The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase

by Christine Merrill

  Today, he could have the conservatory, if he wanted it, and the company of his mother.

  He sighed and made his way to his side of the house and the trophy room, thinking it might be nice to pass some time in the small library beyond it. If there was any room that the current guests had no interest in, it was probably the one that held books. In truth, the library had got little use when the Wiscombes had been the sole occupants of the house. His father had made sure that the room that displayed the majority of the heads and horns held pride of place before the rest of the rooms on the main floor.

  What his father had viewed as a convenience, Gerry considered an obstacle to progress. It seemed impossible to get so much as a cup of tea on the gentlemen’s side of the house without walking by the trophy room door or passing through it to get to the opposite hall.

  But today, there was reason to pause. Apparently, he had been wrong about the location of his wife. The sound of a woman singing drifted through the open doorway. He stopped to listen.

  ‘I would love you all the day.

  ‘Ev’ry night would kiss and play,

  ‘If with me you’d fondly stray,

  ‘Over the hills and far away.’

  The tune was the same as the song they sang in that old comedy about the recruiting officer, telling men to leave their brats and wives and take the king’s shilling. But these words were a hundred times sweeter and he let himself be wooed by them.

  From now forward, if he ever had to wander the hills, they would be close to home, not far away. He’d stay with the woman who loved him. He stepped through the door to declare himself. ‘I’m here, darling. And come to collect, if that song is an offer.’

  ‘Captain Wiscombe?’ The singing stopped. Miss Fellowes appeared from behind the torso of a steinbock that Father had dragged back from an excursion to the Alps.

  His smile froze in place. ‘Miss Fellowes. My apologies. I thought...’ Stuff what he thought. With the look she was giving him he was forgiven for the mistake. He strode towards the door on the opposite wall that led to the library.

  ‘Don’t go.’ She hurried across the room to stand between him and his goal. ‘I have hardly got the chance to talk to you, even though you are my host.’

  ‘I have been home but a day,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ve barely spoken to my own wife yet, much less talked to...’ He’d been about to say ‘unwelcome guests’ and barely caught himself in time. ‘I was just looking for Lillian.’ He turned to retreat the way he’d come so he might continue to do so.

  She countered to stand before him again, blocking the way to the door. ‘I was so excited when I heard we would be coming to your home. But I had no idea that we would actually meet the great man himself.’

  ‘It was a surprise to me, as well,’ he said, looking longingly past her at escape.

  ‘And for a chance to hear the tales of your exploits...’ She clasped her hands in rapture.

  ‘They are hardly stories that I would tell a lady,’ he said, although there was much doubt as to how much of a lady this woman was.

  ‘I am sure the accounts in the newspapers do not do them justice.’ She pressed her clasped hands under her chest and sighed. The amount of bosom this displayed at the neckline of her gown was too impressive to be anything but a calculated move.

  But for a moment the cheap trick worked. He was distracted.

  ‘You deserve to be rewarded for your bravery,’ she said, stepping closer.

  ‘No reward is necessary,’ he replied automatically, dragging his eyes back from her breasts to her face and taking a step back into the room.

  ‘The gratitude of a grateful nation is hardly enough.’ She beamed at him, more pleased than offended by his attention and took a step to close the distance between them.

  ‘It is more than enough for me.’

  ‘The Regent made Wellington a peer,’ she argued.

  ‘I am no Wellington.’ He took another step away.

  ‘Only one of his most courageous horsemen,’ she said, coming even closer.

  ‘I don’t need...’ He was backing hurriedly towards the library door now and glanced behind him to be sure of the direction.

  ‘But, I insist.’ In that moment of inattention, she pounced.

  He was growing soft from inactivity. On the battlefield, his reflexes had been faster and he’d have been smart enough to keep his eye on the enemy. He certainly hadn’t displayed any of the foresight that Phineas North had credited him with.

  But a single kiss from a pretty woman was hardly a matter of life and death. She was a comely thing and her eagerness hinted at rewards far beyond a quick tussle in a common room. Perhaps, if circumstances had been different...

  There was a crash from the doorway to the hall.

  He broke from the Fellowes woman and looked up to discover the cause. His own wife stood frozen in the doorway. A broken vase was at her feet and a bouquet of camellias was scattered beside it.

  The Fellowes jade looked up as well and gave her a flushed and triumphant smile.

  In response, Lily made a sound that was almost a whimper and muttered her pardon. Then she bent to scoop up the flowers and stuffed them, stems and blossoms awry, back into the vase. Water ran through the cracks in it, staining her gown. She dumped the mess on to the hall table only to see it totter on its broken base and almost fall twice more before she could steady it enough to let go and escape down the hall towards the stairs.

  * * *

  The lock to Lily’s room turned with a satisfying click, sealing her away from the mortification awaiting her in the rest of the house. For a moment, she leaned her forehead against the silk-covered door panel, as if it were as possible to draw strength and comfort from the wood beneath.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  She had known in her heart that her husband had not been faithful to her while he was gone. After seven years apart, there was no chance that he’d return as the same awkward innocent. He had been tricked into the marriage and there had been no guarantee that he’d live to return. She could hardly fault him for a lack of fidelity.

