Chapter 30

Bridey woke to find Pascoe removing her corset. After all she’d been through this past week, it seemed perfectly ordinary that His Majesty’s envoy would be unfastening her undergarments. His harassed and irritated demeanor, however, did not seem natural at all.

She shoved his hands away and pulled the unfastened garment off, heaving it to one side and trying to remember why she was in bed.

“Dammit, Bridey, couldn’t you have found a less dangerous method of learning about Jack’s documents than letting a shrieking bitch into your head?” He sat down on the side of the bed and yanked her into his arms.

“She told us where to find them?” she asked, not minding being held but wondering what her brother and the other guests must be thinking.

“Enough to start a search.” He worked at the ties of her chemise.

“You believe me?” she asked warily.

“I’m not sure I even have faith in a divine being, but then, He’s never spoken to me the way you did! I’m broadening my mind,” he grumbled.

She tried to smile at his irascibility, but she was still too dazed. “Shouldn’t my maid be here?”

“We’re pretending she’s here,” he declared. “I sent a servant to tell the others I’m with the children and packing to leave first thing in the morning. And that doesn’t get you out of explaining what the deuce you were thinking.”

“That Jack needed a home,” Bridey said simply. Deciding if this was their last night together, they had better things to do, she kissed his taut jaw.

Pascoe instantly smothered her mouth with his, holding her as if he would never let her go. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rejoiced in the desire—and more—that he poured into his kiss. She’d never known this kind of physical pleasure, had never understood how desire enflamed the mind and senses and made pudding of her thoughts.

She should probably never trust another man to do this to her again, but oh, for just this one night. . . She tugged at Pascoe’s linen, kissed his bristly throat, and reveled in his growl of frustration and desire.

“You have destroyed me, Brighid Finley, and made me useless for any other woman,” he murmured, parting the laces of her chemise and pouring the hot lava of his breath down her breast. “But I cannot survive another day like this one.”

“I know,” she said sadly, feeling the life returning to her with his touch. “I cannot expect you to. Your children need a normal mother, one who will cover them in kisses and read them stories and not frolic with ghosts or disappear at midnight to deliver babies.”

“But I need you!” he roared. “Or I do when you’re not terrifying the breath from me.”

“No, you don’t. You can have any woman you want. You need only look at her with those beautiful deep eyes, and she will fall to her knees at your feet,” she scoffed.

“There is only one thing to do with a woman on her knees, and while that might be a momentary pleasure, it does not begin to equal the joy you bring me when I simply look upon you.”

She didn’t understand his reference to a woman on her knees, but then, her mind was pudding. He fastened his mouth on her nipple and she arched into him, feeling the tug clear to her womb.

“You are life and fire beneath that frozen exterior. Tell me I am the only man who sees that.” He tugged at her petticoats until she lifted her hips and let him pull them off.

In retaliation, she tugged at his coat until he wriggled out of it and flung it at a chair, not noticing when he missed.

“You are the only man I trust to see me,” she said honestly. “I cannot live seeing you every day and not wanting this. I see you and I want you until I can think of nothing else. It’s impossible. I have to leave for that reason alone.”

His laugh held a note of triumph. “Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one who suffers.”

“How do other people do it?” she asked as he continued undressing himself.

“I’ll ask Theo and Erran sometime how they did it before they were wed. For now, it will have to be enough to know a frightening female like you can feel the same.”

She laughed at his description, relieved that Pascoe was brave and open-minded enough not to have fled in horror after whatever she’d done tonight. Sometimes, she scared herself, so she respected the level of courage he displayed to still be with her.

She had only the lamplight by which to admire the rippling sculpture that was his magnificent chest. She wanted to be outside in bright sunlight so she might appreciate more than the play of shadow across those masculine planes.

And then he was kissing her breasts again, and she had to quit worrying about the lonely nights ahead. He shifted to kissing down her torso until he reached between her thighs, and she left her mind entirely and became sheer physical sensation. He cleansed the ghostly spirits from the corners of her soul and lifted her into a heaven she might crave for the rest of her life.

