Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1) Read online

  His impulsive, oddly intimate caress moved her. “Grey, if you would just give him the chance—”

  He brushed his thumb over her lips, stilling them. Then, startled at the touch, he stopped, his silver eyes playing over her. “Is Emily asleep?”

  Say yes! For God’s sake, at least save yourself till the morning.

  “I don’t think so. I just tucked her in.”

  “All right. I’ll look in on her first. Perhaps in the morning we’ll go for a ride.”

  “Grey …”

  “Yes?”

  After a moment, she shook her head. “Good night.”

  Then she was inside her room and he was gone, leaving her to her dread. But she was right, she reminded herself. It was best for everyone, Grey included. As she slipped out of her robe and into the cool sheets, she repeated it again.

  As the minutes passed, she slowly relaxed. She had done the right thing, she was sure of it. Both Emily and Thomas were happy now.

  Her door abruptly swung open, and dread returned as he entered. Fierce anger flashed in his eyes, in the unforgiving set of his jaw, in his leashed strength as he quietly closed the door behind him.

  “Why?” His voice shook with rage.

  “Grey—”

  “Why?” he rasped. “What would possess you to commit such a crime?”

  She was silent.

  He laughed sardonically. “Did you think she’d not mention it to me? That she could conceal what she believes to be the greatest joy of her life?”

  “Why would you consider her greatest joy a crime?”

  He moved to the window, bracing his hands against the frame as he stared out into the night. “You don’t know the first thing about it.”

  “I know more than you think.”

  “True enough,” he snapped, whirling abruptly. “You’ve consorted with the scoundrel.”

  “Consorted? I’m on your side!”

  “I’ll not have Emily hurt,” he whispered. “And with that man in her life, pain is inevitable.”

  “For her, or for you?”

  Resentment flashed in his eyes as he turned away from her. He sighed abruptly, and she saw the weary slump of his shoulders.

  “He regrets the pain he caused you. He didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t know? I informed him in rather plain terms.”

  “By the time he considered that you might be telling the truth, you were gone.”

  “More of his lies. Spoken to convince the foolish of his spotless character, to further his own political ambitions.”

  “Neither Jennie nor I can vote.”

  “He desired something in Jennie that had nothing to do with politics. Something that his money could buy.”

  “Grey, aren’t you tired? It’s so much wasted energy, wasted life. All spent creating cause to hate a man who loves you.”

  He swung around, and his raw, frightened pain pierced her. He grabbed her arms, shaking her with scarcely constrained rage. “How can you say such a thing? You know nothing about him.”

  “Nothin’, you hear me? You didn’t see nothin’, you don’t know nothin’, and you damn sure better not say nothin’.”

  Beefy hands clutched at her shoulders, shaking her. And suddenly it was no longer Grey’s face that she saw, nor a candlelit eighteenth-century bedroom that surrounded her. The man was bearded, and sweat streamed down his ruddy face. A foul odor arose from him. He wore a filthy t-shirt, and she glimpsed a tattoo on his cheekbone, in the shape of a crescent moon. The air surrounding her was still and hot.

  “You keep quiet and you’ll do just fine. You hear me? Open your damned trap and you’ll all end up just like them two.”

  What two? She tried to see, but everything was a vague, indistinct shadow. A little girl cowered behind her, her arms banded tight around Rachel’s waist in a vise-like grip. She was softly sobbing Rachel’s name, alternately with two other words.

  Mommy. Daddy.

  She held a doll in her arms—no, a baby. She buried her face against the pink blanket, hanging on to her as the man shook Rachel. Hold her head, sweetheart. Rachel tightened her arm around the baby’s head. The baby was screaming, and Mama said when she cried, she needed a bottle. Rachel stared at the man, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Those empty, painful sobs ripped at her breast until she couldn’t breathe.

  And then, they were walking. Endless walking, until she no longer felt the pain in her feet. Walking through thick brambles, through dry creek beds. Night came, and they picked wild berries and ate them, the way they used to with Mama. They all cried for mama. The baby wasn’t old enough to know that Mama was what she was crying for, but she was, all the same. But she knew they wouldn’t ever see Mama again.

