Rebecca Read online

  Softly she asked, “You heard that? How long were you there?”

  “Long enough to learn that you take the vows we share to heart.”

  When he captured her mouth again, there was nothing brief about his kiss. His arm drew her back against the cushions. Being careful not to hurt her nearly healed leg, he leaned over her and allowed his mouth to explore the small amount of skin bared by her modest dress. Although he yearned to unhook her gown and remove it to make love with her in the carriage, she was not well enough yet for such delightful antics. Instead, he listened to her soft breaths against his ear as his tongue etched its fire into her throat. Her small hands wrapped around his shoulders to hold him to her.

  As the carriage slowed for the steep descent to the shore, he drew away regretfully. If he did not convince Rebecca to join him in his bed soon, he feared he would not be able to wait for her to come to him willingly. No woman had ever stirred his blood as his wife did with her loveliness and the seductiveness that was innate in every motion when he held her in his arms.

  “We are nearly there,” he said with a laugh as she brought his lips back over hers again. Asking himself why he was holding back when she wanted only to continue what he did not want to stop, he pulled her up to sit on his lap.

  She nestled against him as she felt his lips press against her temple. Her fingers caressed his chest where his shirt was open at the collar. When he began to stroke her as gently, she lifted her lips for his demanding kiss. She knew what it was that he was asking her to give to him. He wanted her. It was that simple. It should have been so simple to give her love to Nicholas, who drove her to the very edge of reason with his touch.

  All such thoughts vanished from her mind as she was washed away into ecstasy. Only the lure of his mouth tantalizing hers and his fingers playing a magic melody of passion across her body had reality. Everything else disappeared.

  Laughter and other voices brought her back to reality. She gazed up into Nicholas’s strikingly handsome face, which was as bemused as hers by their rapture. His fingers teased the muted angles of her face as he bent for one final, lingering kiss before they joined the others on the sand.

  As the coach halted, he lifted her off his lap and reached for the door. Jumping to the hard-packed sand, he turned to take her hand. His eyes widened as he saw the slender line of her legs as she was removing her footwear. Even though he had viewed her limbs while she was recovering from her accident, it had not lessened his appreciation of them. Only when she had kilted her skirt as she had when they sailed with the Prize did she allow Nicholas to help her from the carriage.

  With her hand in his, she leaned against him instead of her cane which she left in the carriage. Soon she hoped to be rid of the cumbersome thing which had been at one time so beloved as her means of escape from the confinement of her room. Walking slowly, she could manage quite well on the sand. It still made her skin crawl when she recalled the doctor telling her husband when they had thought that she was asleep that if she had been the height of a normal man, the jaws of the trap would have crushed her knee and she never would have been able to use that leg again.

  Another accident like hers was unlikely to happen again on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. The staff had been sent on a second quest with the instructions to look for any other mantraps which might have escaped notice years ago. Although they had searched the grounds, no more snares had been turned up.

  The picnickers came forward to greet them. It was a small group. In addition to Eliza and Curtis, there was Clarisse Beckwith and a man introduced to Rebecca as Jackson Edwards, a friend of Curtis who had come to Foxbridge to meet the lady Curtis seemed to love so deeply.

  The narrow strand of sand and rocks was poised between the ocean waters and the sheer cliffs which were pitted with the violent scars of past storms. Blankets had been spread on the uneven ground so they could eat more comfortably, but everyone was too busy enjoying the fresh ocean breeze and the rare chance to play in the cold waters. Like Rebecca, they had removed their footwear. When Eliza saw how her sister-in-law had raised her skirts to keep them out of the heavy, wet sand, she did the same.

  Rebecca wondered why Clarisse had been chosen to even up the group. Eliza explained as soon as she could that she had not invited the redhead, but that Clarisse had badgered Curtis into an invitation. Having her with them was a guarantee of trouble, but they could not retract the invitation Curtis had extended to their neighbor.

