The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (66 page)

“And you have no objection to being laid with my issue this very night?” he asked in a rumbling voice.

Her breath hitched as he lowered over her, settling between her legs, his hips pressing her into the bed with his weight, his heavy frame encompassing her soft body. “Oh, well, no. Not if that’s your desire. No objections, none whatsoever,” she whispered as his demanding lips descended on hers.

Mrs. Weston and Ferry stood between the panel entry to the duke’s suite and the passageway to the duchesses’ suite. They had heard of the ruckus last night from the footmen who had attended supper. Mrs. Weston nervously wrung her hands as Ferry shifted.

“Well,” she said. “I expect it is time to wake milady,” she said in a long breath.

Ferry grunted a nod.

Mrs. Weston moved slowly down the passageway to wake Francine while Ferry waited another moment before pushing through to the duke’s suite.

Mrs. Weston entered Francine’s room, as hopeful as she could be, to find Francine snuggled in her bed sleeping soundly. By herself. She released a relieved sigh and set about running a bath and letting in the morning light as she hummed quietly.

From that moment on, Francine thought the tenor at Eildon more relaxed and welcoming. It was an easier place to be. Her realization that propriety wasn’t just something garnered for the sake of others’ senses, but to protect the secrets only two lovers should share, had eased her mind and her actions.

As for Gideon, he had no problem falling back to his most proper behavior during the day while he waited eagerly for the nights, when Francine would tiptoe into his room and he could let down his guard, showing her exactly how he felt. Withholding during the daytime only made their passion deeper and stronger, and the intimacy they shared became that much more powerful because it was private.

Hundreds of workers toiled day and night, remodeling and redecorating Eildon Manor over the next month. It buzzed like a hive bursting at the seams. The sisters enjoyed helping Francine choose colors for every room, particularly their own. Maryse liked purple and lavender hues with dark stained wood, while Amélie preferred the reds and pinks with whitewashed wood. Francine loved that they were learning so much about themselves.

She decided the master suite’s walls were perfect, but the colors needed just a bit of updating. Instead of the deep midnight blues and burgundies of the original upholstery, which was ornamented with the Trumbull family crest in gold thread, the new fabrics were a deep sea blue—just a few shades lighter. It brightened the room while remaining true to the original masculine feeling which Francine adored and wanted to preserve.

The wedding approached without causing much apprehension—it was just a date in her book. After all, what more could she want? The ceremony would come and go and they would continue on as they had. Well, for the most part. She looked forward to ending the charade of separate bedrooms, but beyond that she was already fairly content. They weren’t able to spend a great deal of time together. She was busy orchestrating the hive while Gideon tied up contracts as Perry forwarded them to him. He didn’t forward much else, and Gideon hoped he was better than he had been upon his departure.

Working with Chef, Gideon planned wonderful rendezvous in the evenings— suppers in the orangery with glazed duck, on the rooftop with cut pork in a spicy sweet sauce; on the terrace he fed her roast beef in a wine and mushroom sauce, and tonight in the center of the maze, they dined on whitefish and scallops prepared in a creamy lemon-butter sauce.

The suppers had been Mrs. Weston’s idea, something she remembered his father doing for Melisande. Each ended with a new variation of drunken pears that Gideon spooned into her mouth, leaving Francine sated. The first was mulled wine, then brandy and sugar, another with honey mead and cinnamon, and the next with cream and Corps de Loup wine from the Rhone Valley.

Francine was swayed with each new creation from Chef, and Gideon laughed at her indecision.

“Well, if Chef would stop experimenting, we would have a menu!” she protested as she sat across from him on the rug spread next to the fountain.

“My dear, stopping Chef from experimenting is like stopping you from—euh…”

“Well?”

“Well,” he returned, mocking her tone, “from anything.”

Francine sat back and gazed up at the fountain. “Hmm.” Her eyes darted over to Gideon from beneath the shade of her eyelashes.

“What are you up to?”

“Do you remember the first night we were here?”

“How could I ever forget that night? It changed my life and future, and yours as well.” He raised his glass of wine to her.

“It did.” She stood, walking over to the fountain and sitting at the edge, sweeping her skirts up to her knees. He saw her bare legs, her feet naked in her slippers.

“You knew we were having supper here.” She nodded and his eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”

“I plead the fifth,” she said wryly.

“Pardon, what?”

She blushed and covered her mouth, her head spinning from the drunken pears. “I, um— I’ll never reveal my source?”

“Only one source, eh?” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. He rose from the rug. “And did you say never?”

She shook her head, dipping her feet into the fountain, the cool water running off her legs. She laughed suddenly.

“What is it?” he asked as he leaned against the fountain.

“You said I didn’t have morals.” Her eyes burned into him.

“You certainly didn’t seem to, at least none that
I
was familiar with.”

“Oh? And has your opinion of me changed so drastically?”

“It must have been very difficult for you, as you were unable to converse through speech. Was it not?”

“Yes, it was difficult. I felt entirely trapped, in this time, in this dream.”

