Love Then Begins (6 page)

“Och, ‘afore I forget,” Mrs McLaughlin paused and dug into her apron pocket, bringing out an envelope, “this here was delivered by courier this morning.”

Holly saw her husband’s face darken and the corners of his mouth turn down as he took the letter and read the direction.

“My steward at Cumbermere,” he sighed. “I left so abruptly . . . let us just say that he is not pleased that I have missed Quarter Day yet again . . . ” He looked up at her with a face so wretched and miserable, she was reminded of a little boy who had just been scolded. “I should . . . we really ought to go . . . ”

“Yes, we probably should, but it’s too late to go anywhere today regardless.” She moved back to him and slipped her hand over his shoulder, “Are you going down to the stables now?”

He looked out the window and sighed deeply. “It’s cold and windy out there,” he muttered. “How about some chess instead? In bed.”

A
WAKENED BY THE SOUNDS OF
muffled voices nearby, Holly lay beneath the warm blankets, listening absently. She recognised the voice of her husband as one of those speaking at almost the same moment that she realised she was lying beneath those warm blankets alone. Well, except for an abandoned chess piece chafing against her leg. She kicked it away and turned around. Curious, but still drowsy and content, she sat up. He must be in the dressing room with his valet for some reason. Not unexpectedly, the door to the bedroom opened soon afterwards to admit her fully dressed husband.

He was met with the sight of his wife sitting up in the bed, her shoulders bare but for the magnificent long chestnut hair around her like a veil. She was hugging her knees, wrapped in the sheets for warmth. Her look was lazy but inviting in its intensity and she wore the most mischievous little grin, just bordering on impertinence.

“Going somewhere, my lord?”

“I am, and it is all your fault,” he grumbled as he came near. “Because of you and your insistence on distracting me from my purpose and enticing me back from my good intentions with both food and comforts, it turns out I am in no way freed from my obligations but am compelled to trek out to the stables, in the cold wind, ankle deep in freezing water, pretending to care about clogged drainage ditches while you lie here all warm and cosy. It is completely unfair.”

“Mmm,” she smiled, sliding down a little deeper beneath the bedclothes. “Drainage ditches can be very inconvenient. Hurry back, then. I’ll keep it warm for you.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, with a smile and a look in his eyes that belied his stern words, “in penance for your obstinacy, I insist that, in an hour’s time, you appear in that same dining room we left in such a hurry to join me for luncheon.”

“Oh you insist, do you?” she asked, burrowing herself deeper in the pillows. “Very well, my lord and master, in that case I shall obey. That is,” she pulled the sheets up over her head, “if I don’t fall back asleep first.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he cried, pouncing on the bed beside her and sweeping the covers away.

“No! Give those back! It’s cold! You are cold,” she shrieked as the chill air of the room hit her and he let his cold hands travel over her body.

“I know I’m cold,” he laughed, “and it’s only fair that you should be too.” The laughter stopped and he buried his lips deep into her neck and bare, chilly shoulder. “But I am not as cold as I once was. Before you. I was so very cold for so long, but from now on I shall be only warm, hot and boiling thanks to you, love.”

She let her own hand languidly brush through his hair, her laugh was low and sensuous. “You need have no fear on that score. I shall certainly make sure you will suffer under all such afflictions, as long as you remember to share all that warmth and heat with me.”

That laugh, that tone of voice egged him on and he kissed her ear, her temple, her throat, her breast. Her breathing slowed down, deepened and sounds of pleasure and surrender escaped those inviting lips once more. She shivered from his touch—not from the cold anymore, but from the heat—and he gasped as she boldly let her own fingers explore his body, touching, stroking him outside his clothing.

“Oh, love,” she whispered, sending a shiver of desire down his back, “stay with me, just a while longer. Surely the ditches can wait a little, can’t they?”

“Yes,” he whispered back as she began to tug at his clothing. He drew back to give her more room to work when a very quiet scratch came from the middle door. “Damn!” he said, dropping his head onto her chest in disappointment. “Riemann!”

“He’ll wait,” Holly asked pleadingly, “won’t he?”

“Yes, but . . . ” Baugham sighed, “Mr McLaughlin will be downstairs even now. He has been wanting to consult with me for days about those ditches . . . ” He gave one last regretful look at the warm, inviting woman lying beside him, lips parted and eyes dark with desire. “Damn!” he repeated before dragging himself away. “One hour? And then I promise, no more business for the rest of the day. For the rest of our stay.”

Holly nodded, though her mouth twisted in disappointment. He smiled ruefully and walked back through the door. “Damn!” she heard him mutter once more.

Knowing she would be unable to fall back to sleep, Holly slid out of bed with a sigh and got dressed. If this was a day for attending to business at the expense of selfish pleasure, she would not only take the time to pen an answer to Elizabeth but also to address Dr McKenna’s note

“Something to keep me busy while I wait,” she told herself determinedly and took them with her on the way out.

Once again retreating to the library, she sat at the desk and drew the letters out in what she thought was a very impressive and businesslike manner. She arranged herself, read through Elizabeth’s letter once again, then put it aside, turning to the letter to her husband from Dr McKenna. She glanced around quickly, then opened the single, folded sheet.

Caledonian Thistle Inn
23 December, 1812

Lord Baugham,

Forgive my imposing upon you at such a time, but as it has been some while since we spoke and I have heard no word from either you or Lady Baugham, I feel I have no other recourse but to demand a moment of your time. In absence of any word from you to the contrary, I can only assume that Lady Baugham does indeed have no interest in continuing with our project.

