Chapter Twenty-two

A t the Montagu party and through all the entertainments leading up to Christmas, Harry was her usual sparkling self, but when she was alone with her husband, either in the carriage or at home, she became quiet and withdrawn. She avoided intimacy whenever she could with the excuse that she was tired, yet she accepted all invitations and even went out on the nights her husband was at home.

Thomas sensed something was wrong. On the few occasions they had made love lately, her response wasn't the same. She held herself back from him and took no joy in their coupling. He watched her carefully and soon realized that the laughing, witty persona she affected in company was a brittle facade. When they were at home, she took off the mask and withdrew into silence.

On the day before Christmas, Thomas helped his wife into the carriage. They were on their way to spend the festivities with Harry's family at Campden Hill. He thought that his wife looked unusually pale today. "Are you feeling all right, darling?"

"I never felt better." She tucked her fur against her throat and gazed out the window.

"Is something wrong, Harry?"

"Of course not. It's Christmas, the most exciting time of the year. My family loves and adores me, and I'm married to an earl of the realm. What could possibly be wrong?"

"When we're alone, you seem distant and withdrawn."

"Nonsense; it's simply fatigue from all the season's festivities. Please, don't concern yourself with some imagined problem."

There was a problem, and it wasn't imagined, but Thomas bit his tongue. He didn't want to upset her at Christmas. In spite of the fact that she said she felt well, her paleness disturbed him, and his common sense told him that something was ailing her. If she wouldn't confide in him, he hoped she would discuss it with her mother.

At Campden Hill, all the men went out to cut the Christmas tree. Thomas joined Abercorn, Lord John, D'Arcy, and young James, home from Oxford. After they set up the tree, the ladies and the younger children had great fun decorating it, and Thomas saw that Harry joined in. She seemed to be enjoying herself, though she was a bit subdued.

Harry spent her time with the children, reading to them and then putting them to bed. Thomas took her mother aside. "Have you noticed how pale Harry is? She insists she feels well, but I'm worried about her."

"She's spent hours with the children today. Perhaps she is practicing."

When Thomas took her meaning, his heart soared. "Perhaps you are right, but she hasn't said anything."

"A woman usually keeps her secret until she is sure. Don't worry, Thomas; she'll tell you in her own good time. I'm speculating about Trixy—she's plump as a partridge."

Harry sat in the darkened nursery long after the excited children hung up their stockings and had at last fallen asleep. She had avoided her husband's company by surrounding herself with the little ones. Their obvious love made her feel less vulnerable.

Knowing that Thomas had married her to secure his inheritance was deeply humiliating. Harry's pride had been dealt a mortal blow, and her self-confidence had deserted her. When she looked in the mirror, she found the image that looked back at her unattractive. She appeared pale and listless, and her eyes had a haunted look. Harry lived in dread of her family learning the truth of why Thomas had married her. The last thing she wanted was pity, so she had put on a false face of gaiety and laughter when she was in their company.

What a naive fool I was to go about telling everyone I needed proof that Thomas loved me before I would accept a proposal of marriage. She closed her eyes. Perhaps there's no such thing as love. She shook her head sadly. She knew that wasn't true, because regardless of how her husband felt, she loved Thomas with all her heart.

She had avoided intimacy as often as she could because she was terrified of her wanton response to him. She often pretended sleep when he came to bed, because his touch set off a wildfire of desire. If he knew how much she hungered and longed for his love, she would be mortified.

Music from downstairs floated up to her, and she knew the Yuletide carols had begun. She straightened her shoulders and went below to join in the festivities. Harry was relieved when the ladies decided to retire and the men stayed up to talk politics and enjoy a couple of drinks together, without reproachful looks from their spouses.

Christmas Day was taken up with presents, a huge feast, and sleigh rides around the lake. The entire family joined in the merriment and Harry was never alone with Thomas.

The next morning when it was time to leave, the duchess invited her married daughters to stay at Campden Hill until New Year's, while their husbands returned to London. Thomas encouraged Harry to stay. A few days apart might be just what his wife needed, and he thought she would benefit from time spent with her mother and sisters. He kissed her good-bye and promised to return for the New Year's Eve fireworks.

The following day, when Louisa and her three oldest daughters were alone, Trixy confided that she might be having a child. Harry was relieved that all the attention was focused on her sister. All the talk was centered on symptoms, cravings, weight gain, and babies, babies, babies.

