Craving the Forbidden (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Fitzroy Legacy - Book 1) (17 page)

‘Missed your train?’

Kit looked round. A man wearing overalls and a yellow high-vis jacket had appeared, carrying a spade.

‘Something like that. When’s the next one to London?’

The man went over to the grit bin at the end of the platform and thrust the spade into it.

‘London? The only straight-through London train from here is the 11.07 in the morning. If you need to get one before that you’ll have to get to Newcastle.’ He threw the spadeful of grit across the compacted snow.

Hopelessness engulfed Kit. Numbly he started walking away. If he caught a train from Newcastle, by the time he’d got to London she’d be long gone and he’d have no way of finding her. Unless …

Unless …

He spun round. ‘Wait a minute. Did you say the only straight-through train was this morning? So the one that just left …’

‘Was the local service to Newcastle. That’s right.’

‘Thanks.’

Kit broke into a run. He didn’t stop until he reached the tower gate, and remembered the cars. The party was evidently still going on, and the courtyard was still rammed with vehicles. Kit stopped. Bracing his arms against the shiny black bonnet of the one nearest to him, letting his head drop as ragged breaths were torn from his heaving chest, almost like sobs.

She had gone. And he couldn’t even go after her.

‘Sir?’

Dimly he was aware of the car door opening and a figure getting out. Until that point he hadn’t registered which car he was leaning against, or that there was anyone in it, but now he saw that it was the funeral car and the grey-haired man who had just got out was the undertaker.

‘I was going to ask if you were all right, but clearly that would be a daft question,’ he said, abandoning the stiff formality of his role. ‘A better question would be, is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Yes,’ Kit rasped. ‘Yes, there is.’

Sophie stood on the platform and looked around in confusion.

Newcastle Central Station was a magnificent example of Victorian design and engineering. With its iron-boned canopy arching above her, Sophie felt as if she were standing in the belly of a vast whale.

Apart from the noise, and the crowds, maybe. Being inside a whale would probably be a blissfully quiet experience compared to this. People pushed past her, shouting into mobile phones to make themselves heard above the echoing announcement system and the noise of diesel engines.

Amongst them, Sophie felt tiny. Invisible.

It had been just a week and a half since she’d dashed onto the 16.22 from King’s Cross but now the girl with the stiletto boots and a corset dress and the who-cares attitude could barely bring herself to walk away from the little train that had brought her from Alnburgh. After the space and silence of the last ten days it felt as if the crowds were pressing in on her and that she might simply be swept away, or trampled underfoot. And that no one would notice.

But the guard had said she needed to hurry if she was going to catch the London connection. Adjusting her grip on her broken bag, holding it awkwardly to make sure it didn’t spill its contents, she forced herself to move forwards.

Platform two. Where was platform two? Her eyes scanned the bewildering array of signs, but somehow none of the words made sense to her. Except one, high up on the lit-up board of train departures.

Alnburgh.

Sophie had never been homesick in her life, probably because she’d never really had a home to be sick for, but she thought the feeling might be something like the anguish that hollowed out her insides and filled her lungs with cement as she stared at the word.

She looked away. She didn’t belong there—hadn’t she told herself that countless times during the last ten days? The girl from nowhere with the made-up name and the made-up past didn’t belong in a castle, or in a family with a thousand years of history.

So where did she belong?

Panic was rising inside her. Standing in the middle of the swarming station concourse, she suddenly felt as if she were falling, or disappearing, and there was nothing there to anchor her. She turned round, desperately searching for something familiar …

And then she saw him.

Pushing his way through the crowds of commuters, head and shoulders above everyone else, his face tense and ashen but so beautiful that for a moment Sophie couldn’t breathe. She stood, not wanting to take her eyes off him in case he disappeared again, unable to speak.

‘Kit.’

It was a whisper. A whimper. So quiet she barely heard it herself. But at that moment he turned his head and looked straight at her.

His footsteps slowed, and for a second the expression on his face was one she hadn’t seen before. Uncertainty. Fear. The same things she was feeling—or had been until she saw him. And then it was gone—replaced by a sort of scowling ferocity as he crossed the distance between them with long, rapid strides. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her, hungrily and hard.

