by Wolf, Bree
Never would Christina have expected for this day to end like this, that she would find her husband waiting for her in her chamber, that she would find herself in his arms not long after. “Why did you come to my chamber tonight?” she whispered breathlessly.
His head rose, and his dark green eyes looked into hers. “Because I needed you.” He kissed her again, then nibbled a path along her jaw to her ear. “Because I wanted you.”
Christina gasped at the unfamiliar sensations her husband’s touch elicited. “I’m glad you did,” she gasped, running her hands upward and into his hair. “If you hadn’t come to me,” she pulled back and met his gaze, “I would have come to you.”
Whether that had been true an hour ago, Christina did not know. However, it was now, and that was all that mattered.
A deeply heart-felt longing came to his eyes then, and he leaned down to place the most tender of kisses upon her lips, one that said more than a thousand words ever could.
“I might be falling in love with you,” Christina whispered and threw every last shred of caution out the window, placing herself in her husband’s hands.
After all, she trusted him. She did not know how it had come to be, but it had.
And she was glad for it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Things of the Past
Cracking one eye open, Thorne peeked across the sheets at the other side of the bed. The moment his eyes fell upon his sleeping wife, a wide grin stretched across his face for what he had thought to be a dream had not been one after all.
Never before had Thorne been so pleased to wake up to reality. Never before had reality been better than the dream.
Darkness still lingered about the world as he looked out the windows, the edge of the forest a dim outline upon the horizon. For a reason he did not know, his wife seemed disinclined to close her curtains at night. Thorne wondered why that was.
Propping himself up onto an elbow, he looked down at her, her wild, golden hair almost glowing against the stark white of her pillow. Although her eyes were closed, Thorne knew them to be of the deepest blue he had ever seen.
“Are you watching me?”
He chuckled as her eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him, a teasing smile stretching across her lips. “How long have you been awake?” he asked, reaching out a hand to brush a soft curl behind her ear.
Rolling over to look at him, Christina shrugged. “A while.” She pulled the blanket a little higher to cover herself, a touch of red coming to her cheeks. Her eyes held no discomfort or regret, though, and Thorne was glad for it.
“Are you all right?” he asked, tracing the tips of his fingers down her arm until he reached her hand and pulled it into his own, holding on tightly. “Any regrets?” He tried to ask the question lightly, yet he could see that she understood him well.
Her eyes were warm and comforting, and Thorne exhaled the breath he had been holding slowly. Still, her lips twitched in a bit of a wicked way. “Perhaps one,” she said, trying her best not to smile and failing to do so.
Thorne laughed. “Do I dare ask?”
“It is not what you’re thinking,” she replied with a shake of her head.
Thorne frowned. “What do you think I am thinking?”
Grinning, Christina shook her head once more. “All I meant to say,” she began, and the grin slowly faded from her face, replaced by something deeply caring, “is that I wish we had not wasted all this time. I wish…I had known from the start who we could be together.”
Thorne nodded, pulling her hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss upon it. “I do as well. Still, I am glad we were able to take this chance.” He watched her carefully. “May I ask you something? Something I’ve been wondering about for a while.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took note of the no doubt serious expression upon his face. “Ask what you will.”
Thorne swallowed, hoping that she would not retreat from him. “It is about your stories.”
Instantly, her hand tensed within his own, and he could all but feel an old instinct welling up inside her, an instinct to retrieve her hand, to put up a barrier between them. “What about them?” Christina asked, her gaze straying from his before it returned a moment later as though she had needed a moment to remind herself not to hide.
Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, Thorne sought her eyes. “You share them with Samantha, yet I cannot help but feel as though you do not wish for me to know them. Is that so?” His brows rose questioningly. “The day we picnicked near the woods’ edge, you seemed reluctant to speak of them when Samantha asked you. It seems whenever I draw near, you’d rather not see them mentioned. Why?”
Sighing, Christina lay back down, and her eyes turned toward the ceiling as she inhaled a deep breath. “I swore never to speak of it,” she said then, without looking at him, “at least not to my husband.”
Thorne frowned, relieved that she did not withdraw her hand from his. “Why?”
For a moment, she turned her head to look at him, then sighed and returned her gaze to the ceiling above. “My aunt was an artist—she is an artist! Though, she was never allowed to be one. Women are often praised for their accomplishments; however, no one truly expects them or wants them to rise to fame, to stand out and succeed on their own, apart from their husbands.”
Thorne listened quietly, seeing the torn expression he had observed before now clearly etched into her features.
