Chapter Thirty-Nine

B ella clung to her husband’s arm as he steered her around the garden.

Today was a day of triumph. The other guests milled about, their chatter punctuated by expressions of admiration as they wandered among the marble columns and arched hedges.

And to think, they were guests at the big house, as if the Trelawneys considered them equals—friends, even!

She glanced up at Lawrence, her heart swelling with pride.

He seemed despondent—and had been the past week. Perhaps he feared the prospect of dinner with people who ranked so far above them.

“Is something troubling you?” she asked.

He let out a sigh and met her gaze.

“It is, isn’t it?” she said. “You were silent for the whole journey over. Did you fear the Trelawneys wouldn’t like the garden?”

“They like it.”

She smiled. “I never doubted it—I know what a talented, hardworking man you are.”

If anything, her words seemed to pain him more.

She took his hand. “Perhaps you’re apprehensive over what is to come.”

He drew in a sharp breath. What was wrong with him?

“There’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “I overheard one of the guests tell Mr. Trelawney that he’d like to commission you to redesign his garden. This could be the start of something wonderful—our future.”

“Perhaps.”

“I have every faith in you, my love,” she said.

“I don’t deserve you, Bella.”

“Nonsense!” She laughed. “This garden’s your creation. I only drew a few sketches. You brought it to life.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “There’s something I must tell you—but I fear you’ll not like it.”

“Do you love me, Lawrence?”

His eyes widened. “Of course I do! Are you in any doubt?”

“Then, my love, let us set any troubles aside and enjoy today, together.”

He blinked, slowly, then let out a sigh. “What have I done to even begin to deserve you?”

“You’ve loved me, Lawrence,” she said. “With your love, I can weather anything.”

“ There you are, Baxter!” a male voice cried.

A portly man in a charcoal-gray jacket and cream breeches hurried toward them.

“Good man, you must settle an argument between my wife and myself. She tells me that the shrubs surrounding the columns in the Grecian garden flower in the winter. But I said no plant could flower when it’s so cold. Would you oblige us and settle our argument? I can take you to her now if I may be permitted to steal you from Mrs. Baxter.”

He bowed to Bella. “Sir Henshingly Speakman, at your service. We live half a mile away. Our garden’s smaller than Trelawney’s, but I’d be much obliged if your husband could take a look at it—my wife’s quite taken with the work you’ve done here.”

Lawrence glanced at Bella, and she withdrew her arm. “Go, my love,” she said. “I’ve a mind to find somewhere quiet.”

“I’ll join you as soon as I can,” Lawrence said. He kissed her forehead, then followed Sir Henshingly through an archway and disappeared.

Bella let out a sigh of relief. The incessant chatter and cries of enthusiasm fostered her pride in her husband, but the afternoon was unusually hot for autumn, and her head ached. Each expression of enthusiasm cut through her senses like a knife, and while Lady Speakman was pleasant enough, she talked a little too loudly, a little too much, and on matters on which she had no knowledge.

A path led away from the main party, and she took it, making her way to a bench situated at the foot of a yew tree, half hidden in the shade. Drawing her shawl around her shoulders, she sat and leaned back, closing her eyes while she listened to the rush of the wind through the trees and the birdsong against the backdrop of distant chatter.

Occasional footsteps came and went as guests continued exploring the garden. Then another set of footsteps approached—heavier, more determined. They drew nearer, then stopped.

For a moment, she heard nothing, other than the sound of breathing. Perhaps another weary soul was looking for respite. Then a deep voice spoke, filled with contempt.

“I thought it was you.”

Bella opened her eyes. A man stood before her.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded power—a man used to being obeyed and revered. His jacket was tailored to perfection, and the waistcoat beneath shimmered in the sunlight, revealing the delicate, intricate embroidery adorning the material.

He stared at her from cold sapphire eyes, with the frank boldness of the aristocracy. Something about him looked familiar—the way his brow furrowed, the angle of the dark slashes of his brows.

