DEEPER THAN DESIRE - HarperCollins

Deeper
DTehsainre

Caroline
Linden

An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1807

Portsmouth

T he first time Thomas Webb laid eyes on Cal-
landra Turner, he knew. She was seventeen
years old, all glowing peach skin and glossy black
curls, shrieking with laughter as she and her sister
chased the family’s goat, which had escaped his
pen and was romping in the garden. She was the
most beautiful creature Tom had ever seen. It was
no bolt of lightning or moment of lightheaded-
ness, just a striking certainty that he would never
be the same, nor look at another woman without
comparing her—unfavorably—to Miss Turner.

Unfortunately, he knew just as certainly that he
had no chance of winning her.

He was twenty-three, and had been a soldier for
almost seven years. He had no other trade or pro-
fession, and, until that moment, he had expected
he would be a soldier until a French cannonball
or old age claimed him. Frankly, Tom didn’t really
care which it was; his life was pleasant enough,
nothing grand. But as he watched her, trying to
hold her skirts out of the mud as she chased the
goat around a row of cabbages, Tom felt as though

Deeper Than Desire 3

he might as well have been already dead . . . until
now.

“There’re my girls,” cried his companion,
George Turner, throwing open the gate. Turner
had just been made sergeant of their unit, and had
invited Tom to come home with him on furlough.
Since all the Webbs were dead or flung to the dis-
tant corners of the country, Tom had accepted.

“Papa,” cried both girls, rushing to be swal-
lowed up in his embrace. The goat took advantage
of the moment to charge out the gate, right toward
Tom. Without thinking, he lunged and grabbed
the frayed rope around the beast’s neck.

“Oh! Thank you, sir!” The other daughter, tall
and gangly, noticed him then. “Billy chewed right
through that rope, wicked old thing, and would
have trotted straight down to Mr. Browne’s garden
to eat the radishes.”

Turner laughed, an arm around each girl. “Serves
him right! Browne is a miserly old rabbit.”

“But Papa, he threatened to shoot Billy if Billy
ever ate his garden again,” said the girl, The One,
splashes of soft pink brightening her cheeks.

“Bugger him if he shoots at my goat,” said
Turner genially, and behind his back the girls
shared a worried glance. He held out one hand
toward Tom. “I’ve brought someone home to meet

4 Caroline Linden

you—he wouldn’t be kept away once he heard I
had two pretty girls waiting for me here! Girls,
Thomas Webb. Webb, my daughters Callie and
Cressida.”

Callie, the beauty, blushed and bobbed a curt-
sey. Cressida, already tall enough to look him in
the face even though Tom later learned she wasn’t
quite fifteen, grinned at him. Tom grinned back,
wishing the sergeant hadn’t made it seem he’d
been interested in them; he’d barely known Turner
had daughters, and somehow he’d thought they
were markedly younger than this. “A pleasure to
make your acquaintances,” he said, jerking off his
cap and bowing awkwardly as he tried to keep
the goat from nibbling at his coat buttons.

Turner laughed and waved him inside the gate.
“I trust there’s dinner in the house,” he said with
a wink at his taller daughter.

“Not yet, but once Granny knows you’re
here, there soon will be!” Cressida scampered
off through the garden, calling out, “Granny!
Granny, Papa’s come home!” A thin, older woman
came out of the cottage, wiping her hands on her
apron, and George Turner strode toward her, arms
outstretched.

“Thank you, sir.” Callie Turner looked up at
him with sparkling eyes the color of rich coffee

Deeper Than Desire 5

and reached for the goat’s rope. “He gives us ever
so much trouble when he gets loose.”

“Aye, he’s got a troublesome look about him.”
She flashed him a grateful smile, and Tom felt his
chest seize up, as if he had plunged into a cold
river and could hardly breathe. It was an angel’s
smile, he thought. He handed her the rope, and
with a tug she led the goat back inside the con-
fining pen. Tom followed, closing the gate behind
him and trying to keep his eyes off her slender
figure.

That was the beginning of the best three weeks
of his life. Tom was almost afraid to look at her, for
fear his attraction and wonder would show on his
face. Both girls and their grandmother made him
feel at home and welcome, even if Turner often
seemed amused by their efforts. And when he
and Turner left, Tom carried the image of Callie
smiling and waving at him in his heart. More
than a year later, when they received another brief
furlough, Turner asked Tom if he’d like to come
to Portsmouth again. Tom said yes at once. Too
quickly, perhaps, but Turner just laughed in his
jovial way and off they went.

This time Tom remembered that she preferred
the quieter tasks about the house, and made him-
self useful from the start. When she went to weed

6 Caroline Linden

the garden, Tom offered to chop wood. When
she fed the animals, he offered to clean out the
small shed where the goat and the chickens lived.
If she was mending in the sitting room, he was
more than willing to repair the broken shutter.
And while they worked, they talked—of sights
he had seen in the army, of the curious charac-
ters in Portsmouth, of his fondness for cricket and
her fascination with novels, despite her grand-
mother’s admonishments that too much reading
harmed the brain.

“Then what about Isaac Newton?” Tom was on
one knee, an upside-down chair in front of him.
One leg had come loose, and he had pulled it off
to repair it properly. “He must have read a hun-
dred books on astronomy and such.”

Callie laughed, looking up from her sewing.
“Not that sort of reading. Granny allows that read-
ing the Bible couldn’t impair the brain, either.”

Tom pulled a face. “Reading is reading, seems
to me.”

“Oh no, most definitely not.” She sighed, her
hands falling idle in her lap as she gazed out the
window. “But somehow it takes so much more
work to read Fordyce’s Sermons instead of The Ad-
ventures of David Simple.”

