Falling in Love Again (25 page)

“I did nothing.”

“Oh, but you did. There were times during the last week when tempers flared and petty fights started among the workers, when I ached with exhaustion, but I continued on just because I wanted to prove you were wrong to consider me a worthless husband.”

“I was wrong,” she admitted readily.

Before they could say anything else, the call went out to start the dancing. This time, Mallory didn't hesitate to take part. John had to play with the small band of musicians, but he managed to steal three dances with her. The last was a waltz.

She'd never waltzed before, but she trusted him. He took her in his arms, one hand on her waist, and they joined the other couples twirling and gliding around the barn.

Then John waltzed her out the door into the velvet night.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Where we can be alone.”

Taking her hand, he led her down the path. They weren't the only ones with the same idea. Other couples strolled along the moonlit path, and a few were even hiding in the bushes.

Inside the cottage, John barred the door and
pulled the shutters closed. He turned and watched Mallory as she lit a candle. Its glow filled the small room.

His wife…she was graceful, lovely, serene, intelligent, spirited, and challenging—everything a man could wish for in his life's mate.

He pushed away from the door and walked to her. “I've been wanting to do this since the moment you walked into the barn tonight.”

Taking her in his arms, he swooped down and kissed her with urgent hunger. And Mallory kissed him back, her passion matching his own.

John buried his face against her neck and her sweet-smelling hair. He pressed against her until she could feel the strength of his need for her.

“I don't ever want to lose you.”

Her arms hugged him fiercely. “You won't. I'm yours, John. I want to be yours.”

With a glad cry, he kissed her again and then picked her up and carried her to the bed. Their lips met, her tongue teasing his while his hands unlaced the dress.

He laid her out there. His loins throbbed to possess her, but he wanted to take his time. He wanted this night to be memorable.

Coming down on one knee, he lifted her foot and removed one worn kid slipper. They were the shoes she'd worn when they escaped the bailiff. “I, John Barron, Viscount Craige, take you, Mallory Barron, Viscountess Craige, to be my wedded wife.” He slipped her other shoe off her foot and placed it on the floor.

She wore no stockings, and he smiled, remembering the pair with the hole in the toe. He ran his
hands along the back of her calves and up her thighs, pushing her skirts up. He pressed a kiss first on the inside of one thigh, then the other.

He looked up at her. The neckline of her dress he'd unlaced now hung wantonly around her shoulders. The bow in her hair ribbon had come loose during the dancing. He reached out and pulled it. Her hair came tumbling down around her shoulders. Nuzzling her collarbone, he pushed her dress lower and lower, but then she stopped him.

She tilted his head up to his. “I, Mallory Barron, Viscountess Craige, take you, John Barron, Viscount Craige, to be my wedded husband.” Her voice sounded sure, feminine, possessive.

She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Her bare thighs on either side of his body hugged him in place when he started to move. Her fingers began untying his neck cloth. “I promise to love you,” she said, and tossed the neck cloth aside. She tugged on his shirt. “To comfort you and honor you.”

She smiled as she said the words. He reached over and nipped her neck, working his way up to her ear. “You forgot ‘obey,'” he reminded her.

She laughed, the sound seductive. “Oh no, my lord. If you are to be obeyed, then first you must
earn
it.” She leaned back, pulling his shirt off over his head.

John sat on the edge of the bed beside her and took off his boots, then rose to his feet. “And how do I earn it?”

“By honoring me, and this marriage.”

“I worship you.” He pulled her up to stand on
the bed in front of him. Greedy now, he pulled down her dress and chemise, while his lips came down on her breast. Her nipple was already hard for him. He took it in his mouth, indulging himself in the sweet taste of her and her small sighs of pleasure. Her fingers curled in his hair and she repeated his name over and over.

John pushed the yellow muslin and cotton petticoats down over her hips and looked into her pleasure-glazed eyes. “I will love you as I have never loved another, and I will comfort you and honor you all the days of my life,” he swore earnestly.