Bella rose, then dipped into a curtsey.

His eyes widened, then he curled his lip into a sneer.

Her breath caught in her throat as an image flashed before her mind, of his bowing before her, then leading her onto a crowded dance floor, the same sneer on his lips.

“Do I know you, sir?”

He snorted. “You mean to ridicule me, madam?”

“Mrs. Trelawney has yet to introduce us. I’m—”

“I know perfectly well who you are,” he said. “As you know me. Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, sir.”

“Or perhaps you wish to insult my wife again?”

“Your wife? Is she here?”

“No. I thank the Almighty she’s spared having to endure your company.”

“She knows me?”

“Of course she does! What are you playing at, woman?”

Had she been in this man’s employ—or his wife’s? Had she disgraced herself by dancing with a man above her station?

“Forgive me, sir, I-I’m afraid I’ve lost my memory,” she said. “Was I your wife’s maid?”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s imaginative, even for you . Or are you going soft in the head? Which would be a fitting punishment, given that you accused my wife of the very same thing.”

“I accused her of what?” Bella asked. “You must be mistaken. I—”

“Desist, madam!”

He stepped toward her, and her gut twisted in fear. Who was this big, powerful man—and why was he so angry ?

“I came here to ask why you’re doing intruding on Mrs. Trelawney’s hospitality, dressed in such a fashion? Are you indulging in some sort of deception?”

“I-I don’t understand,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. “I’m not deceiving anyone. I can’t remember…”

“Stop playing the fool. You think you can garner sympathy from those you’ve wronged merely because you can summon a few false tears? Spiteful harpy I knew you to be, but—”

“Who the fuck are you ?”

Bella turned to see her husband standing close by, his hands balled into fists.

“And who do you think you are?” the stranger said.

“I asked first.”

“I am Montague FitzRoy, fifth Duke of Whitcombe.”

Whitcombe…

Why did that name sound familiar?

Lawrence seemed unperturbed by the revelation. “Well, Montague FitzRoy, Fifth Duke of Whitcombe ,” he said, “I’d like to know what gives you the right to insult my wife.”

The stranger glanced from Bella to her husband and back again, then let out a snort.

“You poor fool!” he scoffed. “I wish you joy of her.”

“That’s right kind of you,” Lawrence said. “Nobody brings me more joy than my Bella.”

“ Bella , did you say?”

“Aye, that’s right. Bella Baxter—my wife.”

“Baxter…” The duke raised his eyebrows. “You’re the gardener Trelawney wanted me to meet.”

“Aye, but I’m not so sure if I’m wantin’ to meet you .”

“I beg your pardon?” The duke’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, as if the mere thought of a lesser being rebuffing him was inconceivable.

“You heard,” Lawrence said. “Duke or no, you’re no gentleman if you insult the woman I love.”

“I should call you out for that.”

“I’ve no idea what that means.”

“It means challenge you to a duel. It’s how gentlemen settle an argument when one has dishonored another—usually at dawn, with pistols.”

“Doesn’t sound very gentlemanly,” Lawrence said. “And I should be the one callin’ you out, seein’ as you’ve dishonored my wife. We can settle it now if you like. With fists.”

The duke wrinkled his nose, then he clicked his heels together, turned his back, and returned to the main garden without saying a word.

Lawrence drew Bella into his arms. “You’re trembling, love.”

“I-I don’t know why that man said such things,” she said. “What have I done to him?”

“Nothing that merits such treatment. Arrogant arse! Not like Trelawney at all—but then, Trelawney had to work for his fortune. That man—Whitcombe, or whatever his name is—probably hasn’t had to lift a finger in his life.”

“You heard what he said,” Bella replied. “Mr. Trelawney must have told him about you—you shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. What if he was going to hire you for his garden?”

“I wouldn’t work for a man who insults you—not if he paid me a thousand pounds.”

“But—”

“No, Bella. You mean more to me than all the money in the world.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s get you inside—you should rest before dinner. It’s been a long day.”

