A convenient bride

Can he be the groom she deserves?

Part of The Beauchamp Heirs. Lord Alexander Beauchamp has protected Lady Jane Colebrooke since childhood. So seeing she’s about to be forced to wed, he steps in with a proposal of his own! But Alex underestimated the closeness that taking Jane as his bride demands—something he expected never to give. As Christmas approaches, he knows he must confront the dark secrets that shadow their marriage…

JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police call-handler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands, with her husband and two cats, and has a part-time job as a weight management counsellor—vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!

Also by Janice Preston

His Convenient Highland Wedding

The Beauchamp Betrothals miniseries

Cinderella and the Duke

Scandal and Miss Markham

Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr Gray

The Beauchamp Heirs miniseries

Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

Daring to Love the Duke’s Heir

Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

Janice Preston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08960-9

CHRISTMAS WITH HIS WALLFLOWER WIFE

© 2019 Janice Preston

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To all the readers and reviewers who have

taken the Beauchamp family to their hearts.

Thank you for all your support and enthusiasm—

I’m eternally grateful. xxx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Cheriton Abbey—early September 1817

Try as she might, Lady Jane Colebrooke couldn’t quite suppress her quiver of excitement as her father’s carriage passed through the gates of Cheriton Abbey, the Devonshire seat of their neighbour, the powerful Duke of Cheriton. It was Olivia, the Duke’s daughter and Jane’s childhood friend, who had told Jane that her brother, Lord Alexander Beauchamp, would be home for the first time in over four years and Jane’s heart had twitched with the longing to see him again.

Not that him being there would make any difference. She’d long ago accepted he would never return her feelings. They’d last met in London in the spring. He’d even danced with her. And still he never seemed to notice her as a female, let alone a lady worthy of courting. No. To him, she was—as she had always been—good old Janey. She turned from the window and her heart shrivelled at seeing her stepmother’s sharp gaze on her.

‘Why the sour expression, Jane? You are going to a garden party, not a funeral.’

Jane bit the inside of her cheek, determined not to retaliate. Defying her stepmother had never borne fruit and life, she had learned, was more tolerable if she allowed Lady Stowford’s jibes to pass over her head.

‘I hope you will at least be civil to Sir Denzil when you meet him,’ Stepmama continued. ‘He has been invited… I made a particular point of asking when I saw him at church last Sunday.’

Jane swallowed. Stepmama had been doing her utmost to pair Jane and Sir Denzil Pikeford ever since the man—another neighbour—had begun to show an interest in her. The fact Jane actively disliked the baronet made no difference—Stepmama was so eager to get her just-turned-twenty-three-year-old stepdaughter off her hands she had even persuaded Papa to add an extra one thousand pounds to her dowry.

One thing Jane knew for certain: if she ever did marry, she would not meekly accept whatever her husband decreed, as she accepted Stepmama’s demands. She would stand up for herself. Right from the start. But it was hard to change the habits of a lifetime with the stepmother who had raised her from a baby and who ruled their household like an empress.

‘You do not accuse me of incivility, I hope, ma’am?’

Papa stirred at her words. ‘Jane is never rude to people, my dear.’ Bless him for one of his sporadic attempts to support the daughter of his first marriage, no matter how unkind Stepmama might be. Jane couldn’t blame him for intervening so rarely. Not when she, too, often chose to remain silent rather than setting the household on its ears for days on end.

‘You know very well she needs to be more than polite, Stowford, if I am to bring Sir Denzil to the point. Really…have you forgotten our dear Miranda is to come out next year? How shameful if her older sister is still unwed!’

She raked her stepdaughter from head to toe while Miranda, the elder of Jane’s two half-sisters, smirked.

‘You had the perfect opportunity to marry—in your debut year, no less—when that nice Mr Romsley offered for you. Quite a coup for a girl as plain as you. But, oh, no! He was not good enough for Lady Jane. I begged you to accept him but, as ever, Lady Jane knows best! And since then, nary a sniff of a suitor until Sir Denzil. You are such a stubborn gel. I’ve always said so.’

It was hot in the carriage, with the family all squashed in together, and Lady Stowford, her face the shade of a beetroot following her outburst, collapsed back against the squabs, fanning herself furiously. Jane turned away, the all-too-familiar pain curling through her. It was so familiar she barely noticed it any more. The pain of unrequited love.

Ha! How naive had she been? In March 1813, the Beauchamp family had attended Olivia’s wedding to Lord Hugo Alastair at the Abbey before all heading to London for the Season. It was Jane’s debut year and she’d had such high hopes, certain Alex would finally see her as a young lady and not simply the annoying little neighbour who had dogged his footsteps throughout his boyhood.

He was two years her senior and her childhood hero. He’d taught her to ride and she’d willingly followed him into all sorts of adventures, often ending in trouble of one sort or another. But Alex always protected her from the worst of the blame and she’d marvelled at his bravery in the face of his father’s formidable wrath.

But at the start of her first Season all her hopes crashed to the ground. London Alex treated her exactly as Devonshire Alex had always treated her—like another little sister. Her hero-worship of Alex might have matured over the years into love, but Alex clearly didn’t see her in that way and who could blame him? His reputation as a skilled lover was legendary and unhappily married ladies of the ton vied for his attention. Why would he ever be interested in a plain, dull female like good old Janey?

Despite that inauspicious start, her love for him—buoyed by her blind hope that, one day, he would open his eyes and recognise her as his soulmate—had persisted and she had stubbornly refused Mr Romsley’s offer, for how could she make her vows to another man when her heart belonged to Alex?

She had lived to regret her decision because she’d received no further offers in the intervening years and Alex had not returned to Devonshire since. The only time she saw him was in London during the Season each year and now she accepted he would never see her as anything other than his old playmate. Now, she would willingly marry. She longed to have her own household to run and to escape Stepmama and her constant barrage of criticism. But that would never be with Sir Denzil Pikeford. In his late thirties, he drank too much, his teeth were rotting, his manners were appalling and his conversation consisted mainly of boasting of his hunting exploits.

Even Stepmama was preferable to a lifetime with that.

The carriage drew to a halt. Jane looked up at the honeyed stone walls of the old Abbey… It had been like a second home to her throughout her childhood and the memories flooded back…happy childhood memories…

Grantham, the Duke’s haughty butler, showed them straight through the huge hall and out to the extensive lawns at the rear of the Abbey, where a footman offered them glasses of punch or lemonade. There must have been fifty guests there already and Jane recognised many faces as her gaze swept the crowd, seeking…

Her heart leapt, then beat a tattoo in her chest. She might have accepted her love would remain unrequited for ever, but still she could not deny it.

Lord Alexander Beauchamp—tall, broad-shouldered and impossibly handsome, with those strong Beauchamp features shared by all the men of the family: the strong jaw, aquiline nose, lean cheeks, beautifully sculptured mouth and arresting eyes under straight, dark brows. He stood with his older brother Dominic, Lord Avon, slightly apart from the crowd, and Jane recognised that Dominic was attempting to pacify his fiery-tempered brother.

They looked so alike, other than their colouring: Dominic shared the black hair and silvery-grey eyes of the Duke—as did Olivia—whereas Alex had the thick mahogany-brown hair and amber eyes of his late mother. In temperament, however, they were opposite. Dominic had always been the dutiful, responsible son. Alex had, for as long as Jane could remember, rebelled against his father—one of the reasons he hadn’t been back to the Abbey for so long. The other, Jane knew, was the painful memory that haunted him whenever he returned…the memory of the day he’d found his mother’s dead body in the summer house by the lake.

Alex had never spoken to Jane about that day—he’d been seven years old and he hadn’t spoken at all for a year afterwards—but Olivia had long ago told Jane all about it and about the nightmares Alex suffered. Jane’s young, tender heart had gone out to him, but she had never been able to penetrate the barriers behind which he retreated whenever anyone ventured too close to his memories of that day, or to his feelings about what had happened.

He kept everyone—family included—at arm’s length.

While Dominic talked, Alex’s restless gaze swept the crowd and Jane felt the physical jolt when his amber eyes—tiger’s eyes, Dominic always called them—alighted on her. He grinned and beckoned her over. A blush heated her cheeks as she walked towards him and she schooled her expression, always afraid her feelings for him would shine from her eyes. A girl had to have some pride.

‘Janey! How lovely to see you! You still game for a swim in the lake like we used to?’

‘Alex!’ Dominic hissed. ‘For God’s sake, think before you speak, will you? Would you say such a thing to any other young lady of your acquaintance?’

‘I’d say it to Livvy.’ Alex winked at Jane. ‘Janey’s just like one of us…she doesn’t care about standing on ceremony, do you, Janey?’

Jane shook her head, stretching her lips in a smile. Defeat spread through her, settling like a lead weight in her stomach. There was the proof, as if she needed it, that Alex would never view her as anything other than his old childhood playmate.

‘Of course I don’t mind. After all, if I’m not accustomed to your teasing ways by now, Alex, I never shall be.’

Alex grinned again. ‘There! What did I tell you, Dom?’ He slung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her briefly into his side. ‘How’s the old witch?’

Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘Jane—please try to stop my reprehensible brother from upsetting anyone else. He’s already enraged Lord Wagstaff by ripping up at him over the state of his horses and I really must go and see if Liberty needs help…she’s been gone a long time.’

Liberty was Dominic’s new bride—they had met earlier that year in London, fallen in love and married, despite Liberty not being the perfect society lady Dominic planned to wed. Jane had met her in London, where they had married in June, and thought she was, in fact, the perfect match for Dominic, helping him to take life, and himself, a little less seriously.

‘Is there something amiss?’ Jane wondered why Liberty might need help.

‘That dog of hers,’ said Dominic. ‘Never have I known such a mischief-maker. He cannot keep his nose out of trouble for more than five minutes.’

‘Romeo?’ Liberty had rescued the dog as a stray in London earlier that year.

Dominic nodded. ‘He sneaked into the kitchens again, knocked over a cream jug and helped himself to a crock of butter, just when the servants are run off their feet with preparations for today. Liberty’s gone to catch him and shut him away. Why she insisted on bringing him here I’ll never know!’

‘You can’t fool us, Dom. You dote on that dog as much as Liberty does,’ said Alex, nudging his brother.

Dominic’s jaw tightened. ‘I do not dote on him. I merely tolerate him.’

‘Is that why he was sprawled across your lap last night when I arrived? He was fondling Romeo’s ears, Janey, and murmuring sweet nothings.’

‘Rubbish! I was doing nothing of the sort. I’ll see you both later.’

