All I Want Is You (27 page)

Then I stopped thinking at all, because with ruthless precision he drove into me, pushing me higher, further, until I felt almost afraid at the intensity of my approaching climax. When it began, it rolled over and through me as my whole body pulsed with incredibly sweet pleasure. I felt him tense inside me and then he was there too, clutching my hips, groaning my name as he found his own release.

For a while I heard nothing but the pounding of my heart and the sound of his ragged breathing as his face rested on my shoulder. Then he eased his weight from me and gently lifted me onto the bed, while he dressed.

Afterwards he removed the blindfold and carried me over to the old armchair by the fire, where he settled me on his lap. Now I was safe to touch him, I knew, now that it was over, so I clung to him wordlessly, still dazed with the power of his lovemaking.
If only he would let me see him making love to me.
I felt suddenly bereft. It would have been easier, I thought rather desperately, if he wasn’t always so tender afterwards…
Stop it. Stop it. Don’t let him know how much you care.

‘You know,’ I said, sleepily looking around, ‘I was
sometimes ordered to polish the grates in here with a lump of black lead – you had to soak the black lead in water, and rub and rub. And the fire-irons as well – they were so heavy!’

‘Tell me more.’

So I nestled against him, and told him about our work, and the house parties that meant yet more labour, but which I loved because I was sometimes able to watch the dancing. Then I remembered the ball to which those wounded soldiers had been invited, and I told him how sad they had looked.

Ash’s hand had been stroking my hair but suddenly he was still. ‘The Duke invited wounded soldiers to the Hall?’

‘Yes. Yes, he did, but I think it was just for appearances – I don’t think he
wanted
them there at his ball, in the slightest.’

He said softly, ‘I shouldn’t think he wanted them there either. The Duke was firmly of the belief that the presence of common soldiers, wounded or otherwise, would sully his ancestral home.’

I twisted in his lap to face him. ‘How do you know he felt like that, Ash?’

‘Because I was there when he said it.’

‘You were…’

‘Sophie.’ He took my hands and he kissed them. ‘Do you remember when I met you in Oxford, in 1916? I’ve never told you why I was there, and you’ve never asked. But I was there to attend an official meeting – one that the Army Medical Board had arranged with the Duke, in the town hall.’

My heart was beating very hard.
But… Beatrice had said that he’d come to Oxford that day to ask the Duke for money.
I nodded, my throat dry. ‘What was this meeting about?’

‘Some representatives of the Board wanted to ask the Duke if he would open up a wing of the Hall as a hospital for wounded soldiers – as many other landowners around the country were doing. The Duke refused. You’ll be wondering,’ he continued, ‘why the Army Medical Board had asked me to be there, but it was partly on account of my connection to the Duke, and partly on account of the fact that I’d already had experience of the needs of injured servicemen, because—’

‘You were a pilot,’ I broke in.

There was a moment’s silence. At last he said, ‘So people have been talking, have they?’

‘I heard a little,’ I stammered.
From Beatrice. Oh, God, from Beatrice.

‘Servants’ gossip, I suppose.’ He was stroking my hand. ‘I should have known… Yes, I was in the Royal Flying Corps. I flew planes – Sopwiths at first, then Bristol Scouts. So I was at that meeting in Oxford, and my presence there was
not
a good idea, as it turned out. The Duke and I hadn’t been in touch since the summer I’d spent at the Hall as a boy. He made it plain that day in Oxford that he still couldn’t stand the sight of me, and as for the hospital – well, as I’ve said, he was horrified by the idea of common soldiers under the hallowed roofs of Belfield Hall. I argued with him, and in front of the rather embarrassed members of the Medical Board, he ordered me never to show my face in his presence again.’

I whispered, ‘I wish… oh, I wish you’d told me.’

He thought I meant about the meeting with the Duke; but I was talking about what he’d done in the war, as a brave fighter pilot.

I wish you hadn’t left it to Beatrice to tell me. And your hands – oh, what happened to your hands? Did you really leave the Flying Corps because you were afraid, as she said?

I wanted so much to ask him all these questions, but he kissed the top of my head, then looked at his watch. ‘I have to go to dinner now. But you should be comfortable.’ He swept his arm around. ‘There are books for you to read, and there’s some cold food that James has left.’ He pointed to a covered dish.

