Chapter Thirty-Seven

B ella grasped the weed at the base of the stem like her husband had shown her. Then she pulled. The plant resisted for a moment, then came free, bringing with it the root. She placed it on the pile beside the border, then rose to her feet and stretched, tipping her face upward to bathe in the afternoon sun.

The days were growing colder now summer had passed. But the occasional warm day enabled her to spend an hour or two in the garden. The trees were beginning to change color into the riot of reds and browns. And on a day such as today, when the sun bathed the landscape, there was no sight more beautiful than nature’s palette.

Autumn was her favorite time of year.

Or was it?

Her past was still shrouded in fog, through which the occasional gap enabled the sunlight to filter through before it closed again.

But the past didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was today. And today was the day to declare that autumn was her favorite time of year.

And to rejoice in her husband’s return home after a week working on the Trelawneys’ garden.

How she’d missed him! Only a few weeks ago she’d have welcomed the respite from his getting under her feet, adding to her chores with his endless stream of shirts to wash, the mess he made at the kitchen table, and the dirt he trod into the cottage with his boots.

But chores were a small price to pay for what he gave her in return—both in the bedchamber and out of it.

Her cheeks warmed as she recalled last night when, alone in their bed, the children sleeping peacefully next door, she’d slipped her hand between her legs, open and eager at the thought of his taking her. To her shame, she’d run her fingertips along the sensitized flesh, imagining his own fingertips, or his…

She drew in a sharp breath at the thought of the part of him that gave her so much pleasure. Such wicked, delectable pleasure…

She closed her eyes, and her skin tightened in anticipation, as if she could feel his fingertips tracing along her neck.

“Lawrence…”

A hand cupped her breast, and she arched her back against a solid, muscular body.

“Have you been needin’ my touch as much as I’ve been wantin’ yours?”

His voice, the low growl of a ravenous beast, vibrated through her bones. She whirled around in his arms and fisted her hands in her husband’s hair, bringing their mouths together. “You’re home!”

He grasped her and pushed her back against a tree, and she let out a mewl of pleasure, her body blooming at the feel of his primal strength. What could be more glorious than being at the mercy of her man—her beast—driven by a powerful urge to mate with his female?

He fumbled at his breeches, then a cold rush of air rippled across her thighs as he lifted her skirts before thrusting himself inside her, his breath coming in short, sharp puffs.

Pleasure came quickly. She let out a cry as he filled her completely, then wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper in while his breathing steadied.

At length, he tipped his head forward, resting it on her shoulder while she held him close.

“Bella, that’s as fine a welcome as a man can hope for after a long journey! I’ve been missin’ you so bad—when I saw you in the garden, I couldn’t control myself.”

“How long will you be home?” she asked.

“I go back in two days.”

“So soon?”

“The garden’s almost done, then you can come with me. Mrs. Trelawney has invited us to dine—and stay the night.”

“That’s kind, but we can’t leave the children.”

“Ned can watch them.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Dinner at a grand house? It’s not for the likes of us.”

“Don’t say such things,” he said. “You honor Mrs. Trelawney with your company.”

Her heart swelled—to think, he loved her enough to say such things.

“Then,” she said, “we must make the most of the time we have before you return.”

He placed a kiss on her lips. “I intend to, my wild, wanton woman. A taste of pleasure in the garden is not enough. I’m wantin’ to worship you so bad.”

Could her life be any better?

*

The stench of smoke choked her senses as harsh crackles split the night air.

“Bella!”

A woman’s voice screamed in the distance as the smoke thickened. She turned toward the voice, but an explosion ripped into the air.

“Sebastien!”

“Mariah!”

The voices grew in urgency, but the roaring of the flames obliterated them.

“Mama!” she cried. “Papa!”

She rushed toward the screams, but the air burned her flesh, searing her with agony.

“Mama!”

Strong arms pulled her back. “I’ve got you, miss.”

“Let me go! Mama—where are you?”

The flames danced in the air, bright demons filling the world. She raised her arms to fend them off, then an explosion shattered her into a thousand shards…

“Bella!” a deep voice cried.

A familiar voice—a voice she trusted and loved.

She opened her eyes to darkness. The flames had gone.

She was in her bedchamber, enveloped in a strong pair of arms.

“Hush, my love—it was a bad dream, nothing more. You’re safe now.”

She clung to him, seeking solace from his solidity. “Lawrence,” she breathed.

“That’s it, love. It’s your Lawrence.”

She caught a glint in his eyes—light reflected from the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtains.

“It was so real,” she said. “The fire—the house, destroyed. And…they died.”

“Hush.” He rocked her to and fro, stroking her hair. “It’s over now. It’s not real.”

“N-no,” she said. “Don’t you see? It was real. I remember.”

He tensed. “You remember ?”

“My mother—my father. And…” She caught her breath as tears stung her eyes. “And how they died.”

“Can you remember anything else?” His voice carried a hard edge.

“No.”

For a moment he remained still. Then he exhaled, the tension leaving his body.

“Poor love,” he said. “How did they die?”

“An accident—a fire,” she said. “I was there—I heard my mother screaming, and tried to find her, but a man picked me up and wouldn’t let me go. He carried me out.” She closed her eyes, capturing the image that had eluded her for so long. “So many people…standing around the building… Their faces glowing orange in the dark.”

“And then?”

“I was sent away,” she said. “They said it wasn’t my home anymore.”

“Because it had burned down?”

“No.” She shook her head. “The building was saved. But with Papa gone, I couldn’t live there anymore. They said I didn’t belong there. So my aunt took me away.”

“Where did she take you?”

She closed her eyes again, concentrating on the memory of the sharp-nosed woman with the cold eyes and bitter expression…

Then the memory faded.

“I can’t remember,” she said. “I only remember the fire.”

“And your mother and father?”

“I remember a woman with kind blue eyes,” she said. “And a man with glasses and a smile, wearing fine clothes and smelling of brandy.” She nodded. “He was a gentleman. But they said I was alone now he was gone, and I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but if I was a lady’s maid, then I must have been sent into service. I must…” A cry escaped her lips. “I-I must have been my father’s… I mean, my mother must have been his mistress, or a servant, if I was sent away. I m-must have been his bastard.”

He let out a low hiss and tightened his hold. “Don’t be sayin’ that, love.”

“Would you have married me, knowing I was a…bastard?”

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I care nothing for such things, Bella. I love you no matter the circumstances of your birth—whether you’re the natural child of a gentleman, or”—he hesitated—“the legitimate daughter of a duke.”

“How did I deserve such a man as you?” She relaxed against him and sighed. “I’m thankful for one thing.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m not the legitimate daughter of a duke,” she said. “If I were, I wouldn’t have met you—and I cannot bear to imagine life without you.”

“Oh, Bella,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s not you that ask should why you’re deservin’ of me—it’s me who could never come close to deservin’ you.”

She tipped her face up, offering her lips for a kiss, and she caught the expression in his eyes reflected in the moonlight—in them she saw an emotion so powerful, she caught her breath at the intensity of it.

She saw guilt—as if he had sinned so badly that he was merely waiting for the inevitable condemnation to hell.