Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 Page 6

  He scooped her up and carried her out of the drawing room and up the staircase to their bedroom. The velvet haze of evening caressed them as they removed their clothes, allowing the garments to fall in piles upon the floor. Allison waited for him on the bed, eager, yet trembling for fear she would somehow displease him now that she was his wife. Then his warm body touched hers, moved over her, the wiry hair of his chest rubbing across her sensitive breasts.

  Allison looked into his eyes which darkly shone with desire. Can he really love me? she asked herself. “I want to make you happy, Paul. I love you so much!”

  He smiled a dazzling smile, and she brushed a stray wisp of blonde hair from his forehead. “I’m the happiest man alive. I have everything I want,” he assured her.

  His answer should have satisfied her doubts, but it didn’t. She realized she was held in the arms of a stranger, a man of whom she knew very little. Of course, she was in love with him, but would she be married to him now if it hadn’t been for old Maggie’s prophecy? She shook her head to drive the distracting thoughts away. “Love me,” she breathed into his ear.

  Paul groaned and kissed her tenderly, but suddenly she rained hot kisses over his throat and twined her legs around his. She noticed the delighted surprise in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she said, suddenly bold.

  His hands caressed the sides of her face. “So have I. Please don’t be sorry you married me.”

  Allison moved her lower body temptingly against his, delighting in the realization that he was fully aroused. “I’ll never be sorry for that,” she said. “Never!”

  A melting sweetness grew in her when he kissed her breasts, suckling the nipples until they hardened under his exploring tongue. She moaned and writhed as his hands scorched the intimate, secret places only he knew. She caressed the broad planes of his back while his mouth traced a sensuous path to ecstasy from her breasts to the inside of her thighs. “Please, Paul, I can’t wait a moment longer,” she whimpered.

  He raised his head. “You’re so beautiful, Allison. I want to enjoy you, to show you how pleasurable love can be.”

  She wound her fingers through his hair, and he pulled himself up to the level of’ her face. “But that’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured, almost as though speaking to herself’.

  He gently nudged her thighs apart. When she didn’t resist, he slid into her.

  Allison’s body responded and instinctively she arched against him to meet his exquisite thrusts. Hot tides of passion pulsated through her as the climactic moment drew near. When it happened she felt as though a blazing flame consumed her. Paul’s ragged breathing echoed in her ears. His hand gently twirled a long strand of white-gold hair. “You’re marvelous,” he praised.

  “Am l?”

  He caressed her with his eyes, unable to take his gaze from her face. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that. I shall have to watch you every minute to keep other men at bay.”

  Her laugh was low and throaty. “Don’t joke, Paul. No other men could possibly be interested in me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, love,” he said possessively, stroking her cheek. “You are too beautiful, too delicate, too passionate for anyone to resist.”

  His eyes, his voice mesmerized her as he sang softly, seductively.

  “My love is like the mountains, beautiful, brave and true. My love is like the meadows, green and fresh with dew. She has my heart, she’ll have my child. She has my passion, ever wild.”

  “I had no idea you could sing,” she said and kissed him with such gentleness that he couldn’t help but smile at the delight on her face.

  “I didn’t either, but for you, my darling, I’d do anything.”

  “Where did you learn that song?” she asked.

  “I just made it up.”

  “Really?” She looked at him in mock seriousness, yet he discerned a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I’m pleased you’re so inventive. Show me some more of your marvelous ideas.” She nibbled at his ear, and this time he was surprised.

  “Allison, you’re insatiable!”

  “I know,” she whispered, “but you love it!”

  And he did. He loved her gentleness, the way her face glowed when he took her. Never in Paul’s life had he felt so drawn to a woman, or so distracted from the purpose behind his arrival in Ireland. He had known many women, delighting in their voluptuous offerings, had loved one, and considered himself an expert at seduction. Now he wondered who was seducing whom. Clearly Allison might succeed in binding him to her with her beautiful ivory flesh, but he realized he must fight his tender feelings. He mustn’t allow himself to forget the reason behind this marriage.

