Forbidden Lord (14 page)

Seeing Anne and Jane a few yards away with their escort, William beckoned them over and gave them a brief account of what had happened. Both girls turned their faces to Eleanor.

‘Oh, Eleanor,' Anne said, in shock at what William had told them. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen. Are you all right?'

‘Please don't fuss, Anne. I'm not hurt, just a bit shaken, that's all.'

‘Eleanor, go with Anne and Jane to the Bull and wait for me there,' William ordered gently. ‘It shouldn't take long to
get this sorted out with the constables and make sure these men are locked away.'

‘Of course—and then, William, I would like to go to Hollymead. You will take me there, won't you?'

William studied her pale face with a slight frown. Despite her attempt to appear unaffected by the assault to her person, he could tell that she was as tense as a tightly coiled spring. ‘Do you have to—after what's just happened to you? Wouldn't you rather return to Staxton Hall?'

As quickly as her mind had filled with fear when she had been attacked, now it cleared, leaving her calm and decisive. ‘I want to go. I wish to see for myself that Thomas is managing. I know Walter is due to arrive any day, but I would like to go all the same.'

‘Very well,' William conceded, ‘but we can't stay long. We must be back at Staxton Hall long before dark.'

‘I know.'

 

At Hollymead Eleanor saw that Thomas had taken charge of things admirably and was awaiting Walter's arrival with his wife and child from the Netherlands. Already work to restore the part of the house that had been damaged by the fire was underway, with masons and carpenters and a large workforce working to the plan of the master-builder who employed them.

After bundling up some of her possessions that had escaped the fire—clothes, mainly, that, although no longer fashionable and might be a little on the small side, yet could be altered, having put the attack behind her and feeling glad that the two men would get their just punishment, Eleanor, in quiet and reflective mood, wandered away from Anne and Jane, who were looking over the ruins with interest. It was with a heavy heart that she dwelt on the tragedy that had befallen her uncle—York would be much the poorer without him.

On the edge of a water meadow she stopped and looked at the familiar landscape, her mind picturing the splendour of
spring, when the trees would burst into life. William came up behind her.

‘Memories?' His voice was quiet, his mood pleasant and attentive.

Eleanor nodded and turned and looked at him, lifting her face to his. The light from the sun added to its gentle beauty and William felt it strike to the very soul of him.

‘I was thinking of Uncle John. If I had not run away from Fryston Hall, he would still be alive. The guilt and remorse I feel is terrible and it will be a long time—if ever—that I will be able to live with that.'

‘You could not have foreseen the tragedy. It was Atwood who was responsible. Never forget that.'

When she turned and strolled on he walked beside her with a long, casual stride. They proceeded for several minutes in silence and then Eleanor paused.

‘I always came here to play as a child. I belonged here at Hollymead. I had loving, respectable parents who loved me inordinately and let me roam free. I used to sit beneath those trees,' she said, pointing to a group of oaks ahead of her beside a brook, ‘and lose myself in daydreams and wishes.'

‘And what did you dream and wish for?'

‘That I would stay at Hollymead for ever—and like every other little girl I wished that I would be pretty. In spring this meadow is filled with flowers and in summer the scent is intoxicating. It's a lovely place—an ideal place to play and dream.'

‘I know,' William murmured.

‘You do?'

‘This is where you were that day I came to Hollymead and saw you for the first time.'

She looked at him. ‘You remember that? How extraordinary.'

He smiled. ‘Not really. I remember you were wearing a blue gown the colour of cornflowers adorned with white lace, and you had a daisy crown on your head.'

She laughed lightly, her teeth shining like pearls between
her parted lips. ‘How observant you were for a fifteen-year-old boy, William. I would sit for hours making daisy chains. Sometimes my mother would help and sometimes my nursemaid. This meadow grows particularly fine daisies with fat, juicy stems—ideal for making daisy chains.'

‘You must have been a happy child.'

‘I was, but I didn't know anything else so I thought that was the way of things.'

