Authors: Laura Lee Guhrke
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “What sort of man are you, Dumond? Do you have courage? Because if you take Tess with you, you will need it. My daughter-in-law could very well be right. Nigel will follow you, and he might kill you. Are you willing to take that risk?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Very well. There's a deserted gamekeeper's cottage about two miles east of here, in the forest just beyond the meadow. Do you know the place I mean?”
That meadow was where he had taken Suzanne on a picnic. He nodded again.
“Be there at two o'clock this afternoon. Nigel has an appointment then. I will make sure Tess is at the cottage. It is up to you to persuade her to go with you.”
Alexandre studied the woman's face carefully, but he saw no deception there. Nonetheless, he was wary. “Why are you doing this? Aubry is your son.”
“I know,” she whispered. “God help me, I know.”
***
Margaret had not yet arrived when Tess reached the gamekeeper’s cottage, a tiny structure of stone set amid a grove of trees. There was no horse or carriage tethered nearby, she noted as she tethered her own horse in front, and when she went inside, the cottage’s one room was empty, save a cot, two chairs, and a footstool.
Tess used her handkerchief to brush the thick coat of dust from one of the chairs and sat down to wait for the other woman, though she still didn’t know quite why she was here. Her mother-in-law had arranged this meeting, something vague about making improvements to the place, but surely that was Nigel’s purview.
She had little time to contemplate the matter before the door opened, but it was not Margaret who entered the cottage. It was Alexandre.
“You!” Tess jumped up from her seat. “What are you doing here?” But even as she asked that question, she knew the answer, and she stared at him in dismay, shaking her head. “Oh, no, no. Margaret told you to come here, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” He closed the door behind him and took a step toward her.
She jumped back, sending the chair skidding backward across the wood floor, and cast an anxious glance out the cottage's one window. “Did anyone see you? Follow you?”
He took another step. “No.”
“You can’t be sure of that. Oh, why did you come here? Did she tell you to meet her as she told me?”
“No.” He came closer, and as he approached, she studied his face. The tenderness in his expression tore at her heart, even as the determination in his eyes filled her with dismay. She kept backing up, but it was only three steps before she hit the wall behind her and she could retreat no further.
He stopped in front of her, and cupped her face, his hands warm and tender. She closed her eyes, savoring it for just a moment, knowing she had to make him leave, knowing that when he was gone, she would have nothing left but memories. But she also loved him enough that making him leave was vital. She opened her eyes, but he spoke before she could.
“Margaret thinks I should take you away from here.” His fingertips caressed her cheeks. “I agree with her.”
“I don’t!” she cried. “I told you I can't go with you. Don’t you understand? He'll find us. He'll kill you.”
“
Non
,
petite
,” he said, bending his head. “He will not kill me,” he vowed, his lips brushing hers. “I have too much to live for.”
She gave a sob against his mouth, her heart breaking, splitting her apart. She lifted her hands between them, pushing at his chest until he eased back. “He'll hunt us down,” she said, determined to make him face the brutal facts and go. “No matter where we run, he'll find us. You have to go now, today.”
She tried to move out of his embrace, but his hands slid down to her waist. “I’m not going without you,” he said, and when he pulled her into his arms, she could only give a groan of despair and bury her face against his chest. “You don’t know Nigel as I do. He’ll kill you. He will, and if you died...oh, God, if you died, I couldn’t bear it.”
“Hush.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her until the shaking in her body stopped. Then he pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Do you love me?”
If she told him the truth, he would never go. “No,” she choked out the lie. “I don’t love you.”
He grasped her chin, lifting her face, and he was actually smiling a little. “I don’t believe you.”
He kissed her, smothering her sound of despair. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, and his other arm tightened around her waist, pulling her body against his, and she just couldn’t fight him anymore. Her lips parted against his, and he deepened the kiss at once, sending fire through her body.
She would make him go, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck. Somehow. After this one kiss, just this one.
