Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride (Whitby Weddings 2)

‘No.’ She shook her head determinedly and he almost panted with relief. Even now, lying vulnerable and exposed beneath him, there was something indefatigable about her. Something that made him want to push even deeper, to possess every part of her. So he did, burying himself in her body as deeply as he could, as if he could truly lose himself in her.

Then they were moving together. She matched his rhythm at once, wrapping her legs around his as he gripped the bedsheets, trying to hold himself back. Of all the women he’d ever slept with, he couldn’t remember any ever affecting him so powerfully, so completely, as if she were trying to drive him to the very limits of self-control. He gritted his teeth as she writhed against him, gasping until her muscles all seemed to tighten at once and she cried out, clutching at him a second before he found his own release. For a few moments, her body continued to tremble and pulsate beneath his and he rolled quickly on to his back, pulling her with him so that she was cradled on top of his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

He didn’t know how long they lay there, nor how long it took for him to come back to himself, but when he did, it seemed as if some blinders that had been over his eyes had been lifted. The past was the past. He felt genuinely, absurdly happy, and it was all thanks to Violet. The fact that she still wanted him, despite everything he’d done, everything he had been, was enough.

She was asleep in his arms and he drew her closer, tucking her into the crook of his arm. She was his wife and he loved her. He should have told her so, he realised, before they’d made love, though perhaps it could wait until the morning. Maybe he’d find a way to make it special somehow. Maybe he’d take her to the centre of the maze and tell her there. Maybe he’d make love to her there again, too. Now he knew that she wanted him too, his mind was suddenly alive to a whole range of possibilities. The very thought made him wish it were morning already.

He’d tell her he loved

her, just as soon as they woke up.

Chapter Seventeen

Violet fluttered her lashes until her eyelids finally opened. She felt cold, or more correctly, one side of her body felt cold. The other side was extremely hot, nestled against Lance’s shoulder and enveloped in his body heat. Both of his arms were curled loosely around her, but without any blankets her exposed skin was still covered in goosebumps.

Carefully she moved his arm away and sat up, tugging the coverlet gently up the bed, though it was no comfort. She was hungry, too, she realised. No, not just hungry. Their night-time exertions had left her ravenous. She glanced down at her sleeping husband and smiled. Their night together had been more wonderful and surprising and just more than she’d ever imagined, as if once he’d decided to stop living in the past, he’d been determined to make up for lost time. It had hurt a little, but not in any way that she’d minded. Now the soreness between her thighs was a reminder of what had just happened between them and she wouldn’t take that back even if she could.

She draped her legs over the side of the bed and wriggled into her dressing gown before quietly opening the door and stealing downstairs. Considering the amount of food provided for supper, there had to be something left over. Judging by the darkness, it wasn’t dawn yet either so she was unlikely to disturb anyone in the kitchens.

She was halfway across the hall when she heard a faint scraping followed by a heavy click, like the sound of a key turning in a lock and a latch being lifted. Sleepily, she looked over her shoulder, sure that she must have misheard, when she saw the front door swing open. She stopped dead in her tracks. The last of their guests had left just after midnight, the servants had all been given the morning off to recover, and it was unlikely that anyone else would be entering the house at this hour. Anyone who ought to be there anyway.

She sucked in a breath, too shocked to call out. There was no time to look for a weapon. No time to do anything but hide, she realised desperately, darting behind one of the armchairs beside the still-smouldering fireplace, and then peering out from around the edge.

A black silhouette in the shape of a man wearing a tiered greatcoat stood framed in the doorway, as if he were reluctant to actually cross the threshold. In the darkness it was impossible to make out any features, although something about him seemed strangely familiar. Was he a burglar? Slowly, she reached around the side of the armchair and slid the poker from its place by the fireside, gripping it tightly in one hand. Surely no one with any good intentions would creep into a house in the dead of night?

The stranger stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, staring straight ahead of him as if he were somehow transfixed. Then at last the draught made the fire flicker and he stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly behind him. Violet watched closely, wondering whether or not to scream. But if she did, then Lance would surely coming rushing to find her and the last thing she wanted was for him to trip on the stairs and hurt himself.

Maybe if she made a run for the servants’ quarters instead? There was another staircase at the back of the house. If she could reach it and find Martin, then there was no need to frighten Lance. Silently, she raised herself up on her haunches, ready to run. The stranger was coming closer. She had to move before he reached her, had to...

She let out an audible gasp as he moved into the faint puddle of light thrown by the fire. It was Lance! Except that it couldn’t be, her confused brain realised. She’d just left him sleeping upstairs. Which meant that there was only one other person it could be, but he was dead...wasn’t he? A shiver raced down her spine. Was it a ghost?

Whatever, or whoever, it was made a movement towards her and she leapt up, wielding the poker above her head like a club.

‘Don’t come any closer! Get back or I’ll scream!’

‘Wait!’ The ghost raised a hand as if to defend himself and then dropped it again, looking almost as surprised as she was. ‘Miss Harper?’

She lowered the poker uncertainly. The ghost knew her name, her old name at least, although he seemed ignorant of her new identity. Somehow that fact made her less afraid of him. Ghosts were supposed to know everything, weren’t they? And surely they walked through doors rather than opened them...

‘Arthur?’ The truth hit her like a thunderbolt.

For a moment he looked as if he were about to deny it, before he sighed and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘But how...what...?’ She didn’t know which question to ask first. What was he doing there? Where had he been? And, most of all, why was he entering the house in the middle of the night like some kind of criminal?

‘I thought you were a ghost!’

He gave a crooked smile. ‘I feel a bit like one. It’s strange to be back here again.’

‘Everyone thinks that you drowned! They found your boat.’

‘Yes.’

‘There was a search.’

‘I thought there might be.’

‘Then how... No, where have you been?’