Chapter 6
After a night of tossing and turning, Arabella certainly didn’t believe she deserved Lady Quamby’s gushing compliments when she arrived in the breakfast parlour.
“And how lovely to see you are all dressed for a lovely country ramble now that we have a brief respite from the bad weather. Mr. Morley!” she added, clapping her hands. “Did Lady Lushington not perform beautifully last night?”
“Perform?” For a moment he looked confused, then—to Arabella’s dismay—his expression hardened. “Indeed. Her performance was most...impressive.”
The word was delivered with such cutting precision that Arabella felt her cheeks burn. But their hostess, who seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, continued to chatter excitedly.
“Now, I have the most delightful plan! The weather is so lovely this morning, though I do see some rather dramatic clouds gathering on the horizon. How perfectly romantic! We shall walk to the little pavilion in the rose garden. It has the most charming sitting room, and even a small bedchamber for afternoon rests. Really, it is quite the perfect spot for intimate…conversation.”
She beamed between them, but when Arabella darted a glance at Nicholas, he appeared unmoved, his expression cold. She swallowed. Oh, why had this torture been forced upon her? To be so close to the man she loved and yet be unable to say anything that might exonerate her.
“However,” Lady Quamby continued, consulting the sky through the breakfast room windows, “I do believe we should set out in pairs, don’t you think?
Fanny and I shall take the longer route through the shrubbery to examine the winter plantings, while you two might take the direct path.
Do meet us there—though if the weather turns, you mustn’t feel obligated to wait for us! ”
And before either Arabella or Nicholas could protest, she had swept from the room, leaving them standing in awkward silence.
Twenty minutes later, they found themselves walking the gravel path toward the pavilion, the tension between them almost palpable. True to Lady Quamby’s prediction, dark clouds were gathering overhead, and the first fat raindrops began to fall just as they reached the charming little structure.
“Quickly!” Arabella called, lifting her skirts as she ran for the covered entrance. Nicholas followed, and they tumbled inside just as the heavens opened in earnest.
Arabella stared uncertainly through the window.
The rain was coming in great sheets, making it impractical even to consider running through it to the house.
Not even Nicholas’s stony expression could disguise his frustration at their predicament.
And that expression was certainly enough to make her want to take to her heels and escape his obvious censure.
Did he have no forgiveness in him?
“So it appears we are prisoners.” He was standing rigid against the wall, his handsome face conveying only the greatest disdain and disgust at a situation in which he clearly was a very reluctant participant. “Though if you wish it, I will leave you and brave the elements.”
“Good heavens, why would I wish you to be gone? And certainly not in this vile weather?” She strove for a lighter tone but could only manage nervously, “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Your worst enemy, eh? I feel sorry for anyone who falls into that category, considering how you treat your so-called... friends.”
Arabella gasped. What could she say to this?
“Nicholas—” she began, and he raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, we are on Christian name basis once more, are we?” He moved closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Or are you seeking merely to once again toy with my affections? You are obviously adept at recognizing vulnerability.”
Arabella saw that his chest was rising and falling rapidly, and for the first time wondered if this was not due to the exertion of rushing to escape the rain.
Could he really...?
Dare she believe that he still harboured feelings for her despite her treatment of him? And her inexplicable cruelty?
The thought gave her a surge of hope and something else.
Yes, courage. The courage to step closer to him, to look directly into those dark eyes that had once gazed at her with such tender love.
“Nicholas,” she said softly, her voice barely audible above the thundering rain, “I know you believe the worst of me. I know you think I am mercenary and cruel and?—”
“Stop.” The word was torn from him, raw with pain. “Just... stop.”
But she couldn’t stop. Not when she was this close to him, not when she could see the war raging behind his carefully controlled expression.
“I never stopped loving you,” she whispered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Not for a single day. Not for a single moment.”
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or hope. Then his face hardened again.
“Lies,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “Pretty lies to?—”
“No.” She reached out, her fingers barely brushing his sleeve. “Not lies. Never lies about this.”
The touch seemed to break something in him. With a sound that was half-groan, half-sob, he reached for her, his hands framing her face with desperate tenderness.
“Arabella,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding and achingly familiar.
She melted into him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his coat as five years of longing and regret poured into that kiss. He backed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers as the storm raged outside, forgotten.
“I tried to hate you,” he murmured against her throat, his lips trailing fire along her skin. “God help me, I tried so hard to hate you.”
“I know,” she gasped, her head falling back as he found that sensitive spot just below her ear. “I know, my darling. I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
His hands roamed her body with reverent desperation, reacquainting themselves with curves and hollows he had dreamed of for five long years. When he lifted her and carried her to the small bedchamber beyond, she offered no resistance.
They fell together onto the bed, mouths and hands seeking, claiming, remembering. Rain drummed against the windows as they shed the barriers between them—first clothing, then the careful walls they had built around their hearts.
“Tell me,” he whispered as he worshipped her with kisses, his voice rough with emotion. “Tell me why. Tell me what happened.”
For a moment, Arabella tensed. But then his hands were on her again, gentle and loving, and she felt something ease in her chest. If Nicholas loved her—and the tenderness in his touch proclaimed it more clearly than words—then surely he would forgive her when she told him the truth.
When this desperate mission was over and she was free to explain everything.
“Soon,” she promised, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Soon, my love. But not now. Now there is only this. Only us.”
And for the next hour, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, rediscovering the passion that had never truly died, healing old wounds with whispered endearments and desperate caresses.
Afterward, they lay entwined in the narrow bed, listening to the rain gradually ease to a gentle patter.
“I cannot lose you again,” Nicholas said quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on her bare shoulder. “Whatever happened before, whatever drove you away, we can face it together now.”
Arabella smiled as tears pricked her eyes at the simple faith in his voice. How she longed to tell him everything, to unburden herself of the weight she had carried for so long.
“Yes,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Together.”
Soon, she promised herself. Very soon, there would be no more secrets between them. She just needed to complete this one last task, retrieve those damning documents, and then, when all danger was past, she could tell him everything.
Finally, they could have the happiness that had been so cruelly denied them.
As if sensing her thoughts, Nicholas tightened his arms around her. “No more running, Arabella. Whatever troubles you face, we face them together from now on.”
She nodded against his chest, not trusting her voice. If only he knew that by tomorrow, she would be gone again. But this time, it truly would be the last time. This time, she was running towards their future, not away from it.
The storm outside had passed, leaving only the gentle sound of water dripping from the eaves. But in the little pavilion, two hearts that had been broken were slowly beginning to heal, wrapped in each other’s arms and the promise of tomorrow.