Lucie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re never going to let me forget about running away, are you?’
Tipping her chin with his free hand, Arthur dropped a kiss on his new fiancée’s lips. ‘Maybe once I’ve got you down that aisle and you’re Lady Ludworth, I might.’
‘I’m ready when you are, Sir Arthur. Just name the day.’ The way his expression softened at those words clenched around Iggy’s heart like a vice and she turned away before they started kissing again. Surely luck would be with them. Surely a couple as kind and generous and loving as her brother and Lucie deserved the happiest of happy endings so many of their precedents had either been robbed of-or had thrown away in her parents’ case. The Ludworths didn’t have the greatest of track records when it came to love, but the tide seemed like it was finally turning.
Lancelot arrived at that moment, Morgana on his arm. They’d barely cleared the threshold before Lucie was thrusting her hand towards them. ‘We’re engaged!’
‘That’s marvellous, my dear,’ Morgana replied, drawing her hand free from her nephew’s arm to cup Lucie’s cheek. ‘Welcome to the family.’
‘Well done, my boy!’ Lancelot clapped Arthur on the back then tugged him into a tight hug. ‘I wish Uther could be here to share this moment with us. He would’ve loved your Lucie as much as I do.’
Arthur made a choked sound, his arms tightening around their uncle, and Iggy felt her own eyes stinging with tears. Using the tea tray as an excuse, she busied herself fixing teas and coffees for the rest of the family.
A salty tear dripped off the tip of her nose to plop onto the shiny wood of the tea tray. Raising her hand, Iggy fingered the moisture on her cheeks, with no idea why she was crying. This was a good thing, a wonderful thing and she loved Lucie to pieces, so why did the idea of her marrying Arthur suddenly hurt so bloody much?
Because it changes everything.
They wouldn’t be three against the world anymore. Arthur would put Lucie first above all things-just as he should-but the loss of that unique bond Iggy had with her brothers cut like a blade on her skin. And it wasn’t just her place in her brother’s affections Iggy would have to surrender, it was her unspoken position as lady of the house.
No more discussing menus with Betsy; no more planning which rooms would be allocated to their guests with Mrs W; no more managing of the estate lands to help Arthur. The first two roles belonged to Lucie by right, and Iggy would find the grace to hand them over with a smile. The last one though, God, that was the one that would break her heart.
Arthur would likely argue there was no need for her to stop overseeing their lands, and she doubted it was something Lucie had any real interest in, but still she’d have to do it. The power structure at the castle required a strong, united couple to head it up. There could be no room for confusion as to who was in charge. She would not be a third wheel or do anything that could risk causing an imbalance or make Lucie feel for one second her position was undermined in any way. Intellectually, she’d known this day would come, she just hadn’t been prepared for it to be quite so soon.
Arthur was more than capable of managing things for himself, or he could get an estate manager in to pick up anything he didn’t want to handle directly. She’d finish her work on the gardens, see the project through and make sure everything was in place for the future. She wouldn’t get to see all her other plans put into action, but she would give her brother and his soon-to-be wife a solid foundation to build upon.
And then she would leave. To go where, and do what she had no idea, but that would come in time. All that mattered was acknowledging the painful truth-there was no long-term future for her at Bluebell Castle.
‘Everything all right?’ She jumped at the soft question. So engrossed in her task and the effort of not letting the swirl of bitter-sweet emotion inside overwhelm her, Iggy hadn’t heard Will get up to join her.
‘Yes, of course.’ The tremor in her voice belied her words and Iggy swallowed hard. ‘No, not really, but I don’t want anyone to know. Give me a minute.’ It shouldn’t be possible for a heart to carry so much joy and pain at the same time. Like it would rend not just her heart, but her entire being in two.
Will gave her hand a tight squeeze. ‘I’ve got you covered. Just breathe.’ She felt his shoulder brush hers as he turned, angling his body in a way that shielded her from the rest of the room, and the dam broke inside her.
