Idly, Lydia traced one of the intricately drawn birds inked into his biceps, feeling thoroughly decadent and thoroughly adored. After two hours of travel to Aveley Castle, followed by hours and hours of socialising, dinner and parlour games, they had fallen into each other’s arms the second they were alone in their allotted shared bedchamber.
Making love with the lamps still burning had been as scandalous as it had been educational and, with their new familiarity with intimacy, everything about their second coupling had been better. Exquisite, in fact. Lydia still felt drunk on the back of it. Or perhaps that had happened when he had awoken her at dawn to make lazy love to her again? Now, tangled naked in the sheets together, neither of them seemed in a particular hurry to move despite the day’s packed schedule.
‘What is the story behind these birds?’
‘They are swallows.’
Hardly an explanation. ‘Then what is the story behind these swallows? There must be one.’
‘Maybe I woke up one morning and decided I fancied a flock of swallows tattooed on my skin.’
Lydia propped herself up on her elbow and pretended to glare at him and in return he twirled one finger in her hair. ‘Do they, in some way, contravene the terms of our armistice?’
‘I got them in Port Jackson.’
‘I guessed as much.’
‘We all had them.’
‘Swallows?’
‘No.’ He smiled, looking every inch like a man perfectly content with where he was. ‘Tattoos. Different pictures meant different things. Some had names of loved ones, lost loves or permanent declarations of new. Randolph has Gertie’s name emblazoned on his chest and wrapped in a big heart. But some had broken hearts, too, alongside a few pierced with knives for betrayal. Mermaids and ships were all about the long journey we took...the flags are pretty self-explanatory. Weeping willows were popular because they symbolised grief.’
‘Did many people die there?’
‘No.’ He paused for a moment, as if debating his answer, then she felt him exhale with resignation. ‘Sometimes. Things could be very hard. But the willow was more a symbol of grief for all that they had lost rather than an actual death. When you’ve been exiled to the other side of the world with scant chance of ever coming back, those last goodbyes to those left behind might as well have been a death. Families were torn apart. Parents separated from children, husbands from wives...’ He tugged her back to lie upon his chest. ‘Those things leave an indelible mark, so I suppose that’s why we added them to our skin.’
‘Like Cyril’s tears?’ Those three etched droplets had always bothered her. ‘What do they symbolise?’
‘He’ll tell you they are for his late mother if he’s got a drink inside him, or to put the fear of God into his boxing opponents if he’s stone-cold sober, but neither of those is entirely true. He fell hopelessly in love with a free girl in Parramatta and, between you and me, she led him a merry dance. But as is so typical in matters of the heart, love is blind and poor Slugger was the last to realise she wasn’t anywhere near as devoted to him as he was to her.’
‘She met someone else?’
‘Ran off with someone else, actually—the true father of the child she was carrying a week before she and Slugger were due to wed. It hit him hard and for reasons best known to him, he decided to immediately mark the sentiment with tears that will last for ever. He probably regrets them now, but it seems insensitive to ask.’
‘Poor Cyril.’ Clearly the man did have a gentle artist’s soul after all. Her gaze wandered back to the swallows and she realised he must have been the artist. ‘And what do your swallows mean?’
‘A safe return...back to here. I always wanted to come home. It was everything. So every year, I reaffirmed that vow with another bird.’ He waited for her to count them.
‘Seven.’
‘It was almost eight—but fate intervened.’
Lydia had no clue how he had earned his pardon other than he had done something heroic. Knowing Owen as well as she did, she also knew he would have stepped up to the mark regardless of the reward at the end of it. It was the way he was. A noble soul and a born rescuer. ‘Will you tell me that story, then?’
‘We were working at the barracks, the stable actually, and there was a fire. Being winter and therefore, conversely, hotter than hell in New South Wales, it spread faster than people could evacuate. Some were still trapped in the stores and we helped them escape and then managed to douse the flames.’
‘We?’
‘Randolph, Slugger...and me.’
Such a typically Owen response to a supreme act of bravery. ‘And that’s it?’ When she knew he might add himself last to the list, but would have been the first to run into the flames. ‘Was anybody killed?’