  Why?

  Then came endlessly patient hands. The soft white hands that reached for Julie.

  No!

  Those patient hands calmly patted her shoulders, assuring her that everything would be fine. Once more the hands tried to insinuate themselves between Rachel and the baby. Mama was gone. Daddy was gone. Now, they were trying to take her sisters.

  The hands became beefy fists that grasped something she couldn’t quite see. She screamed endlessly. And once more the fists transformed themselves into soft, patient hands that effortlessly removed Julie from Rachel’s arms.

  Noooooo!!

  The word burned in her throat, but she couldn’t say it. If she spoke, those hands would do something terrible to her sisters. And so her lungs contained the word, her voice swallowed it, and she withdrew into a peaceful place of silence.

  “Rachel!”

  Grey’s face focused in her eyes, and she gasped for breath. Her face was wet with tears at what she’d seen, and in fear of what she hadn’t seen.

  His eyes softened with concern to a deep, dark gray, and his hand was gentle on her cheek. He lifted her in his arms and sat in an upholstered rocker, cradling her in his lap. “Hush now.”

  She wept softly, whispering, “Please don’t leave me.”

  “No.”

  He tucked her face against his throat, and she smelled the sweet, fresh scent of him. She heard the quiet, even breaths he drew, felt the comforting strength of him as he stroked her. His hands were gentle and steady, moving over her with calm reassurance. “Rachel, forgive me.”

  She felt suddenly shy, aware of his warmth and hardness, his soothing gentleness as he held her. “I’ll never forgive myself—”

  “No,” she gulped. “It isn’t you. I—did I say anything, just then?”

  He looked at her with a tender sadness. “You tried to speak. You only stared at me in terror, as if I were a demon. You didn’t hear me trying to wake you. You began to weep—making no noise whatsoever—and then you screamed.”

  The awful image of the strange man flashed again in her memory.

  “What was it? What did you remember?”

  “A man—shaking me. Threatening me.”

  His jaw was taut with rage. “What did he do to you, Rachel?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was holding a baby—my sister. All I could think was, don’t drop the baby.”

  He cradled her against him, setting the rocker into a calming cadence. And as her fear slowly passed, she grew aware of the blatant sexual strength of him, beyond his gentle comfort.

  “Forgive me, dearest. I’ll never lift an angry hand against you.”

  “It was wrong of me to take Emily to meet him without you.”

  He awkwardly wiped at the tears on her cheek. “It’s wrong of me to keep her away from him. She shouldn’t pay for his sins. He should, if he were aware of any.”

  “Grey, he knows his sins. And he’s trying to make them right.”

  “He can’t replace with Emily what we lost, he and I.” His voice was quiet.

  “Don’t you see? Emily is the only way he can capture what he has left with you.” She touched his grim jaw. “I can’t heal the hurt he’s caused you. I can’t ask your forgiveness for him. Only h
e can do those things. If I was wrong in taking her there, it was only because … I see you’re in pain. And because …” She hesitated, then finished helplessly, “your happiness is important to me.”

  He gazed quizzically at her. His hand cupped her chin, lifting it slightly. “Are you an angel from heaven, delivered as my salvation?”

  She smiled wryly. “I’m no angel.”

  “Yet you rescued a lonely little girl, giving her the mother’s love she’d always craved. And you would rescue me … from myself.”

  “I—”

  How can I rescue anyone … when I don’t know the first thing about myself?

  Her hand trembled as she touched his hand, lifting it to her lips. For Rachel—who had never let anyone past the barricade she’d erected twenty years before—the chaste kiss was an act of daring and nearly impossible trust. Only then did she become aware that she lay in Grey’s arms wearing only a gossamer-thin shift. He’d thought only to comfort her, but now sudden arousal grew within her at the sensation of his warmth against her. She wished she knew anything at all about how a woman went about seducing a man.

