Make Her Wish Come True Collection

Never before had she been so much as tempted by a man. The thought of where such temptation might actually lead had her going hot and cold in terror mingled with longing. Certainly there had been none of this heady passion in her marriage.

Did he sense her fear? He held her carefully against him, tenderly, giving her not the slightest alarm. Letting her know she could break free any time she wished. She should wish. A kiss under the mistletoe was one thing, but this was very different. This was the opening move in a dance of which she had little knowledge, except to recognise the tune.

She pressed a hand flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers and his strength. He could crush her if he had a mind to do so, but she had no fear of that. Nor would he decimate her with cruel or disdainful words.

Intimacy with this man would be a memory to cherish, since she had decided for the girls’ sake she would never wed again. How could she exchange them for the doubtful privilege of becoming a man’s chattel, to be tolerated only as long as she was of use?

Slowly, reluctantly, he broke their kiss and gazed into her eyes. An unspoken question. Her face heated. Training warring with temptation. Inside she trembled, knowing he would not do anything without her permission. He began to withdraw.

Fingers shaking, she pressed her hand against his cheek. The delightful warmth of him infused her with courage. She leaned into him, kissed him back, tentatively at first, brushing his lovely mouth lightly with her lips. His guttural growl of approval gave her the courage to taste him with her tongue. His lips parted and, heart thumping, she delved deeper. He tasted of wine and honeyed tea. The scent of him, something darkly spicy, sandalwood, filled her nostrils and she inhaled deeply, savouring a perfume she would remember all of her days.

He encircled her in his arms, tangling his tongue with hers, until she could no longer think of anything, only feel the blood humming in her veins, the tingling in her fingers and toes, the heaviness in her breasts.

The hand on her back moved in circles, comforting and caressing. The other caressed the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, in respectful delicious strokes. Never had she felt so female, so womanly, so sensually alive. So desirable.

He drew back with the slightest of sighs. Resignation. Regret. He gave her a small half smile. ‘As pleasurable as this is, you strike me as a woman not in need of added complication. You deserve far more than I have to offer. I’m sorry.’

Idiot. He was too kind to hurt her feelings with the truth. He didn’t want her in that way. A well-set-up man like him no doubt had all sorts of women with whom he could choose to be intimate. He’d come to dinner out of politeness and she, an ungainly lonely widow, had thrown herself into his arms. He must think her so pathetic. The cold chill of shame spread outwards.

She pinned a bright smile to her lips. ‘I will bid you goodnight, then.’

She bustled about, fetching his hat and gloves from the peg behind the door. ‘You must be looking forward to seeing your family. It is always good to be with loved ones during the holidays,’ she babbled, urging him towards the door. ‘I don’t expect I will see you again, before you leave,’ she said briskly, ‘so I would wish you a safe and pleasant journey.’ She risked a glance at his face. His expression gave nothing away.

He took her hand and bowed low. ‘Thoughts of you and your kind welcome into your home will keep me warm on the journey, Mrs Melford,’ he murmured as he brought her hand to his mouth. He brushed her knuckles with warm dry lips. She drew in a quick startled breath and he let her hand go.

‘Mrs Melford. Cassie—’ He shook his head. ‘Please, give my best wishes to Miss Lucy and Miss Diana.’ He stepped out into the night. Snowflakes whirled around him. And then he was gone, nothing left to show his presence but large bootprints in the snow. Those, too, disappeared quickly.

Her heart thundered in her ears with embarrassment at how forward she’d been. She had shocked him with her wanton behaviour. By seeking more, she had lost his friendship.

Regret was an aching sadness.

Chapter Four

Overnight, the countryside had turned pillowy and white while the skies continued to threaten more snow. Cassie picked her way to the potting shed after spending the morning with the girls on their lessons. Forcing herself to think of nothing but the task at hand, she took down the candle racks, avoiding a glance at the mistletoe hanging from the beam. She separated each pair of candles by cutting the wicks in the middle. Against her will, her mind wandered back to the one person she should not be thinking about. The sweetness of his kisses. His honourable behaviour in light of her brazenness.

