William insisted on accompanying the soldiers assigned to search Starke, and Robyn took advantage of the momentary confusion surrounding his departure with the dragoons to evade Captain Bretton and slip quietly upstairs. She made her way into the night nursery where she found Annie rocking Zach’s cradle, and Clemmie sitting bolt upright in bed, the counterpane and blankets clutched to her chin.
“Hello, cutie pie.” Robyn gave Clementina a hug before glancing over at the nurse. “Is Zach all right?”
Annie nodded. “Aye, sleeping like an angel, he is. Doesn’t seem to have heard a thing, but that’s babbies for you. Sleep through a battle and wake up when you drop a pin.”
“Who was banging on the door, Mamma? Is it soldiers? Annie and me think it’s soldiers.” Clemmie was wide-eyed with excitement and trepidation.
Robyn tried to make her smile reassuring. “Yes, it’s Captain Bretton and a small detachment of dragoons. How did you guess?”
“They camed before. They was horrid.” Clemmie’s hand crept out from beneath the covers in search of Robyn’s. “Will you stay wiv me, Mamma, until they is gone?”
“Of course I’ll stay. And perhaps we should ask Freddie and George to come in here with us. Will you fetch them, Annie?”
“Certainly, my lady.” The boys’ bedroom opened directly off the other side of the nursery, and Annie returned a minute or two later, the twins in tow, their feet encased in lambswool slippers, nightcaps perched on top of their tousled curls, and both of them chattering nineteen to the dozen.
“Listen to the pair o’ them, all overexcited and anxious. It’ll be hours before they get back to sleep.” Annie sniffed. “‘Tis an outrage, that’s what it is, sending soldiers to disturb honest folks at this hour o’ the evening. There’s no reason for it, neither, when all the world knows as how his lordship is a loyal follower o’ the King.”
Full of bravado, Freddie and George stuck their heads around the nursery door, and peered out into the corridor, waiting with slightly nervous relish for the soldiers to arrive on the third floor of the Manor. Robyn noticed that Clemmie was still shivering, and she wrapped one of Zach’s knitted shawls around her shoulders.
“Warmer now?” she asked, encouraging Clemmie to snuggle up to her. The night air was bitterly chill, but she suspected the little girl’s shivers were caused as much by fear as by cold.
“Yes, thank you, Mamma.” Clemmie was silent for a moment. “What are the soldiers looking for?” she asked. “Why does they keep coming here?”
“They are looking for traitors trying to escape across the Channel to France,” Freddie informed her from his post by the doorway. “They want to capture all the rebels who fought in Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army.”
“Are we rebels?” Clemmie asked anxiously. “Will the soldiers take us away and chop off our heads?”
“Of course not, sweetheart.” Robyn gave her another reassuring squeeze. “There are no traitors in Starke.”
“Then why does the soldiers keep coming back?” Clemmie persisted.
“They are looking for Uncle Zachary,” George said. “I told you that before.” Suddenly uncertain, he swung around. “They will not find my uncle here, will they, Mamma?”
“Most definitely not,” she said. She smiled brightly, to cover her fear that their uncle was most likely dead of the wounds he had sustained during the Battle of Culloden. “Your uncle Zachary is safe in France.”
Annie snorted. “That b’ain’t likely to stop the soldiers a-coming,” she said, her voice rich with scorn. “Captain Bretton is bound and determined that he’s going to discover Master Zachary hidden somewhere in Starke. Swears up and down, black and blue, that he gave chase to Master Zachary three month ago and more, and that he shot and wounded him during the chase. Swears Master Zachary would have bin captured long since unless he was hidden in this house, protected by his lordship.”
“But that’s absurd!” Robyn protested. “Zachary would never have sought sanctuary here. William was totally opposed to the Stuart rebellion. Even I know that—I mean, he has said so on many occasions.” She didn’t add that relations between William and his brother seemed strained to the breaking point, quite apart from Zachary’s foolhardy commitment to the Stuart cause.
Annie shrugged. “Mayhap, my lady, but the captain believes what he wants to believe and there’s no telling him otherwise.”
“But doesn’t the captain understand how ridiculous he’s being?” Robyn asked. “How could Zachary be hidden inside the Manor without any of the servants knowing that he’s here?”
“That’s easy,” Freddie said. “The captain thinks Uncle Zachary is hidden in the priest’s hole.”