  Trembling fingers grazed his cheekbone, and she saw the grim seriousness in his gaze as it moved over her face. His fingers lightly skimmed her lips, and she opened her mouth, tasting the clean sweetness of his skin, feeling the crisscross scars of honest work on his fingertips. Her teeth gently closed over the pad of his finger, and her tongue lingered.

  “Rachel. How can I make you understand how little I can offer you—” His troubled eyes moved over her as his strong, lean fingers slowly curved along her throat, and his deep voice had fallen to a plea. “And how much I want of you?”

  He lowered his lips to hers, and she tasted his indecision. Boldly, she opened her mouth to his, and he pulled her closer as his kiss grew urgent. He drew her in with the arm underneath her head, his other hand gliding to her hips and clutching them against his hardness.

  Something within her crumbled at the alluring seduction of his tongue against hers, the undeniable intimacy of their embrace. He held her so close as he kissed her she felt his heartbeat pounding heavily, his hard arousal rising against her soft curves, his hands seemingly desperate to draw her into him. She’d never known anything like this, spiritual and sexual at once. Whoever they had been before melted as he claimed her, made her his, gave himself to her. His soft, dark hair was still faintly damp from his bath, and she effortlessly pushed away the ribbon, enjoying the feel of his hair between her fingers.

  Suddenly he pulled his mouth away from hers, and he sat still for several seconds. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Will you be all right now?”

  She inhaled deeply, desire still pulsing within her. She was shaken by the line they’d crossed tonight, by the truth she’d learned about herself—not only from the terrible memories of her childhood, but about the woman she had become. No longer was she sequestered in this time for her own safety, watching him from a safe distance. No longer was he merely a gentle man whose love for his daughter inspired Rachel’s finest memories. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly in a smile that was sensual and oddly innocent.

  “But—” she began, lifting her hand once more to touch his parted lips.

  He caught her hand and gave it a chaste kiss, a fatherly smile. Then he lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed.

  “Do you know,” she murmured, and she heard the huskiness of her voice, “I dreamed of you the first night I was here—before I even met you. It was like this. You held me… comforting me, and you carried me to a bed …” Embarrassed by her confession—directly after his rejection of her awkward seduction—she trailed away, omitting the worst of it. She could never tell him that in her dream, she’d been naked.

  His smile was mysterious as he lay her in the bed, lowering himself beside her. “If you’d like to ride with Emily in the morning, we usually get an early start.”

  “Thank you.”

  He loosened her hands from around his neck, dropping a warm kiss on her knuckles before releasing them. His hand grazed her throat, then trailed to her shoulder, and his eyes met hers as he slowly pulled the loose neckline of the shift aside, baring her shoulder and the rise of her breasts. His sleepy gaze rested on her breasts, and he noticed the tightening of her nipples against the thin shift. She ached at his leisured perusal, and a thrill shot through her as he lowered his mouth to the curve of her shoulder, tasting her skin.

  All at once, he gripped her shoulders and drew back, as if he feared he couldn’t do so in another minute. But his gaze was smiling as he kissed her forehead. “My troubled temptress … if I must be tormented with the memory that makes me lie awake, remembering each supple curve of the most intimate secrets of your body, it’s only fair that you are, too. I should tell you…”

  He rose, and her gaze moved down the magnificent length of him, ending at the hard, unmistakable thrust jutting against his breeches. She knew he saw her fascination—or perhaps he heard her soft sigh—for his gaze on her was turbulent, and the corner of his mouth quirked.

  “The night you speak of, when I held you, comforted you, carried you to my bed to warm you, felt the instinctive hunger of you as you shivered against my own naked flesh, as you reached for me, moved against me in trusting need—”

  She gasped as he described the details of her dream.

  His voice fell to a soft murmur as he opened the door. “Rachel, it was no dream.”