Deeper Than Desire 7

He chuckled. “Fordyce! That will make your
brain hurt.”

“Have you read David Simple?”
Tom nodded.
“What a life,” she said almost wistfully. “To be
so noble and good, and find such happiness at the
end.”
“It would be better to find happiness before the
end,” Tom remarked, working the wobbly chair
leg back into position. “’Tis easier to enjoy it, if
you’re not dead.”
She burst out laughing. Tom looked at her and
grinned; it was like the sun coming out from
behind the clouds when she laughed. “You’re
right—of course, that’s what I meant! It was the
end of the book, though; if David had not found
happiness by then, we would never know how
it turned out.” She picked up her mending once
again. “But that is the lovely thing about novels.
No matter how dreadful things may seem, it
always comes out right in the end.”
“Er . . . not always.”
She made a face at him. “Oh! I only like novels
where it comes out well in the end, like Tom Jones
or Pamela, no matter how much harm is done to
my brain.”

8 Caroline Linden

“It can’t possibly do harm to like seeing things
come out right and happy in the end,” he assured
her. “Just like this chair.” He righted the chair and
gave it a hard shake. The once-wobbly leg was
tight again, and he knocked his knuckles on the
seat. “There. It won’t upend anyone now.”

“Thank you, Tom,” she said with a smile, her
eyes shining at him. “I don’t know what we would
do without you.” And at moments like that, Tom
felt himself the equal of any king.

Even more than that, he began to hope. With no
family to support, he had some funds saved up.
Never much addicted to dice, Tom had accumu-
lated a tidy little sum, and kept it safe in the four
percents. He wasn’t rich, but he began to feel that
he might be an acceptable son-in-law to Sergeant
Turner. He had even gone so far as to begin craft-
ing a little speech, declaring his affections and
asking permission to court her, when Turner cut
out his heart with one careless sentence.

“Julian Phillips has his eye on my girl,” Turner
said one night as they smoked outside the little
house after dinner.

Tom nearly choked on a draw from his pipe.
“Does he?” he managed to say over a cough.
Julian Phillips was an older man, a prosperous
haberdasher who was considered a good catch in

Deeper Than Desire 9

Portsmouth. But he had cold eyes, and Tom prayed
with all his might that it wasn’t Callie he wanted.
Cressida was only sixteen, and nowhere near the
beauty her sister was, but she could stand up for
herself. He didn’t mean to sacrifice Cressida, but
Callie was such a gentle creature . . .

“Callie could hardly do better,” said Turner
with satisfaction, driving a stake through his
hopes. “She’s a pretty girl, like her mother was,
and I knew she’d make me proud.” He glanced
at Tom, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “She’ll
make a good wife, don’t you think?”

Tom took his time replying, fiddling with his
pipe. “Phillips has a bad reputation,” he muttered.
“Cold. Hard.”

Turner shrugged it off. “He can afford to be.”
Money. Always money with Turner. Tom closed
his eyes, thinking of his savings and calculating
the value. “How much?”
The sergeant didn’t even pretend not to under-
stand. “Two hundred pounds. Can you credit that?
A man would be a fool not to take that offer.”
“Is that how much you want for her, then?” His
heart thumped hard and slow, like the tolling of a
bell inside his chest. He could afford two hundred
pounds, barely. Even if Callie Turner didn’t care
for him the way he cared for her, at least she liked

10 Caroline Linden

him, and he would be a damned sight kinder hus-
band than Phillips, who was rumored to have odd
predilections. Tom heard all kinds of things while
running errands in town.

“Webb, Webb,” said Turner with a condescend-
ing smile. “We both know it’s more than that. Phil-
lips has a home, right here in Portsmouth. He’s got
a good business. He’s not off chasing the French
army here and there. He’s got a bit of . . .” Turner
gestured vaguely with one hand. “Breeding.”

Unlike you. Tom heard the unspoken warning.
“Has she agreed?”

“She will. She knows her duty.”
“But what if she received another proposal?”
Tom’s palms were sweating. “What if someone
else—?”
This time Turner looked at him, something dan-
gerous in his eyes. Tom gazed back. The tolling of
his heart seemed to ring in his ears with a lost,
lonely echo. “It wouldn’t matter at all, Webb,” said
Turner quietly. “I’ve already told Phillips yes.”
Within a fortnight the deed was done. Tom
hung back at the church, feeling a little bit of his
soul being gouged out and charred before his eyes
as Julian Phillips took Callie’s hand and recited
his vow. Phillips smiled at her with a cool, formal
smile that never reached his eyes, but Tom thought

Deeper Than Desire 11

the bride was a bit too nervous to notice it. When
the service was finally concluded, George Turner
swept in at once to shake Phillips’s hand and talk
to him. Her grandmother and sister embraced
Callie before turning to offer their felicitations to
Phillips. Callie was left alone for a moment, look-
ing young and slightly dazed as she twisted the
new ring on her finger.

Tom stepped up to her, clearing his throat. “I
wish you great happiness,” he murmured. He
did. He also hoped like hell that he was wrong
about Phillips. Or, alternatively, that the scoun-
drel dropped dead before dinner tonight.

She looked up at him with those dark eyes that
had bewitched him from the moment he first saw
her. “Oh, Tom,” she whispered. “I wish—I wish—”

The air seemed to solidify around him. Tom
was a reasonable man, not inclined to make trou-
ble for himself or anyone else, especially not in
a church. But at that moment, as she looked up
at him with a frightened tinge of longing in her
gaze, Tom almost reached out to grab her hand
and run—away from Phillips and Turner and ev-
eryone else who would crush her quiet, sensitive
spirit, and damn the consequences. God help him,
if she should finish that sentence and say that she
wished it were his ring she wore . . .

