Linda Castle (9 page)

C
hase looked up at the tall, rambling structure of Cordel-lane, graying in the shadows of the setting sun. Lamplight cast pale fingers of muted illumination over a lawn that was in need of a good clipping. He had seen no other help around the place, except for the girl who helped Linese with dinner that first night. He wondered how his grandfather and Linese had managed alone.

His eye skimmed over the peeling paint on the eaves of the house. A pang of guilt gripped him. They had been left to fend for themselves as best they could, while he rode off to war. Chase made a mental note to go in search of a scythe tomorrow morning, to begin to put Cordellane to rights. First, though, he wanted to see Linese.

He climbed the staircase with confidence, but when he was at her door, he hesitated. Now that he was only a few feet from her, he regretted his impulsiveness and weakness. He turned away, ready to leave, to spare himself the embarrassment of showing her what he had done, when a soft voice coming from behind her closed bedroom door drew his attention. He realized it was Linese reading aloud.

She had a lovely voice. The soft, gentle sound of the words flowed over him with the same hypnotic appeal they had in the library the night before. For a fleeting instant, everything around him seemed almost familiar. Faint images of her face, smiling and animated, filled his head. He
remembered the way she felt and tasted, even through the brandy-induced, fogged memory of last night. When the vision faded away, he was left with a deep void so raw it was physically painful.

He knocked on the door.

It opened within seconds, then he found himself bitterly regretting his decision to see her in the very next instant, because what he saw took the breath from his body.

Linese was wearing a voluminous white night rail. The lightweight fabric clung to her petite curves much like a lover’s hands, as he wanted his hands to mold to her body. Chase’s muscles grew taut and contracted around his bones until he was painfully aware of the lovely creature that was his wife in name alone..

Chase ordered himself to ignore the newly scrubbed and fresh-as-morning-dew look of her skin. The aroma of honeysuckle blossoms threaded its way around his head and into his starved soul. He could sooner ignore his own beating heart than to deny the attraction he felt for this woman.

“Chase?” Her voice brought his thoughts crashing to earth quicker than a pigeon with a broken wing.

The painful void inside him cried out for comfort. Every part of him wanted to hold her, to recapture what they must have shared but what was lost in time to him alone.

“I’ll come back tomorrow.” He choked on the words. He turned away and took one halting step. The soft weight of her fingers on his bare arm, below the rolled-up shirtsleeve, sent a hot frisson of sensation rippling though him.

“Please stay,” she invited.

His heart slammed against his ribs like mortar fire. Why did she have to be so sweet?

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” he apologized awkwardly. “You are busy. It can wait….”

“I was only reading.” Linese gestured to the lamp on the small writing table and the slender book lying facedown. “You are hardly intruding.”

“Please, don’t let me interrupt.” He gulped down the hot lump that grew larger with each glance at her appealing form. “I can see you are preparing for bed.”

He felt a hot wash of embarrassment in his cheeks at the mention of her obvious state of undress. She glanced down at her body and back to him as if only now becoming aware of her nightdress.

Linese felt as if a curtain had been drawn back to reveal a bright new canvas beneath it. Each day this man showed her layers of character she had never known existed. The quick courtship and one honeymoon night had not allowed her to explore his personality. For the first time, she realized he was embarrassed to see her standing in her night rail. It occurred to her then that maybe he felt as ill at ease as she did, maybe he was unsure and afraid of failure after so long a separation. Last night had proven to her that Chase had feelings for her, or at least physical needs that involved her. If only she had the feminine skill to bring them together in flesh and spirit. She felt a flood of heat in her own cheeks at the thought.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” He took another faltering step toward the door in an effort to retreat from the tender warrior who stared at him with soft blue eyes.

“’Does it pain you much?” Linese wondered if his wounds had anything to do with his reluctance to share her bed. Could it be his male vanity that forced him to deny her companionship?

“What?” Chase frowned and looked at her blankly.

“Your leg. Does it cause you much pain?”

