Kitabı oku: «The Beauchamp Heirs», sayfa 4

Chapter Five

Jane stared into the mirror. She was ready, clad in her best nightgown, trimmed with lace at the neckline and sleeves and fastened at the bodice with three pairs of blue ribbons. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and Peg, her maid, had brushed it until it shone. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring a little colour into them. Huge, troubled eyes stared back at her, revealing the dread coiling and writhing in the pit of her stomach. Dread at what was to come.

Eyes…the windows of the soul. What would Alex see in them? Would he even care if she was nervous?

She reached for the scent bottle on the dressing table and dabbed a spot above each collarbone and at her wrists, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar scent that always calmed her.

Jasmine. Her mother’s scent. Not that she remembered her mother but, after she died of childbed fever, Peg had transferred her devotion to Jane, ensuring she grew up knowing about her mother. Peg had even saved a half-used bottle of her mother’s scent to give to Jane when she was old enough to understand and, since then, jasmine had infused her with a feeling of peace, even in her most troubled moments.

Except…now…tonight…peace evaded her. Her stomach still swarmed with nerves. She knew what must happen. And she desperately wanted to please Alex. She could not bear for him to regret this step they had taken. But, try as she might, she could not banish the memory of Pikeford.

The weight of him on her. His hands scrabbling at her body. The stink of spirits and of foul, hot breath and stale sweat.

Her stomach lurched and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing hard.

To give the newlyweds privacy, Jane had been allotted a room in the east wing of the Abbey with Alex in the adjacent bedchamber. The rest of the family slept in the main part of the house, apart from the children who occupied the nursery wing to the west. The quiet weighed on her…no distant murmur of voices, no doors opening and closing, no footsteps coming and going. She could almost believe she was entirely alone…until the sound of the door opening behind her set her pulse galloping.

She swallowed again and stood to face her new husband. Her nerves eased a little. This was Alex. He would not hurt her. As long as she kept her mind on tonight, and the present, and blocked all memories of the other day—surely she could manage that?—then she would cope.

She could hardly believe her long-held fantasy had come true as she gazed at him. He was still half-dressed, his shirt—open at the neck to reveal a tantalising glimpse of chest hair—tucked into his trousers. His thick mahogany brown hair was dishevelled and his amber eyes were fastened on hers, a look in them she had never seen before. She had dreamed of this moment, all those nights she had spent alone in her bed. If only… She thrust that thought away before it could take hold and spoil the night to come. Their wedding night. She clamped her teeth together, determined not to reveal her fear. She forced her lips into a smile as Alex stepped closer, scanning her from top to toe and back again.

‘Your hair…it is beautiful. Before I saw you in church, I never imagined…’ He lifted a lock that draped over her shoulder, allowing it to slide through his fingers. ‘It is so soft, so silky.’

He tipped her chin, tilting her face to his, and his mouth covered hers. A gentle caress. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that. Only that. The warm smoothness of his lips as they moved over hers, unhurriedly. Soothingly. His thumb and forefinger still beneath her chin. No pressure. No force. Her heart lurched, and her breathing hitched.

‘Shh…’ A whisper of sound.

Concentrate. It’s Alex. My love. My handsome hero. This is my dream.

His mouth moved, kissing and nibbling a path from her cheek to her ear. He nipped gently at her lobe, then caressed her neck with lips and tongue, and pleasure…anticipation…tiptoed through her. His arms came around her and tightened, bringing her close, and she relaxed into him. Into his hard body…his lean but muscular form shaping her softer flesh. Then his lips found hers again, moving gently. When his tongue probed her lips, she opened her mouth and let him in.

Alex. Her love. Her husband.

As he explored her mouth, she curled her arms around his waist and then slid her hands up his back, palms flat, learning the size and shape of him through his fine lawn shirt: the muscles either side of the dip of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades, the broadness of his back, the width of his shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms. The strength of him. The maleness of him.

He murmured, deep in his throat. A sound of appreciation. And a strange, achy feeling gathered at the juncture of her thighs.

His hands wandered lightly over her back, shoulders and arms. Learning her, as she had learned him. They moved lower, cupping her bottom, kneading gently. Without volition, she pressed closer and the ridge of his erection pressed into her stomach. She could not prevent her whimper of distress, and pulled back. He released her bottom, but one hand at the small of her back stopped her moving away completely.