  Paul forced himself to recall the haughty image of Cecelia Wiggington, the sister of Avery Fairfax, as she sat behind the huge desk in the library peering down her aristocratic nose at him. Her image strengthened his resolve. He decided that he would bed his delicious young wife as often as he wished and enjoy every moment of it—but he would refuse to fall in love with her.

  Allison timidly stroked his forearm. “Paul, is something wrong?”

  The soft angles of his mouth hardened. He seized the back of her neck and pulled her down beside him, burying his face in her hair. “No, love, I just want to enjoy you.” And he did. With each caress of his hands on her flesh, he marked her as his own.

  ~

  Cecelia’s solicitor arrived with all possible haste. Though Jacob Gibbons was used to visiting Fairfax Manor to conduct business, he realized Lady Cecelia’s request that he arrive immediately betokened the most urgent concern. After he had settled himself into a chair in the library where she waited behind the huge desk, he realized how weary he was and longed for a cup of tea, but no offer was made so he concentrated on the matter at hand.

  “I appreciate your coming so promptly, Jacob. I wish to make a change in my will,” Cecelia announced grimly.

  Jacob lifted an eyebrow. “That is your privilege, your ladyship. I thought all was settled on that score.”

  “So did I. I may change my mind again, but it has been over two days and…” Cecelia’s voice drifted off. Apparently Allison had really married Paul Flanders. She had gambled with her threat to disinherit Allison, hoping the girl would tell Flanders and he would jilt her, or that she would come to her senses and see him for the fortune hunter he undoubtedly was. But it looked as if Cecelia had to make good her threat, though she really didn’t want to. She detested leaving her assets to charity, not being particularly charitable by nature.

  She looked levelly at Jacob, the sleepless nights since Allison’s departure evident on her lined and tired face.

  “Whatever you deem necessary, your ladyship,” he said and sorted through his papers. “Oh, I’ve some interesting news for you. I meant to write to you about this, but since I’m here. ..”

  “Well, what is it?” Cecelia asked sharply, disliking the way Jacob dawdled over his paperwork.

  “Remember the funds you deposited with me some twenty-five or so years ago for the wife of your brother Avery? I told you the woman requested the money be transferred to her son’s name.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Cecelia said in suspicion.” That was at your London office.”

  “Well, the boy has taken every penny and all the interest. It added up to quite a sum.”

  “How very interesting. But really, I don’t care what that woman’s bastard did with the money. I gave it to her and she chose to place it in his name.”

  Jacob peered at her from myopic eyes. “I thought you might like to know, since I took care of the transaction myself, and the young man told me to tell you his name.”

  “Get on with it, Jacob.” Cecelia was growing impatient.

  “I’m sorry to annoy you, your ladyship, but the young man was very strange. He said his name was Flannery, but that you would know him by the name of Paul Flanders. He also mentioned something about his father’s family being the original owners of the estate—that
Fairfax Manor rightfully belonged to him.”

  The words of horror Cecelia longed to say died on her lips. She stood up, gripping the edge of the huge desk which had been her brother’s, and felt the room sway. It couldn’t be true, couldn’t be possible! No! No! her mind screamed but no sounds came from her mouth. Jacob must be mistaken—she prayed he was mistaken—but no, there was no denying it. It was as though she’d always known. Paul Flanders was Dera’s child, the bastard of the man who was suspected of killing her brother Avery, the rightful owner of all she possessed!

  “Your ladyship!” she heard Jacob’s voice, but she couldn’t respond. A numbness crept across the whole right side of her body. She couldn’t speak, felt unable to move. She knew she was losing consciousness, but she didn’t care about that. Her last lucid thought was that Jacob hadn’t written the new will; now it was too late.

  She would never sign it.

  7

  “I feel so terrible about Lady Cecelia.” Mrs. Lacey finished hanging the last of her laundry on the rope behind her cottage. “Has she improved any?”