Alex watched Dominic stalk away, his mouth curved in a smile that managed to be both mischievous and satisfied at the same time, before switching his attention back to Jane. She tore her own gaze from his lips, that telltale heat building again in her cheeks.

‘How does it feel being back after all this time?’

Alex’s top lip curled. ‘Same as ever. I arrive and then I can’t wait to leave.’

‘You can’t mean that, Alex. It’s years since you’ve been home. And the entire family is here…surely you want to spend time with them?’

His eyes roamed across the crowd as Jane spoke and she noticed them pause as they reached his father, the Duke, his gaze turning wistful as it often did when he watched his father. She suspected he longed to have the same easy rapport Dominic had with their father, but that he simply did not know how to change—their relationship had been tetchy for as long as Jane had known him. That wistfulness didn’t last long. His expression soon hardened.

‘I do mean it. This is no longer my home. Foxbourne is. Let’s not talk about that, Janey. Tell me, how is Pippin?’

Jane’s throat tightened, aching at the mention of her beloved mare. ‘She died, Alex. Last year.’

Genuine shock and sympathy played across Alex’s features. ‘Last year? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘When would I tell you? You are never here and, in London…it’s not the same somehow.’

‘But… Oh, God, Janey. I’m sorry. What are you riding now?’

Horses had always been their shared passion and they were the love of Alex’s life. He bred and trained horses at Foxbourne Manor and had built a solid reputation for producing first-class riding and carriage horses.

‘Sandy.’

‘Sandy?’ Alex burst out laughing, but quickly sobered. He searched Jane’s expression, a frown knitting his brows. ‘I thought you were joking, but you’re not. How can a plod like old Sandy be a suitable mount for a rider of your quality?’

‘Papa said it’s not worth me having a new horse when Sandy is there doing nothing.’

‘Your father said that? Now I know you’re gammoning me—he’s always been so proud of your skill as a horsewoman. It was the old witch, wasn’t it? What is her game?’

Jane burned with humiliation. Her stepmother’s game was to make Jane’s life so intolerable she would view marriage to Sir Denzil as preferable. But she wouldn’t discuss such a subject with Alex of all people.

‘Shall I have a word with your papa, Janey? I’ve got a filly at Foxbourne that would be perfect for you… I’d give him a good price. Half what she’s worth.’

Alex hadn’t changed. He’d always been ready and willing to take up cudgels on Jane’s behalf whenever she was treated unfairly. To see that protective streak still in evidence infused her with a warm glow. She might not have Alex’s love, but he did care for her. With that, she must be content.

‘I would rather you said nothing, Alex. He’ll only tell Stepmama and you know how cross she’ll be if she thinks I’ve been complaining about my lot. It’s not worth the upset, but I do appreciate the offer.’

‘You’re too forgiving, Janey. I’ve always said so. Look at the number of times you’ve forgiven me!’ He winked at her and they both smiled at the shared memories. ‘But I’ll not say anything if you prefer me not to. Now, I really ought to mingle. Not that I want to, but I did promise Aunt Cecily and my stepmother I would be sociable.’ Alex’s father had remarried five years before. ‘I’ll see you later, I expect.’

Off he strode, leaving Jane deflated and with a headache pinching her forehead. She rubbed it absently. The thought of joining one of the loudly chattering groups clustered around the lawn held little appeal. Stepmama was talking to Sir Denzil Pikeford and Jane turned away before Stepmama could wave her over. She really couldn’t face that bore with her emotions in such a raw state.

She slipped through a gate into the apple orchard next to the lawn and on into the copse beyond, on the far side of which was the Abbey lake where, it was said, the monks used to raise fish to supplement their diet. The fresher air by the water would hopefully help her headache. And no one would miss her.

Chapter Two

Tension gripped Alex as he made polite conversation with his father’s guests. He didn’t belong here. Even in this crowd, even among his family, he felt alone. Separate. For ever the outsider.

He hadn’t been back to the Abbey since Olivia’s wedding and was only here now because it was the first time in over four years the entire Beauchamp family had all been together under one roof. The rest had been here a month already and he had only finally agreed to attend the annual Abbey garden party because Dominic threatened to drive up to Foxbourne to fetch him. He’d arrived yesterday and fully intended to leave tomorrow.

An hour or more of small talk and sipping cider-apple punch was enough to try any man’s patience and Alex had less than his fair share of that. When dealing with people, at least. Horses…now that was another matter. There, his patience knew no bounds. With a smile and a gesture towards the house, he extricated himself from an in-depth conversation about last year’s appalling weather—still the main topic of conversation for country folk—and he slipped away, feeling his tension dissipate as he left the crowds behind. Once inside, he hurried through the library, and out on to the terrace that hugged the east wing of the Abbey. Down the steps, along the stone-flagged path that bisected the formal garden, through the arch cut into the beech hedge and out on to the path beyond. It took less than a minute to reach his goal: the small gate that opened into a copse of ornamental trees.

He closed the gate behind him.

Alone. As always. As he liked it.

Nothing but trees. No need to put on a charade. No need for polite conversation about trivialities.

He leaned back against the trunk of a copper beech and closed his eyes. It had been as painful as he feared, coming back. The family had all come out to greet him. Alex had tolerated hugs from his aunts and his sister, but when Father had come forward, his arms opening, Alex had thrust out his hand for a handshake, quashing his guilt at his father’s sorrowful expression. He couldn’t explain the aversion he felt for his father, but it was undeniable. Every time they met, Alex felt like a cat having its fur rubbed the wrong way and he couldn’t wait to get away.

Then last night, in his old bedchamber, the dreams returned. Not as badly as in his childhood, but enough to unsettle him and for him to wake this morning with that old feeling of impending doom pressing down on him.

It was good to see the rest of the family, though. And dear Jane…his childhood playmate: the squire to his knight, the soldier to his general, the pirate to his captain. Shame about Pippin… God knew what her father was about, allowing that old witch to pick on poor Jane the way she did.

Alex pushed away from the tree and shrugged out of his jacket, then rolled up his shirtsleeves. Warm, dry days had been few and far between this summer—although it was still an improvement on last—but today was one of them: the sun high in a cloudless sky and insects humming. Alex wandered through the trees, his jacket hooked over his shoulder, absorbing the peace, disturbed only by the occasional burst of laughter from the garden party, taking little notice of where he was going. It was only when the sun reflecting off the surface of the lake dazzled him that he realised where he was. He stopped, his guts churning in that old familiar way.

He’d had no intention of coming here, to the place where it had happened. His mother’s favourite place. And yet his feet had led him there. Unerringly. As they always did. The summer house overlooking the lake was no more—destroyed by his father after his mother died, a weeping willow planted in its place, in her memory.

The willow had grown in the years since he had last seen it, its fronds now sweeping the ground, and the surrounding trees and shrubs—also planted after her death—had matured, isolating the willow in a clearing bounded by woodland and water.

He stood, just looking, the dark memories close, clawing their way slowly, inexorably, out of the chasm of the past. His heart drummed in his chest, nausea rising to crowd his throat as he shoved those chilling memories of his childhood—of that day—back into the depths and slammed a mental lid on them. He’d had enough practice at keeping them at bay. Eighteen years of practice—he’d only been seven when his mother died…when she was killed.

He shoved harder, feeling sweat bead his forehead. He shouldn’t have come here, should’ve stayed with the others, endured their chatter and their laughter, but it was the same every time he returned to his childhood home. No matter his best intentions, this spot drew him like a lodestone.

The sound of a scuffle and a scream, quickly cut off, grabbed his attention. He scanned his surroundings, still shaken by the past that lurked, ready to catch him unawares. He saw no one, but a muffled cry and a grunted oath sounded from beyond a clump of rhododendrons. His heart thudded. Those sounds… The memories swirled, trying to form. He swore and strode into the copse, rounding the bushes. Whatever he saw would be preferable to the images hovering at the edge of his mind.

‘No! Please! Stop!’

Breathless. Pleading. Scared.

No…terrified. Alex broke into a run, deeper into the trees, even as the sound of a slap rang out. He rounded another thicket.

Rage exploded through him—a starburst of fury that electrified every single nerve ending and muscle. He hauled the man off the woman beneath him and jerked him around, vaguely registering the stink of alcohol. His fist flew and he relished the satisfaction of the crunch of bone and the bright claret spurt of blood. He cast the man aside.

She was curled into a defensive ball, her back convulsing with silent sobs. Alex knew that feeling…he shoved again at the memory that threatened to burst free. The past needed to stay in the past. He fell to his knees and gathered the woman into his arms.

‘Shh…shh. You’re safe. He’s gone.’

He’d recognised him. Sir Denzil Pikeford, a local landowner, who’d been well into his cups when Alex spoke to him earlier and now stumbled away through the trees, hands cupping his bloody nose. Pikeford would suffer the consequences for this, but he could wait.

He held the woman’s head to his chest as he stroked down her back, soothing her, registering the bare skin, the ripped clothing. Her shuddering sobs gradually subsided. Her breathing hitched. Slowed. Hitched again.

‘There now. You’re safe.’

Alex looked down. And realised for the first time she was a lady…one of his father’s guests then, not a maid, or an unwary farm girl caught off guard.

‘Alex?’

A quiet, halting enquiry. She looked up, face blotchy with tears, one cheek stark red, eyes puffy, ringed by spiky wet eyelashes. Recognition thumped Alex square in the chest. He recalled the slap and another surge of fury rolled through him. How could anyone single out a girl as kind and inoffensive as Jane?

She pulled away from him with a gasp, frantic hands scrabbling to gather the tattered remnants of her gown to cover her exposed breasts. Then her eyes rounded with horror as voices called out. The sound of feet trampling the undergrowth came closer. Swiftly, Alex reached for his jacket—fallen nearby—and slung it around Jane before, still on his knees, twisting his torso to face her parents.

‘By God, sir! What is this?’

Lord Stowford, Jane’s father, was mottled with rage. Alex stood to face him, but before he could speak Jane’s stepmother reached her husband’s side.

‘Oh! You wicked, deceitful girl! You are ruined!’ She turned to her husband. ‘Stowford! Do something!’

‘Beauchamp! You shall answer—’

‘Papa! No! Alex saved me. It was Sir D-Denzil.’ Jane scrambled to her feet.

‘I knew it!’ Lady Stowford pressed one hand to her bosom and plied her fan vigorously with the other. ‘As soon as I saw you sneaking off with him!’