‘Shhh, Honeybee. It’s all right.’

His warm breath feathered over her lips and then he took her mouth again, deepening the kiss. Despite the anxiety building within her, she responded, kissing him back with fervour and when he again kissed and nibbled her neck, she tipped her head back, exposing it, giving him access, as she clutched at his biceps. She tensed as his lips dipped lower, tracing her collarbone, feeling increasingly helpless and at his mercy as he slowly bent her backwards over his supporting arms. He kissed the upper curve of her breast and then straightened her, soothing her with another kiss even as he played with the lace ruffle at her neckline.

‘May I?’ His fingers paused at the first of the bows securing the bodice of her nightgown.

She stared into his eyes.

Alex. It is Alex. He won’t hurt me.

‘Yes.’

She looked down, watching as he untied one bow after the other until all three were undone and her nightgown gaped at the neck, exposing the valley between her breasts. Alex’s breath turned ragged, and Jane battled the fear that spiralled within her…the memory that sound evoked…the harsh rattle of Pikeford’s breath in her ear as he—

She choked back her cry of distress.

Alex. Alex. It’s only Alex.

‘Alex… I don’t…’

He smiled at her and, in one smooth movement, he pulled his shirt over his head. Distracted, she stared at his torso—the hair covering the curved muscles of his chest and narrowing into a thin line as it dipped below the waist of his trousers. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him. One finger at first, then all five and, finally, she flattened her palm against his warm flesh, the coarse hairs rough against her skin.

She’d be the death of him. When had Jane blossomed into this attractive and desirable woman?

Patience. Patience. We’ve got all night.

That glimpse of her bosoms was nearly his undoing. How he longed to dive in there and see…touch…taste. But he reined in his passion. A Herculean task when her hand splayed across his chest and her eyes darkened, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips. He desperately tried to think of something else, to distract him from all that warm, sweet-smelling female flesh within his grasp, but it was nigh on impossible. He was an experienced lover, but this…this was different. It was erotic in a way that coupling with the most beautiful of partners had never been; partly due to her innocence and knowing he would be her first, but mainly—and this surprised him most of all—it was that she was his wife. It was new and it was scary, but it was sensual at the same time. He, who had always prided himself on his independence and his need for no one, was aroused by the bond that now linked them together for the rest of their lives.

A groan tore free from deep, deep within him—and he reached for her again, sliding his hands across her shoulders to hook his thumbs inside the neck of her nightgown. Gently he slipped the bodice from her shoulders, exposing her breasts—so much fuller than he would have imagined given her slender figure—round and firm, with dusky pink nipples at their peaks. He held the bunched fabric at her waist as his other hand drifted over the soft curve of her breast, his fingers closing around perfection, kneading gently.

‘I didn’t expect—’ He fell silent as Jane tensed, even more drastically than before. This time, she was as rigid as a statue carved from stone. He released her breast and lowered his hand. ‘What is it, Janey?’

She shook her head, mute, but he could feel her distress.

‘I won’t hurt you. You know that, don’t you?’

She nodded.

But she didn’t believe it yet…he could tell. He reined in his rampant desire, curbing his needs.

‘Come. Let me warm you.’ He tugged her nightgown up to cover her again and then drew her into his arms, holding her until she stopped trembling.

‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ She stepped back, holding her nightgown close, covering her breasts.

‘You have no need to fear me, Janey. I will never force you to do anything until you are ready.’

She searched his face. ‘I know. I am being foolish.’

He shook his head. ‘You are not foolish.’

She held out her hand and he took it and followed when she led him to the bed, her breaths short and sharp in the silence. He did not fool himself it was passion that quickened her breathing. They lay down, side by side, and he turned to her, resting his hand on her ribcage, beneath her breasts. He leaned over and kissed her, ignoring the clamour of his own body to possess her. To possess his wife. He could be patient. There was no hurry.

He focused his mind and his senses on the pleasure of kissing. Just kissing. He explored her mouth without haste, teasing responses from her until she was relaxed and following his lead, their tongues dancing, the occasional low moan vibrating in her throat. He stroked her face…her hair, neck, shoulders, arms…until she embraced him, her fingers threading through his hair. Still he held his passions on a tight rein, waiting for the right moment.

