My Only Love (34 page)

"How
are you?" she asked a little too formally as she bent to retrieve her
gloves.

"Hazy
and pounding."

"I
don't doubt it." She glanced around at Bryan, who continued stacking his
stones in a pile.

"What
the blazes went on here yesterday? Everyone looks at me as if I'm a two-headed
warthog."

"I
would say that sums up your behavior nicely. Don't you recall?" Olivia moved
toward the house.

"Some
of it," he replied, falling in beside her.

"How
much?"

Stopping
suddenly, he took her arm and spun her around to face him. Her eyes widened and
her pink lips parted just before he kissed her, at first briefly, then fiercely,
drawing the breath from her and making her quiver as he touched his tongue to
hers. With his mouth against hers, he said softly, "I remember everything
important."

"What,
exactly, do you remember, sir?" she replied as softly.

"Not
much. But it'll all come back to me eventually. I'd much prefer to make new
memories, however."

Olivia
wiggled free and returned his smile, though less than enthusiastically.
"Your mother ..."

"I'll
make arrangements in Middleham—"

"I've
taken care of that for you," she interrupted. "I

spoke
with Earl Warwick. He's given his permission to

intern
Alyson in the family crypt. With your father."

Taking
his hand, she added, 'The clergyman is to arrive

here
at two."

Alyson
Kemball was laid to rest alongside Joseph Warwick in the Warwick tomb. Earl
Warwick and his wife attended, though kept at a distance—their appearance
strictly for Miles's sake, not to pay respects to the woman who, once, had
nearly destroyed the Warwick family. Olivia stood at Miles's side, her presence
lending him strength. Bryan stood on the other, holding Miles's hand.

When
at last the funeral was over, and they were leaving the tomb, Miles glanced at
his brother, who stood some distance away. Their eyes locked briefly, then Earl
Warwick, with his wife, turned and left the estate.

His
hands in his pockets, Miles watched them go. "I never thought he would
come," he said to Olivia. "He's done me a very great service. I
cannot imagine what he must have sacrificed to do me this favor."

"Isn't
it odd how death can bring friends closer?"

"Are
you speaking of me and my brother, or you and I?"

"Both,
perhaps." She flashed him a smile, then moved away, down the path. Bryan
remained, gripping Miles's hand.

He
awoke with a start, heart racing, body sweating. But for the stream of pale
white moonlight pouring through the window, the room was dark. A movement near
the window caught his eye.

Olivia
moved into moonlight. "Husband," she whispered. "Are you
awake?"

Miles
focused hard, blinked twice, and focused again. Olivia stood at the bedside,
her hair flowing over her naked shoulders. Her breasts shimmered like alabaster
in the dim illumination.

She
eased onto the bed, stretching her slender body out beside his, running her
hand over his naked chest and down, under the sheet covering his loins.
Gasping, he caught her wrist.

"Shh,"
she said, and drew her knee across his thigh. "Do you have any idea how
long I've waited for this?" she whispered in his ear, and nipped playfully
at his lobe with her small teeth.

He
didn't speak. He couldn't. But,his body spoke for him, turning rigid, growing
hard. His flesh felt on fire. His earlier numbness flooded with exquisite
sensations. He reached for her, but she shook her head and slid her hips over
his, straddling his sex with her hot, moist cleft, sliding it against him,
forward and back until he groaned and grabbed her, making her laugh in a deep,
husky way that sent a fissure of wild hunger surging through his loins.
"My turn," she said simply.

Rising
slightly, she impaled herself on him, softly crying aloud.

He
caught her tiny waist in his hands as she poised there upon the tip of him, her
head thrown back so her hair spilled in a glorious silken pool upon his thighs,
her heat and closeness making him crazy with the need to drive himself into her.
Yet, her whimper confused him.

"Is
there pain?" he asked, concerned.

Her
glorious breasts rising and falling with each labored breath, she replied
breathlessly," Tis the scrapes on my thighs." Catching his hands, she
moved them to the scratches on her legs. "From the heath yesterday."
She eased his fingers to the small discolorations on her hips. "I'm
sorry."

"I'm
not." She sank onto the full length of him, slowly, like one feeling her
way into unknown depths, her face uncertain, yet eager, in pain, and in
ecstasy. "Christ," he murmured. "Was I that rough on you?"

"Don't
you remember?"

She
rocked him slightly, and he caught his breath, squeezed closed his eyes and
wondered if he were still dreaming—but the dreams that had awakened him with a
slamming heart weren't this splendorous—they were confusing ... He wished he
could recall.

"Oh
God," he moaned, as she began the rhythm, sweeping away all other
thoughts.

Her
father's letter arrived at just after ten the next morning. Upon reading her
father's hurriedly penned scrawl, Olivia felt as if the ground had opened
beneath her feet. Emily had returned to Devonswick. She had lost her baby, and
Clanricarde had sent her packing home to their father.

She
found Miles and her son at the stables, Bryan perched bareback on Alhabac as
Miles lunged the horse in a cantering circle. The image stopped Olivia in her
tracks.

How
beautiful they were together, with the sun reflecting from their dark hair,
the thrill of the ride flushing Bryan's face with vibrant color. How well he
sat! Heels down, legs relaxed, his slender body rocking with the seesaw motion
of the horse. Soon Miles would have him riding with the hounds.

Spying
his mother, Bryan waved a hand in the air. "Hel-

lo!
See what Papa's taught me!" he called. Papa?

Olivia
watched Miles for his reaction. Her husband only laughed and waved, then turned
his attention back to Bryan. "Heads up!" he ordered. "Pretty
ladies are not supposed to interrupt a true horseman's concentration!"

