Nicola Cornick, Margaret McPhee, et al (35 page)

And what would become of them both when her work was done? That
was something neither wanted to consider.

‘Look,’ Abigail said, pointing across the harbour to the uneven
cone of Mount Vesuvius in the distance. ‘The volcano’s glowing tonight, like
improperly banked coals. Lady Hamilton says it will shoot sparks and fire like
skyrockets for a holiday, as if it somehow knows it’s a special day.’

‘Now, that I should like to see,’ he declared. ‘A sympathetic
volcano. Maybe it will co-operate for Christmas.’

‘That reminds me,’ she said, slipping free to go back inside.
When she returned, she carried a small package that she handed to James. ‘As
soon as I saw this, I thought of you. Consider it part of our Christmas.’

He frowned as he untied the ribbon. ‘You didn’t go to the shops
alone, did you?’

‘You know I didn’t.’ She pressed her hands together in
anticipation, eager for his reaction. ‘A pedlar came to the kitchen door and
Cook let him in.’

‘Cook would let in Bonaparte himself if he were selling
something.’ Out of the paper came a small wooden box, beautifully inlaid.
‘That’s a handsome trinket.’

‘It’s a music box, James!’ she exclaimed with excitement. ‘The
key’s beneath, and once it’s wound you must lift the lid to hear it.’

Dutifully he wound the box, and set it on the wide sill. ‘I hope
it plays “Roast Beef of Old England”, and not “La Marseillaise”.’

‘Neither,’ she declared. ‘Now, listen.
Listen!
’

Only a few notes, but he recognised the very English tune at
once: ‘Greensleeves.’

‘We can pretend we’re at Carrington Woods,’ she said, ‘at one of
your mother’s Christmas balls. Though I don’t believe there are volcanoes in
Devon.’

‘There aren’t.’ Her gift touched him deeply. It was something
only Abigail could have given him. No one else knew this was his favourite
song, one he always associated with Christmas. ‘Mother wouldn’t allow it,
anyway.’

‘But she has hired the small group of musicians for tonight,
who’ve come despite the snow outside. They’re playing “Greensleeves” first, at
your mother’s special request, for her brave officer son, a hero of the Nile,
and home on leave from the war.’ She grinned, and curtseyed to him. ‘May I have
this dance, my lord?’

‘You’re a saucy jade, asking gentlemen to dance,’ he teased
gently as he took her hands. They hadn’t danced since Admiral Nelson’s
birthday; there’d been neither music, nor opportunity. ‘Do you remember how?
Should I count?’

‘I remember,’ she said, concentrating to match her steps to his
with more accuracy than he’d expected. Gradually the music box ran down, the
song slowing and their steps with it, drawing them closer until, when the last
note sounded, they stood in one another’s arms. She looked up at him, her eyes
bright.

‘I remember,’ she said again, little more than a husky whisper as
she raised her mouth to him. ‘I’ll never forget.’

Instinctively her mouth found his, turning the exact distance for
their lips to meet and meld, and for James to remember everything else he’d so
loved about kissing her: how eagerly she sighed as her lips parted for him, how
warm her mouth could be, how she seemed to melt against him, as if making her
body touch his in as many ways as she could, how she tasted and smelled and
felt and
loved
—yes, loved—him in return. They kissed, and it was as if
there were no war. They kissed, and everything in life seemed once again possible,
as long as she was there to share it with him.

He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding along her sides to pull
her hips closer to his own, to let her feel the hard proof of how much he
wanted her, how much he needed her.

‘Ah, Abbie, Abbie,’ he murmured, threading his fingers into her
hair to hold her face before him. Lightly he feathered kisses over her cheeks,
along the curve of her jaw and the throat that he’d learned was most sensitive.
‘My own lass.’

With a shuddering sigh, she gently twisted her face away from his
lips, drawing far enough from him to study his face. Her lips were wet and
parted, her breathing rapid, leaving no doubt in his mind that she’d relished
their kiss as much as he. Yet her eyes were enormous with uncertainty, their confusion
punctuated by the spiky shadows of her lashes falling across her cheeks.