“My aunt’s husband was no different. Although they cared for each other—at least, I believe they did—he ultimately asked her to abandon her pursuits and see to their home and family. He did not understand her need to have something of her own, to follow that passion, that need to express herself.” Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath. “And so, she was forced to make a choice.” Her head turned, and she looked at him, her blue eyes wide open, meeting his. “She left him and went to France. She gave up everything here, her home, her husband, her entire family, because she knew she could not betray who she was.” A tear collected in her right eye. “I knew I could never give up my stories; yet I also knew I never wanted to have to make such a decision.” A weak smile came to her lips. “I cannot imagine a life without my family. I could never leave them. I often wonder if she ever regretted her decision, if she ever found love again. Her husband is still furious with her. He is trapped in their marriage, without a wife and without an heir to his title.” She sighed, unable to imagine such a life. “I sometimes wonder if he would have gone after her if it weren’t for the war. I think he must know that she is in France.” She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. “I often wonder if she is happy, truly happy. Her letters only ever mention her art or they ask after us.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “But can she truly be happy without her family? Without children? Was it the right choice for her?”
Moving closer, Thorne pulled Christina into his arms, placing a gentle kiss upon her temple. His fingers traced over her cheek, gently brushing away the tear that had escaped. “Look at me, Chris.”
After a moment of hesitation, she finally lifted her eyes to his.
“I understand your aunt’s decision,” he told her, gently cupping her face and brushing his thumb over the tip of her chin. “We all need to be who we are, men and women alike. Those who love us will understand and never stand in our way.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in.
Christina blinked up at him. “What are you saying? Would you not object if I were to…write my stories down, even seek to publish them? Would you not be upset?” Disbelief rested in her blue eyes, not because of who she thought him to be, but because of something she had come to see as the truth long ago.
“I would be upset if you did not,” Thorne told her earnestly. “It is who you are, and I would never want you to be someone you are not. It is you I wanted for my wife, not some kind of abstract version of you.”
For a long, long time, her eyes looked into his as though she were waiting for something that w
ould disprove his words. “Do you truly mean what you say?” She reached out a hand and placed it on the side of his face. “It would not bother you? You would not hold it against me?”
“Do not be so hesitant to ask for the very thing you yourself promised me freely and without restraint. Was it not you who said you believed in me? Who promised me her help and support? Who said that I needed to hold the course because eventually I would succeed?” A mock frown came to his face as he smiled down at her. “I do not quite recall who said all those wonderful things. Could it have been you?”
Christina chuckled. “You can be quite childish at times.”
He laughed. “I will see that as a compliment. After all, nothing and no one is more precious than our children.”
Smiling, Christina shook her head. “You truly are not a gentleman,” she whispered, reaching up to pull him down to her, “you are a far, far better man than that.”
“And you are an exceptional woman,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers, his heart warming at her words. “I’ve always thought so. From the very first.” He grinned at her. “And I’ve never been known to be wrong. Not once.”
Rolling her eyes at him, Christina laughed; yet the sound was cut short when his lips claimed hers anew.
Never had Thorne dared to dream of such a life. A wife he loved and a daughter he adored. He had been happy being Samantha’s father before. Now, though, it seemed as though everything was falling into place.
Thorne delighted in seeing Samantha with Christina as well as her newfound aunts and great-grandmother. They all doted upon the child, and he could see that Samantha was always meant to be part of a large family. She blossomed in a way he had never seen before. Her exuberance and joy knew no bounds.
When the rest of the Whickertons arrived a fortnight later, Samantha was beyond herself with happiness. At first shy, clinging to him or Christina, she peeked out from behind them, her wide eyes sweeping over Lord and Lady Whickerton as well as the rest of the siblings and their respective spouses.
Yet each and every one of them made an effort to lure the little girl out of her shell, to gain her trust and to win her heart, and before the first day was out, a distant observer would never have guessed that Samantha had not grown up with all of them from the very beginning.
“She’s a darling girl,” Lady Whickerton exclaimed, hugging Christina tightly. “You’re so very fortunate.”
Christina exchanged a look with Thorne before smiling up at her mother. “I know. I am so very fond of her already.” Her face darkened a little. “It…”
Thorne watched Lady Whickerton squeeze her daughter’s hand. “Yes?”
Christina’s eyes once more wandered to him, and he could see restraint there, reluctance to speak of what was in her heart for fear of hurting him.
Offering her a smile, Thorne wanted her to know that beyond everything else it was important for them to be honest with each other.
Relief came to her eyes before she turned back to her mother. “I cannot help but wonder if how I feel for her is different from the way I would feel toward a child I’ve brought into this world myself. It is a thought I cannot seem to shake lately.” She glanced up at Thorne, and he saw a slight blush come to her cheeks.
Lady Whickerton smiled at her daughter. “Oh, my dear, do not worry. A mother’s heart does not distinguish.” She looked up at her husband. “And neither does a father’s.”
Stepping up to his wife, Lord Whickerton placed a hand on the small of her back. “Your mother is right, my dear. Blood does not matter. Love is born out of something else. It is being a parent that matters most.”
Her parents smiled at one another in a way that gave Thorne pause. It made him wonder because the look in their eyes suggested that they spoke from experience. Had either one of them ever loved a child that was not their own?
“Thorne,” Lord Whickerton exclaimed, turning to him, “or do you object to the familiarity of first names?” A bit of a grin came to the man’s face.
Thorne chuckled. “Not at all, my lord.”