12 Caroline Linden

“There’s the lovely bride!” boomed Turner’s
voice, shattering the spell. “Callie my girl, you
never looked prettier!”

She blushed and flashed a nervous smile at her
father. Turner clapped one hand on Tom’s shoul-
der. “Come to kiss the bride, eh, Webb?”

Now he felt his own face warm. Stiffly he leaned
forward and brushed his lips, ever so lightly, over
her cheek. She smelled like lavender and mint,
and he lingered a second to breathe her in, just
this once.

“Thank you,” she whispered, for his ears only.
Then Phillips was taking her hand posses-
sively, leading her out of the church. Turner,
having done his worst and now more cheer-
ful than ever, followed with his mother and
Cressida. Tom stood where she had left him until
the church door closed behind them, and he was
left alone.

Callandra Phillips often wondered what her life
might have been like if she hadn’t married the
wrong man.

She hadn’t known he was the wrong man at the
time. Julian Phillips was a prosperous merchant
in Portsmouth, older and well respected in town,

Deeper Than Desire 13

and she was a poor soldier’s daughter; no one
was more surprised than Callie when he began to
pay her attention. The first time he called on her
family, he praised the biscuits she’d made for tea.
The second time, he said she was a beauty, and
smiled patiently at her blush. The third time, he
spoke to her father, then pressed a cool kiss to her
cheek. Within a month of that first visit, she was
standing beside him in the church.

But not long after that wedding day, she began
to suspect he was the wrong man. Callie hadn’t
thought he loved her, nor did she expect it. Her
father had bluntly explained to her that they
were poor, and Mr. Phillips was not. If something
should happen to Papa while he was off fight-
ing Napoleon, Mrs. Julian Phillips would be well
able to take care of her grandmother and younger
sister, while Miss Callandra Turner would not.
The Turners needed to look after one another,
Papa had reminded her, and here she could do
it in style and comfort. Marrying well was what
every girl should aspire to, and now one of the
wealthiest men in town wanted her. Papa patted
her shoulder and declared himself proud of her,
for having snared such a husband. Callie didn’t
quite have the strength of will to defy him. Be-
sides, no one else had offered to marry her.

14 Caroline Linden

Only when Papa left did real doubt form in
Callie’s mind. With Papa went Tom Webb, a mate
of his from the infantry who often came to spend
his furloughs with the Turner family. Tom was
tall and solid, a good man who never failed to
make himself helpful in some way. He was kind
and thoughtful, and Callie liked him a great deal.
He was so easy to talk to; for a while she had even
suspected that he might have taken a fancy to
her, and she had begun to imagine herself fall-
ing in love with him, too, but then Mr. Phillips
began calling and Tom never said a word. He and
Papa were due back at their regiment soon, and
Callie had come to see them off as always. But as
the men were shouldering their gear, saying their
final farewells before walking off down the lane,
Tom leaned close to her.

“Be careful around Phillips,” he murmured, ad-
justing a strap on his knapsack. The two of them
were momentarily alone. Papa was saying good-
bye to Cressida and Granny in his usual boister-
ous way, roaring with laughter even as Granny
dabbed her eyes with a corner of her apron.

Callie looked up at him in surprise. “Why? He
is my husband.”

His face flushed a ruddy red as he concentrated
on buckling the strap. “Aye. But in your shoes, I’d

Deeper Than Desire 15

invite my grandmother and sister to live with me.”
Her eyes opened wide. Just the other day she

had suggested that, thinking it would ease her
grandmother’s life and provide her sister with
a more advantageous situation to meet other
men. Cressida was sixteen now, tall and pretty.
But Mr. Phillips had said no, he wanted only
one woman in his house. He refused her kindly
but firmly, and Callie didn’t think she should
ask again.

At her silence, Tom looked at her. His eyes were
a clear, light green, she realized. Like glass. “Ask
him again,” he said, almost inaudibly.

Dumbly, Callie found herself nodding. Papa
was striding to them to pull her close one last
time, pinching her cheek and calling her his fine,
elegant daughter, and Tom turned away. She stood
beside her sister and grandmother and waved
at the two men as they headed off, back to war.
Papa swung his cap heartily, then turned around
and led the way. Tom Webb, though, looked back
longer—at her, she realized. Callie summoned a
smile and waved at him. Finally he grinned back,
lifting one hand before vanishing around the turn
of the hedge with her father.

“What did Tom say to you?” Cressida asked her
as they walked back to the house.

16 Caroline Linden

“What do you mean?” Callie glanced self-
consciously over her shoulder, after the departed
soldiers.

“He looked as though he had something on
his mind, and he bade you farewell so quietly.”
Cressida shrugged. “I just wondered.”

“It was nothing,” she murmured. “Nothing at
all.”

But she wasn’t sure.
She thought about Tom’s remarks for several
days, and finally decided it would only drive her
mad. Ever since he had planted that seed in her
mind, she found herself more conscious than ever
of her husband’s inscrutable gaze on her in the
evenings. It made her skin prickle and her mind
run alarmingly. Mr. Phillips had been kind to her
so far. They were still practically strangers, and
she was very conscious of the honor he had done
her in marrying her. Callie wanted to be a good
wife, and Tom Webb’s vague warning was getting
in the way of her ability to think as highly of her
husband as a wife should.
But after her father and his friend had left, Mr.
Phillips’s manner changed. It was slight at first; he
insisted she take a servant with her whenever she
went out, for protection. Callie, who had walked
alone all over Portsmouth before her marriage,

Deeper Than Desire 17

gave in gracefully, even though her sister laughed
at the servant who had to trail after them in the
market. Not until Julian reprimanded her for
spending so much time at the lending library did
she realize the man might also be reporting her
activities to Mr. Phillips.

