Chapter Fifteen

It was still dark as pitch when Brook woke. Gooseflesh covered his skin and shivers chased through his body, probably due to the fact he was completely nude and over the bedclothes instead of under. The pleasant ache in his muscles gave way to memories of last night where he’d indulged in too much rich food, too much brandy, too much dancing, and definitely too much scandal.

With one glance to his right, he grinned. Damn, it hadn’t been a dream. I am the most fortunate of men. Her brown hair lay spread over the pillows, and one of her hands rested on his chest. Such delicate fingers, such soft skin!

It seemed much like a dream, a scene straight out of his most erotic imaginings. He had coupled with Hope the night before, and it had been an amazing experience—a defining experience—and now it was Christmas. A time of new hope. He couldn’t help the soft snicker. As quietly as he could, he left the bed and then covered her with the rumpled bedclothes. Poor thing would freeze to death, for they’d both fallen asleep shortly afterward.

When she murmured something unintelligible and rolled onto her side, he brushed a lock of hair from her face and let his fingers linger upon the curve of her cheek. While he watched her sleep, his mind flipped through the possibilities. Perhaps it was time to throw caution to the wind, take a chance, and grasp at love again.

Was he ready for such a big leap? After all, he’d barely pulled himself out of mourning and the ennui found following that. To say nothing of still missing his wife. Yet when he looked at Hope, each time he was in her company, as their eyes met, something inside him just... knew they had been meant to be together. Where he’d courted Deborah for months before finally achieving this particular feeling, after only a handful of days he’d found it with the woman sleeping in his bed.

Again, he trailed his fingertips across her cheek. She sighed and turned her head into his hand. Brook’s chest tightened.

He would need it to screw his courage to the sticking point. Was it madness to have reached such a conclusion and state in a handful of days? The way it happened was staggering, and she was as different as night was to day than his first wife, but it wasn’t as terrifying as he’d thought. Brook frowned as he snagged a banyan from a wooden peg on the wall where Hope had hung it. She must have tidied the room yesterday afternoon. The silk was cool against his skin, and as he pulled the garment closed and tied the sash about his waist, again his regard landed on the woman sleeping in the bed.

It didn’t take long to ponder. A grin curved his lips. He was... happy, and he had been every moment in Hope’s company, even when they’d shared grief and discussed their pasts. I’m happy again. Surprise circled through his system. That was something he hadn’t achieved since Deborah’s death, and he welcomed it back with open arms.

Padding to his traveling trunk, he kneeled, and then opened the lid. Good heavens, what now? Would Hope even have him? Would his elevated position in society frighten her away? What if she refused him on principal, for she was much younger than he? Rooting through his belongs for the handkerchiefs he’d gotten from the German princess, he paused in the search as another thought occurred to him. What the devil would he do with his aunt if Hope did agree to his suit?

It was something he would seek her counsel on, for a future duchess certainly couldn’t become companion to a contrary peeress.

My future duchess. He rather liked the sound of that. She pushed him and challenged him, teased him and would no doubt take him to task if he did something she didn’t agree with.

But that brought up more questions. The only things he knew about her were the parts of her history that had brought her grief, the loss of her parents, a bit of her time spent at her father’s manor house. It tightened his chest with discomfort, for he’d known everything about Deborah by the time they’d wed, but perhaps there was more than one way to go through life with a woman. That was the purpose of a marriage, right? There were years ahead to learn each other’s secrets.

The future. No longer did he look upon it with fear and loathing. All of a sudden, those years sparkled with new possibilities.

Grabbing the small, flat box of handkerchiefs, he closed the trunk and then moved to the bureau. As he laid down the box, he saw the notebook waiting there with a red satin ribbon tied about it. A scrap of paper scrawled with his name had been placed beneath the ribbon.

What was this? He’d seen Hope write in the small, leatherbound notebook a time or two over the course of their stay at the inn, so it was odd that she would give him something so personal, but his pulse increased as he tugged on the ribbon and freed the notebook. The scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. The ribbon slipped to the top of the bureau. Too dark to read the writing inside the notebook, he quickly and quietly lit the candle waiting there, and then after checking to make certain Hope still slept, he bent closer to the flame in order to read the flowing, flowery handwriting.

The first page was loose and folded. When he smoothed it out, his name leapt in front of his vision, and he caught his breath.

My dearest Brook.