Trixy explained that she had no intention of telling D'Arcy until she was sure. She was uncertain of his reaction and needed her mother's assurance that he would be happy about becoming a father.

"All men look forward to begetting an heir, and if it turns out to be a girl, they welcome the chance to try again," Louisa told her daughters. "How about you, Harry? Any secrets to confide?"

Her hand went to her throat. "Secrets?" Then she realized they were still talking about babies. "No, no, I'm not having a child."

"Good!" Trixy declared. "I don't want you to steal my thunder."

On New Year's Eve, D'Arcy arrived, but Thomas did not. Harry found her emotions were between the devil and the deep. She was relieved that business must have prevented him from joining them, yet wistful that he did not rush from London so they could celebrate their first New Year together. He showed up the next day with profound apologies, and on the ride home, Harry lapsed back into silence.

Thomas gave his wife time to unpack and refresh herself from the journey. Then he joined her in her private sitting room. He schooled himself to patience, but knew he was dangerously close to the end of his rope.

"Are you feeling all right, darling? Please tell me what's wrong."

"There is nothing wrong."

Thomas exploded. "Damn it all, Harry, there is something terribly wrong! It is a brand-new year, and I intend to start it with a clean sweep. If you think I'm going to carry on allowing you to withdraw from me, you are deluding yourself. What the hellfire happened to that audacious, outspoken baggage that gave as good as she got? I married an impulsive, reckless creature with a voracious appetite for life. I want her back!"

She jumped to her feet, goaded by his words. At last her anger ignited, and her temper flared, turning her pale cheeks to bright pink. "I deluded myself, all right! I actually believed you married me because you loved me!" She rushed to her writing desk, pulled out the letter, and thrust it at him. "I had no idea you married me to secure your inheritance. I was blissfully ignorant!"

He tore the letter from the envelope and read it. "Fowler!" He laughed bitterly. "Knowing human nature as I do, I should have expected the vindictive bastard would need to slake his revenge for being dismissed. Where's the other letter?"

"I didn't wait for another letter. I suspected it was from your father's attorney. I found out his name was Martin Fowler and went to see him."

"Why the hell didn't you come to me?" he demanded.

"I wanted to hear for myself what he had to say," she said defiantly. "He informed me that your father swore out a signed affidavit to disinherit you unless you married an heiress before he died. It was like a knife in my heart to learn the real reason for the rushed wedding."

"Oh, Harry, no wonder you've been so unhappy." He wanted to enfold her in his arms and take away her pain, but he feared she would recoil from him. "Sit down, and I will explain everything."

She sat, desperately wanting to hear him refute Fowler's accusations.

"My father never stopped hounding me to marry an heiress, as he had done, for the upkeep of Shugborough. He wed my mother, went through her fortune, and brought her nothing but unhappiness. I vowed I wouldn't follow in his footsteps, and told him so.

"Then I met you, Harry, and you stole my heart. I didn't want him to know anything about you, so when he ordered me to find a wealthy wife, I told him to go to the devil. It infuriated him when he couldn't control me, and as a way to force me to his will, he signed an affidavit to disinherit me."

"Why didn't you confide in me?" She raised her chin. "I trusted you, implicitly."

"Confide that I was being coerced to marry an heiress? I think not! When your father offered me your dowry, I refused it, and told him to put the money in your name."

"I didn't realize that." She was momentarily disarmed. "But you cannot deny you negotiated that my father return everything he bought from Shugborough."

"I don't deny it. I freely admit how significantly I benefited from that, but I knew how much you loved Shugborough, and believed it would make you happy if the books and paintings were restored."

"You should have taken me into your confidence. If I'd known you had to marry before he died to secure Shugborough, I would have agreed."

"Harry, I didn't need to marry to secure my inheritance. The laws of primogeniture would have prevailed. The choice to marry you was mine alone."

"Then why did you have to break into Fowler's office and steal the signed affidavit?"

"I refuse to be blackmailed!" His face was hard, dark, carved in stone.

"Tell me the truth, the whole truth, Thomas. I don't want secrets between us."

His dark eyes searched her face as he calculated how much he could tell her. He decided to take a chance and reveal some of the truth.