When she asked him about it, her husband
merely smiled. “Any man with a beautiful young
wife would be protective of her.”

“But at the lending library!” she said with a
small laugh, trying to make light of it. “There’s no
danger there.”

He kept smiling, but with a contemplative look
that somehow made her stop smiling. “If one knew
where the danger lay, it would be easy enough to
avoid, don’t you think? I prefer to be prepared at
all times.”

She frowned. “I suppose . . .”
“You must trust me in this,” he said. “You are
my wife, mine to command.”
“Of course,” Callie murmured, wishing he
hadn’t put it quite that way but reminded once
more of her father’s words about duty and obliga-
tion. “I do want to please you, sir.”
He looked at her for a long minute. “Do you
really?” he murmured. “I wondered . . .”
“Of course I do,” she protested.

18 Caroline Linden

This time his smile was undeniably chilly, as
was the tone of his reply. “Good.”

When he came to bed that night, he brought a
length of cord. It was a red silk cord that he sold in
his dry goods shop, something a lady might use in
trimming a fancy gown. “Hold out your hands,”
he said to her. When Callie complied, he looped
the cord around her wrists just tightly enough to
hold her hands together.

“Why?” she asked nervously.
He was staring at the cord, like a line of blood
around her wrists. “It pleases me,” he said in a
low voice. “Now turn around.”
When it was over, he untied her hands, washed
himself, and got into bed. Uncertainly, Callie did
the same, blowing out the candles. “Julian,” she
whispered, “why did you do that?”
He rolled over and patted her hand. The ges-
ture surprised her, since he wasn’t usually affec-
tionate. “It pleased me,” was all he said.
Callie didn’t know what to make of that. How
could it please her husband to tie her hands before
making love to her? He had made love to her
before, but properly, with her on her back and the
candles blown out; not like this. Perhaps it was just
to test how devoted she was. Granny had told her
some men had strange tastes, and she must endure

Deeper Than Desire 19

it as best she could if Mr. Phillips should prove one
of those. She told herself not to be so missish; he
hadn’t hurt her, and she was supposed to obey her
husband. She pushed aside the whisper of doubt
that echoed in her mind and went to sleep.

But that was only the start.
From then on he usually brought something
into the bedroom when he wanted to make love
to her. He never seemed to care if she touched him
or not, or what she might like in bed. He did caress
her as if he wanted her to have some pleasure,
but often Callie was so uncomfortable or embar-
rassed by what he did, she couldn’t feel anything.
She began to hate the approach of evening, and
one night refused to let him bind her arms. The
last time he’d done that, it had left bruises up and
down her arms, and she’d had to wear long sleeves
for a fortnight.
His face darkened. “Raise your arms,” he said
in hard, quiet voice.
Callie shivered at his expression but persisted.
“Can’t I please you any other way? Why must you
always tie my hands? Why don’t you ever want
me to touch you?”
He raised one hand to her cheek, then let it
slide slowly down her neck. His thumb rested in
­feathery-light menace on her pulse, now pound-

20 Caroline Linden

ing in alarm. “Because this pleases me,” he whis-
pered. “Raise your arms, wife.”

And she did. She had no choice. If he cast her
off, she would have to go home in disgrace, to a
family that couldn’t really afford to have her back.
Papa would be furious; she had a suspicion he
had borrowed money from Julian and probably
hoped never to have to repay it. And even worse,
she knew her husband was paying the lease on
the house her family lived in. Her entire family’s
well-being depended on her marriage. Callie felt
herself caught in a trap, and wished she had had
the sense to see the darker side of Julian before it
was too late.

He never made love to her again without bind-
ing her. He favored red scarves, and he never blew
out the lamps, leaving Callie feeling exposed and
helpless. There was no pleasure in it for her, but
he didn’t seem to care. And as months and then
years passed, it became harder and harder for her
to care, either.

Eventually, the war ended; Napoleon was
forced into exile. Portsmouth was in tumult, wild
with joy at the end of the wars, and thronged with
soldiers and sailors returning to England. Papa
was coming home, with Tom Webb once more
beside him.

Deeper Than Desire 21

They arrived the day after the funeral. Julian
had died suddenly, complaining of severe indi-
gestion one night at dinner, then going to bed and
never waking up. The doctor said his heart had
seized and stopped in the night. Callie went to
the graveyard a day later, since propriety had kept
her from the burial, and when she looked up from
the grave, there was Tom Webb standing across
from her.

For a moment she simply stared, fearing she
had imagined him. She was glad to see him, but
even that feeling was muted. Perhaps she wasn’t
capable of feeling anything anymore, not even at
the sight of such a beloved friend. Tom was much
the same as ever, tall and solid, with his hat in his
hand. He wore regular clothing now, no longer
the red coat of his regiment, and it suited him.
His face was brown from the Spanish sun, but his
eyes were the same clear green she remembered
so well.

The expression in them, though, made her ill.
There was sympathy there, and kindness and
esteem. Sympathy, when she mostly felt relief? She
had to look away, and her gaze dropped back to
the mound of freshly turned earth, starkly black
against the weathered grass. It was the only dark
spot on the little hill under the oak tree, and she

22 Caroline Linden

couldn’t help thinking it was far more reflective of
her husband’s nature than the respectable image
he had cultivated so rigidly.