Her restless shift on the bed was his cue and he brushed the side of her breast. She turned slightly, pressing into his touch. Her breasts were still covered as he stroked and caressed, slowly nearing her nipple. He pinched lightly and she gasped into his mouth.

‘Was that good?’

‘Yes.’

She gasped again as he gently flicked, then moaned as he bent his head and licked her nipple through the fabric, turning it transparent, the darker areole visible when he raised his head to look.

‘Beautiful,’ he breathed.

A word he had never linked with Jane before. She had always been…Jane. But seeing her, lying beside him, a smile hovering around her parted lips and her eyelids heavy over passion-filled eyes…it was the exact word he needed. Of a sudden, his throat tightened and his heart skipped a beat.

Jane.

Beautiful. Sensual. And his wife.

But frightened, too.

The responsibility…his obligation to another human being…almost sent him fleeing from the bed. But then…

‘Alex,’ she breathed and pulled his head back to her breast, her fingers tangled in his hair.

And that fleeting moment of fear…of uncertainty…passed.

He tugged her nightgown down to expose her breasts again and took his time—licking, suckling and nibbling, smoothing and stroking her silken skin until she was moving restlessly and moaning softly. He moved so he half-covered her and gathered her nightgown at the hem, caressing her exposed leg, from shin to knee to thigh to hip. Again, he went slowly despite his throbbing desire to bury himself inside her. Again and again he returned to her thighs, stroking inwards and upwards, inch by tantalising inch. His fingers touched her intimate curls and played for a while, tugging gently and twirling. Then one finger slipped between her thighs, sliding along her cleft.

And she froze.

‘Steady, sweetheart. It’s all right.’

He went back to circling her lower belly. But as soon as he touched between her thighs again she stiffened, a tiny sound of distress escaping her. He’d expected it, but disappointment still coursed through him. He didn’t snatch his hand away, but stroked from between her thighs, across her curls and on to her hip. He kissed her, taking his time, then turned her on to her side to face away from him, unwilling to push her any further tonight. He spooned his body into hers, gritting his teeth against the ache of unfulfilled arousal, and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close, knowing she would feel the hardness of his erection against her bottom, knowing she must eventually grow accustomed to him and to his body, hoping she would soon learn she had nothing to fear and that she could trust him to never force her or lose control.

‘Sleep, my Honeybee. It’s been a long day.’

‘Alex?’

‘Yes?’

‘Aren’t we going to…to…?’

‘Not tonight. We have the rest of our lives together. There’s no hurry.’

He willed himself not to drift off. He would wait until his wife slept and then he would go to his own room to sleep.

He’d thought he was done with those bad dreams that had haunted his childhood and his youth, but they had returned since his arrival at the Abbey. Last night’s nightmare had been even worse—prompted, almost certainly, by Pikeford’s attack. The vision of that animal ripping at Jane’s gown haunted him, as did the sounds—Pikeford’s grunts as she tried to fight him off, the ringing slap, her cries of distress.

But behind that memory lurked another.

Bigger. Blacker. Colder.

Waiting to catch him unawares.

Waiting for him to sleep.

Once the soft, even huff of her breathing told him Jane slept, he eased himself away from her warmth and returned to his cold bed to face his nightly ordeal.

Jane awoke with a start. She leant up one elbow, wondering what had disturbed her. The happenings of the day before…and the night…gradually surfaced. She reached behind her, feeling for Alex, but her hand met empty space. She sat bolt upright, throwing back the covers, at a shout. That was Alex’s voice, she was sure. She scrabbled on the nightstand for the tinderbox and, with shaking fingers, lit the bedside candle in its silver holder.

She listened for any further disturbance, but heard nothing. She sat on the side of the bed, irresolute. Should she go and investigate? Was she overreacting? What if it was just a bad dream…? Surely Alex wouldn’t thank her for disturbing him? And while all those thoughts rushed through her head one bigger, more important question hovered.

Why did Alex leave?