‘We got all nineteen out...thank the Lord.’
Which suggested, even if they had shared the burden equally, he was responsible for saving the lives of at least six of those lucky people. What sort of strength, bravery and fortitude did that take? To risk your own life, very probably over and over again, to get everybody out from a raging inferno?
‘You really were a hero.’
He shrugged it off, uncomfortable with the compliment. ‘As a thank you, the governor pardoned the three of us, so we sold our little hell and came home.’
Lydia made a note to ask Gertie for all the pertinent details he had left out as soon as they got back. Pushing him to brag about his achievements would glean nothing. However, seeing as he was finally opening up, she decided to push her luck. She needed to know everything about this modest, brave and complicated man she had married.
‘How did you cope with that boat journey?’ Because yet again, and despite the rainstorm which had followed them all the way to Aveley Castle, he had still ridden alongside the carriage.
‘Better than I did on the way there. But as a paying passenger I could decide whether I stayed in my cabin or not and it was a cabin. Not a cupboard.’ Then he hesitated again, almost as if he were making a decision about something important, before he surprised her.
‘On the hulk and then on the transport ship over, we were all crammed into the tiniest space possible below deck. During the day it wasn’t as bad. They removed the chains so we could work or take a little exercise, but every evening after they fed us, they would chain us back up and lock us down below. I hated it. I hated the lack of freedom, the heat, the stench, the humiliation of it. Most of the time I could block it out, but at some point I must have given away my fear to one of the guards and, from that point on, he used my damn bunk as a punishment whenever he felt I was being too insubordinate.’ He laughed without humour. ‘I never did properly learn my place, Lydia. As you know.’
Her heart wept for him so she kissed him. ‘Hardly a surprise, then, you cannot abide confined spaces.’
‘No...hardly a surprise, I suppose.’ He took another deep breath. ‘But it got worse. On the passage to the Antipodes, somewhere in the middle of the wild Pacific, there was a horrendous storm. Heavy rain, huge gales. Waves so tall and angry the ship could barely stay upright.’ Beneath her palm she could feel his heart begin to race.
‘It lasted for three whole days and nights and they chained us to our bunks for the duration.’ And that was the real reason why he feared confinement now. ‘For everyone’s safety, they said, but what they really meant was for theirs. If we went down, and for a while it seemed highly likely that was a certainty, the navy didn’t want to have to fight a couple of hundred convicts for the few measly rowing boats which might save their lives.’
She kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly and he hugged her tighter right back.
‘The ship took a battering, the hull began to leak badly and as we were being tossed about I was powerless. Devoid of any control and rendered insignificant. I honestly thought I would die there. Chained to a hard bunk as the vessel was sucked beneath the waves. I’ve never been able to stand being closed in since.’ He shivered involuntarily. ‘Another indelible mark...’ A deep one. But she was humbled he had finally deigned to confide in her. ‘But enough of all that maudlin talk...’ He kissed her thoroughly before he pulled away. They both knew he was escaping the memories and felt awkward at sharing them.
‘You’ve made me dally long enough, Wife.’ His eyes had darkened to a stormy deep blue, blatantly drinking in the sight of her still lounging on the pillow and making no attempt to hide the effect she had on him. ‘If I laze here any longer thinking all these sinful thoughts, I shall be late for the Duke and that won’t do.’
The men were spending the morning shooting and had an early start. The ladies were breakfasting later and then were going to ride the grounds, then visit the village. As she watched him pad deliciously naked to the washstand, Lydia realised that while he was probably happy to be escaping her questions, she wouldn’t see Owen again for hours.
‘If I feign a headache and skip the market this afternoon, do you think you might also be able to slip away?’ In case he missed the passionate invitation in her eyes, she stretched on the mattress like a cat, allowing the remaining covers to shamelessly expose her bare breasts because she knew he was particularly partial to them.
Those stormy eyes swept the length of her. ‘You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?’ She could see the evidence of his desire as he snatched a fresh shirt out of his trunk and wielded it at her like a weapon. ‘What sort of a witch are you to tempt me and give me ideas which will likely haunt me all morning and put me off my game?’ Then he gestured to the impressive state he was in below the waist. ‘I’m going to have to wash in cold water now! I hope you’re happy, Wife.’
