The Mammoth Book Of Regency Romance Part 6

His big body still pressed her into the mattress. She must feel crushed, suffocated. He was a brute not to move away from her.

But how sweet it was to lie here in the aftermath, to let his hands wander her silky skin, to listen to the soft music of her breathing, to rest surrounded by Alicia.

Heaven couldn't offer an eternity of bliss purer than this moment.

What had just happened offered a profundity of experience he'd never known. He'd mourn forever if this was all the happiness allotted to him. If he was to possess her only this once.

Tonight they'd moved from hostility to a brittle trust to a conflagration of joy. But was this truce only a pause in their warfare? Or could it form the foundations of a future? He prayed for the latter, but ten years of yearning had taught him not to trust the promise of happiness.

Just like that, reality descended. He and Alicia had found shattering pleasure tonight, but he needed more. He needed her commitment beyond one tumble between the sheets, no matter how earth-shaking that tumble was.

He'd wanted this woman since he'd first seen her. He wanted to build a family with her. He wanted to grow old with her. Nothing in ten years of separation had changed that.

But he was wise enough now to know that wanting wasn't enough.

He could probably compel her to return to him. After all, the law was on his side. But for all his faults, he'd never been a bully. Could he bear to let her go if she rose from this bed and announced she would return to London alone? He might not be a bully, but the primitive savage inside him howled denial at the prospect of losing her again.

Slowly he raised himself on to his elbows. He smoothed the dishevelled blonde hair away from her face. She looked beautiful, replete, weary. In spite of his good intentions, he'd used her ruthlessly. He'd wanted to cherish her, but pa.s.sion had swept them up into a whirlwind where all that mattered was the endless drive to blazing fulfilment.

Piercing tenderness overwhelmed him and he bent his head to kiss her gently on the lips. Not the hard, demanding kisses of earlier, although the ghost of desire lingered in the soft touch. "Are you all right?"

She smiled up at him and he struggled against believing that the radiant light in her eyes was love. "Better than all right." Her slender throat worked as she swallowed. "That was . . . that was astonis.h.i.+ng."

"Yes." He fought against saying more. She was tired and defenceless. It wasn't the right time to harangue her about the future. Instead he kissed her again then rolled to the side. "It's nearly morning."

"Mmm."

When he drew her against his side, she was slack with exhaustion, a delicious bundle of warm, sated womanhood. He paused to savour the moment, praying it promised a beginning and not an ending. He'd sell his soul for the chance to hold her like this for the rest of their lives.

He held her until she slept, but for all his weariness and the throb of s.e.xual satisfaction through his body, he couldn't settle. Eventually he rose and padded over to the window.

Very quietly so as not to wake Alicia, he parted the curtains. Immediately white light flooded the room. It was later than he'd realized. The storm had blown itself out overnight and now the pale sun rose over the horizon, painting the fresh snow with gold and making it sparkle like diamonds.

The idyll of a winter's night had given way to a new day. This morning he and his wife had hard decisions to make.

Would his glimpse of paradise prove cruelly brief? Could all the lovely harmony of these last hours crash on the rocks of past wrongs and his insatiable demands?

He didn't know how to be anything but demanding. He wanted her with him. He wanted her in his bed. He couldn't stop himself.

"How beautiful."

He'd been so lost in his troubled thoughts he hadn't heard her rise from the bed. His heart slammed to a stop as she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her warm nakedness to his back.

"I thought you were asleep," he said softly.

"I missed you."

His aching heart crashed once more as she brushed a kiss across his bare shoulder. "I've missed you for ten years," he said before he could stop himself.

"I thought you were glad to be rid of me." Her voice was m.u.f.fled against his skin. "I was such a silly girl."

"You were enchanting. You still are."

Silence fell, a silence heavy with the weight of remembered pain and everything still unspoken. Because he couldn't resist touching her, he rested his hands lightly on hers. The urge stirred to seize, to grab, to compel, but he crushed it. Last night, she'd given herself to him freely. He refused to compromise that memory.

She sighed softly, her breath a warm, sensual tickle against his skin. "The snow is so clean. Even after the storm, it's perfect. It's waiting for us to make the first footprints."

He tightened his hold on her hands. So much hinged on the next moments. He struggled to find the right words, wondering if the right words even existed.

"Our future could be like that, Alicia. A new path. A new life." He paused, swallowed, and his voice was husky when he spoke what was in his heart. "Come back to me."