There were tears running down Sophie’s face when she finally pulled away. She felt tender and torn with emotions she couldn’t begin to unravel—gratitude and joy and relief, undercut with the terrible anguish she was beginning to realise went with loving someone.

‘My train …’ she croaked, steeling herself for the possibility that he’d just come to say goodbye.

Slowly he shook his head. His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘Don’t get on it.’

‘Why not?’

He took her face between his hands, drawing her close to him so that in the middle of the crowd they were in their own private universe. Under his silver gaze Sophie felt as if she were bathed in moonlight.

‘Because then I would have to get on it too,’ he murmured gravely, ‘and I’d have to sit opposite you for the next two and a half hours, looking at you, breathing in your scent and wanting to take your clothes off and make love to you on the table.’ He gave her a rueful smile that made her heart turn over. ‘I’ve done that once before, so I know how hard it is. And because I hijacked a hearse and committed several civil and traffic offences to find you, and now I have I don’t want to let you go again. Not until I’ve said what I have to say. Starting with sorry.’

Tears were still spilling down her cheeks. ‘Kit, you don’t have to—’

‘I’ve been rehearsing this all the way from Alnburgh,’ he said, brushing the tears away with his thumbs, ‘so if you could listen without interrupting that would be good. I saw Jasper.’

‘Oh! And—’

He frowned. ‘I’m horrified …’

Sophie’s mouth opened in protest, but before she could say anything he kissed her into silence and continued softly, ‘… that he ever thought I wouldn’t
approve
. Lord, am I such a judgmental bastard?’

Sophie gave a hiccupping laugh that was half sob. ‘I think you’re asking the wrong person.’

He let her go then, dropping his hands to his sides and looking down at her with an expression of abject desolation. ‘God, Sophie, I’m so sorry. I’ve spent my whole miserable life not trusting anyone so it had become something of a habit. Until Olympia told me what she did to you at school and I wanted to wring her neck, and it made me realise that I trusted you absolutely.’

‘But what about with Sergio—you thought—’

Out of his arms, without his touch Sophie felt as if she were breaking up again. The crowed swelled and jostled around them. A commuter banged her leg with his briefcase.

‘No.’ It was a groan of surrender. An admission of defeat. He pulled her back into his arms and held her against him so that she could feel the beat of his heart. ‘I was too bloody deranged with jealousy to think at all. I just wanted to tear him limb from limb. I know it’s not big or clever, but I can’t help it. I just want you for myself.’

Tentatively she lifted her head to look up at him, her vision blurred by wonder and tears.

‘Really?’

In reply he kissed her again, this time so tenderly that she felt as if he were caressing her soul.

‘It’ll never work,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘I’m not good enough for you.’

‘I think …’ he kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw ‘… we’ve already established that you’re far too good for me.’

She closed her eyes as rapture spiralled through her. ‘Socially I mean. I’m nobody.’

His lips brushed her ear lobe. ‘So am I, remember?’

It was getting harder to concentrate. Harder to think of reasons why she shouldn’t just give in to the rising tide of longing inside her. Harder to keep her knees from buckling. ‘I’d be disastrous for your career,’ she breathed. ‘Amongst all those officers’ wives—’

He lifted his head and gazed at her with eyes that were lit by some inner light. ‘You’ll outshine them all,’ he said softly, simply. ‘They’ll want to hate you for being so beautiful but they won’t be able to. Now, have you any more objections?’

‘No.’

He seized her hand. ‘Then for God’s sake let’s go and find the nearest hotel.’

Still Sophie held back. ‘But I thought you had to report back for duty …’

‘I called in some favours.’ Gently he took her face between his hands and kissed her again. ‘I have three weeks’ compassionate leave following my father’s death. But since Ralph wasn’t actually my father I think we can just call it passionate leave. I intend to make the most of every second.’

EPILOGUE

I
T WAS
just a tiny piece in the property section of one of the Sunday papers. Eating brioche spread thickly with raspberry jam in the crumpled ruins of the bed that had become their world for the last three weeks, Sophie gave a little squeal. ‘Listen to this!

