Catch Me If You Can (6 page)

He arrested her movement with his hands around her waist. “Wait, I’ll carry you.”

She was unable to respond, for his hands slid higher, beneath her breasts, where their firm grip sent a dizzying charge through her. He stroked her breastbone gently with one thumb, his hands gently squeezing her reassuringly, before he made ready to lift her. Although she was fast recovering from the fall, she was still a touch breathless. It was because he was touching her, she realized.

He eased one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her easily into his arms. Clasping her hands together around his neck she nestled close to his chest, savoring the sensation of his proximity. She laid her cheek against the loose ties at the neck of his shirt, pressing close against him.

He turned away from the edge over which she’d fallen and found a less steep path out of the ditch. As he carried her, she clung close to him and he pulled her ever tighter against him. Their proximity set fluttering sensations in motion deep inside her, sensations that throbbed in time with his heartbeat against her breast.

He came to a stop and she realized they were back by his mount. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. She kept her hands around his neck, staying close against him. He seemed as reluctant to free her as she was to be freed.

His expression grew dark and he looked down at her with possessive eyes. Her head dipped back as his mouth lowered to hers.

As their lips met his arms encompassed her.

The kiss, tentative at first, fast evolved when a more urgent sensation passed between them. Her lips parted, his passionate kiss enmeshing her in an array of exquisite sensations. She yielded and pressed herself full against him – she wanted to feel his every ounce of being against hers. The totality of his strength and maleness enveloped her. A strange new feeling hungered within Eleanor. It was something more real and undeniable than she’d experienced before, and she pressed closer, whimpering with some nameless, innate need. His hands roved her alert body in response. He cursed under his breath, moved to place a kiss against the soft skin of her throat. Then he released her, setting her at arms length, and drew away.

“Do you feel steady enough for the ride back?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He nodded, avoiding eye contact. She allowed him to guide her and help her to mount. He eased himself up behind her and leaned forward to lift the reins, his arms enclosing her in their haven.

Eleanor couldn’t speak or think clearly, the kiss had affected her in such a strange and powerful way, and now she was in his arms again. She leaned back against his chest, firm and solid at her back. His muscles were well defined, as were those on the mighty arms that enclosed her. With her nerves awry, she could only allow the sensation of complete strength and power to envelop and protect her.

She thought she felt his lips on her hair when he leaned forward to twitch the reins. She gripped the pommel of the saddle and looked down at his strong hands; she wanted to feel them on her body again. The yearning that had been loosed inside her was hot and heavy. Had she not been so dazed she would have been sorely tempted to stop the horse and drag Rivers down off it, so that she could kiss him again, right there on the mossy ground of the forest.

All too soon they were back at the house.

He helped her down from the great black stallion, tenderly, concern spilling from his eyes again. They stood silently for a moment, looking at each other afresh. Something had changed between them, Eleanor realized, something fundamental. He seemed about to speak when voices reached them. Figures ran from the house. Her father was there, and Jake.

“What happened?” her father asked. “Jake said your horse came back alone. What happened?” 

“Don’t fuss, please. Clancy fell in a ditch, I’m not hurt.”

Her father drew her toward the house.

She looked over her shoulder as she went, seeking Rivers out.

He was instructing Jake. “The ditch is hidden and dangerous. It needs to be cleared and made safe. I’ll show you where it is tomorrow.”  Then he climbed the steps to follow them into the house.

After a swallow of brandy and the clucking attention of both Frieda and Mrs. Bramley, Eleanor gathered her senses. She noticed her father was talking quietly to Rivers on the other side of the parlor. Rivers looked concerned. He nodded occasionally and replied with short questions. She wondered what they were talking about.

Her father rejoined her when he saw her recovered. “What a relief you weren’t seriously injured, my precious girl. I should get the doctor from the village.”

His voice tailed off as he met the outraged look on Eleanor’s face.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t have you all fussing over me as if I were a child.”  She stood and walked across the room, her footsteps sprightly, to prove she was fit and well.

