Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

  "I'm not unfamiliar with burdens," he replied, his voice cool.

  She crossed the room to stand before him. The clock on the dresser ticked. Her heart pounded with the same agonizing rhythm. Why didn't he touch her?

  "Tess?" She shivered at the low, intimate way he said her name. "Why are you here?"

  "Because you give me no choice."

  "Liar," he countered.

  The word angered her. "Why do you think I'm here?"

  "Because you love me." His face was shadowed, his expression impossible to read.

  She stared back at him. The coldness in his eyes disappeared into warm laughter and something else far more disturbing.

  "There is that, of course." Her lips turned up in a tentative smile.

  "Then say it," he challenged. Keeping his eyes on her face, he willed her to speak the words he had longed to hear for such an endless length of celibate nights.

  "I'm here because I love you," she admitted at last. "Despite your nationality, and your damn Langley arrogance, I can't seem to find any happiness in the world without you." Her confidence restored, she smiled a radiant smile and walked into his arms.

  James took her face in his hands, brushing away the fine strands of hair. She was so soft, so delicate.

  Tess felt the tears well under her eyelids. Hungry with need, she wound her arms around his neck. He lifted her to the bed.

  "My love," he murmured against her throat. "Christ, Tess. I thought I'd lost you."

  With one sure motion he pushed the gown away from her shoulders and hips and covered her body with his own. Seeking her mouth, he kissed her with the passion fanned by months of pent-up desire.

  The touch of his hands burned her skin. In her veins, the blood leaped to life. He entered her immediately. Arching beneath him, she gripped his shoulders. His arms held her tightly, easing only when she cried out and relaxed against him.

  Moments later, his hands and the heat of his mouth on her breast awakened the aching tension all over again. Pulling his head down to take more of her into his mouth, she moved to his rhythm. He was slick and hard inside her, like wet steel. She moaned her pleasure and wound her legs around him.

  His harsh intake of breath startled her. Confused, she opened her eyes and looked at him. The veins in his neck stood out like thick cords. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed. She could feel the pounding of his heart against her ribs.

  "James," she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek.

  He groaned. Thrusting deeply, he emptied himself inside her, the shattering climax draining him completely. He lay, damp and heavy, on top of her.

  Moments later, he rolled over, pulling her with him and swore fluently. "I'm sorry, Tess. I feel like a schoolboy, but it's been such a long time. I couldn't wait."

  A hope, like a tiny flame, grew inside her mind, refusing to be extinguished. Tess propped herself on one elbow and looked down on him in the moonlight. She had promised herself she wouldn't ask him this question, but now she found she had to know.

  "Has there been anyone else, James?" Her eyes were smoky grey.

  Reaching up to stroke her chin, he smiled. When he spoke, the tenderness in his voice touched her as nothing ever had before.

  "I told you once before, that for me, marriage means only you. Nothing has happened to change my opinion."

  Flinging her arms around him, she hugged him fiercely. "I don't deserve you," she whispered, "but I'm very glad you came back for me."

  "Did you really think I would allow anyone to take you away from me?" His voice was amused. "You are my wife, Tess, and the mother of my child."

  "What if I hadn't wanted to return?" her words were muffled against his shoulder.

  "That was a point of concern," he admitted, "but I would have carried you off anyway, until you came to your senses."

  Tess lifted her head. "You are dreadfully arrogant."

  The rest of her sentence was stopped by his mouth on her lips. Sliding his hand down the length of her body, he looked down at her and grinned. Suddenly he seemed much younger.

  "Shall we try once more? I guarantee I'll give a better accounting of myself."

  Looking at him through her lashes, Tess ran her finger lightly down his chest.

  "All right," she agreed, "although you should understand that I'm not complaining of your past performances, Lord Devereaux."

  "Very gracious of you, Lady Devereaux." He would have said more, but his wife stopped him in a most effective manner.

  Epilogue

  "We're home, Tess." Devereaux touched his wife's knee briefly in order to wake her. Handing over his son, he pushed open the door of the carriage and stepped down, turning to take the child from her arms and help her to the ground.

  Again, there were liveried footmen waiting to greet them. Litton, his stern face creased in a beaming smile, hurried down the steps to welcome home the duke and his duchess.

  A tall young lady with shining black hair rushed down the stairs and threw herself in Tess's arms. "Oh, Tess," she cried.

  "Lizzie?" Tess laughed, hugging her tightly. "Is it really you?"

  "I've missed you so," the child sobbed. Pulling away with a trembling smile she colored in embarrassment. "I didn't believe you would come back," she confessed, wiping away the tears.

  Tess brushed back the dark hair, noticing the changes the past two years had wrought. The child she had found on the banks of the trout stream would not have been embarrassed by tears. Lizzie was a young lady, and every bit as lovely as Tess had known she would become.

