Winter Dreams, page 11
“No, we are simply traveling together. He has imposed himself as my escort and protector.”
“Imposed?” Rachel raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray, does that mean?”
“Simply that I wish he was not forcing me to endure his company.”
Rachel looked shrewdly at her. “I can see that you are still far from over him,” she observed. “No, don’t try to deny it, for I know you too well. You wouldn’t bristle like this if he meant nothing to you. And I have to wonder if he would bother if he didn’t still have a tendresse for you.”
“It is hopeless between us, Rachel. We cannot be civil to each other for long, and besides . . .”
“Yes?”
“He is soon to return to Madame Barnardi in Lisbon.”
Rachel blinked. “The prima donna?”
“Heaven forfend that there should be two of her,” Judith remarked acidly.
“Oh, dear, seeing you together made me hope . . . But I can see there is much to tell. I do wish there was time now, but our post chaise is ready, and we wish to be at Nansloe before it is too dark. I know I shall be interrogated by Chris’s grandmother.”
“Interrogated?”
Rachel whispered in her ear. “As to whether or not I am with child yet.”
“Ah. Well, are you?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, but I assure you it is not for want of trying.”
“Which, I trust, is a very agreeable task?”
“Most definitely.” Rachel blushed a little. “I had no idea I was such a carnal creature.”
“It’s the hot Jamaica sun,” Judith replied with a straight face, “you’ll calm down now you’re in England.”
“I do trust not.” Rachel blushed again, then remembered Jamie. “How is your brother? Did you say in your last letter that he was coming back from Lisbon?”
Judith couldn’t help glancing at Daniel before answering. “Yes, but he has been delayed for another month.”
Once again Rachel searched her friend’s face. “Is something wrong, Judith? Is Jamie unwell?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
As Judith’s eyes slid away awkwardly, Rachel knew of old the nature of the problem. “Your sixth sense? Are you worried about him?”
“Yes. I have this awful feeling, and I didn’t want to leave Lisbon, but . . .” Again her eyes slid to Daniel.
Rachel put two and two together. “But Daniel has insisted you come home anyway?”
“Yes.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say, but there was no further opportunity to speak, as a porter ran by shouting for Mr. and Mrs. Nansloe.
Chris turned briskly to Judith. “Alas, we must go. I’m delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Callard, and I know that Rachel will shoot me if I do not extend an invitation to you to visit us at Nansloe. We would both be delighted to have your company.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Nansloe.”
“Not at all, and as we intend to come to London this summer, I trust we will see much of you then as well.” He drew her hand to his lips, and after more farewells, he and Rachel left.
Judith and Daniel were soon conducted to adjacent rooms on the third floor, overlooking the anchorage. Daniel went into his without further ado and closed the door, and Judith did the same. Bella stood between them, and Judith’s pride allowed her to stay there.
Dinner was difficult; at least, it was for Judith. She wore the coffee muslin gown and pink lace shawl she had packed for dining on the voyage, and contented herself with the loosest coiffure permissible, merely a few pins to hold her hair on top of her head. The food at the Green Bank was plain but excellent English fare, which made a welcome change after the very different flavors of Portugal. There was lobster, lifted that very day from pots in the anchorage, beef from a farm on the edge of the town, and a delicious pie made with bottled plums from the previous fall’s bumper harvest, served with clotted cream.
Daniel was seated beside Judith, and seemed preoccupied with something that darkened his eyes and drained his humor. She thought maybe he was still annoyed with her for trying to finish the journey on her own, or maybe he was beset with guilty memories after the incident of the boys and the lost oar. Whatever the cause of his mood, he was a disagreeable presence at the table.
On her other side was an Asian gentleman who spoke no English and smiled constantly as if he were simple-minded. Opposite Judith sat a nervous spinster, gray-clad, with a pointed nose, who squeaked like a frightened mouse if anyone addressed her, and a sour-faced merchant from Penzance who had not been able to hire a ship on terms that were to his liking. As a consequence, he spent the meal grumbling to himself about the rogues of Falmouth.