Mallory came down on her knees in front of him. Her eyes shone with her love for him, and he could swear he'd never met a more beautiful woman.

Her fingers began unfastening the buttons of his breeches. “And I shall obey you, my husband, because I choose to obey you out of my love and respect for you. I will be by your side wherever you are, and I will always be proud to be your wife.”

He hugged her to him. “Dear God, Mallory…there is no gift more precious than your love for me. I could never live without you.”

Tears ran down her face, but they were tears of joy, and he kissed each and every one of them away, and then kissed her freckles until she was laughing with joy.

His fingers touched her and then slid inside her as he laid her back on the bed and stretched out beside her. Her hips arched.

“John, I want you in me. I need you.”

He settled himself over her. “Mallory, this is our wedding night. This is our consummation.” He kissed her, and as he did so, he slowly entered her, marveling at the feel of her muscles tightening around him and pulling him deeper.

He took his time making love to her. He wanted to erase any bad memories she might have had of their time before.

But Mallory didn't want to go slowly. The wanton movements of her hips matched his, and soon John didn't know who was the seducer and who was the seduced.

She brought her legs up around him, pulling him still deeper. Sweat dampened their bodies as he increased the tempo, driving into her over and over again, giving her as much as he could….

And then he felt the trembling inside her. She cried out his name, giving herself completely over to that magic moment, the completion, the release.

John, buried inside her, lost himself. There would be no other woman for him. He realized it in his soul, and for the first time in his life, he found a home…right here in Mallory's arms.

They lay together for long moments afterward, and when he thought he finally had enough energy to move, he lifted his head and asked, “How do you feel?”

Her dark eyes still glazed with passion, she answered, “Married.”

 

John made love to his wife three more times that night. He couldn't seem to get his fill of her.

When he wasn't making love to her, he held her
in his arms and they talked. They talked about anything and everything.

They wondered what Lord Woodruff would do when they left the area and decided he would be fine if Freddie Hanson agreed to be steward. They shared confidences of things they'd never discussed with anyone else—ever.

They made plans. Her head on his chest, Mallory idly circled his nipple with one finger. “I was afraid of what would happen if we were forced to leave England.” She flattened her hand and felt his heart beating beneath it. “I'm not afraid anymore, as long as I'm with you.”

He hugged her tight. “It won't come to that.”

“But if it does, I no longer fear the future.”

John placed a kiss on her forehead and ran the sole of his foot against the back of her calf. “I keep asking myself where is the one place I wouldn't think to look for Louis, because that is where he will be. He's been planning this for years, but he's wrong if he believes I'll let him get away with it.”

Mallory rested her chin on his chest. “John, I love you.”

When he smiled at her, she laughed.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“Your dimple. You have a secret dimple that every once in a great while pops out right here.” She traced the right corner of his mouth with her tongue.

Her actions excited him again and she squirmed when she felt his arousal pressed against her stomach.

She started to roll over onto her back, but he held her in place. “Let me teach you a new trick,”
he said softly, and then, lifting her up, seated her upon him.

“Oh, John,” Mallory whispered, “I love this trick.”

 

An inner voice woke John in the wee hours of the morning. He started to roll over and return to sleep, but the voice was persistent. It echoed his words spoken earlier:
Where would be the last place you would look for him
?

Mallory's voice intruded into his thoughts. “John, are you awake?”

“Yes.” He snuggled her close to him.

“I find myself wondering about the new owner of Craige Castle,” Mallory said. “In her letter, Mother said no one has seen him. He stays to himself. I can only hope he takes care of the tenants.”

John nodded—and then was struck by her words. “You said the new owner stays to himself.”

“Ummm-hmmm.” She was already starting to drift back to sleep. “Mother is worried about her furniture. She claims the new owner smokes and takes snuff. She probably fears he will leave burn marks on the tables. We shall have to teach her, John, that there is a good life beyond Craige Castle.”

John sat back, stunned by what he was thinking. “No, Louis wouldn't.

“Wouldn't what?” Mallory asked, turning over to look at him.