  She looked into the blue eyes on a level with her own. "I've come back to stay, Lizzie," she promised. "Langley is my home." With a proud smile, she nodded toward the baby in her husband's arms. "Would you like to meet your nephew?"

  "A boy at last," Lizzie breathed in awe. "However did you manage it?"

  "I had a bit of help," Tess replied, her eyes bright with laughter. "I didn't think your mother would have forgiven me if Justin had been a girl."

  Lizzie laughed. "Georgiana said the very same thing. She's married, you know, to William Fitzpatrick. Did James tell you?"

  Tess nodded. "I'm very happy for them. William was a very dear friend to me when I was in London. Judith is also engaged, I hear."

  "Yes, she's in London with Lady Castlereagh." Lizzie turned toward the stairs. "Here's Mama, at last."

  Leonie, slim and regal as ever, stood at the entrance to Langley. Tess held her breath as the elegantly dressed woman descended the stairs and stood before her son. Their eyes met and held in silent communion. James nodded and placed the child in her outstretched arms.

  Tess felt the tears burn her eyelids as Leonie stared, in wonder, at her grandson's face.

  Justin Devereaux, future duke of Langley, laughed up at her, showing two perfect white teeth. Waving his chubby arms, he grasped the locket around her neck and promptly placed it in his mouth.

  Leonie laughed through her tears. "He's the very image of James when he was a child, except for his eyes." She tilted her head, considering the matter. "Your father had eyes this very shade of grey," she pronounced. "I'm sure that's who he takes after."

  James opened his mouth to point out the color of Tess's eyes, when he felt the gentle touch of her hand on his arm. Staring into the crystal clear depths, he did not immediately recognize what her silent plea asked of him. He did, however, understand her impatient tug on his arm and promptly bent his head to hear her whispered request.

  He looked down and smiled, a look of understanding on his face. Once again, he nodded. His mother's observation was allowed to stand, unchallenged.

  Satisfied, Tess turned to her mother-in-law who was buttoning her grandson's jacket.

  "What can you be thinking of, Tess, to allow him to go about so. The child will catch his death if you aren't careful. Babies are delicate. Come inside this instant." She moved to the stairs. "I've arranged for a nurse, with your permission of course. She should be here in the morning."

&nbs
p; Tess exchanged an amused glance with her husband, but wisely remained silent.

  Pressing kisses on the baby's cheeks and forehead, Leonie didn't notice the gradual reddening of his round cheeks. His body stiffened. Small fists pushed against her. She tightened her hold. At the top of the stairs, his loud bellow startled her.

  "Good gracious," she exclaimed, turning to Tess who had followed her. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

  "I expect he's been cooped up in the carriage too long," she replied. "He's just begun to walk and probably needs to feel the ground under his feet."

  "His manners need attention," Leonie stated firmly. "Mark my words, Tess. If you don't start now, he'll be asserting his independence long before you're ready to let him go." She glanced at James who had just entered the hall. "Believe me, I know."

  James took his son from Leonie's arms and set him on the marbled floor. After a few shaky steps, the baby gained confidence and toddled toward the stairs. Dropping down to his knees, he climbed to the first step.

  Swooping down upon the child, James lifted him to his shoulder. Justin laughed and waved his arms as his father carried him up the winding staircase.

  "Not yet, young man, "Devereaux said "that accomplishment will have to wait awhile." They disappeared around the second landing but the firm voice could still be heard for several seconds. "Come with me," he said to the child. "I'll show you Langley."

  Tess turned to speak to her mother-in-law and was shocked at the tears streaming down the older woman's cheeks.

  "What on earth?" she began.

  Leonie searched for a handkerchief in the pocket of her gown. Wiping her cheeks, she laughed self-consciously.

  "It's nothing," she said. "I don't believe I've ever been so happy." She looked directly at Tess, her fine eyes a piercing blue. "All of it is because of you."

  "I beg your pardon?" Tess wrinkled her brow.

  "My son is smiling and I have a grandson." She looked at the beautiful face before her. Her voice was unusually humble. "Because of you, Langley has an heir. There will be children's voices here again." She reached out her hands to clasp Tess's. "I have everything I've ever wanted. How can I thank you?"

  Tess reached out across the last remaining barrier between them and folded her mother-in-law into her arms.

  "You just did," she replied. "Much more beautifully than I could ever have imagined."

  The End

  Want more from award-winning author Jeanette Baker?

  Page forward for an excerpt from

  Witch Woman

  Excerpt from

  Witch Woman

  by

  Jeanette Baker

  "Mistress March, thou art accused of familiarity with Satan, with teaching your children to have familiarity with Satan, the enemy of God, and with his help thou hast done harm to the bodies and estates of His Majesty's subjects, for which by the law of God and the laws of this colony, thou deserveth to die.

  "You have heard the charges. We will now proceed with the accusations. Is it true that you visited Goodwife Crane on Thursday last?"

  "It is."

  "Is it true that you hexed her so that she fell ill?"

  "It is not."

