Samantha James (19 page)

Anne gasped.

Simon groaned.

His mouth closed over hers…as she closed over him.

Awash in sensation, a thousand firelights danced in her blood.

Awash in ecstasy, a thousand flames lit his.

His hips began to rise and fall, slowly…oh-so-slowly at first.

“God,” he whispered hoarsely. “God.”

It was as if a fever broke inside him. He pumped hard, driving deep—and Anne was plunging and churning, a wild, frantic union that left them both blazing. A cry tore from deep in his chest. Anne’s eyes squeezed shut, for it was almost more than she could bear. One last, desperate thrust, and he exploded inside her. At that very instant, the walls of her cavern contracted, again and again.

Anne collapsed against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Awareness crept back, little by little.

“My word,” she said weakly.

Simon gave a rusty little laugh. “Well,” he murmured, “that isn’t quite how I would have put it, but it will do, I think.”

Anne blushed fiercely.

He chuckled again.

Shortly before dawn, Anne found herself installed back in her own bed. She had a vague memory of Simon carrying her there, depositing her beneath the covers and pulling up the sheet. She stirred sleepily.

“Simon?”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep.” The tender sweep of a hand lingered on her cheek. Turning into it, she felt a fleeting wisp of a kiss breathed upon her lips. Smiling, she turned her face into the pillow and slept.

At breakfast, he was crisply polite. An elusive hurt tugged at her breast, swiftly suppressed. She took her cue from him, but she was stung. Duffy came to him with some business or other, and after landing a perfunctory kiss on her forehead, Simon strode from the room.

Anne sizzled. Her lips compressed. Her gaze drilled into him. If it could have bored a hole in his back, it would have. She couldn’t banish the sensation that he was relieved—the cad! She didn’t see him again until supper.

By then—oh, by then!—forged deep in Anne’s
soul was a vow. A vow that she would not go to him. If he wanted her, then he must come to her.

A part of her didn’t expect that he would…

He did. That night, and nearly every night thereafter.

At times his lovemaking was slow and mellow. At other times passion raged between them like wildfire, torrid and fierce and uncontrollable.

His possessiveness thrilled her. His touch melted her. He shared his body. He whispered how much he craved her. But in the light of day, they did not speak of all that passed between them in those hours after midnight.

He came to her only in the dead of night. Only in the dark.

As if he were ashamed.

He was not a selfish lover. He saw to her pleasure…then denied himself his own. Anne was no fool. Nor was she blind. It was there in the tautness of his body over hers, the crushing tension of his arms around her back. She saw it in the torture on his features—half pleasure, half pain—the way his breath scraped harsh and labored against her ear.

He brought her to climax—at peril of his own.

Why did he deny himself? Why did he deny her? Yet when morning came, he was gone. And Anne was left alone.

Confusion reigned. She was alternately both angry and despairing. Simon cared for her. He couldn’t hide it. Whether he knew it or not, whether he willed it or not. But did he care enough? Would he
ever
care enough?

Anne wanted more. She wanted everything—all he could give and more.

The way he’d given himself to Ellie.

Was that so wrong? To covet—to capture—his heart? Was she so selfish?

Never would she deny him. Never would she refuse him. Desire disguised her love, however. If he guarded his heart so fiercely…then she must guard her own.

The cornerstone of their marriage had been based on so little…in all honesty, on nothing but a fleeting moment of ardor.

Six weeks had passed since they had wed. Six long weeks of both ecstasy and torment. Oh, but they had come such a long, long way!

But now…now she feared they had reached a stalemate.

Perhaps, Anne speculated several days later, the strain was taking its toll more than she realized. In the mornings, she woke abysmally tired. It was all she could do to prod her eyes open. She longed to roll over and go back to sleep. By day’s end, she was exhausted.

She dismissed it, for she was not one to fret unduly, nor was she given to bouts of sickness.
But only this morning, immediately after breakfast, her stomach pitched like a ship in the seas. In fact, when she looked over the menus for the next day, she mentioned to Mrs. Wilder that perhaps the milk had soured.

She had just left the kitchen when she saw Simon in the hallway. “There you are,” he said lightly. “I’m just on my way into the village to see Vicar Townsend. Will you come with me?”