And when she thought she could never move again, Pascoe thrust into her, filled her with his hardness, and grounded her to the earth and to the solidity that was him. She dug her fingers into taut arms, wrapped her legs around the fierceness of his physical possession, and cried her joy when he did.

In the morning, her bed was empty, and she wept, terrified that she’d never see him again. This was what she had wanted, but she felt as if she were being torn in two, ripped apart by a medieval torture rack. Perhaps, if she were two people—

The maid entered with tea and stirred the coals and promised to bring up freshened clothing. When Bridey sat up, she found Pascoe’s monocle on the table beside the bed. She didn’t know what it meant that he’d left it behind, but she clutched the warm metal in her fist for the long, lonely days and nights ahead of her.

“Ashford is here!” The cry carried up and down the stairs of Wystan tower.

Lady Aster hurriedly tossed still another journal into her valise. “The beast would be early,” she said in agitation, glancing around her bed chamber for items left behind. “He probably drove the team himself, just because he can. Almost.”

Since the marquess was reported to be half blind, Bridey glanced out the narrow window with alarm. A very large Ives climbed down— from the driver’s seat. Fortunately, there also seemed to be a liveried coachman beside him. She shook her head in disbelief but studied this man whose birth was separated from Pascoe’s by only a few months. She decided she preferred Pascoe’s lean, handsome, elegance to Ashford’s broad bulk. “The marquess will stay here with his wife, will he not?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Aster said. “Christie will see to that, as long as she bears the babe before harvest, at least.” She laughed and handed the heavy bag of books to a waiting maid. “His chart shows Ashford will have his heir, so he’ll stay in this outpost as sure as death.”

Footmen were already unloading the elegant berlin and a baggage wagon. “He is not thinking to keep his footmen, is he?” Bridey asked worriedly, rubbing at the hollow between her hip bones. “The magic here is rather powerful.” As she thought she had reason to believe—and hope.

“No, the footmen will accompany us back to town. If we are to stop and visit the duke, we must arrive in style.” Aster looked up as Celeste glided in, holding her newborn daughter. “There you are. I think we should plan our lying-ins this well in the future. Christie will appreciate your company.”

“We need to move Wystan closer to town,” Celeste said, laying the sleeping infant on the bed so she could straighten Aster’s bonnet ribbons.

“That is why the property the duke has mentioned is so important.” Bridey could scarcely conceal her excitement at finally having a chance to see the crumbling abbey in Yorkshire. The duke had said the abbey manor had been well maintained until war had removed the last of the baronets owning it a few decades ago. “It is almost half way between London and Wystan. If I am able to start my school there, I will always be close by.”

“If you consider Harrogate close by,” Celeste corrected with a smile. “But being close to the Great North Road will make you more accessible, of a certainty, especially if the babes are so inconsiderate as to arrive in winter.”

“I am almost dancing with excitement,” Bridey admitted. “Hurry, do. I must meet the marchioness before we leave to assure her that I will be back in plenty of time to deliver the heir.”

“Dancing with excitement!” Aster crowed. “Look at you, all prim and proper and looking like a schoolmistress with your hair all pulled back, scarcely offering a smile! But I suppose it is an improvement over the moping you’ve been doing.”

“Bridey doesn’t mope when Pascoe’s letters arrive,” Celeste pointed out, picking up her daughter again. “Let us go down and warn Christie she must study the downstairs now before being condemned by our cruel taskmistress to bedchambers until she bears her babe.”

Pascoe’s letters had saved her sanity, Bridey reflected as she followed the chattering Ives ladies down to the tower’s great hall. That he had not forgotten her when he returned to his busy city life had reassured her that their relationship had not all been in her head—or just physical. He poured his thoughts and concerns into his missives, as she did hers. That they could not be together was as much her fault as his—they both walked different paths. His duty to king and country was as important to him as her duty to women was to her.

When she’d told him that the duke had found a potential home for her school, he’d been as happy as she. She’d laughed at his suggestion that she be diplomatic in introducing herself to the Bath Hospital physicians in Harrogate. He’d insisted that the mineral waters in the area could only be beneficial, and he’d talked to one of the gifted Malcolm ladies, who had agreed to help her experiment with them.