Oh, my Duke had made everything so perfect for me. I smiled up at him. ‘And later, after you’ve come back,’ I said, getting to my feet and smoothing my gown, ‘it will be time for us to creep round the house in the dead of the night. Ash…’ I hesitated. ‘Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for?’

‘I won’t be entirely sure myself until we’ve found it. More secrets, I’m afraid, Sophie.’

I sighed, feigning exasperation. He put his arms on my shoulders and gently pressed his forehead to mine. ‘
Jazz baby, you drive me wild
,’he whispered. ‘By the way – did I ever tell you that on the night I came to the theatre, I thought your dancing was sublime?’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ His face lit up in that glorious smile of his. ‘That’s why I was so angry. My girl, in Cally’s Chorus? I was wild with jealousy, Sophie. I didn’t want anyone – anyone except me – to see you dance.’

He left and I roamed round.
My girl
, he’d said. I wandered into his palatial bathroom and his dressing room, looking at his clothes, smelling the faint, delicious scent of his soap. I lay on his bed, memorising the feel of his pillow under my cheek.

Reality returned. I was here for a purpose; everything he did had a purpose.
I want you to come with me to Belfield
, he’d told me in London.
And after that, Sophie, I will tell you things about my past that will make you turn your back on me with the contempt I deserve.

‘Never,’ I whispered aloud. Never.

We explored the house that night when everyone was asleep, and for me it brought back vivid memories of when I was thirteen and started work here. I remembered the sheer grind of daily toil; I remembered Margaret showing me Beatrice and her American; I remembered the arrogant Lord Sydhurst, whom I hated now, because I knew he was Ash’s enemy. I remembered Beatrice and her plans for me, and my devastating realisation that my Mr Maldon was the Duke, lord and master of all this.

Ash and I had slept a little, but just before one o’clock he gently woke me and we got dressed in silence. He’d explained to me earlier that he wanted to explore all the basement rooms, and so we made our way down the stairs to the lower floor with me leading the way, because this was my domain, not his.

He had a torch so we had no need to turn on any lights, and of course I knew exactly where to find everything, including – most useful of all – the full set of keys in Mr Peters’s office. We went first to the records room in the basement, which was so cold that I was shivering. Ash held my hand for a moment in wordless sympathy, then he began to go through drawer after drawer of papers, quietly intent.

‘I want to go up to the Duchess’s apartment next,’ he told me. ‘Using the back stairs – the servants’ stairs.’

I nodded, thinking of the Duchess at the Dower House nearly a mile away. I led him up the narrow stairs the servants used so they could scurry to and fro unseen and unheard, knowing my way instinctively in the dark to the Duchess’s apartments, though I’d never, ever been inside them. Ash, too, had clearly never seen this part of the house before, but he did not waste any time in staring around as I did, but instead concentrated on an old writing desk, going through its drawers and compartments with growing frustration, and I wondered again what he could be looking for.

At last he stopped and almost slammed his hands on the desk. ‘There must be something else,’ he was saying half to himself. ‘There must be somewhere else, where she kept everything…’

‘I know she has another room,’ I said in sudden inspiration. ‘Someone once told me – it was Betsey, I think. Only the Duchess’s personal maid, Miss Stanforth, was ever allowed in to clean it, never any other servants…’

He whirled round on me. ‘
Where?
’

The intensity of his expression almost frightened me. ‘I’ve heard there’s a small staircase.’ I was already looking around, pulling heavy curtains aside. ‘Here,’ I said.

A narrow door set in the oak panelling had been half hidden by the drapery. Ash tried the handle and it was locked. But after searching through Mr Peters’s keys, he found one that fitted; he told me to wait for him, and I did so, anxiously counting the minutes ticking by. But then he came back, looking triumphant. ‘Sophie. Look.’
And he showed me an old dance card, and a leather-bound diary.

I didn’t understand. A dance card? A diary?

He laughed at my bewilderment. ‘Oh, believe me,’ he said, ‘I’ve got enough here to silence the old Duchess – for
ever
– about my claim to the dukedom.’

