? That the man you are now living with is not your true husband?”
His words beat against her ears, and penetrated her mind, making her shake with fear. What was he saying? Could it be true? And if so, what had she done? She could no more stop herself from trembling that she could stop the heaving breaths that she had to take, as she felt herself about to swoon. Stiffening her spine, she locked her knees in place and lifted her face to his.
“Was this what you discovered when we first...when you saw me the last time, Your Grace? Was this why you were angry?”
She felt him holding himself in check, as though he too were in the grip of some powerful emotions. And she recalled suddenly how he had hinted of his love for his dead wife. Was she his wife? And if so, why had William lied, and made her a bigamist? Her cheeks flushed with shame, but she needed to be sure that the man standing before her was not the one lying in order to seduce her. She admitted that it would be a lot of trouble for a man such as he to go to just to seduce an ordinary woman. And it seemed unlikely that he would wish to seduce her, when he had had his pick of other far more beautiful and worldly women, not only in the village, but also in London.
Still, she had to be sure. She wished she knew how to find out if he was lying or not. The sense of familiarity was very strong, and she could no longer deny that what she was feeling as they stood facing each other was more intense and powerful than anything she had ever felt in her life. She looked up again as his mouth descended, and she tasted him for the first time.
“Your Grace,” she whispered in protest, “I cannot allow you to take such liberties!”
He ignored her, sipping from her plump lips, sucking each in turn, and sending her pulse soaring wildly out of control. She swayed in his arms, and he pulled her closer again, so that she could not fail to feel the imprint of his hardened rod against her. She whimpered, fighting the rush of feeling invading her limbs and making her think of opening her legs under him on the couch behind them.
“Please, Your Grace,” she whispered, in an agony of desire and fear and shame.
She was not like other women who went after men to whom they had no right. But she could not keep her lips closed against the onslaught of his kisses, and when he pushed his erect rod against her front, she moaned and pushed back helplessly.
“My Lavinia,” he whispered passionately. “You are mine! I have longed for you since you were taken from me, and I will have my revenge on those who stole you.”
“But Your Grace…” she began, but he stopped her.
“I am Robert to my wife. Speak my name, my love!” he commanded her.
He waited until she complied, and then he kissed her again, as wild for her as he was making her for him. The kisses grew hotter, the desire deeper, and the certainty that she must know him stronger, otherwise she could not possibly be so aroused by a man she did not know at all. She dragged her mouth away to draw in a ragged breath, and he leaned his forehead against hers, breathing as heavily as sh
e was.
“I am sorry, my love. I have been in an agony of despair, and then I saw you and knew I had to find out the truth. Do you really not know me?”
“I only remember things from the time I woke up at home, Your...Robert.” She looked shyly into his eyes, and he kissed them closed, hugging her to him.
“I must let you return to the inn,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “But I want you to promise me that you will not let that man touch you again.”
“How am I to stop him?” she asked, panicking. She was not strong enough to stop William from taking what he saw as his, whenever he so desired it.