“Ah, well, that’s good. I’ve some news I was eager to tell you.” He smiled over at Frieda. “I’ve decided to accompany Frieda and Rivers on their onward journey to France. Frieda has assured me that my company would be useful, so I’ve agreed to go.”  He returned his attention to Eleanor. “You will oversee in my absence, won’t you, Darling? I thought you might enjoy the task, you’re always assuring me you are able. This will be your chance to prove it. If you are agreeable, we will leave tomorrow.” 

What could she say? Eleanor quelled her objection and darted a look toward Rivers, but his face was turned away. That’s what they’d been talking about. Their departure.

She wondered if he was glad to be moving on. He’d seemed eager to get on with the business of the trip when they had arrived. Would their encounter this afternoon make any difference? His arm was stretched up against the window frame as he looked out into the garden. His posture gave no idea of his response to this new situation, but the look of that outstretched arm and his hair against the back of his neck made her more aware of her own response to him. She longed to be in his arms again, to feel his mouth on hers.

He turned and spoke to her father. “I’ll prepare for the journey.”

His expression was guarded. With that, he swept out of the room.

Bereft, Eleanor managed to smile weakly for her father. She had to remind herself that pouting and sulking would be childish and ridiculous. “Of course I can oversee for you, Father. I’m sure you will have a wonderful time, and you deserve it.”  

She looked toward Frieda then, offering her a look of support and love. Frieda accepted it gratefully and returned it to her tenfold. The two women had become close over the week. Eleanor knew then, instinctively, that Frieda had hoped to persuade James to go to Europe with her. If only she’d seen it coming. What good would it have done her, she asked herself?

She embraced them both, left them to their plans and retired to her room.

She stayed there, under the guise that she was resting after her fall, and took her dinner alone on a tray. To be seated opposite Rivers at the dinner table that night would be torture. She didn’t discover until long after they had gone, that he too had declined company that night.

* * *

Rivers thought she wasn’t even going to come down to wave them off, the morning they left Oaklands. He waited by the carriage, looking up at her forlorn figure standing in the landing window. Eventually she did come down, and she wished them all well, even though her eyes looked shadowed and she was clearly going to miss her father. She looked beautiful – her dark, sad mood became her as much as any other.

Frustration coursed through him. He had to remind himself of his situation in life and quell his desire to take control of destiny. He was Frieda’s employee and no matter how much he’d wanted to object to the sudden plans for their departure, he was in no position to argue about the new arrangements. But, by god, he’d wanted to.

After holding Eleanor in his arms the afternoon before, seeing her soft vulnerability and tasting her sweet, passionate kisses, he wanted above all to have more of her. He wanted to see that fire in her eyes again and feel the wanting in her body when it pressed eagerly against his. Their afternoon ride would be etched in his memory for a long time. Why, he wondered, as the carriage set off, why had she affected him so?

She was different to any other woman he’d met, perhaps. And she was trouble, too. Would he have her any other way? No. He gave a wry smile. Life would never be dull with Miss Eleanor Craven in it.

When she’d denied herself a marriage and family, however, he’d been strangely unsettled by her words. Not every woman of means sought marriage, but it was uncommon for one to avoid it, and to announce it so defensively. And when she’d denied her wish to be a society hostess, it only caused him to think she would make the most dazzling society hostess he’d ever had the lucky chance to encounter. Her declarations about women’s independence were so fervent it made him chuckle, and it also stirred the blood in his veins.

She was a fiery sprite indeed. Something inside him suggested her passionate nature might well surface in acts of the flesh as well as those of the mind and spirit. Yes, he wanted to hold her again, he wanted to make love to her and protect her from all possible harm.

As the carriage passed through the Oaklands gates and the outline of the house diminished behind them, Rivers knew they would meet again, as sure as the sun would shine on them both, he knew it would come to pass.