Any woman would count herself lucky to be married to Adam Royston. She suffered a pang at the thought of him taking a wife. She had no right to think that way. No reason, either.

She glanced out of the window at Diana and Lucy scampering about in ankle-deep snow making what they had ambitiously named a snow dame.

She heaved a sigh. Had Adam—no, she really should think of him as Mr Royston—got away to an early start? The ache of longing in the centre of her chest was sadness at knowing their paths would never cross again, but she did not blame him for not calling in this morning. Their parting the previous evening had been strained to say the least. Still, she could not help hoping he’d arrived home safely. During the long hours of the night she’d come to terms with his rejection and her respect for him had grown. A scoundrel would have taken advantage of her loneliness. And yet she had the feeling he, too, was lonely.

She shook off her fit of the doldrums and carefully wrapped a pair of candles in brown paper and tied them with string. The batch must be ready for Mr Driver when he came at the first of the year. Hopefully he would get a good price for them, since she and the girls would need a new place to live.

She didn’t want to leave. But Adam’s warning must not be ignored.

‘Mama!’ Lucy came running into the potting shed. ‘There’s a man coming up the garden path.’

Adam? Her heart clenched. Joy sparkled through her veins. He had come to bid her farewell after all. Oh, how could she face him? How could she not, when seeing him one last time would give her so much pleasure? A painful pleasure.

Lucy clenched her hands together in front of her chest, her eyes wide. ‘I think it’s Herbert.’

Cassie’s heart stopped, then staggered to life with an unsteady rhythm. ‘Herbert?’

Lucy made a face of distaste. ‘I think so.’

‘Take your sister indoors and remain upstairs.’

Lucy dashed off.

Heart pounding in her ears, Cassie removed her apron and strode for the door. As she opened it, she almost collided with the stocky man standing on the threshold. The brown scarf wrapped around his neck and pulled up over his chin, exposed only the skin of his wind-reddened cheeks, drawn-down sandy eyebrows and his distinctive retroussé nose.

Her stomach fell away. She took a breath. Squared her shoulders. ‘Herbert,’ she said coldly. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

Herbert slowly unwound his scarf, looking about him. He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Is that any way to greet your only stepson? How are you, dear Lady Cassandra? At last I find you.’ He wagged a reproving finger with a teasing smile. ‘Good wheeze that, changing your name. Took me for ever to track you down.’

Too bad he had succeeded. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Come now. I know you were on the outs with me and Bridget over a trifle, but there’s no need to cut up so stiff.’

He sounded so placatory, it gave her a sensation of dread in her stomach. ‘I don’t call your wife locking Diana in her bedroom and threatening to beat Lucy a trifle, Herbert.’

He gave a sorrowful shake of his head. ‘Bad form. Bridget should not have flown into a temper. It won’t happen again. I promise.’ He gave her a blinding smile. ‘Now, pack up their things and come along. We’ll rent a carriage, be off in the shake of a cat’s tail and all be comfortable at home in a trice. What do you say?’

Comfortable was not how she would describe the Norton household beneath Bridget’s autocratic rule. But Herbert seemed genuinely sorry for his wife’s behaviour.

While he waited for her answer, Herbert strolled around her little shed, poking a finger among the things on the table. He picked up a pair of candles ready for wrapping and tossed them from hand to hand. ‘Did you make these yourself?’

‘It is how we have been supporting ourselves this past year.’

‘Very industrious, dear Stepmama. Not the sort of thing one generally expects of a lady.’ He tossed them again. Fumbled.

She gasped.

He managed to catch them before they fell to the granite floor. ‘Oops,’ he said with a smile that bordered on sly. He put the candles down with exaggerated care. ‘Wouldn’t want to break them.’

Wouldn’t he? Her nape prickled.

He turned to face her full on. ‘Ready to go? Tally ho, what?’

He thought he was a gentleman, but compared to Lord Portmaine’s steward, Adam Royston, he was nothing but a caricature.