In return, she’d made as many suggestions as she could for working with his children and finding a nursemaid who would understand that they were different. She could not, however, help him with the king and his ministers when he griped about their obtuseness. She knew nothing of the milieu of London, society, or government in which he thrived.

She hadn’t received a new letter in well over a week.

Downstairs, the powerful marquess of Ashford was bellowing worse than an oxen driver, ordering trunks hither and yon and sending servants into a frenzy—until his extremely pregnant wife entered. Lady Ashford was nearly as tall as her husband, more statuesque even than Bridey, with a sweet smile and a commanding presence that brought order with a mere gesture.

The thundering marquess transformed into a solicitous husband the instant the woman Aster called Christie claimed his arm. It took a moment before Ashford even noticed their arrival. Observing how the handsome pair regarded each other, Bridey thought she might melt into a puddle of goo.

She could not resent the marchioness for commanding such love and respect from a mighty Ives. It was Bridey’s own fault for choosing an independent route, leaving her nights lonely. She’d lived with loneliness long enough to know she could survive.

Once introduced, Bridey bobbed her curtsey, then while everyone excitedly talked, she drew Lady Ashford aside to discuss dates and instructions.

“You will not be too far away, will you?” the lady asked, revealing the anxiety behind her commanding presence. “Ashford is likely to wear out the floors if I mention the slightest twinge. He really wants to chain you to the walls.”

Bridey laughed, comfortable with this role. “They all do. The first babe is the worst. Enjoy his attention while you can. The next one, he’ll probably go north to Scotland for hunting while waiting. Put him to improving the road into Wystan, make certain there are posting horses at the inn where the mail coach stops, and I shall ride like the wind if you must summon me early. And in the meantime, Celeste is here to reassure and entertain and teach you all about the ways of infants. Will you have a wet nurse?”

Lady Ashford shook her head. “Not if it can be avoided. Aster has found us wonderful nursemaids, but we are all agreed. If our children have any chance of possessing our odd gifts, it’s best if we nurture them ourselves. Just look at how the Ives men have disregarded theirs all these years!”

Bridey hadn’t really been aware that Ives men had gifts, although she’d heard Lord Erran’s speaking talent mentioned once or twice. Lawyers and politicians had to be eloquent, so she’d not thought more about it. She didn’t dare ask if Ashford had a weird talent. The marquess was far too intimidating even half-blind.

“I agree that nursing is essential to forming a bond between mother and child,” Bridey said. “I don’t think you’ll have a problem, but if there is one, I know other means of feeding infants in addition to a wet nurse. If you think Ashford might be interested, I’m taking some of the carrier pigeons with me. We can train them to fly between Harrogate and Wystan. They are fast in any weather.”

The lady’s eyes lit with delight. “Most excellent! He will be fascinated to learn a new means of harassing his family. Are you certain you will be staying in Harrogate?”

“I hope so,” Bridey said fervently. “The duke has promised to help acquire the land in any way he can. The property isn’t too far from his Yorkshire estate, so surely he has some influence.”

She didn’t know where she would go if she lost this opportunity, but she wouldn’t worry about it just yet. She wanted to cling to the excitement of finally having the chance to achieve her dreams.

Pascoe nervously walked the abbey grounds, studying the ivy-covered L-shaped manse. The place reeked of decades of neglect, but if architects had deemed it habitable, he wouldn’t argue. Far too much rode on the unprepossessing stone structure. He poked at the long low cloister walls. The aging stone and medieval arches would make an excellent backdrop to a garden. He had no notion if they were solid enough to be rebuilt for comfort.

And he shouldn’t be making plans yet—even though his heart pulsed through his veins, and he couldn’t sit still.

He should have written Bridey. But he feared the narrow light of hope he saw ahead was no more than an ephemeral moonbeam.

His horse munched at a patch of greenery. The sun was almost hot as he listened for the squeak of coach wheels. He’d been kept informed of Bridey’s itinerary, but it was impossible to know when she’d actually arrive, or who with. For all he knew, she’d been staying with the duke for days. He didn’t know what he’d do if she arrived on Rainsford’s arm.