And then one became two, and three, and Tess couldn’t think anymore. When he tore his lips from hers and trailed kisses along her jaw to her ear, all she could think was how glorious it felt. When he slid his hands down her spine and over her buttocks, caressing her with the same gentle strength she remembered, she couldn’t find the strength to push him away. When his hard body pressed hers to the wall, arousal flowed through her so strong and so hot that there were no words. She could only moan, her face buried against his neck.
“You love me,” he murmured, his warm breath against her skin sending shivers through her. “Say it.”
She opened her mouth, but her breathing was quick, rushed, and she couldn’t say it. His hands moved across her ribcage and upward to caress her breasts, a touch that scorched her through the layers of her clothing, burning away everything but need.
“Say it, Tess. Admit it. You love me.”
This was madness, but she was powerless to stop it. When she felt his hands undoing the front closures of her riding habit, she reached up and pulled at ends of his cravat. Their movements were frantic, hurried, as clothes were unbuttoned and barriers were stripped away. Between kisses, he asked his question, and each time he asked, she shook her head.
He yanked off her chemise, and tossed it aside. His gaze locked with hers, he pulled her down to the floor, and even as his naked body came over hers, she tried to deny him, one last time, forcing words out. “I don’t love—”
He kissed her, capturing her lie as he captured her lips. His hand caressed her breast as he kissed her mouth, and her back arched as she offered herself to him completely. And when he entered her, she couldn't stop herself from giving him the words he wanted. They tumbled out between her soft cries. “I love you, Alexandre. I love you. Yes, I love you!”
***
“My solicitor will have the agreements drawn up and sent to you within the week.” Nigel rose to his feet, and the man seated across the desk from him also stood up. The two men shook hands, and Nigel escorted his partner in this new business venture to the door of the library, where Chilton was waiting to show him out.
Smiling, Nigel returned to his desk, satisfied by the agreements that had been reached today. Those mills in Warwick ought to prove quite profitable.
He leaned back in his chair, pulled out his watch, and was surprised to find that his meeting had ended much earlier than he’d anticipated. He decided he would spend the time until dinner with Teresa. Her sitting with Dumond ought to be over by now. Perhaps he would make another attempt to teach her to play chess. He'd tried once about two years ago, and she'd been hopeless at the game, but perhaps he simply needed to have more patience with her.
“My lord?”
At the sound of Chilton’s voice, Nigel glanced at the door. “Yes, what is it?”
“Mr. Aames has departed, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Where is Lady Aubry this afternoon?”
“Her ladyship is out, my lord.”
“Out?” He frowned, feeling quite nettled. Really, he thought, aggrieved, did she have to be out on one of the rare occasions when he had some free time to spend with her?
“Where has she gone, Chilton?”
“Her ladyship is out riding, my lord. She took her mare out about an hour ago. She said she would return by four o'clock.”
Teresa was out riding again? She’d always loved that particular sport, but she seemed to be spending every single afternoon engaged in it these days, and he decided he’d best check her in that regard. “Thank you, Chilton. You may go.”
The butler departed, and Nigel wondered how he might spend the remaining time until Teresa returned. Idly, he glanced at the empty space on the wall where Dumond's portrait of his wife would soon be placed, and he felt once again quite pleased. He was confident the portrait would be an excellent one, for Dumond truly was gifted. Still, he wished he could see for himself how it was progressing, but he’d made that silly promise not to look at it. Really, he thought in irritation, why were artists always so damned eccentric?
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see that painting, and after all, why shouldn't he? It was his wife, and this was his house, and his money was paying for the damn thing.
Nigel left the library and went down to the conservatory. The room was empty, he verified with a quick glance around, and the easel stood by one of the windows.
He moved to stand before it, and the moment he did, he froze, paralyzed by utter astonishment. This woman was Teresa, certainly, but not the Teresa he knew. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, her lips were curved in a smile, and her entire countenance was radiant. It wasn’t only Dumond’s gift for light and color that made her so. It was her expression. She looked beautiful, alive, glowing with happiness. It was not an expression completely unfamiliar to him, for there had been a time when she’d looked at him that way...a long time ago, just before their wedding. She looked as beautiful in this painting as she had looked that day.
