…
Harriet woke up to a myriad of sensations, the first being the warm, solid band wrapped around her waist. Pain radiated from her ankle, and she shifted, bringing her further into contact with the solid wall behind her.
The wall that was her husband. She had dreamed that he sat at her bedside, looking haggard and worried. Then another dream of pressing kisses to her face. She'd considered them an effect of the laudanum the doctor had given her. But he was here, in the bed with her. It was the first time he'd ever stayed through the night.
His lips brushed against her ear. "How is your pain this morning?"
Was it morning? Darkness still permeated the room, and she saw no sign of the sun rising at the edges of the closed drapes.
"Bearable," she said. It was likely the laudanum, but she'd slept better last night than she had in weeks. And to have awoken with her husband wrapped around her, she couldn't prevent the slow smile if she tried.
"Christ, Harriet, when I found you at the bottom of the stairs"-his voice trembled-"I was terrified. I thought I'd lost you and then … " He nuzzled her neck. "I worried that your leg, that you would-"
"I know." He had worried she'd be permanently injured the way he was. "Will you tell me about how that happened?"
He was quiet for several moments before he finally spoke. "After my father died, the solicitor came and spoke to me. We had lost everything. More than that, we owed so many people." His hot breath feathered against her neck. "My father's failed investments had taken from other families as well. It was up to me to put everything back to right."
She wanted to correct him, to remind him that his father's sins were not his own, but she didn't want him to stop talking.
"I sold everything. Everything save Brookhaven. That I couldn't bear to part with. I used the monies from the rest of the sales to pay off our debts, invested a portion, and used the rest to begin repairing the estate. It was in shambles. The roof leaked, the rooms were drafty and damp." He moved his hand idly over her hip and thigh. "I was up on scaffolding, repairing a leak, and I fell."
She gasped. She knew it was coming, knew something dreadful had happened, but having been to Brookhaven and seeing how high the ceilings were … It was a mercy he hadn't been killed. "Oliver, you could have died."
"I broke my femur, and the doctor couldn't set it correctly. He said I should be thankful that I hadn't broken my spine, that I'd eventually be able to walk, but I'd be limited with that leg." He hugged her tightly. "My sweet Harriet, when I saw you lying in a heap at the bottom of those stairs … "
She lifted his hand to her lips.
He kissed the back of her neck, moved his other hand up to cup her breast, knead the tender flesh.
She pushed herself back into him, his hardened length pressed against her bottom. He reached between her thighs, slipped a finger inside her.
Yes, this was how he knew to love her. She didn't need the words, she told herself. She could love enough for them both, as long as he stayed by her side and made her feel such pleasure.
"Shift yourself this way for me, love." He moved her top leg over so it bent slightly and pressed into the mattress. Then he slid himself inside her. She cried out.
"You're so deep," she said.
"Too much?"
"No, 'tis good. Just unexpected."
"I didn't want to hurt your ankle." He kissed her neck, nibbled on her shoulders. "From this position, I can touch you everywhere." He proved it by flicking his finger across her nipple. She hissed between her teeth and ground herself against him.
He picked up speed, thrusting into her faster, harder. She reached behind her and put her hand on his thigh, reveling in the muscles that played beneath her palm as he pumped their bodies.
His fingers brushed against her center, reaching the tight bundle of nerves hidden within her folds. On the second touch, she splintered, pleasure washing over her. He climaxed a second later, pulling her tight against him as they rode the waves together.
…
The next time she woke up, she was alone. She hated the emptiness the feeling left her with. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, leaned against the pillows at the back of the bed. Then she rang the bell that sat on the bedside table.
The maid popped her head in with a smile at the ready. She bobbed. "Yes, my lady?"
"I think I should like some breakfast."
The girl nodded, then disappeared.
The doctor had instructed Harriet to stay off her ankle as much as possible over the next few days so that it healed more quickly. She shifted her ankle some to see which direction hurt most when she moved it. Her body ached in other places, too; ugly bruises likely marred her pale skin, but the ankle was the worst.
The door opened again, but this time Oliver came in, carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods. He brought it over and set it on the bed next to her. The spot where he'd slept, at least most of the night.
He smiled at her before plucking a berry off the plate and holding it to her mouth.
"How is your pain now, wife?"
"Tolerable. I don't want to take any more laudanum unless I absolutely have to. I loathe the way it makes me feel."
He nodded. "That is understandable. I cannot even bide the smell anymore." He pointed to the tray. "Eat."
She did as he bade, enjoying every morsel he'd brought her.
"When you're feeling up to it, I'd like to take you somewhere. I want to show you something."
She bit into her last berry. "Please, I would love to go somewhere, but I believe the doctor wants me to stay off my ankle for a few more days. Can it wait?"
"This, no, it cannot wait. I have a solution, though." He disappeared into the hall, then came back in a moment later pushing a wheelchair. "I thought we had thrown this out after I was finished using it. But my mother saves everything, as it were."
She sat up farther and smiled at him. Oh, how she loved him. His beautiful face and even more beautiful heart. He helped her stand on her good leg and twist so she could fall back into the chair. Then he rolled her out of her bedchamber and down the corridor.
"Do you remember the night our mothers tried to make a match between us?" he asked.
"I do. I was so nervous, I chattered on about nothingness. No wonder you were in a hurry to rid yourself of me."
"Nonsense. Yes, you talked. A lot." He chuckled. "Still I thought you were beautiful, and your exquisite curves were almost enticing enough to forgo my personal agenda of earning back my family's fortune on my own." He rolled her to the opposite end of the floor. "You asked me to walk you through the portrait hall."
"That was my mother's idea. She wanted us to be alone, well, as alone as propriety would allow."
He turned her chair down another corridor, and she immediately saw it was lined with frames. "I thought perhaps we could try that moment again." He inhaled, and she could have sworn he appeared nervous. "I hope you'll like these portraits and drawings."
He stopped the chair in front of the first one; it was quite obviously his drawing.
"That is what Brookhaven looked like when it had fallen into ruin," he said.
"Most people would have sold that estate and used those funds to buy something already built and in better repair. But you chose to fix it." She looked up at him. "You didn't give up, that takes strength and courage, Oliver."
He swallowed and nodded but didn't respond.
"I never saw it this way, but to have seen what it looks like now, you have done an amazing job. You are remarkably talented."
"The beauty was always there, in the lines, the bones of the building. I merely brought her back to life." He moved them to the next frame. "That was my image, my plan of how to fix it. How I wanted to rebuild Brookhaven."
"You did so even more."
He nodded.
The next frame. "Benedict's?" she asked.
"Yes, this is what it looked like before we finished and opened it. And here it is now, more or less. And also his father's home after I repurchased it and repaired it."
He'd painstakingly hung each of these for her to recreate the night he'd rejected her. Her heart fluttered. Perhaps he was trying to tell her something, but she wasn't certain what it could be. "Oliver?"
But he shook his head. "Let me finish." He nodded to the frame.
"This is the Crystal Palace, the first time I saw it."
The features were mesmerizing, as if his pencil contained magic instead of a simple piece of lead. Each arch, each line, every detail was perfect.
"And this is the place where I walked with you the first time. And again when I proposed. The first time." He grinned, then rolled her to the next.