‘Unexpected Twist to Fitzroy Inheritance. ‘Following the recent death of Ralph Fitzroy, eighth Earl of Hawksworth and owner of the Alnburgh estate, it has come to light that the expected heir is not, in fact, set to inherit. Sources close to the family have confirmed that the estate, which includes Alnburgh Castle and five hundred acres of land in Northumberland as well as a sizeable slice of premium real estate in Chelsea, will pass to Jasper Fitzroy, the Earl’s younger son from his second marriage, rather than his older brother, Major Kit Fitzroy.’

Putting the last bit of brioche in her mouth, she continued,

‘Major Fitzroy, a serving member of the armed forces, was recently awarded the George Medal for bravery. However, it’s possible that his courage failed him when it came to taking on Alnburgh. According to locals, maintenance of the estate has been severely neglected in recent years, leaving the next owner with a heavy financial burden to bear. While Kit Fitzroy is rumoured to have considerable personal wealth, perhaps this is one rescue mission he just doesn’t want to take on …’

She tossed the newspaper aside and, licking jam off her fingers, cast Kit a sideways glance from under her lashes.

‘“Considerable personal wealth”?’ She wriggled down beneath the covers, smiling as she kissed his shoulder. ‘I like the sound of that.’

Kit, still surfacing from the depths of the sleep he’d been blessed with since he’d had Sophie in his bed, arched an eyebrow.

‘I thought as much,’ he sighed, turning over and looking straight into her sparkling, beautiful eyes. ‘You’re nothing but a shallow, cynical gold-digger.’

‘You’re right.’ Sophie nodded seriously, pressing her lips together to stop herself from smiling. ‘To be honest, I’m really only interested in your money, and your exceptionally gorgeous Chelsea house.’ The sweeping gesture she made with her arm took in the bedroom with its view of the garden square outside. ‘It’s why I’ve decided to put up with your boring personality and frankly quite average looks. Not to mention your disappointing performance in bed—’

She broke off with a squeal as, beneath the sheets, he slid a languid hand between her thighs.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ he murmured gravely.

‘I said …’ she gasped ‘… that I was only interested in your … money.’ He watched her eyes darken as he moved his hand higher. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a rich man’s plaything.’

He propped himself up on one elbow, so he could see her better. Her hair was spilling over the pillow—a gentler red than when he’d first seen her that day on the train—the colour of horse chestnuts rather than holly berries—and her face was bare of make-up. She had never looked more beautiful.

‘Not a rich man’s wife?’ he asked idly, leaning down to kiss the hollow above her collarbone.

‘Oh, no. If we’re talking marriage I’d be looking for a title as well as a fortune.’ Her voice turned husky as his lips moved to the base of her throat. ‘And a sizeable estate to go with it …’

He smiled, taking his time, breathing in the scent of her skin. ‘OK, that’s good to know. Since I’m fresh out of titles and estates there’s probably no point in asking.’

He felt her stiffen, heard her little gasp of shock and excitement. ‘Well, there might be some room for negotiation,’ she said breathlessly. ‘And I’d say that right now you’re in a pretty good bargaining position …’

‘Sophie Greenham,’ he said gravely, ‘I love you because you are beautiful and clever and honest and loyal …’

‘Flattery will get you a very long way,’ she sighed, closing her eyes as his fingertips trailed rapture over the quivering skin on the inside of her thighs. ‘And
that
will probably do the rest …’

His chest tightened as he looked down at her. ‘I love you because you think underwear is a better investment than clothes, and because you’re brave and funny and sexy, and I was wondering if you’d possibly consider marrying me?’

Her eyes opened and met his. The smile that spread slowly across her face was one of pure, incredulous happiness. It felt like watching the sun rise.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, gazing up at him with dazed, brilliant eyes. ‘Yes, please.’

‘I feel it’s only fair to warn you that I’ve been disowned by my family …’

Serene, she took his face in her hands. ‘We can make our own family.’

He frowned, smoothing a strand of hair from her cheek, suddenly finding it difficult to speak for the lump of emotion in his throat. ‘And I have no title, no castle and no lands to offer you.’

She laughed, pulling him down into her arms. ‘Believe me, I absolutely wouldn’t have it any other way …’

* * * * *