After a moment of surprise, Robyn realized that she should have expected Starke to have at least one priest’s hole. The Manor had been built a hundred years earlier, when England had been torn apart by civil and religious wars. In those days, a wise homeowner made sure that he had a secure hiding place built into the carved paneling of his library or bedroom. The so-called priest’s hole would be used to hide jewels and valuables from marauding armies at least as often as to secrete fugitives and Catholic priests. The prudent seventeenth-century gentleman always kept a safe bolt hole ready and waiting.
Robyn frowned. “Even so, I don’t see why the issue can’t be quickly resolved to Captain Bretton’s satisfaction. Why doesn’t he look inside the priest’s hole and settle the matter once and for all?”
“Because he can’t find the entrance, of course!” The twins chorused in unison.
“The entrance is a family secret,” George explained. “Only the head of the family is told where the door is hidden.”
“Papa is the head of the family,” Freddie added. “He is the Baron of Starke.”
“I still don’t understand,” Robyn said. “Since your father has nothing at all to hide, why doesn’t he show Captain Bretton the entrance to the priest’s hole and thus save the household from these repeated searches?”
“A very good question, Lady Arabella.” Captain Bretton’s suave voice spoke from the door of the nursery. “It is one I have posed to Lord Bowleigh myself on several occasions.”
Robyn’s stomach jumped with fright, but she rose to her feet, and looked steadily at the captain. “And what does my husband answer you, Captain Bretton?”
“Why, he informs me that the hole was blocked up fifty years ago, when his father was still a boy, and that he was never told where the entrance was located.”
Robyn raised her chin. “If that is what my husband has told you, Captain Bretton, then I have not the slightest doubt in the world that it is true.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Your devotion is touching, my lady. You have become a most loyal wife in recent weeks.”
“Do you not approve of wifely loyalty, sir?”
“Not when it is so sadly misplaced.” The captain snapped his fingers, and two burly dragoons entered the room, their bayonets held at the ready. “Search the room,” the captain ordered.
The dragoons saluted in acknowledgment of the order. They didn’t speak, nor did they look at Robyn or the children. Poking their bayonets into wall hangings and window coverings, their faces bore the carefully blank expression that Robyn had seen on old television news shots of East German border guards preparing to shoot a fleeing citizen. She shivered, concealing her hands in the folds of her skirt to disguise their shaking. The soldiers finished poking curtains and turned toward the fireplace. Disturbed by the clump of booted feet approaching his cradle, Zach woke up and began to cry.
Robyn moved swiftly to interpose herself between the soldiers and the baby. “Don’t you dare put your filthy bayonets anywhere near my son!” she exclaimed. “Why are you frightening my children like this? Good heavens, you can see at a glance that there’s nowhere in this room to hide anything. There are no cupboards, only open shelves. No paneling, only whitewashed plaster walls.”
Captain Bretton spoke brusquely. “That’s as may be, my lady. Now, pray, stand aside and allow my men to continue their search.”
She snatched Zach from his bed and tossed his pillow and covers onto the floor. “There, now are you satisfied?” She glared at the captain. “Hey, surprise, surprise! There wasn’t a single escaped Jacobite curled up beneath my baby’s blankets.”
The captain said nothing. He snapped his fingers at the soldiers again. Stolidly, not once allowing their eyes to meet hers, they turned away from the cradle and moved toward the bed. Furious at her helplessness to withstand the captain’s malicious stupidity, Robyn sat down on the bed, cradling Zach in one arm and hugging Clemmie with the other. Meanwhile, the soldiers stomped around the room, sticking their bayonets into the dust balls under the bed and rattling the curtains hanging from the wooden posters. Every time they passed by her, Clemmie trembled, which only made Robyn more annoyed.
“Where is my husband?” she asked the captain, her voice icy cold.
“Why, his lordship is in the stables, I do believe.” Captain Bretton looked smug. “I decided it would be helpful to take him to see my prisoner.”
“Why?” As soon as she had asked the question, Robyn wished that she hadn’t. Captain Bretton’s smile was even less pleasant than his earlier sneers.
“The foolish rebel we captured has refused to give us his name, no doubt out of some mistaken sense of loyalty to his family. But we felt sure we could persuade your husband to identify the traitor for us. I have every reason to believe the rebel is a young man from this part of the country.”
His leering explanation left Robyn feeling uneasy. William supported the Hanoverian cause, but she doubted if he would be anxious to help Captain Bretton in building a case against some poor, misguided local lad who had thrown in his lot with the wrong set of royals. Still, she was probably worrying unnecessarily. If William didn’t want to identify the rebel, the soldiers couldn’t force him to do so. Being an aristocrat had its advantages, and refusal to cooperate with lowly troopers was presumably one of them. Robyn lapsed into a stony silence, watching as the dragoons completed their search of the nursery. They were obviously veterans at their task, and she reflected with a thrill of fear that if William had in truth been trying to hide his brother, the captain’s men would certainly have found him out.
