by Louise Allen
The clock struck twelve. Had Susan gone to bed yet? She hadn’t heard her. Then the tread at the top of the stair creaked and she could hear footsteps along the landing. At last. Susan must be tired, she had worked so hard on the party, and then today, clearing up.
Her bedchamber door opened. Bless the girl, she was checking on her.
But the shadow that fell across the floor was male and the footsteps, now they were in the room, were of booted feet. Hester scooted upright in bed with a gasp as Guy walked in and shut the door behind him. He touched the candle he was holding to the branch on the mantel shelf and smiled at her.
‘God, it is cold out there. The air seems to be freezing into ice crystals.’ And, indeed, she could see the frost melting on his greatcoat. He shrugged it off, tossed it over a chair and sat down, starting to tug off one boot.
‘What do you think you are doing? Where have you come from?’ This was some sort of hallucination, she was so overwrought that she had made herself ill.
‘Taking off my boots.’ His left boot came off, and he tossed it aside and began to tug at the right. ‘And I’ve been in London, I told you. At least, I told Georgy.’
‘But why? No, I do not mean, why did you go,’ she protested as he pulled a thick, folded document tied in red tape from his pocket and tossed it on to the table. ‘I mean, what are you doing here?’
‘Thawing out.’ He stood up with a grunt and rubbed his hands into the small of his back. ‘That is a long drive in these conditions.’
‘You can thaw out at home,’ Hester protested.
‘And get cold again coming back?’ His coat joined the greatcoat.
Hester stared at the shirt-sleeved figure. ‘How did you get in?’ This was like one of those infuriating parlour games where one had only a limited number of questions to ascertain whether the person who was It was Wellington, the vicar or the Empress Josephine.
‘Through the secret door.’ Guy was tugging his neckcloth loose now.
‘Well, you must go back immediately.’ Hester tried to assume a calm manner, keeping her voice level as though she was dealing with an unpredictable lunatic. ‘And go quietly or you will wake Maria and Susan.’
‘Maria is snoring her head off at the far end of the landing and Susan was leaving by the secret door in the cupboard as I was coming in.’
‘What?’
‘To meet Ben Aston. Surely you knew about that?’
Hester felt her mouth drop open and shut it with a snap. ‘No, I did not! You mean they are courting?’
‘Certainly they are. I enquired about his intentions last week-I thought it best to make sure he hasn’t a wife somewhere-and they seem perfectly honourable.’ Guy strolled across and leaned on the bed post.
‘You asked him? Why did you not tell me?’
‘I assumed you would want to hear about it from Susan; meanwhile, it seemed wise to let him know someone had her interests at heart.’ He was watching her from under heavy lidded eyes, bruised by tiredness, but Hester was not fooled into thinking Guy Westrope was the slightest hit sleepy.
‘Thank you.’ This situation was so unreal. Hester fell back on common civility to guide her. ‘And thank you for dealing so effectively with the Nugents.’
‘Ah, yes, my delinquent cousins. Georgy told you all about that, I presume.’
Hester nodded. ‘She was very kind. What have you discovered about them?’ She really wanted to know, but not at midnight with a man in her bedchamber.
‘That they are very deeply in debt and there seems to be some suggestion of fraud involving Sarah’s erstwhile fiancé.’
‘What will happen to them?’ Hester pulled the counterpane up around her shoulders.
‘I will let them sweat a little and then buy the house on the condition they leave the country. Provided you drop charges and Jethro and the doctor do not want to pursue their claims, they will be free to leave.’
‘Oh, yes, anything to be rid of them.’ Hester tried for a firm note. ‘Thank you for letting me know, I hope you are warm enough to go home now.’
‘Not nearly warm enough.’ His voice was a husky drawl and Hester gasped.
‘You have come over here thinking that, because I was one man’s mistress, I will take you into my bed? Get out this minute!’ She pointed furiously at the door. ‘Go on.’