My terms with Mr Robertson at the inn extend only to the end of this month; at that time I will return to Edinburgh. If you will be so kind as to give me some direction, I should like to render payment for the work that has been done to date—although I believe it would be best to return her ladyship’s drawings and sketches and start anew when I engage another illustrator.

I await your response.
P. McKenna

Holly sighed, staring at the page thoughtfully while the frown on her face deepened and she pulled ever more viciously at her ear lobe. The end of this month? She quickly counted on her fingers, shocked at how the days had flown by. Today must be at least the 28th of December . . . how had they missed Christmas? A glow rose to her cheeks—she knew exactly how and why Christmas had passed them by without notice. Nevertheless, Dr McKenna was under the assumption that she was abandoning their work . . . and if he was going to leave in three days . . .

Without wasting any more time she impulsively drew out a fine sheet of paper from the open shelf on the writing desk and set to work.

It took her just a few minutes to produce her short note. Really, there was no need for ceremony on the issue. She was already late with her answer and a quick refutation to put the doctor’s mind at ease that he need not even contemplate going through the arduous task of engaging another illustrator—not when they had come so far and she was so confident she could carry out her original engagement without any trouble at all—was surely all that was needed to settle the matter.

Holly looked down at the note she had composed in such certainty and hurry, “ . . . it is clear that such a measure would be unnecessary on my account and much too troublesome on yours...” She frowned when her conscience rebelled at this turn of phrase, but she put the thought out of her mind and signed the note. It was true. It was far too much trouble to put kind, good Dr McKenna through after all he had done for her. It was certainly impermissible that other concerns of the new Lady Baugham, who had, after all, assumed that title without much warning to anyone, should become a detriment to the career and work of another. No, she would finish her work for Dr McKenna quickly and it would be no bother to her husband or her new life. In fact, he probably need never even know she was doing it . . .

She was startled out of her thoughts at the voice of her husband in the doorway.

“There you are, I see” he grinned cheekily, “just as I commanded. Or almost. This is not quite the dining room, is it?”

She quickly straightened up in her chair, hastily stuffing the doctor’s letter into her pocket. “If you think . . . ” she began, but he merely breezed in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Save the scolding, darling, until I can enjoy it at my leisure. At the moment I must change before my feet turn into ice blocks.” Another peck and a promise to be back before she could miss him, and she was alone again with her letters.

Holly put her hand on her pocket and felt the slip of paper through the fabric. Seal it, address it, off with it and have done with it. Yes, and then back to normal.

S
HE WAS SITTING CURLED UP
on the window seat in the farthest corner of the small sitting room, holding her book at an awkward angle to catch the last of the sunlight, streaming in low and pale over the rest of the room. From his vantage point by the door to the dining room he could only see the back of her head and the graceful line of her neck and shoulders as she leaned forward towards the window. Dark hair had escaped her carefully plaited knot on the top of her head and dark tendrils snaked their way over the milky white skin. Even if he could only see that much of her, he had no intention of moving, for he had come upon her unawares and he would not miss the opportunity to study her in peace. That, and also the fact that the exposed neck was a beautiful and alluring sight in its innocence. It was, after all, not often he had been able to study it in such a state. Usually when he was in a studying mood her hair was flowing freely and the darkness of their chambers made heavy shadows play their tricks on her features and curves. Like this, he could see it in all its glory and daylight and truly appreciate the sight.

His wife shifted a little in her seat and he withdrew somewhat. He did not want to be found out just yet. He wanted to stand and look at her secretly for just a few minutes more.

Suddenly there was a small snorting noise and she let out a little giggle. He smiled to himself. That laugh. That laugh of hers that bubbled up out of her so unexpectedly, almost reluctantly. As if it must jump over obstacles and force itself through dams before it could ring out – true and free. That laugh that she had been unable to stop yesterday when they were caught kissing on the stairs. That laugh, that he had been able to turn into even more spontaneous sounds of pleasure and happiness once he pushed her into the cloak closet under the stairs and had his way with her while the floor above them creaked with the housekeeper’s steps in her morning chores. And how, after her sighs had ebbed out, she had laughed again. They had laughed together. What a wonderful thing that was: her laugh!

It was a laugh that when he had first heard it, he had not been able to reconcile it with the person he thought Miss Tournier was. It had been an unexpected and puzzling piece he could not quite fit in with her character—but he had not known her then. Now he did. Now he was in awe of her and that laugh was only one of the things that drew him to her like no one had ever been capable of before.

She was not a very mysterious person. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her emotions and thoughts were always clearly readable from her words, actions and expressions. That was not what intrigued him. It was the way she loved him and let him love her: freely, enthusiastically, curiously and openly. She challenged him, not by making him guess and chase, but by being honest and open and laying herself in front of him to use as he would. And if he did it well, she would be his. If not . . . he smiled. If not he would certainly hear of it.

Now she was shaking her head and fingering the pages of the book. Overcome by curiosity, he interrupted his vigil and walked across the room to slide into the seat opposite her.

“What’s the use of a honeymoon if a bride can sneak away any time she likes and find her pleasures away from her adoring husband in the library on any flimsy excuse?”

“Oh, really,” she said, leaning into him and answering his quick kiss and smiling up at him.

“Absence will make the heart grow fonder!”

“It has been an hour!” he complained. “Luncheon is getting cold.”

She consulted her watch. “Three quarters of an hour!”

Baugham snorted but took the opportunity of kissing her deeply again.

“What are you reading that’s so amusing, love?”

She looked up—surprised.

“Amusing? I was reading Elizabeth’s letter.”

“Again? Mrs Darcy has a talent for writing letters, it seems.”

“Ye-es.” Holly fingered the sheets sticking up between the pages of her open book. “Yes, she does.”