‘I remember, Abbie,’ he whispered, running his hand up and down
her back, hoping the caress would comfort and reassure her, as well as remind
her of the pleasure in what they had been doing before she’d pulled away. ‘I
remember how you looked in the moonlight before, and how—’

‘No, no,
no
,’ she cried plaintively. ‘That’s not what I
intended, James, not at all. I thought with the music box I could kiss you and
think ahead to Christmas, to us together and happy, and—and, God help me, I
cannot. What if all we’ll have is the past, James? What if there’s nothing more
for us than memories of what’s already done?’

She pulled away from his embrace and with trembling fingers
rewound the music box.

‘Abbie,’ he said softly, looping his arms around her waist as he
brushed his lips across the nape of her neck. ‘Abbie, please. I know I cannot
change whatever fate is set for us, but I’ll do everything in my power to make
a future for us—because I love you.’

She went very quiet as music spilled from the little box in her
hands.

‘I love you, Abbie,’ he said again, his voice rough with urgency,
with his desire to make certain she understood. ‘You’re the only woman I’ve
ever said that to, and I mean for it to stay that way. I love you, Abbie, and,
whatever else may happen to us in this life, that will never change.’

‘Oh, I love you too, James,’ she said, her voice breaking with a
sob as she flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his
shoulder, clinging to him as if she’d never let go. ‘I love you more than
anything!’

He held her like that, just held her, and when the music box ran
down again they let the dying notes play around them into the night, and
claimed the silence as their own.

‘T
HERE
,’ said Abigail, dropping her pen with
an exaggerated flourish as she pushed her chair back from the long work table.
The once crowded shelves of Sir William’s gallery were clear, the walls echoing
with emptiness. ‘Everything’s counted, and recorded, and packed away. Only the
final loading remains to be done before the
Colossus
can sail for
London.’

‘Why, Miss Layton, you’re practically crowing,’ said James,
though in truth he was as pleased as she that they’d accomplished so much in
such a short time. ‘Mind you, we still have those last bits and pieces coming
into the cellars each night.’

‘Oh, but that is next to nothing,’ she said, coming round the
table to join him. ‘The hardest part was always Sir William’s collection, as
you know perfectly, perfectly well. But I’ve finished it all, James—and with
nearly a fortnight to spare before Christmas!’

‘I never expected less from you, sweet,’ he said, pulling her
onto his knee so she could claim an enthusiastic congratulatory kiss.

This wasn’t the only good news to celebrate: as
commander-in-chief at the Battle of the Nile, Admiral Nelson had been made
Baron Nelson, and given a pension to go with his new title. Another grand ball
was planned in his honour, this one to be given by Selim III, the Sultan of
Turkey, who intended to lavish more honours and rewards on the new Lord Nelson.

The news from the north had been wondrous indeed, too, with King
Ferdinand’s troops having taken the French by surprise and driven them so
completely from Rome that they’d retaken the city and invited the Pope to
return. Naples had gone wild with joy and pride. With the help of their English
allies, anything now seemed possible.

And so it seemed for James, too. Lord Nelson had assured him he
would also soon benefit from their victory on the Nile—perhaps even be made a
captain in his own right. James didn’t care what manner of vessel he was given;
all he’d ever wished was a command and a crew of his own to prove himself, and
to serve England. But now there was more. Captains were permitted to bring
their wives to sea with them. Few did, for it was a hard, dangerous life for a
woman, but then few wives were women as brave, as clever, as resourceful as
Abigail Layton. He hadn’t said anything to her yet, for nothing was as
unpredictable as navy promotions, but it was his dearest dream, and his goal,
too. Could there be a better Christmas surprise for them both?

For now, he’d planned another surprise—not quite so grand, but he
hoped a fit reward for Abigail.

He pointed back towards her closed notebook. ‘What’s that scrap
of paper poking out from your book, eh? You can’t consider yourself righteously
done with that kind of untidiness.’

‘I’ve no idea what that is,’ she said, hopping from his knee to
go and investigate. ‘You know I’m not messy like that, not with my records.’

He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile as she
pulled the folded paper from the notebook, opened it, and read. She read it
again, and her eyes widened as she looked back to him.

‘You wish to surprise me with a rare adventure this Sunday?’ she
asked. ‘Pray, what exactly does that mean, James?’