‘Hester, I came to apologise for making you think I was judging you, condemning you.’ Guy sat down on the end of the bed and she withdrew her feet sharply. He was far too close, far too male and, now his waistcoat joined his coat on the chair, wearing far too little. ‘I was very clumsy and I did not know how to make things right between us.’
‘You mean you do not believe I was John’s mistress?’ Had Maria or Lady Broome said something after all, or was this the declaration of trust she had been praying for?
‘I mean that I do not know. If you were, then either you were deeply in love with the man and for some reason could not marry him-and if that were the case, it would be rampant hypocrisy on my part to condemn you, knowing what I do about my own grandmother-or you were forced into that position against your will, in which case, what blame is there in that?’
Guy was watching her face, his own serious as he spoke. Hester could feel the colour ebb and flow under her skin as her emotions struggled to keep pace with what he was saying.
‘You mean you do not care?’
‘Of course I care.’ He reached for her hand and she snatched it away. ‘I care if you have lost someone you love, I care if you were forced into a relationship you did not want, I care if you were the object of gossip and scandal whatever the circumstances.’ He moved swiftly and captured both her hands before she could evade him and pulled her gently towards him. ‘Hester, what I am trying to tell you is that I love you. I love you now, as you are, whatever or whoever you are. I was not part of your past, but I want to be your future.’
The room fell silent, so still that Hester could hear the crackling as ice crystals formed and brushed against the window panes. ‘But… I thought all men wanted to marry virgins.’
Guy smiled, lifting her hand to brush it against his cheek. ‘That would be very hard on widows if it were the case.’
‘Do not jest with me.’ She should pull her hand free, but it felt so good against his cold cheek, rubbing against the stubble that was darkening his jaw.
‘Hester, I hurt you, firing out questions when what you needed was for me to take your side against my sister instantly, without explanations. I did side with you, but too late, when I was alone with her. I believe I put enough questions in her mind about why such a scandal broth should have been stirred in the first place.’
‘She knows the truth,’ Hester said stiffly. Something was hurting inside-did a broken heart mending hurt like this? ‘I had better tell you.’
‘Only if you want to.’ Guy released her hands and ran his palm caressingly down her hair. ‘Hester, I asked why because I hurt for you, wanted to know so I could protect you. I am not looking for an explanation, or for you to justify yourself to me.’
Hester swallowed. The pain was an ache now, a fading ache. Hearts did mend after all and it seemed it was possible to smile. The change in his expression when he saw that tremulous curl of her lips made something inside her jolt. Slowly she began to explain, watching Guy’s face, seeing the comprehension in his eyes as the tale unfolded.
‘I did love him,’ she finished at last. ‘I loved him like an uncle or a much older brother, but never in any other way. It would have been wrong to marry him simply to provide for myself. I accepted the legacy he left me because I knew he truly wanted me to have it and it would have worried him so much if he thought I would not. His is the wine you have been admiring.’
‘Then I will drink to his memory when next we open a bottle of it. He sounds a good man. It is a tragedy that his last months were made miserable by the spite and the greed of his relatives.’
‘But that spite remains,’ Hester pointed out, doggedly de
termined to drag out into the light every festering element of the scandal. ‘I should never have agreed to marry you, and I should have explained why at once. Think of the scandal if you marry me now.’
‘If Georgy knows the truth, then believe me, her influence in London society utterly eclipses that of Sir John’s cousins. By the time you reappear in London at my side, there will be no scandal.’
‘Guy, do you really want to marry me? We were thrown together, you were emotionally involved with this house, you felt you had to protect me. I would understand if you find you were mistaken…’ Her voice trailed off as he rose from the bed and moved away towards the fire. It was the right thing to say, she told herself, wondering if she would manage not to cry until he left the room.
Instead of picking up his clothing as she expected, Guy took the document from the table and handed it to her. ‘So far am I certain that I have driven to London and back to obtain this from Doctors’ Commons.’
‘Doctors’ Commons?’ Hester unfolded the stiff parchment and read. ‘The Faculty Office? Guy, this is a special licence!’