Alex frowned, glancing down at Jane. Surely she knew better than to be so careless? But…he took in Lady Stowford’s expression. The smug smile in her eyes. If she’d seen Jane and Pikeford, why not follow them straight away, and intervene?

Jane swayed and Alex moved closer, cupped her elbow, supporting her. Shivers racked her body and tears rolled down her face. Alex stared in disgust at Jane’s stepmother. Cold-hearted witch! What kind of a female…a mother…was she? Where was her concern for another female in distress, let alone one she had raised from a baby? But, then…she had always resented Jane.

‘I didn’t.’ Jane was shaking her head in frantic denial. ‘I s-s-swear it, Papa! I had the headache and hoped a walk by the water would help. He followed me. He grabbed me.’

‘It matters not! You are ruined!’ Lady Stowford’s words rang with triumph. ‘Stowford! Go and find Sir Denzil at once. He must make an honest woman of Jane. Then all will be well.’ She eyed Jane with pitiless disdain. ‘I will not allow your disgrace to taint your sisters.’

‘Noooo!’ Jane sagged against Alex as she uttered a low moan of despair.

‘Have you no compassion?’ Alex glared at Lady Stowford. A memory surfaced…of Her Ladyship trying hard to promote a match between Pikeford and Jane during last Season. And Jane’s disgust at the idea. ‘That foul drunkard attacked your daughter! He was forcing himself on her and you would have her marry him?’

Her haughty gaze raked Alex. ‘I would, as would any responsible parent. At least she will have a husband at long last! She should be grateful.’ She turned to her husband, his expression that of a man wishing he was a thousand miles away. ‘Well, Stowford? Do not just stand there. Go and find Sir Denzil. You must see Jane has to be wed now she is no longer pure.’

‘No! He didn’t… I am still… Alex stopped him in time, Papa! Please, Papa!’

‘Stowford! You must think of our other daughters. Their reputations are what is important now. Jane must be wed.’

‘Then I shall marry her.’ Alex released Jane’s elbow and wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her into his side.

‘Alex?’

His heart plummeted at that voice. Behind the Stowfords three figures came into view: Alex’s father in the lead of his uncles, Vernon and Zach. Father’s eyes swept the group. Returned to linger on Jane, then levelled a searching look at Alex.

‘What happened? Pikeford? We saw him stagger out of the copse just now.’

Grateful for his father’s swift understanding, Alex nodded. He held that silver-grey gaze, his gut churning with the same mix of hopeless love and unwanted revulsion he always felt towards this man he so desperately longed to love unconditionally. Father walked forward, ranging himself alongside Alex and Jane.

‘This matter can be contained, Stowford. No one will know but us. There is no need to force Jane to marry anyone.’

The swell of relief was brief. One look at Lady Stowford’s expression—even as she was agreeing with his father—was enough to stir Alex’s doubts. That old witch wouldn’t rest until she had her wish—Jane married off, no matter the circumstances.

Jane was still trembling, like an injured bird…fragile…terrified.

‘No,’ he heard himself say. He slid his arm from around Jane’s waist and grasped her shoulders, manoeuvring her so he could look straight into her swollen eyes. ‘Lady Jane Colebrooke…will you do me the honour of being my wife?’

Jane’s head pounded. She shouldn’t accept him. She knew she shouldn’t—this was just like Alex. Impulsive. Doing things he would later regret. He’d been like it all through their childhood. But Jane had no energy. No strength. No courage. The fear Stepmama would, somehow, force her to marry Pikeford was all-consuming.

She had dwindled until she was a mere husk and, like a husk, she allowed herself to be carried on the wind. ‘Yes.’

All she wanted was for all of this—and all of them—to go away. The Duke, she could see, was uneasy. But Stepmama—oh, she was delighted! Not only was her nuisance of a stepdaughter finally off her hands, but the family would now be irrevocably connected to that of the Duke of Cheriton, one of the most powerful and influential men in the land.

Jane’s conscience made a valiant late attempt at fairness and she clutched Alex’s hand.

‘Alex! No… I should not have… I am not thinking straight… You need not…’

Her breathless protest died away as he held her gaze with those gorgeous golden-brown eyes of his. Alex grinned that old reckless care-for-nothing grin that had stolen Jane’s young heart years before. He pulled her close and put his lips to her ear.

‘C’mon, Janey. It’ll be all right. It’ll be fun.’

The same words with which he had led her into devilment during their youth—he to prove he wouldn’t be confined by rules; she, willing to do anything to escape Stepmama and to please her childhood hero. There had always been consequences, of course, but now—here was her chance to escape Stepmama for good. Never again would she have to bite her tongue as she endured one of Stepmama’s diatribes about how plain and useless she was.

‘Thank you.’

She caught the Duke’s frown from the corner of her eye and quailed inside. But it seemed Alex had noticed, too, because his arm snaked around her waist again and he faced his father, chin jutting, head high, bringing to mind the defiant boy, full of bravado.

‘Father?’

His challenge was unmistakable. A muscle leapt in the Duke’s jaw, but he nodded.

‘If it is your wish, then we will make the arrangements. Wait here.’

He turned on his heel and strode away and Jane felt the tension leach from Alex. She eyed those left in the clearing. Stepmama was already crowing to Papa about the connection and the splendid society wedding she would arrange. Alex’s uncle, Lord Vernon Beauchamp, walked over to Alex and Jane, followed by Mr Graystoke—a half-Romany whose father was an earl, and who was married to Alex’s Aunt Cecily, but refused to be called ‘uncle’. Stepmama—for all she fawned over the Duke—held his brother-in-law in disdain and made no secret of the fact.

‘Alex? What can I do to help?’ Concern etched Lord Vernon’s face as he gripped his nephew’s shoulder.

‘You can shut her up about lavish society weddings,’ Alex growled. He looked down at Jane. ‘Come and stay at the Abbey, Janey. Don’t go back there and let her terrorise you into having what she wants. Unless…do you want a big wedding?’

Jane shook her head. She could think of nothing worse. ‘Stepmama only wants one because she thinks it will help my sisters attract husbands.’

Mr Graystoke’s lip curled. He strolled unhurriedly across to where Stepmama was still talking at Papa. Silence descended.

‘The young couple prefer a quiet wedding. Family only,’ he said.

Papa flushed red as Stepmama visibly bristled.

‘Who do you think—?’

Her mouth shut with a snap as Lord Vernon joined them.

‘And Lady Jane will stay at the Abbey until Alex obtains the licence,’ he drawled. ‘I foresee no objection from the Bishop and you may rest assured Jane will be well chaperoned in the meantime.’

‘I shall come myself to collect her belongings,’ Mr Graystoke added and Stepmama spluttered, spots of outrage colouring her cheeks. ‘Shall we say in two hours? If you leave now, that should give you sufficient time to pack her belongings.’

The two men turned their backs on her parents and strolled back to Alex and Jane.

‘That shut her up,’ Lord Vernon said, with a wink.

Over his shoulder, Jane watched her parents leave, Stepmama gesticulating furiously. Even though she wanted them gone, it still hurt to see Papa walk away without a word.

‘Maybe you should take her back to the house, Alex, and not wait for Leo,’ said Mr Graystoke. ‘She’s had a shock.’ He crouched slightly and tipped up her chin, holding her gaze with his dark eyes. ‘All will be well, my dear. You are part of the family now. You are protected.’

The anxiety agitating her stomach settled and stilled. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced up at Alex, who was frowning at her. ‘What is it?’

‘You can’t go back with your gown all torn like that. I—’

His jaw snapped shut and Jane followed his gaze. Alex’s father, a gown draped over one arm, was approaching, the Duchess—Alex’s stepmother—by his side.

‘Vern, Zach, Alex…come. Let us return to our guests. Rosalind will help Jane. The fewer people who know what happened here, the better.’

‘We’d better find a way to stop Lady Stowford from spewing her poison all over the district, then,’ said Lord Vernon. ‘I believe Zach and I might have contrived to upset her. Just a smidgeon, you understand. And totally without intention.’ The twinkle in his eyes belied his apologetic tone.

‘I have already helped the Stowfords to understand it is in their best interests to remain quiet,’ said the Duke.

‘We met them on their way back to the house,’ added the Duchess, ‘and Lady Stowford made the mistake of attempting to pull rank on Leo, claiming rights as the mother of the bride. I believe she now accepts it is what Alex and Jane want that is important. Now, off you go, you men, and leave me and Jane to make her respectable. Go on! Shoo!’

Chapter Three

Left alone with the Duchess, Jane found her voice again.

‘I shouldn’t have accepted Alex, Your Grace. I’m sorry. He doesn’t want to marry me. I know he doesn’t. Stepmama gave him no choice.’ Suppressed tears thickened her voice. Why would anyone want to marry her? She wasn’t pretty or even vivacious. Alex had been trapped. ‘She would keep saying I was ruined and I must marry S-Sir Denzil.’

‘Jane…you cannot possibly marry that villain after what he tried to do.’ The Duchess took her hand. ‘You and Alex have always been friends, have you not?’

Jane nodded.

‘Then allow him to help his friend and…’ The Duchess paused, a line stitched between her brows. Then her chin tilted. ‘And, in return, you can be a friend to him. Alex needs someone like you in his life…’ she nodded, emphasising her words ‘…although he would never admit it. Unless, of course, the thought of being wed to him truly repels you?’

Hazel eyes searched Jane’s face. She shook her head. No. That thought did not repel her. Not at all.

‘Good. Now, come, let us get this gown off you and make you respectable. I have even brought a comb and hairpins. No one will guess what so nearly happened and Leo has already shut Sir Denzil in one of the outbuildings until he sobers up and can be…um…“brought to fully appreciate the iniquity of his actions” were, I believe, Leo’s exact words.’

They were all being so kind, but Jane dreaded to think what they really thought of her. She knew Alex had stopped Pikeford in time, but did anyone else believe her? She shuddered at the memory of his hand painfully squeezing her breast…his fingers between her legs… Her stomach roiled, pushing the contents up. She ran to a nearby bush, bent double and vomited. Tears blurred her eyes. She could not stop retching, even after her stomach was empty and sore. Gradually, the heaving slowed and she became aware of hands supporting her, holding her hair back.

‘Better now?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.’

‘Then let us make you respectable again and return to the house.’

They avoided the lawn at the rear of the Abbey, where the garden party continued, by following the lake around until they met the grass path that wound up through the copse towards the formal gardens leading to the terrace and the library. The Duchess peered through the hedge into the gardens before smiling encouragingly at Jane.

‘They’re empty. When the Duke told me what had happened, I ordered bath water to be heated and a bedchamber prepared. You must be exhausted. Come.’