William arrived at the nursery door just as Captain Bretton gave his dragoons permission to move on to another room. William looked grim-faced and pale, but he spared a moment to greet each of the children and to bow politely in Robyn’s direction. The glance he finally cast toward Captain Bretton displayed his usual cool courtesy, laid over barely concealed contempt.
Captain Bretton covered a jolt of surprise at William’s arrival with a curt bow. “Lord Bowleigh, I did not expect to see you so soon.”
“Did you not?” William spoke with calm indifference.
“I assume that you chose to identify the rebel,” Captain Bretton said.
“You assume far too much, Captain.” William strolled across the nursery and took up a position near the fire before turning around.
“The Jacobite rebel has died,” he said, his voice flat. “Your men wish for instructions on where they should take the body.”
“You did not identify him?” The captain spoke sharply.
“Alas, he had been tortured and flayed well past the point of recognition.” William drew out his snuffbox and inhaled briefly. “You should encourage the men under your command to moderate their enthusiasm for brutality, Captain. With more finesse and less savagery, you might have been able to coerce from me the identification that you apparently crave.
Robyn didn’t fully understand the conversation, but she saw Captain Bretton’s nostrils flare in anger, and knew he had badly wanted William to identify the prisoner. He spoke stiffly. “Bravely spoken, my lord, but I am not deceived by your pretense of indifference. I know that the presence of my troops strikes fear into the depths of your soul—”
William yawned. “Forgive me, Captain. It is late, and I am sure your... eloquence... has a point?”
Captain Bretton flushed. “Indeed it has. I know that your brother has not yet made good his escape to France and I offer you a warning, my lord. Do not be tempted into assisting him to a safe harbor, for he cannot succeed in escaping my grasp. And if you are caught aiding and abetting a traitor, not only will your brother lose his head, but you will risk imprisonment, and your estates will be forfeit to the Crown.”
William looked up from contemplation of the design on his snuffbox. He spoke softly. “Do you dare to threaten me, Captain Bretton?”
The captain swung on his heel. “No, my lord, I make a simple statement of fact. The law is on my side, and this time, I shall win.”
“Ah.” William closed his snuffbox with a single, elegant flick of his left hand. “So that is what this is all about, Captain. I have long suspected as much. Alas, I believe you will discover that some battles cannot be refought. Once lost, they are lost forever.”
“I do not understand you, my lord.”
William’s lips twisted into a small, tight smile. “The Lady Arabella is my wife,” he said.
Giving the captain no opportunity to reply, William turned to Robyn and inclined his head in a slight bow. “My lady, I will return to you shortly, as soon as I have escorted Captain Bretton and his minions off the premises.”
“I will eagerly await your return, my lord.” Robyn looked straight into William’s eyes, offering him reassurance that she sensed he needed. He returned her gaze with apparent coolness. Then, for a moment, his composure cracked, and she saw the roiling volcano of emotions seething behind his calm facade.
She had always suspected that William was a man of tightly controlled emotions rather than a man immune to passion. Nevertheless, the glimpse behind the mask was almost shocking in the intensity of feeling it revealed. Captain Bretton would consider such intensity a weakness to be exploited, and she realized that William was desperate to get rid of the man before his composure finally unraveled.
She turned quickly to the captain and sketched a perfunctory curtsy. “Good-bye, Captain Bretton. I am sure you must be anxious to report your triumph in capturing a Jacobite rebel. What a pity you did not manage to preserve him alive, in all his ferocity.”
Her sarcasm did not sit well with the captain. He swept her an elaborate bow, his cheeks mottled with suppressed anger. “Let us say au revoir rather than good-bye, my lady. We shall meet again in the very near future, I promise you.”
“Shall we? Oh, dear, I do hope not.” She smiled sweetly, then turned her back with ostentatious disdain, busying herself with picking up the covers from Zach’s cradle. She didn’t turn around again until the sounds of the captain’s departure had faded completely from earshot.
Annie emerged from the dark corner where she had been cowering during the entire search. She held out her hands for the baby, shaking her head as she took him. “‘Tweren’t wise to taunt the captain, my lady. He do be a cruel, hard man. I’m afeared you have made yourself a right dangerous enemy.”
“Perhaps. But friend or foe, I don’t think Captain Bretton can be trusted.”