My eyes must have opened very wide, because he grinned and grasped my hand. ‘Come on, Sophie. Let’s go back to my rooms, and I’ll tell you everything.’

I nestled on his big bed, while he sprawled next to me and explained. During the summer that he’d stayed here as a boy, he told me, he’d heard whispers amongst the grooms who’d befriended him that the Duchess had long ago been enamoured of another man, even while her marriage with the Duke was being arranged. ‘Look at this dance card.’ He held it out to me – I’d already recognised it as the kind used by ladies at formal balls, to enter their beaux’s names for each dance.

‘It’s for the annual May ball at Winterton Abbey in Suffolk,’ he went on, ‘in 1882. See? The Winterton family crest is here, and the date – May the fifteenth. And there’s the old Duchess’s name, before she married – Lady Alison Madeley. Now, you can see – here – where the gentlemen have signed, for each dance.’ He was pointing. ‘The name
Belfield
crops up several times – that will be the Duke, of course, but you’ll also see the initials
LT
just as often. This
LT
was clearly an admirer, but the Duke was by then her betrothed – they were due to be married in June, only a month later. Now, look at this note – folded up in her diary.’

He tipped the diary up, and out of it fell a folded sheet of expensive but faded notepaper, which he carefully spread out for me. On it was a date – 16 May 1882 – and beneath that was written,
Darling A. I will remember last night for ever.

A for Alison, of course. Written the day after the ball – a lover’s note? But, ‘It could have been from the Duke,’ I said. ‘If they were to be married in a month.’

‘It’s not the Duke’s handwriting,’ Ash pointed out. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen it often enough, in all the documents I’ve had to go through regarding the estate.’

‘So this man, this
LT
, was fond of her,’ I said slowly. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything else.’

He was pushing the diary towards me. ‘Look at this, Sophie. Look at the Duchess’s entries for May. You’ll see how she’s written in all the usual social engagements, all the necessary preparations for a big society wedding – hers, to the Duke of Belfield, which must have been the wedding of the year. But look at the entry for the fifteenth of May.’

I looked closely. ‘
To Winterton Abbey
,’ I read aloud, ‘
for the May ball. LT will be there, staying overnight like me. Our last chance
…’

That was all. I gazed up at Ash. ‘You think – they spent the night together?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘or possibly just a part of it. Long enough. It’s my belief that before her marriage, the Duchess was desperately in love with this LT – so much so, that she escaped from her bedroom on the night of the May ball and went to join him, a mere month before
her wedding. All right, you might say, so she had a very risky
liaison
before her marriage – does it matter?’ His voice was taut with excitement. ‘I would say yes; yes, it matters very much. Because Lord Charlwood was born a mere eight months after the wedding, in February 1883. An early birth, people said. But an equally likely explanation is that Charlwood was the result of that night at Winterton Abbey.’

I gazed at him. ‘Ash – I always thought Lord Charlwood didn’t look like the Duke!’

‘Exactly. In high society there were whispers, often, while Charlwood was alive, but the rule is always discretion at all costs. And that rule won’t be broken by me. Apart from having a quiet word with
her
, I’ll remain silent, of course. But what I’ve seen here, Sophie, means I only have to mention the words
Maurice’s father
for the old Duchess to keep her lips sealed for ever about my supposedly dubious claim to the dukedom.’ He held those precious items tightly in his hand.

‘So your inheritance is safe,’ I said, nestling against him. ‘I’m glad, so glad.’

But a hateful part of me was whispering,
There was just a chance, you know, that if he lost the dukedom he could have been yours. Just a chance…

Then his expression changed. He went to put more coals on the slumbering fire, and then, as he came back towards me and prepared himself to speak again, I suddenly felt myself growing cold, despite the renewed warmth of the leaping flames.

‘Sophie,’ he said. ‘I told you, back in London, that when I’d done what I needed to do here, I would tell you
things about my past that would set you free from your attachment to me, for ever.’

Something caught painfully in my chest. ‘No,’ I said stubbornly. ‘
No.
Ash, you can’t tell me anything that would make me consider you to be anything less than the truly brave, honourable man I know you are.’ I was shivering and I hugged my arms around myself, feeling like a child terrified of the darkness beyond.
I won’t ever stop loving you. Whatever you’ve done, not ever.