She slipped her arm around Jane’s waist and they hurried through the gardens and up the steps to the terrace, where one of the French doors into the library stood open. Within minutes the Duchess had whisked Jane upstairs.

Father, as was his wont, moved swiftly to avert any scandal. Pikeford had already left for Plymouth, escorted by two footmen to ensure he took passage on the first ship bound for the Continent, thus thwarting Alex of the chance to thump the bastard again. But Father did not broach the subject of Alex’s impending marriage until after dinner that evening, when he invited Alex to join him in his study.

Alex braced himself for the interrogation, every muscle locked tight, as though his body was preparing itself for physical battle.

‘Well, Alex?’

Alex unclenched his jaw with an effort. ‘Well… I hope you will wish us happy, sir.’

Father stared at him for several seconds, his eyes troubled, before pouring them both a glass of brandy. He handed one to Alex and gestured for him to sit in one of the pair of wingback chairs either side of the unlit hearth.

‘You’ve had time to think this through, Son. Marriage is a big step—it is not something that should be rushed into on a whim.’

‘It was not a whim.’ As ever, he instinctively opposed Father.

One dark eyebrow flicked high. ‘Did you know this morning you would propose to Lady Jane Colebrooke today?’

‘Of course not! I—’

‘Then it was a whim.’

As Alex opened his mouth to protest again, Father held up one hand. ‘Hear me out, Alex, before you shoot me down again.’

Alex subsided. How he wished he could emulate Father’s cool, calm control. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him whereas he… Alex…flew into the boughs at the slightest provocation. He must learn to control that tendency with a wife to consider.

His insides clenched. A wife! Marriage! He’d never, ever imagined marrying. He knew himself too well to believe he could ever make a good husband.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind, Alex. Once you exchange your vows, you will be together for life.’

‘My mind is made up,’ Alex muttered.

‘Nevertheless you should listen to what I am about to say, not only for your own sake, but for Jane’s, as well.’

‘Jane’s sake?’

Father didn’t reply, but held Alex’s gaze with his own.

‘Jane will be happy to get away from that witch of a stepmother of hers.’

‘Granted. But if I can guarantee you that Jane will never have to return to her father’s house, will you reconsider your decision?’

Alex stared at his father. ‘How?’

Hope warred with resentment inside. Hope, because marriage was irrevocable. His father was right, although Alex would never admit that aloud. Resentment because…well, resentment was his habitual reaction to everything his father said or did.

‘I will undertake to find her a decent husband.’

He didn’t like the sound of that. How could his father possibly know a man’s character, or how he might change? Once Jane was wed, that would be it. She’d be bound for life to some stranger she didn’t even know. Every fibre of his being rebelled against that idea… Jane was his friend. He’d always protected her, right from when they were children.

‘You think I couldn’t make her a decent husband? We’ve been friends a long time.’

‘I am aware of that. But…you’re only five-and-twenty, Alex. It’s a young age for a man to take such a big step.’

‘Dom is only a year older than me. He got married this year.’

‘He thought it his duty. But then, thank goodness, he fell in love. Besides, you and Dominic are very different characters.’

Alex scowled, biting back the urge to rip up at his father. The truth hurt sometimes.

‘You were only eighteen when you married my mother.’

‘The circumstances were very different. My father was dying and fretting over the succession of the dukedom. I married for him.’ Father thrust his hand through his hair. ‘Alex…this is not wise… Allow me to find a good husband for Jane… Don’t rush into this. You might both live to regret it.’

Alex drained his glass and rose to his feet. ‘And we might not! This is my decision. I leave for Exeter first thing to obtain the licence.’ He’d already arranged for Dominic to drive him in his curricle. ‘The wedding will take place as soon as possible.’

Then he could leave this place with all its threatening memories and go home to Foxbourne where he was happiest.

‘I intend to make the same offer to Jane tomorrow.’ Father’s voice was clipped. ‘She deserves to know she has a choice.’

Alex’s simmering temper boiled up at that. ‘There is no need for you to involve yourself—I don’t want you pressuring Jane just because you think you know what is best. You cannot manipulate us to your bidding like you manipulate everyone else. I bid you goodnight.’

His temper raged until he was halfway to his bedchamber when—as so often happened where his father was concerned—it cooled as suddenly as if doused in a bucket of icy water, leaving shame behind. He contemplated rejoining the family downstairs but couldn’t face having to act the part of happy brother, nephew and son. Not to mention happy prospective bridegroom. He couldn’t face his family. Couldn’t face his father again. He continued on to his room, eyeing the bed with disfavour, already anticipating the restless night to come.

Why was life never straightforward?

He’d refused his father’s offer, driven by that familiar but inexplicable defiance, but that didn’t mean he knew exactly what he did want.

He was torn.

He’d been fully reconciled to life as a bachelor, with no need—or wish—to share his life with anyone. And as for marriage to Jane—she was like his little sister! No. She was more than that. She was, and always had been, his friend. But…marriage? Didn’t that mean sharing his feelings and his innermost thoughts? That was unthinkable. He kept those to himself. Always had. He was an island—even when he was out with his friends, carousing, he was always separate, somehow, and that was how he liked it.

But, strangely, now he was faced with it, a part of him—a newly emerging, hesitant and hazy part of him—quite liked the idea of marriage. To Jane. At least she knew him and knew about his past. And at least she never looked at him with that infuriating mix of sympathy and pity he all too often identified in his family’s expressions. He and Jane were friends—surely they could at least be comfortable together, as long as he learned to suppress his black moods. He could do it with the horses…when he worked with them it was as though nothing else existed. No past. No future. Just him and the horse. Could he learn to do the same for Jane?

And Jane loved horses as much as he did—he was sure she would be as happy at Foxbourne as he was.

It would be a better start than many couples experienced.

Jane must have slept right through to the next morning because she vaguely recalled waking at one point to find it was night-time, but now, as she propped herself up on her elbows, she could see daylight limning the curtains. Memories of the previous day loomed—Pikeford following her, his attack, his strength…so much more than she could have imagined. It was frighteningly impossible to fight him off and then, just as she despaired of ever stopping him, Alex had rescued her.

She flopped back on to the mattress, biting her lip against the hot sting of tears. How long had she dreamed of him seeing her as someone other than simply good old Janey, the girl next door? How many years had she fed her fantasies with images of him realising, at last, that he loved her…proposing to her…?

But not like this. Never like this!

Sick dread clogged her throat. She was in an impossible situation. If she protected Alex against his spontaneous, quixotic gesture then she must go home, to the stepmother who would not hesitate to marry her off to Sir Denzil Pikeford. And he would be perfectly willing…

She shuddered, rolling on to her side, curling into a ball, her arms wrapped around her torso. She would die rather than end up as Pikeford’s wife. Her stomach roiled in disgust.

I cannot lie here for ever. I must face this some time.

She forced herself to rise, crossing to the window and pulling back the curtains. It was early, the sun still low in the sky. A movement caught her eye and she saw a curricle with two male occupants heading away from the Abbey. She couldn’t be sure, but she suspected the passenger was Alex and she recognised Dominic’s matched bays. She frowned. Where were they off to so early? Would Alex leave in order to avoid her? He had run away rather than face unpleasant consequences when he was younger, but she couldn’t believe Dominic would aid and abet him.

There’s only one way to find out.

After dressing—a trunk containing her belongings had appeared as if by magic at the foot of her bed—she ventured downstairs only to find it was too early for the rest of the family to be up and about. She refused breakfast, too embarrassed to eat when none of the family was present. Ignoring her growling stomach, she selected a book from the library and settled in an armchair to pass the time until someone else appeared.

That someone, to her dismay, was the Duke of Cheriton. Jane shot to her feet, nerves churning her stomach. The Duke had never been anything but courteous to her, but he was a formidable and powerful man and some of Alex’s feelings about his father had inevitably rubbed off on her over the years.

‘Good morning, Jane.’ The Duke gestured, indicating she should sit again. She perched on the edge of the chair. ‘Grantham said I would find you in here. Are you well rested?’

‘Yes, thank you, Your Grace.’

He pulled another chair across to sit opposite. ‘You have a bruise on your face, I see. Did Pikeford injure you anywhere else?’

Jane shook her head, mortified at talking of such matters, nervy at being the sole focus of the Duke’s attention.

His eyes narrowed and a groove appeared between his black brows. ‘Unfortunately neither the Duchess nor my sister are awake, but I can send for a maid if you are uncomfortable being here alone with me.’

Her face flamed. How rude he must think her, when she had known him all her life.

‘It is understandable you are still shaken after the events of yesterday.’ He went to the door. She heard a murmur of voices, then he returned to sit again.

‘I—I thought I saw Alex leaving,’ Jane said.

A smile crinkled the Duke’s eyes. ‘He has not run off, you know. He outgrew that tendency a few years ago, I’m pleased to say. Dominic is driving him to Exeter, to obtain a marriage licence.’

She struggled to meet his gaze. But she must say this…she couldn’t allow Alex to sacrifice himself for her. ‘I will not hold him to his promise, Your Grace. I could not forgive myself if Alex married me only to regret it. Please. Can you tell him he need not marry me?’

‘I have told him already and—’

He fell silent as the door opened and Jane breathed a sigh of relief when Olivia, her old friend and only eight months older than Jane, entered.

‘Grantham said you needed me in here, Papa. Good morning, Jane.’

Olivia smiled, pulling a footstool over to sit close to Jane. She clasped her hand.

‘Thank you, Livvy. Now, as I was about to say, Jane…Alex understands very well he is under no obligation to marry you and that, if he chooses not to proceed, I shall ensure you never have to return to your father’s house. But I want you to understand—this offer I am about to make is for your benefit, Jane. Not Alexander’s.’ The Duke rose and crossed to the window, where the early morning sun lit his face, highlighting the silvering at his temples and the lines of stress around his eyes and mouth. ‘You have known my son all your life and you know he is not always an easy man. My fear is that if he feels constrained to go ahead with your union—even by his own decision—then, later, he may well rebel against it. And you would bear the brunt of his resentment.

‘You deserve to be happy in your marriage, Jane, and that is why I sought you out this morning…to make you the same offer I made to Alex. There is a third way and you may trust me when I say I shall find a way for you to be safe from both your stepmother and Pikeford.’