  As he closed the door behind him, her cheeks burned. Only much later, after he was gone and she lay awake remembering, did she understand how close she and Grey had been, from the first moment. He had held her gently, warming her against the cold. He had been given full access to her, yet he had merely cared for her, offering his body only to warm hers. The memory of her own awareness of his nakedness in the dream blended with the bold yearning in his touch just moments ago—the incomprehensible knowledge that he’d held her naked that first night, that the erotic images had really happened—all of it helped her understand the tenderness that had grown within her for this man.

  She no longer cared about how she had come to this place, and this time. She had now become inextricably intertwined with it, for she was in love with a man who existed in no other.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They rode out into a morning crisp and sweet with the aromas of the wild woods surrounding Rosalie. A blue tendril of hickory smoke escaped the smokehouse, and a young boy—no older than Emily—trudged out of the dairy lugging a full pail.

  “You ride well. Who taught you?”

  Grey’s question startled Rachel, and she noticed his scrutiny. He had taken only mild notice that she’d insisted on a standard saddle, rejecting the sidesaddle. “Max Sheppard.”

  “Papa,” Emily interrupted from her place across his lap. “Let’s call on Grandfather. He isn’t an odor at all.”

  His lips tightened. “No, Emily. And the word is ogre.”

  “But I promised him I would bring you.” Her small hands toyed with the ruffles at his throat. “And he is your father.”

  After a charged moment, he sighed. “That he is.”

  “Then he is my grandfather!” She patted his chest gleefully and went on in maddening logic. “And Jennie is my grandmother.”

  Rachel’s smile broadened at Grey’s scowl. Enough years had passed to soften his bitterness over the circumstance that he could at least admit wry humor. The child’s grandmother was younger than her father.

  “Papa, may Rachel stay, and be my mother?”

  Rachel’s face warmed at the lopsided grin he gave his daughter. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckled, pleased.

  Again she wondered what had happened to Emily’s mother. The child didn’t seem troubled by her memory—she’d never mentioned her—so she had assumed the woman died long ago, perhaps in childbirth. That happened frequently, Camisha had told her.

  “Yes,” Emily said with a decisive nod. �
��I think you should marry her—after all, she’s very pretty.”

  “That she is.” He spoke lightly, avoiding Rachel’s gaze.

  “Can a man have two wives at once?” Emily asked.

  The words echoed in Rachel’s ears. Surely she’d misunderstood the child. Emily had said, Can a man have two wives, or just one?

  She looked at him, frantic to hear him explain to Emily that her mother was dead, that he had no wife.

  “No, darling.” His stricken gaze on Rachel was dark with the impossible news. “And I’m afraid I already have one.”

  The nervous knot in Rachel’s stomach dissolved into nausea as she looked away, understanding his slow answer. He’d thought she knew. Her shock and disappointment must have shown in her face.

  “Oh, dear,” Emily said sorrowfully. “You like my papa.”

  Dear God! If the child saw through her so easily, Grey surely had. She remembered his restraint the night before, when—for the first time in her life—she’d actually wanted a man, and her humiliation was complete—and unbearable.

  But for Emily who waited, concerned that she’d hurt her—Rachel, whom she’d just said she preferred over her own mother—she smiled brightly.

  What must things have been like in this poor child’s life, for her to matter-of-fact acknowledge that while her father was married, she herself needed a mother? The thought broke her heart for the bright little girl.

  “Of course I like your father, darling,” She smiled brightly, her words buzzing in her own ears.

  She felt his gaze on her, and she forced herself to focus on the narrow path they traveled through the thicket.

  “But Lady Windmere lives in London,” he went on, “and Rachel is here with us. And you’re as fond of her as I am, and I am very fond indeed.”

  His patronizing reassurance meant nothing. Their conversation went on, but Rachel heard nothing. The crisp spring morning had grown warm, but she was deadened to sensation.

  “In truth,” Grey said softly, apparently answering a question that Emily had posed, “I don’t know what lure London could hold for anyone, and certainly not you. Rosalie is here. Hastings is here. Miss Sheppard is here,” he finished softly.