‘So you’ll creep away, then?’
‘How does two suit?’ He splashed water into the bowl, grinning.
‘Two suits—unless you can make it at one. Because I shall be here at one. Resting...’ She sat and stretched again, running her hands through her hair like the most practised of courtesans. ‘Very probably naked...’
Owen soaped his chin with a growl. ‘You are a minx, madam.’
‘But you like me anyway.’
He shot her another heated look and for a moment she thought he might tell her he more than liked her. Instead, he smiled and snapped open his razor. ‘For the record, I should like it noted I rather like these little appointments we have taken to making.’
‘So do I.’
‘I also like the new spirit of...honesty which seems to be developing as well.’ Suddenly he was using a measured tone rather than the playful one of a second before. ‘So, if you are agreeable...this afternoon perhaps we could also make an appointment to talk?’
‘About what?’
‘About...us, perhaps, and the way things seem to be going between us.’ He was staring diligently in the mirror, avoiding her gaze, apparently concentrating on shaving, but Lydia wasn’t fooled.
‘I think things seem to be going well, don’t you?’
He dunked the razor in the water before he answered, making her slightly nervous he’d felt the need to gather his thoughts before replying. ‘They are going well...very well...’ He scraped the blade along his jaw again. ‘And in that spirit, I should like to lay my cards on the table.’
In case it was bad news, she pulled the sheet around her body and braced herself, wondering if things were moving too fast for him or he felt the need to reaffirm the rules of their arrangement. She could cope with the former, but sincerely hoped it wasn’t the latter. Not now that things had moved on and her heart was fully engaged once again.
‘You see, the thing is...’ He still didn’t turn around. ‘I’ve decided I don’t actually want what we originally agreed to.’
Then it was the latter. Lydia’s throat constricted as her poor heart absorbed the blow.
‘Oh...’
She wished she wasn’t naked. Wished she hadn’t just offered herself again on a plate. Somehow both made her humiliation worse. Fortunately, Owen was concentrating too hard on cleaning his razor again so didn’t see her obvious disappointment.
‘When I first suggested marriage I convinced myself it was because I was rescuing you from Kelvedon—but that was a flimsy lie. I suppose, in part, it was...’ He began to drag the blade over his opposite cheek, still completely focused on the task. ‘But the real reason was...’ The blade paused and he finally flicked her a glance. In that moment she saw he wasn’t anywhere close to being as calm and collected as he had wanted her to believe. ‘I still harboured feelings for you. Strong feelings...which just seem to get stronger with every passing day.’
The cords strangling her throat instantly relaxed and she felt the corners of her mouth pull into a smile as she exhaled the lungful of air she had been holding.
‘And for quite some time now I’ve hoped that perhaps our marriage might become a proper marriage in every sense of the word.’ He was back to staring in the mirror again, only this time he failed to appear close to being matter-of-fact. He was a little jumpy, his Ts less pronounced and his vowels flatter. And both were music to her ears.
‘I should like that, too.’ Why make the poor thing suffer when he was obviously in turmoil? ‘We have certainly made some headway in the last two days.’
‘Things are moving very fast.’ Instead of smiling at her admission, he seemed troubled by their progress. ‘Making me fear we are running before we can walk...which is what we need to talk about, Lydia.’ There was no doubting his expression was pained. ‘We can’t keep blindly stumbling forward until we have squared off the past.’
‘That doesn’t matter, Owen.’ She didn’t want to argue any more. Never wanted to feel all those awful feelings which the past dredged up. Not now they were happy.
‘It does. I wish it didn’t, but it’s lurking like a giant pothole in the road, just waiting to keep us apart.’
‘One we have managed to avoid so far.’
‘Have we?’ He swiped the last of the soap from his face with a towel, then tossed it in the corner to snatch up his shirt. ‘I know it’s there. You know it’s there.’ His fist tapped his chest. ‘It’s eating away at me, Lydia. I know we agreed to ignore it, but we can’t ignore it for ever because one of these days we are going to fall in that pothole regardless. Then what do we do? We’ll start to hate each other again and that would break my heart.’