“Mebbe not, but ‘tis best not to annoy him, my lady. There’s no knowing what he might do if he gets angry. Beats his own men something horrible, he does, if they doesn’t jump to his orders the minute he gives ‘em. And Lord knows what terrible things he does to those poor hungry Jacobites he chases up hill and down dale. Hates Jacobites does Captain Bretton, hates them something fierce.”
Clemmie started to cry. “I don’t want the captain to hurt my uncle Zachary. You is not a Jackbite, Mamma, is you?”
“No, sweetheart, I promise you I am not a Jacobite, nor will I ever be. Their cause is entirely lost, anyway.”
“Is Uncle Zachary a Jackbite?”
“He is in France, sweetheart.” Robyn spoke with spurious confidence. “We don’t have to worry about Uncle Zachary.”
With the lightning swiftness typical of a three-year-old, Clemmie decided to be consoled. She stopped crying and snuggled down beneath her thick wool blankets and starched linen counterpane. She wriggled around for a few minutes, then her eyes closed and she gave a few little snuffling snorts as she drifted off to sleep.
The twins, more scared by the soldiers’ invasion than they cared to admit, volunteered to sleep in the nursery where they could “protect” Clemmie and baby Zach. Realizing that they wanted the comfort of Annie’s presence, not to mention the reassuring light of the coal fire and the oil lamp that burned permanently on the nursery mantel, Robyn helped them to bring the feather mattress from their bed, and set up a makeshift sleeping arrangement on the floor. Burrowing into the plump mattress, the twins curled up top to tail in front of the fire.
George gave her a grateful smile as she knelt to tuck them in. “Thank you, Mamma. Freddie and me will take good care of Clemmie and Zach.”
“That’s wonderful news, I’m grateful for your help.” Robyn patted his cheek, then leaned across to pull Freddie’s nightcap down over his ears. The bitter drafts slicing in around the window and beneath the door meant that nightcaps were almost a necessity. If the fire went out during the night, the air would be cold and damp enough to give the children frostbite. Robyn was beginning to appreciate why Annie and the other servants were always so anxious to have Zach swaddled in multiple layers of silk and wool. The danger of a newborn dying of hypothermia in the vast, drafty rooms of Starke must be significant.
William returned to the nursery just as Robyn was getting up from the floor. He walked over to her side and, without speaking, extended his hands. Unaccountably self-conscious, she accepted his silent offer of help and got quickly to her feet.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “With these hoops and petticoats, kneeling down is much easier than standing back up. Have the soldiers gone?”
“Yes, but I have no doubt Captain Bretton will return as soon as he can think up an acceptable excuse.”
“He is a brutal, cruel man.”
“You did not always think so.”
“But we have agreed, haven’t we, that my opinions about a lot of things have changed since the accident.”
He didn’t answer her directly. His gaze flicked from the twins to Clemmie to Zach and the nurse. Anywhere, in fact, save toward her. “You indicated that you wished to speak with me, my lady,” he said at last.
“Yes, I think we have a lot to discuss. Shall we go to my bedroom?”
“Why not?” His gaze finally met hers. The vulnerability he had let her see earlier was entirely gone. Now she saw only cynicism, tinged with weariness.
She was frustrated by his determination to keep the barriers so firmly in place between them, and she hastened to correct any mistaken impression he might have gleaned. “I suggested my room because it will be warm. Mary always keeps the fire burning in there, and it seems especially cold tonight.”
“There is a hard frost,” he agreed, his voice as chilly as the temperature.
Robyn recognized that William was desperately backtracking from his moment of self-revelation, so she restrained her irritation. Nodding to Annie, she walked briskly out of the nursery. “Good night, Annie. Please bring Zach to me as soon as he wakes up in the morning.”
“Aye, my lady. Like always. Good night, my lady.”
William followed her into the corridor, closing the door behind him. “You must have spent more time in the nursery in the weeks since your accident than you had spent in our entire marriage prior to that time.”
“You sound as if you are making an accusation,” she said. “What are you condemning? The fact that I now spend too much time in the nursery, or the fact that I previously spent too little?”
There was an infinitesimal pause, and then she saw William’s mouth curve into a wry, self-mocking smile. “You underestimate my perversity, my lady. In my present mood, I am quite capable of condemning you for both.”
She answered his smile. “How provoking of you to be so honest. You make it absurdly difficult for me to quarrel with you.”
“For tonight I believe I would be grateful not to quarrel.”
Robyn looked up at him. “The soldiers... in the barn... was it very bad what they were doing?” She hadn’t known what she was going to ask until the words were spoken, but she had sensed some time ago that William was being rubbed raw by the events of the night.