"My father died an hour before we were married. I vowed that I would not allow his death to ruin your wedding day. Your happiness meant everything to me, so I kept it from you until the next morning."

Harry was astounded by the revelation. Even if he had done it to protect her, it was still an act of deception. "Thomas, I am not a child who needs to be shielded from reality. I am a woman and want to be treated like one." She was still unsure whether he was being completely honest with her. He said he'd lost his heart to her and had wed her from free choice, but could she believe him? "I want no more secrets between us. From now on, I want the truth."

"More than anything, I want you to believe that I married you because I love you. That is the truth, Harry, and I will do my utmost to prove it to you from this moment forward."

"I lost my trust in you." She raised her chin and said coolly, "Don't expect me to fall into your arms until it is restored."

I will woo you relentlessly and win back your heart.

Harry awoke late the next morning. She felt disheartened when she saw that the bed was empty. But a moment later, Thomas arrived with a breakfast tray, and her spirits lifted.

He set the food before her and drew her hand to his lips. He placed a kiss on each finger, then opened her palm and dropped a kiss inside it. He folded her fingers upon it to catch and hold it. "Enjoy your breakfast. I'll see you tonight."

As she was brushing her hair, she found a note on her dressing table. She picked it up and read it. The words astonished her:

My only love, you enthrall me. Your image is before me day and night. Your loveliness haunts me. I have an unquenchable thirst for you. When I hear your voice, it fills me with joy. When I see you across a room, I have to draw close to you. When I am close to you, I have an uncontrollable need to touch you. When I touch you, I become wild with desire. From the hour that we met at the Crystal Palace, I loved you. And today I love you more than yesterday.

The love words warmed her heart, and she knew she would keep the note so that she could read it again when doubts assailed her.

When Thomas returned from Parliament that evening, he brought her flowers. "These daffodils, grown in a hothouse, are to remind you of the riverside garden at Shugborough. They are a promise of spring."

When she thanked him, his eyes told her how attractive he found her. "Come with me to the kitchen. I want to cook for you."

"A clever ploy! You know I cannot resist food." He knows my appetite has been nonexistent lately. She followed him, determined to eat something.

He picked her up and sat her on the wooden chopping block. "What do you fancy?"

"Something spicy, perhaps with curry. I think Clara bought prawns today."

He returned from the larder with two small enamel pails. "Scallops too—we'll have both." He put rice on to steam, while he cleaned the shellfish, and cut up shallots, mushrooms, gingerroot, and cilantro. He melted a generous amount of butter in a pan, threw in the prawns, scallops, and the other ingredients, sprinkled on a generous amount of spicy curry, and sautéed everything until it was bubbling, golden, and fragrant. He served it over the rice, brought it to the chopping block, and hopped up beside her.

"This smells good enough to eat."

"It's sinfully good. Take care, lest it lure you into temptation."

"Thank you for the warning," she said lightly.

Hours later, when they retired, Harry expected Thomas to make advances, but after he built up the fire, he invited her to join him in a game of Fox and Geese. It was played on a checkerboard; the fox tried to eat the geese, while the player with the geese tried to trap the fox. Thomas won easily, and when she challenged him to a rematch, she was gratified to beat him. Then she suspected he'd let her win on purpose. She decided not to accuse him. Perhaps he was merely being gallant.

When she undressed, she tried not to think about the times he had eagerly helped her, and when she lay beside him in bed, she made sure there was a space between them. She wasn't yet ready to forgive him, though she was pleased at the special attention he had shown that day. When he kissed her hair and bade her good night, she didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed.

Bringing her breakfast in bed and penning her love notes became a ritual. On a warm day at the end of January, Thomas left for Parliament, but returned within a half hour. "It's far too lovely a day to waste, and I'm sure the Lords won't even notice my absence. Would you join me on a ride to Richmond?"

His eyes were filled with hope, and she bit back the excuse that sprang to her lips. If she was being truthful, she'd like nothing better than to go for a long ride. She was fully aware that Thomas was trying to woo her, but what woman didn't enjoy being wooed?

"Richmond sounds delightful."

He entered her dressing room and came out with her green riding dress. "Wear this."

"You are back to making declarations."

"Am I?" Their eyes met, and she vividly remembered lying in the grass, half-naked, urging him to make love to her. The green habit had obviously lingered in his memory.

She suddenly felt shy. "Go and get the horses saddled. I'll be right down."