He returned to his chair, his silver-grey gaze on Jane’s face. She swallowed. She should grab his offer with both hands. For Alex’s sake. But the Duchess’s words resounded in her head, keeping her silent. Alex did need a friend…not the friends with whom he spent his time on the town, but someone who would be there for him, day after day. Night after night. Someone to provide him with a safe anchor during those times the past came back to haunt him. Because haunt him it did. They all knew it. But no one had ever found the way to help him come to terms with the day he had discovered his mother’s violated body.

And Jane, God help her, wanted to be that friend to him. If…

‘What was Alex’s answer to your offer, sir?’

The Duke exchanged a wry smile with his daughter. ‘He threw it right back in my face and left for Exeter at first light. I believe his exact words were, “You cannot manipulate us to your bidding like you manipulate everyone else”.’

Jane gasped and sympathy for the Duke buried her earlier nervousness. ‘I am sorry. I don’t understand—’

Olivia moved to perch on the arm of Jane’s chair and hugged her. ‘None of us understands my brother, Jane—there’s no need for you to apologise for him. But you do need to think carefully about what you want. Papa will help you find a decent husband, if you decide against marrying Alex, and you mustn’t be afraid the rest of us will hold it against you. You will still be our dear friend, whatever you decide.’

‘Thank you, Livvy. That means a lot.’ Jane pulled away from her friend’s embrace, and stood up to face Alex’s father. ‘And thank you for your offer, Your Grace. I do appreciate it. But…as long as Alex does not change his mind and is still prepared to go ahead, I choose to marry Alex. I—I hope you do not mind? I—I…’ She hauled in a breath. ‘I cannot quite explain it, but…it feels right.’ She laid her hand against her chest. ‘In here. It feels right.’

Hot embarrassment flooded her. That was as good as a confession that she loved Alex, but she wanted to soothe any misgivings either the Duke or Olivia had about this marriage.

‘I do not mind at all, Jane. In fact, I am delighted,’ said the Duke. ‘As I hope I made clear, my intervention was not due to any objection to either you or to the match, but merely to reassure you both that you need not feel trapped by what occurred yesterday.’

‘And I say you are a brave woman to take Alex on,’ said Olivia. ‘But you know what he is like and you have always been friends. Perhaps you are just what he needs.’

She hugged Jane, and kissed her cheek. ‘Welcome to the Beauchamp family.’

Chapter Four

Preparations for the wedding gained momentum throughout the day and Jane allowed herself to be swept along despite the unease that writhed in her stomach like a restless snake. She needed to speak to Alex. It was all very well the family assuming the matter was irrevocably settled but what if, now he’d had time to think, Alex had changed his mind?

All the frenetic activity infected the Beauchamps’ dogs: the Duchess’s wolfhound, Hector, Myrtle, a three-legged, bull-baiting type of terrier belonging to Mr Graystoke, and Liberty’s Romeo. The three of them became increasingly excited, chasing one another around the house, in and out of the rooms, until Romeo darted in front of a footman carrying a tray of china and he went flying. The resulting crash brought everyone running.

‘This is outside of enough!’ The Duchess, her hair awry, shooed the dogs outside. ‘The doors are to be kept shut and woe betide anyone who lets those animals back inside!’

Even that added to Jane’s guilt. The entire household had been set on its ears just because she had foolishly decided to go for a walk alone.

The day wore on and, in the late afternoon, Jane found herself helping Alex’s two aunts, Lady Cecily and Thea, Lady Vernon, to arrange flowers in three matching lead-crystal cut-glass vases to decorate the hall.

‘These vases were made by Stour Crystal,’ Lady Vernon said, her pride clear.

Jane knew Lord Vernon’s wife came from a family of Worcestershire glassmakers. ‘Is that your father’s manufactory?’

‘It is. Well, it belongs to my brother now. Papa died two years ago.’

‘I am sorry to hear that…but you must be very proud. These are beautiful.’

‘They are, aren’t they? And yes, I…’

Her voice drifted into silence as the front door flew open and Alex and Dominic bowled in, laughing, the three banished dogs at their heels. Jane stilled, nerves erupting.

‘Please leave the dogs outside,’ Lady Cecily said to her nephews. ‘Rosalind’s orders. They are overexcited and have been causing mayhem, with everyone so busy. You’re fortunate to have missed the worst of the chaos.’

She looked from Jane to Alex. ‘Dominic?’

‘Yes, Aunt Cecily?’

‘Thea and I would appreciate your opinion on the seating arrangements if you will come to the dining room?’

The three disappeared, leaving Jane facing Alex, anxiety churning her stomach.

‘Well, Honeybee, and how are you today?’

Honeybee…the affectionate nickname he had given her when, as a child, she was for ever buzzing around, like a bee around a flower. He sauntered over to the table and picked up one of the lilies still to be placed in the vases.

‘I am well, thank you, Alex. You…you’ve been gone a long time.’

‘Oh, I got the licence, all right and tight, if that’s been plaguing you,’ he said. ‘But I must ask you—’

His jaw snapped shut as the Duke and Duchess came into the hall together and Jane’s heart sank, knowing Alex wouldn’t continue with his father present.

‘Alex. You’re back,’ said the Duke.

‘As you see.’ Alex replaced the lily on the table, its petals now mangled, and withdrew a document from his pocket. ‘With the licence.’

‘So, you still wish to proceed?’

‘Of course!’ Alex took Jane’s hand. ‘As long as you aren’t about to back out on me, Janey?’

She shook her head. Alex grinned, only slightly settling her nerves. She couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was going on inside his head.

‘We’ll leave you in peace.’ The Duchess linked her arm through her husband’s and they disappeared into the drawing room.

‘Sorry about that flower.’ Alex nudged the stem of the lily he had destroyed. ‘Shall I go and cut you another?’

‘No. We already had more than sufficient. But thank you.’

He grinned again, flicked her nose and headed for the staircase. ‘I must change my coat and boots. I’ll see you later, Janey.’

‘What was it you wanted to ask me, Alex? Before your father came in?’

He paused, then turned back to her. ‘I just wanted to know if you have everything you need.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

She doubted that had been his original question. She watched him bound up the stairs, hope and dread warring in her breast as she wondered what their future held.

Alex stood in the local church the next morning at eleven, waiting for his bride. He stared at the floor, Dominic by his side, still torn by what was about to happen. Every time his doubts had edged him close to backing out of this marriage, his father had said something that made him leap straight back into those slowly closing leg shackles. And besides…there was Jane to think about. Now she’d been compromised—and the whispers had already started—she must marry someone and quickly. And Alex could not condemn her to marriage with a stranger. That same boyhood instinct to protect her that had spurred him into that rash proposal made sure of that.

‘This takes me back,’ Dominic whispered. ‘Waiting at the altar, fretting that Liberty might not show up, but mark my words…’ he gripped Alex’s shoulder, and squeezed it ‘…all your worry will fly away as soon as you set eyes on her.’

Except Dominic married Liberty for love.

Alex half-turned, eyeing the members of his family, sitting in the pews, waiting to witness his marriage to his childhood friend. The only one missing was Olivia, who was attending the bride. Lord Hugo Alastair, her husband, had his hands full coping with their two-year-old twins, Julius and Daisy, helped by Liberty. Alex’s father and stepmother were there, with three-year-old Christabel and two-year-old Sebastian—his young half-sister and half-brother—and Susie, their adopted daughter. Further back were Uncle Vernon and Aunt Thea, with their three—Thomas, four, Sophie, two, and one-year-old George—and Aunt Cecily and Zach with three-year-old Florence.

Every one of them had married for love. But Alex, yet again, would be different.

Apart. Alone. Always the outsider.

Except you’ll never be alone again. You’ll have Jane.

And a whisper of…was that hope?…stirred in his heart. He forced down the doubts that clogged his throat, longing for that whisper of hope to be true.

The organ music changed and Alex turned to watch his bride walk up the aisle. Another lump filled his throat…not doubts this time, but concern. She looked desperately uncertain. A wave of protectiveness washed through him. Filled him. She was his responsibility now…her happiness depended on him and he would do all he could to stop her regretting their marriage.

Her gown was beautiful: peach-coloured silk that hugged her slim figure and complemented her mass of shiny conker-brown hair, held back with combs and interwoven with delicate white jasmine flowers, leaving loose tresses to wave down her back—and it was almost as though he were looking at her for the first time, which was absurd because he’d known her for ever. She was two years younger than him, his neighbour and his childhood playmate…he’d known her all her life. Taught her to ride. Led her into plenty of scrapes. And yet, here…now…he seemed to really see her. As his friend, Jane, yes…but also as a woman. An attractive woman. Not beautiful, maybe, but her figure was…mouth-watering.

And then all thought and conjecture ceased because she had reached his side and he turned to face the Reverend Padstow, his bride by his side, her sleeve brushing his.

Afterwards, he endured the congratulations and the backslapping outside the church, plastering a smile on his face. He felt like public property. This day couldn’t be over soon enough for him. But he kept Jane close by his side, his hand resting at the small of her back. She was part of him now. They were a partnership. She was his wife. And when her father, stepmother and half-sisters approached and he felt her tense, he slid his arm around her waist and held her even closer.

‘Well, Jane. This is a happy day indeed.’ Lord Stowford thrust out his hand. ‘You are a very welcome addition to our family, Alexander. You must visit us whenever you choose.’

Alex ignored the hand and inclined his head. ‘I rarely visit Devonshire these days, sir, so you need not fear we will darken your doorstop with any regularity.’

We’ll visit you over my dead body.

But it was his wedding day. He was the bridegroom. He must be polite to the guests, even when every nerve in his body craved solitude.

He nodded coolly at Lady Stowford and her daughters, and said to Jane, ‘Come, my dear. Our wedding breakfast awaits and our guests must be hungry.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered as they walked to the carriage waiting to drive them back to the Abbey. Alex handed Jane in and then collapsed on to the seat beside her, shutting his eyes.

‘Are you finding this very trying, Alex?’

He cranked his eyelids open to find her watching him, her eyes filled with concern. They were lovely eyes, now he came to study them properly. Warm brown and thickly lashed and full not only of concern, but of kindness and understanding. And wasn’t that typical of Jane? All her worry was for him. Even on her wedding day.

‘A bit,’ he replied.

He straightened. They would be home shortly…except he never thought of it as home any more. Foxbourne was his home now and had been for close on five years. His father had bought the estate, together with its breeding stock, five years before. Alex moved in later that year and, two years later—once he proved he could be trusted to run the place—his father signed it over to him. He loved Foxbourne and he couldn’t wait to return. To go home.

He laid his hand against Jane’s cheek, registering the softness of her skin.