“I can’t attend dinner,” she said. “What if that man’s there?”

“He won’t be, love. Trelawney assured me it was a family dinner. No other guests except you and I.”

“But all those people here—they’ve come to see the garden, and to talk to you. If they’re not staying for dinner, you should speak to them now—not waste time with me.”

“Tending to the woman I love is the best use of my time.”

They set off, and she lost her footing and stumbled against him.

“My poor love,” Lawrence said. “Here, let me.” He grasped her waist.

“What are you doing?”

“What any husband does when he wants to care for his wife.”

He swiftly scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside.

*

Lawrence had been right. Dinner was a quiet meal, the two of them the only guests.

Bella had never tasted anything so fine in her life—soup that looked like cream, but with a savory taste that burst on the tongue, followed by fish, with a delicate flavor smothered in a buttery sauce. Then came the largest piece of beef she’d ever seen, which Mr. Trelawney carved from the head of the table, followed by what looked like a yellow snowball in a glass with a clean citrus taste, and, finally, apple tart.

Each course had been served by footmen wearing bone-white gloves, gliding around the table, placing each plate before them with smooth, elegant motions, as if engaging in a dance.

It was a wonder anyone could make so many dishes for one meal. She couldn’t imagine the amount of clearing up needed—all those different plates and bowls, knives and forks that had been placed in such an intricate array on the table.

Her stomach full, Bella pushed her empty plate aside. At a nod from Mrs. Trelawney, the footmen approached the table and removed the plates.

“Thank you,” Bella said.

The footman arched his eyebrows, then glanced at his mistress, who let out a laugh. “I’m afraid Henry is rather surprised by your behavior, Mrs. Baxter.”

Bella’s cheeks warmed. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to…”

“To what?” Mrs. Trelawney said. “Thank someone who’s provided a service?” She smiled. “Few of our acquaintances deign to thank those they consider beneath them. I applaud your civility, Mrs. Baxter.”

“But he’s not beneath me,” Bella said. “I’m no lady.”

“Nobility,” Mrs. Trelawney said, “ true nobility, doesn’t come from birth or lineage. It comes from how we treat others, particularly those with whom we do not seek to ingratiate ourselves. Too many men, and women, of our acquaintance lack true nobility, for all that they may be titled.”

Such as that unpleasant man from the afternoon.

“Quite so, Alice, my love,” Mr. Trelawney said. “Nobility is defined by honor, loyalty, and honesty. Don’t you agree, Mr. Baxter?”

Bella glanced at her husband. Again, she caught a flash of apprehension in his eyes. Perhaps he felt as uncomfortable as she in such a genteel environment.

Her head still throbbed faintly from the afternoon, and she stifled a yawn. Then she caught Mr. Trelawney watching her, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

“Forgive me,” she said.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “There’s nothing to forgive.” He glanced at Bella’s husband. “Baxter, care for a brandy while the ladies retire to the drawing room?”

Lawrence’s eyes widened. “Oh—I-I thought…”

“Ross, my love,” Mrs. Trelawney said, “for a man who considers himself a master at understanding the needs of his fellow man, you’re showing a marked lack of observational skills. Can’t you see how tired our guests are?”

“I’m not…” Bella began, but Mrs. Trelawney caught her hand.

“My dear, you look exhausted,” she said. “I noticed how pale you were this afternoon. As much as I enjoy your company, I’m not so selfish as to require it if you wish to retire.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not—we can take tea together tomorrow, before you return home.”

“Baxter, you can still join me for a brandy,” Mr. Trelawney said.

“Ross!” his wife chided. “I’m sure Mr. Baxter would rather tend to his wife than be subjected to a lecture on the intricacies of a superior cognac. Not everyone wishes to discuss the flavor profile of a liquor that burns the throat.”

Bella stared at her hostess. How did a woman of her class dare to challenge her husband? But rather than show anger, Mr. Trelawney gave his wife an indulgent smile.

