She pushed aside the covers, hurried across the room and threw open the door before the night could become any worse. ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered, not wanting to draw further attention.
‘I have come for answers,’ Joseph said, in a voice that was loud and unembarrassed.
‘As if you are the one who needs them. Talk to me tomorrow over breakfast, if you must.’ Preferably in the presence of chaperones, to ensure that she did not do anything more foolish than she already had.
‘I don’t have tomorrow.’ As usual, he could think of no further than himself.
‘Be quiet,’ she whispered. ‘Someone will hear.’
‘If you do not wish to draw attention, you had best let me in,’ he said, with a strange tight smile.
She grabbed him by the lapel and pulled him into the room, closing the door quickly, silently, regretting that she had touched him at all, for her hand seemed to burn with the contact. And now he was in front of her, blocking her way into her own room, and she was planted, shoulders to the door panel, in a way that half reminded her of those scandalous moments in the alcove. Except now she was wearing nothing but her chemise—not that there was much of her body he had not seen.
‘What do you want?’
She tried not to squirm at the memory, and the traitorous desire to step forwards, to relax and to go to him. But perhaps that was not what he wanted. He did not reach for her. He was frowning, as though deep in thought.
‘Tell me what has happened here.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Here. In this community. Before I arrived. I need to know about the people right now, before I can go another step.’
She laughed, for it was so far outside what she had expected to hear that she could hardly credit it. ‘You wish to know now—after moving here, building here and spending untold sums of money to achieve your ends—what the people might think of it?’
‘I know what they think of it,’ he said dismissively. ‘They hate it—as they would hate any change. That is not what I mean and you know it. Tell me about Mary. Tell me about the mill fire. And your father’s accident. Help me make sense of it all.’
‘Help you to make sense of it?’ She pushed past him to return to her bed. ‘There is nothing to make sense of. No blame to assess. Accidents happen. People are hurt. They die. Time passes. The survivors are changed, but they live on. For what else is there to do?’ She turned back to face him. ‘If that is all you have come here to say, then you are wrong. It can wait until morning, and a setting not so completely inappropriate. Goodnight, Mr Stratford.’ She climbed into bed, turning away from him and pulling up the covers. He could make his retreat in anger or embarrassment. She did not care. But she should not be forced to watch it.
But he did not leave. She felt the weight of him, sitting on the edge of her bed, not touching, just out of reach of her. ‘Tell me.’
‘You are selfish and horrible to come and remind me of these things, tonight of all nights.’ Even knowing the stupidity of it, after their time in the alcove she had cherished some small fantasy that he would come to her, attempting to continue what they had begun. Perhaps he would speak of love, and even though she would recognise the words for lies, it would be better than nothing.
‘Barbara.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder, and through the covers the weight of it was warm, heavy and soothing—as was the sound of her name on his lips. ‘Tell me the truth. You have held things back from me. I would have no more secrets with you.’
‘Like the fact that your engagement to Anne was in place even as you fondled me?’ she shot back, the humiliation still fresh. ‘Go to her, if you want a bed partner. Let me have some peace.’
‘That is not what I mean. Not at all. Or at least that is not all.’ He fumbled with his words, as though he could make no sense to her or himself. ‘I need to know everything. I need to know about you.’ He said it with such curious emphasis that for a moment she believed that he really cared. ‘Why are the Clairemonts so cold to you? Tell me.’
He stretched out behind her on the mattress, the covers separating them, and the hand that had shaken her shoulder was wrapped about her waist, drawing her close as he buried his face in her hair. He would not leave until she spoke. She was sure of it. If she must give him the truth, it would be easier while lying in his arms, pretending that his strength was her own.
‘Because I killed their daughter, six years ago at Christmas time. It is my fault that Mary is dead. They hate me for it, and I do not blame them.’
He did not move away from her, not even to breathe. If anything, his arms held her tighter, and his lips pressed to the back of her throat, close to her ear. ‘You said she was ill.’
She sighed. ‘And so she was—because of me. My friend Mary Clairemont died of influenza. There is no story. Many of us were sick that season. But none so bad as her,’ Barbara admitted. ‘We were the best of friends and spent all our time together. When I sickened she brought me broth and calf’s-foot jelly. She read to me to pass the time. Her mother came as well. They took the illness back to their own home. Mary died of it.’
‘You blamed yourself?’
‘Not at first. But Mr Clairemont came and argued with Father. I heard them. He said that I should have been the one to die. It was horrible. After that, we were no longer welcome at the manor.’
‘That was unfair,’ Joseph said from behind her. ‘But from what I have seen of Mr Clairemont it is not so very surprising.’
‘Mrs Clairemont was distraught, and still weak from her own illness. It was a cold winter, and she did not recover until nearly spring. Christmas, which had been such a merry time at the manor, was silent.’
‘I understand there were parties here?’
‘Like this one. But bigger.’ She could not help but smile at the memory. ‘Not for years, now. Their sadness cut the heart out of them. They could not celebrate without thinking of Mary.’
‘Time to move on, then,’ Joseph said. His voice was gruff, as though it were possible to reject the softer emotions.