He must be so very disappointed in her, to wait until she slept and then creep away to his own bed. Yet he had been so sweet at the time…his care and consideration for her had filled her with trust and love, and she had vowed to overcome the trauma of Pikeford’s attack and to become a wife to him in every way.

Another shout from the next room wrenched her from her thoughts. She shot to her feet, grabbed her shawl and flung it around her before hurrying to Alex’s bedchamber. She hesitated outside the closed door, raising her candlestick to illuminate the dark passageway, her heart thumping at the low moans sounding from within the room. She tiptoed forward and opened the door, peering around it.

‘No…don’t…no…no…stop…please…no…’

‘Alex?’ Her whisper threaded through his heartfelt pleas.

‘No…no… No!’

She jumped at his final yell, her heart clenching at the sob that followed. She shut the door behind her, set the candle on a chest of drawers, then crossed the room to the bed. The blankets and sheet were pushed away, leaving Alex exposed. He lay on his side, shaking, curled into a ball, his arms bent over his face, his hands hooked over the top of his head.

Uncertainty clutched at Jane’s throat. What should she do? Was it true one should never wake someone from a nightmare? What was happening to Alex in his dreams? She lowered herself on to the bed, swung her legs on to the mattress and then inched closer to him until her hip butted against his back. The entire time Alex emitted low, eerie moans that set the fine hairs on her arms on edge. Slowly, she eased over to face his back and—as he had done with her earlier that night—she nestled her body into his, like spoons in a canteen of cutlery.

‘No…no… Mama…stop…no…’

His cries grew louder and, at the same time, more pitiful.

‘Shhh…’ Jane laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right. I’m here.’

Her whispers were barely audible but, somehow, his trembling lessened and his ragged breathing steadied. She continued to soothe, stroking his arm and his shoulder and then, once he uncurled a little, his sweat-damp hair, as he relaxed and the nightmare loosened its grip. She tugged up the bedcovers and listened to his breathing, until she, too, fell asleep.

Chapter Six

‘Janey?’ A hand on her shoulder, shaking her. ‘Janey?’

She stirred. As the voice came again, her eyes flew open. ‘Alex!’

They were facing one another, in bed, his face close to hers.

‘What are you doing here?’

His tousled hair revived the memory of the boy, but his unshaven cheeks and jaw were all man. Heat coiled deep in her stomach as his scent curled through her. Gradually, the events of the night before unravelled in her still-sleepy brain. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

‘I heard you cry out. You were having a bad dream. So I… So I…’

He was so close it was hard to concentrate on what she wanted to say. Warm pressure on her hip alerted her that his hand had moved there and the memory of his kisses sent hot tingles coursing down her spine.

His lips quirked. ‘So you came to rescue me?’ He pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Thank you, Janey.’

‘Alex? What were you…?’

‘Shhh…don’t think about last night. Not now.’

Their gazes fused. His tawny eyes darkened and lowered to her mouth. His hand skimmed up her side…settled at her back, splaying there, holding her still as his lips sought hers in a kiss to melt into. She sighed into his mouth, returning the gentle caress of lips and tongue.

The sound of the door opening ended the kiss. Alex lifted his head.

‘Not now, Drabble.’ Behind her, Jane heard the door click shut. ‘Now. Where were we, Wife?’

Some time later—Jane couldn’t quite swear to how long it had actually been—Alex lifted his head from her breast and smiled at her, a devilish glint in his eye.

‘You’re a bad influence, Janey. The carriage is ordered for nine. We’d better get moving if we’re to leave on time.’

Already glowing, Jane felt a hot blush sweep her entire body until it burned in her cheeks. She felt so restless. She didn’t want to move. She wanted more… Alex had woven such magic with his clever touch and with his lips, tongue and teeth that a hollow, yearning ache had taken up residence between her thighs. His kisses had awakened a fire in her, but she knew he was cautious for her sake. Not once had he attempted to touch her in her most intimate place, the place that was now in such need. Last night, one touch between her legs had sent her into a panic and she was grateful for his continued patience.

She watched him swing his legs out of the bed and rise. He was stark naked, standing with his back to her, rolling his shoulders back before stretching his arms above his head and she watched, fascinated by the slide of golden skin over flexing muscle and solid bone, the broad shoulders above a narrow waist. He had filled out since the times they had swum together in the lake. Then, he had been a boy. Now, he was definitely all man.