‘Well, I sincerely hope I have not picked up the Archbishop’s laundry list in error.’ He was standing, hands on hips, looking down at her. ‘Hester, will you believe I love you and I want to marry you, because I am not sure what else I can do to convince you and I really do not want to have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you off to church on Christmas morning.’
‘Oh.’ Hester stared at the document in her hands, then up at the man waiting so patiently at her bedside. ‘Oh, yes, Guy, I-’
She got no further before she was in his arms, being held so tightly she thought she might faint. His face was buried in her hair; through a haze of happiness and desire she could feel his mouth moving as he murmured words of love into the thick brown curls.
Everything inside her seemed to be liquid, hot, aching. Hester wriggled until she could hug him in return, flatten her palms against the muscled back through the thin linen of his shirt, inhale the spicy male scent of him, nuzzle her lips along the line where his hair curled into his frost-cold nape. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’ He pulled back to look at her. ‘May I show you how much?’
There was no doubt and no hesitation, although she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks as she moved across the bed to make room for him. Guy shucked off his shirt and began to unbutton his breeches. Hester closed her eyes, cracked them open a fraction, took one look and then closed them again with a little gasp. The reality of an unclothed, aroused man in one’s bedroom far exceeded anything her fevered dreams had conjured up.
The bed dipped, the covers flipped back over her and she was pulled down against a long, hard body. There was a second of breathless stillness then Hester gave an outraged shriek and recoiled. ‘Your feet are freezing!’
Guy regarded her solemnly, only the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips betraying his amusement. ‘You know, Hester, in the frequent, heated and very detailed fantasies I had entertained of making love to you, the need for a hot brick in flannel or a pair of bed socks never occurred to me.’
Hester collapsed on his chest, helpless with giggles. ‘I… could… find a brick,’ she managed to gasp only to find herself rolled over in a very masterful way.
‘Never mind,’ Guy growled in her ear, ‘I will simply have to find a way to heat my blood up.’
After that she found she had little opportunity, or breath, for giggling. His lips were slow and tormenting on hers, demanding, teasing, nibbling until she was gasping for some sort of release. Even then he kept his mouth on hers, biting gently on her full lower lip as his hands caressed down over her breasts, pushing away the thin lawn that covered them.
Hester arched to meet him, her own hands clinging, kneading, stroking down the long back muscles, down over the narrow waist to the flat hips, up to the curve of his buttocks.
He rolled her again, holding her for a moment balanced on his body as he pulled the nightgown free to float disregarded to the floor. Her whole body pressed against his, every inch of it hot now, every inch of it frighteningly, magnificently male.
‘Don’t be frightened, sweetheart.’ His voice was soft in her ear, coming from a long way off as she felt his weight on her, found herself parting instinctively for him, gasping in shocked wonderment as he entered her.
She had not expected it to be like this. Not to feel utterly one with him, certainly not to be swept up in a ravel of overwhelming sensation that was winding tighter and tighter until she felt she could not bear it any more until it burst and she cried out against his mouth, only to feel it swallowed in his own cry of triumphant release.
It was not possible to move. She did not want to move, except that she did not think she could breathe. How long had they lain here, tangled within the cradle of each other’s limbs? ‘Guy?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Can you move, just a little bit?’
‘Mmm.’ He rolled on to his side, bringing her with him to lie in the crook of his arm. His breath tickled her ear as he nuzzled gently along the soft skin of her temple. ‘You taste of vanilla and cream and woman.’
Hester stretched as best she could, then snuggled back. ‘You taste of cinnamon and dark honey and man.’
‘Sounds like a recipe for syllabub,’ he murmured. ‘My feet are warm. Shall we try that again? I feel that practice is essential and I am sure there must be at least six places on your body I have not kissed yet.’
‘Again?’ Hester opened her eyes and blinked at him in the candlelight. His eyes were heavy with a dark heat that stirred new longings deep inside her. ‘Again, tonight?’