“What— what do you mean?”

She looked at him and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t, I don’t— I meant…” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know what I meant. I think I meant that I didn’t know where I was, because what I
did
remember of my past did not mesh with what I knew to be happening. It was all very confusing,” she said hesitantly.

“So you do remember some things from your past?”

“No. Well, I don’t know. I have dreams, but they are convoluted, strange, and impossible. I couldn’t even begin to explain them. It’s as if I lived an entire life away from here, this time, this place, this man that I love.” She rested her hand on his chest.

“Do you wish to go back?”

“Never.”

“You didn’t hesitate.”

“There is no reason to. Though I worked terribly hard for everything I had, I was never sure it was what I wanted and now I know. I am here with you. Right here, right now, and there is nothing that I want for, from those dreams, that could bring me to wish to return. Not a bit. Not in any way.”

Gideon smiled. “If you do—” He paused. “If you change your mind, I want you to tell me. I would do anything for you. You understand that, yes? You never need fear telling me something. I am not my sire. I will never judge you, nor send you away, no matter how strange your dreams.”

“I do know, Gideon. I know, and that is why I love you. This is my home, where I belong. Everything that came before only prepared me for my life here, helped me to navigate this life, helped me to reach you. If anything had happened differently, I don’t think I could have gotten to you. I wouldn’t have interested you. Everything happens for a reason—kismet.”

“Kismet,” he grunted, sliding his shoes off and pulling the edges of his trousers up above his knees. He yanked his socks off, then spun around on the edge of the fountain and sank his feet below the surface, shocked at the cool feeling of the water. She smiled and stood, splashing him. He growled and ran at her, grabbing her up and spinning her around in his arms.

“Francine, my love, my life, my heart. My soul. I love you. Today, tomorrow, yesterday…forever,” he whispered.

“And I you, Gideon.”

He leaned back with a laugh and she wriggled from his hold, gathering her skirts up as she ran to the other side of the fountain.

Later that night, as they lay together, Francine told Gideon a fantastic tale about a girl from the future and how she came to be where she belonged. Gideon studied Francine as she spoke, his gaze jumping to the book on his bedside table as he considered her.

It was the sound of Francine’s speech that made him think of it. That was the familiarity he’d found while reading the diary. His mother sounded like Francine, the words and phrases so similar. He understood this should be very difficult to believe. He trusted Francine with every fiber of his being and thought he finally understood why so many things seemed out of place. It was a fantastic tale, a sensational tale. And Gideon, true to his word and his honor, forced himself to believe every word as he held her tightly to him. He had an entire lifetime with her to figure this out, to learn all about this other life, and to find out how his mother fit in. He would share this with her, but not until he was sure of certain things himself.

By the Sunday before the wedding Eildon Hill stood tall and proud, restored and rebuilt to better than its original glory, shining at the top of the hill. The darkest of corners were now bathed in light. The confusing passages were reworked and opened. The wood panels were all polished brightly and the fabrics cleaned and re-hung or replaced with brighter, more translucent draperies, letting the remarkable light of the north drift through the manor instead of being shut out.

That week the wedding guests arrived in droves. As Gideon had planned so efficiently, the northern line from London was complete and his guests arrived in style and speed, all thoroughly impressed with the new rail lines. Stately carriages brought guests from the new station at Roxleighshire to Eildon Hill Park, and the footmen carried their things from the carriages to their accommodations. The first and second floor guest suites were filled to capacity with visitors who’d been invited to stay through the ceremony.

Arriving guests expected to be greeted by Gideon, and when they weren’t they assumed he had returned to acting the reclusive duke they’d rarely met in London. Francine greeted them in the spring parlor, welcoming them to Eildon, informing them of events and distractions and letting them know when suppers and luncheons would be served. Just as Gideon had predicted, Society had moved on from news of their betrothal to easier and more convenient fodder, leaving them to their own distant world far from the
ton.

Unfortunately, for the first two days of the estate party Gideon only encouraged those whispered rumors by being further reclusive. It wasn’t the least bit intentional, but it did create conversation. The truth was that he would have liked to greet the guests with Francine, but he had to complete last minute documents that Perry had forwarded. He wanted no such interruptions after the wedding.

The last time Perry left the manor, his lightness of mood hadn’t left with him, but some of the old darkness had. Gideon was surprised to find he truly missed his brother’s company. He felt them to be on closer footing than ever before. His mood had lifted considerably, bringing it closer to Perry’s notable demeanor. He leaned back in his chair with the missive his brother had enclosed with the latest documents.

Rox,

The London tradesmen seem to have forgotten themselves; they believe you to be concentrating more on your coming troth than your duties to Queen and Country. We should endeavour to remind them that you remain the Duke of Roxleigh and, regardless of current dealings, they should be wary. The enclosed missives should serve to alleviate these disruptions.

Much has happened from the moment I quit the estate.

I endeavor to return as expediently as possible.

There is much to discuss.

I promise to send word.

Love to Francine, Westy, and the girls.

P.