  “Nay, ma’am,” Beth said. “Her ladyship can’t move her right side, can’t talk at all. Her doctor doesn’t seem to feel there’s much hope for her to recover.”

  “How awful that must be for the poor woman. She always prided herself on her good health. “

  Beth knew that was true. Cecelia Wiggington was spry for a woman past seventy, but it appeared God had sent her a trial to test her faith. She made a silent prayer that the woman would accept her fate if it couldn’t be changed, and she prayed also for Allison. Almost two months had passed since her elopement with Paul Flanders, and Beth wondered if she had been in touch with anyone who might inform her about her aunt’s condition. “We can’t question His reasons for what He does,” Beth said, and Mrs. Lacey, good Catholic that she was, understood immediately and agreed.

  “Don’t you have any work at the Hall?” Mrs. Lacey asked.

  Beth shook her head. “Miss Allison hasn’t returned, and Lady Cecelia never cared for me. She has her own maid for her things.”

  “Well, thank you for helping me with the wash, Beth girl. You’ve always been like a daughter to me and Sean. Don’t know what we’d have done without you. At least your mother’s bringing you here when you were a tot caused some good. You’ve a grand position at the Hall.”

  Beth concealed an amused smile as a rush of love for Mrs. Lacey washed over her. The woman had no idea how much work was involved in caring for the gentry. Her hands had ached from all the ironing and mending she had done for Miss Allison, but she was pleased that Mrs. Lacey was proud of her and her “grand” post as lady’s maid. “You’ve been like my own parents,” she found herself saying suddenly. “I couldn’t have asked for better myself. Aye, my mother did do a good thing by bringing me here.”

  Mrs. Lacey’s usually bright, friendly eyes clouded. She bent down and picked up the last wet piece of clothing, tossing it across the rope. “I wish I could say something nice about her, but I can’t, Beth.”

  “Was she truly horrible, ma’am?” The long unasked question slipped out, and Beth was a bit ashamed of herself for asking it. She barely thought about the woman who was her mother any longer and had no clear memory of her. Mrs. Lacey was her mother in deed, if not in actuality.

  The older woman turned to the girl and gave her a penetrating look. “I don’t think your ma could help herself, child. She loved a man who didn’t love her. He used her, I suppose, but she let him, and proud she was of her love for him.”

  “You mean my father.”

  “Aye, but I can’t be certain if he was your father. I only had Peg’s word for it, and, well…” Mrs. Lacey looked down at the ground, back at Beth’s pretty, serious face, then blurted, “She bedded any man who would have her.”

  “I wish I hadn’t asked,” Beth whispered, and turned her face upwards to the morning sky.

  Patting her arm, Mrs. Lacey smiled gently. “I think you should know about her, to understand that you were better off with us. You’re a good girl, very different from Peg and the McConnells.”

  Beth wondered suddenly if she was different. Hadn’t she permitted Sir Howard to bed her, and loved every moment of their coupling? Wasn’t she still sneaking off at night to meet him in the stables like some trollop? She bit her lower lip. “I want to be good, ma’am.”

  “Aye, and you are, Beth,” Mrs. Lacey reiterated like it was a forgone conclusion and the subject closed. “Now could you please go fetch Patrick and tell him his lunch will soon be ready?”

  “I heard him tell Mr. Sean that he’ll be in the hills today, looking for stray sheep.”

  “Aye, you’re right. Perhaps you could take his lunch to him, Beth. He’d be ever so pleased to see you delivering it to him than me. And I admit that my bones ache too much today for hill climbing.”

  If Beth hadn’t loved the woman so much, she’d have refused to go. She hated seeing Patrick when she didn’t have to see him, but Mrs. Lacey was indeed too old to climb the steep hills. Mrs. Lacey ran into the cottage and came out a few minutes later with a packed basket. “There’s enough food for the both of you,” she said.