Tom cleared his throat. “My deepest sym­
pathies.”

She flinched. “Thank you, sir.”
For a moment there was only the sound of the
bracing spring wind, whistling around them and
the scraggly oak. Callie could feel his gaze upon
her, and she couldn’t bear to face it. Tom—faith-
ful, kind, decent Tom—would see at once that she
had changed, that something inside her had been
stripped away. At last, his steps whispering in
the tall grass, he came around the grave to stand
beside her.
“Are you well?” he asked quietly.
She could still feel the bruises, deep and sore,
on her back and hips. Julian had been angry with
her the night before he died. She worried at times
they would show through her clothing, like lep-
er’s spots. Was she well? Maybe never again.
When she didn’t answer his question, Tom ex-
haled. She held herself so stiffly, he feared she was
about to faint. From a distance she was as beauti-
ful as ever, but up close he could see that she had
lost weight, and dark shadows smudged her eyes.

Deeper Than Desire 23

There was a fragility, an emptiness, about her
now, and he knew what the cause was. “I’m not
sorry he’s dead,” he said.

Slowly she turned and looked at him, her eyes
deep, dark pools. For a moment there was that
connection of spirit and mind he had always
sensed with her, and then the blankness returned.
“Neither am I.”

Oh blessed Lord. If even Callie—the sweetest,
gentlest person alive—wasn’t sorry Phillips was
dead, how awful must her marriage have been?
Guilt nearly strangled Tom; he should have done
something, anything, to help her. At the very least
he could have shot Julian Phillips through his
rotted heart. “How could you be—” he started to
say, but she held up one hand.

“I should be,” she said. Her hand trembled, and
she turned her eyes away, back to the grave. “But
that part of my heart died a long time ago.”

“Not died,” he said at once, unconsciously
reaching out to her. “Don’t say that.”

“No!” She flinched from his hand as if he meant
to strike her. Tom jerked it back in alarm. “You
don’t know,” she said in the same tense, fright-
ened voice. “You can’t! Everything inside me is
dead.” And she turned and hurried away.

24 Caroline Linden

They never spoke of it again. Tom stayed in
Portsmouth, becoming part of the Turner house-
hold. Callie moved back in with her family, but
nothing seemed to touch the frost that had set-
tled around her heart. She felt hollow and brittle,
and her father couldn’t seem to stop tapping little
cracks in her surface. He was surprised Julian
hadn’t left her more money; he was disappointed
she hadn’t made an effort to help run the dry
goods shop and put herself in position to take it
over; he was unhappy she hadn’t found a similarly
prosperous husband for her sister in seven years.
Callie thought of the long months she had been a
prisoner of her husband’s whims, told what to do
and when to do it, and wanted to scream at her
father. But she had learned a hard lesson from her
husband; her father’s temper was even quicker
than Julian’s, and she held her tongue. Silence was
always her best choice, it seemed.

And Tom never pressed her. He was always
there to lend a hand, a kind word, a strong
shoulder to lean on. Callie came to rely on him,
gradually feeling like herself again in his pres-
ence. From time to time she thought of that day
in the graveyard and wondered what might have
been  .  .  . But Tom was as carefully respectful

Deeper Than Desire 25

toward her as he was toward her grandmother.

Callie was both grateful that he did nothing, and

wistful for something she couldn’t even name.

The thought of marriage to anyone made her

heart almost stop in horror. It was far easier to

be alone, untouchable and untouched. She was

content to let things go on undisturbed, and for

a few years, they did.

Then Papa disappeared, and everything

changed. 1820

It was her sister who finally forced her to see
the truth.

Papa had gone to visit someone and never came
back, leaving them alone with Granny, whose
health had begun to fail. Their finances had taken
a terrible turn in Papa’s absence, although they
made every economy possible. They had lost their
new home, a comfortable farm in Hertfordshire,
and only had a place to stay through the grace
of some very kind neighbors, the Hayeses. One
night there was even a party, which provided a
welcome respite from their worries, and much to
Callie’s surprise, a gentleman named Mr. Davis
had paid her particular attention. She expected
her sister would tease her, but he had been amus-

26 Caroline Linden

ing and interesting, and she had thoroughly en-
joyed the evening.

Then Cressida came into the room they were
sharing, and lobbed a bombshell into her pleasant
ruminations. “I think we’ve all underestimated
Tom,” she remarked as she brushed out Callie’s
hair. “He is one of the most wholly decent men
I know, a gentleman in deed if not by birth. Just
think of where we’d be now if he hadn’t stayed
with us all these weeks since Papa left. I cannot
imagine life without Tom, can you?”

“Of course not.” Callie was shocked by the sug-
gestion. Tom had been there for so long, so steady
and dependable. She wasn’t sure they could get by
without him. She certainly couldn’t.

“And it struck me, as I was watching Mr. Davis
hang on your every word, that I’ve known Tom for
years. We get on quite well together.” In the mirror,
Callie could see her sister’s face as she talked.
Cressida looked quite pleased with this idea. Her
eyes were bright, and there was a fine blush of
color in her cheeks. “Perhaps I’ve been overlooking
something, or someone, right before my eyes.”

“Cressida.” Callie reeled. Good God—was her
sister in love with Tom? She’d never thought of
such a thing. “Are you—are you saying—or trying
to say—is he—Tom—does he—?”

Deeper Than Desire 27

“Well, setting my cap for Tom would be sen-
sible, wouldn’t it?” said Cressida. “We would
neither of us be deceived in the other’s character.
Granny would always have a home, and you, too,
if you wished.”