Chapter 11
Will had no idea what the hell was wrong with Igraine, but he’d caught a look of such complete desolation on her face as she’d turned from Arthur and Lucie it had taken his breath away. He didn’t understand it, for not moments before she’d been hugging the pair and sounding as joyful as if she was the one getting married herself. Maybe that was it. She hadn’t said much to him, but he got the impression she’d been on her own for a while, putting all her attention into her work at the estate. He hadn’t considered it before, but it must be quite hard to date casually when you lived somewhere as remote as Bluebell Castle. Everyone in the village would know the family, and there couldn’t be that many single guys of a suitable age in the near vicinity. He also doubted Igraine would enjoy being the subject of gossip any more than he did.
So that would leave the bigger towns and cities around, and who wanted to jump in the car and drive for an hour just to reach civilisation on the off chance you might meet someone in a club? Sure, there were plenty of dating apps around-he’d tried a few himself until his public profile had made it impossible-but they even made him a bit uncomfortable, as though all he was looking for was sex rather than something more meaningful.
A soft sob came from behind him, and he flicked his eyes to where the others were still crowding around the happy couple. No one but him had heard the sound, but he needed to get Igraine out of there. ‘We can’t possibly celebrate news like this with a cup of tea,’ he called to Arthur in a hearty voice. ‘Surely a place as grand as a castle must have a decent wine cellar.’
Arthur grinned. ‘Good idea. I’ll ring for Maxwell at once.’
Damn, Will had forgotten about the servants. ‘No, no, let’s not bother him at this time of the evening. I’m sure Igraine can show me the way. We’ll rustle up a bottle of champagne and some glasses and be right with you.’
Before anyone had a chance to protest, he took Igraine by the elbow and whipped her out through the discreet door in the wall he’d seen Mrs W use earlier. The corridor they entered was plainer than the ostentatious family ones he was used to. No paintings adorned the walls, and the carpet beneath their feet was a sturdy, hardwearing type more typically used in offices than homes.
There was nothing to indicate the right direction, and he didn’t know the layout of the castle well enough to be able to orient himself in relation to where the kitchens were. The most important thing was to get her somewhere private until he could find out what the hell was wrong with her. Flipping a mental coin in his head, he opted for the left-hand corridor and half-led, half-towed Igraine away from the family room.
After they’d rounded several corners, he judged them sufficiently far away. Not wanting to risk a member of staff coming across them, he tested the handle on the nearest door and opened it cautiously when it turned in his hand. The room was pitch dark, giving no indication of its size or use. Fumbling his hand along the inside wall he found a switch and flicked it, casting what appeared to be a storage cupboard of some kind into pale relief. Deciding it would do, he urged Igraine inside and shut the door behind them.
Stacks of neat white linens lined several shelves on one side, an array of checked tea-towels, dusters and sponges grouped in neat piles beneath them. Cleaning products and utensils crowded the other wall, everything separated into regimental lines. Igraine had sagged against him, making no effort to stifle her sobs.
He braced an arm around her back, digging in the pocket of his jeans with the other to remove the clean handkerchief he’d tucked there earlier. ‘Here now.’ He pressed the navy cotton s
quare into her trembling fingers, but she made no effort to use it. ‘Come on then, I’ve got you.’ Will turned her until their bodies aligned and he could draw her properly into arms. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s all right.’
Her arms circled his waist and the full weight of her body-such as it was-rested against his. ‘S … s … sorry.’
‘Shh.’ His hand found her hair, stroking it in the way he’d seen the housekeeper doing earlier, recalling how Igraine had relaxed under that gentle touch like a cat uncurling. ‘Take your time. There’s no rush.’
She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Th … the others …’
‘Won’t even notice we’re missing for a while.’ He pressed a kiss to her temple, needing to comfort her, needing her to know that whatever was causing this awful pain, he was there with her, for her, in any way she required. ‘Let it all out, I’m right here.’