‘One cannot just push away grief when everything about the Christmas holiday is a reminder,’ she informed him, rolling to face him and leaning on her elbow. ‘You must show more compassion for Mrs Clairemont. The family was forced to strip the greenery from the house and use the feasting foods for a funeral. It was a great shock to them.’
‘But wrong to blame you for it,’ he said, touching her hair with his hand.
‘And Mr Clairemont lost his grip on his business. The war took its toll as well. Mr Mackay leased the land from him, but was not able to sell his goods. He bought the new looms to save money at the expense of the workers.’
‘If Clairemont had been smart, he would have noticed before things got bad,’ Joseph said, reasoning like a machine even while looking at her like a lover and lying near naked at her side. ‘He lost a building because of it. A valuable tenant as well. That allowed me to capitalise…’
‘Always business,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Father tried to help him at the last. Despite their differences, he ran to help save the mill with the rest of Mr Clairemont’s friends. But he was the one who was struck down by a falling beam. He was unconscious for three days. We were sure he would die. And now…’
‘His thoughts are addled,’ Joseph finished. ‘He blames the mill for it. He blames me as well.’
‘But really it is my fault,’ Barbara said. ‘From the very first. If I had been the one to die, and not Mary…’
Before she could finish the sentence his arms had tightened upon her, drawing her into a breath-taking hug. ‘Then things would have been different. But they would have been no better for the majority of people here.’ His lips touched her cheek, kissing away a tear that she did not remember shedding. ‘I have travelled the country, north and south, and seen what the war has done to trade, and what the new looms have done to tradesmen. It would have been uneasy here no matter what had happened. If your father had n
ot been the one to speak against me then someone else would.’
She wanted to believe that almost as much as she wished that things could have been simpler—young and clean and pleasant, just as they had been a few years ago. ‘There are a great many ifs,’ she said. ‘I think of them often. Sometimes it is only necessary to change the life of one person to set the world upon a different course.’
He stiffened. ‘So I have been told. But I do not think that you are that person who must change.’
She laughed softly. ‘And so I am put in my place, sir. It is good to know that you think me of so little importance in God’s great scheme.’
‘On the contrary. You are surprisingly important to…’ He paused. ‘To many people. But you are also blameless of anything that has happened here. Do not change. You are just right as you are. I would not alter an atom of you. But I owe you an apology. I assumed that the trouble was something quite different. A dispute over a suitor, perhaps.’
‘There has never been anyone,’ she admitted, then took a breath to gather courage. ‘Other than you.’
He lay very still beside her. ‘I never would have done what I did had I understood.’
‘Did you think I was the village whore, then?’ she asked, struggling to escape his arms. ‘It is a wonder you allowed me to associate with your guests.’
‘No.’ He said the word in a groan, and his arms were no longer gentle but holding her like iron as she fought against him. The lips that had been pressed softly to her cheek were taking her mouth, until she stilled and allowed his kiss, which was as rough and improper as he was. He filled her mouth with his tongue, making the rest of her body feel empty in comparison. The thin blanket that separated them was like a million miles of desert. And suddenly she was fighting not to get away but to be closer to him, praying that in total surrender he might finally admit what he felt for her.
‘No,’ he whispered, staying her hand and keeping the barrier between them. ‘My guests are not worthy of you. Neither am I. I am a villain, a rogue, a debaucher. But I cannot seem to let you go. I only wanted to make things better, I swear. But with each turn I dig deeper. After tonight I will never get free.’
‘If it is me you seek to be free from, then I hope you never succeed,’ she whispered.
Perhaps it would have been better had he been right. If she had already fallen she would know how to proceed now, to find the thing that would make him happy, would make him stay. She pressed her lips to his earlobe and then his cheek, licking the dark stubble and following it to his jaw. He looked even more tired than he had before. She remembered that he complained he could not sleep. It must be true, for it was well past three and he was still awake and worrying about her.
Whatever he felt for her, he needed a comfort that only she could give him. She nestled her head against his throat and kissed the places that had been covered with his cravat. Then she found his fingers with hers and untangled them from the sheet he held, pushing the covers down so that they could be together.
He sighed and stopped resisting. Then he kicked away the last of the blankets and yanked at the tie of his robe, to be free of that as well. Suddenly she was sharing a bed with a naked man.
Though it was of her own choosing, she found that she was afraid to look on him. So she stared into his eyes, and found them to be infinitely sad, and perhaps a little frightened.
‘No matter what happens, no matter how it appears,’ he whispered, ‘I am yours until I die. Do you understand that? And I am afraid of that. Because I know I will hurt you.’
‘You never shall,’ she said. It was another lie, of course. But she decided she would believe it, just for tonight. ‘Would you help me to remove my chemise, please? For I think I would like to feel…’
His shoulders shook from laughing as he reached for the hem. ‘Is that what it is like to make love to a lady? All “please” and “thank you”? I will give you a reason for those words.’ He stripped her last garment from her and held her away from him for a moment, so that he could admire her body and kiss each of her peaking nipples.
‘Cold?’ he asked, smiling against her breast.