“Not much.” Chase self-consciously rubbed his palm over his scarred hip. He felt inept standing there with Linese staring up at him. Her skin was aglow in the uneven lamplight. He thought of how nice it would be to kiss her.

“I hope you know how proud I was when I read the letter from your aide. He told me about the men whose lives you saved before you were wounded. It was a brave thing you did.”

Chase swallowed hard. He had heard the account of his actions in the hospital. At the time he thought it sounded like foolish recklessness, not bravery. But now, when Linese said she was proud of him for the same reckless deed, it took on a new meaning for him.

“I hope you know… that is, I mean to say, I am happy to be married to such an honorable man.”

Chase groaned inwardly. She kept using words like brav ery and honor. If he was so damned honorable then why didn’t he get down on his knees and tell her the horrid truth? Why didn’t he have the courage to tell her what had happened to the man she had married, so she could free herself from him?

Chase realized at that moment he would do just about anything to make this woman proud of him again. He hungered to find a way to make her admire him for the man he was
now
and not the legend he was in his forgotten past, and that hunger was liberally spiced with bitterness.

“Did you wish to speak to me about something, Chase?” Her query brought his thoughts to an abrupt halt.

“Linese, if you are free, would you accompany me to Mainfield tomorrow?” He swallowed hard and hoped she could not hear the clumsiness in his voice.

Linese averted her eyes and tried to hide the rush of pleasure she got from his invitation. “I would be pleased, Chase.” This was the first indication Chase had shown that he wished to spend time in her company.

“Good, good.” He turned away, then stopped, frowning. “What time?”

She smiled at him. It was an indulgent expression that made his belly clench with satisfaction. He wasn’t sure what he had done to bring the smile to her lips but he wished he could do it again—often.

“Whatever time is good for you. I’ll be ready—and Chase?”

“Yes, Linese?”

“Thank you for asking me.”

Chase turned away and opened the door. He found himself smiling at Linese’s unexpected compliment. For the first time since he had woken up in that hospital, he actually felt a sensation of well-being. He had a renewed sense of hope and it was all because of Linese Cordell, his forgotten wife.

Linese was staring at the ceiling, wide-awake, and soon the sun would be rising. Funny, last night was the first night she had not heard Chase’s steady pacing behind the door that separated them. She had lain awake, listening for the jerky sound of his tread, but it hadn’t come. He had remained silent on his side of the closed door. It was ironic that she had tossed and turned all night, when he had found peaceful slumber for the first time since his return to Cor-dellane. She rose from her bed and lit the lamp on the small table. On impulse she threw back the curtains to allow the first faint streaks of mauve and gray to find their way into her room the moment they peeked over the treetops.

She wondered what had changed for Chase. She wondered why he appeared to have found a sense of calm when she was sinking deeper and deeper into a confusing vortex. A tiny voice inside her head whispered that perhaps it was her, that perhaps in some way she was helping Chase work his way through the horror of war.

She wanted to believe it might be true. She longed to believe this invitation was the first step on the long road back to each other. Linese tossed a pile of dresses onto her bed and, for the first time since Chase had come to her room, she felt a true moment of dread instead of giddy anticipation.

The war had been difficult for everyone, including the Cordells. The family had managed to avoid financial ruin-so far. Unfortunately, she had not been able to find an extra dollar to make any new additions to her wardrobe. Each frock was what she had brought with her at the time of her marriage. They were all out-of-date and inappropriate as a day dress for a trip to Mainfield. Her sturdy gray dress was
fine for secretly working at the
Gazette,
but for a day with Chase, she wanted to look special. She wanted him to think she was the most fetching woman he had ever seen, whether it was true or not.

Linese held up a burgundy twill and peered skeptically at her reflection in her looking glass. The deep wine color was flattering against her pale hair, and the scooped neckline was tempting in the muggy April heat, but Linese finally admitted to herself that the dress had been designed for a more festive occasion and was definitely not appropriate for day wear.