Strolling over to the trees, she sat beside the brook, wrapping her arms round her drawn-up knees and watching the crystal-clear water tumble over its rocky bed in silvery, shimmering, distorted ripples. Sitting beside her, William watched her closely, appreciating the sweet scent of her. Her face was a bright rosy pink and her eyes snapped in a bright tawny blaze in the light of the sun, and he thought he had never seen such a glorious creature in his life.

Several moments passed in silence and then William lifted her hair and stroked the nape of her neck, encouraged when she didn't pull away.

‘Tell me, Eleanor, do you still dream?'

‘Sometimes.'

‘You're trembling.'

‘Am I?' She twisted her head round and looked at him, unsmiling. ‘That's your fault. In spite of everything I hold against you, you have that effect on me. You know, William, when I saw you at Fryston Hall on Catherine's wedding day, I was determined to hate you. I tried, but for the time we have been together I have seen a different man to the one I had painted in my mind, a man who melted my self-engendered resistance, and I resented that. I wanted to dislike you, but that didn't work either. And then you kissed me, and I no longer knew what to think.'

‘It would seem you are confused about me, Mistress Collinwood. I can see your dilemma.'

‘Can you?' She believed he could. William Marston had a
razor-sharp perception of her deepest fears. ‘I have never been so unsure of myself. You see, I don't want to like you. Because of who you are and what you have done I don't want to have anything to do with you, but when I asked for your protection I unwittingly made more problems for myself than I bargained for.'

‘And that scares you?'

‘Yes, if you must know, yes, it does.'

William watched her, both touched and faintly amused by her confession, and aroused by her nearness. ‘Do you fear me, Eleanor?'

‘No, not you,' she said quietly, feeling his eyes on her, causing the colour in her cheeks to deepen. ‘It's what you might do to me that I'm afraid of.'

As he continued to stroke the nape of her neck, a wonderful languor began to swell inside her, spreading through her with a glorious warm sensation. She knew that very soon her aunt would send for her, so she treasured every moment she had left at Staxton Hall. It didn't seem possible that the feelings she had for William were growing out of all proportion. No matter how hard she tried to fight them, each day they grew stronger and stronger until there was nothing but this joyous moment that dominated her every waking moment.

He let his hand drop and Eleanor watched the shimmering reflections in the water. Again she turned and looked into his eyes. They were narrowed and intent, glowing with need, with warmth. His lips parted, curving in a smile. Pulling her to her feet, he drew her into his arms.

‘I should have known what would happen when I agreed to let you ride north with me. You're not a woman a man can ignore. I want you, Eleanor. I've had many women—I cannot deny that, or that I enjoyed each one—but none of them meant anything to me. They were diversions. Would that you were a diversion, too.'

‘And Catherine?' she asked, lowering her eyes. ‘Was she a diversion, William?'

His eyes darkened. ‘No, Catherine was the exception—but she is in the past.' He sighed. ‘I never meant for any of this to happen, Eleanor, and I feel I must be honest with you. There's no place in my life for an involvement just now. I have things to take care of, things to achieve, and any kind of attachment could be disastrous, for us both—a distraction for me. I cannot afford that.'

Reaching out, he gently placed a finger under her chin and raised her face to his. His eyes were filled with more than light interest as he admired her lovely face, and when he spoke Eleanor felt that deep, melodious voice wash over her. It caressed her just as his hand caressed.

‘I've tried to fight it—to deny it—but you've bewitched me, Eleanor.'

When his arms went around her waist and he clasped her loosely against him, his words caused her some disquiet, but when he peered into her eyes her heart seemed to cease to beat and the languor inside turned into an ache, unendurably sweet. His mouth covered hers, moist, firm, lightly touching at first, then probing and demanding, and, as the ache spread to her bones, sensations burst to life. Sliding her arms about his neck, drowning in these sensations that prolonged the exquisite torture, she wondered how long she could withstand him. When at last he lifted his mouth from hers, Eleanor was trembling with awakened desire.

‘William,' she whispered. ‘I—'

He interrupted her in a deep, quiet voice. ‘I like to hear you say my name and take you in my arms.'