Normally Anne would have relished the opportunity. On numerous occasions now, she’d accompanied him on visits to his tenants, or to the village. Perhaps it was silly, but she quivered inside when he lifted her from the curricle and tucked her hand into his elbow. And it sent a thrill all through her when he introduced her as his wife.

She shook her head. “Not today.”

“What! Am I such poor company then?”

“Not in the slightest! Actually, however, I think I shall take a nap.”

Simon cocked a brow. “Not even halfway through the morning”—a smile twitched at his lips—“and you’re anxious for a nap?”

His crooked smile made her toes curl into her slippers. He was so tall, so strikingly handsome, he made the breath stop in her lungs.

“Perhaps you might bring me back one of those lovely plum cakes from the confectionary. The one with the delicious icing.”

“Done. But we’d best not tell Mrs. Wilder you prefer those to hers.” His eyes twinkling, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Else we may be searching for another cook in very short order.”

We
. She hadn’t known what one word could do to her…A vast swell of emotion surged inside, so vast she could barely contain it.

“Is there anything else you’d like?”

Just you!
she wanted to cry. Her throat suddenly hot, Anne shook her head. Damn, she thought helplessly, what was wrong with her? She watched as he turned and strode down the hall.

“Simon!” she blurted.

Simon swung around. His boot heels echoed very distinctly as he retraced his steps.

He stopped before her, some nameless emotion kindled in his eyes. He captured her chin—and her mouth—in a soul-stirring kiss that made her sing inside.

Anne didn’t stop to think. Winding her arms around his neck, she clung. She hadn’t realized she was going to do it until it was done.

Simon’s laugh was husky. But he was startled too by her impulsiveness. His gaze scoured hers. He frowned. “Are you all right? I’ll stay if you want me—”

If she wanted him…
Oh, Lord, she would want him for all time. She would need him for all time.

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “A trifle tired.”

The gaze he fixed on her was rather thoughtful. Yet within his eyes was a glimmer of something that turned her inside out—and made her long to pitch herself back into his arms. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, an unmistakable caress. “Have a rest then. I’ll be back soon.”

When he was gone, Anne made her way upstairs and lay down. She was exhausted, but she discovered she was too restless for sleep. Finally she rose. She tugged a paisley shawl over her shoulders, for the chill of autumn now lingered in the air. Already the leaves turned golden and russet.

Sighing, she started toward the writing table in front of the fireplace—a lovely piece fashioned of rosewood, edged in tulipwood. She’d dispatched a letter to her mother yesterday, but it had been nearly a week since she’d written to Caro.

Halfway there she remembered she’d used the last of the paper when she’d penned the note to her mother. Perhaps there was some in Simon’s desk.

She felt a trifle guilty rummaging through the top drawer, but yes, there it was. She retrieved half a dozen sheets, started to leave, then paused.

Simon’s leather-bound journal lay open on the corner of the desk.

Something fluttered inside her. For one perilous instant, the urge to pick it up and read governed all else. Her good sense—and her conscience—quelled it almost in the very same moment. It would be an intrusion, one she could neither permit nor allow herself.

Despite her best intentions, Anne couldn’t resist a glance. A sudden shaft of sunlight wheeled through the window, as if in invitation.

The date leaped out at her.

28 September 1848.

Yesterday’s date. Nothing unusual about that.

Yet a faint consternation puckered her brow. Her mind counted back—groped fuzzily—then foundered.

Her heart lurched. Her mouth grew dry.

Her free hand came to rest upon her belly.

In that instant, Anne was struck numb. Struck dumb.

But in the far distant reaches of her being, the certainty thundered through her.

She was going to be a mother.

And Simon was going to be a father again.

Was she elated? Shocked? Perhaps a little of both, she decided shakily.

How long she stood rooted to the spot, she
didn’t know. The clatter of wheels rumbling up the lane reached her ears. Anne stepped to the window and glanced out.

She blinked—and blinked again. She didn’t need to write Caro at all, she realized numbly.

Caro was here—here at Rosewood.

“Hellooo!”

Anne raced down the staircase. She tore open the front door to the bubbling sound of Caro’s greeting. It registered vaguely that Simon was helping Caro from the carriage—she didn’t know he was back from the village. Then everything else was forgotten as Caro looked up and saw her.

Clutching her bonnet, a rainbow of ribbons
streaming out behind her, she ran up the wide stone stairs.

“Annie!”