‘I should have thought you would be glad to be rid of the expense of keeping us,’ she said, holding her ground. ‘You were always grumbling about the cost.’

His shoulders stiffened. He hated resistance. ‘I am their brother. Their legal guardian. Of course I am not glad they’ve run off. How do you think that makes me look? The Vicar…’

Understanding dawned. ‘Old Mr Pettigrew wants to know what became of us, doesn’t he? Poor Herbert.’ Vicar Pettigrew had been a friend of his father’s and not backward in his criticisms of Herbert’s wild behaviour. He would see it as his duty to haul Herbert over the coals if he thought he’d neglected his duty to his sisters.

‘Nosy old buzzard,’ Herbert said. He gave her a wheedling smile. ‘What do you say, old thing? Bury the hatchet and come home?’

With Ivy Cottage no longer available, it almost seemed like the best thing they could do. Almost.

‘And you promise Bridget will leave me fully in charge of your sisters?’ In addition to being their unpaid housekeeper. ‘No more punishments?’

‘Promise.’

Cassie glimpsed a hint of triumph his expression, though he quickly hid it. Unease slid down her spine. ‘Why now, Herbert? After more than a year? What has happened to set you haring off after us now? You receive the allowance your father arranged for the girls. Surely you are better off without them.’

‘Better off?’ His smile faltered, though he tried hard to hang on to it. ‘We miss you.’

She did not believe him.

He must have seen it on her face. ‘Pettigrew wrote to the solicitor Papa used in London about not seeing the girls. He’s travelling to Nottingham, despite my assurances all is well. Wants to see them for himself before he hands over any more blunt next quarter-day.’

Finally, the truth. ‘Why do you care? It’s a pittance compared to your income from the mills.’

He glared at her, picked up the knife she used to cut her wicks and turned the blade so it caught the light. ‘The factories are not doing too well. No demand for cloth now the war is over.’ He grimaced. ‘I had a run of bad luck at the tables.’ He put the knife down with a lift of one shoulder. ‘Debts of honour. A gentleman always pays his debts.’

A true gentleman looked after his womenfolk. But Herbert wouldn’t see it that way. His concern had always been for himself. For his standing with the men he called friends. He didn’t give sixpence for the welfare of his sisters. ‘I’m sorry for your troubles, Herbert, but I think we are better off here.’

He lunged for her. Quick as a snake. Grabbed her arm. ‘You will tell my sisters to come with me now if you know what is good for you.’

She pulled her arm free. Backed away. ‘What are you talking about?’

Cheeks red, he glowered. ‘If you don’t, I’ll be swearing out a warrant for your arrest.’

Her heart thundered. ‘For what crime? Stealing your sisters? I am sure the solicitor will be interested to hear how you misappropriated their funds.’

He waved off her accusation as if it was nothing. ‘For stealing the family jewels.’

She gasped. Stared at him. ‘I took nothing that was not mine.’

‘The jewels you sold were my mother’s. I have a hundred witnesses to say they were. Including old Pettigrew.’

‘They were my bride gift from your father to me personally.’

‘Prove it.’

She couldn’t. The jewels had not been mentioned in her husband’s will. Nor had Pettigrew known Clifford’s first wife.

Triumph beamed from Herbert’s face. ‘And then of course there is the money you took from my desk in the study.’

Throat suddenly dry, she swallowed. Her shoulders sagged. She could see from his expression that he knew he had her in a cleft stick. She had no proof the jewels were hers to sell. Or that she had not taken his money. She’d have to let him take the girls or risk prison.

He stepped closer, his smile triumphant. ‘Well, Lady High and Mighty. If you care for your liberty and your life, stop this nonsense and come home with me now.’

Hot fury coursed through her veins. She snatched up the broom leaning against the wall. ‘Out! Get out.’

It wouldn’t be the first time she had given Herbert a trouncing. He also clearly recalled the occasion he’d attempted a slobbery kiss and she’d slapped his face. He backed away. He narrowed his eyes, while maintaining a safe distance.

