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Flooded in! Entirely cut off! If the waters didn’t go down tomorrow she would definitely miss her wedding.
Bubbles of relief rose within her, then burst. Relief! How can that be? What is wrong with me? Her unexpected reaction surprised her. She wanted to marry Samuel Jenkins. Didn’t she? These emotions were too confusing...and unsettling.
A future without the refuge of marriage to Samuel left her at the mercy of her elder brother and his manipulative wife. She dreaded that.
Her old attraction to Alistair tugged at her but seemed almost as hopeless as it had ever been. He seems to have changed, but has he really? He has a long history of wildness. I can’t be with Alistair. He’s not settled or reliable enough. As if he would even propose! Besides, he’s had his chance.
Their first kiss was an indelible memory in her mind. She had just finished boarding school and, at almost eight and ten years old, was ready for her come-out during the London Season. Her mother was still alive and her father hale and hearty. Alistair had been a year older than her. He and Edward were home for Christmas having spent their first term at Oxford University.
Elizabeth had fallen for her brother’s friend, with his easy smile and his charming manner. The three of them shared long walks through Farley Hall’s snow-covered estate, Margaret with one hand in the crook of her brother’s arm and the other in Alistair’s.
On their last day together before the men returned to Oxford, Edward had been called to his father’s study just as the trio set out on their final walk. Alistair and Margaret continued onward. Arm-in-arm, they followed their favorite pathway through the wilderness walk, expecting Edward to catch up with them. He never did.
As they retraced their steps to the house, Alistair had halted Margaret under a spreading oak tree and taken her hands in his. “I’ll miss you,” he said, his voice warm and alluring like her favorite breakfast chocolate.
“And I, you,” she whispered. The feelings Alistair evoked in her had at first surprised her. Now she embraced them and held them dear.
He had leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
She returned the pressure. Wild, unfamiliar excitement had raced through her veins, lighting her up on the inside.
Alistair had kissed her again, his lips warm and questing. She had answered him.
His arms slid around her waist and eased her nearer, all the time his lips brushing and stroking hers. Her cheeks were on fire, her body humming with energy. She stepped closer.
His arms tightened around her, encircling her in a warm and comforting embrace.
She had pressed closer. One of his hands moved higher, while the other slid lower to rest on her derriere. She wanted more contact.
Simultaneously, their mouths opened, allowing more exploration of each other. His tongue slid along hers. A tremor cascaded through her.
Their tongues had spoken in ways Margaret had never conceived of. He was so much more experienced than her. Eager to respond to his every suggestion, she practiced this new language.
Alistair’s hand on her buttock had urged her even closer. The rigid hardness of his manhood pressed against her belly. She leaned into him and deepened their kiss, reveling in her power to excite him.
Suddenly, Alistair had released her and stepped back. They were both breathing hard and fast. She held out her arms to him, eager to return to his embrace.
He took another step backwards and hauled in a deep breath. “Forgive me, Margaret...I lost control.”
Heartbeat still racing, a leaden weight began to grow in her stomach. What was the matter? She didn’t understand. Why had he pulled away from her? One moment his passion for her had been all consuming and the next he had abandoned her. She dropped her arms to her side and stared at him in confusion.
A few moments passed as he sucked in breath after breath. Finally, he offered her his arm again. But no explanation.
She had hesitated before swallowing her confusion and stepping forward to retake his arm. They continued on their path homeward. “Are you all right?” he murmured, looking ahead and not meeting her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered, unsure of the reason for the kiss-of-a-thousand-bonfires that Alistair had ignited inside her or his sudden dousing of those flames. What had caused him to regret his actions? Had she done something wrong? Was it the kiss that fueled his regret? She had thought it magnificent and magical...but maybe he did not. A lump formed in her throat. She remembered too clearly how the awkwardness and confusion had built with every step closer to the manor they had taken all those years ago.
They had parted at the entry foyer and Margaret didn’t see him again until early the next morning when she had hurried outside into the frosty early morning air to farewell them. She wanted one last moment with Alistair, to share a fraction of the feelings that she had felt yesterday.
However, that was not to be. Alistair calmly offered her his hand to shake. “Goodbye, Miss Johns,” he had said in his most formal voice. It was as though their kiss yesterday had never happened. As though they barely knew each other, rather than they had spent the last few weeks together.
Bewilderment had swamped her and left her gasping and clutching his hand, desperate for a sign of the emotion they had shared...their love for each other. His reason for breaking their bond of friendship.
No response came. Just cold distance. Not even a moment’s eye contact.
Margaret had stared at the receding carriage as it bowled down the snowy driveway towards the distant park entrance. When it disappeared from view, every hope for a rosy future with Alistair, the man she loved, had been crushed. Her heart splintered into shards. Sobs welled up from deep within her chest overwhelming her, forcing her onto her knees. How long she knelt in the muddy snow trying to halt the flood of tears and the ache in her chest while her clothes became sodden, she didn’t know.