‘A little,’ she admitted, with a delicious shiver as he blew a cooling breath on her damp skin.
‘I will take care of you.’ He spread his robe over her shoulders and it was still warm with the heat of his body, the quilted silk arousing her body where it touched her. If she had been hoping for some deeper declaration she ought to be disappointed. But it felt good to be cared for, decadent and exciting.
Then he kissed her again. At first his lips pressed innocently to her forehead. Then they slipped down her face in a trail of small kisses on her eyelids and cheeks, coming to rest upon her mouth. It was not precisely chaste. But neither was it as unbridled as it had been a moment ago. His lips had lowered to hers in an almost leisurely fashion, brushing her face before settling, opening, deepening and taking her tongue into his mouth.
She kissed him back, as he had been kissing her, touching each feature of his face with her lips and tongue before settling on his mouth and losing herself in it. Being with Joseph was more than just passion. It was a solution, an answer, the opening of a locked door. It was right, no matter what her head should be telling her.
They parted for breath and he touched her cheek with his finger. ‘May I stay with you until dawn?’ he whispered. ‘We do not have to lie together, if you do not wish…’
It was an odd thing to say. But she did not take the time to wonder at it, for there were far more interesting things to notice. ‘It is what I wish,’ she admitted. It was yet another point of no return—to say aloud that she wanted him. Before she could lose her nerve, she ran her hand once down the length of him, over his chest to rest near his sex, afraid to do more than that. She took a deep breath, and then spoke what was in her heart. ‘Because I want to show you what I feel. Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow or in the distant future, you must know that I love you.’
‘You have known me for such a short time that you cannot know the truth of your feelings.’
‘I know that as well,’ she said. ‘And I know that you do not want my love. But I think it is important that you hear the truth. You do not love me. But I love you.’
‘You should not,’ he said, a little uneasily.
‘I cannot help it.’ She leaned back into the pillows and closed her eyes. With his body, he followed her, throwing a leg over her hip so that they could lie together, skin to skin.
She felt her body wakening as though it were newly born, every sensation a first. Despite the danger to her reputation, and to her heart, she felt warm and safe, and more sure of her love than ever. She must have been meant for him, and he for her. Why else would their bodies fit so well together? Why else would they respond so quickly? She could feel him, hard between her legs. And her hips gave an answering push against him, wet with invitation. The act of love, which had seemed most unusual when her mother explained it to her, now seemed like the most right and natural thing in the world.
Joseph understood, and gave a little shake of his head. ‘Wait. There is more.’
‘More?’ After what had happened in the alcove this evening, what was left for them but to finish what they had started?
‘I wish to know every inch of you.’ His hands began to explore, smoothing down her shoulders and spine, and up the backs of her arms. His leg moved against hers, the hairs of it tingling as they brushed her. Then his mouth left hers to kiss her fingertips, her elbows and her ribs. He took one of her nipples into his mouth and gave it the softest of kisses. Then he rubbed his face gently between her breasts, so she could feel the roughness of his cheeks, grating ever so slightly against her skin. Then he turned his head to take the second breast less gently than the first, turning the soft kiss into a series of nips that made her cup his face in her hands, arch her back and press her body into his open mouth.
His fingers stroked her as his eagerness grew, gripping her thighs and par
ting them, and then giving one single touch of a fingertip in the place where they met. It hovered for a moment, and then slid down, and in.
She gasped. She had thought, after the sample he had given her by the ballroom, that she understood what it must be like to make love. But though he touched her in the same way she felt different now, as though every part of her body burned.
He slid up her body again, so that he could kiss her on the lips, and the passage of his rougher skin against her body was maddening. She wanted to writhe against him, purring and winding herself about him like a kitten, demanding to be stroked.
‘If I can do nothing else, I want to make you feel as you do me, when I look at you.’ He smiled. ‘I will make you want me to the point of madness. And together we will take the want away with having.’
‘You have.’ It seemed that now he was nude he was larger. Not just… She looked down and then hurriedly up at his face again. Not just the increase she had expected. It was the whole of him, as though the power and energy which had been hidden beneath his clothing was suddenly released. She was awash in it, tingling from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
She looked down again, at the pair of them naked and side by side on the bed. For a moment she was more amazed than aroused. It was natural and right to be this way with him, just as it had from the first moment they’d been alone together, when he’d grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to safety. He reached for her now and caught her suddenly under the arms, rolling and pulling her close. Then he was on his back, and she was being pulled down, over and against him, sprawling over his body, covering him like a blanket.
It was his turn to lie back into the pillows, sighing contentedly. Then he pulled her head down to meet his and kissed her, with the tickle of his chest hair against her nipples and the stirrings of his erection between her legs. His hands were busy, adjusting, moulding, positioning, until his body was fitted to hers, his manhood nudging at her maidenhead.
Now she was waiting, fairly sure of what the next step would be, but unsure of how it would come about. ‘Relax,’ he murmured against her temple. ‘We are still strangers, the pair of us. Touch me. Learn my body so that I may better know yours. I want to feel your hands.’
A Regency Christmas Carol Page 15