‘And again, and again and again.’ Guy’s dark head dipped below the edge of the bedcovers. ‘So soft…’
Hester woke in the clear light of morning and lay unmoving, listening. But there was no one else breathing in the room, and when she stretched out a questing arm the bed beside her was empty. But the hollow in the mattress was still warm and the pillow, when she rolled over and buried her face in it, smelled of cinnamon and dark honey and Guy.
There was a scratch at the door and Susan came in with a cup of chocolate. The two young women eyed each other uncertainly.
‘About last night…’ they began together.
‘I was going to tell you about Ben Aston,’ Susan blurted out, setting the cup down and going to find Hester’s dressing gown to put round her shoulders. ‘Only I thought he ought to come and tell you himself and he said he was bashful.’
‘Bashful? Aston? Well, if you say so, Susan. Do you love him?’ A vehement nod of the head. ‘And he wants to marry you?’ Another nod. ‘Where will you live?’
‘He has a fine cottage, Miss Hester, and a smallholding with a cow and a pig and a good flock of chickens and a large vegetable garden. And he’s a hard worker.’
‘The vicar vouches for him and his lordship has spoken to him and seems satisfied he is good enough for you, which is what matters to me. Oh, come here and stop looking as though you expected me to ring a peal over you for courting! A fine case of the pot calling the kettle black that would be.’
Emerging pink cheeked from Hester’s embrace, Susan perched on the edge of the bed. Hester could feel herself blushing under the clear regard, but she met her maid’s eyes squarely. She might ache oddly, feel quite light-headed and still be half-persuaded that she was dreaming it all, but she was not going to apologise for loving Guy.
‘Is it all right, Miss Hester? I mean, his lordship pinched my cheek on his way out through the kitchen this morning and said I was to look to my needle, but I didn’t like to ask.’
‘Lord! What time did he leave? Maria and Jethro didn’t see him, did they?’
‘No,’ Susan reassured her. ‘Miss Prudhome’s just getting up and I sent Jethro off down to Ben’s for more eggs. Mr Parrott’s looking after most of the wedding breakfast, but I did think as how I ought to make the cake at least.’
‘Wedding breakfast?’ A haz
y memory of Guy saying something about Christmas Day floated into Hester’s mind. ‘He isn’t thinking of marrying me on Christmas Day, is he? That’s tomorrow!’
‘You had better get up.’ Susan paused at the door. ‘We had all of yesterday to plan things and Lady Broome and Miss Prudhome have had that smart modiste from Aylesbury settled in over the way sewing your dress.’
‘But that means he knew I’d say yes even before the party!’ But Susan had vanished and Hester was left staring at the door. She gulped the chocolate, jumped out of bed and then back in again when she realised she was stark naked. By the time Susan came back with the hot water she was out of bed, wrapped in her dressing gown and attempting to think coherently-not that that was helped by finding Guy’s cravat on the floor, tangled with her discarded nightgown. If Guy really believed she could be ready to marry him by tomorrow, he must be made to see reason. It was impossible.
But she came downstairs to find Lady Broome already ensconced in the drawing room with the modiste, Parrott and Jethro in earnest consultation in the kitchen and Annabelle Redland and Maria in the dining room creating a bouquet and decorations for the church. It seemed that she, as bride, had nothing to do other than to approve a gown of cream silk with a spencer of holly green, and submit to endless fittings.
‘Now, I have brought some gold velvet, and I could make that up in a trice, if you would prefer, Miss Lattimer,’ Madame Lefevre offered through a mouthful of pins. ‘Although the green does look charmingly.’
‘I found bonnets to match either choice and kid half-boots,’ Lady Broome added from her position at the side of the chair upon which Hester was standing for the hem to be pinned. Oh, yes, and gloves and a veil. Now if you are sure about the green, I think this twisted floss trim at the hem would be best.’
Hester agreed to the green and waited before the modiste had left the room before jumping down and taking Lady Broome’s hands in hers. ‘Thank you so much! Do you truly not mind me marrying Guy? Only I love him so much-’