“Craige Castle,” John answered.

“Excuse me?”

John rose from the bed. “Louis is at Craige Castle.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am completely serious. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I know I'm right. It's the only place he could be.” He lifted Mallory from the bed and gave her a big kiss. “We've solved the mystery, Mallory. We're going to recover our fortune!”

A
fter church that morning, John joined Lord Woodruff in his study and told him they would be leaving that very day. Woodruff did not take the news well.

“What shall I do? Who will take care of me?” he asked, pouring himself a very full glass of wine.

Mallory was struck with the observation that during the harvest, when Lord Woodruff hadn't been hiding away in his study, he'd actually drunk very little wine. Now the man was back to his old habits.

“Who will manage Cardiff Hall?” he continued. “What will I say to Tyndale?”

“The man to manage Cardiff Hall is Freddie
Hanson,” John said. “He's living in the steward's quarters as it is and he's finishing the reports for Tyndale. I took the liberty of speaking to him this morning. He'll do the job but expects you to pay him well. I believe he's worth the money. As for Tyndale, you don't need to say anything. He has no idea who I am.”

Lord Woodruff scratched his chin with an ink-stained finger. “Then that whole story about your being robbed and all was a hoax?”

“Not exactly,” John said grimly, but didn't elaborate.

Mallory found that the hardest people to say farewell to were Mrs. Irongate and Mrs. Watkins. She'd told them their full story.

“A Viscountess!” Mrs. Irongate exclaimed, as she hugged Mallory good-bye.

“Oh, now, dry your tears, Lydia,” Mrs. Watkins said. “We should have known something was up the minute we saw the ring he placed on her finger last night.”

“Oh, but Emma,” Mrs. Irongate said, “think of the things we've said to Mrs. Dawson—I mean, our lady…” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh no, that's not right.”

“The Viscountess,” Mrs. Watkins supplied for her.

“Yes,” Mrs. Irongate agreed, bobbing a curtsey. “The Viscountess.” Fresh tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. “It's so romantic. You looked beautiful, dear, in the yellow gown last night. Just like a true lady.”

Mallory left the two women crying and waving
their farewells from the kitchen door. John had received Lord Woodruff's permission to borrow his coach, which was still hitched to the horses after the ride to church, and they'd packed what little clothing and personal items they had in the hamper. Freddie Hanson was going to drive them to Horsham, where they would hire another coach. John was hoping to meet Roger on the road. If not, he would send a message directly to Major Peterson from the Horsham posting inn.

While he was busy, Mallory took a moment to return to the cottage. It looked so forlorn and empty now…

She walked through the open front door and stood in the middle of the room. The mattress was bare since she'd returned the sheets and coverlet to Mrs. Irongate. The smoke stains on the whitewashed walls were more noticeable now, and she missed the smell of fresh baked bread that had already disappeared from the room.

This cottage had been their first home, and she realized she was going to miss it.

“Are you ready to go?” John said from the doorway. He stepped inside. “Mallory, you're crying. What's wrong?” He wiped several big, fat tears from her eyes with his thumbs.

Mallory threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. “I love you so…but I'm afraid. What if we leave here and you find you don't love me as much as you've loved me here?”

He pulled her away so that he could look in her eyes. “Mallory, I will always love you. I love your intelligence, your wit, the way you laugh, and the way you cry.” He brushed another tear away.
“But most of all, I love your courage…and that in my darkest hour, you stood beside me. You're everything any man could ever want in a wife, whether he's living in a small cottage or in a grand castle.”

He kissed her then—and by the time he was done, Mallory could barely stand on her own two legs, let alone doubt his love.

Fifteen minutes later, they set out in Lord Woodruff's coach to meet their fate at Craige Castle.

 

They met Roger on the road outside Cardiff Hall and John sent him back with a message for Major Peterson to meet them in Chelmsford, a point halfway between London and Craige Castle, as soon as he was able.