Except, Callie abruptly realized, she couldn’t
bear to see Tom married to Cressida. Or to
anyone. “Well . . . perhaps, but—”

“And he has his pension. Now that we’ve lost
Brighampton, we might go anywhere. In Ports-
mouth there would be more work for him, and we
could take one of those cozy houses down by the
quay, the ones you and I used to admire so much.”

“So you—you are in love with him?” Callie
couldn’t breathe. She herself had been the one to
tell Cressida they ought to think of marriage—
but she had never thought her sister would look
to Tom. It seemed an odd match, Tom so quiet
and modest, Cressida so determined and bold.
If Cressida loved him, and Tom loved her, she
would have to be happy for them, though  .  .  .
somehow . . .

“No, not in love,” said Cressida carelessly, “al-
though I am very fond of him. Didn’t Papa always
say that would be more than enough? I suppose
I’m too old to be particular about that anymore.”

“Papa said—” Callie’s voice failed as joy rushed

28 Caroline Linden

through her. Her sister wasn’t in love; there was
still a chance for her.

The thought brought her up short. What chance?
Just because her feelings for him had grown and
matured didn’t mean his feelings for her had. She
didn’t even know for certain Tom had ever cared
for her. She stopped, and blurted out the first thing
on her mind to cover her relief, even tempered as
it was by uncertainty. “Papa disapproved of Tom.
Mr. Webb, I mean.”

“Papa’s no longer here, and I cannot help think-
ing he doesn’t mean to come back. And in any
event, I’m hardly a young girl who has to do my
father’s bidding. I daresay if Tom will have me, I
couldn’t find a better match.”

Callie said nothing, her thoughts running wild.
Papa hadn’t approved much of Tom as a suitor;
he’d never had to tell her that, it was obvious from
the little things he said and did. But now Papa was
gone, and she was suddenly realizing how ridicu-
lous it was for her to be upset over someone else
wanting to marry Tom, for any reason. What had
she done to show her regard for him? What sign
had she given him that the affection she’d always
felt for him could very easily become much more—
indeed, already had done? Because it wasn’t just

Deeper Than Desire 29

surprise at the thought of her sister marrying him,
it was abject despair, sharp and devastating.

“Do you not approve of my idea?” Cressida
asked.

She looked up in dismay. Wanting Tom for
herself didn’t mean she wanted to hurt her sister.
Cressida seemed to sense it and sat on the dressing
table bench beside her. “Unless, that is, you fancy
him,” she said perceptively, studying Callie’s face.
“And think he might return your affection.”

“Perhaps,” she whispered, meeting Cressida’s
gaze in the mirror.

“Did Papa . . .?”
Callie made herself nod.
Cressida put an arm around her shoulders.
“Then you should—”
“Cressida, you don’t understand!” Callie sprang
to her feet and almost tripped over the bench in
her haste to scramble away. “You can stand up to
Papa. He—he terrifies me. When he looks at me
with that stern air, like he expects me to say or
do just the right thing or lose his regard forever,
I seem to freeze inside. And when I disappoint
him, it’s dreadful; just the look on his face makes
me want to cry.”
“That’s why Papa bullies you. He likes having

30 Caroline Linden

command after being in the army, I suppose, and
he’s not much used to having daughters around.”

Callie shook her head. She had never been
able to withstand her father’s temper. It had in-
timidated her before her marriage, and terrified
her after. Had that meekness cost her more than
she’d thought? She fumbled for words to explain
to Cressida why she hadn’t been able to put her
foot down before, why she hadn’t stood up for
herself. Papa merely blustered and shouted at her,
but Julian had hit her when she argued. It was a
hard habit to break. “It doesn’t matter. I crumble
inside when he scolds me.”

“But he’s not here now, is he?” Cressida pointed
out.

Callie bit her lip and looked at the floor.
“Tom wants to leave.” Callie’s heart fell. “And
why not?” went on her sister, relentlessly practi-
cal. “We have no money and just lost our home.
A man would have to be a bit slow not to realize
his chances were better elsewhere. But for some
reason, he’s still here.” She said nothing, and
Cressida took her hands. “Do you care for Tom?”
A blush burned her face. She was such a fool not to
have admitted this earlier. “Yes,” she whispered.
Cressida squeezed her fingers. “You might

Deeper Than Desire 31

let the poor man know of your regard. I fear
Papa made his disapproval known to Tom as
well, and now he doesn’t dare look at you the
way he did tonight, when he thought no one was
watching.”

Here, here was the slender thread of hope she’d
been searching for. Callie latched on to it. “How
did he look at me?”

Cressida’s face softened. Callie realized her
sister had known all along, and had acted to pro-
voke her into action at long last. “As though he
would be happy never to look away.”

She found him by the tack room at the end of the
stable block. It was long past midnight. Cressida
had gone to sleep, but Callie had stared at the ceil-
ing for hours until finally she couldn’t bear it any-
more and slipped out of bed, determined not to
waste another night.

He had discarded his good coat and his waist-
coat, and was working in his shirtsleeves, sitting
on a tall stool at a bench by the tack room. The
lanterns above his head cast his fair hair in gold
and blurred the laugh lines that creased the cor-
ners of his eyes. Absorbed in a length of harness

32 Caroline Linden

spread over the bench in front of him, he didn’t
notice her.

She stood there in the darkness, watching.
She had known Tom for thirteen years. He was
a steadfast rock in her world, more important to
her than anyone else, save perhaps her sister and
grandmother. Callie had long ago known that she
cared for him, that maybe, if her life had been dif-
ferent, they might have . . .