  But she’d chosen to imagine that once he’d returned home, if he forgave her at all, he’d want only her. He had thought her beautiful, once. For him, she’d worked hard to maintain an illusion of youth that was becoming increasingly hard to cling to. She did not deserve to see him turning to younger, prettier women within a day of his arrival.

  When had she become so foolish? He had told her on the very first day that this was not to be the case. But then, he had said, if I tire of you. Could it really have happened so soon? It did not matter. There was no sense in being hurt. He would do as he pleased and she had no say in it.

  Before they’d married, she’d been sensible. She’d understood that her life was out of her control. But while he’d been gone, she’d convinced herself that if she was pretty and biddable, eventually she would get what she wanted, as a matter of course. He would come back, sweeping into her life like a rescuing knight. He would forgive her trespasses, banish her troubles and they would live together, happily ever after in the home she’d prepared for him.

  Perhaps she had been imagining Lochinvar. Captain Gerald Wiscombe was no romantic hero who would give her her dreams. He was a man. Therefore he was just as uncaring, cruel and faithless as all the others.

  The worst of it was, she had embarrassed herself by showing that she cared. When she’d caught him in a tryst she should have had the sense to withdraw quietly. Instead, she’d called attention, fumbling with that vase and drawing out the retreat. Now she was hiding in her room in a sodden gown, too humiliated to have a maid see her crying.

  It was nearly as bad as the worst night of her life. Then, she’d lain shivering in her bed, unwilling to call for help. She had told no one. When she’d realised that
she was with child, it was easier to stay silent than to admit that she had been so foolish as to leave her door unlocked in a houseful of drunken men.

  But brooding on the past did not change the fact that she was cold and wet right now, and had likely ruined her favourite day gown. Tugging at the bodice would rip the muslin and make matters even worse. She straightened, stepped away from the door and stretched her arms to the middle of her back. Then she clawed helplessly at the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, only to stomp her foot in frustration when she could not manage them. And now the tears were falling faster.

  ‘Let me help.’

  Captain Wiscombe had followed her to her room and she had been so upset she had not even heard him enter through the connecting door. ‘I do not need help,’ she lied, refusing to turn and face him so that he might see her tears. ‘Not from you. Not from anyone.’

  ‘I disagree.’ His voice was surprisingly gentle, as were the hands on her back, undoing the buttons of her gown. Once it was open he lifted it over her head and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he walked across the room to drape it over the door of the wardrobe. Then he returned and undid her petticoat so she could step out of it.

  Now she was standing in nothing but stays and shift, and shivering from reasons other than cold. ‘You can go back to Miss Fellowes now,’ she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  ‘I would rather not.’

  ‘Then why were you kissing her?’ It was childish to ask such questions. She should at least have the sense to pretend it had never happened.

  ‘She was kissing me,’ he said.

  ‘It is near to the same thing.’

  ‘I beg to differ,’ he said. ‘There is the matter of consent to be considered.’

  ‘I suppose she forced herself upon you,’ Lily said sceptically.

  ‘It was a surprise attack,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, whatever it was, you do not need to explain it away,’ she said. ‘It does not matter to me what you do.’

  ‘Then why are you crying?’

  ‘I am not.’ She swallowed hard, trying to stop.

  The hands on her back went to her waist and he turned her around to face him. His fingertips brushed her wet check to prove her a liar.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to stop the flow of tears, but felt them still sneaking out and wetting her lashes. But if she did not look at him, at least she did not have to see the pity in his eyes. ‘I was startled. That is all.’ Then she added, ‘I thought you had better taste.’

  He chuckled. ‘The next time, I shall find someone worthy of your approval.’

  ‘The next time...’ Before she could argue that she had no intention of passing judgements on his inamorata, his lips touched hers. Then they were gone again.

  ‘I meant, the next time it will be you,’ he said with a smile. ‘I was looking for you. I heard singing and I thought, perhaps...’ He paused. ‘Do you sing?’

  She frowned. ‘Would you like me to?’

  Now he looked like his embarrassed younger self. ‘I don’t require it of you, if that’s what you’re asking. But I still know very little about you and what you do for pleasure.’

  ‘I can sing, but I seldom have reason to,’ she said.

  ‘That is a shame.’ A curl had come loose from its pin and he twisted it around his finger before brushing it off her face. ‘While I cannot assure you that my return will have you singing for joy, I can promise that there will be no more tears over the kind of foolishness you witnessed just now in the trophy room. Now that I am finally home, I have no wish to take up with another. Let us put the past behind us. As long as you are loyal to me, I shall be loyal to only you.’

  It sounded suspiciously like he was forgiving her for having Stewart. There was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind arguing that, since she had not been at fault, there was really no reason for forgiveness. But her heart leapt at the chance for a fresh start with the man she had adored from afar.

  She nodded.

  ‘Very good,’ he said, the confidence returning to his smile.

  Was that settled, then? If he had nothing further to say, would he leave her and go back downstairs? Suddenly, it seemed urgent that he did not. ‘Why were you looking for me?’ she blurted into the awkward silence.