He shrugged. ‘If I told you then it wouldn’t be a surprise.’

She raised her chin, folding her arms over her chest. ‘But if you
do not tell me I may not agree to go with you.’

‘If you don’t agree,’ he said, ‘then I’ll have to abduct you, and
carry you off like a Turk. I’ve already asked for leave from his lordship. I’m
not going to change my mind simply because you refuse to oblige.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘If you dare try such a dirty trick—’

‘Oh, you know I’d never mean you harm,’ he said, laughing. ‘I’ll
tell you only that it will bring the greatest pleasure to us both.’

‘Now, that
does
sound like a Turk!’

He laughed again, and reached out to pull her back into his lap.
The feel of her there—her soft, rounded bottom pressing against the front of
his breeches, the fullness of her breast against his chest—was sweet torment
indeed. He wanted her—wanted her badly—and the ardent way she responded to his
kisses and light caresses made him certain she felt the same for him.

They were always careful to be discreet before the others—a good
deal more discreet than Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton were—but the embassy was
such a public place, for business as well as entertaining, that the times when
he’d been confident of their privacy had been precious few. More than once he’d
considered inviting himself to her bedchamber, but decided against that, too.
When she finally became his, he wanted to be able to make it special for them
both, not to worry that they’d be interrupted by some nosey footman. His Abbie
deserved better than that.

‘It’s meant to be a treat, sweet, not torture,’ he said gently,
letting her nestle more comfortably against him. ‘I haven’t forgotten what you
said about us not being able to look forward, only back. I wanted to give you
something to anticipate.’

‘Oh, James.’ She gazed up at him, tears glistening in her eyes.
‘You remembered that?’

‘I did,’ he said, kissing her lightly on her forehead. ‘These
have not been the best circumstances for making you happy, but because I love
you so much I’m trying my damnedest.’

‘I love you, too,’ she whispered. ‘You still won’t tell me the
secret?’

‘All I’ll say is that it’s almost Christmas,’ he said. ‘That’s
more than enough.’

‘Christmas with
you
,’ she repeated softly. ‘And that, my
love, will be more than enough for me.’

‘Miss Layton! A word with you, if you please!’

Abigail turned, and stopped on the steps of the little Protestant
church to wait for Lady Hamilton. She hadn’t expected to see the ambassador’s
wife here, not this early in the day.

‘A splendid service, wasn’t it?’ the older woman said as she
joined her. She lifted the veil from her face, tucking it onto the wide brim of
her blue velvet hat. ‘Poor Rev’nd Dowling don’t have the same flock he once
had, now that all the English gentlemen an’ ladies have fled home to London
from fear o’ the French.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ Abigail murmured, her thoughts far from the
near-empty church. Riding in the carriage with the house servants, she’d come
to the earliest service so she could meet James and spend the rest of the day
with him. He’d refused to relent about keeping his plans secret, and now she
could scarcely wait to learn where they’d be going, what they’d be doing.

‘O’ course, if the navy gentlemen had come, then we would have
had a full house,’ Lady Hamilton was saying, ‘but they will keep the Sabbath on
their ships, with their men. Will you ride with me back to the house, my dear?’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Abigail said, surprised to be asked. ‘I’m
honoured.’

‘So am I, Miss Layton,’ Lady Hamilton said. ‘Your company’s
precious dear these days, isn’t it? Here’s the carriage now.’

Climbing into the carriage after Lady Hamilton, Abigail wondered
uneasily what she’d meant. She hadn’t long to wait: before the carriage had
even begun moving, Lady Hamilton turned on the leather seat so she could look
directly at Abigail.

‘So, how attached are you to Richardson?’ she asked bluntly.
‘There’s never a time when I don’t see the pair o’ you together—why, there’s
plenty o’ couples courtin’ serious that don’t play the lovebirds like you two.’

‘Forgive me, my lady, I—I do not know what to say,’ Abigail
stammered, her cheeks flaming. True, she
was
almost always in James’s
company, though not in any unseemly way before the others. But she’d tried to
remain professional whenever she was with the Hamiltons—a scholar first, and
not once, she’d hoped, a ‘lovebird’.