Seductive Lies (Secret Lives Series) (9 page)

“It is a lot to comprehend. It will take time. Know I will be by your side. I won’t attempt to leave until I see you settled.”

“Leave? I need you, Arthur.” Harriet’s voice betrayed her fear. “You are going to take me with you wherever you are going. We could marry quietly. I desire nothing except being with you.”

“My darling, as you can surmise, things are complicated. Trust me to handle everything in good order,” he murmured in her ear. “You have nothing to concern yourself
with at the moment except me.”

He pushed back her braid and buried his face in her neck. The whole of her body shivered with his lips against her sensitized skin.
Skin on skin, he moved against her. His hand rounded her breast, arousing an intense passion his touch brought, along with the awareness of her raging need for him.

Breathless, she felt his other hand between
her thighs, pressing against her mound. In a long caress, his skilled fingers stroked her burning need and maddened her until waves of heat shattered her control. Moaning, a hundred…a thousand tiny sensations burst within her.

She turned to face him and he plundered her mouth with his own, making her crazed.
Desire for him burned. She writhed against him, feeling well his hard, erect manhood.

She gripped tight
ly his shoulders, urging him closer… closer. She needed him closer. He laughed… teasing her… torturing her. He bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth. Sucking on her breast undid Harriet. Her body shuddered with want. She could take no more. She wanted him inside her. She called out his name.

Opening herself up to him, she made no attempt to hide her desire.
He mounted her then. She grew frenzied, eagerly accepting his every thrust until unrelenting throbbing in her loins erupted. She cried out as she felt his release. Pleasurable spasms climaxed through her, again and again.

Drifting back into reality,
he slid from her. He whispered, “This is how we are meant to be. You and I. We are meant to love one another—forever. Is that not what you told me?”

“Forever,” she agreed.

“Come here.”

She complied and he gathered her in his arms
. She lay in silence, realizing Arthur had quieted her concerns in the most inventive manner. She would accept his diversion at the moment, for he was correct. All that mattered was him. He was all she ever wanted. The world could wait until tomorrow.

The carriage rolled down the main lane of Lesworth, a small village a short distance from London. Harriet sat across from Arthur. Nervousness gripped her. She was going home. At least that was what Arthur called it
… their home.

The weather had cooperated with her first glimpse. A glorious day. The sunlight showcased the greenery of an early fall day to its fullest. The village seemed pleasant enough from the brief look she managed from her seat. A little more than half a mile along, the carriage turned onto a private lane.

The lane wound around a rocky stream. The coach crossed over a small wooden bridge before it stopped in front of a quaint stone house. She smiled at the sight before her.

Lovely. The house was exquisitely lovely. Birds sung in the side woods while the sound of cascading water indicated the stream carried through the back lawn. Crossing under a lattice entrance, the fragrance of roses delighted her senses.
A beautiful perennial garden graced the landscape.

Arthur led Harriet up to the door. A portly man opened it and bowed his head to Arthur while the thin older lady beside him curtsied.

“Welcome, m’lord. Smithson is my name,” the butler said in introduction. “Mrs. Cummings, the housekeeper. And,” he nodded his head to a younger woman who dipped into a deep curtsy, “Sadie. Mr. Blymouth expressed your desire to have a lady’s maid present. Your valet will be here presently.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, smiling down at Harriet
, watching her expression. “I believe we are quite eager to see the house.”

Mrs. Cummings curtsied again and began to walk forward. Harriet took in each room. The home seemed cozy, perfect for the two of them
: a sitting room, a small library beside an elegant dining room. Immediately, she smelled the aroma of fresh bread.

“Mrs. Wakesfield is the cook, ma’am. I can call her out for an introduction now, if you like,” Mrs. Cummings said.

“It is fine,” Harriet replied. “From the smell of it, it seems we are in for a treat.”

Mrs
. Cummings nodded. From the slight uplift of her tone, Harriet suspected she pleased her housekeeper with her response. Mrs. Cummings seemed a woman who took pride in her work. Of course, the hiring of a capable cook reflected well on her.