  "Is it true that you conjured a spell upon Goodman Crane's cows so they gave no milk?"

  "I did not."

  "Goodman Crane, will you repeat your accusation before this meeting?"

  The farmer stood and professed his charge. When he finished, one after another took his turn, complaining of lost crops and sick cows, thread that would not spin, sick children and trysts in the woods. One woman swore she had seen Abigail and her daughters, naked, dancing in the moonlight, when a great cloven-hoofed creature materialized and fornicated with each of them. And then the worst accusation of all. Goody Jacobs told of her lying in, of the stillbirth of her son, of how tiny Margaret grabbed his foot, of how the life force flooded through him.

  John's voice, hoarse with rage, quelled the murmurs in the room. "This is an abomination. Not a single word of this can be proven. Abigail is a God-fearing woman and these are innocent children, one merely two years of age."

  The Inquisitor spoke. "Are you saying that you had knowledge of your wife's whereabouts at all times?"

  "Of course not," John exploded.

  "Then these proceedings will continue. What have you to say to these charges, Mistress March?"

  "They are false, all of them. I have done no harm to these people."

  Reverend Parris stood facing her and the assembly. "What of the animals, Abigail? Explain that."

  She lifted her chin and once again Nathaniel Burke, in his place at the back of the room, was reminded of the day she first stepped onto the deck of the Skylark bound for Salem. From the beginning she stood out from the others the way a falcon stands from a flock of crows. It wasn't her clothing that set her apart. She wore the same gray wool, white cap and collar of all Roundhead women. It was her demeanor. Her shoulders were back and her head up. She met a man's gaze as truly and honestly as would any nobleman. And she was beautiful. Over and over he'd been drawn to her face, to her eyes, so strikingly different, one a vivid blue, the other so deep a brown it appeared almost black. It was as if the good Lord, presented with the perfection of her features, couldn't decide how best to adorn them. She was speaking now, her voice low and pure.

  "My children have a gift," she admitted, "as I do. Animals do not fear us. We mean no harm to anyone. Indeed, 'T'is the opposite. Many times have I brewed herbs and possets to cure ailments for the people of this township."

  "Where were you taught such things?"

  Abigail looked confused. "I don't remember. I believe I was born knowing them."

  Again, murmurs filled the room.

  "Silence!" The Inquisitor lifted his hand. "Do you refuse to reveal your teacher?"

  "I have no teacher."

  "Very well, woman. The matter is serious and the evidence sound. This assembly has no choice but to proceed." He stood. "Bring the child forward."

  Judith shrank against her mother.

  "Please," Abigail begged. "Don't do this."

  Hannah Woodcock stepped forward to wrest the baby from the mother's arms. For an instant Abigail held on to her daughter. Then, abruptly, she relinquished her hold and watched while the little girl was set in front of the Inquisitor. She began to wail. Abigail stepped back and raised her arms.

  John leaped forward, but two men restrained him, keeping a tight hold on his arms. "For the love of God, Nathaniel," he cried out. "Save them."

  Nathaniel's feet were rooted to the floor. Something odd was happening. A suffocating mist rose from the ground. To his incredulous eyes, Abigail seemed to grow taller. Her cap was off and her hair, long and red as living flame, floated about her with a life of its own. She faced the Inquisitor and raised her voice, shouting words that had no meaning. Then she turned on the assembly. Something was in her hand, something pointed and silver. Her black cloak swirled wildly revealing the lining, a flash of flame-red silk. With one hand she pulled at the laces at her throat. The cloak dropped to the floor. She stood before them, men, women and children, a slim, straight woman with wild hair, completely naked with mist curling up her thighs. Nathaniel was sure he heard gasps and murmurs from the men and woman around him, but he paid no heed. For him, there was only Abigail.

  From the back of her throat came a whistle, high and wild. It called to him. Disregarding the crowded room, the press of bodies, he made his way toward her. Then came a keening, more animal than human, and words, terrible words, that proclaimed her calling as truly as if she'd flown about the room on a broomstick.

  Jeanette Baker is the award-winning author of fifteen novels, published by Harper Collins, Pocket, Kensington and Mira Books, many of them set in the lush countryside of historical and contemporary Ireland where she lives and writes during the summer months. Her ancestors, the O'Flahertys, hail from Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands located off the coast of Galway. She tak
es great pride in the prayer posted by the English over the ancient city gates, 'From the wrath of the O'Flahertys, may the good Lord deliver us.'

  Jeanette graduated from the University of California at Irvine and holds a Masters Degree in Education. When not in Ireland, she teaches in Southern California, reads constantly, attempts to navigate the confusing world of Facebook and, more recently, e-publishing, concocts creations from interesting cookbooks and enjoys the company of friends and children. She is the RITA award-winning author of NELL.

  You can visit Jeanette at www.jeanettebaker.com

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from WITCH WOMAN by Jeanette Baker

  Meet the Author