He hated this emotional turmoil. He almost preferred his previous life of detachment, where he manipulated the futures of others to the detriment of his own. But that life had grown stagnant and confining. He had new horizons, if he could only handle the most important negotiation of his life. This time, he had to temper his ambition with understanding, and be willing to concede. He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Or he could kill Rainsford. That might be satisfying.

He heard the sound of a single horse—not a coach with driver and footmen. He breathed a sigh of relief at the same time as his temper rose at the fool woman’s lack of caution. He marched down the overgrown lane to meet her.

“Pascoe!” Bridey cried as soon as he stepped into the road. “Pascoe, Pascoe!” She pulled her mount to a halt and practically flung herself into his arms.

Her excited kisses withered his temper. With lighter heart, he laughed, swung her in a circle, and carried her behind an overgrown rose hedge to hug her properly.

She clung to his neck, covered his face with kisses, then placed her hands on his chest and shoved him away. “What are you doing here? I thought you had an appointment with the king and had promised to look after Ashford’s sons while he’s in Wystan, and I believe Jack was expecting you to visit. Are you on your way north?”

“I have come to see you, of course.” He shoved overlong hair out of his eyes, studied the stunning woman in his arms, then looked up and grimaced at the neglected manse. “I don’t suppose there’s a bed inside that’s not a haven for vermin? I’d really rather make love to you before I explain more.”

She laughed, took his hand, and led him toward the formidable three-story block stone hall. “We can see for ourselves what is inside. The duke gave me a key so I might see if the manse is sufficient for my purpose. He has promised to match any funds I raise to buy it, so I must go to London and meet Aster’s friends and family. I am eager to finally see the city but worried sick about trying to talk wealthy ladies into contributing to my cause. Aster claims her family is quite excited. They seem to think a school for professional midwives and infant nurses is a good idea.”

Pascoe listened to her nervous chatter with the patience of the diplomat he’d been, filtering the information she was offering in order to use it against her. Or for her. He was too anxious on his own part to be certain of either.

He followed her up the stone steps, noting they seemed solid. “Aster’s herbalist cousin has promised to marry the first man who asks so she can inherit her grandfather’s fortune. You have no idea what you have unleashed by offering to let her turn part of this dump into a lab for her experiments.”

“I can’t wait to meet Emilia and the rest of Aster’s family.” Bridey twisted the key in the lock, but it stuck. “The duke says the abbey reverted to the Crown decades ago, but he has been acting as caretaker, that’s why he has a key. He claims the property currently costs more than it earns, so the Crown should be happy to take whatever we offer.”

Pascoe’s gut twisted as he realized how innocent she was of the layers of string-pulling happening behind her back. He would do anything to keep her innocent, but his life was contaminated by manipulation.

Hiding his guilt, he took the key, forced it through decades of rust, and felt the tumbler fall. “Perhaps it is a good thing that we don’t make love before we talk,” he said grimly, kicking the door open.

Bridey almost stumbled crossing the rotted threshold. Without thinking, Pascoe caught her up and carried her over, then continued holding her as they gazed in awe at the high-ceilinged entry.

“You had probably ought to set me down before you explain that remark,” she said dryly as he twirled in the beams of sunlight from the leaded glass panes above their heads.

He didn’t want to have to explain. He wanted the argument over and Bridey in his bed and to hell with the deceptive schemers who controlled their futures. But negotiation was what he did best, and he had to do this right. The question became—did he manipulate Bridey to his wishes or present his case and let her choose. The idea of losing if she chose against him was unacceptable.

Not wanting to release the heavenly scent and lush curves that was the woman he wanted more than air, he carried her into the front drawing room. Finding a window seat under the undraped floor-to-ceiling Gothic windows, he carried her over, kicked the wood to be certain no rats occupied it, then lowered her to the bench.

She rubbed her hand worriedly over his whiskered cheek. “I did not expect to see you here, but I meant to find you once we reached London. Perhaps I should speak my inappropriate piece first, while you ponder your difficult explanation.”