All her love for Alistair had brought her was utter humiliation and the fear that she was unlovable.
That was seven Christmases ago.
Since then Alistair had visited Farley Hall many times, but never again had he revealed the slightest recollection of their kiss or renewed their original closeness. She had held onto her hope for them for the first few years. Every time he visited she looked for signs of his previous affectionate manner, anything to hint that their kiss meant something to him. But when none could be found she had simply given up looking. He remained friendly but distant towards her...until this holiday.
Now he didn’t want her to marry the one gentleman who had ever offered for her, who understood her family situation and who was open and honest with her about the nature of the marriage they were contracting.
Why should she relinquish the freedom and security that Samuel Jenkins offered her?
This afternoon, Elizabeth had talked to her about the ways in which Alistair had changed and matured in the last two years, especially since his grandmother appointed him as her heir. She had confirmed that Alistair had stopped drinking heavily due to his newfound purpose in life and his desire to improve himself. Margaret herself had noticed this change in his behavior at dinner last night. But would it last?
Elizabeth had shown her a series of letters written by her grandmother over the last year lauding Alistair for his diligence and aptitude for estate management. Margaret had to admit that pride in his achievements filled her after reading the glowing praise.
Elizabeth’s Aunt Susan had also revealed that Alistair had apologized today for his insensitive behavior towards her while he was a young undergraduate. That was a compelling sign of maturity, if he was sincere.
All these examples of the changes he had made to himself and his life were eroding her former assessment of him. But she mustn’t blindly accept other’s opinions. She needed more proof. She didn’t want to expose to herself to another broken heart by allowing herself to love Alistair again when she had no evidence he had truly changed his wild ways, nor that he wouldn’t abandon her again once she let him into her heart again.
Lord Alistair Dunridge may have reformed himself, but that didn’t necessarily make him a suitable husband or mean she should start thinking of him in that way. And, he was not offering to marry her.
For now, she was stuck here for least another day until the floodwaters subsided. She must be patient.
It was bad enough that she would be late returning home when there were still many tasks to complete before the event, but she must not miss her own wedding.
***
The rhythmic patter of rain on the sitting room windows after the huge dinner Elizabeth provided should have lulled Margaret into sleepiness, but she was wide awake and captivated by every smile, gesture and utterance Alistair made as he partnered her in a game of whist. Not to mention the occasional hint of his delicious cologne wafting across the small round table, which tempted her to inhale deeply.
From the chaise lounge behind them, came the murmur of deep voices as her brother and William Shorncliffe discussed the economic effects of canal-building throughout the country. From nearby came the warmth and crackle of a burning yule log in the fireplace. Above it, on the mantelpiece, lay a bough of holly, lending a festive red and green touch to the room.
This should feel like a relaxed family gathering.
Instead, Margaret fought for emotional stability within Alistair’s magnetic field of attraction. She pulled her gaze from Alistair’s face and lifted her sherry glass to her lips. The sweet and fiery liquid slid down her throat.
Margaret glanced up at Alistair again and found his gaze fixed on her. She slid her tongue over her lower lip to collect a wayward droplet of the alcohol. His chocolate brown eyes followed the path of her tongue and darkened. He reached for his own glass, only to snatch his hand back.
“Your turn, Alistair,” Elizabeth reminded him.
He picked up his cards and placed one on the baize tablecloth before him.
Elizabeth and Mrs. Shorncliffe followed suit, while Margaret continued to stare into Alistair’s eyes.
“Margaret, do you have a spade to follow?” came Elizabeth’s voice as though from far away. Gentle fingers touched her hand and she looked down to see that Elizabeth had reached across to her.
Margaret’s face warmed as she quickly scanned her hand of cards. “Yes, I do.” She selected one and lay it on the trick.
“Miss Johns, you do know that we are partners in this game, do you not?” Alistair’s voice vibrated down her spine like a warm caress. She recognized the gentle chiding in his words. Three sets of eyes watched her. Margaret looked at the card she had set down and groaned. She had trumped her partner. Her face heated even more.
“We’re happy to have you on our side,” Elizabeth said with a laugh.
“I’m so sorry,” Margaret said to Alistair, her face still flaming.
He waved her apology away with an upward flip of his hand and a devasting smile. “Don’t give it another thought, Miss Johns. It’s not like we have money riding on this game.”
Margaret’s heart flip-flopped in response to his smile before she lowered her eyes to the table. With every passing minute, she became more and more physically aware of Alistair.
She tried to renew her concentration, but with limited success. The card game progressed to its conclusion. They lost.