Harriet stole a glance at Arthur, who winked at her. Joy inundated her. She wondered how he had such an effect on her with a simple gesture, but he did. He reached over and took her hand in his.

Pausing at the staircase, Arthur said, “Do not worry, Mrs. Cummings. I believe we can find the bedrooms. You will send our trunks up.”

“Yes, m’lord. I will have tea prepared also.”

Harriet walked up the stairs, side by side with Arthur. He walked straightway to the room at the end of the hall. He opened the door and gestured her for her to enter.

The room was richly decorated, a rather large room with lovely, carved furniture. The walls were covered in a pale yellow. Velvet drapes of the same color hung over the windows. In the far corner, a huge four-post bed.

“Do you like?”

Harriet turned around to face Arthur. “It’s beautiful.”

Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her. “It’s yours.”

“Mine?” she questioned. “Don’t you mean ours?”

He hesitated and then gave her that smile that tended to melt her heart. “I meant only it’s yours to do what you will. Redecorate if you wish. Hire more staff.”

“Do you think we will be here that long? Not that I wish to return back to Beebe Manor,
but at one point it will be necessary.”

“My love, I’m not taking you back to
Ayercombe Manor, Beebe Manor, or Devon in the near future. I thought I explained I have much to do. I don’t want you to worry about a thing other than making a home for us.”

Before she had a chance to protest, he reached into the side pocket of his waistcoat. A smile came to Arthur’s face as he reached for Harriet’s hand. Slipping a ring on her finger, he said, “Thought it was about time to return this to its rightful place.”

Tears swelled in her eyes as she looked down at the ring. “Oh, Arthur!”

“I know all this won’t make up for all you have endured, but I swear to you, Harriet, until my dying breath, I will…”

Arthur’s words faded into a mist…

A lady emerged through the fog. Crying, sobbing. Harriet could not see her face. She sat next to an empty bassinet with her head in her hand. Crying. So sad
… so, so sad…

“Harriet. Harriet.”

Shaking her head, Harriet turned to the voice. She gave Arthur a tentative smile. “I’m touched… truly touched.”

“Come
.” Arthur guided her back to the bed and had her sit next to him. “I want you to know that I will never forgive Carlisle for his treatment of you. I realized it was he who took the ring from you. He was supposed to look after you.”

The remembrance of her interactions with Arthur’s friend surged forth. “He expressed his desire to do so along with his hesitations, but why he would have taken my ring in that manner, I haven’t an answer.”

She looked up at Arthur. It was in his eyes. “You do. You know the reason. Don’t keep it from me.”

“It is nothing. Complete nonsense,” he said in a hesitant voice. “Rumors. Lies. He gave credence to whispers. He knew better than to listen to superstitious people.”

“Tell me.” She stared at him blank-faced and shocked, for she thought well she had hidden her gift. Her throat tightened. “He thought me odd.”

He clasped her hand between his and pressed his lips against her fingers. “I never believed a word…”

She withdrew her hand and turned from him with tear-filled eyes. Her stomach knotted. How foolish to believe she could run from who she was.

“Don’t turn from me, Harriet. I know you
… you’re the kindest, warm-hearted soul…”

Harriet shook her head. “What if Carlisle wasn’t wrong?” She turned back to Arthur. Searching his eyes, she asked, “What if I
am different?”

“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Arthur, I didn’t say wrong. I said different.” She swallowed deeply. “I am, you know, different. Please, don’t look at me in that manner. You must have heard the stories.” She blinked back her tears. It was not the time for hysterics.

He said nothing for a moment, but his eyes said he would rather avoid the subject. He cleared his throat.

“You were raised as I was in the midst of tales and legends of ghosts where it was held much as a religion. Many believe in ghosts and ghouls. You are right; I did hear stories, but you do not strike me as being whimsical. Did we not meet up at Dartmouth Hall at times? You were not scared to do so. Would not such a place as that hold many lost souls?”