Swallowing his terror at her seriousness, Pascoe kissed her frown. “I have come prepared to wear you down with articulate diplomacy, so let us start with inappropriate, please. It sounds more interesting.”

She laughed nervously and clung to his hand. “I have decided that if I am brave enough to chase after a dream, I have to be brave enough to tell you how I feel, even if it means you’ll never write me another letter again. I’ve never been good at expressing feelings, possibly because no one was interested in listening.”

She hesitated, as if struggling for words. His heart swelled that this marvelous woman with such enormous compassion would choose to reveal it to him before any other. He kissed her hairline. “I am interested, dear heart. I will always be interested in anything you say or do.”

She stroked his cheek, kissed him back, then pulled away to watch his expression. “I love you, Aaron Pascoe-Ives. I will always love you, no matter what the future holds. You’re a good man, a brilliant man, and I believe you will always choose the best path for all. Thank you for believing in me.”

Damn, the woman nearly brought him to tears. She’d buried the important part with flattery, but he heard her just fine. She loved him. His beautiful Viking loved him. Had anyone ever told him that? Lily, maybe, but so long ago he’d forgotten how it felt. He might explode with all those emotions that made it impossible to negotiate a deal.

He didn’t deserve her courageous declaration— one he had yet to make because he was too busy calculating the right moment.

Pascoe gathered her in his arms and squeezed her with joy. “I need to learn to be inappropriate, so I may convey my thoughts similarly. I am a man trained to be shrewd, not expressive. But if this heat burning in my heart, and this constant longing to be with you is love, then I love you more than I can ever say, even with all the words at my disposal.”

It was an enormous relief to cut open his heart and let it bleed, leaving him vulnerable. But his Bridey would never take advantage where another might, and he trusted her—as his jaded experience prevented him from trusting any other.

She cupped the back of his head and brought their lips together. Pascoe kissed her hard, longing to stay submerged in passion above all else. But he summoned his courage and set her away again. “I’m not certain the fates mean for us to be together, my love, but know I will always put you first, because I am no longer capable of doing elsewise.”

She stared at him in wonder and caressed his face. “Thank you for not letting me feel like a hysteric for being so bold, or making me feel as if I’m trying to trap you into an impossible situation.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and held him while the morning sun poured over them.

“There are times when your boldness terrifies me, but this is not one of those moments. You have actually made it easier for me to hunt words I’ve never said.” If he could just freeze this perfect moment, never move forward. . . But that wouldn’t accomplish what he wanted either.

Pascoe pressed a kiss to her sunset hair. She had discarded her hat, and she wore her thick tresses wrapped simply at her nape. In her riding attire, his Bridey was all supple curves, fitting neatly into his arms so they breathed as one. He might capture her love forever, if he could phrase what he’d only just learned in the right way.

“You are not here to tell me there is something wrong with the children, are you?” she asked, pulling away and studying him anxiously.

He gave a dry laugh. “The imps from hell are fine as long as I take them everywhere. They’re currently with Ashford’s brats and their tutor at an inn down the road. By now, they have probably found ponies to follow me. They are irate that I let you go without saying farewell and are no longer speaking to me. There may be hope for them yet, if I can just say this next part in proper order. Your inappropriateness has thrown my planned speech all cock-a-hoop, and I’m hastily rewriting.”

She sent him a teasing glance, even though the worry frown still creased her brow. “I am most sorry that I have been inappropriate. You may now use your silver tongue to express the difficulty you are facing.”

One difficulty had been that he had not wanted her marrying him because she thought she had to for the good of all—as she had done the first time. Reassured by her declaration of love, Pascoe dropped to his knee on the dusty floor. “If it was just thee and me, and we could steer our lives in any way we chose, would you marry me?”

She stared at him in shock, and a tear rolled down her pale cheek. She hastily wiped at it. Pascoe didn’t know if he should weep with her, so he swallowed hard and waited. Even when she cupped his face, he couldn’t tell if this was her way of saying farewell.

“Please,” he pleaded, “I need to know you would accept me over all others before I can say anything else.”