  Rebecca sat on a blanket and watched as the others enjoyed the water and played games along the edge of the splashing waves. At first Nicholas sat next to her, but she urged him to join the others. She chuckled as they acted like giant children. She guessed it was just a matter of time before Curtis and Eliza approached Nicholas asking for his permission to wed. As the two of them embraced with open delight, she wondered why she could not be so free with her feelings for her husband. Whenever she was close to him, she felt as if she was cheating a man she could no longer love, but was bound to as tightly as she was bound to Nicholas.

  Her eyes narrowed as she saw Clarisse moving toward Nicholas with her intent clear to his wife. She carried something in her hands. Although Rebecca could not tell what it was, when Clarisse dropped it down the back of Nicholas’s shirt before running away down the beach he reacted in shock. He pulled it out and started to chase her with what was obviously some type of marine creature.

  Rebecca closed her eyes and put her head down on her drawn-up knee as the two disappeared to a part of the beach blocked by the carriage. She could not help the pang racing through her. Clarisse had made it clear from the beginning that she intended to win back Nicholas. Rebecca wondered how she could compete with a woman who once had been his beloved mistress.

  When Clarisse decided there was enough space between them and the others, she slowed to let Nicholas catch her. By this time, he was only a pace behind her.

  “You devil,” he said with a laugh. “Here is your dead fish, Clarisse.” With a mighty heave, he tossed it out to be swallowed by the unceasing movement of the waves. “Maybe I should do the same with you.”

  He reached out to tease her. The second he touched her arms, he realized he was being no brighter than Reverend Middleton had been earlier. In an instant, Clarisse had her arms around him and was pressing her lips to his. Six years had not dulled the memories of this woman’s easy sensuality, which had taught him much of satisfying and being satisfied by a woman. At one time, he had thought the gratification he knew in her arms was the total of what love consisted of between a man and a woman. He had learned differently. Trying not to show his change of heart, he smiled as he took her hands from around him and held them. “Come, Clarisse. The others will be wondering where we have gone.”

  “They won’t be wondering,” she whispered as she stepped so near that the lushness of her curvaceous body teased him with the remembrance of his mouth against it. “They will know we are on the beach.”

  He did not want to hurt her by telling her he was no longer interested in her invitation, but she was making it difficult not to speak the truth. Placing her hand on his arm, he began to walk back toward the carriage.

  With a jerk, she yanked her hand away. Turning, she shouted, “It’s not the others! It’s Rebecca! You can’t stand being away from her for a minute, can you?”

  “She is my wife, Clarisse,” he said, reasonably.

  “Your wife who has a rendezvous with the minister twice a week in his church. Oh, I know she goes there ostensibly to teach those urchins to sing for the fair, but they leave long before she and Reverend Middleton come out.” She laughed as she walked her fingers along his arms. “Your Rebecca is cuckolding you with the parish’s minister, and yet you slobber after her like a dog after a bitch in heat.”

  Nicholas pushed her hand away. Cruelly, he asked, “Must you judge everyone by your promiscuous standards? I know about their friendship. I know that I need not worry whether my wife is sleeping with another. That’
s the one thing that’s the same about you and Rebecca. I didn’t need to worry about that with you either, because you always found someone to share your bed if I was not there.”

  While she sputtered in rage that he dared to speak to her like this, he walked away. Nicholas had been changed by his trip to America. Before he had left, she had needed only to crook her finger, and he would come running to do her bidding. Then she realized that the Nicholas Wythe she had controlled so easily had been a boy enjoying the adventures in her bed. He had become a man who wanted more than a woman whom he could tumble whenever he was in the mood.

  As she stood with her hands on her hips, she wondered what he saw in meek Rebecca. The simple fact that she had saved Nicholas’s life could not be the basis of this strong devotion. She had not thought that a man like Nicholas Wythe would fall in love with a woman like Rebecca. It was clear it was love. The way his black eyes glowed like embers of coal when he gazed at his wife made his feelings obvious.