They tumbled into each other’s arms. Anne was half laughing, half crying. “Caro! Oh, Caro, I can’t believe you’re here! I thought you were staying in London until after Christmas! Oh, I was just about to write you!”

“Oh, were you now! I declare, I’ve had but…what?…two letters in all these weeks? I had no choice but to come and see for myself how you are!”

Anne was still half dazed. They hugged once more.

“Are you off to Gleneden?” Anne asked. “Or Lancashire?” Lancashire was where Caro and John maintained their primary residence.

“Gleneden,” Caro said. “Alec’s been there for nearly a month, you know. John left last week to join him for some hunting. Aunt Viv received an invitation to Bath from her friend Susan. Oh, and Aidan is thinking about resigning his commission. Won’t it be grand to have him home after so long? It seems he’s been in India for years, doesn’t it? Well, actually he has, hasn’t he—”

Caro was going on in her usual vivacious fashion, veering in all directions at once.

“So there I was, left in London on my own. I decided the children and I might as well join John and Alec in Scotland. And since Yorkshire is on the way—well, somewhat on the way—and
you know how impetuous I am…” She gave an exuberant laugh. “At any rate, I thought it would be divine to see you again. So I do hope it’s not altogether too presumptuous of me if we stay the night.”

Finally she stopped. Her smile took in both Simon and Anne. “It isn’t, is it?”

“Not at all. We’re delighted you’re here.” Simon had been looking on, one side of his mouth curled up in a faint smile.

Pure, sweet pleasure flooded Anne at his ready reply.

Until now, Izzie and Jack stood on either side of their nurse, grasping her hands. Anne turned to them and held out her arms. They sped forward. Anne snatched them up against her.

Izzie smacked a wet, noisy kiss on Anne’s cheek. Jack dropped his head against her shoulder.

Anne laughed delightedly, burying her nose against Izzie’s soft, plump neck before pressing a kiss on Jack’s little nose.

“They’ve been so excited all day.” Caro chuckled. “They couldn’t wait to see you!”

The driver fetched a valise from the boot, carrying it inside. Anne instructed the maid to show them to a room, and Caro and the children followed the maid.

Lingering at the foot of the staircase, Anne turned to Simon once they were alone. She hesitated, then laid her fingertips lightly on his
arm. “Are you quite certain you don’t mind if they stay?”

Simon’s gaze rested for a long moment on her mouth before he answered. A faint smile curved his lips. “A silly question,” he admonished. “You needn’t seek permission, you know. Any of your family—all of your family—is welcome for as long as they please.”

Reassured, Anne smiled up at him—a smile that caught at his heart.

A short while later, they gathered for tea in the drawing room. Anne sat next to Simon, near, but not touching him. A maid produced the treats he’d bought. Two pairs of blue eyes immediately sparked. Jack seized a slice of the plum cake Anne loved. Izzie let out a squeal and grabbed a lemon tea buscuit in each fist.

“Izzie,” said Caro, “one is quite enough, dearest.”

“One for me and one for Dolly,” Izzie declared. She glanced at her doll, perched next to her on the settee. Such earnest logic nearly sent Anne into gales of laughter.

“I don’t think Dolly is hungry just yet.” Caro quirked a brow. “Why don’t you set it on my plate and I’ll hold it for you,” she suggested.

Izzie pursed her lips, but deposited the treat on her mother’s plate. Caro glanced at Anne and Simon. “Izzie and Dolly are inseparable,” Caro explained with a straight face.

They chatted for a few minutes. The children
glanced at Simon every so often, but they said nothing, clearly shy around the stranger. Setting her teacup on her saucer, Caro glanced around the room, then addressed herself to Simon. “You have a lovely home.”

Simon crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Thank you. I confess, it’s mostly due to Anne’s influence.”

Anne flushed with pleasure. She ran a finger around the rim of her teacup, hoping she didn’t read more into the words than was really there.

Jack crammed the last bit of sweet into his mouth. His lips and cheeks were smeared with icing.

Anne set aside her tea. “Jack. Come here, pet.” Jack glanced at Simon, then apparently decided it was safe to clamber onto her lap. Anne blotted his mouth and wiped his hands with her napkin.

Snugly ensconced in her arms, Jack peered up at her. “Annie,” he said.

“Yes, sweet?”

Blue eyes gleamed. “Did you know Mama has a baby in her tummy?”