His reply seemed to come from a great distance. “I realized at once who it was they had captured,” he said. “I recognized the crest on his signet ring.” His mouth tightened. “God knows, his face had long since been beaten past recognition.”
“Was it... was it someone you knew well?”
“Yes, an old friend.” William stopped, then swung around so that they were face-to-face. “It was Harry Dalrymple.”
“Harry Dalrymple?” She repeated the name, trying to place it. Then she remembered that on the night of her attempted escape from Starke she had heard the stablehands discussing the Dalrymple family and their ill-fated support of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Putting a name to the Jacobite rebel added poignancy to the horror of his end.
“But how can that be?” she asked, shocked. “I thought he had already died on the battlefields of Culloden!”
William stopped in midstride. He turned and grabbed her arm, dragging her out of the hallway and into the nearest room, which she realized was his bedroom. But he gave her no chance to look around this previously forbidden stretch of territory. He frog-marched her to the fire and held her tightly by the shoulders, staring deep into her eyes.
“Enough is enough, Arabella. We have played foolish games for too long. I demand that you tell me the truth. What led you to suppose that Harry Dalrymple had died at Culloden, when the rest of the world believed that he had escaped safely to the Stuart court in France?”
“There is no need for you to sound so accusatory,” she said hotly. “Why do you always leap to the worst possible conclusion? I simply overheard two of the grooms talking about the Dalrymple family, that’s all. They were trying to decide who had paid a fine levied on the Dalrymple family—” She broke off. “Good Lord, that was you, wasn’t it? You paid the Dalrymples’ fine.”
He avoided her eyes. “That is absurd. You know I have no patience for the Stuart cause. For good or ill, the Hanoverians are in control of our government. If we do not like their manner of governing, we must compel them to change, not chase after romantic princelings who promise the moon and cannot deliver a lump of cheese.”
“You’re very clever at changing the subject,” she said. “But your opinion of Charles Stuart has got nothing to do with paying the Dalrymples’ fine. They’re your friends and you consider friendship far more important than politics.”
“Now it is you who leaps to conclusions,” he said, but she noticed that he hadn’t denied her statement. He looked down at her, his gaze opaque. “Are you going to tell Captain Bretton that his prisoner was Harry Dalrymple?”
“Of course not,” she said, revolted. “Good heavens, it is insulting that you would even ask me the question.”
He studied her for another long moment, then allowed his hands to drop to his side. He gave a short, grim laugh. “That is another change since the accident,” he said. “I no longer know when you are lying.”
“That’s because I don’t lie to you,” Robyn said quietly, but she blushed when she spoke because her whole life as Arabella was, in essence, a colossal lie.
Either the fire concealed the flare of guilty color in her cheeks, or else William chose to make no comment. He stared deep into the flames, the brilliant blue of his eyes shadowed. “Captain Bretton’s soldiers are well trained in the art of torture,” he said. “They didn’t dare to lay hands on me, so they asked me if I knew Harry’s name, and each time I denied any knowledge of him, they broke another of his fingers.”
“Oh, my God!” Robyn’s stomach lurched.
“Fortunately, Harry died before I was compelled to admit that I knew him.” William smiled bitterly. “Do you note what I said, my lady? I found it fortunate that my good friend died tonight. Fortunate because his death meant that I was no longer constrained to wrestle with the horror of watching him suffer while I refused to name him.”
“You’re too hard on yourself, William. Presumably you had a good and important reason for keeping silent.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. I told myself that Harry was destined to die whatever I did or did not do. By keeping his identity secret, I may—possibly—have saved his family from being forced into even greater poverty and hardship than they currently endure.”
Rationally, he had done the only possible thing, but emotionally, Robyn could see that he blamed himself for Harry’s death. She couldn’t find any words to offer him the consolation he needed. If he had been one of the children, she would have held him close and murmured soothing nonsense until the pain eased. But her relationship with William was too fraught with strain to allow her to offer him that sort of comfort, so she touched him lightly on the arm, stroking his sleeve as she expressed her sympathy.
“Some choices are so horrible we should never be expected to make them,” she said softly. “Instead of berating yourself for moral cowardice, perhaps you should simply be grateful that Harry is at peace, and his family saved from the consequences of his actions.”
He looked down at her hands, then up at her, and she saw that he had allowed his protective mask to drop once again. His face revealed a confused mixture of bewilderment and longing. “Who are you?” he muttered. “Where have you learned such gentleness?”
He crooked his finger under her chin and dragged her around so that her face reflected the full light of the fire. “You look the same,” he said. “And yet, I sense the difference, feel it in the marrow of my bones. What manner of woman have you become since your accident?”