“Yes, yes, of course I would, you foolish man. Who else would tolerate a managing witch who allows spirits into her head?” she asked with a hiccup, leaning over to kiss him. “I swore never to marry again, but you have made me see how limited my vision was. If I could choose anyone, it would be you. I mean it when I say I love you dearly, and that I live for your letters. I would hate it if you married anyone else, even though I know I can never be the domestic society wife you need.”

Closing his eyes in relief, Pascoe returned to the seat beside her and dragged her back into his arms so she could not flee. Or punch him. “Then will you listen quietly and think long and hard about what I’m saying before you beat me into pulp and shove me through a window?”

She laughed, ran her hands under his coat, and kissed his jaw. “Perhaps we do need to have this conversation in bed.”

“I would love nothing more, but I would not be coherent.” He grasped her hands and pressed them between his while he studied her laughing green eyes. His frost queen was happy.

He wanted her to always be happy. He dearly wanted to share her happiness. He prayed he was not about to kill all hope. “Let me say this in order, if I can with my heart pounding in my head. The duke may have the king’s ear, but he cannot influence a king who is currently unhappy with me. In any case His Majesty always does as he pleases.”

“His Majesty was unhappy with your work in Northbridge?” she asked indignantly. “I’ll have Ashford—”

Pascoe touched a finger to her lips. “Ashford only confused the matter, so let me tell it my way. In his effort to find you land for a school, the duke mentioned to the king that the Crown owned this perfectly useless abbey that he would be happy to take off His Majesty’s hands. At the same time that His Grace was pursuing your interests, I presented my report on Northbridge, along with the documents on Jack’s parentage. His Majesty was most displeased.”

Pascoe shook his head when ire lit her eyes. “I knew he would be. No one likes to cheat their godsons out of an inheritance or to be told they are fools. I was lucky not to be beheaded for telling him I allowed one to die under my watch. It’s no matter. I handed in my resignation with my report. I realized that you were quite correct in saying that I needed to be home with my children more, that no nursemaid will understand them as I am trying to do. My father left me a competence. I earn an income from Ashford’s estate as well. We will not starve, but I am as incapable as you are of going without occupation.”

She squeezed his hands, and he saw hope in her eyes. Now that he knew how she felt, this next part came a little easier. “And this is where Ashford interfered. I asked him if he had any projects that might use my talents. And he demanded to know if His Majesty had rewarded me adequately for my service to the Crown over all these years, especially with the Northbridge episode. He seemed to think that my returning the mines and foundry to production while preventing gossip about Carstairs and his noxious brother should have pleased His Majesty.”

“I have heard from Fin,” she interrupted eagerly. “It is all working out very fine. Gilroy never wanted the title so much as the funds so he could keep his bride in style and flaunt about society in pretty clothes. Presented with proof of Jack’s legitimacy, he willingly ceded the title and half the fortune to him rather than sue. Jack will go to school in the fall, Myers has found a competent steward who can act on Jack’s behalf, and my brother is happily building a new foundry. Everyone is most pleased. Ashford is right. You should be rewarded.”

Pascoe pressed his forehead to hers and her hands against his chest. “Thank you for encouraging my arrogance, although I really am trying to rein it in. But it was Ashford pointing all this out to His Majesty and scolding him that brings me to this next part. My nephews are not shy about making their demands known, and they have rather influential voices. His Majesty grudgingly accepted Ashford’s advice, but he has still had the last laugh.”

She waited, wide-eyed. Pascoe took a deep breath. “Keeping in mind that I have barely lived in the home I have, and it has never been my ambition to own land. . . In his benevolence for services rendered, His Majesty has granted me a previously dormant baronetcy and the accompanying lands. I am now Sir Pascoe Ives of Alder Abbey.”

“Of Alder Abbey?” she asked shakily. “This Alder Abbey?”

He nodded. “His Majesty knew nothing of what is between us, or why His Grace wanted the land. He just decided to reward me with what he considered a worthless title and piece of property and let me negotiate with the duke so he didn’t have to.”

She laughed a little, although her voice trembled. “So, I have to buy the abbey from you?”