Page 11 of A Landscape of Love

Fidelia blushed as she remembered. Good lord, he had stripped her bare and wrapped her in a blanket, had held her on his lap as she had broken her heart, and never so much as tried to stop her. He had not told her to stop being hysterical or to behave like a lady, nor had he made her feel ashamed. Her behaviour had not horrified him, and he had not seemed to think it extraordinary. He had simply accepted it and helped her through as best he could.

He had also refused her advances.

With a groan, Fidelia sank beneath the covers. “Oh, you fool,” she moaned, toes curling with embarrassment. What had she been thinking? She had never in her life done such a thing, and now… now what must he think? Would he believe her some manner of succubus, rather than a woman who had given in to her lover’s demands for intimacy on just two occasions? Good heavens, she’d not even been naked with the man she’d believed had loved her, he’d just lifted her skirts and got on with it. She had felt more intimacy last night, sitting on a stranger’s lap, one who had been kind to her, and she’d repaid him by making unwelcome advances. What on earth had possessed her to do such a thing? To discover she’d had a child out of wedlock was damning enough, but to be so horribly bold as to invite him to… Oh, Fidelia!

Yet she remembered how he had reacted, firmly refusing, yet there had been no contempt in his eyes, no judgement. He hadn’t wanted her, but he had not seemed to be disgusted by the fact she had reached for him.

That’s not what you want.

That was what he’d said. He’d been right too, though she’d have argued the fact last night. The idea of finding some pleasure in his arms—such powerful arms—had been inviting indeed. He was strong and so very alive, so very male. It had been so long since she’d felt anything close to pleasure, and she’d been so horribly alone. Yet, it would have been a mistake. Lord, she might have got with child again, and as much as she wanted her son back, she was not about to repeat her actions.

He—what had he said his name was? She could not remember. But he had told her to find her child, that if she truly wanted something, she could move heaven and earth. At first his words had infuriated her, as if she hadn’t tried to do so before now. Yet his certainty had lit something inside her that had long since died out, and she felt a tentative surge of hope. She thought perhaps the hardest thing to endure, had been never being able to speak of her son to anyone, to acknowledge his existence. Even her brother and sister did not know, and her father had been very clear about the retribution he would bring down upon her, and upon them, if she disobeyed him. But perhaps she could find him and build a life for them, away from her father. Perhaps if he would help her.

Fidelia smiled, allowing hope to burgeon to life and discovering an illicit pleasure in being in his bed, even if he was not in it. She turned into the pillow, breathing in a woody, earthy scent that she knew was his. He was a man who got his hands dirty. His fingers were calloused, not like her father’s pale, manicured hands, nor those of most of the gentlemen she knew. The idea made her senses prickle to life, but she told herself not to be foolish. She was in enough trouble, she certainly did not need to seek any more.

A knock at the bedroom door had her heart leaping. Had he come back?

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Alex.”

Fidelia had to admit she was a little disappointed, but she called for her brother to come in.

Alex peered around the door and Fidelia smiled at him. “I’m quite all right,” she said, seeing the anxiety in his pale features.

“But you fell in the lake,” Alex said, hurrying to her and setting down a brown paper parcel on the bed. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

Fidelia reached for his hand, holding on tight. “Perfectly sure.”

“You’re wearing Mr De Beauvoir’s shirt,” he said, frowning at her.

Oh! So that was his name.

“Well, my things are rather wet, Alex,” she said impatiently. “So, I hope that parcel contains my clothes?”

Alex nodded. “Yes, though I had the devil of a job getting them. The staff have been staying out of his grace’s way and so your maid spent a good deal of time in your room, sorting things I’m certain didn’t need sorting. But Father is on the warpath this morning, so they’re all lying low. You know how he gets before he leaves on a trip. He wanted to see you before he left for town, too, so that didn’t help. I told him I’d seen you walking towards the village.”

“He’s gone?” Fidelia asked, perking up.

Alex returned a grin. Life was so much easier when his grace was not at home. “Yes, for two glorious weeks.”

Fidelia sat back with a sigh, regarding her little brother. She reached out her hand and took his, squeezing his fingers. “I’m sorry, Alex. Sorry for frightening you and… and for not being the sister you deserve.”

Alex frowned at that and shook his head. “You’ve been unhappy. I… I just wish you had believed you could confide in me. I’m not a silly child anymore, Lia. If someone hurt you or… well, I’m your brother, dammit. I have a right to know.”

Fidelia stared at him, seeing the earnest young man he was becoming. Somehow, he had kept his heart intact despite their father’s best efforts. Unlike Richmond. Their eldest sibling was a nasty piece of work, worse even than his grace, and they were always relieved that he hated Hardacre, and their father, and stayed clear of them all. Fidelia’s younger sister, who had just turned twenty, was different again. Narcissa was far bolder and braver than either her or Alex. She was the duke’s favourite child, which was odd, for she was the only one who ever openly defied him.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I promise, from now on I will try to be more confiding, only… only this was rather a private matter.”

Alex nodded. “You fell in love with someone. I suppose he was unsuitable?”

Fidelia laughed at that, despite herself. “I suppose he was.”

“But you’re better now?” he pressed, as if a broken heart could be recovered from in the same way as the measles… but even they left scars, so perhaps he was right.

“Much better,” she promised him, realising as she said the words that she was telling the truth.

“I’m glad,” he said with a sigh. “I missed you.”