“A different woman,” she said. “I may have Arabella’s face and body, but my mind and soul have nothing in common with the woman she used to be. The accident changed everything.”
William reached out his hand, touching the tips of his fingers to her cheek. “So soft, so smooth, so familiar,” he said. “And yet, when you look at me thus sweetly I can almost believe that you speak the truth.” He smiled savagely, as if mocking his own gullibility. “You have Arabella’s luscious lips, but your mouth never forms one of her jaded pouts. You have Arabella’s sapphire-blue eyes, but they gaze at me with fire and intelligence, instead of cold disdain. The timbre of your voice is Arabella’s, and yet your speech is strange, and your conversation is threaded through with the richness of laughter.” He cradled her face in his hands, gazing at her as if willing himself to find the truth hidden behind the perfection of Arabella’s features.
Robyn returned his searching gaze openly, and for a moment the strength and integrity she saw in William’s eyes reminded her so strongly of Zach that she was pierced by an aching, bitter sense of loss.
“What makes you sad?” William asked quietly. “Is it something I said? The light is quite gone from your eyes.”
Unless she wanted to convince him that she was crazy, she couldn’t tell him that she grieved for her lover, a descendant of his living two hundred fifty years in the future. And yet she was reluctant to answer him with a flat-out lie. There had obviously been far too many lies between Arabella and William in the past and she didn’t want to add to them. She hesitated for a moment, then found the partial truth she was searching for.
“I was feeling regret for love lost,” she said.
His expression shuttered, and he touched his forefinger to her lips. “Do not speak of love,” he said. “We have used the word too freely in the past and it is debased currency between us.”
“Is it? But I don’t remember Arabella’s past and I would like to think that we could find some... affection... for each other.”
He lifted one of her luxuriant curls, artfully set by Mary, and then let it fall, watching with a brooding, heated gaze as the golden tress tumbled forward over her shoulder. “It is a beguiling fantasy that you offer,” he said, his voice thickening. “A new start to our lives, the past unwritten, the stained and blotted pages of our marriage wiped clean. But then you have ever been a mistress of beguilement, have you not? What would happen, I wonder, if I showed myself willing to succumb to your lures?”
Robyn was experiencing difficulty in breathing, and for once she didn’t think it had anything to do with her stays. When William’s long, supple fingers played with her hair, they wreaked havoc with the functioning of her lungs.
“I wasn’t casting out lures,” she said. She smiled at him in what she hoped was a frank and honest fashion. “I was simply trying to find some basis for a new, friendly relationship between the two of us.”
“Abandon your efforts,” William said, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “This has always been the only real basis for our relationship.” He bent his head and covered her mouth in a hard, aggressive kiss.
For a moment—a wild, passionate moment—Robyn felt herself respond to the powerful physical demand of his embrace. Blood pounded in her ears and she swayed toward him, giving a tiny sigh of pleasure when he pushed aside the sleeve of her gown. His fingers slipped inside her bodice, seeking her nipples at the same moment as his tongue thrust against her lips. His touch was tantalizing, expert—and totally lacking in any trace of emotion. As soon as she realized how empty his manipulations were, Robyn’s passion died.
“William, stop!” She recoiled, tearing herself out of his arms and scrubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. “How can you demean both of us with a kiss so utterly lacking in emotion?”
“I am your husband,” he said, his eyes glittering with icy blue fire. “I have the right to kiss you, if I so desire.”
“That’s debatable. And marriage certainly doesn’t confer the right to kiss me without a shred of feeling except animal lust!”
“Ah!” he said. “I see that some things in our relationship have not changed, despite the supposedly new Arabella.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Why would they, since you still persist in treating me like a whore!”
He smiled coldly. “Would you prefer that I treat you like a virgin, my lady? Come, tell me your wish. In our ongoing bedroom farce, one role is as good as another, and I pride myself on being infinitely adaptable.”
“I have no desire to pretend anything,” she said quietly, regaining control of her temper. “Why should we assume roles, when we can be ourselves? If you want to kiss me, I’d like you to do it as if I were your good friend, which I hope I am.”
His hands fell from her shoulders and he gave an odd, frustrated little laugh as he stepped away from her. “You win, my lady. You have set me the one challenge I cannot meet. To kiss you as a friend oversteps the limit of my skills.”
“It wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as you think,” she said. Seconds earlier, she would have sworn she wasn’t ready for any sort of sexual relationship with William. Now she realized how badly she wanted him to kiss her. Not with cold lust, but with the sort of warm, tender passion she instinctively knew he was capable of showing.
