Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

“Harry?” she whispered when he didn’t speak. “Is that you?”

“Come down,” he said. He tried to sound calm, but something in his voice broke and she heard it.

She hesitated and then disappeared. He waited, not sure if she would come or not, as he stood and held the reins of his horse. The house door opened cautiously and then closed again behind her without a sound. She was wearing a cloak over her nightgown—the summer night was surprisingly crisp—but her feet were bare. He smiled. Only Sophy, in her eagerness to reach him, would not stop to put on her slippers.

“What is it?” she asked, coming close. There was a note of anxiety in her voice. She knew him so well.

“Ride with me a little way,” he said. “So that we can talk without fear of discovery.”

She glanced back at the house as if deciding, then nodded. He lifted her easily onto his horse, her body so small and light in his arms, and then swung up behind her. He wrapped his arms about her, trying not to think that she was likely naked beneath her nightgown, and Sophy rested her head back against his shoulder. Harry urged his horse into a slow trot.

Her hair blew across his face and she soon tucked it out of the way beneath the collar of her cloak. He dropped his face into the crook of her neck, taking in her warm clean scent. He set the horse into a gallop and she asked him where they were going but he didn’t answer. He didn’t know himself until he reached it, a place that seemed perfect.

They were amongst the ruins of the old stronghold, a place that marked the heart of the Pendleton estate. The heart of Pendleton and the woman who was his heart, here together.

He dismounted and held out his hands for Sophy. She slid down and for a moment she stood quietly in the circle of his arms. He was tempted to tighten his grip, bend his head and kiss her, touch her, but he let her go. He was afraid that if he held her any longer he would not be able to stop the sensual urges within him. Harry took an unsteady breath and put some distance between them, walking to one of the larger stones to place his hand upon the cool, smooth surface.

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nbsp; “My father has guests at the manor.”

“So I heard.” She looked away, pretending to admire the ruins in the starlight, but he knew it was because she didn’t want him to read her expression. There was a pause between them, a beat of silence that he wanted to break, but she spoke first. “Your father wants you to marry Lady Felicia, doesn’t he?”

Harry watched as she came closer, her feet silent in the grass. “That’s his plan,” he admitted.

She had reached him now. Her hair had escaped her cloak and hung loose about her shoulders again, a little tangled from their ride. Her gaze was lifted to his, eyes pale and wide. Even without touching her he could feel the tension in her body, sense her apprehension. Did she really think he was going to obey his father and cast her aside?

“Sophy …” He closed the small distance between them. “I’m not marrying anyone but you. I don’t want anyone but you.”

She lunged into his arms and they clung together. He pressed his nose to her hair, breathing her in, and the needy ache inside him doubled. Tripled. He wanted her so much and right now he wasn’t sure he had the strength to stop himself.

“There is something I need to tell you …” she said. “You haven’t been to see me so I couldn’t before, but, Harry, my father is making plans with my aunt.” She blurted the words out, the urgency of them cutting through his desire.

Harry lifted his head with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“They want me to marry my cousin,” Sophy explained, and her voice held a tone that was almost resigned. As if she could already see herself with another man and Harry with another woman. He shook his head, wanting to argue, but she hurried on.

“And now your father has invited Lady Felicia to Pendleton, and it seems as if they are gathering their forces against us. Harry, what if—?”

“No,” he said, cutting through her fears. “I won’t let that happen, Sophy. You belong to me and me to you. I want …” He swallowed.

“Harry?”

“Don’t let them part us,” he begged her. “Sophy, we are meant to be together, you know that! Wait until I am of age. One more year. Just one. Then I will make you my wife and no one can stop us.”

“My father,” she began, to remind him that although he would be of age, she would not. But Harry cut her short, arrogantly refusing to believe the Harcourts would snub the heir of Pendleton as a husband for their daughter.

He wrenched the signet ring off his little finger—the Baillieu coat of arms was almost worn off it was so old but he had had it since he was a boy when it wouldn’t even fit his thumb—and took her left hand in his, sliding it onto her third finger. It was loose but she closed her hand into a fist to keep it safe, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. “In my heart, we are already betrothed,” he told her, his voice firm and sure. “This ring is a symbol of it.”

“Harry,” she whispered.

He could feel a tremble in her body, and her eyes filled with tears. The next moment, his mouth drove down on hers, hard and desperate, all restraint gone. He’d wanted her for years and always held himself back, but now the dam had burst. Sophy’s hands were around his neck, her fingertips sliding through his hair, against his scalp. She pressed closer, moulding her soft curves to his hard body. And then he tasted the salt of her tears on their lips and knew her desperation was as great as his.

Harry stilled himself, wondering how out of control he was, only to realise that wasn’t true. He wasn’t out of control at all. He was very much in control. He was going to make Sophy his in the most fundamental of ways. He was going to claim her so that no one else could ever have her, and he was going to do it now.

He cupped her face in his hands, smoothing away her tears with his thumbs. “Will you be mine?” he asked her, his voice rough with emotion. “Completely, Sophy. Body, heart and soul.”

She stared back at him and he could see she understood. After a moment she nodded, licking her lips as if they were suddenly dry. He smiled and pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.