His hands did not linger as he helped her mount Amber. She tried not to gaze at him astride Victorious, though he made her pulse race whenever she saw him on the black hunter. Side by side, they cantered through St. James's Park and headed toward the river.

Then they rode along the Thames embankment, enjoying the myriad watercraft carrying produce from the country up to London. They crossed Putney Bridge, rode over Putney Heath, and headed into Richmond Park.

"It's such a lovely day, I'm glad you persuaded me to join you. Look! The crocuses are up. I hope I see some snowdrops."

"There may be some in the walled garden at the inn. We are too late for breakfast, but could I tempt you to join me for lunch?"

"Since you are inviting me rather than commanding me, I accept with pleasure."

"First, we'll ride hell for leather," he declared, and knew she'd be unable to resist.

"You devil!" She urged Amber to a wild gallop, determined to win the race through the park. The last stretch, their mounts were neck and neck, and Harry threw back her head and laughed. She had forgotten how good it felt to drink the cup of life to the dregs.

"You look radiant."

You said that the first time you brought me to Richmond. She remembered how he had taken her up before him to ride hell for leather. She could still feel his hard cock against her bum, and the grip of his muscled thighs. The wooing had been delicious.

Was it love or lust? her suspicious mind questioned. Surely, if it had been lust, you would have taken me when I offered myself to you.

Harry dismounted before he could help her. They turned their horses over to the hostler and went through the gate into the garden. Because it was enclosed by the stone wall that protected it from the wind, birds had made their winter home here, and white snowdrops and purple and yellow crocuses were lifting their faces to the pale sun.

They enjoyed lamb and barley broth with chunks of crusty baked bread, warm from the oven, followed by treacle tart, and hot mulled cider. When Harry was done, she scattered her crumbs for the birds, watching with delight as they fluttered down from the branches as hunger overcame their timidity.

Thomas reached across the rustic table and covered her hand. "Because of you, I find walled gardens unbelievably romantic. This one has happy memories for me. Thank you for coming today."

"Thank you for inviting me." The romantic atmosphere had disarmed her and made her more conducive to closing the distance between them.

On the ride home they followed the river until they came to Chelsea. They rode through a wooded area of cedars and elm trees that were just coming into bud. Beneath the shelter of the branches, a patch of bluebells had sprung up through the moss.

"I love bluebells. Their intense fragrance is heady and overpowering."

Thomas drew rein and jumped from the saddle. He picked a solitary bluebell and brought it to her. "Like attracts like—heady and overpowering."

With sparkling eyes, she lifted it to her nose and breathed in its intoxicating scent, beguiled by his romantic gesture.

. . .

That night when she got into bed, Thomas drew the side bed-curtains, but left the foot open to let in the warmth of the fire. He lay on his side facing Harry with his head propped on his hand. The drawn curtains turned their bed into an intimate cocoon that shut out the world. "Bathed in the fire glow, you look like an enchantress from a mythic tale. . . . Circe perhaps."

Her lips curved into a smile. "Circe could turn men into animals with her magic. If I had her power, I would turn you into a black centaur."

"So you could ride me," he murmured suggestively.

His words evoked such a sensual picture in her mind, she went weak with desire. "You look dark and dangerous tonight."

"Perhaps I am. Does dark and dangerous attract or repel you?"

"Both." She shuddered.

"You have the most wondrous hair. I ache to caress it and play with it." His hand reached out. "Like this." He threaded his fingers through her curls possessively, feeling their silky texture. His hand moved down to her shoulder. "Your skin feels like creamy, smooth velvet." He traced her clavicle with a finger. Then he cupped her right breast in the palm of his hand and caressed its pink tip through her sheer nightgown gently with his thumb.

You have the most seductive hands in the world. She thought of pulling away, but she was enjoying his caresses too much to deny herself the exquisite pleasure.

"Harry, tonight I'm going to show you how much I adore you. I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am passionately in love with you." He pulled down the covers, slipped off her nightgown, and drew her into his arms.

He began with quick kisses to her temples, eyelids, and the corners of her mouth. His lips kissed her hair, traced along her cheekbone to her ear, and then slid down against her throat. He whispered love words against her sensitive skin, inhaling her woman's scent, as his tongue licked over her delicate flesh.