She put her hands on his shoulders and moved closer, until her breasts touched the velvet braiding of his jacket. She swallowed nervously. “I could show you how it’s done, if you like.”
“How generous of you.” William’s smile was sharp enough to cut flesh. “You know, I had never before considered the many benefits of being a cuckold. Now it seems I am to profit from the lessons you have learned in your lovers’ arms. You will teach me how to kiss. A la Zachary? I wonder. Or is it to be A la Captain Bretton? How truly fortunate I am to benefit from their instruction!”
She flinched. “No,” she said. “For God’s sake, William, it’s not like that.”
“Then pray, my lady, do tell me precisely what it is like.”
She knew there was no verbal answer that would satisfy him, so Robyn reached up and linked her hands behind his head, pulling his mouth down toward her own. He offered her no resistance, but neither did he cooperate. He simply stood, rigid and unbending, his mouth twisted into an ironic smile. The barricades he had erected against any offer of emotional warmth were so high that for a moment Robyn paused, with her body curved against William’s, but her mouth still a fraction away from his.
He spoke into the silence, his voice sounding terminally bored. “So far, my lady, the embrace of the whore and the embrace of a friend seem to have much in common.”
Robyn blanched at his deliberate cruelty. She was on the point of moving away from him when she glanced up and made a momentous discovery.
William was afraid. But what did he fear? She cast her mind over the picture she had built up of Arabella, and suddenly understood. William had no doubt offered friendship and affection to Arabella on dozens of occasions—and each time, his offer had been rejected, probably with vicious, cutting disdain. He had been wounded by Arabella so many times that he now felt an obligation to protect himself from the risk of further pain.
“William, you don’t need to worry,” she said, resting her cheek against the unyielding wall of his chest. “I promise that I will never knowingly hurt you.”
“I quite fail to understand your meaning, my lad—”
“Then I will make it clear,” she said, standing on tiptoe so that she could wind her fingers in the long, thick queue of his hair. “Open your mouth for me,” she whispered against his lips.
For an instant longer he held himself aloof. Then she felt a shudder sweep through his body as he loosened the relentless hold he had been maintaining over his feelings. Heat suffused her veins, a glorious flood of warmth, and she arched against him, aching to show him a tenderness that would make up for Arabella’s years of cold indifference.
“I want you.” He looked down at her, his gaze dark. “Dear God, how have you brought me to this?” He muttered the words against her lips, but she had no chance to reply. He caught her by the waist and drew her hard against him, thrusting his tongue into her mouth with all the fierce urgency and passionate longing he had previously refused to express.
She had never intended to resist, but she wasn’t prepared for the swiftness with which her body melted into his embrace. He ran his hands down her spine and her skin tingled in instant response. He teased her lips with his tongue, and her breasts swelled, nipples taut and aching as they pressed against the silk of her gown. He moved against her, and even through the layers of her starched petticoats, she could feel the strength and urgency of his desire.
His kiss went on, an endless, turbulent voyage into the heart of his desire. She kissed him back, but not with the friendship she had promised. His passion called to her with irresistible force, and she kissed him with the intensity of a hunger she had fought to keep hidden, even from herself.
She was trembling when he finally raised his head. He drew back slightly and looked down at her. His breath came in short, sharp pants, but his blue eyes still gleamed with a trace of mockery. “You have—a—singular—idea—of what—constitutes—friendship, my lady.”
She fought for breath. “Friendship between a husband and wife isn’t quite the same as other friendships,” she said.
“Is it not?” He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her mouth. “You know, I would really appreciate further instruction in the art of marital friendship. May I hope that you are planning to expand upon this demonstration of how a wife kisses like a friend?”
They were both shaking from the impact of their lovemaking, but even now he couldn’t let down his guard. He persisted in defending himself by assuming an air of ironic detachment, and Robyn realized that if she was to break through his protective shield, she would have to make most of the running.
“I’m not giving you an abstract demonstration,” she said softly. “I’m showing you how I truly feel.”
“I know how you feel, my lady. In need of bedding. An inconvenient state of affairs when only your husband is available.”
“I don’t want to be bedded,” she said. “I want to make love with you, William.” She unfastened the buttons of his jacket as she spoke, reaching inside his shirt and laying her palm flat against his chest.
“Your heart beats very fast,” she said, taking his hand and placing it beneath her breast. “As does mine. Whatever you are feeling, it seems that I’m feeling it, too.”
“That, my lady, is a matter of considerable doubt.”
She pressed her finger against his lips, “Hush, William, you don’t have to pretend with me, not anymore.”