Her face pressed into his shoulder once more, and though she continued to cry, the terrible shudders which had racked her body seemed to have passed. He continued to stroke his fingers through the silken length of her hair, the springy curls in it tangling and catching around them as though to trap his hand. He buried it deeper, seeking the warm column of her nape, holding her face close to him, lending her his strength until she found her own once more. A continuous litany of assurances tumbled from his lips, half of it nonsense, the words not important as long as she continued to calm and settle against him.
The rise and fall of her shoulders beneath his other arm gradually slowed, her heartbreaking little noises of grief fading. He went silent then, focused on keeping his breathing slow and rhythmic until he could feel her chest rising and falling in time with his. The lemony scent of her shampoo filled his lungs, the press of her soft breasts a sweet warmth against him. He wasn’t sure if it was his breath which caught first, or hers, but the atmosphere between them shifted unconsciously from comfort to something urgent and needy.
If she hadn’t turned her head in that moment, if he hadn’t felt the brush of her delicate lips against the column of his throat, he might have been able to quell the desire rising hot and wild inside him. But she did, and he did, and the intensity of the earlier connection he’d felt with her when their eyes had met roared back into life. She was already on tiptoes, stretching up, lips parting to meet his as he tightened his hold on her neck and drew her closer still.
Connection.
He didn’t know why that word kept coming into his mind whenever he thought of her, but the moment their mouths touched he felt it shudder through him. This was what he’d been waiting for, what he’d always been seeking and never found with any other woman. Their bodies moved in harmony, her head tilting to just the right angle, his thighs spreading to make space for her to slot against him in a way that seemed to fill in all his empty spaces until they were one continuous point of heat and passion and rightness.
‘Igraine.’ Her name on his lips was a promise and a question both, and he felt the short, sharp nails of her fingertips sink into his scalp as she clutched at him. Not thinking about anything other than the need driving him he slid a hand between them to tug at the buttons of her blouse, popping them free until the material hung open from her throat to the waistband of her trousers where the bottom of the blouse was still tucked in. Warm soft skin filled his hands and he couldn’t keep them still, the need to shape and mould and learn her body a primal thing.
Her hands were busy too, tugging and pulling at his back until she could slide her fingers beneath the hem of his T-shirt to skim up his spine with a touch that left him gasping. He wrenched his mouth from hers, and drank the sight of her in. Sparks of gold lit her hazel eyes, her pretty lips were darkened and pink from his kisses, the pale skin of her throat and upper chest flushed to a rosy shade he wanted to trace with his mouth. Shifting his grip, he turned her until her back was against the door. Good. With her trapped between his body and the heavy wood, she’d have nowhere to go, and he’d be able to sink even deeper into those soft, sweet curves.
A harsh noise rattled through the room, his foot catching on a large metal bucket sticking out from beneath one of the shelves, reminding him where they were. ‘Christ.’ He released her hips, bracing his hands on the door above her head as sense finally returned to him. He’d just shared the most profoundly intimate moment of his life in a bloody cleaning cupboard with a woman who’d been sobbing fit to break her heart not moments before.
‘Will?’ Igraine’s voice came out on a shaking breath, her little nails digging into his back a request to continue which he wanted to obey with every fibre of his being. But there’d been a hint of something in her tone, a whisper of uncertainty beneath the breathy desire.
Raising a hand that shook from the vestiges of adrenaline still coursing through him, he rested the pads of his fingers against her cheek. ‘Not here, not like this.’
Her lips parted as though to protest before she nodded. ‘No, of course, you’re right.’
Colour darkened the skin beneath his fingers, and he bit back a groan of frustration as he pressed a sharp hot kiss to her mouth. ‘Not because I don’t want to. Tell me you understand that.’ He kissed her again, a quick demand. ‘Tell me, Igraine.’
‘I understand,’ she whispered against his cheek. ‘Your timing is atrocious, though.’
Will laughed, the whipcord tension inside easing enough he could take a small step away from her. The sight of her blouse hanging open, the delicate lace of her bra peeking through the gap, was almost enough to unman him. Cursing himself for indeed having the very worst timing in the world, he began the painful task of rebuttoning her blouse, an act which felt almost more intimate than the hot rush of desire that had had him wrenching it open.