He felt her stiffen although she didn't move away. His gut cramped in anguish as he wondered if he'd ruined his chances. Permanently this time.

"For how long?" Her voice was quiet.

He stared at the glittering scene outside without seeing it. Instead, all his mind, all his soul focused on his wife. Again, he risked honesty, even if honesty cost him all chance of achieving his dream of a life with her.

"For ever."

This time she did draw away, and he read the inches between them as absence. "Why?"

He turned to study her. She looked unhappy and uncertain and remarkably young. Almost as young as the girl he'd married. "Because I love you."

"No . . ." She shook her head as if she didn't believe him.

Kinvarra smiled at her, even while she broke his heart. Again. "Yes."

Alicia raised her chin and stared at him as if what he said made no sense. "I was so awful to you. How can you forgive me?"

"How can you forgive me? Let's rise above the past, my darling. I want you with me. I've never wanted anything else. Don't let old mistakes destroy our hope of happiness." He paused and swallowed. "If you love me, come back to me."

For an unendurable moment, her expression didn't change. Sebastian heard his every heartbeat as a knell of doom. Then the tension drained from her face and her eyes turned as blue as a clear sky. Suddenly, in the depths of winter, he basked in the reviving warmth of summer sun.

She stepped towards him although she didn't touch him. "Sebastian, I love you too. We've wasted so much time. Let's not waste any more."

Shaking, he reached out to curl his hands around her upper arms and drag her against him. He could hardly believe what was happening. Yesterday he'd been lost in an endless mire of despair. Today the world offered love and hope and a future with the woman he adored. The swiftness of the change was dizzying.

"My wife," he murmured and kissed her with all the reverence he felt in saying those two words.

The vivid, pa.s.sionate woman in his arms kissed him back with a fervour that sent his blood rus.h.i.+ng through his veins in a hot torrent. A bright, unfamiliar joy flooded him as he realized that Alicia at last was his.

Then because it was cold and he wanted her and he loved her and they'd been apart for longer than mortal man could bear he swung her up in his arms and strode across to the rumpled bed.

The Das.h.i.+ng Miss Langley.

Amanda Grange.

It was a perfect summer morning in 1819 when Miss Annabelle Langley drove her curricle through the streets of London, weaving in and out of the brewers' carts and carriages with consummate skill. She was a striking sight, her Amazonian figure clad in a sky-blue pelisse and her fair hair topped with a high-crowned bonnet. She had no chaperone except for a tiger perched behind her. He was a splendidly clad urchin and he grinned impudently at the crusty old dowagers who looked on with a frown as the curricle whirled by.

In anyone else such behaviour would have been considered fast, but as Annabelle was twenty-seven years of age and possessed of a large fortune, she was grudgingly allowed to be eccentric.

She brought her equipage to a halt outside a house in Grosvenor Square and, handing the reins to her tiger, she approached the porticoed entrance. She lifted the knocker, but before she could let it drop, her sister-in-law opened the door.

"My dear Annabelle, I am so glad you are here," said Hetty with a look of relief.

"But you knew I was coming. Why the heartfelt welcome?" asked Annabelle in surprise.

Hetty linked arms and drew her inside, much to the disapproval of the butler, whose expression seemed to say, Ladies opening the door for themselves? Whatever next?

"It is Caroline," said Hetty, her silk skirts rustling as the two ladies crossed the s.p.a.cious hall.

"What, do not tell me that she is not ready?" said Annabelle. "I suppose she has overslept and she is still drinking her chocolate? Or is it more serious? Is she standing in front of the mirror wondering which of Madame Renault's delightful creations she should wear?"

"It is worse than that," said Hetty with a heavy sigh as she guided Annabelle into the drawing room.

It was an elegant apartment with high ceilings and tall windows, and it was sumptuously furnished. Marble-topped console tables were set beneath gleaming mirrors, and damasked sofas were positioned between silk-upholstered chairs.

"Worse?" asked Annabelle.

"Much worse," said Hetty emphatically. "It is A Man." Her tone gave the words capital letters.

Annabelle stopped in the middle of stripping off her gloves and said, "I see. And who is this man?"

Hetty looked at her helplessly and groaned. "You will never believe it. If I did not know it to be true then I would not believe it myself. It is the Braithwaites' gardener!" she said.

Annabelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Unless I am very much mistaken, the Braithwaites' gardener is seventy years old!" she said.

"Oh no, it is not Old Ned. He has retired. It is his grandson who is the cause of all the trouble. Able. And a very handsome young man, it has to be said. But quite unsuitable. And, even worse, he is engaged."

"Do you not mean, even better, he is engaged?" enquired Annabelle, removing her pelisse and bonnet.

"I only wish I did. If Caroline would accept that he was spoken for then all would be well. But you know how headstrong she is. She is convinced that he does not love his fiancee and that he is only marrying the girl to please his grandfather, who happens to be friends with the girl's grandfather. The two men have had a very enjoyable rivalry over the last fifty years, concerning who can grow the best roses."

"And what does Able say about it all?"

"Nothing. He s.h.i.+fts his weight from one foot to the other when she challenges him, and goes bright red, then pulls his ear, and says, 'I don't rightly know, Miss Caroline, I reckon I love 'er.'"

"Oh dear! But surely this must deter Caroline?" said Annabelle, bubbling with laughter.

"Not a bit of it. She simply says that he does not know his own mind, and that he needs a good woman to know it for him!"

"And the good woman in question, I suppose, is Caroline?"

"Of course," said Hetty, sinking into a chair.

Annabelle looked at Hetty's woebegone face and tried to pull a sympathetic expression but she could not help herself. It was too ridiculous! She burst into outright laughter.

"Really, Belle, it is no laughing matter," said Hetty crossly.

"Oh, Hetty, I'm sorry, but of course it is! Caroline is a minx, but in six weeks' time she will have forgotten all about Able, and she will be content for him to marry his sweetheart and grow roses for the rest of his days."

"I only hope it may be so, but what am I to do with her in the meantime? She declares she won't go to Whitegates Manor with you, and if she stays here, she will make everyone uncomfortable. The Braithwaites have already asked me not to bring her with me the next time I call. She distracts Able from his work. The last time we called he sent a cabbage indoors for the flower arrangements, and then enraged the cook by sending a basket of hollyhocks into the kitchen for dinner."

"Never fear," said Annabelle soothingly, putting her hand rea.s.suringly on Hetty's. "I will take Caroline to Whitegates with me, I promise you, and you can have some respite."

"I only wish you could," said Hetty dolorously, "but she has sworn she will not go."

"A little of the sun, instead of the wind, will work wonders I am sure," said Annabelle. Seeing Hetty's bemused look, she said, "When the wind and the sun had an argument about which of them was the stronger, they agreed to a contest to decide the matter. There happened to be a merchant walking below them and they agreed that whichever one of them could part him from his cloak would be the winner. The wind blew as hard as it could, but to no avail, the merchant only held his cloak closer. Then the sun shone down and the merchant set his cloak aside, making the sun the winner."

"And you plan to warm Caroline with suns.h.i.+ne?" asked Hetty dubiously.

"I do. The suns.h.i.+ne of flattery, coupled with an appeal to her generosity. And if all else fails, I will sweeten it with a treat."

"I only hope you may succeed. I am at my wits' end." Hetty stood up and moved towards the bell. "I will send for Withers and she will fetch her."

"There is no need for that. I will go myself. Is she in her room?"

"Yes," said Hetty.

"Then I will go up to her now."

Annabelle went out into the hall, threading her way between the marble columns and crossing the black-and-white squared floor before going up the stairs.

Twenty sets of ancestral eyes gazed down at her from Hetty's family portraits, some haughty, some placid and some disdainful, but she ignored them all as she mounted the stairs and came at last to the bedrooms.

She went to Caroline's door and knocked discreetly.

"Go away!" came a voice from inside.

"That is not a very friendly greeting," Annabelle replied, "especially as I have come all this way to see you."

"Oh, it is you, Aunt Annabelle," said Caroline, appearing at the door of her room a minute later. "Mama has sent you to speak to me, I suppose."

"No, I came of my own accord. Your mama thought it would not do any good for me to speak to you. She believes you are a hopeless case."

"And so I am," said Caroline, sinking down on to the bed with a dramatic sigh. "Hopelessly in love with Able."

"Well, he is a very handsome young man by all accounts," said Annabelle sympathetically.

Caroline looked surprised. Then a crease appeared between her brows. "And?" she asked suspiciously.

"And?" enquired Annabelle.