In Horsham, Hanson bade them godspeed and good luck, then drove the aged coach back to Cardiff Hall. John hired a driver and a sleek, well-sprung coach pulled by a spirited team.

“We might as well travel in style,” he told Mallory, as he knocked on the roof, a signal for the driver to start.

“We'll be on the road for days. What shall we do with our time?” Mallory asked, disappointed to be leaving on a Sunday rather than on a day of the week, when the shops were open. She would have appreciated a book or small game of some kind to while away the hours to Craige Castle.

“Oh, I imagine I can think of ways to keep you entertained,” John said, with a suggestive smile.

“Entertained? How?” she asked.

John pulled the shade down over the coach
windows and kept her very well entertained, indeed.

 

They spend the nights at coaching houses. Major Peterson was waiting for them in Chelmsford with five hired men.

Mallory knew John would prefer to be riding with the men, but he stayed in the coach with her. She felt guilty.

“You'd make better time if you rode with Major Peterson and left me behind,” she said.

“Louis will be there no matter when we arrive,” he told her.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he thinks we've left the country…and because my uncle obviously believes I'm stupid.” John smiled. “I can't wait to see the expression on his face when I walk through the front door.”

It took them another day's travel from Chelmsford to East Anglia. Both John and Mallory had grown more quiet, the closer they'd come to their destination.

Mallory stared at the passing scenery, watching it become more and more familiar. Finally, she gathered her courage and turned to her husband. She touched his hand resting on the seat between them. “John, I'd like to see my mother before we go to Craige Castle.”

He frowned at her. “She's with your squire, isn't she?”

Mallory slid across the seat to him. “He's no longer
my
squire, but yes, I need to see him, too.” She covered his mouth with her fingers to stop
the protest he was about to make. “John, do I have any reason to be jealous of other women in your life?”

He leaned away from her as if he knew where this conversation was leading and didn't like it one bit. “Of course not.”

“Then you have no need to be jealous of Hal. But I do owe him an explanation, and my mother as well, about what has happened. I must do it now, John. It won't get any easier the longer I wait. Furthermore, Hal is the Magistrate. He can help us, but first I must face him.”

He pressed a kiss against her finger and then stuck his head out the window, shouting for the coachman to pull up. “You will need to give the coachman directions to Squire Thomas's home.”

 

They pulled up the drive of Squire Thomas's home several hours before dark.

John was impressed. The rambling country house was larger than Cardiff Hall and showed more signs of prosperity. The cobbles in the drive were fresh and new. A manservant opened the front door to greet the visitors. His eyes went wide when he saw Mallory, and he rushed out to help her from the coach.

A minute later, Lady Craige and a gentleman came hurrying out to greet her.

Mallory squeezed John's hand. “Please, give me a few moments alone with them.”

John was not happy, but she didn't wait for his consent. Instead, she walked forward to hug her mother.

Lady Craige was much the way John remem
bered her. Mallory had told him that her mother had donned black at her father's death and never taken it off. She was a touch shorter than Mallory, and though they had the same coloring and similar features, Lady Craige lacked the alertness and directness in her gaze that John so admired in his wife.

Hal Thomas was a complete surprise.

Far from being a pudgy, balding, self-important squire, the man was almost as tall as John himself. He had the wavy black hair women so often found attractive and that John wanted to dismiss as effeminate. But what was truly disconcerting to John was that Thomas had something that John had envied all his life, a look and air of respectability, of good family and fine breeding. No scandal had ever touched this man's name—and it said a great deal about the depth of Thomas's affection for Mallory that he would be willing to marry a divorced woman.

Thomas ignored John's presence while Lady Craige scowled fiercely at him, then the three of them went into the house. John watched them walk away: Lady Craige in her black, Thomas in his well-cut jacket and shining boots, and Mallory in the lovely yellow dress she'd worn the night of the harvest home. She and Thomas made a handsome couple—and John hated the thought.

After three minutes of waiting, he was tempted to enter the house, throw Mallory over his shoulder, and ride off with her. Instead, he cooled his heels pacing up and down the drive.