Her eyes lowered. To his buttocks. Firm and round. Her mouth watered as she recalled touching them, squeezing them. His legs were straight and well shaped, dusted with dark hairs. They were beautiful. Paler than the skin on his back…did that mean he worked shirtless outside at times? Her heart kicked and her pulse raced. Would she ever get used to his chest?

He turned and her cheeks burned even hotter at being caught ogling her own husband and then scorched at the sight of his erection, standing proud. He grinned at her, totally unembarrassed.

‘That was very enjoyable, Janey.’ His smile faded. ‘You will get over what happened, you know, and I will help you. There is no hurry and, in the meantime, you have discovered other pleasant activities we can enjoy, have you not?’

‘Yes.’ Jane’s gaze clung to his face as she strove to ignore his chest and everything below his waist. She sat up, rearranging her nightgown and tying the ribbons into prim little bows, pulses of heat still sizzling through her from Alex’s attention to her nipples. Her face scorched even hotter. My, that had been an education! ‘I had better return to my room and dress if we are to leave on time. It won’t do to keep the horses standing too long.’

‘That’s what I like about you, Janey. You love horses as much as I do. We’ll make a good partnership.’

As declarations went, it was hardly romantic. But she didn’t expect romance. Not from Alex. At least…maybe in time…? She cautioned herself not to hope for too much. Maybe. Maybe not. For now, she must be grateful she was here, with Alex, and not somewhere with Sir Denzil Pikeford. She suppressed a shudder, the events of two days before sending chills racing through her, effectively smothering those leftover frissons of pleasure.

Alex scooped Jane’s dressing gown from the floor and held it for her. She got up and, as he helped her into her robe, her roaming, random thoughts seemed to crystallise. Her eyes narrowed. She knew Alex of old—he was well practised in avoiding any discussion of subjects he found awkward and uncomfortable. In other words, any subject that threatened to delve too deep into his feelings. He retreated behind his barriers, keeping everyone at a distance, and pretending nothing mattered.

‘Alex…?’ She pivoted to face him. ‘Your nightmare… Do you—?’

‘Not now, Janey.’ He spun away and crossed the room to tug the bell pull. ‘Drabble and Peg’ll be up with hot water in a minute. We’ll talk later.’

Except they didn’t. First there was breakfast and the goodbyes to the family, who all gathered to wave them off, amid hugs and kisses and promises to see them again soon. Jane’s father was the sole member of her family to come and say goodbye, bringing with him Jane’s beloved satinwood sewing box which had somehow been missed out of her trunk. He put his arms around her and hugged her close. ‘I shall miss you, Jane.’

Jane hugged him back. ‘I shall miss you, too, Papa.’

The exchange brought hot tears to her eyes and she ducked her head to hide her emotion, conscious Alex had completed his farewells and waited now to hand her into the carriage. ‘Goodbye, Papa. You will write to me, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Jane.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Hurry along now. You’ve a long way to travel. God speed.’

To give the newlyweds some privacy the Duke provided an additional carriage, for Drabble and Peg and the luggage and, as soon as they set off on the journey home to Buckinghamshire, Alex settled back into a corner, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

‘You don’t mind, do you, Janey? I’m tired as a dog.’

What could she say?

She had saved her questions for later, but Alex, it seemed, always had a plausible excuse for not delving too deep into the subject of his nightmares. But she knew they still plagued him, even though he reserved separate bedchambers at the inns they stayed in during their four-day journey. On the first night, when she heard him cry out, she went to his room only to find Drabble already there, tending to Alex.

‘There is nothing you can do, milady,’ Drabble had whispered as he ushered her away from the door. ‘I am used to tending to him.’

Drabble had been with Alex for years and, before that, he was a footman in the Duke’s household, since before Alex was born. If anyone knew what demons stalked Alex in his dreams, it was Drabble. All Jane could do was bide her time, until they reached Foxbourne Manor. And even on that—surely innocuous—subject, Alex was less than forthcoming. He fobbed off her questions about her new home, simply telling her to ‘wait and see’.