It is my wish that when you read through these pages, you will remember our time together at The Brown Hare Inn with fondness. It—and you—have certainly made an impression on me. I never expected to spend the holiday in such a lovely way, but then you came along and completely turned my head, convinced me to dream of things I have no right to think about. I don’t know what will happen next, but perhaps a miracle will occur this Christmas and make those answers clear.

Until then, you have my respect and regard.

Hope

What did any of it mean? Was she referring to what she’d written on those pages or what was growing between them? Perhaps it didn’t matter, and he was thinking too much on the issue. Not knowing, Brook read through the first few pages. Her style of writing was as bright and bubbly as she, and easily he became lost in the story. The hero in the tale happened to be a high-ranking and very respected duke. As of yet, he hadn’t met the heroine of the story, but he hoped she had included herself within the fiction.

Suddenly, the need to be with her welled, so he laid down the notebook, blew out the candle flame, shed the banyan, and then returned to the bed. Once he’d burrowed beneath the bedclothes and gravitated toward the blessed warmth of her body, he sighed.

How had this change occurred in such a short span of time? Out of all the women in the world, why was he so fortunate as to stumble upon Hope, who was intended to become his aunt’s companion? And now he couldn’t imagine a day without her in it.

Oh, why wouldn’t the morning arrive faster? Excitement filled his chest, for he knew exactly what he wished to do in order to advance their relationship, but there was much to contemplate beforehand and a bit of planning to put into play.

“Brook?” The whispered inquiry seemed to dance upon the chilly air, but it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Yes?” He slipped his arms about her and pulled her backside flush to his front. It was such a lovely feeling having her beside him in the dark.

“I have never been better.” How long had it been since he’d awakened in the night due to nothing more than anticipation?

“Is it morning already?” When she nestled closer into his embrace, rolled over to face him, his heart trembled, and warmth filled him.

“Oh.” She took a deep breath. It eased out on a shuddering sigh. “Happy Christmas, Your Grace.” Hope lifted a hand, cupped his nape, and then pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I am glad to spend it with you.” The sleep-roughed tone of her voice, the fleeting touch of her hand, the heat of her body all worked at his undoing.

“Ah, sweeting, I feel the same.” Then, because he couldn’t have enough of her, Brook encouraged her onto her back, and he fit his lips to hers in the darkness. Awareness of her washed over him to harden his shaft. Would she object to a quick coupling to usher in this most holy of days, or would she embrace his enthusiasm with her own?

The darling woman came up to the mark spectacularly. She kissed him back with a hunger that fueled his. Her arms were around him, caressing, exploring, and everywhere she touched brought tiny fires that ramped his need.

Then he was entranced, spellbound perhaps, in her, on the idea of her, bobbing out to sea on the possibilities that he might have more feelings for her than he cared to admit to himself just now lest he was wrong.

Sighs and soft moans broke the silence, and when he thrust into her honeyed heat, Hope welcomed him with kisses and caresses and whispered words of encouragement. Dear God, it was all too easy—all too right—and for the first time in a very long while, there was a sense of belonging as he stroked into her.

She lifted her hips, met him for every push and penetration, and they indulged in a dance as old as time itself. Slowly, he claimed her, rocked gently against her body, communed with her soul, gave her everything that he was. Wanting to make her fly before he went, Brook urged her to bend her legs at the knee so that he might go deeper still. He played at her swollen pearl, tangled his tongue with hers, mimicked what he did to her in an effort to send her over that edge. Her body shook and tensed while faint fluttering contracted around his length. That first release was upon her.

All too soon, urgency tingled through him. His pulse pounded at his temples in time to the throbbing in his shaft. He kissed her, willed her to understand he wouldn’t last. Hope was intuitive to his needs; she always was, and when she trailed a hand between them to rub a fingertip along the thin stretch of skin just behind his stones, his world tilted, shifted, spun out of control as a wave of pleasure swallowed him.

Never did he want to find his way back from being utterly, completely, unapologetically lost in her.

Twice more her thrust into the tight warmth of her, and when she shattered a second time, he went with her, falling down, down, down into ecstasy. In the process, he was hurtled closer and closer into that secure state, connected with her on a level that had nothing to do with physical satiation and everything to do with belonging, with companionship, with love.

With a sigh of pure contentment, Brook rolled to his side and took her with him. The sound she made reminded him of a cat’s purr, and he grinned into the darkness as she snuggled against his body. Damnation but this was all too lovely. Would it last? How could he be so certain when it might all be naught but an illusion brought on by their forced proximity together?

