His Christmas Pleasure (22 page)

Abby turned, surprised. His face was inches from hers.

Too late, she remembered she’d been pretending to sleep. He’d caught her.

His lips curved into a devilish grin and then came down to claim hers.

No one had ever sacrificed so much for Andres. And it made him love her more.

He couldn’t tell her that. Words were a poor substitute for what he truly felt.

Besides, he’d used words before and had discovered they meant little. But Abby was his. No husband, no lover, no one lurked in the shadows waiting to claim her. In a short amount of time, he had come to know her in a way he’d never known another—and she’d freed him. The guilt he’d carried with him was gone. It had vanished the moment she’d put her trust in him. She was his dove, his madonna.

He knew she had doubts. She should. But he would never fail her. That was his vow, a vow he pledged with his kiss.

Abby was ready for him. He’d known she would be. Her heart had been confused and uncertain. He’d lain beside her, waiting for the moment when she’d give up this pretense of sleeping and open to him the way a wife should. Even an uncertain one.

Because here was a way he could prove what she meant to him.

Andres began undressing her. All these clothes had been her armor against what she feared was foolishness.

It wasn’t. She was strong when he was weak; he was strong when she had fear. This had become the pattern between them from the moment they’d met, and he realized it was a blessing—

He became aware that Abby was attempting to break the kiss. He looked down at her in his arms. Feeling a tenderness he’d never known, he whispered, “What is it?”

He had her clothes down over her shoulders, her breast still covered.

She stared up to him, her eyes reflecting the flames in the fire. A small frown line had formed between her eyes. She didn’t speak, but he understood.

“It is hopeless,” he answered her unspoken question. “It has been from the moment our paths crossed.” He placed a kiss on that frown line, laying his hand over her heart, feeling her nipple harden against his palm.

His lips sought and found hers. Slowly, intently, he undressed her. And then he made love to her.

He took her in his arms and buried himself deep, savoring the way she always smelled like fresh flowers and reveling in the texture of her.

Some women controlled their emotions. Abby was not one of them. As she did in all aspects of her life, she gave herself completely to passion. Andres had never experienced a woman who so satisfied him. It was as if they were parts of the same soul.

And this night, as his seed found her heat, as he released himself in the most satisfying, shattering moment of fulfillment, he knew she had been what he’d been searching for in his life.

She was his treasure.

Abby cried out his name. Her legs encircled him, drawing him closer, deeper.

They held each other and he never wanted to let her go.

He felt the tension leave her. Her solemn eyes opened, studying him. Even in the firelight, he could see the deep circles beneath them.

“Sleep,” he ordered softly. “Tomorrow you may worry.” He slid off her and gathered her close. He was exhausted, but he’d not close his eyes until she closed hers.

Her back rested against his chest, her body nestled in his.

It was a long time before he finally felt her find peace.

Abby waited at a small inn in Corbridge while Andres took her jewelry to Newcastle.

She used her morning to visit several local shops and introduce herself. To her surprise, many knew that a Spanish barón now owned Stonemoor. She didn’t correct their impression of Andres’s title, though she didn’t claim it either. The truth was, she didn’t know where to go with it. Continuing with the ruse seemed productive for now. After all, what worth was there to a Spanish title in England? Her “Ladyship” was really more a courtesy than anything else. And now that revolutions and wars had flooded Britain with émigrés, who knew how many others also pretended?

Her innate practicality decided it would be best to not waste time explaining but to allow people to believe what they wished.

She managed to meet a local crofter whose wife was reputed to be a good housekeeper. The cook at the inn where she waited for Andres approached her about going into service at Stonemoor, and a number of young men took a moment to politely inquire if they were hiring.

All in all, it was a productive day.

But Andres’s was more successful. He received three hundred and forty-five pounds for her jewelry. The pearls had fetched the highest price.

And he’d returned not on the Mail but driving a wagon loaded with furniture. He pulled to a stop in front of the inn and hopped down to give her a bow. “I have a bed. And a table and chairs.”