With tentative hands, Igraine reached around his waist to tuck his T-shirt back inside his jeans, smoothing and petting over the heavy cotton once she’d finished, as though she couldn’t quite bring herself to draw her hands away. He knew the feeling. His own hand still rested inside the open collar of her blouse to cup the beautiful curve where her shoulder met her neck. ‘I don’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you.’
‘Is that what you think just happened?’ The languid, liquidity of her body stiffened, and her hands fell away. There wasn’t much room, but she took a small step back until she was flat against the door once more. Taking the hint, he tugged his reluctant fingers from her skin and made more space between them.
Damn it, he was going to blow whatever the hell this was between them if he wasn’t careful. ‘You were really upset, Igraine.’ Her sharp little chin rose in a defiant gesture and he gripped it between a gentle finger and thumb. ‘Really upset.’ He traced his finger along her jaw until he felt her relax beneath his touch. ‘It’s very easy to mistake one kind of emotion for another.’
‘So, what? You were just trying to comfort me and got carried away?’ Bloody hell, she was spikier than a hedgehog. Tristan had warned him it took a lot for her to let her guard down, and he hadn’t been kidding.
Not wanting there to be any mistakes or misunderstandings between them, he closed the distance until she was pressed tight between himself and the door once more. ‘You’re not getting out of this by convincing yourself my feelings towards you are anything other than desire. I want to kiss you again, Igraine. Very soon. I just want you to be a hundred per cent sure of your own feelings before I do.’ He pressed a hot, possessive kiss to her lips, then spun her away from the door so he could tug it open. ‘Come on, let’s find that champagne.’
*
A chorus of cheers and applause went up as they returned to the family room, Igraine clutching a bottle of champagne beaded in condensation, he with seven crystal flutes suspended by their necks between his fingers. Tristan had joined the others by this time, and he came over to help Will set the glasses out on the sideboard whilst Igraine twisted the wire cage off the neck of the bottle and removed the cork in a quick efficient twist of her wrist. If he wasn’t alread
y half in love, or lust, or whatever the hell was making his head spin and his pulse pound, that casual gesture might have pushed him over the edge.
He loved the way she took control of things, didn’t defer to a man when it was something she was capable of doing herself. It was sexy, in the same way she didn’t bother to plaster herself in make-up all the time. He’d noticed some evenings that her lashes were a little thicker and darker where she’d added a touch of mascara, that she might select a lip colour to match whatever outfit she’d chosen for dinner, but he never got the impression she was doing it for any other reason than to please herself. Luckily, this evening had been one she’d chosen not to wear make-up, so at least there were no mascara streaks to hint at her earlier upset.
If anyone noticed how long they’d been absent, or the touch of redness around Igraine’s eyes, they didn’t say anything as the two of them moved around the room distributing glasses of bubbling, straw-pale champagne until everyone had a glass. There was also no hint of her earlier turmoil when Igraine raised her drink towards her brother and Lucie to toast them. ‘Here’s to Arthur and Lucie. Long life, love and happiness to you both. Always.’
‘Hear, hear.’ Will raised his glass and sipped, his eyes closing for a moment at the chilly perfection of the champagne bursting across his taste buds. He still had no idea what had upset Igraine, but now was not the time to pursue it. She’d tell him at some point-or not. Given how quickly she tended to draw up her defences whenever she felt vulnerable, she’d never tell him if he tried to push her on it. If he wanted to give things between them a chance to develop, he’d have to tread carefully. Let her come to him. He dug his nails into his palm, knowing already how hard the next few days were going to test his self-control.
Lancelot and Morgana had taken up occupation on the sofa where he’d been sitting, with Arthur and Lucie ensconced on the other, and Tristan lounging at their feet with his back propped against the end cushion close to Lucie’s feet. Most of the dogs had been shooed from the room at some point, leaving only Tristan’s little wheaten terrier curled in his lap and the pair of greyhounds snoozing in front of the fire. The only free seat was the armchair, and Will gestured to Igraine that she should take it.
The Bluebell Castle Collection Page 37