  Reluctantly Beth took the basket and padded through the meadow to the hills. The late morning grew warm, but a slight breeze caressed her cheeks and ruffled her hair as she reached the top. She surveyed the emerald valley below, enchanted by the lushness of the waving grain in the fields. Then her eyes flew to the road which led to the Granger property. Anticipation, mingled with shame for what the night would bring, spread through every pore of her body, and she wondered if she were indeed wanton like her mother.

  “Beth.” Patrick’s deep voice, filled with surprise and delight, when he saw her.

  “I’ve brought your lunch.” A breeze stirred loose tendrils of hair in a becoming fashion about her face.

  “This is good of you. Would you care to be joining me?”

  She knew there was enough food for two in the basket, but Patrick unnerved her with the soul-searching looks which emanated from his sky blue eyes. “I don’t think I have time, Patrick.” She moved away, but he stopped her with a tight grip on her wrist.

  “Please. I get lonely sometimes, Beth.”

  “You? Patrick Lacey, I’ve never known you to be without companionship, especially of the female kind,” she added, not quite certain why this bothered her,

  He grinned but had the good grace to flush. “I don’t ask for the women to like me, Beth.”

  Her heart fluttered, because she knew this was true. Despite Patrick’s good looks, he didn’t seek out the girls, and she found herself taking an odd comfort in this. “All right, I’ll eat with you,” she agreed.

  Patrick didn’t bother to conceal his delight as he pulled her down beside him on the grass and opened the basket. They ate in silence, and when they had finished the slab of cheese and day old bread and the small pint of ale, she noticed he watched her. “Well, what’s the matter? Have I grown horns or something?” she asked.

  “Nay, I just like to look at you. You’re pretty as a rose blossom.”

  A ready blush suffused her face with hot pink. She turned away, ready to stand. “Don’t be saying such things, Patrick! I don’t have the time for your nonsense.”

  When she stood, he stood also and touched her face with gentle fingers. “Beth, may I kiss you?” he asked.

  “No!”

  “Not even to thank you for bringing my lunch? ‘Tisn’t every day I eat with such a charming girl.”

  It was a simple request from a man she had known since she was a child. They had grown up together, but she didn’t want him to kiss her, and she wasn’t sure why. Anyway, why must he ask her? If he wanted to kiss her, then he should do it, she thought petulantly and illogically.

  The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. Now that she was no longer a virgin, she recognized desire when she saw it. “What’s gotten into you?” she whispered through pale lips, but she swayed against
him, and her breasts met the strength of his chest. Her eyes lifted to his, and all her reservations vanished when his mouth touched hers in a sweet, melting kiss that seemed to turn her bones to jelly.

  “I love you, Beth.” His words startled her, and she realized the kiss had ended, and she was gazing into his eyes like a love sick sheep and holding onto him like a monkey clinging to a vine that she had seen in a picture book once. She pulled away, and though he tried to reach for her again, she eluded his grasp.

  “This isn’t right, Patrick!” Turning on her heels, she raced down the hillside and heard his voice calling after her.

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me!” she heard him bellow, but she refused to look back. All she could think about was that she had disgraced herself, had wanted Patrick to make love to her. What was wrong with her? Surely she wasn’t like her mother!

  “Howard,” she whimpered to herself like a wounded animal as she scampered down the hillside, but the face in her thoughts wasn’t Howard’s.

  ~

  Soft sunlight streamed across Allison’s sleeping form, giving her face an ethereal quality. Luminous blue eyes fluttered open. Stretching in languid contentment, she turned toward Paul, surprised to find him watching her.

  “Have I overslept?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, he drew her into the circle of his arms. She nuzzled against his chest. “We have some time before we leave. You’re not frightened, are you?”

  An involuntary shiver disturbed her complacency. By the following nightfall they’d have returned to Fairfax Manor to face Cecelia’s wrath, and Paul would learn she had been disinherited. Allison knew she ought to tell him, but if he had only married her for her fortune, she wanted to savor the few remaining hours of blissful ignorance.