“Then call me Charles, will you?” He clasped a hand on Thorne’s shoulder, and they walked a few steps off the terrace and down into the gardens. “I’ve spoken to Lord Huntington once more.”
Thorne stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his father-in-law.
“We’ve agreed upon another meeting a month from now at Whickerton Grove,” his father-in-law explained, a kind smile upon his face. “Invitations to all those interested in your cause have been sent. I’ve already received a few confirmations. Does that suit you?”
Exhaling a deep sigh, Thorne nodded. “It does, yes.” Utter relief swept through him, and he felt the sudden urge to embrace his father-in-law. The time for that had not yet come, though. Still, he could imagine that, perhaps a few years down the road, Christina and Samantha would not be the only ones he loved and considered family. “Thank you. Thank you very much for all your help and support.”
Again, Charles clasped his shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze. “Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention.” He sighed deeply. “You’re a good man, Thorne, and I’m glad to see my daughter so happy.”
“She’s wonderful,” Thorne told his father-in-law, knowing that he meant every word. “I consider myself most fortunate that she agreed to marry me.”
Charles laughed. “It seems someone smiled upon you.”
Thorne frowned as a suspicion snuck into his mind. “Who?”
His father-in-law’s brows rose mockingly. “My mother, of course.”
“She told you? She told you that she came to me?”
Charles nodded. “I admit, I was not pleased when I first heard of it. Yet she’s always had a way of…meddling in others’ affairs. Fortunately for her, her matchmaking efforts have never gone wrong. At least, not that I know of.”
Thorne laughed. “I have yet to thank her.”
“Does Christina know?”
Thorne shook his head, knowing that secret to be the only thing that remained unsaid between them. “Your mother made me promise not to say a word, at least not, until she saw it fit to free me from that promise.”
Shaking his head, Charles sighed deeply. “I shall speak to her.”
“Thank you. I admit I do feel awful for keeping this from Christina. I hope she will not hold it against me.”
Charles chuckled. “Feel free to blame it on my mother. After all, she’s at the root of this. She generally is.” Laughing, he slapped Thorne on the back. “Come, let’s walk a bit and discuss the meeting ahead.”
Thorne nodded, eager to return to his wife and set things straight between them.
For good.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A Mother’s Return
Seated at his desk, Thorne looked up from his papers, his gaze drawn to the window where his new sister-in-law, Harriet, was once more galloping off into the distance.
On her own, no less.
Smiling, Thorne chuckled. By now, he was well aware that the Whickertons did things their own way. Most parents of the ton, he supposed, would have objected to their daughter riding off without a chaperone of some kind. However, Lord and Lady Whickerton—Charles and Beatrice!—strongly believed that not only their son, but also their daughters had the right to make their own choices.
As well as their own mistakes.
Thorne promised himself that he would grant Samantha the same rights, the same freedoms, the same choices. After all, how would he have felt if he had been forced to live his whole life directed by others, dependent on other people’s whims?
No, it was unimaginable.
A knock sounded on the door to his study before Reuben stepped into the room. “I beg your pardon, Sir. You have…a visitor.” The old man’s lips thinned in a rather disapproving way. “She insists on speaking to you.”
Thorne frowned. “She? Did she give a name?”
“A Mrs. Miller.” Reuben’s lips thinned even further, a
nd Thorne could see that the man spoke with great reluctance.
Rising to his feet, Thorne stepped around his desk, his gaze fixed upon his butler, trying to understand what had raised the man’s disapproval in such a way. “I cannot say that I’ve ever heard her name.”
Reuben swallowed hard. “Mrs. Miller claims to be…Miss Samantha’s mother.”
Thorne’s jaw all but dropped as he stared at his butler. “Pardon me?”
Reuben cleared his throat. “Mrs. Miller insists on speaking with you regarding her…daughter.”
All of a sudden, the clock situated upon the shelf to his right seemed to tick with a loudness it had not possessed before. Each second seemed to crawl by with agonizing slowness as Thorne continued to stare at Reuben. He could feel every muscle in his body pull tight, every breath accompanied by a sense of almost painful dread. Why now?
Ever since he had found Samantha upon his doorstep, Thorne had wondered about the child’s mother. He had spent months trying to find her. Yet eventually he had given up, certain that he never would. Samantha had become his, and his alone.
Now, after years of it only having been the two of them, they had found a family to call their own. Christina was his wife, and slowly, step-by-step, she was becoming Samantha’s mother.
Thorne loved seeing the two of them together. He loved the way Samantha turned to Christina, snuggled into her side or reached for her hand, her eyes glowing with trust and love, the same way they did when she looked at him. Through Christina’s stories, they had found a way to one another, often huddled up together in the evenings, Samantha’s head resting upon Christina’s shoulder as Christina continued her tale of the fairies that lived out in the forests.
The glow upon his daughter’s face never failed to make Thorne pause in his step whenever they sat in this manner and his little daughter listened, listened most carefully, and imagined. He could see it in Samantha’s eyes. Christina’s words drew her away from the here and now, allowed her to dream in a most wonderful way.