Caro’s eyes rounded. Her mouth formed an “O,” her expression utterly mortified—and utterly precious.

“He climbed inside,” Jack said before either of them had a chance to respond.

Caro sputtered. “Jonathan Sykes!”

Jack was all innocence. “Yes, Mama?”

Caro caught Anne’s eye. Anne’s shoulders heaved with silent laughter. It wasn’t often that Caro was rendered speechless, and Anne savored it!

“Jack, you—you really shouldn’t say that.”

He sighed as if he possessed the wisdom of the ancients. “Mama,” he said sagely, “Papa told me.”

Caro’s tone was weak. “Did he now?”

Jack nodded. He’d warmed to the subject. “He did. And when he is born,” he boasted, “we will have a brother.”

Izzie erupted, scrambling to the floor. “No, Jack!” She planted a fist on her hip, her little mouth puckering fiercely. “We shall have a sister. Her name will be Dolly.”

“Jack! Izzie!” Caro spread her hands, trying hard not to laugh as well. “Do not argue, dears! I promise, it shall be one or the other. And Papa and I shall decide the baby’s name, darlings, and I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Caro hadn’t noticed that Simon had suddenly disappeared for a moment. Anne bit her lip when she saw him reappear behind her. Caro’s face was crimson, and, she was certain, so was hers! Had Simon heard the exchange? She wasn’t sure if she should be mortified or amused!

Rescue came from an unexpected source. From his pocket Simon produced two candy
sticks. That dispensed with Izzie and Jack’s shyness. He eased down on his haunches and offered one to each child.

Jack reached for his. Izzie grabbed hers eagerly, popped it into her mouth, and sucked on it a moment. All the while her eyes moved curiously over Simon’s face. Anne held her breath, for Simon wore an odd expression. Then, suddenly, the stick popped free of Izzie’s mouth. “What’s your name?”

A faint smile rimmed Simon’s lips. “My name is Simon.”

“Do you have a puppy?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” he said. “But we have woolly sheep, and cows, and a stable full of horses. Oh, and two goats that are not averse to a little petting.”

Izzie’s eyes rounded. “A boy goat?” she breathed. “Or a girl goat?”

Anne’s eyes met Caro’s. Both stifled a laugh.

“A boy
and
a girl. Fred and Libby. Mrs. Wilder, our cook, makes cheese from Libby’s milk. Would you like to see them?”

Izzie’s eyes went wide. “Fred and Libby! I want to see Fred and Libby!” She hopped up and down, barely able to contain herself.

Simon got to his feet. He appeared to hesitate, then extended a hand to the little girl. Izzie wasted no time latching on. Simon glanced at Jack. “Would you like to come along, Jack?”

Jack’s head bobbed up and down. He grabbed
hold of Simon’s other hand. In her excitement, Izzie even forgot Dolly.

Anne let out her breath, unaware she’d been holding it. She couldn’t deny the relief that poured through her. She’d been rather uncertain—perhaps even a little fearful—that Simon would be dreadfully uncomfortable with Izzie and Jack. Oh, she knew he would never be deliberately rude. But the reticence she’d feared he might feel around the children—particularly Jack—did not appear to be present…

Anne’s gaze followed the trio as they left the room. It was a moment before she realized Caro was talking.

“Since Jack now has a pony,” Caro was saying dryly, “Izzie has decided her most dire need is a puppy. And John has promised she shall have one.”

Anne laughed. “She reminds me so much of you when you were young.”

“Odd.” Caro chuckled. “I was just about to say the same thing about you!”

Caro went on to tell her about the goings-on in London. Anne listened with half an ear. Her mind was still on Simon and the children. Finally she set aside her cup, brushing the crumbs from her skirt.

“Perhaps we should check on Izzie and Jack.” Thankfully she managed to mask her anxiety.

“Excellent idea,” Caro observed cheerily. “I expect they’re in good hands, though.”

It wasn’t the little ones Anne was worried about. She kept her opinion to herself, however.

Simon and the children were coming up the drive as Anne and Caro stepped outside. Simon led Lady Jane by the bridle; Jack was atop the mare.

Jack let out a whoop. “Mama! Annie!” he crowed. “Look at me! I’m riding Lady Jane!”