‘You leave me no choice, then. I will be back with the authorities and we will see who has the upper hand.’ His smile widened. ‘Oh, and what it this I hear in the village, dear Stepmama, about the friendly widow and her landlord? Not a good example to set two young girls, is it? Or to impress the courts.’

She stared at him, mouth agape. ‘Sir Josiah was an octogenarian.’

‘My father was not much younger. That is your method, is it not? Marry an old man and pilfer his money.’ He waved an airy hand. ‘It is all a great heifer like you could possibly hope for. Too bad this one died before you had a chance to get him to the altar.’

Her face flamed. Herbert really knew how to twist a knife in an opponent’s breast. ‘Leave before I do something you will regret.’

‘With pleasure. But make no mistake, I shall return.’ He bowed. ‘I wish you good day, dearest Stepmama.’

He swaggered off.

Rage mingled with fear blocked her throat. Blood roared in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She put down the broom and walked out to the lane to be sure Herbert was gone. He would be back with the magistrate. No doubt about it, if he was that desperate for funds. But not today. Sir Josiah’s death meant there wasn’t a magistrate closer than fifteen miles.

She swallowed. Thank heaven Mr Royston had departed before her stepson’s arrival. The shame of him hearing those terrible accusations of theft would have nigh killed her.

She ran back into the house. ‘Girls,’ she called out. ‘Start packing. We leave first thing in the morning.’

‘But tomorrow is Christmas Eve,’ Diana wailed from the top of the stairs.

Standing at the bottom, watching her, Lucy’s face showed sadness and understanding. Emotions far too old for such a young child. ‘I’ll help you, Diana. It will be fun. We’ll sing carols while we fold.’

Curse the unfairness of it all. Damn Herbert, she would not let him win.

The snow had stopped. Adam stared out into the darkness, looking across the lawns he could not see, staring in the direction of Ivy Cottage, wondering what Cassie was doing. Tomorrow he’d go. He was packed and ready to leave at first light. He wouldn’t let another day pass and risk his father sending out a search party. Hopefully it would stop snowing by morning. He unbuttoned his jacket with a sigh.

He should have left that morning, but after a night of dreams, some bad, some ridiculously erotic involving a certain woman whose gorgeous body he adored and whose feelings he’d hurt, he had finally dropped deep asleep near dawn. Naturally, he’d woken at noon, far too late to think of setting out. He’d also recalled that he hadn’t finished going through the last of old Sir Josiah’s ledgers.

Excuses.

He’d spent the balance of the day arguing with himself about whether he should or should not pay one more visit to Ivy Cottage. So why had he walked away last night? Going to bed alone, when he could have been in the arms of a warm and willing woman, made little sense. She wasn’t after a husband. He liked her, perhaps more than he’d liked any woman, even—

Shocked, he stilled. Guilt swamped him.

He clenched his fist and pressed the side of it against the cold glass. How could he think of liking any woman better than Marion? It wasn’t possible he could be so disloyal.

A twinkle of light flickered through the trees.

He frowned. Usually he could see nothing of the cottage from this window at night. Only in daylight did the smoke rising above the trees from its chimney give its presence away. Perhaps it was some sort of trick of the light, reflection on snow.

The light seemed to grow brighter. And it was flickering in an odd… Fire!

He raced downstairs, grabbed up his overcoat and gloves and was outside in minutes. He ploughed through drifts that in some places were shin deep. His heart thumped painfully in his chest. The cold stung his ears and his cheeks. His frosty breath was whipped away by the wind. A wind that would fan flames.

Blast. He had to be in time. He would not let it be otherwise.

He turned up the narrow lane to the cottage. Flames had already engulfed the interior of the lean-to shed and were now licking up through its thatched roof. A thick oily smoke filled the air. Sparks flew about on the wind and landed on the roof of the cottage. Thank God for the layer of snow. Where the hell was Cassie? And the girls?

He banged on the door. ‘Cassie,’ he yelled.