Again his lips covered hers, and he kissed her for a long time, tenderly, carefully, deliberately, holding back the urgent passion that possessed him. It was a restrained kiss, because he exercised the greatest control. Then he raised his head and their eyes met and held—his so light and hers deep and amber,
mingling, touching hidden places and already imagining the possibility of a next time. It was like a caress.

‘I think we should go back to the others,' he murmured, ‘before they come looking for us.'

‘We should?'

‘It's necessary.' He took her hand. ‘Come, before we forget ourselves. We have a long journey ahead of us.'

 

The excitement of the day and the long ride had taken it out of them all. They were quite worn out and went to bed as soon as supper was over. Lady Alice, suffering a headache, also went to her chamber.

Eleanor's visit to Hollymead was uppermost in her mind and, wanting to wallow in the memories it had evoked, she was in no such haste to seek her bed. On a sigh she moved to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains and stared out at the night, the memories of her happy childhood surging and washing over her in great waves. The moon was bright in the dark violet sky, shining in untroubled serenity over the land.

‘Eleanor.'

There was a movement behind her and the voice that spoke her name was deep, warm and loving. She closed her eyes, feeling the dizzy aura of him, unable to resist it. Wanting to savour the sound of it, she didn't turn, although she could imagine his eyes in the moonlight shining with an expression she would like to think he had given to no woman but her.

She heard him come closer, his footsteps almost soundless on the thick carpet, and then he was directly behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of him on her back. Then his arms snaked around her waist. He pulled her back and she sank into him, unable to resist despite her resolve to withstand his advances. He held her to his chest and buried his head into the curve of her neck, his lips warm, caressing her flesh. Sighing, she began to melt, feeling a languorous magic drift over her.

‘Mmm,' he breathed. ‘You smell of roses.'

‘And you, my lord, smell of horses and fresh air and manly things.'

‘Do you mind?' he asked, his teeth gently nibbling her earlobe.

‘Not in the slightest,' she gasped, a thrill of excitement tingling along her nerves. ‘I like it. It's a pleasant smell.'

‘Why are you alone? Where is everyone?'

‘In bed. Your mother has a headache and favoured an early night. As for Jane and Anne, they are quite worn out.'

‘And you are not?'

She shook her head. ‘So much has happened today. I'm tired, but I don't feel like going to bed just yet,' she said softly, covering his hands at her waist with her own. ‘I am trying not to think of the attack, to put it from my mind and think of Hollymead instead—to reminisce. Don't you feel like going to bed either?'

‘Not yet—at least, not alone.' His arms tightened about her and his voice was husky. ‘Do you know—have you the slightest idea how much I want you, Eleanor? Will you not turn round and tell me you feel the same? If you don't, then I will leave you to your reminiscences.'

She turned slowly, shivering slightly, for she felt the full force of his masculinity, his vigour, the strong pull of his magnetism, which she knew was his need for her, wrap itself about her. His face was all shadow and planes in the candles' glow, the cheekbones taut, the lips slightly parted. He was so tall, so handsome. She felt a hollow ache inside as he gazed down at her. She lifted her face and he placed his lips on hers, gently, barely discernible.

Raising his head, he took her head between his hands and splayed his fingers over her cheeks, looking into the liquid depths of her eyes. ‘You're incredibly lovely, Eleanor Collingwood. I wonder if you have any idea how lovely you are.'

His voice was soft and melodious. Eleanor stood very still, barely able to breathe, yet she was trembling inside.

‘Come to bed with me, Eleanor.'

When he again took her lips, she moaned with pleasure. Did it matter that they weren't wed when his mouth, his hands, his powerful body were demanding things from her that she knew she could give him, things she wanted as badly as he did?

‘We can't, William,' she murmured between kisses, which were having a weakening effect on her senses. ‘It's not right. Your mother—'

‘My mother will know soon enough—if she doesn't already—how things stand between us.'

His mouth closed over hers once more, moulding, caressing, savouring, his tongue invading the dewy softness with hot need. It was a wild, wanton kiss. Heat catapulted through Eleanor, setting her whole body on fire, and cindered every nerve beneath the crushing weight of his passion. She knew her vulnerability and seriously doubted that she could raise a hand to hold him off if she wanted to.