Papa.

Feeling
light-headed, Olivia sank onto a stone bench. It seemed only a minute passed
before she looked up to find Miles standing before her, the lunge line wrapped
around one hand, his hazel eyes intense.

"You
look as if you've just seen a ghost," he said.

She
looked beyond him. Bryan continued cantering in a circle on the Arabian bay.
"Is it safe?" she asked. "He's so very small. What if he
falls?"

"He
will.. . eventually. One doesn't learn to properly ride until he can boast of a
few broken bones." Miles eased onto the bench beside her. "You seem
upset. If his riding Alhabac—"

"That's
not it," she replied more abruptly than she intended. At last, she managed
to pull her attention from her son to find her husband with his elbows on his
knees, his gaze on the ground between his feet.

"You
don't like his calling me papa, perhaps," he stated quietly.

"I
simply thought you were opposed."

"It
seemed to mean a great deal to him. That's all." Sitting straighter, his
mouth tight with irritation, he said, "That's not true. Suddenly, for
whatever reason, his calling me papa means a great deal to me. Occasionally I
look at him and . .." He watched the boy bring the horse to an easy trot.

"And
what?"

"I
imagine that he's mine. I don't think I could love him any more if he was
mine." His eyes came back to hers. "You wouldn't ever attempt to take
him away from me, would you?"

There
was a fierceness, an urgency in Miles's features that gave Olivia pause. Her
response was cut off, however, as Gustavea came plodding down the path in his
overly big shoes. He carried a letter in one hand, which he delivered with
practiced ceremony to Miles. Despite the earlier bad news about Emily, Olivia
couldn't help but smile at the boy's clumsiness, taking little notice as Miles
tore open the envelope and read the missive silently to himself.

"My
God," Miles said, his voice deep and breathless. "Oh my God."

"What's
happened?" Olivia demanded in a voice verging on panic. "Husband,
what—"

A
smile stretched over Miles's mouth, and his cheeks flushed with bright color.
Suddenly, Olivia found herself picked up and swirled around, while behind them
Bryan brought the cantering Alhabac to a stop and slid to the ground, his
little legs carrying him up the path at breakneck speed so he, too, could join
in the impromptu celebration.

Sweeping
the lad into his arms, Miles spun Bryan and Olivia round and round, laughing at
the top of his voice until Olivia found herself joining in.

"Will
you tell me what is so wonderful, sir, so I know exactly why I'm laughing like
an idiot?"

"Tell
us, Papa," Bryan joined in, hugging Miles's neck as hard as he was
capable.

"We're
rich," Miles shouted.

"Wh—"

"Rich!
Ah, God, Olivia, I'll buy you a thousand blue dresses and two thousand bottles
of the most expensive perfume in Paris. No more violet-scented water for my
wife. And Bryan—we'll have the money to send you to the most prestigious
university in the world. Dear hearts, I was right!" He swung Olivia and
Bryan again, kissed Olivia on the mouth until she felt breathless and dizzy.

"I
was right," he repeated again and again.

"Right
about what?"

"The
mine. They've hit a new vein, dear heart, the biggest vein found in this
county in a hundred years."

Some are born great,
some achieve greatness, and some have

greatness thrust upon
them.

—William Shakespeare

CHAPTER TWENTY

Upon
arriving at Gunnerside, .Miles and Olivia had expected to find jubilation. What
they discovered were the stunned, shock-stricken faces of miners and village
folk, of weeping women and children, and a dozen corpses lined up on the ground
outside the church.

"Explosion."
Miles stood in the shop door and watched the frightened and confused miners
mill about the mine entrance, some with fire-blistered faces, others with bandaged
heads, arms, and legs. Olivia and Janet Hooper moved among them, administering
aid to any man who needed it.

"Aye,"
Jake Delaney replied. "One minute we were all congratulatin' each other
for a job well done and lookin' forward to an evenin's celebration at the White
Horse, the next... it were like hell opened up under our feet. Those of us who
were in back managed to run for it. Them others weren't so lucky."

"Was
it methane?"

Jake
left his chair and joined Miles at the door. "Sir, we been down that level
every day for the last four months, includin' this very mornin'. And, sir ...
the canaries was singin'."

The
canaries were singing. Miles frowned. "Where is McMillian?"
"Away, sir."

Miles
looked at Delaney. "Why the blazes wasn't he on the job?"

"Said
he had business in Newbiggin. He intended to hire more men for the new
level."

"I
didn't give approval to hire new men."

"I'm
only tellin' ya what he told me, sir."

Turning
away from the door, Miles asked, "Are all the men accounted for?"

'There
are five missin'."

"Why
hasn't a rescue attempt begun?"

"The
men feared diggin' any deeper. Not much chance of survival anyway. If they hit
more gas—"

"It
wasn't gas that caused that explosion, Delaney. I think you know that. You said
yourself that the canaries were singing."

"They're
afraid, sir. Pure and simple. Many of those men lost fathers and brothers—we
were all friends." Jake's face fell as he added, "Herbert Wallace is
one of the missin'."

"What
if those men are alive?"

Jake
shook his head. "The men refuse to go in, sir. They've all said for some
time that the damned shafts are cursed by the pixies."

"That's
ridiculous. They're grown men, for God's sake."

"Most
of 'em are sayin' now that they don't want no more of the Warwick Mining
Company. That it don't matter about the new vein—the new vein won't do much for
dead men."

"Damn."
Miles left the building and walked directly to the mouth of the mine where he
picked up a tin bucket and a stick, and beat the bucket as hard as he could,
until the addled miners roused from their stupor and turned their attention on
him.