  Her fury increased when she returned and saw he was sitting next to his wife with his arm around her as he whispered in her ear. Rebecca’s light laugh drifted across the sand to Clarisse, and she gritted her teeth. She would pay back this little colonial tramp for daring to steal Nicholas from the one who should have him.

  Rebecca looked up to meet the green eyes which glowed in the late-afternoon sunshine like a cat’s in the night. She could not mistake Clarisse’s malice. The owner of Beckwith Grange had been interested in offering Nicholas the same thing John had wanted to offer her at the church. Her eyes moved from the loathing to her husband’s face. Everyone was willing to share with them what they could not share with each other.

  “Sweetheart,” he asked when he saw her disquiet, “how about a walk along the water? Do you think you are well enough?”

  “If you help me, Nicholas, I would be glad to go with you.”

  He took her hand to help her to her feet. “Ouch!” she cried, involuntarily. When she saw the expression on his face, she laughed. “No, not my leg. When I was saying hello to Curtis, the signet ring he wears scratched my hand.” She held it up to show him the red line across it.

  “Did you ever consider you might be accident-prone, Rebecca?” He chuckled when she made an amusing face.

  His smile did not fade as he aided her to her feet. By now, she should know that he was happy for any excuse to hold her enchanting form close. Her arm slipped around his waist as they moved slowly through the foam bubbling on the sand.

  Clarisse was not the only one who watched as they wandered along the beach. Other eyes were not as open with the emotions felt inside, but there was a sense of impending events building up to detonate although neither Nicholas nor Rebecca was aware of it. Lost in the wonder of their burgeoning love, they could not feel the hate growing to overshadow it and smother it.

  By the time they had returned to share the contents of the picnic hampers, the evil feelings had been masked behind pleasant laughter. Clarisse was deciding to keep the evening from being a total loss by flirting blatantly with Curtis’s friend Jackson. The man did not seem averse to her obvious invitation. It was no surprise that when the party broke up as the moon was high in the sky, he left with the auburn-haired woman.

  Rebecca glanced across the water. The reflection of the moon made a white path on the waves which seemed to lead to the west and the land she had left behind so reluctantly. She did not wish that her feet could walk on that trail of moonlight back to America. If she returned to Connecticut, her heart would remain in Foxbridge Cloister. She yearned to stay with her heart and the man it adored.

  “Did you have a good time?” Nicholas whispered as they rode home sleepy from the sun and the food.

  “I always have a good time when you are with me.”

  His reply was without words, but she did not have to guess what his lips were trying to tell her as he held her to him all the way home to the Cloister.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Good day, Lady Foxbridge.”

  Rebecca glanced up from her duties pouring the punch for the multitude of children who came with their pennies. Her eyes met the steady grey ones of a man she recognized from her trips about the area, but she could not name him. She smiled. “It’s a good day, isn’t it, sir? Are you buying a cup of juice?”

  “That would be pleasant, my lady.” He took the cup and handed her a gold coin.

  In dismay, she looked at it. “Oh, sir, I don’t have enough pennies to give you change.”

  With a laugh, he said, “This is for the church to raise money for the new belfry, isn’t it? Consider it a donation, or if you wish, give these youngsters free glasses until the money is depleted.” He took the cup she handed him. “By the way, my name is Richard Carter. I’m your neighbor to the north.”

  “At Avelet Court?”

  “That’s right.” He watched as she continued to serve the children as she spoke. When one of the youngsters tipped his mug, she had a piece of linen ready immediately to clean the child’s clothes. Before the little one could pucker up, she had another cup for him. With an admiring laugh, he said, “You’re very competent at that, Lady Foxbridge.”

  Glancing up from where she knelt by the child, she said, “When you have served at as many church fundraisers as I have, Mr. Carter, you learn to be prepared for every emergency. There, you are fine, Timmy. Go play, but be back for the songfest.”