But they hadn’t. She inhaled a long, fortifying
breath to fight back the fears crowding her mind.
Cressida had been so sure, but her sister was much
bolder. If Cressida admired a gentleman, she’d
probably just tell him so and ask if he fancied her
in return. Callie, on the other hand, would rather
cut off her own hand than be wrong about this. If
she was wrong, and Tom took offense, he might
leave. He might laugh. Worst of all, he might pity
her forever, and she couldn’t bear that. Part of her,
in fact, wanted to go right back into the house and
pretend nothing had changed so that nothing
would change.

Of course, that was the part of her that had
gotten her married to Julian Phillips. Callie un-
folded her clenched hands and stepped out of the
shadows. “Good evening.”

At her words his head jerked up, knocking

Deeper Than Desire 33

against one of the lanterns. He swore, clapping
one hand to the spot, and stared at her as if she
were a ghost. “Mrs. Phillips,” he said, sounding
appalled. “It’s late.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.” She came another
step toward him. “You aren’t asleep, either.”

“No.” He seemed transfixed by the sight of her.
Callie had deliberately left the front of her dress-
ing gown open, hanging loose about her shoulders
over her thin cotton nightdress. Surely if he was
attracted to her, he would notice  .  .  . And Tom’s
eyes moved over her with a desperate hunger
that made her feel unexpectedly confident, with a
sudden surge of reckless excitement.

“Why not?” she asked softly.
Eyes still riveted on her, he groped on the work-
bench for the harness, and gave it a rattle. “I had
work to do. The trace broke.”
Callie came all the way to the edge of the long
workbench. She leaned forward and touched the
long strap he was mending. “You always make
yourself useful.”
“Yes,” he said in a tight voice. Callie glanced at
him; his gaze had dropped to her hand, where she
fingered the leather trace. The muscles at the side
of his neck stood out, starkly highlighted by the
lantern light. She laid down the harness strap, let-

34 Caroline Linden

ting her fingertips trail over the stiff leather, and
watched the twitch in his jaw.

“I talked to my sister,” she said softly. “She said
she had spoken with you.”

Color rose in his face. Callie found it oddly
charming to see him blush, even though she had
seen it before. Despite years with the army in
Spain and Portugal, Tom still had the skin of an
Englishman. He gathered up the length of har-
ness and carried it off without a word.

“Mr. Webb.” He didn’t pause. “Tom . . .”
He stopped as if turned to stone. “Aye?”
She wet her lips. “Cressida said she would be
happy to marry you.”
“What?” He jerked around, shocked.
Callie felt her lips tremble with an incipient
smile, and clamped them together. “She pointed
out how decent you are, how kind and honorable,
and how well we know you. She said it made per-
fect sense to marry you.”
Now he was embarrassed. “Cressida—she
doesn’t—I think she must have been teasing you,
Mrs. Phillips.”
“Of course she was. She’s not in love with you.”
She took a step toward him. “But I am.” He didn’t
move or reply. She inched closer. “I think I have been
all along.” Still he said nothing. “If you don’t care for

Deeper Than Desire 35

me,” she said, “please tell me before I go on.” She
reached out and gently laid her hand on his.

He sucked in a breath so deep she thought his
ribs would crack. “I care,” he said in a strangled
tone. “Very much.”

“I wish . . . I wish I had known earlier. For cer-
tain.” He shot her a tormented glance. “My father
is gone now,” she whispered.

His expression hardened. “It hasn’t been about
him for years.”

That stopped her. It hadn’t? From what Cressida
had said, she’d thought it was fear of Papa that pre-
vented Tom from saying anything to her. “Then
why not . . .?” she managed to ask. Oh God, she
had made a horrid mistake. Perhaps Cressida had
been wrong, or misunderstood, or . . .

Tom raised his head, still staring into the dark-
ness outside the stable. His wasn’t a handsome
face, but a strong one. Callie had never realized
until now just how much she liked it, from the
firm set of his jaw to the straight crest of his brow.
There was kindness and character and decency
in his face, and it was more dear to her than any
other. Finally, in a tightly controlled voice, he
spoke, laying each word precisely between them.
“It has all been you.”

“What?” She felt lost—rejected. Had she

36 Caroline Linden

ruined her chances already? “What did I do?”
He turned. Slowly his gaze drifted over her face,

her unbound hair, her undone dressing gown.
“You needed time. You needed peace. You needed
to recover whatever that bloody bastard Phillips
stole of your spirit and joy, and you didn’t need
another man telling you how to do it.”

She felt like crying. “Have I been so fragile—so
weak?”

He swore, ruffling one hand over his hair. “I
didn’t mean that! I couldn’t bear to bring you
more anguish. How could I, when I love you more
than anything?”

Callie’s lips parted, then curved in a smile so
wide her cheeks hurt. Her breath felt trapped
in her chest. Tom’s face grew taut, and his gaze
sharpened. The silence was deafening. A horse
snuffled in sleep, and another one answered by
pawing the straw in its stall. Tom jerked his eyes
away and looked over his shoulder.

“We’re in a stable,” he said. “Not even my own
stable.”

“I don’t care.” Callie raised her chin, her heart
accelerating.

Tom threw the harness through the open tack
room door. It landed with a jangle of buckles, and
neither one of them glanced at it. “I do.” He put

Deeper Than Desire 37

out his hand, and Callie took it without hesita-
tion. There was no need to hesitate. She knew Tom
inside and out, his temper, his humor, his habits,
and she had hesitated long enough.