Just as Judith thought things could not get any worse, the owner of the hotel called out for silence in order to announce an unexpected entertainment. It seemed that a troupe of acrobats was on its way to America, and had agreed to give a performance in exchange for a night at the hotel and a free dinner. A portion of the dining room was cleared, and the brightly clad troupe bounded and bounced into the center of the space. Ribbons streamed from their costumes, and a fiddler provided the music.
The guests cheered and clapped, but Judith soon noticed that Daniel did not appreciate the diversion. His brow seemed to have darkened more than ever as his gaze fixed upon a juggler who tossed six red skittles with such ease that he seemed incapable of dropping one. Daniel was riveted to the twisting, whirling skittles, then abruptly got up from the table and left the dining room without saying a word.
Thinking he was unwell, Judith decided to show proper concern, but she halted in the doorway as she saw him accost a passing waiter and demand that a bottle of claret be brought to his room. She returned to another seat, where a lively group of chattering ladies promised to be better company than her previous companions. She watched the performance to the end, and then some singers provided further entertainment, so that it was past midnight when she at last went up to her room. Taking a light from the candle table at the foot of the staircase, she ascended quite drowsily, sure that she would sleep soundly in the comfortable feather bed.
Daniel’s door stood ajar, with no light from within. Quietly she pushed the door a little more, so that her candle shone into the room, which was almost exactly the same as her own. A small fire, banked for the night, glowed faintly in the hearth, bringing out the glint of gold from the patterned wallpaper. A tall, dark wood wardrobe loomed against the far wall, and the jug on the adjacent washstand seemed oddly white in the gloom. The bed was undisturbed. Puzzled, Judith went in, only to cry out in alarm as Daniel’s voice suddenly spoke from the windowsill.
“Are you much accustomed to entering gentlemen’s bedchambers in the dead of night?”
He lounged on the broad window seat with a glass in one hand and the bottle of claret in the other. All he wore was a long paisley dressing gown, buttoned loosely at the waist, and Turkish slippers. One foot rested on the sill, the other on the floor. She guessed he had been watching the anchorage, where navigation lights shone on water that was now quite smooth. The night was still overcast, however, and there was no moon.
The bottle chinked against the glass as he poured the last of the claret. “You haven’t answered my question, Judith,” he said, his diction crisp even though he’d drunk the entire bottle—to say nothing of the hock he’d had at dinner.
“I thought something might be wrong,” she replied.
“Ah, she cares after all,” he murmured, placing the bottle on the floor, then toasting her with the glass.
“You’re in your cups, Daniel,” she observed.
“Aye, lady, I am, but not enough.”
“Your demons will still be there when you are sober.”
He gave a wry laugh. “Maybe so, but for the moment they have been driven back into the shadows where they belong.”
She placed the candle on the mantel, then went closer to the window, drawing her shawl around her. “Your demons belong nowhere, Daniel, for they ought not to exist at all.”
“Thus speaks the Widow Callard,” he said, and leaned his head back against the embrasure.
“It’s true. Even Mr. Nansloe thinks so.”
“Chris is simply not as plagued by conscience as I am.” He gave a mirthless laugh and looked out the window again, although now that she had brought the candle, he could see more of the room reflection than the anchorage.
Judith felt her anger stir. “Since when have boys of eleven been held responsible for those of fourteen? That’s how old you were, isn’t it? A mere eleven?”
He lowered his eyes to his glass. “I let my brother down,” he said quietly. “He asked me to be there, and Chris, but I preferred to watch a circus procession pass by on the Helrose road. While Harry drowned, I was gaping at a juggler with red skittles.”