‘Shall you object if we leave here tomorrow? I cannot wait to show you Foxbourne Manor, although I fear it lacks a woman’s touch at the moment.’

They would need more indoor staff—he’d led a bachelor’s life until now, cared for by only his man, Drabble, and Mr and Mrs Kent, who ran the house.

‘I have often longed to run my own household.’ Her eyes glowed. ‘And I cannot wait to settle into my new home, so I’m happy for us to leave tomorrow.’ She smiled, then, and raised her eyebrows. ‘And I know you well enough to know you’ll be itching to leave here as soon as possible.’

He laughed. ‘That I am.’ He slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. ‘You are a brave woman, taking me on when you know what a moody wretch I can be at times.’

He kissed her cheek and the delicate scent of jasmine wreathed through his senses. Desire sparked through his veins, surprising him.

‘Well—’ Jane pulled back, capturing his gaze with a teasing smile ‘—in a straight choice between you and Pikeford I thought black moods a touch easier to cope with than drunkenness and r-r-r…’

Her lips quivered and his heart cracked. He pulled her close, nestled her head to his shoulder. ‘Don’t, Honeybee. Don’t try to be brave and pretend it was nothing.’

She stayed there, trembling, for a few minutes. Then the carriage started to slow and she pulled away from him. Brushed a finger beneath each eye in turn and gave a tiny sniff. Alex handed her his handkerchief without a word.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

They both put on a decent show, Jane probably more successfully than him. To watch her you would never believe anything troubled her, but Alex saw the effort she was making all through that day.

Her family left early—to everyone’s relief—and, watching Jane with the Beauchamps afterwards, Alex could see she would fit right in. And why shouldn’t she, when she had known them for so long they were like a second family to her?

He watched over her, alert for any hint of distress. None came. And, through the day, Aunt Cecily, too, kept her eye on Jane and often drew her into conversations.

‘She will need your patience, Alex.’

Zach joined Alex as the family gathered in the drawing room after dinner that evening.

‘I am aware of it.’

Zach turned his dark gaze on Alex. ‘She is a woman who was born to lavish care on those around her and she will thrive, given love and care in return. You are a lucky man. I feel you will be good for one another, but do not be surprised if the path is bumpy in the beginning.’

Alex couldn’t help grinning. ‘Is that your Romany half talking, Zach?’

Zach smiled. ‘Perhaps.’ He bent to fondle Myrtle’s ears. She rarely left his side. ‘Or maybe it’s more that I know human nature and I know you, Alex.’

Alex sobered. Zach was right. He did know Alex—as well as, if not better than, any other member of the family. Their mutual love for and understanding of horses had fostered their friendship and respect. The rest of the family were talented horse riders, but they did not share that natural feel for troubled animals, and for horses in particular, that Alex and Zach had in common. Edgecombe, Zach’s estate in Hertfordshire, was less than thirty miles from Foxbourne and Zach regularly helped Alex with some of the challenging animals he was sent to ‘cure’.

‘I know it won’t be easy.’ He would need patience with Jane, but he suspected she would need even more with him. ‘But I’m determined to be the good husband she deserves. We’ve always been friends. It is a good place to start.’

‘Indeed it is.’

Alex noticed his father casting occasional pensive glances at him and Zach as they talked and his stomach clenched, aware Father wanted nothing more than to be as close to Alex as he was to Dominic. He turned away, allowing that same unhappy, unsettling mix of resentment and regret to subside. Why did he always feel that way? The rest of the family loved his father unequivocally and Alex—when he viewed him objectively—saw he was a good man. A good husband. A good father. A good employer. But no matter how he tried to overcome his unreasonable distrust with logic, his emotions always won.

He scanned the room for Jane. She sat with Aunt Thea, their heads together, chatting animatedly—well, Aunt Thea was always a veritable bundle of energy—and he wondered, for the first time, if his new wife might help him to change. Could he change? Was it possible? Could he, as he longed to do, learn to love his father unconditionally?

That thought unsettled him even more. Maybe he could, in time. But not yet. Now, all he wanted was to leave the Abbey and to return to Foxbourne, where it was safe. He no longer questioned that feeling of insecurity that assailed him at the Abbey. It simply was. It was how he had always felt.

‘We are leaving tomorrow,’ he said now to Zach.

Zach raised one dark brow. ‘That is a pity when you have just arrived. The rest of us plan to remain a little longer—the children do so love to spend time with their cousins.’

‘We’ll all be sorry to see you go, Son.’ Alex stiffened as his father interrupted them. ‘But I guessed you would be keen to take Jane to Foxbourne as soon as possible. I’ve ordered your carriage for nine in the morning, but if you prefer to leave earlier, or later, just send word to the stables.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

His father tipped his head to one side and smiled. ‘Don’t leave it so long to visit us next time.’ He reached out and grasped Alex’s upper arm. ‘We miss you. I miss you.’

Alex swallowed, his throat constricted by a painful lump. ‘I won’t.’

But he knew he would.

He threw a smile at his father and Zach and moved away to join Jane and Aunt Thea on the sofa, wondering again if marriage and, in time, fatherhood might help him relax more around his father. He truly hoped so.

‘I’ve been telling Jane about the children, Alex,’ Aunt Thea said.

This was the first time Alex had met baby George, the youngest of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Thea’s children. Thomas, with a mop of red curls like his mother’s and busy creating havoc wherever he could, and Sophie, a little chestnut-haired poppet, had both grown since he’d last seen them and Alex felt a pang of remorse at missing so much of their childhood. At times like this, he could almost forget those feelings that kept him away. Kept him distant and alone. But then they would rear up, nipping and clawing at the edges of his memories, and he would retreat again, behind his barricades, to safety.

‘They’re all having such fun here together,’ Aunt Thea continued, ‘that Rosalind has invited us all to come again at Christmastide. I do hope you and Jane will come—we shall be here from a week before Christmas right up to Twelfth Night.’ She looked at Alex hopefully. ‘It would be lovely for the entire family to be together.’

‘Oh, what a wonderful idea,’ said Jane, before Alex could reply. ‘I remember coming here at Christmas. How I loved all the old traditions—the Yule log, the Christmas Candle, decorating the house with greenery on Christmas Eve. Do you remember, Alex?’ Her eyes turned wistful. ‘The fun, the laughter, the games—so different to Christmas at Stowford Place. Stepmama never countenanced those old traditions. To her, Christmas is a religious observance and all about charity for the poor. We never even exchange family gifts, whether on St Nicholas’s Day or on Christmas Day as your family did.’

‘I remember. I’m sure we’ll be able to come.’ He said the words, but didn’t mean them. Christmas was far too soon—he doubted he would be ready by then to stomach all that enforced gaiety.

Jane smiled happily at Alex. ‘I shall look forward to it, especially as we won’t be spending much time with you all now—assuming you still wish to leave tomorrow, Alex?’

‘I do.’ He averted his gaze, guilt at misleading her making him brusque, but there were months to go yet. Time enough to prepare her for disappointment. ‘Father has ordered the carriage for nine so, if you’ll excuse us, Aunt, I think it’s time we retired.’

It was their wedding night. The perfect excuse to go to bed early…no one would question them doing so, especially with an early start in the morning. He stood, helping Jane to rise. Her hand trembled in his as they said their goodnights. If the circumstances had been different and if Alex had been his brother, or his uncle, there would have been a few pointed, if not ribald, comments made. There were none. It was as though they’d been married for years: no teasing; no winks; no nudges.

He told himself he didn’t care. He was used to being the outsider. He read the concern on every face in that room. Well, they needn’t worry about him—he was determined he and Jane would be happy together. It wasn’t until they were walking side by side up the stairs that it occurred to him the concern was for his bride. He squared his shoulders and hardened his heart. What did he care? He would be the very best husband he could possibly be to Jane. Surely her life with him couldn’t be any worse than life with that old witch of a stepmother?

Chapter Five

Jane stared into the mirror. She was ready, clad in her best nightgown, trimmed with lace at the neckline and sleeves and fastened at the bodice with three pairs of blue ribbons. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and Peg, her maid, had brushed it until it shone. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring a little colour into them. Huge, troubled eyes stared back at her, revealing the dread coiling and writhing in the pit of her stomach. Dread at what was to come.

Eyes…the windows of the soul. What would Alex see in them? Would he even care if she was nervous?

She reached for the scent bottle on the dressing table and dabbed a spot above each collarbone and at her wrists, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar scent that always calmed her.

Jasmine. Her mother’s scent. Not that she remembered her mother but, after she died of childbed fever, Peg had transferred her devotion to Jane, ensuring she grew up knowing about her mother. Peg had even saved a half-used bottle of her mother’s scent to give to Jane when she was old enough to understand and, since then, jasmine had infused her with a feeling of peace, even in her most troubled moments.

Except…now…tonight…peace evaded her. Her stomach still swarmed with nerves. She knew what must happen. And she desperately wanted to please Alex. She could not bear for him to regret this step they had taken. But, try as she might, she could not banish the memory of Pikeford.

The weight of him on her. His hands scrabbling at her body. The stink of spirits and of foul, hot breath and stale sweat.

Her stomach lurched and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing hard.

To give the newlyweds privacy, Jane had been allotted a room in the east wing of the Abbey with Alex in the adjacent bedchamber. The rest of the family slept in the main part of the house, apart from the children who occupied the nursery wing to the west. The quiet weighed on her…no distant murmur of voices, no doors opening and closing, no footsteps coming and going. She could almost believe she was entirely alone…until the sound of the door opening behind her set her pulse galloping.

She swallowed again and stood to face her new husband. Her nerves eased a little. This was Alex. He would not hurt her. As long as she kept her mind on tonight, and the present, and blocked all memories of the other day—surely she could manage that?—then she would cope.

She could hardly believe her long-held fantasy had come true as she gazed at him. He was still half-dressed, his shirt—open at the neck to reveal a tantalising glimpse of chest hair—tucked into his trousers. His thick mahogany brown hair was dishevelled and his amber eyes were fastened on hers, a look in them she had never seen before. She had dreamed of this moment, all those nights she had spent alone in her bed. If only… She thrust that thought away before it could take hold and spoil the night to come. Their wedding night. She clamped her teeth together, determined not to reveal her fear. She forced her lips into a smile as Alex stepped closer, scanning her from top to toe and back again.

‘Your hair…it is beautiful. Before I saw you in church, I never imagined…’ He lifted a lock that draped over her shoulder, allowing it to slide through his fingers. ‘It is so soft, so silky.’

