Where Dreams Begin(110)

“Holly.” The anxious note in her husband's voice pierced her reverie. She rolled to her side with an inquiring smile. He was coming toward her from the house, his stride purposeful, his hard face set with a frown.

“You must have been watching from the library window,” Holly murmured, crooking her finger for him to join her on the grass.

“I saw you fall,” he said curtly, squatting beside her. “Are you all right?”

Holly wriggled to her back, heedless of possible grass stains, knowing she looked far more like a tumbled country lass than the grand lady she had been reared to be. “Come closer and I'll show you,” she said throatily.

A reluctant laugh escaped him as his gaze traveled over her abandoned posture, the skirts flipped up to reveal her white-stockinged ankles. Holly lay still beneath his perusal, hoping his reticence with her was finally beginning to fade. In the past six weeks of her recovery from typhoid, she had regained her health in full measure, until she was once more pink-cheeked and lively, and even a bit plump. She knew she had never looked or felt better, and along with her health had come all her natural desire to be physically close with her husband.

Ironically, Zachary's recovery had been somewhat slower than hers. Although he was as affectionate and teasing as ever, there was an unbreakable restraint in his manner with her, an undue carefulness in the way he touched her, as if she were still so fragile that he might accidentally cause her harm. Although he had regained some of the weight he had lost, he was still a bit too lean, too watchful and tense, as if he were waiting for some unseen enemy to pounce.

He had not made love to her since before the typhoid fever. There was no mistaking the fact that he wanted her, and after the past two months of celibacy, a man with his sexual appetite must be suffering mightily. But he had greeted her recent advances with careful, gentle rebuffs, promising that they would be intimate again when she was better. Clearly his opinion of her health was far different than her own, or even Dr. Linley's. The physician had tactfully informed her that she was ready to resume all normal marital activity as soon as she felt able. However, she didn't seem able to convince Zachary that she was more than healthy enough to receive him in her bed.

Wanting him to relax, to be happy, to lose his restraint in her arms, Holly slid him a provocative glance. “Kiss me,” she murmured. “There's no one here but Rose…and she certainly won't mind.”

Zachary hesitated and bent over her, brushing his mouth gently over hers. She slid a hand around the back of his neck, fingers curving over muscles that were as hard as steel. Holding him to her, she touched her tongue to his lips, but he would not share his taste with her. He took her wrist carefully and pulled her hand away from his neck.

“Have to go back,” he said unsteadily, and let out a panting breath. “Work to do.” Shivering and laughing briefly, he stood in an easy movement and threw her a glance of tortured love. He returned to the house while she raised herself to a sitting position and contemplated his tall, retreating figure.

Clearly something must be done, Holly thought with mingled amusement and exasperation. Of all men, she had never thought Zachary Bronson would be so difficult to seduce. He seemed almost afraid to touch her. She had no doubt that he would make love to her again someday, when he finally realized that he would not inadvertently hurt her. But she did not want to wait. She wanted him now, the vigorous full-blooded lover whose lusty advances made her mad with pleasure—not this careful, considerate gentleman who seemed entirely too self-controlled for his own good.

Returning home from a long day spent in his town offices, Zachary entered the house with a sigh of relief. It had been an unexpectedly difficult negotiation, but he had finally acquired the largest interest in a Birmingham metalwork factory that produced chains, nails and needles. The difficult part had not been in setting the financial terms, but in convincing his would-be partners that from now on the factory would be run by his managers, his way. There would be decent hours for the workers, no children employed and part of the profits would be reinvested in ways his partners had called foolish and unnecessary. He had nearly walked away from the deal entirely, and when they had realized he would not yield an inch, they had agreed to all his terms.

The day of patient, persistent debate had left him agitated. He was still tense with battle readiness, longing for a way to expel his pent-up energy. Unfortunately, his favorite method, that of tumbling his wife, was still not available to him. He knew Holly would welcome him if he approached her that way. However, she still seemed so small and fragile, and he was terrified that her health might undergo a setback if he pushed her too hard. Moreover, his own feelings for her overwhelmed him. It had been so long since he had made love to her that he half-feared he would fall on her like a rabid animal when he finally approached her.

It was Thursday, the usual night off for the servants, but the household seemed far quieter and emptier than usual. As Zachary wandered from the entrance hall to the family dining room, he discovered that the cold supper that the cook always set out on these evenings was not to be found. Checking his pocket watch, he discovered that he was only a quarter-hour late. Was it possible that the family had already eaten and retired? Mysteriously, there wasn't a single person in view, and no one responded to his casual call. The house seemed deserted.

Frowning, Zachary strode to the grand staircase, his pace quickening as he wondered if something had gone wrong…and then he saw it. A rose with crimson petals, laid carefully along the bottom step. He picked up the flower, the long stem carefully denuded of thorns. As he ascended the stairs, he found another on the sixth step, and another on the twelfth. His gaze progressed upward, discovering that a trail of red roses had been laid out for him to follow.