Izzie had been sauntering alongside Simon, kicking the gravel, her hand snug in his. Upon spying her mother and Anne, she turned and stretched her arms high toward Simon. “My turn! My turn!” she cried.

Simon swung her up behind Jack, careful to keep a hand on her lest she tumble.

Izzie beamed. The most unexpected thing happened…Simon gave a low, unmistakable rumble of laughter.

Anne’s heart surely stopped in that instant. This was how she yearned to see him—relaxed and carefree and laughing.

The three of them stopped in front of the portico. Simon swung the children down from Lady Jane’s back.

“Mama!” Izzie shouted. “We petted Fred! But Libby wouldn’t let us. Simon chased her around the pasture. But he couldn’t catch her!”

Anne laughed hard as she imagined Simon chasing the goat around the pasture. Caro’s lips quirked. Simon frowned over at them.

Izzie danced before Simon. “May I pet Fred and Libby again?” she begged. “Please?”

“Perhaps before dinner. If your mama doesn’t mind, that is.” He glanced at Caro with a smile. “I should imagine they’re chafing a bit after all that time confined in a carriage.”

“You don’t know the half of it! I declare, every few minutes either one or both of them inquired how much longer before we saw Annie. I daresay, you’ve been missed, Annie!” she grinned at her cousin, then glanced at Simon. “Truly, though. I should hate for them to be pesky.”

“They’re not. Really.”

Caro arched a brow. “A nap, Izzie. And Jack, you too. Then you may go.”

Izzie threw her arms around Simon’s legs and squealed.

Late that afternoon, Simon, Jack, and Izzie led the way toward the pasture. Simon soon picked up Izzie and carried her. Jack paused every so often to pick up a stone and fling it with a grunt across the hedge that meandered along the lane. Caro and Anne sauntered behind at a more leisurely pace.

“He’s good with the children.”

“Yes,” Anne murmured. “He is, isn’t he?”

It was that very thought that dwelled in Anne’s mind later that evening. Jack and Izzie had been tucked into bed after dinner. Simon excused himself to his study. Anne and Caro
wandered onto the terrace; twilight was nigh. The scent of roses lingered in the air, for they were just outside the rose garden. It wouldn’t be long, she thought vaguely, and the roses would die off for the winter.

Anne was aware of Caro’s eyes on her profile. “I’m pleased to see you looking so well,” Caro said softly.

Had someone else been listening, it might have appeared an offhand, even obligatory remark. Anne detected the underlying inquiry beneath.

Her smile tripped. She drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

And now Caro was staring.

“Annie?” she whispered. Then: “Annie! Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to distress you—”

“You needn’t worry, dearest.” Anne rolled a pebble beneath the toe of her boot. She made a valiant, plucky effort to sound normal. But all at once her throat clogged tight. Her control was rather precarious. She had the most absurd desire to break down and weep.

For this was Caro, in whom she had always confided everything. But Anne couldn’t—wouldn’t!—divulge the true state of affairs between her and Simon. She certainly couldn’t divulge what she had only guessed today—that she was expecting his child. Especially when Simon had yet to be aware of it.

Most especially when she couldn’t predict what his reaction might be.

That might well be a brutal truth she must confront. No, Anne couldn’t pretend that all was right in her world. She couldn’t hide it.

Caro took her hands. “Do you remember what I said to you in London before you left? That above all, I should like for you to have what I have,” she said softly.

How could she forget? “I remember.”

“I haven’t forgotten your reply, Annie. You told me that someday you would.”

So she had. And then—then she hadn’t doubted it.

The breath Anne drew was painfully acute. “I don’t know that it will ever happen now.” Her tone was very low. It hurt to say it aloud.

Caro squeezed her fingers. “Annie! Don’t look like that. You must believe it.”

“I want to. I want to so desperately. But it’s not so simple. Simon”—unwitting tears spilled into her voice—“he had a wif—”

“I know,” Caro said quietly. “A few days after you and Simon left, John recalled something vague—and so I asked Alec.” There was a pause. “Things have changed, Anne. He’s different. I can see it.
You’ve
changed him.”

Anne’s mouth was tremulous. “Perhaps you see more than I.”

“Perhaps,” Caro said with a faint smile. “But
you and Simon belong together. I said it once and…well, I stand by my opinion. So dry your eyes, love. Dry your tears. I know you,” she said simply. “You’ll find a way.”