by Diane Gaston
Claude could no longer think; he was all sensation, all need. And it was Louisa who fulfilled him.
She cried out again and writhed beneath him at the same instant they reached their climax. Together they shared the exquisite spasm of release, clinging to each other until their muscles relaxed and languor overtook them.
Claude lay next to her, holding her in the cradle of his arm. She kissed his chest. “I am glad we are together, Claude. All that matters to me is to be with you now. Do not think of the past or the future. Only now.”
“I will think of only now,” he murmured. He rose on one elbow to look down on her. “And of later tonight.” His smile widened. “We have a whole night of lovemaking to anticipate.”
She laughed, pulling him down on top of her again. “And tomorrow, and all the nights until we return to Lancashire.”
Chapter Eight
Their night had indeed been filled with lovemaking and little sleep, but the next morning Louisa felt invigorated. The spell of their magical adventure had almost been broken, but their passion had restored it.
Claude put up only token resistance when she stood before him dressed in boy’s clothes so she could go with him to see the stables of Ascot. Her breasts were bound, her hair hidden by a cap. She looked every bit the part of a stable boy.
Riding astride had given her another novel experience, although she’d ridden bareback that way when very young. Experiencing Ascot through the eyes of a boy only added to her excitement.
They left the horses in the stable and walked to the place where Claude was to meet the breeder. The crowd on the Heath was thicker than the day before, and Louisa learned that people were less careful about jostling a boy about than if she had dressed as a girl.
“Stay near me,” Claude cautioned. “And, for God’s sake, do not give yourself away.”
She nodded, trying to stride like a boy and keep up with him.
As they waited at the place where the man was to meet Claude, several well-dressed gentlemen pushed their way through, forcing them farther and farther apart. Louisa kept Claude in view and waited for a chance to dash back to his side.
One gentleman knocked into her so hard she cried out. The man looked directly at her. She felt the blood drain from her face.
His eyes widened with recognition and he seized her by the arms. “Louisa!” he mouthed, not speaking her name aloud.
It was her cousin George, and fire was burning in his eyes.
She glimpsed Claude about to come to her aid, but she quickly shook her head.
Her cousin shook her. “What is the meaning of this? What the devil are you doing?”
So much for her disguise. “I wanted to see the races.”
“Have your wits gone begging? Look at you! If anyone recognized you—” He was attempting to whisper, but surely Claude could hear it.
Claude took another step towards them, but she gestured for him to stay back.
“Who would know me here?” she countered. “I did not imagine you would be here.”
George frowned. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t be, but the King—” He broke off. “Never mind the King. Who brought you here?”
She forced herself not to glance at Claude. “No one. I came by myself.”
“Ridiculous,” George spat. “You cannot travel alone.”
“I cannot, but a boy might.” She could see Claude from the corner of her eye.
Claude’s expression combined frustration with agony. She could sense he wanted to help, but he knew as well as she all would be over if she were found with a man.
“You little fool. This could ruin your whole life.” Her cousin’s jaw set. “Come with me. I’m getting you out of here right now, before anyone discovers you. We might just be able to keep this secret.”
George kept an iron grip on her arm as he dragged her away. She managed to turn around to catch Claude’s gaze, to share with him one last glance.
He stood still. She could almost feel his blue eyes piercing into her, yearning for her as she yearned for him.
He was swallowed by the crowd.
Louisa would be whisked back to Rappard Hall and no one would ever know about the time she shared with Claude. She’d wait there until her wedding day. Guarded by George or his wife, no doubt, lest she escape again.
It hurt more than she could imagine. How was she to fall asleep at night without Claude’s arms around her? She’d not been ready to let him go.
Deep down, she knew now that she would never be ready to let him go.
Chapter Nine
Claude returned to Lancashire as soon as he could. Every day he rode to the stream in hopes of finding Louisa there. Every day he was disappointed. He visited the village, hoping to run into her, but only heard snippets of gossip that she was to be married soon. He even attended Sunday services at the church, but she did not appear, although he was forced to hear the banns for her wedding read.
At the hill farm with his mother and Gabriel Deane, he tried to pretend to be cheerful. He allowed his mother to fuss over him and ply him with as much food as their cook could prepare. He let Deane show him the workings of the farm.