She sighed and pulled the material taut against her slim waist for one last look. It did compliment her form, and she was almost giddy at the prospect of spending the day in Chase’s company. On an impulse, she decided to be bold and wear the dress, even though the wagging tongues of Mainfield would probably rip her reputation to shreds for wearing such a gown before sundown.

“Silly goose,” she told her grinning image. “He’s your husband, for goodness’ sake. You don’t have to fret so much about dressing up for him, or what people might say about how you look.”

But the fact that Chase had asked to spend time with her was no small consideration. It was a new beginning in her eyes, one she was going to treasure. And she hoped the time they spent together today would lead them into a romantic night, when at last perhaps, Chase would welcome her back to his bed.

Chase stretched and opened his eyes. The sun was blazing through the windowpanes opposite his bed. He realized, with no small amount of amazement, that he had slept the whole night—slept well, in fact. When he moved his leg, he found no stabbing pain in his hip. It seemed like an omen that he could slumber peacefully and wake feeling almost whole again, at least physically whole. He wondered exactly
why
he felt so good. Then it came to him.

“Linese.” He was going to spend the day with Linese. His eyes slid over to the small wrapped package sitting by the lantern on his chest of drawers. He had been tempted to give it to her last night, but for some reason he held back.

The small cameo was a special secret, different from the other things he kept from Linese. It wasn’t dark and depressing and he prayed the small gift would make her happy. He savored the unique feeling of doing something nice for her. It assuaged some of his guilt about deceiving her.

There was a light knock on the door. He strode across the room in his stockinged feet and opened the door.

Linese looked up at him and smiled. He was jolted by a ribbon of emotion. It was odd how this woman who was still a stranger could bring out the deepest response in him with no more than a look or a smile.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning, Linese.” He stood there awkward and electrified while she looked at him. A strange sort of knowledge coursed through him.

He had thought she was pretty at the train that first day. Now he looked at her and knew she was nothing less than magnificent.

Her hair was pulled up and caught in soft, loose curls of gold by a wide black ribbon. Several flaxen tendrils had managed to escape and now they flirtatiously brushed along the sides of her face, as he wished his own fingers could.

The dress she wore was the rich hue of wine, and the effect it had on Chase was nearly as intoxicating. A low neck done with tiny close stitches of dark thread complimented the texture of the flawless skin on her throat and upper chest.

She looked like the image on the cameo. She looked too perfect to be real, and more than he deserved.

“Did I disturb you?” Her eyes traveled from his coat, still tossed on the bed, to the lack of boots on his stockinged feet.

“No, not at all. Come in.” He stepped aside and gestured with his hand. He thought she must think him a complete fool, inviting her into her own bedroom, a room she had been forced to leave, because of him.

“I was on my way downstairs. I thought you might like to have a cup of chicory with me before we go to Main-field.”

A flutter of his pulse proved how much the small invitation meant to him.

“Just give me a minute to put on my boots.” Chase sat down in the chair and picked up one boot. He saw Linese flick a quick glance around the room. A swelling of anticipation filled his chest when he saw her eyes linger on the small package.

“It’s for you. You can open it now, if you like.”

Linese’s gaze snapped back to his face. “For me?”

Something in the breathy question made Chase think he had not been much accustomed to giving her gifts in the past. Was he a miserly husband, a man who cared more for his purse than the happiness of his wife? He jerked on his other boot and stood up.

In three long strides he was beside her. He picked up the box and placed it in her hands. Her fingers were trembling. It shamed him to know such a small gesture could affect her so profoundly, shamed him to think he had done so little for her in the past. He held her hands around the box and did not let her fingers go.

She looked up at him. “But why?” she asked. “It’s not my birthday, or any special day.”

For one insane minute, Chase nearly blurted out the sorrow he felt. He nearly apologized for not bringing her more gifts before the war. He wanted to ask pardon for slights he did not remember, and make promises about a future that was uncertain.