“I remember you as a fierce card player, Miss Johns. What has happened?” He teased her with a smile and a look of mischief in his eyes.
Margaret flushed again. She couldn’t tell the truth! “I couldn’t say,” she answered inadequately.
Alistair rose and strode around the table to offer her his hand. “Miss Johns, will you favor me with some music to repair the damage to our friendship?”
Still flustered, Margaret slid her hand onto his. A flash of awareness rocked her body.
Alistair led her to Elizabeth’s new pianoforte. How she controlled her trembling fingers, Margaret would never know. She quickly selected an easy piece of popular music in view of her distracted state of mind. Alistair positioned himself beside her to turn the pages.
Although she avoided looking at him directly, goosebumps still erupted across her skin despite the warmth of the room. She must regain some control over her spiraling emotions before she did something she’d regret. She was no longer a silly girl of eight and ten years. She was a mature, betrothed woman.
She made it through the first page with a few barely perceptible errors of timing before her subconscious mind took control of her fingers. The tension in her shoulders eased, but her hyperawareness of the man beside her did not. It fizzed in her veins.
As the last notes faded, she released a calming breath, feeling slightly more in control. Her audience thanked her and soon rose to their feet, ready to conclude the evening. They trailed out the door, with Edward and Mr. Shorncliffe still talking about the economic promise of improved transportation, while Elizabeth and her aunt discussed fashion plates.
Alistair offered Margaret his arm. “Allow me to escort you to your room”
She hesitated, evaluating her emotions and control. Should she refuse? What if she gave into her desires and throw herself at him?
Would he kiss her and leave her once more?
She must protect her heart. She was engaged to Samuel Jenkins. She must not become besotted by Alistair’s charm and good looks again and ruin her only option for a secure future.
But, instead of saying no, she gave into temptation and dipped her chin in assent.
After hefting a branch of candles, Alistair offered her his arm. She guided her hand through the crook of his elbow, her palm settling on his forearm. Her fingers assessed the hard muscles beneath the superfine wool of his coat. Alistair, the man of five-and-twenty, had more bulk than the youth she had loved, and she very much admired the improvement.
He led her upstairs and along dark corridors lit only by the candles in his hand. She was incredibly aware of his every movement, a shiver running through her every time her body accidently brushed against his arm or his eyes focused on her. The only sounds were their footfalls on the polished timbers. Their silhouettes danced on the walls, like amorous ghosts. She wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted her next breath.
He halted at her door and opened it for her. Holding the candles aloft, he lit the way for her. “Bring your bedside candle and I’ll light it for you.”
She hurried inside and retrieved the candle in its holder. She held it out for him to ignite, then clutched the lit vessel in both hands at her waist. “Goodnight, Lord Alistair,” she murmured, suddenly shy with him so close and tempting.
“Goodnight, Miss Johns. If it’s not raining, will you take a walk with me in the grounds tomorrow?”
“And if it is raining?” Why was she asking for a backup plan? She should be refusing to spend any more time alone with him.
He sent her one of his wicked grins. “Then perhaps we can take our exercise in the gallery. The Earl’s ancestors were a fearsome lot, well worth viewing.”
A chuckle escaped her. “All right.”
“I’ll see you at breakfast.” He ducked his head and landed a swift kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight, Margaret.” His eyes were dark pools staring down at her.
She swayed towards him but he was already turning on his heel and didn’t see her movement. In mere moments he had paced the length of the hallway and turned the corner.
Margaret was left in near darkness lit only by her single candle flame. Hollowness filled her chest as though her heart had shrunk to nothingness inside the cavity.
She had hoped he would kiss her with passion again. Instead he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. She had wanted so much more. What a fool she was!
Torn between the security that marriage to Samuel Jenkins offered her and exploring her feelings for Alistair, Margaret lay awake in her lonely bed for far too long mulling over her dilemma.
What she felt with Alistair this evening was unlike anything she had experienced since their first Christmas together. The excitement, the anticipation for something more! It made her feel alive and free. Then she remembered the way Alistair had walked away after their kiss seven years ago, leaving her heart shattered, her chest hollowed out and her soul empty. Should she risk her heart, her very being, by trusting him again?
By marrying Samuel Jenkins, she would be giving up the prospects of experiencing anything like that again in the future. She would be giving up on desire, on love. But she would also be protecting herself from heartbreak and loneliness.
She wouldn’t have desire, but she would have companionship and the freedom to run her own household. She could travel with her husband, or perhaps on her own, if her duties permitted. He offered her a home, a family, a purpose in life, future security, and an assured place in society that could only improve.
She was a fortunate woman to be offered so much by a good man.
But giving up on Alistair feel like a burden too great to bear.
Before sleep finally overcame her, she had made a decision about her future.