Chapter Twenty-Five

 

 

Letitia and Harriet stared open-mouthed at Paul as he broke the news to them as gently as possible.

Twenty-four hours had passed, during which most of the Ridlington and FitzArden households had restored themselves to some sort of normalcy. James had returned home, accepting an invitation to dinner the following evening.

Paul had slept most of the day, succumbing to the valerian tea made by Mrs. Hempstead after a recipe her grandmother swore worked. It had and he felt rested, refreshed and a lot less sore than he had the day before.

Rosaline had bathed and re-dressed his wound, announcing herself pleased with his progress. There were no signs of infection and already the bleeding had ceased.

Harriet had also slept, and now her cheeks had less the look of a marble statue and more the glow of a healthy young woman. Especially when she looked at Paul. The news that Pewsey had vanished from FitzArden Hall, along with all his belongings, was comforting.

Letitia observed all these things, aware that she’d not slept as well as she’d hoped. Her bed was cold and empty. And there was only one reason for that—James wasn’t in it.

This thought had haunted her all day, but was rapidly replaced by the revelations Paul was telling them about as they enjoyed a companionable sherry before dinner.

“Pewsey?” She all but shrieked the word at Paul.

“That arrogant snirp?” Harriet’s question was posed in much the same tone.

Paul looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I see you are both familiar with the name…”

“Indeed,” snorted Letitia. “He was an applicant for a position with the stables. And I will say he was the worst flirt I’ve run into in quite some time. Terribly full of himself, and convinced he could bowl me over with his charm.”

“Did he?” inquired James casually.

She gave him a fiercely dismissive glare. “Even if he had been possessed of an iota of charm, he would not have known how to bowl over a slow chicken, let alone a woman of good sense.”

“Ah.” James chuckled. “Well put.”

“But why, Paul?” asked Harriet. “Why on earth is he interested in me? Why would he want to shoot me?”

Paul looked thoughtful. “We theorize that someone in London may be looking for you, Harry. And that must come as no surprise, given your hasty and thorough disappearance from your home…”

“I suppose not,” she answered. “But to shoot me?”

“We’re not at all sure the shot was intended for you, dear,” said James in a calm tone. “It might have been a warning shot. Or even aimed at Paul if he were perceived to be your friend and thus a protector.”

Oddly, Harriet blushed “Oh.”

Letitia reminded herself to pursue that line of inquiry when she got Harriet alone. “So what do we do now?” She posed the question to the group in general.

“We eat,” said Rosaline, nodding at Chidwell. “Dinner, as I think Chidwell is about to tell us, is served.”

There was no chance for intimate conversation over the dining table, so it was much later that Letitia headed toward Harriet, intent upon discussing some personal matters with her, out of earshot of any of the male members of their gathering.

However, she never quite made it. James reached out and snagged her arm in passing. “We need to talk, my love.” His hand was warm, and the look in his eyes even warmer.

“Oh, yes, of course. Perhaps later…” Letitia hedged.

“Now, if you please.” He glanced at Rosaline. “I am taking Letitia for a brief turn around the terrace.”

Rosaline looked out the window at the snow then back at the two of them. “Are you? Well then. Wrap up warmly.”

“James,” Letitia’s heart thudded. “We can’t go outside. It’s snowing again.”

“We won’t freeze to death.” He walked her across the room. “Please carry on without us. We won’t be long.”

“James…” Letitia expostulated. “This is quite rude.”

“I consider us family. Rudeness is expected. Even acceptable.” He dragged her into the hall. “Ah, Chidwell. We’ll need our cloaks for a brief walk outside.”

Proving himself to be as unflappable as the Lady of the house, he merely nodded. “Of course, Sir James.”

So within a few minutes, Letitia found herself swaddled in her warmest cloak and trudging alongside James around Ridlington Chase toward the terrace.  The snow fell in great flakes, melting on their shoulders, but adding to the growing carpet beneath their feet.

“What are we doing out here, if you please?” She refused his arm and spun around to face him. “This is silly.”

“Not really,” replied James calmly. “I needed the opportunity to tell you that I love you and I want you to marry me. As soon as possible, please.”

“What? I…wait…no…” Caught completely off-guard, Letitia’s mind blanked.