He didn’t answer. He stood, not speaking, letting the pulse of her heartbeat throb against the tips of his fingers for several seconds. Then, slowly, his hand trailed up the side of her breasts, seeking the hooks of her bodice. This time, instead of working with cool, passionless efficiency, his fingers were clumsy with need, and she had to help him with the knot of her ribbons before the hooks parted and the bodice of her gown fell open.
He drew in his breath on a tight, harsh sigh and she saw a dark flush of color stain his cheekbones. Slowly, reluctantly, he bent his head and trailed his tongue across the swollen mound of her breasts, his touch an exquisite mixture of hungry desire and teasing gentleness. She gasped, with surprise and delight, closing her eyes and clinging to his shoulders for support.
He kissed her throat, the hollow of her neck, and the slope of her shoulders, while his hands worked magic on her body. His touch burned her skin, the pleasure so fierce that she writhed with the intensity of it. The layers of clothing separating the two of them seemed an unbearable irritant, and she untied the lacings of his shirt, pushing the starched linen aside so that she could feel the muscles of his chest against her breasts and the prickle of his hair tingling against her nipples.
As soon as she started to undress him, William went utterly still. Then a small, rough sound tore from deep in his throat and he began to unhook her skirt and petticoats with frantic haste. The cumbersome layers fell at her feet in a pool of lace and satin, leaving her naked and exposed. He gave her no time to feel vulnerable. He swept her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, kicking off his buckled shoes and laying her amid the damask-covered pillows in a single, swift movement.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling against the window in a gust of unexpected fury. Robyn heard the harsh sough and felt the chill of an icy draft ripple over her skin. For a moment, beneath the groan of the wind, she thought she heard the sound of a door opening, but before she could turn to look, William drew the curtains around the bed, shutting out the cold and wrapping them both in a warm, crimson glow. She hadn’t realized how desperately alone she felt in this alien, long-ago world until William drew her into his arms and held her close, making her feel safe and loved.
“Are you warm enough now?” he asked.
“As long as you stay near me.” She smiled at him, and he shaped the outline of her mouth with slow, careful fingers.
“I have always dreamed of seeing you so,” he said. “When you smile, you are surpassingly beautiful.”
“Then I must certainly learn to smile often.”
“I believe that is a lesson you have already learned.” He brushed his mouth against her lips, but his eyes were shadowed with memories that she didn’t want to share. Robyn guessed that only mutual passion would lift the shadows, and she turned to him on the pillows.
“Hold me,” she whispered. “Make love to me. Don’t wait any longer, William.”
The last dam of his restraint broke. He seized her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep inside, at the same moment as he parted her legs with his knee. His fingers rippled down her body, rousing her with swift, sure strokes, and Robyn arched up to meet his questing hand, already shimmering on the edge of release. Her world shrank to the crimson cocoon inside the bed curtains and the hot, ravenous taste of William’s desire.
He pushed her full onto her back and moved over her, poised between her thighs. On the verge of entering her, he stopped, his forehead sheening with sweat. “The babe,” he demanded hoarsely. “Your lying-in. Is it too soon for me to take you?”
It was less than six weeks since the birth of baby Zach.
Yes, it was too soon, medically speaking. But, dear God, how could they stop now? She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him back down to her, settling the weight of his body between her thighs.
“No,” she said fiercely. “It will be all right.”
His body vibrated with impatience, but still he didn’t enter her. “Help me,” he said. “Help me not to hurt you.”
He waited above her, and she reached down to guide him. He held back for one final moment, then eased slowly into the slickness of her heated flesh.
The split second of pain as he entered was obliterated in a spasm of pleasure, but William tensed, instantly sensitive to her discomfort.
“I have hurt you,” he said. “Sweet Jesus, Arabella, I should not be doing this to you.”
She shook her head, frustrated by his willful failure to understand. “You aren’t doing this to me. You are not taking anything I don’t want to give. We are making love with each other.”
He didn’t answer her with words, but she felt sweat break out along his spine. His flesh stirred, and he thrust deep within her. Robyn caught her breath, opening herself to him, moving beneath him in fervent, rhythmic response.
William surged within her, and her body pulsed with life. “Hold me,” she gasped. “It feels as if the world is falling.”
“Mayhap it is,” he groaned. “My God, Arabella, I have waited so long for this.”
He climaxed with a harsh cry, and Robyn heard the answering sob of release rise in her own throat. Their passion crested in a thundering wave, sweeping her away, casting her adrift.
In the heaving, formless sea there was only William. William holding her safe, pulling her back from the edges of eternity.
William—who wasn’t a dream.