The only subject he willingly discussed was his horses and, as it was a shared interest, they whiled away the journey by talking about how Jane could help by schooling some of the Foxbourne youngsters to side-saddle, to make perfect ladies’ mounts. She was grateful for the distraction. Periods of silence inevitably resulted in Pikeford creeping into her brain and fear worming its way through her veins. She battled the memory with quiet determination. She refused to become a woman who trembled at shadows just as she had never allowed her stepmother to destroy her spirit.

Finally, the carriage turned through a wide entrance flanked by massive stone pillars, topped with eagles cast in iron. They followed a carriageway that passed through ancient woodland, in which Jane identified beech, elm and ash trees, before emerging into sunlight and continuing through parkland, much of it divided into paddocks in which horses grazed. Then the carriageway swept to the right and Jane caught her first glimpse of Foxbourne Manor, her new home. Her heart swelled with joy as she took in the many gabled, russet-bricked Tudor manor house, visible over a neatly clipped hedge. Sunlight reflected off the diamond-paned windows of the upper floor and, as the carriage drew to a halt before the front door, Jane turned to Alex in delight.

‘I had no idea Foxbourne would be so beautiful! It looks steeped in history. I cannot wait to explore.’

He grinned at her reaction and hugged her. Other than kissing her—often very thoroughly—he’d barely touched her since their wedding night, telling her he would rather wait until they were home to try again, rather than consummate their marriage in a bed where who knew how many others had slept in the past. She had understood his logic, but the delay had done nothing to quell her nerves whenever she thought about the intimacies to come. She had found pleasure in his touch, but she couldn’t help but be afraid she would freeze again if he touched her between her legs. Yet he must if she was ever to put what happened behind her. She was desperate not to ruin the experience for both of them and strove to hide her increasing fears about the night to come.

‘I knew you’d like it, that’s why I didn’t tell you much,’ Alex said. ‘I wanted to see your face when you first saw it. I remember you always loved exploring the Abbey and complained Stowford Place was modern and boring and lacking in character. I only hope you won’t find Foxbourne too old-fashioned, though…it still has much of the original wood panelling and dark beams in some of the ceilings. Or too small. It has only six bedrooms plus a nursery suite—nothing like the size of the Abbey or Stowford.’

That mention of the nursery suite sent hot and cold flushes rolling in waves through Jane. She wanted children, which meant she must overcome her fear and put aside her distaste for what Pikeford had attempted to do. She loved Alex. He had already proved she could trust him and that he understood how difficult it was for her. He, of anyone, knew how memories of the past could rear up at any time and cast ominous shadows over the present. At least his memories of the past were contained, only visiting him in his sleep—proof, surely, it was possible to suppress horrific events with determination.

This—marriage to Alex Beauchamp—was her dream come true, even though she would have preferred to win him in a more conventional way. And she would make him happy. Maybe he would never love her, but she had enough love for both of them.

Jane loved everything about Foxbourne Manor, from the minute she walked ahead of Alex into the spacious hall with its gleaming panelling and wooden staircase that rose to a half landing before turning back on itself. Alex had sent word of his nuptials to the Kents, who looked after the house, instructing them to hire in local help to prepare for their arrival, and the house had been cleaned and polished from top to bottom until it gleamed. It was dark, but not a gloomy darkness—it had the warm, glowing richness of well-cared-for and well-loved wood.

Alex’s pride was clear as he showed Jane around the L-shaped manor: the great hall, now an impressive drawing room, decorated in green and gold; the library, its bookcases crammed with books; the parlour, facing east to catch the morning sun; the dining room, with its polished rosewood table large enough to seat six couples; and Alex’s business room—remarkably tidy and organised and not at all what Jane had expected of the man whose public image tended towards that of a devil-may-care rebel. The kitchen, butler’s pantry, larder, scullery and other offices were housed on the ground floor of the side wing.

Upstairs, as he had said, were six bedchambers, including a master bedchamber linked via an internal door to a feminine, if a little old-fashioned, bedchamber for the mistress of the house. The side wing housed a nursery suite, with accommodation for children, nursemaid and a governess’s room. The servants occupied the attics, but Mr and Mrs Kent who had, until now, fulfilled the roles of butler-cum-footman and housekeeper-cum-cook, had a separate bedchamber on the first floor, reached via a spiral staircase leading up from the butler’s pantry.