Chapter Four

The Lady’s Heartache

Eleanor looked into the sunset, her thoughts dwelling on precious moments.

She sighed. There was no good reason to waste time daydreaming about Rivers, she told herself. He’d left without reference to the intimacy developing between them, offering a polite farewell and the all-too-brief brush of his lips on the back of her hand. She’d barely been able to respond to the words of comfort and promises of reunion both Frieda and her father had made as they waved goodbye, she was too overwhelmed by a sense of loss. Since that sad day she’d been aching for him, aching in her heart and in the pit of her stomach.

With a deep intake of breath, she drew herself back down to earth.

Perhaps she’d imagined he had feelings of desire for her. It was imperative she shake off the spell he seemed to have cast over her.

She turned to the desk, where the latest papers from their shipment company were awaiting her attention. She was in the midst of arranging sales of surplus produce at the end of harvest time. Perhaps, when the harvest was over, she would go away herself, she mused. She could visit Miette. They always managed to get into some mischief together and although she hadn’t seen Miette since her friend had married, she anticipated the reunion. She smiled to herself and took her seat at the desk. As she did the large blue-black bruise on her thigh that had developed since her fall caused her to wince. Although she would never admit to it, it was both the touch on her tender skin and the subsequent images it brought to mind that caused her to wince – images of those precious moments with Rivers, after the fall.

Forget about the man, she told herself, annoyed. It wasn’t meant to be.

Her father wrote to her every other day. She read the letters when she came in from the fields, weary after long days supporting the tenants and the workers who were reaping the harvest. The letters were filled with descriptions of the places they visited: Dieppe, Paris, and Bordeaux. He even planned to accompany them into Italy, as far as Florence. He described the scenery, relating images and anecdotes that she enjoyed immensely. Reading between the lines, it seemed Rivers took care of all the business matters, leaving James and Frieda to enjoy their sightseeing and each other’s company. How gallant of him, she thought to herself with a reluctant, affectionate smile.

* * *

James Craven returned alone at the end of harvest time. He was traditionally available to the estate tenants at that time of the year. Eleanor couldn’t help wondering if that was the only reason he’d returned. Frieda and Rivers had gone on to finish the rest of their business in Southern Italy. They intended to travel back to America directly from Genoa a few weeks later. Whilst it had obviously been a reluctant farewell, James was in good humor when he returned, full of talk of an American trip. He looked quite the dashing young man, Eleanor thought to herself, pleased he’d enjoyed precious time with Frieda.

“I wish you could have seen it,” he said to her, eyes full of memories. “The Tuscan landscape is quite incredible. The earth is a deep dark red color and the wine that grows from its vines is equally beautiful.”  He leaned over to pat her hand, as if aware she felt left out. “Still, let’s talk less of the past. We have to get back to planning our trip to America now.”

“We do?” she retorted, surprised.

“Yes, there’s much to plan. I promised Rivers we would be there by the time the new vines are nearing their first harvest. He was most helpful and had suggestions for our travel arrangements and so forth.”

Was he indeed? Eleanor sat back in her chair, curling her legs under her. This wasn’t something she expected to hear. Rivers had seemingly ridiculed her desire to undertake the trip, as if it were an unsuitable activity for a lady to consider, and yet it sounded as if he now wanted her to go ahead with it. She looked at her father, thinking how they had changed places. She’d been the one all fired-up to go a few months ago. Now it was he, invigorated like a young man again, ready to take on the world.

The idea of the expedition had faded from her mind somewhat and it would take a bit of re-kindling to get her enthusiasm going again. Luckily the news about Rivers was the perfect kindling. She warned herself not to assume his actions had those kind of personal motives, although she couldn’t help hoping it might be.

“It would be good to see Frieda again,” she said, finally. She reached out to her father and took his hand.

He smiled at her, pleased at her response.