Abby walked to the back of the wagon to inspect the furniture. It was old-fashioned but well constructed and would match the style of their house.

“How did you find this?”

“The jeweler knew a man who wished to rid himself of this furniture. I bought it for a very good price.”

“You have a shopkeeper’s soul,” she said and didn’t mean it as an insult.

He didn’t take it as one but grinned his pleasure at her compliment.

Three hundred and forty-five pounds. Abby sat next to him on the wagon, and they discussed how they would manage this small fortune. The amount would be a pittance to live on for three years in London, but they thought they could manage quite well in the north.

That night, they made love in the bed.

The mattress turned out to be very comfortable.

For the first time in her life, Abby was truly busy. Nothing she’d ever experienced compared to life at Stonemoor—and she relished every single moment.

Within two weeks, she’d hired maids and made the house relatively inhabitable. There was still much for the workmen to do, but once the windows were repaired, the house became livable.

Andres spent his time working on his beloved stables. The horses, tools, and equipment he’d ordered from London arrived at the end of their first week.

Abby had been anxious about how they would pay for it all. Growing up, she’d been protected from the bills and daily chores of a household.

Andres didn’t protect her. He answered her questions and she admired the way he skillfully dealt with their creditors. Her husband had the gift of a golden tongue. He convinced the stable owner who had delivered the two horses to accept partial payment with the promise of full payment in six months’ time.

Over the course of that first week, her husband’s dream became hers as well.

She started to picture the gardens at Stonemoor as vibrant with roses and irises, even though they were full of brown, straggly weeds. She hired some boys to clear out those weeds and turn over the soil. A group of men repaired the drive, and Abby herself repainted the sign.

Two important events lifted Abby’s spirits. The first was when trunks of her clothes arrived from London. Her mother had sent them to her along with a note praying that Abby was well. She’d also packed linens, fine milled soaps, sachets, and a journal of housekeeping hints that she had thoughtfully written out.

This told Abby that although her parents might not be pleased with her decision, they hadn’t truly cut her off.

She sat down and wrote her mother a long letter about the goings-on at Stonemoor. When she was done, she surprised herself with how much she’d had to share. In fact, her life before Stonemoor seemed shallow and empty when compared with how she now spent her hours.

The other important event was the day Destinada arrived. This was the Andalusian mare Andres had convinced the duke of Holburn to buy and cover with his prized Thoroughbred.

Abby had never seen a more beautiful horse—or met a kinder one. The mare was snowy white, and her mane and tail were like silk. The mare was in foal but appeared pleased with her state and with the stall Andres and his grooms had labored to prepare.

For the first time, Abby bonded with an animal. Because they’d lived in town, her parents had not wanted animals. Abby was charmed by how this horse knew her. Every morning after her tea and before the start of her day, Abby would pay Destinada a visit. Once, she was late going to the stables and Destinada waited by her paddock gate, flicking her tail with impatience for Abby to appear.

The other horses liked Abby, too. Andres did not believe in treats, but Abby always had a little something to share with them—and with the barn cat.

The cat had shown up one day during their second week. Abby had caught Andres sneaking food to him. The cat was not like one of Mrs. Rivers’s fat tabbies; he was a scrappy-looking thing that was all skin and bone.

Andres had immediately apologized for keeping the cat when he’d known she hadn’t been able to tolerate them, but Abby hadn’t had the heart to send the kitty away. And the truth be told, the cat hadn’t made her eyes water …

perhaps because she’d only seen him out in the barn.

Whatever the reason, within his first three days of taking up residence at Stonemoor, he killed a huge, fat rat, and not another was ever found there again. Andres named him Pedro. The name made Abby laugh, especially since Pedro followed Andres around the stables like a faithful dog.

Abby’s favorite time was in the evening, when she and Andres would make their plans for the next day. Usually this was after they’d made love. She’d lie in his arms and they’d talk about anything and everything.

Andres teased about the flock of ducks and geese they would purchase once the weather was warmer. And there would be a cow, he promised, and they would make their own cheese instead of purchasing it from the neighbors.