Peterson and the other men had watched the homecoming silently. Now Peterson approached
him. “I believe we'll travel up the road a bit to a posting house in search of fresh horses. Do you wish to accompany us, or should we bring you back a mount?”

“Bring it back,” John said curtly.

Peterson smiled. He tried to cover it with his hand, but John caught sight of it. “What is so amusing?” he growled.

“You,” Peterson said. “I never thought I'd see the day you were in love.”

John didn't deny it. “She's my life.”

Peterson laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. “I'm happy for you.”

“Well, let's just hope I can keep her.”

“Craige, she's mad for you. No other woman would have gone through what she has the past several weeks if she wasn't in love.”

John stared at Thomas's front door. “I believe that, but he can offer her so much more.”

“John, don't be a jealous fool. Your lady loves you.”

Peterson left with the others. John resumed his pacing.

It seemed like hours before the door opened and Mallory came out. Lady Craige and Thomas followed her, their expressions grim.

John had been leaning against the coach, and he now pushed away. He searched her face, afraid to see some change in her feelings toward him mirrored there.

Mallory crossed the cobblestone drive, and with a reassuring smile, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Mother, you remember John.”

“I do.” Lady Craige's voice could have frozen the Thames.

“It's good to see you again, my lady,” John answered, and made a courteous bow. He knew better than to move closer to her.

“And this is Hal Thomas, who has been a very good friend to my mother and myself.”

John could tell from the man's rigid stance that he wasn't any happier about Mallory's choice than Lady Craige was. Therefore, John was surprised when Thomas stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Congratulations, Craige,” the squire said.

Releasing Mallory's hold, John took the few steps necessary to shake the man's hand. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, the next thing John knew, he was knocked flat to the ground by the power of a left fist.

Stars flashed before his eyes as Mallory cried out in alarm. John shook his head and raised himself up on one elbow. He gingerly moved his jaw back and forth to be sure it wasn't broken.

Mallory had dropped to her knees beside him, but John held up a hand to ward her back. He looked up at Thomas. “You throw a strong left punch.”

“So I've been told,” came the calm reply. The squire offered his hand to help John up.

Accepting his offered hand, John said, “I suppose that was for Mallory.”

“Aye, and for the seven years you left her alone.”

“Well, I deserved the punch.” He held out his hand.

Thomas took it. “You won this time, but don't ever mistreat her, Craige, for I'll be there to sweep her up if you do. I shouldn't have lost her this time.”

“There will be no next time,” John promised.

Thomas turned to include the women in their conversation. “Let's go inside then and see what we can do about bringing this uncle of yours to justice.”

 

The plan they made was simple. They formed a party of ten mounted men, which included some of Thomas's servants, and rode straight into the confines of Craige Castle. Mallory was unhappy to be left behind, but neither John or Hal wished to risk her life.

It was a dark, misty night with heavy fog, and no one challenged them until they were inside the old courtyard past the rebuilt stone walls. There, three rough-looking characters were huddled under the eaves, trying to stay dry. They carried rifles.

Without waiting for the others, John dismounted and walked right up them. “Good evening to you, gentlemen.”

The largest of the group blocked his path. “We don't like visitors here,” the man said in the unmistakable accent of a Thames arkman.

Now John was sure Louis was here. He didn't waste time, but jabbed the man in the gut and then knocked him out cold with a blow to his jaw.

The other two men started for him, but Peterson's voice stopped them in their tracks. “I've got a brace of pistols trained on each of you. You'd best put down your weapons.”

The men quickly complied.

While one of Thomas's servants tied them up, the squire said to John, “You don't plant such a bad facer yourself.”

“You'd be wise to remember that.”

Thomas laughed. “What I don't understand is why you would take on an armed man with nothing but your fists.”

“I was gambling his powder wasn't dry,” John answered, and then led the way into Craige Castle.

They found Louis Barron dining alone in the great hall. John motioned for the other men to stay back in the shadows while he stepped for ward.