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‘Marry me,’ he’d whispered against her hair as he held her close. ‘Marry me, mon ange, and be mine for ever.’
When she’d tremulously replied that she couldn’t, he’d sighed and gently set her away from him. And then bid her goodnight.
That same frustrating routine had recurred each night of their stay here.
Though he’d laughed at her anger, teased her, given her deep, thrilling kisses as if he meant to relent, he had not. To her extreme irritation and regret, they continued to live as chastely as brother and sister.
She’d thought about slipping into his chamber and into his bed, pleasuring him with her hands and mouth, when, groggy with sleep and tempted by arousal, he would surely yield to her. For the first few nights, she talked herself out of it, worried about embarrassing herself if she were wrong and he refused her still, even in his bed.
By the time they’d been at the manor for a week, she’d grown too desperate to worry about embarrassment. In the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep, she’d crept through the silent house to his chamber—and found the door locked against her.
The following morning, grumpy from sleeplessness and frustration, she’d sulkily enquired if he thought she were dangerous, that he must lock himself away from her. He’d replied that he was not so much of a fool as to subject himself to a temptation he knew he’d never be able to resist, a reply which mollified her somewhat, though it did nothing to relieve the frustration.
But for that one—and very major—fault, Will had been a perfect companion. He had encouraged her to take him on walks through her beloved garden, telling him the names of all the plants—and later making her laugh by deliberately bungling them. Noticing how she loved to linger in the rose parterre, breathing in the potent scent of the autumn damasks, he had bouquets of the spicy blooms put in every room.
As she gradually began to emerge from the cocoon of grief into which she’d spun herself, it was impossible not to notice his cherishing care of her. Some might have found it suffocating, but Elodie, who had experienced precious little cherishing in her tumultuous life, drank up the attention and concern.
Sitting here now, she recalled all the ways he’d seen to her comfort. Foods she mentioned liking would appear regularly on the table. When she thanked him for a new gown in blue or azure or gold, several more of similar style and hue appeared in her wardrobe.
He even found her, heaven knows where, a little French girl to be her lady’s maid. Chatting with the homesick lass in their native French tongue helped ease the sadness within her at the loss of her home and language.
Whatever activity he engaged with her in, whether cards or riding or billiards, he roused her from her recurrent bouts of melancholy by teasing her or cheating her back to attention—or indignation. Sometimes, in the evenings, he read to her, surprising her with the wide-ranging breadth of his knowledge and interests. He talked about his friend, Hal Waterman, and the fascinating new technologies they were investing in that would, he told her, eventually change the way people heated their homes, cooked their food and travelled.
Methodically, slow day by slow day, he was drawing her out of the greyness of grief and death back into the light of his life. Letting her bask in the brilliant warmth of his love.
She hadn’t earned such devotion, probably didn’t deserve it, but he gave it freely anyway. Wanting, in return, only her happiness.
For the first time in a long time, anticipation stirred in her. What was wrong with her, moping about as if her life were over? Yes, she’d lost her child, a tragedy whose pain would never fully leave her. But along the way, she’d found a matchless lover, who was trying by every means he could devise to woo her and win her love in return.
Almost every day, he repeated his request that she marry him and share his life. And then, praise heaven, his bed!
Will being normally an intense, restless man, she was astounded that he had managed to content himself staying placidly here, doing nothing more exciting than riding in the countryside and playing cards with her. Surely he was ready to go off exploring new places, investigating new projects. He’d said he longed for her to come with him and share the excitement, companions on the road again.
A sense of wonder and enthusiasm filled her. Salmford House’s gardens and Will’s tender care had worked their magic. She was, she decided in that moment, now ready to put her losses behind her and start living again—with Will.
Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to see him.
Picking up her skirts, she rushed back into the manor, hurrying from room to room until she found him in the library.
He looked up as she entered, his handsome face lighting in a smile, and her healing heart leapt. How could she not flourish in the brightness of that smile? In such tenderness, as she leaned down for his kiss and he caressed her cheek with one gentle finger?
She’d been a fool, not for the first time. It was time to be foolish no longer.
‘Are you ready for luncheon, chérie?’ she said. ‘I’m famished.’
Smiling up at Elodie, Will twisted in his hands the letter he’d received in the morning’s post. The position he’d discussed with his friend Hal Waterman had been arranged; in the letter was his authorisation to go to Paris and enter discussions with the French Ministry of the Interior about the possibilities of developing railway lines in France.
Hal had pledged considerable financial backing to make the venture happen and tapped his network of influential contacts to persuade the British government to approve Will for the task and to give the endeavour their support. The challenge of persuading the French government to permit the work was exhilarating and Will would need to leave almost immediately.
He wanted Elodie to go with him—as his wife. They’d grown so much closer over the last month. Several times, the tender light in her eyes as she gazed at him had sent his hopes winging to dizzying heights, sure that he’d won her at last and she was about to confess her love.
But thus far, that hadn’t happened. And now, if he was to put into motion the scheme he’d been devising ever since they left Paris, he would have to tell her of his plans and propose again, even if he wasn’t sure of her love.
He wanted her to marry him because she’d realised she loved him and could not imagine spending the rest of her life without him, not because doing so would allow her to be reunited with her son. Even if she did come to love him later, he would never be able to trust that she loved him for himself, not out of gratitude for his ingenuity in bringing her son back into her life.
But he knew, if he must, he would marry her on those terms. Loving her as he did, he couldn’t withhold from her the one thing she wanted most in the world because he hadn’t had the good fortune to secure her love in return.
Dropping the letter, he rose to take her arm. She danced around him as she took it, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
His heart turned over to see it, as it always did when she looked happy. He knew a reserve of sadness would always remain with her, but it delighted him to see her look so carefree. It was deeply satisfying to know he’d played a vital part in banishing the shadows from her eyes.
From the naughty glances she was giving him, she was probably plotting to seduce him again. Maybe this time, he’d let her. Heaven knows, resisting her was about to drive him mad.
There wasn’t enough cold water in the lake beyond their meadow to cool his ardour for his bewitching Elodie, and he’d been swimming at least twice daily. He’d lasted nearly a month without her managing to break his resolve, far longer than he’d thought he could.
‘I’m glad to see you have an appetite, sprite. For so long, you have only toyed with your food.’
‘Oh, I have quite an appetite today.’ Turning suddenly to push him against the bookshelves, she said, ‘Shall I show you how much?’
Anticipation roared through his veins. If tempting her to agree to marriage by withholding passion hadn’t worked by now, knowing the proposal he was about to make would contain a temptation she wouldn’t be able to resist, why not give up the futile fight and let her have her way with him?
He kissed her hungrily, opening willingly when she slipped her busy tongue inside his mouth. He groaned, pulling her against his hardness.
With a little mewing sound, she reached down to stroke him, and this time he didn’t catch her wrists to prevent her. What crack-brained notion had made him deny himself this? he wondered, revelling in her touch.
He returned the favour, caressing her breasts through the fine muslin of her gown and light summer stays, until her breath came in gasps as short as his own.
Picking her up, Will kicked the door closed. It had been too long; desperate for the taste of her, he couldn’t possibly wait the few minutes it would take him to carry her up to his bedchamber. The desk would have to do.
In a few quick strides, he reached it and set her on the solid mahogany surface, kissing her ravenously as he slid her skirts up and peeled her stockings down, smoothing the soft skin as he bared it. After working the muslin up to her waist, he parted her legs and knelt before her.
His thumbs teasing the curls at her hot, wet centre, he kissed the tender skin of her inner thighs, tracking up the velvet softness until his tongue met his fingers and he applied the rasp of it to the swollen bud within.