Abby had plans for the gardens. She’d lived all her life in town and had not watched anything but flowers grow. However, Cook’s insistence on an herb and vegetable garden had sparked Abby’s curiosity.

Her husband predicted she was becoming a farmer’s wife, and the thought filled her with a deep satisfaction. He was happy, too. And in that way, with the sharing of dreams and plans, they’d fall asleep.

The days grew shorter. There was talk of Christmas. It was not far away, and it was a time of family and friends.

Abby and Andres started attending services at St. Andrew’s Anglican church in Corbridge. Faith was important to her. The first time he took her, Abby worried a bit about how Andres would feel inside such a church, but he acted completely relaxed and seemed to enjoy the services.

Afterward, the warden, a Mr. Gardner, introduced them to all the local gentry. They were soon flooded with invitations for dinner. A good number of locals were also interested in Destinada’s foal when it was born. Andres told Abby he was surprised. He had not thought there would be such enthusiasm this far north for the Andalusian breed, but he and Abby soon discovered the gentry were a well-heeled lot. Newcastle-Upon-Tyne was a bustling harbor town. Its residents seemed more aware of the world beyond England’s shores than the Londoners had been.

Furthermore, country women didn’t hesitate to call on each other. Their calls had more to do with the need for company than an interest in social status. Yes, there were a few who preened and carried on, but most of the women were open and honest. Abby began making friends. She soon started driving the pony cart Andres had purchased for her, paying return calls. She was finding her neighbors to have a wealth of knowledge about gardening and housekeeping.

Many of the local homes had very rich furnishings. From Celeste Higgins, Lady Landsdowne, Abby learned where to buy thick India carpets to cover Stonemoor’s floors at a quarter of the price such goods would cost in London. However, Abby turned her nose up at china and porcelains and set her table with local pottery. To her surprise, her neighbors followed suit.

Around the middle of December, Andres and Abby hosted a dinner party to thank their new friends for so generously including them in the local society.

They didn’t have the rooms for the guests to spend the night so they held the party in the middle of the day.

Following a Christmas tradition from Spain, Andres built a fire—a Hogueras, he called it. Their guests were from all levels of Corbridge society, from the church warden and priest to the squire and Lord and Lady Landsdowne. They gathered around the Hogueras, drinking wassail, made from the recipe in the journal Abby’s mother had sent, and enjoying themselves—until Andres informed them of the rest of the tradition. As a guard against illness, the men were called upon to jump the Hogueras.

No Englishman with a bit of punch in him could resist such a challenge.

Andres went first, demonstrating his Spanish prowess and almost burning his breeches—but he did gain good health for him and Abby for the new year, or so he claimed. Many attempted to follow suit, to great hilarity. The affair was an enormous success.

The following Sunday, when Abby and Andres walked into St. Andrew’s church, she felt part of a large, welcoming community and there by her own right.

Abby had never been popular. She’d always lived under the shadow of her uncle, the duke of Banfield, and her much prettier cousins. At Stonemoor, she was the mistress. There was no one else to compare her to. Nor did the friendly, good-hearted people of Corbridge seem to wonder why a man as handsome as her husband was with her—until a few days later, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and noticed she was changing.

They were to be guests of Jonathan and Celeste, Lord and Lady Landsdowne, for dinner that evening. Celeste had begged them to come. Their house would be overflowing with her relatives, and she’d sworn it was always deadly dull. She wanted Andres to build a Hogueras for them and teach her guests how to jump over it. She claimed their relatives were all dreary and boring and needed some enlivening.

Abby was taking a moment to decide what she wished to wear and what needed to be packed, when her reflection caught her by surprise. In truth, her days were so busy that there was little time to primp. She rarely even glanced at herself.

Now she leaned close to the mirror, uncertain if her eyes deceived her. But it was true. Her marriage had given her confidence. New maturity and happiness showed in her face. She’d grown softer. Her eyes were alive with purpose, and she’d lost the petulant lines around her mouth.