He could not help but see how ideal it would be to raise horses there. There was plenty of good pasture and space to build fine stables. He hoped Deane would breed the two mares and continue the work Claude had begun with them.
As the days slid by, he grew more restless and less focused. One day he vowed he would go to France; the next, to some other distant shore. In truth, the only place he truly wished to be was with Louisa.
One morning at breakfast, he stared at his plate as if not even recognizing the slices of ham and wedges of cheese in front of him.
Deane spoke. “What is troubling you, son? Tell us. Ease your mother’s worry about you.”
Claude glanced up, surprised that his mother did indeed look troubled.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Merely trying to work out where to go next.”
Deane put a hand on Claude’s shoulder. “You always have a home here.”
“We would like it very much.” His mother’s voice cracked as she spoke.
Claude glanced from one to the other and shook his head. This time he was not running from them, but from the memories that this place would hold. How could he bear passing the stream where he and Louisa had spent so many pleasant moments? Or riding over countryside where they had once galloped?
Deane peered at him. “There is more to it, is there not?” His voice was kind and full of concern.
Deane had always acted like a father to him, Claude suddenly realized. Protected him. Rescued him. Cared about him. He deeply regretted hating the man for so many years.
“There is more—” Claude began.
He told them everything. About his friendship with Louisa years ago, about their adventure in Ascot, about the depth of his feelings for her. He managed an illusion of control, but inside he was racked with grief over losing her.
When he finished, Deane regarded him. “And it is the fact that her family is aristocratic, and yours is not that keeps you from marrying her yourself?”
Claude nodded.
Deane moved closer to Claude’s mother and put his arm around her. “I am sorry you feel you cannot seize the kind of love your mother and I share.”
He looked into Deane’s eyes and thought about all the captain and Claude’s mother endured in order to be together. He remembered cowering with fear at Badajoz. Was he not cowering now, moping about the farm as if he was helpless? He could be courageous. He certainly had been when he’d travelled to Tennessee.
And when he’d left there.
Where was his courage now?
“The wedding is today,” his mother remarked as the clock chimed. “Within the hour, I believe.”
“Within the hour?” Claude stood. “I must go.”
Deane said, “I’ll help you.”
Claude rushed to the stable, and Deane helped him saddle Gallatin in record time.
Within minutes Claude was galloping over the hills to reach the village church where the wedding was to take place.
The tower of the stone church first came into view. As he dashed over the last hill, he spied three or four carriages waiting outside, stable grooms walking the horses.
He urged Gallatin to go faster and the horse obliged. Not until he almost reached the door did he pull on the reins. The grooms minding the carriages shouted in alarm, but Claude ignored them, dismounting even before his horse had managed to stop.
As he gripped the door handle he heard the minister’s voice from inside the church, “Let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Claude yanked the door open. “Louisa!”
She stood at the altar with a thick-bodied man who must be Mr. Wilden. She turned as a rumble went through the twenty or so guests seated in the pews. He must be a sight, full of dust from the road and dressed like the stable worker he was at heart.
“Claude!” she cried.
The minister pointed to him. “See here! You are intruding,” the man yelled.
He paid no heed. “Louisa!” Claude extended his hand. “Come with me! Do not marry him. Marry me!”
A collective gasp echoed through the pews.
Louisa glanced from him to Wilden to her cousin, who cried, “Do not be a fool, Louisa!”
She glanced at Claude again, and a smile radiated across her face. “Claude!” Her voice was jubilant.
She ran to him, skirts flying, her bonnet falling off her head and dangling by its ribbons.
He clasped her hand and together they bolted from the church. Claude helped Louisa onto Gallatin and mounted behind her. As he took the reins, she drew his lips to hers.
He searched her eyes. “Are you certain of this, Louisa?”
Her face filled with joy. “Yes. Oh, yes!”
With a laugh of relief and triumph, he pointed Gallatin to the road. The horse he’d bred galloped off with ease.
“Where are we bound?” Louisa asked in a breathless voice.
“To my mother’s farm for today,” he replied. “For tomorrow? Wherever in the world you wish to go.”
Epilogue
Brussels, 1829
Claude and Louisa strolled through the Parc of Brussels, enjoying the newly blooming flowers and leafy trees. A recent rain had cleansed the air and left the sky clear and blue.