  ‘To give you this,’ he said and kissed her again.

  ‘Oh,’ she said with a sigh. She could not help it. She was leaning into him, her mouth open, as if he had touched a sweet to her tongue, only to pull it away. She wanted more.

  ‘But now that I have you half out of your clothes and behind a locked door, I have an even better idea,’ he said, pushing the strap of her chemise to the side so he might place another kiss on the bare skin of her shoulder.

  He meant the act. Now that the time had finally come, she didn’t dare refuse. But it was broad daylight. He would see the marks that childbirth had left on her body and be disappointed. Worse yet, he would see if she was afraid, or if it hurt. God forbid, what if she did not like it at all? What if it was as bad as the last time? Everything would be so much easier to hide under the covers and after dark.

  ‘I do not think...’ she said, before another kiss stopped her words. Dear Lord, but it was good. She had never known how lonely she had been until he’d kissed her. It was as if a part of her that had been missing was restored.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said into her ear. ‘Do not think. Just feel.’ He was undoing the laces at the back of her stays with short, efficient jerks of his fingers. Now he was lifting the garment out of the way, dropping it to the floor with one hand as her breast dropped into the palm of his other hand like falling fruit. His thumb was rubbing back and forth across the nipple, making it stand proud beneath the thin cloth of her shift.

  His head dipped and he took the other one into his mouth, sucking till the wet linen clung to her body. She could feel the slight unevenness of his front teeth, rough against her, teasing but not marking. How much better would it be if her breasts were bare? And suppose he buried his face deep between her legs?

  At the thought, she let out a strange, hiccupping gasp, which made him stop and smile up at her expectantly.

  She shook her head, unsure of what response was expected.

  He nodded in satisfaction as if he understood her without words. Then he straightened and she opened her mouth to receive another kiss.

  When his lips touched hers, she was reborn. It was as if she had spent years under water, only to burst to the surface and take her first clean breath. His kiss was life for her. They belonged together, the two of them connected by breath and taste and murmured words. The thought glowed in her brain, warmed her heart and heated her blood until a tingling rush seemed to chase through her limbs and settle in a dangerous hum of arousal between her legs. Was he feeling this, as well? Or were men always inflamed, as they seemed to be?

  As if to show her, his arms tightened about her, his hand spreading over the small of her back to stroke downwards, pressing her close. Then he pulled his lips away just long enough to sigh, ‘Lily,’ against the shell of her ear, taking a breath as though he were inhaling a flower.

  ‘Captain Wiscombe.’

  He laughed. ‘Gerald. Or Gerry.’ Then he cupped her bottom and lifted her, perching her on the back of a nearby bench so her knees spread and her feet dangled. He stepped between them and pushed the hem of her chemise up to her waist.

  Her physical balance was as precarious as her spirit, shifting between terror and elation as the inevitable end of this journey approached. She closed her eyes. The past was the past. When the moment came, she could let herself fall and trust that he would catch her.

  She was rocking on the edge of her seat and the heads of the studs that held the upholstery in its place were making ridges on the backs of her legs. From now on, when s
he looked at this bench, she would blush and remember the strange and primal feel of the metal branding her thighs.

  He knew what she was thinking. She could see it in his smile. And now he meant to take her, not silently in a bed in the dark tonight, but right here, standing up in the daytime. His hand moved to his trousers, undoing buttons.

  ‘Gerry,’ she said on a gasp.

  ‘Lily,’ he challenged, dropping the flap of his pants and touching his body to hers, as gentle as a kiss.

  For a moment, he stared down, transfixed by the sight of their bodies together. Then he slipped a hand between them and ran a fingertip along her slit, spreading the moisture from back to front.

  The bottom dropped out of her world as suddenly as if the chair had been pulled out from under her. What was this feeling? Nothing in her life had prepared her for it. He pushed into her and it was even better. The slide of flesh against flesh: large, smooth and rock-hard against soft, wet, throbbing.

  She gripped his forearms to steady herself as he withdrew and stroked again. This was not frightening. This was right, just as the time before had been wrong. She had promised herself to this man for this very purpose, for ever until death. But what heaven that came after could ever compare to what was happening right now?

  ‘Gerry.’ She loved the sound of his name and the taste of him on her tongue. She kissed his funny, crooked smile. She kissed the cleft in his chin and the stubble that was coming in on his throat. A moment ago, she had been afraid to do more than tug at his sleeve. But now, she dug her fingers into the side of his waist, trying to pull him closer. She was clinging to him, lost in the feel of his arms about her.

  Another spasm of pleasure shook her, leaving her hungry for the movement. Without thinking, she pumped her legs as if she was on a garden swing, trying to go higher. And higher. When he answered her movements with faster, deeper thrusts, she slid her thighs up his body to his waist and locked her feet at the small of his back to hold him. Then she pumped and thrust, eager to meet each stroke, letting the speed build until she broke through the clouds, soaring like she had wings. This time, when she cried out his name it was from the explosion of joy at being so touched by such a man.