“No, I won’t wait. And yes. That is how it will be.” James stood there, an implacable figure, the snow dusting his shoulders and hair, his eyes filled with something wonderful as he stared at her.

She lifted her chin, marshalling her thoughts as best she could and trying to ignore the hammering of her heart as it threatened to kick its way out of her chest. “If this is because of last night, then no. I won’t marry you, James. It’s not in the least bit necessary. You know that.”

“Yes I do and it’s not about last night.”

“But…” Confused now, fear crept in, making her shiver. “James, no. I can’t. You know how I feel about love. I’m a Ridlington—”

“Do not give me any more of that absurd nonsense.” He loomed over her, his gaze on her face. “I am tired of hearing you hide behind an excuse that is so ridiculous it’s barely worth mentioning.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “You can love, Letitia. Ridlington heritage be damned. Not only can you love, you do love. You love me.”

“I—I—no—”

“Yes.” He shook her again. “Yes you do, Letitia.”

“How…what…”

“Think. Just think. Why have we spent so much time together over the last year?”

She swallowed. “Because we’re friends?”

“Yes, we started out as friends. We found a special friendship, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” she could agree with that.

“So when you wanted to learn about making love, did you think to turn to Paul and ask him? He’s your friend too, isn’t he?”

“Well, yes. But no…”

“Did you think about asking Max Seton-Mowbray? Or any of the other gentlemen you met in London?”

“Of course not,” she frowned.

“Only me. I was the only one you even considered asking, wasn’t I?”

“Um…I suppose so.” She promptly dismissed any thought of the candidates she had stupidly assumed could be of assistance. That was a notion that had been doomed to failure from the start.

“And you wanted me, Letitia. You wanted me touching you, stripping you naked, making you come…you wanted all these things, didn’t you?”

She felt the colour rise in her cheeks, but refused to look away. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Did you like making love with me?” One hand lifted from her shoulder and stroked her cheek. “Did it make you burn, and shiver and cry out?”

“You know it did.”

“Could you have done any of those things with another man, Letitia? Think about it…think about how I sucked your breasts and put my head between your—”

“Yes, stop. I’m thinking.” She interrupted that statement, uncomfortably aware that her body had quickened just at the memory of those moments.

“I love you. I’m not afraid of those words. I’ve loved you for so long I forget a time when you weren’t in my heart. I was afraid I was too old for you. Then I finally realized age wasn’t important compared to the way I feel about you. God, sweetheart. You’re so complex and full of indescribable colours.”

“Oh James.” Her eyes stung at the perfection of his words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me what you feel, Letitia. Tell me what you feel right now, here, with me holding you in the snow.” He put his arms around her and tucked her into his cloak, sheltering her.

“I feel…safe.”

“And…?”

She paused. “And…protected.”

“And…?”

“My feet are getting cold?”

James sputtered, a sound that was half a laugh and half an exclamation of annoyance. He reached down, yanked up her skirts beneath her cloak and clasped his hands around her buttocks, pulling her roughly against him. “And now your arse will get cold too. Be honest, sweetheart. Be honest with yourself.” He kissed her, a quick hard meeting of their mouths. “Neither of us are children. And we need to live our lives not just survive them. Look at Paul and Harriet. A foot either way and we might have lost one of them.”

She shivered at his words even as his hands on her bare flesh sent shivers of a different kind through her body. “God, James, don’t.”

“Then tell me what you’re really feeling, love. I see it when I look in your eyes. Don’t be afraid of it. Just accept it, because I will die before I ever let another man touch you like this.”

Letitia leaned her forehead against him, relishing the sensation of his cool hands beneath her skirts and his heart beating beneath his shirt. She considered his words, wondering if Max Seton-Mowbray’s hands would feel like this. To her surprise, she couldn’t even imagine such a thing.  Every time she tried, it was James.

It came to her slowly, like a strange emotional sunrise.

It was James.

It had always been James, but she’d never allowed herself the chance to realize it. She’d clung to her belief that she would never love as a form of protection, and all the time it had been too late, because it had already happened. Over the year or so they’d known each other, through the laughter and the tears, the little adventures and the big ones, he’d always been there, becoming more and more vital to her life and her happiness.

And the final coup de gras smacked her hard upside the head.

She couldn’t imagine life without him.

She pulled away a little and looked up at him. “Oh bollocks.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

James kissed her before she could say another word.