“Of course, my love,” he said. “Forgive me, Baxter. I shall imbibe alone. But I trust you’ll grant me an interview before you leave tomorrow.”

The two men stared at each other, and Bella caught a flash of discomfort in her husband’s eyes. Then he nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

Mrs. Trelawney rose. The footman darted toward the diners and pulled back the chairs as they stood. “I’m rather tired myself,” she said, “so I’ll retire also, and leave Ross to his brandy.” She turned to Lawrence. “Mr. Baxter, take care of your lovely wife.”

“I will,” Lawrence said, his voice catching. Then he offered Bella his arm, and the party exited the drawing room—Trelawney to his study, and the others to the bedchambers.

After bidding goodnight to their hostess, Bella’s husband led her to her bedchamber.

“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered.

“You’ll not be joining me?”

“I’m in the chamber next door if you need me.”

“I need you now.” She curled her fingers around his. “I don’t understand why they gave us a bedchamber each.”

“It’s what lords and ladies do.”

“Then I never want to be a lady,” she said. “I don’t want to spend a single night without you in…in my bed.”

“Nor I you, my love.”

He pushed open the door and led her inside.

A fire was already blazing in the hearth. To think—these people had others to light a fire for them, burning away while they were elsewhere, as if they had no need to worry about the price of coal!

Bella approached the fire, stopping on the hearth rug to hold her hands out, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Her husband followed, and he dipped his head to place a kiss on her neck while he tugged at the laces of her gown.

“Mmm…” she murmured. “I wonder if Mrs. Trelawney takes as much pleasure from her maid undressing her?”

“I suspect Mr. Trelawney performs the service more often than her maid,” he said, his hot breath tickling her skin. “They seem very much in love.”

“But not as much as we are.”

She closed her eyes, the loss of sight serving to heighten the sensations around her—the crackle of the fire, together with the sound of her husband’s breathing, growing hoarser as he continued to unlace her gown. The aroma of wood and smoke filled her nostrils together with the deeper, muskier scent of man…

His fingers brushed across her skin as he removed her gown, and she shivered in anticipation. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he peeled off her stockings, slowly, as if he relished the act. She inhaled, relaxing back into the bed. When she opened her eyes, he stood before her naked, the firelight shimmering across the planes of his muscles.

He was all man—and he was all hers.

And he was ready for her.

He climbed onto the bed and crawled on top of her. The hairs on his legs prickled the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs, and she parted them in eagerness. He closed his eyes and inhaled, his nostrils flaring.

“Sweet Lord,” he growled. “There’s nothin’ so fine as the scent of a woman who’s ready for her man.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Does my women taste as sweet as her scent?”

Oh my…

A faint pulse of pleasure throbbed in her center, and she caught her breath. Then he placed a kiss on her chin, tracing his lips across her throat to the top of her breasts, where he stopped to flick her nipple with his tongue. He peppered her belly with soft, feathery kisses until he reached her curls.

“Shall I give you pleasure, my Bella?” he whispered, his hot breath rippling over her flesh.

She caught his hands. “No.”

Disappointment flared in his eyes as she sat up. Then, twisting round, she pushed him back until he lay before her, his manhood jutting proudly.

She leaned over him and placed a kiss on his belly, tasting the salt on his skin. “It’s time I gave you pleasure,” she whispered.

Then she lowered her head and took him in her mouth.

He jerked and let out a low growl. “Devil take me, woman, you’ll be the endin’ of me!”

She ran her tongue along his length, and a deep groan bubbled in his throat, which grew deeper with each sweep of her tongue. Then he let out a strangled gasp, as if gritting his teeth, and tensed.

She released him, and he whimpered, fisting his hands in the bedsheet.

“Bella…” he groaned, as if in pain.

“Yes, husband?”

“You torture me, woman.”

“How shall I atone?”