Just as it would break hers. ‘You think reopening the wound will make it better?’ Because she knew it wouldn’t. Every time they kicked that hornets’ nest it ended badly. ‘When we have been getting on so well and moving forward?’ One step forward and two steps back.
He had already got into his breeches and was thrusting his arms through his shirt. When his face appeared it was frowning. ‘How far forward can we go dragging all that poison along with us? We need to discuss it, Lydia. We need to work through it. Let’s give our marriage a fighting chance. I...’ He closed his eyes and clenched his fists briefly, then his intense blue gaze locked with hers. ‘I care too deeply for you to settle for half measures. Because it turns out I want it all!’
That flash of temper told her all she needed to know. He cared. Truly cared.
‘Are you trying to tell me you still love me?’
He waited a beat, then grabbed a cravat, turning his back on her again to wind it impatiently around his neck. ‘I care...deeply.’
Lydia allowed that to settle for a moment, revelling in the warm, overwhelming sense of rightness his clumsy declaration created within her. ‘That’s a start.’ And all at once that was enough.
‘We need to cancel that damn armistice!’ His big hands were making a dreadful mess of his knot. ‘And once this stupid shooting party is done, at precisely one o’clock, we are going to talk. Even if it means we argue! I can cope with shouting. I can even cope with your tears! But I cannot go another day without chopping back those blasted brambles!’ Then he ripped the ruined strip from his neck and shook it. ‘I hate these blasted things!’
‘Oh, Owen...’ She threw the bedcovers aside and walked towards him. He cared for her still. So deeply he was getting himself in a state. ‘Let me do it.’
He stood as still as a statue as she wound a fresh cloth around his neck, but his breathing was erratic and his eyes kept dipping to her naked breasts. ‘Do you realise that when you are flustered your accent slips?’
He winced. ‘I’m trying to lose it.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t. Around me at least. I’ve always liked it. It reminds me of the old Owen I fell in love with.’
‘And how do you feel about the new Owen?’
She couldn’t resist teasing him a bit. ‘He is growing on me.’
‘That’s a start, I suppose.’ He couldn’t resist looking a little pleased at the news. ‘One that gives me something to build on. Then maybe—after we have tackled the past—you might consider adoring me again.’
‘I think we both know I adore you already.’ She finished the knot and looped her arms around his neck. ‘So much so I fear I may need to monopolise all of our appointment later showing you exactly how much.’
‘We really do have to talk, Lydia.’
‘No. We don’t.’ She pressed her lips to his. ‘Because, as I said, the past doesn’t matter any more.’
‘It doesn’t?’ He was finally smiling, too, now, hope swirling in his eyes, confirming this was the absolutely correct thing to do.
‘Of course it doesn’t.’ If the past was holding them back and upsetting him so much, then she had the power to banish it all. ‘Because...’
‘Because?’
She couldn’t resist kissing him again to draw out this most significant of moments.
‘Because... I forgive you, Owen.’
He stiffened. Pulled away. All the cosy intimacy and heartfelt confidences suddenly blasted away by an Arctic gale.
‘You...forgive me.’ The usually stormy irises of his deep blue eyes hardened into ice crystals.
He shook his head, briefly looking uncharacteristically broken and beaten down before the usual pride and bravado had him standing taller. ‘God, I’m a blasted fool!’
Like a whirlwind, he grabbed his boots and his coat and, while she stood there impotent and shocked to her core, marched to the door. Lydia had never seen him so angry. Usually he waved his arms about and created lots of bluster—but this was different. It was quiet fury. Molten. All-encompassing.
As he grabbed the door knob, he spun around, his expression livid. But his eyes...
His eyes were pained. There was hurt in them. So much she could hardly bear it. Unthinking, she took a step towards him, needing to make it all better, but he stayed her with one coldly raised palm, all the heat and desire of a moment ago replaced by utter disgust.
‘You can take your blasted forgiveness, madam—and you can go to hell!’