* * *

The following weeks were hectic. The harvest had been a good one. The spring had been mild and wet, the summer long and hot. The days were busy with running the estate, finishing the season and the preparations for everything to run smoothly in their absence the following spring. Their evenings were spent plotting the details of their trip and they still argued good-naturedly about how much of it should be done by rail, how much on horseback.

In her private moments Eleanor’s mind drifted to Rivers. Her skin tingled at the thought of his strong, lean arms around her once more. What, she wondered, would occur when they met again, as they were now destined to do? It would be interesting, to be sure.

She was in her study one day, poring over a list of things that had to be done before their departure, when she became aware of a commotion in the house. A sense of foreboding descended over her. Voices approached and she looked up from her desk.

Mrs. Bramley stood in the doorway, her face blanched, one hand over her mouth, the other clutching at the doorframe. Eleanor rose from her seat when the housekeeper appeared, her head shaking from side to side, as if in denial.

Panic took hold of Eleanor. She’d never seen Mrs. Bramley looking this way before, no matter what manner of catastrophe had occurred.

Jake entered behind her. He looked at Eleanor. A weighty matter shadowed his eyes.

“What? What is it?”

Mrs. Bramley burst into tears.

Eleanor looked at Jake over the woman’s shoulder.

“It’s your father,” he said, swallowing. “He came off his horse.” His eyes narrowed as he assessed her reaction to the news.

“What happened? Is he injured?” Her heart beat wildly out of control.

Jake looked down at the floor and shook his head.

Only Mrs. Bramley’s muffled crying and the thumping of her own heart broke the silence. Jake’s somber, resigned expression frightened her. She couldn’t believe it, her father, her beloved, invincible father, he couldn’t have come to any harm, she would not accept it. Eleanor pushed past him, running from the room.

“Where is he? Show me.” 

Jake’s footsteps followed as she tore out of the house toward the stables.

They cantered across the grounds. Her blood was pumping from hot to icy cold as she tried to absorb what had been said. Jake was barely able to catch her up, shouting directions to her as they went. She slowed her pace before they reached their destination. By the time he came alongside her, she was hunched over the reins, tears glazing her eyes, frozen in horror.

“No, not this place,” she said quietly, looking at him, hoping for a denial.

“Over there,” he said, pointing to the ditch.

“My God, Jake, this is .where I fell.” She climbed down from the horse and edged forward. Her mind was in turmoil, trying to make sense of it.

They were supposed to clear the ditch. They’d forgotten.

“Wait,” Jake said, leaping down from his mount and reaching for her arm. “I had to shoot the horse. His leg was broken in the fall.” His voice trailed off but he held her fast to the spot. “Are you sure you want to go closer?”

She nodded. “I must.”

Resolutely she strode toward the edge of the ditch.

The horse lay as if it had been attempting to struggle up the side of the ditch when it breathed its last. Blood was seeping from its body, down the side of the ditch to where her father lay. She clambered down to him and knelt at his side.

He’d not fallen onto the soft bracken and leaves as she’d done, but closer to the bank of the ditch and onto the hard dry ground of late summer. He looked strangely peaceful though, as if asleep.

His neck was broken. And with it, her heart.

A chasm of pain yawned open in her gut.
No, not this, not Father
, she begged of heaven. Helpless fingers plucked at his shirt collar as she willed him to live once more. She bent to touch his face, brushing her fingertips against his familiar bushy sideburns. She brushed the dirt from his forehead. Blood trickled slowly from his nose and mouth. As bent over him, tears gathered.

Jake stood by until the cart rumbled through the trees.

She realized it had come to collect the body, but couldn’t look at it.

Eventually, Jake climbed down to direct her inert frame away from the place.

She left, whimpering, clinging to Jake.

They walked back to the house behind the cart carrying the body, the horses following forlornly in their footsteps.

Eleanor was truly alone, for the first time in her life.

During the days and weeks that followed, she knew with an undeniable certainty she would have to be stronger and more independent than she’d ever dreamed of being before. Her beloved father had gone.

Her world had forever altered.