He tipped her chin, tilting her face to his, and his mouth covered hers. A gentle caress. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that. Only that. The warm smoothness of his lips as they moved over hers, unhurriedly. Soothingly. His thumb and forefinger still beneath her chin. No pressure. No force. Her heart lurched, and her breathing hitched.

‘Shh…’ A whisper of sound.

Concentrate. It’s Alex. My love. My handsome hero. This is my dream.

His mouth moved, kissing and nibbling a path from her cheek to her ear. He nipped gently at her lobe, then caressed her neck with lips and tongue, and pleasure…anticipation…tiptoed through her. His arms came around her and tightened, bringing her close, and she relaxed into him. Into his hard body…his lean but muscular form shaping her softer flesh. Then his lips found hers again, moving gently. When his tongue probed her lips, she opened her mouth and let him in.

Alex. Her love. Her husband.

As he explored her mouth, she curled her arms around his waist and then slid her hands up his back, palms flat, learning the size and shape of him through his fine lawn shirt: the muscles either side of the dip of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades, the broadness of his back, the width of his shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms. The strength of him. The maleness of him.

He murmured, deep in his throat. A sound of appreciation. And a strange, achy feeling gathered at the juncture of her thighs.

His hands wandered lightly over her back, shoulders and arms. Learning her, as she had learned him. They moved lower, cupping her bottom, kneading gently. Without volition, she pressed closer and the ridge of his erection pressed into her stomach. She could not prevent her whimper of distress, and pulled back. He released her bottom, but one hand at the small of her back stopped her moving away completely.

‘Shhh, Honeybee. It’s all right.’

His warm breath feathered over her lips and then he took her mouth again, deepening the kiss. Despite the anxiety building within her, she responded, kissing him back with fervour and when he again kissed and nibbled her neck, she tipped her head back, exposing it, giving him access, as she clutched at his biceps. She tensed as his lips dipped lower, tracing her collarbone, feeling increasingly helpless and at his mercy as he slowly bent her backwards over his supporting arms. He kissed the upper curve of her breast and then straightened her, soothing her with another kiss even as he played with the lace ruffle at her neckline.

‘May I?’ His fingers paused at the first of the bows securing the bodice of her nightgown.

She stared into his eyes.

Alex. It is Alex. He won’t hurt me.

‘Yes.’

She looked down, watching as he untied one bow after the other until all three were undone and her nightgown gaped at the neck, exposing the valley between her breasts. Alex’s breath turned ragged, and Jane battled the fear that spiralled within her…the memory that sound evoked…the harsh rattle of Pikeford’s breath in her ear as he—

She choked back her cry of distress.

Alex. Alex. It’s only Alex.

‘Alex… I don’t…’

He smiled at her and, in one smooth movement, he pulled his shirt over his head. Distracted, she stared at his torso—the hair covering the curved muscles of his chest and narrowing into a thin line as it dipped below the waist of his trousers. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him. One finger at first, then all five and, finally, she flattened her palm against his warm flesh, the coarse hairs rough against her skin.

She’d be the death of him. When had Jane blossomed into this attractive and desirable woman?

Patience. Patience. We’ve got all night.

That glimpse of her bosoms was nearly his undoing. How he longed to dive in there and see…touch…taste. But he reined in his passion. A Herculean task when her hand splayed across his chest and her eyes darkened, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips. He desperately tried to think of something else, to distract him from all that warm, sweet-smelling female flesh within his grasp, but it was nigh on impossible. He was an experienced lover, but this…this was different. It was erotic in a way that coupling with the most beautiful of partners had never been; partly due to her innocence and knowing he would be her first, but mainly—and this surprised him most of all—it was that she was his wife. It was new and it was scary, but it was sensual at the same time. He, who had always prided himself on his independence and his need for no one, was aroused by the bond that now linked them together for the rest of their lives.

A groan tore free from deep, deep within him—and he reached for her again, sliding his hands across her shoulders to hook his thumbs inside the neck of her nightgown. Gently he slipped the bodice from her shoulders, exposing her breasts—so much fuller than he would have imagined given her slender figure—round and firm, with dusky pink nipples at their peaks. He held the bunched fabric at her waist as his other hand drifted over the soft curve of her breast, his fingers closing around perfection, kneading gently.

‘I didn’t expect—’ He fell silent as Jane tensed, even more drastically than before. This time, she was as rigid as a statue carved from stone. He released her breast and lowered his hand. ‘What is it, Janey?’

She shook her head, mute, but he could feel her distress.

‘I won’t hurt you. You know that, don’t you?’

She nodded.

But she didn’t believe it yet…he could tell. He reined in his rampant desire, curbing his needs.

‘Come. Let me warm you.’ He tugged her nightgown up to cover her again and then drew her into his arms, holding her until she stopped trembling.

‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ She stepped back, holding her nightgown close, covering her breasts.

‘You have no need to fear me, Janey. I will never force you to do anything until you are ready.’

She searched his face. ‘I know. I am being foolish.’

He shook his head. ‘You are not foolish.’

She held out her hand and he took it and followed when she led him to the bed, her breaths short and sharp in the silence. He did not fool himself it was passion that quickened her breathing. They lay down, side by side, and he turned to her, resting his hand on her ribcage, beneath her breasts. He leaned over and kissed her, ignoring the clamour of his own body to possess her. To possess his wife. He could be patient. There was no hurry.

He focused his mind and his senses on the pleasure of kissing. Just kissing. He explored her mouth without haste, teasing responses from her until she was relaxed and following his lead, their tongues dancing, the occasional low moan vibrating in her throat. He stroked her face…her hair, neck, shoulders, arms…until she embraced him, her fingers threading through his hair. Still he held his passions on a tight rein, waiting for the right moment.

Her restless shift on the bed was his cue and he brushed the side of her breast. She turned slightly, pressing into his touch. Her breasts were still covered as he stroked and caressed, slowly nearing her nipple. He pinched lightly and she gasped into his mouth.

‘Was that good?’

‘Yes.’

She gasped again as he gently flicked, then moaned as he bent his head and licked her nipple through the fabric, turning it transparent, the darker areole visible when he raised his head to look.

‘Beautiful,’ he breathed.

A word he had never linked with Jane before. She had always been…Jane. But seeing her, lying beside him, a smile hovering around her parted lips and her eyelids heavy over passion-filled eyes…it was the exact word he needed. Of a sudden, his throat tightened and his heart skipped a beat.

Jane.

Beautiful. Sensual. And his wife.

But frightened, too.

The responsibility…his obligation to another human being…almost sent him fleeing from the bed. But then…

‘Alex,’ she breathed and pulled his head back to her breast, her fingers tangled in his hair.

And that fleeting moment of fear…of uncertainty…passed.

He tugged her nightgown down to expose her breasts again and took his time—licking, suckling and nibbling, smoothing and stroking her silken skin until she was moving restlessly and moaning softly. He moved so he half-covered her and gathered her nightgown at the hem, caressing her exposed leg, from shin to knee to thigh to hip. Again, he went slowly despite his throbbing desire to bury himself inside her. Again and again he returned to her thighs, stroking inwards and upwards, inch by tantalising inch. His fingers touched her intimate curls and played for a while, tugging gently and twirling. Then one finger slipped between her thighs, sliding along her cleft.

And she froze.

‘Steady, sweetheart. It’s all right.’

He went back to circling her lower belly. But as soon as he touched between her thighs again she stiffened, a tiny sound of distress escaping her. He’d expected it, but disappointment still coursed through him. He didn’t snatch his hand away, but stroked from between her thighs, across her curls and on to her hip. He kissed her, taking his time, then turned her on to her side to face away from him, unwilling to push her any further tonight. He spooned his body into hers, gritting his teeth against the ache of unfulfilled arousal, and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close, knowing she would feel the hardness of his erection against her bottom, knowing she must eventually grow accustomed to him and to his body, hoping she would soon learn she had nothing to fear and that she could trust him to never force her or lose control.

‘Sleep, my Honeybee. It’s been a long day.’

‘Alex?’

‘Yes?’

‘Aren’t we going to…to…?’

‘Not tonight. We have the rest of our lives together. There’s no hurry.’

He willed himself not to drift off. He would wait until his wife slept and then he would go to his own room to sleep.

He’d thought he was done with those bad dreams that had haunted his childhood and his youth, but they had returned since his arrival at the Abbey. Last night’s nightmare had been even worse—prompted, almost certainly, by Pikeford’s attack. The vision of that animal ripping at Jane’s gown haunted him, as did the sounds—Pikeford’s grunts as she tried to fight him off, the ringing slap, her cries of distress.

But behind that memory lurked another.

Bigger. Blacker. Colder.

Waiting to catch him unawares.

Waiting for him to sleep.

Once the soft, even huff of her breathing told him Jane slept, he eased himself away from her warmth and returned to his cold bed to face his nightly ordeal.

Jane awoke with a start. She leant up one elbow, wondering what had disturbed her. The happenings of the day before…and the night…gradually surfaced. She reached behind her, feeling for Alex, but her hand met empty space. She sat bolt upright, throwing back the covers, at a shout. That was Alex’s voice, she was sure. She scrabbled on the nightstand for the tinderbox and, with shaking fingers, lit the bedside candle in its silver holder.

She listened for any further disturbance, but heard nothing. She sat on the side of the bed, irresolute. Should she go and investigate? Was she overreacting? What if it was just a bad dream…? Surely Alex wouldn’t thank her for disturbing him? And while all those thoughts rushed through her head one bigger, more important question hovered.

Why did Alex leave?

He must be so very disappointed in her, to wait until she slept and then creep away to his own bed. Yet he had been so sweet at the time…his care and consideration for her had filled her with trust and love, and she had vowed to overcome the trauma of Pikeford’s attack and to become a wife to him in every way.

Another shout from the next room wrenched her from her thoughts. She shot to her feet, grabbed her shawl and flung it around her before hurrying to Alex’s bedchamber. She hesitated outside the closed door, raising her candlestick to illuminate the dark passageway, her heart thumping at the low moans sounding from within the room. She tiptoed forward and opened the door, peering around it.

‘No…don’t…no…no…stop…please…no…’

‘Alex?’ Her whisper threaded through his heartfelt pleas.

‘No…no… No!’

She jumped at his final yell, her heart clenching at the sob that followed. She shut the door behind her, set the candle on a chest of drawers, then crossed the room to the bed. The blankets and sheet were pushed away, leaving Alex exposed. He lay on his side, shaking, curled into a ball, his arms bent over his face, his hands hooked over the top of his head.