He couldn’t be sure, but the words infiltrated his passion-drugged brain, and they sounded as if Deborah had whispered them into his ear.

For what? To move forward? To release his death-grip on the past, or at least loosen it? Odd, certainly, but then exhaustion was upon him, tugging at him to sleep while Hope’s even breathing told him she was very nearly there as well. Putting his lips to the delicate shell of her ear, he said, “Wear the red gown tomorrow for Christmas.” He wanted her to feel her best when he put his budding plans into motion.

“You shall find out tomorrow. I promise.” Then he closed his eyes and let sleep have at him.

Once more, as per usual, Brook dreamed of Deborah, but this time there was a different feel to the familiar scene. Again, they were in his study. It had been a place where his wife had liked to relax, especially if he was busy looking over ledgers at his desk.

When he glanced across the room at her, instead of reading a book as was her wont, she stood at one of the windows, peering out with the sunlight turning her brown hair almost to burnished auburn.

“Are you well?” he asked, and with a frown, he noted her belly wasn’t swollen with child. Where did this fall into his personal timeline if at all? There was no way to tell, for it was a dream and there was no conscious stream of thought here.

“Oh yes.” Her grin was beautiful, almost angelic. “It is time, Denton.” She had always called him by his title.

“For you to find yourself in love again. To know what it feels like to belong to someone—body, heart, and soul.”

“But... I still love you.” His chest tightened, for the unknown loomed before him, and he didn’t want to contemplate it if she wasn’t there.

“Ah, dearest.” As she drifted toward him, he rather doubted that her feet touched the floor. Was she a ghost, then? “You always will, and there is nothing wrong with that, for I will always remember you as well.” When she reached out with a hand and brushed his face with her fingers, all he felt was a slight disturbance of air. “Please know there is capacity in your heart to give so much more love.”

She laughed, but it was a faded sound of itself. “You worry but there is no need. I can see how you have changed.”

“Simply put, you are happy. I have heard you laugh this past week, and it pleases me.”

Gooseflesh popped on his skin. How much had the ghost of his dead wife seen? “Should I marry again?” It was the question sitting uppermost in his mind. Perhaps he wanted her blessing or at the very least her approval before he could make firm plans.

“You absolutely should, and I rather like the woman you have chosen.” Though she smiled, her image was beginning to fade ever so slightly. “I think she will lead you on a merry chase, and that is what you need right now.”

Though Brook silently agreed, he frowned. When he extended a hand to her, it merely went through the image of his wife. “Where will you be?”

Again, she glanced toward the window. “With our child. We had a daughter, Denton. Oh, you would have enjoyed meeting her, but for now, I shall look after her until we meet again in the world yet to come.”

Sadness filled his chest, but the panic he’d become accustomed to never materialized. Instead, a new excitement had taken its place, but how could it when he was supposed to be missing Deborah? “I want to go with you.”

“Not yet. It is not your time. You have many years of happiness ahead of you.” When she met his gaze, approval shone in her eyes that were not quite as deeply brown as Hope’s. “Love her, dearest. Love her with all of your heart. There is plenty of room. She is good for you and will make a fine duchess, perhaps in ways I never could.”

“I cannot. Our daughter is calling. I must go.” Deborah smiled at him. “Enjoy the remainder of your time on this mortal coil, dearest. The best years are ahead of you.” Then her image went transparent, and the study around them dissolved as well. “Goodbye, my love. I am happy for you and wish you well.”

Then, as he watched in astonishment, the house around him disappeared. In its place came the rolling fields of his estate in Hampfordshire with the manor house in the background. Snow lay on the ground, and the coolness of the wintertime air wafted over his skin. But then Hope was there, clad in her red Christmas gown with her hair loose and flowing, tied back with a red ribbon. She waved at him, ran toward him, and then she was there. He turned about with her in his arms. Their laughter rang on the air before he set her onto her feet and peered into her eyes. There was such welcome and love in those depths that his heart swelled, and he kissed those upturned lips.

Oh, but he wanted to grasp love into his life again. He wanted nothing more than to be a husband and perhaps try to fill a nursery once more.

The dream faded but left behind sensations of warm contentment that he shifted in his sleep and pulled Hope’s slumbering form closer to him in the bed.

Perhaps he would have her for a lifetime after all. Finally, he’d found the peace that had eluded him for the last two years, and he couldn’t wait for the morrow.