  While he sipped the cold liquid, Richard continued to chat. He was astonished at how well the youngsters from the village and the cottages obeyed her quiet orders to wait patiently to be served. Even more impressed was he by the fact that she called each one by name. When the crowd of children thinned momentarily, he drew another coin from his pocket and placed it on the table.

  “Another cup, Mr. Carter?”

  “Richard, if you please, my lady. No, I wish to purchase one for the hard-working lady who has charmed these children so completely.”

  She laughed and wiped her hand against her forehead. It was a very hot day. The heavy air clamping her clothes to her body had muted the celebrations only slightly. There was a good turnout. Perhaps they would be able to raise a good portion of the money for the new belfry and the bell she hoped would hang there again one day.

  “Thank you. I would be pleased to take your donation and a cup of this cool juice. Why don’t you call me Rebecca?”

  He bowed his head in her direction. “I’m honored, Rebecca.”

  “Tell me about what else you have seen on the carnival grounds.” She smiled wryly. “I have been stuck here since before the fair opened.”

  He laughed at her enthusiasm. He had been attending these village events every summer since he had outgrown swaddling clothes. His family had summered in Avelet Court, far from the heat and congestion of London, for generations. Before that, they had been well-established country gentry living year-round in the drafty expanses of the house. Every year, there was a fair on the church grounds in an effort to finance some repair on the lovely building or an addition that the parishioners desired.

  In all those years, it was the first time he could recall the aristocracy ever being involved to the extent that Lady Foxbridge was. Dressed in her simple cotton frock with a plain apron over it, she almost could have been one of the village lasses herself. By the bright rose of her cheeks and the sparkle in her blue eyes, he could tell she was enjoying herself as much as the youngest child discovering the convivial atmosphere for the first time.

  He leaned on the table and talked with her until he saw her eyes narrow before they turned away to look at the large bucket of juice. Involuntarily, he looked over his shoulder. He smiled as he saw Clarisse Beckwith walking toward the table. He long had admired the pretty lady who was dressed in a pale green, silk gown which had cost more than would be raised by the efforts of the church members. More than once he had called on her, but he had seen quickly that she still harbored her longing for Nicholas Wythe. He knew Clarisse could often be shallow and hurtful,
but he thought it was because of her broken heart.

  “Hello, Rebecca,” she purred as she tilted her lacy parasol. “I must say, you are looking quite unusual today.”

  Rebecca glanced from her stained, spotted work dress to her rival’s splendid gown. She knew her face was dirtied from lovingly offered, sugar-coated kisses given by the youngsters who had surrounded her from the second she arrived. Her hair had fallen out of its braids to hang in wavy strands around her face in a dark aurora.

  Coolly, she said, “I am sure I do look unusual to you, Clarisse. As you aren’t used to doing anything but the monumental task of making yourself up each day, you probably would not recognize the sweat of honest labor.”

  She laughed Rebecca’s insult away lightly. “You’re right. I intend to continue this way. You wouldn’t see me wasting me time for these shiftless people.”

  Seeing the youngsters listening to Clarisse’s condescending tone, Rebecca struggled to control her outrage. She wondered how Clarisse dared to speak so nastily of these good, deeply caring people who had not had the fortune to be born into wealth as she had. “Clarisse, do you want to purchase a glass? If not, please move on, for you are blocking others who are interested in quenching their thirsts.” She did not raise her voice, but all listening could tell she was enraged.

  “Yes, my dear Lady Foxbridge, pour me a cupful like a good lass.” Taking it distastefully in her finely laced gloves, she dropped a coin disdainfully on the table. She sniffed the contents of the tin cup and poured it on the ground. “Here, Rebecca, serve this swill to those who do not have the palate to appreciate anything better.” She draped her hand on the arm of the man who had been watching the exchange with an unhappy expression. “Richard, why don’t you take me for a stroll around the grounds of this quaint little fair? Rebecca can handle this quite well on her own. It would seem that she has finally found something in her background that she can use as Lady Foxbridge.”