Uncertainty clutched at Jane’s throat. What should she do? Was it true one should never wake someone from a nightmare? What was happening to Alex in his dreams? She lowered herself on to the bed, swung her legs on to the mattress and then inched closer to him until her hip butted against his back. The entire time Alex emitted low, eerie moans that set the fine hairs on her arms on edge. Slowly, she eased over to face his back and—as he had done with her earlier that night—she nestled her body into his, like spoons in a canteen of cutlery.

‘No…no… Mama…stop…no…’

His cries grew louder and, at the same time, more pitiful.

‘Shhh…’ Jane laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right. I’m here.’

Her whispers were barely audible but, somehow, his trembling lessened and his ragged breathing steadied. She continued to soothe, stroking his arm and his shoulder and then, once he uncurled a little, his sweat-damp hair, as he relaxed and the nightmare loosened its grip. She tugged up the bedcovers and listened to his breathing, until she, too, fell asleep.

Chapter Six

‘Janey?’ A hand on her shoulder, shaking her. ‘Janey?’

She stirred. As the voice came again, her eyes flew open. ‘Alex!’

They were facing one another, in bed, his face close to hers.

‘What are you doing here?’

His tousled hair revived the memory of the boy, but his unshaven cheeks and jaw were all man. Heat coiled deep in her stomach as his scent curled through her. Gradually, the events of the night before unravelled in her still-sleepy brain. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

‘I heard you cry out. You were having a bad dream. So I… So I…’

He was so close it was hard to concentrate on what she wanted to say. Warm pressure on her hip alerted her that his hand had moved there and the memory of his kisses sent hot tingles coursing down her spine.

His lips quirked. ‘So you came to rescue me?’ He pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Thank you, Janey.’

‘Alex? What were you…?’

‘Shhh…don’t think about last night. Not now.’

Their gazes fused. His tawny eyes darkened and lowered to her mouth. His hand skimmed up her side…settled at her back, splaying there, holding her still as his lips sought hers in a kiss to melt into. She sighed into his mouth, returning the gentle caress of lips and tongue.

The sound of the door opening ended the kiss. Alex lifted his head.

‘Not now, Drabble.’ Behind her, Jane heard the door click shut. ‘Now. Where were we, Wife?’

Some time later—Jane couldn’t quite swear to how long it had actually been—Alex lifted his head from her breast and smiled at her, a devilish glint in his eye.

‘You’re a bad influence, Janey. The carriage is ordered for nine. We’d better get moving if we’re to leave on time.’

Already glowing, Jane felt a hot blush sweep her entire body until it burned in her cheeks. She felt so restless. She didn’t want to move. She wanted more… Alex had woven such magic with his clever touch and with his lips, tongue and teeth that a hollow, yearning ache had taken up residence between her thighs. His kisses had awakened a fire in her, but she knew he was cautious for her sake. Not once had he attempted to touch her in her most intimate place, the place that was now in such need. Last night, one touch between her legs had sent her into a panic and she was grateful for his continued patience.

She watched him swing his legs out of the bed and rise. He was stark naked, standing with his back to her, rolling his shoulders back before stretching his arms above his head and she watched, fascinated by the slide of golden skin over flexing muscle and solid bone, the broad shoulders above a narrow waist. He had filled out since the times they had swum together in the lake. Then, he had been a boy. Now, he was definitely all man.

Her eyes lowered. To his buttocks. Firm and round. Her mouth watered as she recalled touching them, squeezing them. His legs were straight and well shaped, dusted with dark hairs. They were beautiful. Paler than the skin on his back…did that mean he worked shirtless outside at times? Her heart kicked and her pulse raced. Would she ever get used to his chest?

He turned and her cheeks burned even hotter at being caught ogling her own husband and then scorched at the sight of his erection, standing proud. He grinned at her, totally unembarrassed.

‘That was very enjoyable, Janey.’ His smile faded. ‘You will get over what happened, you know, and I will help you. There is no hurry and, in the meantime, you have discovered other pleasant activities we can enjoy, have you not?’

‘Yes.’ Jane’s gaze clung to his face as she strove to ignore his chest and everything below his waist. She sat up, rearranging her nightgown and tying the ribbons into prim little bows, pulses of heat still sizzling through her from Alex’s attention to her nipples. Her face scorched even hotter. My, that had been an education! ‘I had better return to my room and dress if we are to leave on time. It won’t do to keep the horses standing too long.’

‘That’s what I like about you, Janey. You love horses as much as I do. We’ll make a good partnership.’

As declarations went, it was hardly romantic. But she didn’t expect romance. Not from Alex. At least…maybe in time…? She cautioned herself not to hope for too much. Maybe. Maybe not. For now, she must be grateful she was here, with Alex, and not somewhere with Sir Denzil Pikeford. She suppressed a shudder, the events of two days before sending chills racing through her, effectively smothering those leftover frissons of pleasure.

Alex scooped Jane’s dressing gown from the floor and held it for her. She got up and, as he helped her into her robe, her roaming, random thoughts seemed to crystallise. Her eyes narrowed. She knew Alex of old—he was well practised in avoiding any discussion of subjects he found awkward and uncomfortable. In other words, any subject that threatened to delve too deep into his feelings. He retreated behind his barriers, keeping everyone at a distance, and pretending nothing mattered.

‘Alex…?’ She pivoted to face him. ‘Your nightmare… Do you—?’

‘Not now, Janey.’ He spun away and crossed the room to tug the bell pull. ‘Drabble and Peg’ll be up with hot water in a minute. We’ll talk later.’

Except they didn’t. First there was breakfast and the goodbyes to the family, who all gathered to wave them off, amid hugs and kisses and promises to see them again soon. Jane’s father was the sole member of her family to come and say goodbye, bringing with him Jane’s beloved satinwood sewing box which had somehow been missed out of her trunk. He put his arms around her and hugged her close. ‘I shall miss you, Jane.’

Jane hugged him back. ‘I shall miss you, too, Papa.’

The exchange brought hot tears to her eyes and she ducked her head to hide her emotion, conscious Alex had completed his farewells and waited now to hand her into the carriage. ‘Goodbye, Papa. You will write to me, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Jane.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Hurry along now. You’ve a long way to travel. God speed.’

To give the newlyweds some privacy the Duke provided an additional carriage, for Drabble and Peg and the luggage and, as soon as they set off on the journey home to Buckinghamshire, Alex settled back into a corner, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

‘You don’t mind, do you, Janey? I’m tired as a dog.’

What could she say?

She had saved her questions for later, but Alex, it seemed, always had a plausible excuse for not delving too deep into the subject of his nightmares. But she knew they still plagued him, even though he reserved separate bedchambers at the inns they stayed in during their four-day journey. On the first night, when she heard him cry out, she went to his room only to find Drabble already there, tending to Alex.

‘There is nothing you can do, milady,’ Drabble had whispered as he ushered her away from the door. ‘I am used to tending to him.’

Drabble had been with Alex for years and, before that, he was a footman in the Duke’s household, since before Alex was born. If anyone knew what demons stalked Alex in his dreams, it was Drabble. All Jane could do was bide her time, until they reached Foxbourne Manor. And even on that—surely innocuous—subject, Alex was less than forthcoming. He fobbed off her questions about her new home, simply telling her to ‘wait and see’.

The only subject he willingly discussed was his horses and, as it was a shared interest, they whiled away the journey by talking about how Jane could help by schooling some of the Foxbourne youngsters to side-saddle, to make perfect ladies’ mounts. She was grateful for the distraction. Periods of silence inevitably resulted in Pikeford creeping into her brain and fear worming its way through her veins. She battled the memory with quiet determination. She refused to become a woman who trembled at shadows just as she had never allowed her stepmother to destroy her spirit.

Finally, the carriage turned through a wide entrance flanked by massive stone pillars, topped with eagles cast in iron. They followed a carriageway that passed through ancient woodland, in which Jane identified beech, elm and ash trees, before emerging into sunlight and continuing through parkland, much of it divided into paddocks in which horses grazed. Then the carriageway swept to the right and Jane caught her first glimpse of Foxbourne Manor, her new home. Her heart swelled with joy as she took in the many gabled, russet-bricked Tudor manor house, visible over a neatly clipped hedge. Sunlight reflected off the diamond-paned windows of the upper floor and, as the carriage drew to a halt before the front door, Jane turned to Alex in delight.

‘I had no idea Foxbourne would be so beautiful! It looks steeped in history. I cannot wait to explore.’

He grinned at her reaction and hugged her. Other than kissing her—often very thoroughly—he’d barely touched her since their wedding night, telling her he would rather wait until they were home to try again, rather than consummate their marriage in a bed where who knew how many others had slept in the past. She had understood his logic, but the delay had done nothing to quell her nerves whenever she thought about the intimacies to come. She had found pleasure in his touch, but she couldn’t help but be afraid she would freeze again if he touched her between her legs. Yet he must if she was ever to put what happened behind her. She was desperate not to ruin the experience for both of them and strove to hide her increasing fears about the night to come.

‘I knew you’d like it, that’s why I didn’t tell you much,’ Alex said. ‘I wanted to see your face when you first saw it. I remember you always loved exploring the Abbey and complained Stowford Place was modern and boring and lacking in character. I only hope you won’t find Foxbourne too old-fashioned, though…it still has much of the original wood panelling and dark beams in some of the ceilings. Or too small. It has only six bedrooms plus a nursery suite—nothing like the size of the Abbey or Stowford.’

That mention of the nursery suite sent hot and cold flushes rolling in waves through Jane. She wanted children, which meant she must overcome her fear and put aside her distaste for what Pikeford had attempted to do. She loved Alex. He had already proved she could trust him and that he understood how difficult it was for her. He, of anyone, knew how memories of the past could rear up at any time and cast ominous shadows over the present. At least his memories of the past were contained, only visiting him in his sleep—proof, surely, it was possible to suppress horrific events with determination.

This—marriage to Alex Beauchamp—was her dream come true, even though she would have preferred to win him in a more conventional way. And she would make him happy. Maybe he would never love her, but she had enough love for both of them.

Jane loved everything about Foxbourne Manor, from the minute she walked ahead of Alex into the spacious hall with its gleaming panelling and wooden staircase that rose to a half landing before turning back on itself. Alex had sent word of his nuptials to the Kents, who looked after the house, instructing them to hire in local help to prepare for their arrival, and the house had been cleaned and polished from top to bottom until it gleamed. It was dark, but not a gloomy darkness—it had the warm, glowing richness of well-cared-for and well-loved wood.

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