So that was it. First there had been the boys losing the oar, then the meeting with Chris and Rachel that prompted a mention of Hell Pool, and finally the troupe of acrobats. “So now you wallow in more self-pity because of another such juggler. What is it really, Daniel? Something to do with honor and character, with playing the game, and defending one’s King and country? And with torturing oneself for a childish decision that could not possibly have made any difference to the actions of others.”
“I detest a nagging woman,” he said, draining his glass and getting up from the window seat.
His dressing gown clung a little to his body, so firm and masculine, and her awareness of him was almost electric. “Detest me, then,” she said, “and while you are at it, pray detest your parents as well. Maybe they were remiss in not realizing you preferred the circus. Where will it end, Daniel? With the yard that built the boat?”
“Damn you, Judith!” His anger erupted and he hurled the glass into the fire, where it shattered into a thousand shining fragments. “I’ve had enough of your sanctimonious preaching—indeed I marvel that such an empty-headed vixen should ever have held my interest in the first place! You made an utter fool of me twelve years ago. You said you loved me, but all the time you were encouraging Callard!”
“You are beastly drunk!” she cried, and reached for the candle to leave, but he caught her wrist. The candle fell and went out as he forced her to face him again.
“Explain my error, madam!” he breathed. “Tell me exactly why I am wrong to think you played me false with Callard? I confess I am agog to hear your answer.”
She could hear footsteps further along the passage. “Please, Daniel, someone may come.”
He pushed the door with his other hand until it caught on the latch. “There. Now we may scream like fishwives,” he said flippantly. “I’m awaiting this wondrous expiation of your rather sullied character.”
“I didn’t play you false, Daniel.” But she had! She’d met Richard and allowed him to woo her. . . .
“Liar,” he said softly.
Chapter Fifteen
Tears suddenly sprang to Judith’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it to happen, Daniel! I was young and impressionable, and Richard swept me off my feet. By the time I realized—”
“Realized what?” Daniel demanded, and when she didn’t answer immediately, he tightened his hold still more. “Realized what, Judith?”
“By the time I realized I still loved you, it was too late.”
“It damn well served you right that Callard proved a monster!” He let go of her.
“Are you really that cruel, Daniel?”
“Am I cruel?”
“Yes, you! Can you really pretend it was not cruel for you to be loving and gentle with me again, then callously dash my hopes by saying you prefer Bella Barnardi? How noble and gentlemanly, to be sure. How thoroughly honorable and just. Let us hear three rousing cheers for Lord Penventon, the most laudable nobleman in Cornwall!”
He was very still. The fire shifted in the hearth, and a shower of sparks floated idly up the chimney into the cold night air. “You really have no idea, have you? You think you know me, and you presume to lecture me, yet you do not understand anything.”
“What is there to understand, except that you will never be able to forgive me for the past?”
He gazed at her in the faint light from the fire. “I have long since forgiven you, Judith.”
“You’ve said that before, yet your actions give the lie to such an assurance.”
“My actions give the lie to something, yes, but not to what you think.” He came closer, and reached out to take one of the slender ringlets resting over her shoulder. He parted the strands gently with his thumb. “I am indeed in my cups,” he whispered, “for if I were not, I wouldn’t . . .”
Her pulse had quickened, for there was something tantalizingly dangerous about him. Maybe it was the smell of claret on his breath, the suggestion that he was not quite in control, the knowledge of his nakedness so close. She could tell herself a thousand times over that she would never go to him again, yet here she was, foolish once more, longing to taste the sweetness of the wine on his lips, and know the pleasure of his body against hers.
“Judith, mine is a soul that needs baring, that needs you to know the truth. I have never ceased to love you. Admitting it to myself has not been easy, and I have resisted with all my might, but my might is no bastion against such a sweet assailant.”
“Oh, Daniel . . .” Her lips moved, but the words were barely audible.
He put a firm finger to her mouth. “Don’t say another word, or I may forget myself. Just go.”
“No.”
The tension between them became almost unbearable, a raging thirst that could only be sated by the abandonment of all restraint. He looked into her eyes. “If you stay now, I will not be answerable for my actions. I want you so much that my heart is being wrenched from my body. . . .”