They had married in London by special licence. His mother and Deane accompanied them. To Claude’s amazement, also celebrating with them were the two other officers who had helped rescue him at Badajoz.
Soon after the wedding, he and Louisa embarked on a voyage to Italy, visiting Rome and Florence and Venice, seeing ancient ruins and enjoying fruity wines. Next they were off to Switzerland, then France, the land of his birth.
And finally, after almost a year of marriage, to Brussels. One long, passion-filled adventure.
They sat upon a curved bench facing a parterre whose blooms formed a design that reminded him of the lace in his great-aunt’s lace shop.
Louisa sighed. “It is so lovely here.”
“I had forgotten how lovely.” Claude glanced about him. “When I grew up here, I could think of nothing but revenge and horses.”
She took his hand and placed it against her abdomen. “Now you have so much more to think of.”
He smiled and flattened his palm, gently rubbing. “I do.” He gazed into her eyes. “I am not certain I deserve you…and our child.”
She touched his lips. “I am sure of it.”
He threaded his fingers through hers. “Tell me, Louisa. Where shall our child be born? Where do you wish to go next?”
She gazed out over the flower bed again. “Do you truly wish to know?”
“Of course.” She could choose any place in the world she wished. Claude’s only desire was to be with her.
She leaned against his shoulder. “I would like to return to Lancashire.”
“To Lancashire?”
“To your mother’s farm.” She sat up and faced him. “Would you mind very much? You could raise horses there. And we could travel sometimes, if we wished.”
His brows knit. “But you would be shunned because of your marriage to me.”
She smiled. “I have always been somewhat of an oddity there, a mere poor relation. Those people who truly care for me will still befriend me.”
“I could purchase some property. Build you a house of your own, if you would like it.” He had funds enough.
“Perhaps.” She squeezed his hand. “But let us live with your mother and Mr. Deane for a little while. We shall be a family. It is a long time since I’ve had a family of my own.”
It had been even longer for Claude.
She added, “I think both your mother and Mr. Deane would enjoy the baby.”
Enjoy the baby? His mother would jump over the moon for joy.
Perhaps he and Louisa and their child would do well there, until they could find a property of their own. Suddenly Claude had an intense wish to be surrounded by people who loved him.
He took her in his arms. “Very well, Louisa. We are bound for Lancashire.” He paused. “We are going home.”
Author’s Note
The race between Bobadilla and Souvenir did indeed take place at Ascot in 1828. I doubt it was the first event, though. I exercised a bit of poetic license, because…well…I wanted to!
If you liked The Liberation of Miss Finch, don’t miss these connected books in Diane Gaston’s Three Soldiers series available now wherever ebooks are sold!
Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady
Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress
Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy
And look for these other romantic tales by Diane Gaston also available from Harlequin Historical and Harlequin Historical Undone:
The Mysterious Miss M
The Wagering Widow
A Reputable Rake
Innocence and Impropriety
The Vanishing Viscountess
Scandalizing the Ton
The Unlacing of Miss Leigh
Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:
A Wickedly Pleasurable Wager by Carole Mortimer
Craving the Highlander’s Touch by Michelle Willingham
The Lady’s Scandalous Night by Jeannie Lin
Unlacing the Lady in Waiting by Amanda McCabe
The Wanton Governess by Barbara Monajem
Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride by Louise Allen
A Compromised Innocent by Elaine Golden
The Sheikh’s Impetuous Love-Slave by Marguerite Kaye
Deliciously Debauched by the Rake by Ann Lethbridge
Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at http://www.Harlequin.com or your local bookstore.
Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to [email protected].
As a psychiatric social worker, Diane Gaston spent years helping others create real-life happy endings. Now Diane crafts fictional ones, writing the kind of historical romance she’s always loved to read. The youngest of three daughters of a U.S. Army colonel, Diane moved frequently during her childhood, even living for a year in Japan. It continues to amaze her that her own son and daughter grew up in one house in northern Virginia. Diane still lives in that house, with her husband and three very ordinary house cats.
Visit Diane’s Web site at www.dianegaston.com.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0999-2
The Liberation of Miss Finch
Copyright © 2011 by Diane Perkins
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