He jerked his hips, his manhood bobbing, and she climbed on top of him, parting her legs, relishing the feel of his hard length against her thigh.

“Sweet Lord, Bella—were you sent from heaven?” He tipped his head back, the tendons in his neck protruding, and his knuckles whitened as he tightened his fists. “I-I cannot bear it,” he whispered.

“Oh, husband,” she teased. “Do you wish me to withdraw and bid you goodnight?”

“No! Dear Lord, no!”

“Then be still, my love, while I pleasure you.”

She crawled on top of him until she felt his tip nudging against her aching flesh. He let out another groan and tilted his hips upward.

“No, husband, you must be patient and await your pleasure.”

“Wife…” he said, his voice strained through gritted teeth. “I-I can’t…”

Slowly, she eased herself onto his length, relishing the deliciousness of having him inside her, until he filled her completely.

His mouth curved into a smile. “Ah…that’s it,” he whispered. “My woman—my beautiful woman.”

Then she shifted upward before thrusting down, impaling herself on him.

“Oh, Bella!” he cried, “I…”

But before he could finish, she began to move, up and down, in a slow, steady rhythm. He opened his eyes and licked his lips, his gaze fixed on her breasts, which bobbed with each movement.

“Oh, goddess. Have I died and entered heaven, to be met with such a sight?”

Deep pleasure grew in her center, ignited by the delicious friction—receding each time she withdrew, then swelling higher each time she thrust forward. She increased the pace, chasing the pleasure, while her skin prickled with heat at the need in his hungry gaze.

Then she felt him shift inside her. A deep groan escaped his lips, swelling into a roar as she joined him in pleasure, shattering and rippling around him until she threw her head back, opening her mouth as she fought for breath. Air filled her lungs as she crested the wave, and she let out a long, low cry.

“Lawrence—oh, Lawrence!” At the peak, she screamed his name as myriad colors burst in her mind, shattering into a thousand stars.

“Bella!” he cried with one final thrust as she rode the wave, drawing every drop of pleasure until, at last, they crested together.

She leaned forward until she lay on top of him, chest to chest, their bodies merging to form a single creature, sticky with sweat, their hearts beating in unison. She clung to him, relishing the solidity of his hard, muscular body. Then she turned her head to one side, placing her ear against his chest while his heartbeat settled into the slow, languorous rhythm of a man well pleasured.

“Oh, Bella—I’m not deservin’ of you,” he said. “There’s nothin’ I can give you over what you’ve given me.”

She caressed his skin, tracing the outline of his muscles with her fingertips. “There’s one thing you can give me, my love,” she said. “A child.”

He stiffened. “A-a child?”

“Am I wrong to ask?”

“No, my love—there’s nothing I want more. But—are you sure?”

She nodded against his chest. “Roberta wants a sister—as does William. And Jonathan has said he wants to complete the band of brothers.”

“The band of brothers?”

“Nelson’s band of brothers.”

She traced the outline of his nipple with her fingertips. He drew in a sharp breath, and she felt his manhood twitch beneath her.

“William’s the eldest, if only by a few minutes,” she said, “so he’s claimed Nelson’s title. Roberta’s Lieutenant Hardy. And Jonathan’s Captain Miller.”

“And there’s a fourth member of the band?”

She let out a soft laugh. “My love, there’s at least fifteen in Nelson’s band of brothers. We’re going to be very busy—but I doubt we’ll consider our efforts a chore.”

She tilted her head, offering her lips for a kiss. For a moment he hesitated, then he claimed her mouth, sweeping his tongue across her lips. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his side, taking her with him.

She smiled and closed her eyes, nestling against him. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I you, Bella,” he said. “More than life itself. Promise you’ll never forget that. Promise me you’ll remember that, whatever happens, I love you, and I always will.”

He held her close until his breathing deepened, indicating that he’d fallen asleep.

Promise me you’ll remember that, whatever happens, I love you, and I always will.

What had he meant by that? And why, as he said it, could she discern such despair in his voice?