“I want you too,” she whispered. The barriers between them had been breached. All she had to do was go to him. The choice was hers, the outcome whatever she wished it to be. She stretched out trembling fingers to touch his cheek. “I have dreamed of lying between cool sheets with you to keep me warm.” The brazen words came easily, for the sentiment had been in her thoughts for years.
“You may regret it come the cold light of day,” he warned, his eyes so dark they seemed almost black. He placed his hand over hers, alternating his fingers with hers. “You have one last chance to flee, Judith, one last chance to save your virtue.”
“Tonight I have no virtue.” She stepped close enough to stand on tiptoe to kiss his lips.
At first he made no attempt to embrace her, but his hand slid from hers to move sensuously into her hair. The pins did not resist his knowing fingers, and her warm brown tresses cascaded over her shoulders. She moved back, and slowly undid her gown’s drawstring, just beneath her breasts. The coffee muslin, delicate and prettily embroidered, slithered from her shoulders and down to the floor. She wore very little else, and soon that had been removed as well. She stood naked before him, pale and slender in the swaying light of the fire.
“You are perfection,” he said softly, and took her hand to lead her to the bed, at the last moment lifting her into his arms and laying her gently on the faded blue coverlet. Then he looked down at her. “There is still time to say no.”
“I will not say it.” She held out her hand, caught his fingers, and drew him down to the bed as well. Then he took her in his arms, and at last they were truly body to body, heartbeat to heartbeat. He kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts; she returned his kisses with equal ardor. The pleasure intensified, the kisses banished restraint, and their caresses became more daring, more intimate. Pleasure was given and taken in equal measure, and the joy when they were finally one was so intense that she sobbed in ecstasy. They were both lost in oblivion, turned from flesh into emotion, weightless.
Later they lay wrapped in each others arms, their legs entwined, their breath sweet upon each other’s face. She had never known such delight. Her body was damp and contented, peaceful and relaxed. Tears still marked her cheeks. “I could lie with you like this forever,” she whispered.
“And I with you.” His lips found hers again, then he raised himself on his arms to look down at her. “Will we repent in the morning?”
“I will not.”
He smiled. “Nor I.”
A sliver of her pleasure faded then. “But you will still return to Bella?”
He rolled aside and lay on his back. “No matter what you think about the kisses you saw that night, I am not in love with her. She holds the key to many secrets—those of Sérurier, of O’Reilly, and even of Bonaparte himself.”
“Could she really oust Joséphine?”
“Who knows? My guess is no. In spite of all the rumors circulating in Paris, it’s my opinion that Bonaparte isn’t quite ready to divorce Joséphine. She was with him when he had nothing and has shared all the bad times as well as the good. He will part from her in the end, though, because he has dynastic ambitions, and she quite clearly isn’t going to provide him with an heir. Bella isn’t of royal blood, and nothing less than a princess will do for him next time. But while she occupies the imperial bed, Bella will probably learn things she will wish to tell when she’s given her congé. She always takes revenge for slights, imagined or otherwise.”
“I think Jamie was right when he said she was moonstruck. It’s in her eyes.” Judith looked at him again. “And still no one knows why O’Reilly was so insistent that his plan, whatever it was, should commence in Lisbon because of her?”
“That’s right.”
“Who was O’Reilly, Daniel?”
He met her eyes across the pillow. “It is better you do not know.”
“Please tell me. I know you shouldn’t, and that it really isn’t my business, but I’m convinced it’s relevant to Jamie’s safety.”
“We are back to your sixth sense?”
“Yes.” She got up from the bed to get his dressing gown from the floor, put it on, then went to sit in the window. The garment was far too big for her, and she looked almost lost in it as she gazed out at the anchorage. “I know that Jamie is still in a great deal of danger, and that it has something to do with Mr. O’Reilly.”