She could not wait for his mouth to claim hers. She opened her lips in sensual invitation and for a whole hour they lost themselves in the bliss of slow, melting kisses.

His manly scent made her senses reel. The feel of his powerful hands caressing her body aroused her until her pulse quickened and her blood ached hot and wild. When she felt his hard erection seeking against her soft belly, she wanted to scream. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to stop herself from moaning with excitement.

He came over her in the dominant position and slowly thrust inside her. He felt her sheath close sleekly around his cock, and his breath swept her neck as his lips sought hers, and he drank from her honeyed mouth that was hot and sweet with desire.

"I love you, sweetheart. I love everything about you. I love the way you feel; I love your scent; I love your taste." He began to move with a slow, tantalizing rhythm, wanting to draw out her pleasure and make it last. "When I see you flushed with passion, excitement stabs through me and makes me long to make you lose control."

She gasped as his plunging heat made its relentless demands upon her to yield up everything to him. She loved his animal maleness. Everything about him was hard. His chest and shoulders, even his thighs, were corded with muscle. Tonight he took her to the edge, and she found it impossible to hold back physically. She matched his thrusts by arching her body, and his throbbing fullness inside her made her cry out with pleasure.

He became aware of a pulse point deep within. It fluttered erratically and her sheath tightened, inflaming him to unleash the fierce passion that would bring her to her final surrender. When he felt her climax begin, his thrusts slowed to an undulating rhythm. When he heard her shattering cry, he took his own release.

He gathered her close. "I've never felt this way before. I love you deeply from the bottom of my heart. I pledge my love to you now and forever."

She reveled in his vows of adoration, and longed to believe that he loved her. She had long ago lost her heart to him, and now she willingly admitted that her body was his to command. But some small protective part of her being made her hold back the words.

She feared that declaring her undying love for Thomas at this moment would make her too vulnerable. He was dominant by nature, and if she told him how much she loved him, he would be in complete control of her. I must be absolutely sure that he is in love with me.

He kissed her tenderly and she sighed and drifted off to sleep with her head tucked beneath his chin.

Hours later something woke her. She lay quietly, wondering what had disturbed her.

Suddenly she felt her husband's legs begin to thrash and he shouted something.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

Thomas sat bolt upright. He threw back the covers and shouted, "Fire!"

Fear rushed over her. "Where is the fire?"

He jumped from the bed and ran to the window. "Everything's ablaze."

Harry rushed to his side, but all she saw outside was darkness. "Where is it?"

"Shugborough. I must save Shugborough!"

Harry grabbed his arms. "Thomas, we are in London."

He stared at her until he realized where he was. "Thank God. It was my recurring nightmare."

Harry lit the lamp, and she watched him walk back to the bed, pull back the curtains, and sit down.

"I'm sorry to frighten you. It was just a dream."

"You said it was a recurring nightmare. You've obviously had it before."

"No, no, they don't happen often. I haven't had the nightmare since we've been married," he reassured her.

She could see that he was shaking. "Get back into bed."

"No, it will come back."

She heard the apprehension in his voice. It was the first time she had seen his vulnerability and her heart turned over in her breast. She went to him and cupped his face in her hands. "Darling, I will hold you—I won't let it come back."

His dark eyes stared up at her. He did not dare to show her his weakness.

"Thomas, if you love me, you will trust me enough to share the truth." She turned down the lamp, got back into bed, and waited.

Finally, he slipped into bed and pulled up the covers.

When Harry enfolded him in her arms, he was still shaking. Gradually, as the warmth of her body seeped into his, his limbs grew still. "Tell me," she whispered.

Eventually he spoke. "I have a deep-seated fear that Shugborough will be destroyed by fire. I try to suppress it, but it manifests itself in dreams."

"How long have you had these dreams?"

He remained silent.

"Don't you remember?"

When he didn't answer, her arms tightened.

"I remember exactly."

She waited patiently, willing him to confide in her.

Finally, he told her. "It began when I was seventeen. It was right after my father burned down his sporting estate, Ranton Abbey, for the insurance money."

She was shocked beyond belief at Lichfield's perfidy, but she remained silent, and in a low, confiding voice he told her everything that happened that day. When he was done, he slid his arms around her and they held each other close.

Harry was finally convinced that her husband loved her enough to trust her, and the last barrier was swept away. "Thomas, I love you with all my heart."