For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

was quiet for a long while. Alec waited, sensing again that she wanted to tell him. Then he cursed himself; no, he was waiting because he wanted her to tell him, to trust him and confide in him. It wasn’t the confession he craved, but rather the trust and respect that went with confiding in someone. He was tired of being a liar and imposter, always on guard against letting some small bit of truth slip. The wooden horse had been the last straw tonight, and now he’d gone and told her his most embarrassing disappointment: being jilted for his own brother.

“His name was Edward,” came her voice at last. “He was a lieutenant of the navy, and due for his own command soon. It was right after my sister had married, and I was left a bit more on my own. He said he would show me the world, that we would sail together when he had his own ship. But he changed his mind when his superior officer pointed out that my family would be no help to his career.”

“The bastard,” he muttered.

Her mouth flattened. “Indeed. I have hated the navy ever since.”

“Quite rightly so.”

She leaned forward and set the glass back on the table. “But as you say, it was better in the end. I don’t think about him anymore.”

Alec nodded, hiding his pleasure at her answer. Anyone who would do that to her didn’t deserve to be remembered. “Enough of old heartache. What keeps you up so late this night?”

She shrugged, twisting a fold of her dressing gown between her fingers. “Nothing of consequence.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Nothing?” He picked up the bottle to refill the glass, but it was empty. He set it down again. “Then what leads you to wander?”

“I really did not think anyone would be awake,” she said. “If I had known you would be here…”

“Then what?” he murmured. She looked away. “Would you have stayed away, Miss Turner? Do I still frighten you?”

Her head whipped around, and she glared at him as if insulted. “No.”

His gaze wandered over her. Cressida felt it through her plain, worn wrapper and nightdress as if he touched her bare skin. Again she had the sense that, even half drunk, Alec could see right through her. Now, though, instead of unnerving her, his gaze had a different effect. Her skin tingled with gooseflesh, and her nipples pulled into tight, hard buds as his eyes lingered there. By the time he met her eyes, she felt choked with confusion. She couldn’t give in to the feeling, but, oh…oh, how she wanted to.

“Good,” he whispered.

She nodded once, too afraid of what might burst out of her lips if she tried to speak. She got to her feet and turned to go. “Miss Turner.” She stopped and looked back in question. “Thank you for the conversation.”

Cressida cleared her throat. “It was a pleasure.” She hesitated. “Good night, Alec.”

“Good night,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that drifted off as though he was about to fall asleep the next moment. She made her steps quick and quiet as she left. Just as she closed the door, though, so softly she wasn’t even sure she heard it, she heard him speak again:

“Good night…Cressida.”

Chapter 16

That Sunday Alec agreed to accompany the family to church for the first time since his return home. His mother beamed at him in delight. Miss Turner gave him a thoughtful look that became a small smile when he tipped his hat to her. Just that hint of warmth was enough to lift his spirits even as he steeled himself.

Aside from a few trips into town, he had avoided most of Marston. Today would be the first time many of the townspeople had actually seen him, and their reaction was everything he had expected. A flurry of whispers swept the church as they walked to the family pew. From the corner of his eye Alec saw Miss Turner sit stiffly between her sister and Julia. He helped his mother, then sat beside her to face the curate, who was smiling nervously at everyone but Alec as he waited to begin the service.

There was a rumble behind them, even as the whispers died down. Shuffling steps came up the aisle. Beside him, Mother glanced up at the late arrival and went still just as the footsteps stopped abruptly right behind him.

“You,” gasped a voice, all too familiar. Alec’s stomach knotted but he kept his face expressionless. He had been prepared for this. The entire church was as silent as a grave now. Slowly he turned and faced his father’s dearest friend, and his dearest friend’s father.

Angus Lacey had grown stooped and lame since Alec last saw him. His narrow face was more wrinkled and gray, but his pale blue eyes were as alert as ever, and they were fixed on Alec with unmistakable shock and hatred. “You,” he croaked again.

Alec met that horrified gaze evenly. “Sir.”

Lacey’s chin quivered. The hand clutching his cane shook, and he wobbled on his feet. The large servant behind him reached forward to steady him, but Lacey shook off his hands. “You dare to show your face,” he said with quiet venom.

“Mr. Lacey,” Alec’s mother said sternly, “we are in church.”

Lacey didn’t even look at her. “Traitor,” he spat, then turned and shuffled right back out of the church, his servant lumbering after him.

Mr. Edwards the curate leaped forward as the excited hiss of whispers filled the church again. “Let us pray,” he said somewhat desperately. With a thunderous clang, the door of the church swung shut.

When the service was over, an eternity later, Alec helped his mother back into the carriage. He swung onto his horse, avoiding everyone’s eye but John’s, to whom he gave a curt nod before heading south, out of town and away from Penford. The moment they cleared the town,