She looked, he realized, like a woman in love.
Understanding came in a flash, and his body burned with the raging fire of jealousy. That look on her face that had once been for him was now for another man, and he knew who the man was. Dumond.
He'd come here to paint her portrait, and he had become her lover. That was why Teresa had taken to going out riding every afternoon since the fellow’s arrival. Dumond, he had no doubt, did the same. They were probably together at this very minute, making love and laughing at him for being the cuckolded husband. Here, at Aubry Park, under his very nose.
But had their trysts begun here?
Another thought struck him, and Nigel staggered back as if from a physical blow. No, it wasn’t possible. Dumond came from Bordeaux, not Provence. No, Nigel corrected himself at once, he’d heard that Dumond came from Bordeaux, but when he cast his mind back to that night in the artist’s gallery, he realized Dumond had never confirmed that information.
Turning away from the easel, he caught sight of a sketchbook on the table. Seizing it, he began to flip through the pages for proof of what his instincts already told him was the truth. He found it midway through the book, in a drawing of Tess's face. The date penciled into the top right corner was July, 1818. One year ago.
He’d never believed her silly tale of being a governess, but he’d never thought she’d been kept by another man. He’d thought her a housekeeper or maid, and she probably had been. Until she’d met Dumond.
God, Nigel thought, what a fool he’d been. He pressed a hand to his forehead, wiping away a film of sweat. She'd been living with that damned French painter when he'd found her in that village on the Cote d'Azur. Dumond had been the one to give her the clothes on her back and the money to buy more.
Visions of his wife making love with the Frenchman in some remote Provence villa flashed through his mind. Here, too, Nigel thought, in his conservatory. Or at some private place here on his estate. The fire inside him flared out of control, threatening to consume him, and with a savage cry of pain and rage, he threw the book across the room and struck out at other evidence of his wife's infidelity.
The painting and easel crashed to the floor. Bending down, he seized the easel and began tearing the frame apart, tossing the broken pieces of wood in all directions. One hit the wall. Another hit a priceless Oriental vase, sending it to the tiled floor with a crash. The third he used to smash anything within reach.
He vented his anger until the conservatory was in shambles. He paused, drawing in great gulps of air, and he looked about him, but there was nothing left to destroy, nothing left to feel his wrath. Yet, he still wasn’t appeased.
Tossing the battered piece of Dumond's easel aside, Nigel left the conservatory. The servants who were gathered outside the door in response to the noise parted to let him pass, and the fear he saw in their faces only angered him more, but he passed them without a word. He returned to the library and went to his desk. He unlocked it, removed a pistol and power horn. It was a dueling pistol, but he wasn't planning to fight a duel. He put the pistol in his coat pocket, then left the house and went to the stables.
A groom indicated to him the direction his wife had taken, and when he asked the groom if Monsieur Dumond had also taken a horse out, the boy confirmed that as well and the fact that the Frenchman had gone the same way as Lady Aubry some twenty minutes after her departure.
“Of course,” Nigel muttered, swinging up onto the horse the groom had brought out for him. “They wouldn't dare be seen riding out together.”
Fortunately, he had a pretty fair idea of where they’d gone. There was only one place in the direction they’d ridden that offered the privacy to conduct an affair. As he turned his horse and rode in that direction, he didn’t think about the fact that the pair of them were probably fornicating at this very moment. Instead, Nigel engaged in a much more pleasurable pastime. He contemplated how he would punish them for it.
***
Alexandre wished that he and Tess had time to linger here. A quick coupling was enjoyable, true, but he wished they had time to make love again so that he could pleasure her fully.
Next time
, he promised her silently as he pressed one last kiss to her mouth. Then he pulled back, resting his weight on his arms as he looked down into her face and smiled. “I love you, too,” he said in response to the declaration he’d finally wrung from her. “I have never stopped loving you.”