“Do not jest with me, Arthur,” she admonished him. “I am serious. I do not want to hide from you who I am.”

“Then tell me, my darling.” He captured her in an embrace. “Tell me all.”

“You will not hate me?”

“I could never hate you. I love you,” he reassured her. “Come. I promise I will not interrupt, but listen to all you say.”

Her heart rose to her throat. However would she be able to put it into words? She grasped his hand and held it tight
ly while she told the story of Vadoma and the 
gift
.

“At first, the visions were of small things, more like a loved one sent a message. It seems to happen only when I touch an object, but it wasn’t until Mrs. Whitney’s sister that my grandfather became concerned.” She shrugged slightly and lowered her gaze away from his.

“Mrs. Whitney is our housekeeper. About a year after the gypsy’s gift, Mrs. Whitney received a letter concerning her younger sister from Plymouth. Mrs. Whitney can’t read. I always read her letters for her. She handed me the letter. Immediately, I saw a vision. I told her readily.

“I told her that her sister had passed away and that she needed to go posthaste. Her sister’s children needed her. Grandfather let her use the carriage. Without stopping, she was there within a day.

“When she arrived at the farm, Mrs. Whitney found her sister dead, lying in her bed. Her sister had bled to death, miscarrying. Her sister’s husband was away visiting his sick mother. It was fortunate that Mrs. Whitney came when she did. The children were just babes: one was less than a year and the other, three. They couldn’t have survived on their own.”

“It was understandable, Harriet, to tell your housekeeper to go to her sick sister in a hurry. You did a good deed.”

Harriet shook her head. “You don’t understand. I didn’t open the letter. Aunt Constance was furious when she discovered Grandfather had used the carriage for Mrs. Whitney. She wanted to read the letter.”

Harriet paused
, remembering the moment her aunt opened the letter and read it. Never would she forget the fury or her aunt’s hand slapping hard against her cheek. Pressing her lips together tightly, she forced back the memory. She looked up into Arthur’s eyes.

“The letter held only pleasantries about the children, her husband’s concern with his mother
… there was no mention of being unwell. No one knew she was ill. It happened suddenly. Mrs. Whitney said it was a blessing… my aunt deemed it from the devil. It was the talk of the manor for weeks… a vision heralded as coming from across the barrier of life and death. Grandfather worried about me. He made me promise to keep my visions to myself.”

Arthur leaned down and kissed her lips softly. “I believe it is nothing more than the empathy you feel for others. You must have picked up Mrs. Whitney’s concern about her sister living on the farm.”

Harriet raised her eyebrows slightly and tilted her head to the side in a questioning manner. “Then tell me how I know about Captain Waverly. Do not tell me I’m mistaken. I know that he intended to send me across to the continent.”

“Hush, my darling. I told you it is over. That villain will never come near you again.” He took her hand and kissed it.

“Don’t fend me off, Arthur. I know he had done so before. If you hadn’t come when you did, I do not know what I would have done. I was becoming desperate. I was trapped and didn’t know how to escape. No one would help me. They all seemed scared of Captain Waverly.

“If not for my visions, I do not believe you would have found me there. Mrs. Waverly was a demanding woman. Despite it, I made myself indispensable to
her. She became dependent upon me. She refused to let him have me. It caused him less trouble to give in to her, at least for a while.

“I had seen it in a vision that Captain Waverly was a smuggler.
He planned to pawn me off… he had done so with another girl who stayed in the same bedroom as I. He used the ruse that his wife needed a companion to lure her to their home. After a few months, she simply disappeared.” Harriet’s voice faltered, thinking of the visions. She did not tell Arthur she believed the girl had died or she would never have had her vision. But the vision served as a warning to Harriet, saving her from the same fate. “I saw what Captain Waverly would never have made known to his wife, and I took advantage of it. Mrs. Waverly insisted I be by her side, but I know the pressure was on him to get rid of me.”