No answer. One of the upstairs casements was ajar. The smoke from the fire would have trickled inside, stunning the occupants or worse. His heart lurched. Fear set his heart thumping and his brain racing. He ran to what was left of the woodpile, found the axe, broke open the kitchen door, horrified to see flames eating through the parlour wall. He tore upstairs.

At the top he found Cassie, coughing and struggling on the landing with a girl on each arm. He swept the girls up and carried them downstairs, depositing them in the kitchen. Smoke billowed through the room. He closed the parlour door as Cassie arrived, still coughing with her arms full of coats. ‘Boots by the back door,’ she gasped.

Together they got the bleary-eyed shivering girls into their outerwear and outside into the lane. The girls clung to each other.

‘Wait here,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll see if I can put out the fire.’ He ran to the back of the house. The shed was little more than a pile of collapsing timber, but only one wall of the parlour was affected, the one adjoining the shed. Someone must have boarded up a window in that wall when the shed was added.

Cassie rounded the corner. ‘Heaven help us.’

‘Buckets,’ Adam said.

‘In the kitchen. I’ll get them. You work the pump.’ She dived through the back door hanging precariously off its hinges.

Adam pumped a steady stream of water into the two buckets Cassie brought. Without words they worked together. While he took one bucket to the fire, she filled the next.

Slowly, slowly the smoke lessened and he became aware of the two little girls standing in the corner of the yard shivering and cold with tears running down their faces.

‘I think we are done here,’ he said to Cassie. ‘Take the girls into the kitchen and get them out of the wind.’

She stopped pumping and blinked as if the words made no sense.

He gave her a little push towards the back door. ‘Take the girls inside and pass me a lantern so I can make sure there are no lingering embers.’

She nodded and led the girls back into the house, returning seconds later with a lamp. She patted his arm in thanks, but also as if to reassure herself he was real before going indoors.

He crossed the yard and peered inside the shed. It was little more than a burnt-out shell. Nothing left but scorched beams overhead and on the floor, ashes, burnt bits of wood and lumps of melted metal.

Something glittered in the lamplight. He gazed down, then crouched to get a better look. Now, what were bits of glass from a broken lamp doing outside when the fire had started within? He forced himself not to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t arrived to help. With the parlour also catching fire, Cassie might not have got the girls out in time.

He glanced around the little courtyard. There were footprints in the snow, small ones, his larger ones, and some he could not identify. Lamp held high, he walked out of the back gate. He could see where he had run into the yard. And he could see where the other prints came and went from the direction of the village, not from Thornton House. They’d appeared since it stopped snowing some time after dusk. He’d bet his now-ruined best boots that this fire was no accident.

Mrs Melford had an enemy.

Perhaps he would not be leaving in the morning after all.

He doused the remains of the shed and the burnt part of the parlour wall with several more buckets of water before returning to the chilly comfort of the smoky kitchen.

Cassie glanced up, her eyes full of despair.

‘Is it out?’ Diana asked, her eyes huge.

‘Yes.’

‘It stinks in here,’ Lucy said.

‘I know,’ Adam said. ‘You are all going to come with me to Thornton House.’

Cassie stared at him. ‘We couldn’t possibly trespass—’

‘You cannot stay here.’ He didn’t want to scare her, but he would if he had to make her see reason. ‘What if the fire starts up again?’ Or whoever set the fire came back.

She blanched. ‘Very well. We will stay at Thornton until the morning. At which time we will be leaving as planned.’

It was then he noticed the valises on the floor in the corner. He narrowed his eyes. ‘You never mentioned you were leaving so soon?’

Her gaze slid away. ‘I decided we should go after you informed me Thornton is to be sold.’

A lie. She was afraid for some reason. That settled it, he was going to get to the bottom of the fire and find out exactly what Cassie feared.

Realisation swept through him. For the first time in years he felt tenderness, the need to protect, the longing to care for someone.

Something he’d never expected to feel again.

Not that he expected or deserved that she should care about him. He didn’t. But he would do everything in his power to make sure she was safe.