The waning night was cool and still as they ran.
Hand in hand they hurried past the outer gardens,
across the wide dark lawns wet with dew. By the
time they reached the little summerhouse that
stood on the hill overlooking the gardens of Pen-
ford, the hem of her nightdress was soaked. Tom
closed the door, and Callie opened a few of the
tall shutters at the windows, letting in just enough
moonlight so they could see each other.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I have for years.
Your father wanted you to marry Phillips, and I
didn’t defy him.”

“Neither did I,” she whispered.
“I should have,” Tom said, his voice vibrating
with disgust. “I told him I thought Phillips was
cold, and he didn’t care. Phillips was rich, and I
wasn’t. Phillips was settled, and I wasn’t. But Phil-
lips wasn’t in love with you, and I was.”
She covered his mouth with her palm. “Don’t
speak of him again,” she said wistfully. “I don’t
want to think about those years.”
“I failed you—”
“No more than I failed you—”

38 Caroline Linden

“But never again.” He took her hand and
brought it to his lips. Reverently, he kissed her fin-
gertips, her knuckles, the fluttering pulse in her
wrist. Callie placed her other hand on his cheek,
smoothing her fingers over the stubble. Without
a word, she went up on her toes as Tom lowered
his head.

His mouth was gentle, not demanding or prob-
ing. His kiss was joy and tenderness and love, pa-
tient and yearning, finally unveiled. Callie wound
her arms around him, clinging to everything he
was. Her heart ached for the years they had lost.

“I love you,” he murmured, barely lifting his
lips from hers. He stroked her hair and ran his
hands over her shoulders, as if to reassure himself
she was really there. Callie shivered. She had un-
consciously braced herself, but there was nothing
to dread. Tom caressed her without holding her;
she was free to move away, if she wanted. Instead
she pressed closer, running her own hands over
his white shirt, smiling with surprised pleasure
when he gasped and shuddered at her touch.

“Tom,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek against
his chest as she tugged the shirt free of his trousers.
It made her giddy just to say his name. “Oh, Tom.” At
last the shirttail came loose and she slid her hands
up the firm planes of his stomach and chest.

Deeper Than Desire 39

He made a strangled, gulping sound and
turned away. “Give me a minute,” he said, breath-
ing heavily. He stripped the shirt over his head
and faced her. “I’ve dreamed of you, like this, for
so long . . .” He laughed, pained and embarrassed.
“What you must think of me!”

In reply Callie peeled off her dressing gown
and pulled loose the ribbon at the neck of her
nightdress. “I like it,” she told him. “I like it that
you want me to touch you.” She traced the hard
lines of his abdomen. Tom wasn’t afraid of hard
work, and he had the lean, strong body of a la-
borer. “I like to touch you,” she said, watching his
muscles flinch as her fingers passed over them. “I
want you to touch me . . .”

“It might kill me,” he told her, but his hands
were already on her shoulders, easing the thin
cotton aside. Callie looked up into his face and
saw the heat of desire in his eyes as his hands
skated across her bare skin. It was like spread-
ing fire on her skin, and all through her body,
the very last of the frost at her core melting away
under Tom’s hands. She could feel it in her blood
now, making her hands shake as she pulled and
shoved the nightgown down over her hips. It
grew hotter as she watched Tom’s face go tight
with desire, as he fell to his knees before her and

40 Caroline Linden

pressed a searing kiss of pure want on her belly.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He

traced feathery swirls over the skin of her hips,
around her waist, to the swell of her bottom. Her
knees wobbled, but he was holding her, support-
ing her—as he always had. She felt a humbling
rush of amazement and delight that he loved her
enough to have waited for her. Callie ran her fin-
gers through his fair hair and held him to her,
thanking all the stars above that he had.

“I love you, Thomas Webb,” she whispered. Then
she was on her knees with him, as impatient as he
was, and they tumbled to the thick carpet in a tangle
of limbs, unable to touch each other enough.

“Do you like this?” he whispered. He seemed
bent on kissing every inch of her skin. Callie
felt as though she must be literally glowing; he
made her feel so beautiful, so right, so happy. She
wriggled closer, running her fingers through his
sandy hair, dragging her fingernails over the firm
muscles of his back. “Callie, Callie, my darling, tell
me what you like . . .”

“That,” she breathed, raising one leg to hook
around his waist as his fingertips swirled in the
dark curls between her legs. He just groaned, low
and rich with masculine appreciation, and licked

Deeper Than Desire 41

her nipple. Callie arched off the carpet with a
gasp, and he tugged her aching nipple between
his teeth. Softly he stroked aside her feminine
curls, and then settled on one spot that made her
scream, even though her throat closed up and all
that emerged was a whimper. “That,” she man-
aged to gasp again.

“Say you’ll marry me,” he murmured, trans-
ferring his attention and his mouth to her other
breast. “Please.”

“Yes.” She could barely breathe. His fingers slid
easily along the slick folds, surprisingly wet. After
so many cold and barren years, her body was on
the verge of incineration. From the sweat bead-
ing on Tom’s brow, she thought he was, too. She
hoped he was. “Yes, yes, yes  .  .  .” She was bab-
bling, trying to reach the buttons on his trousers.
“Please, Tom . . .”

He raised his head. “You’re sure?” His eyes were
dark now, like the sea in a storm. “No regrets?”

“None,” she said, finally wrenching enough
buttons loose to slide her hand inside his trousers
and run her fingers along the hard length of his
shaft. “I’ve waited forever to say it; make love to
me . . .”

Color rose in his face again but he smiled, peel-

42 Caroline Linden

ing off the last of his clothing. She heard a shoe
thump against the far wall, and then he was in
her arms, as bare as she was, and Callie sighed
in pleasure. She expected him to move over her,
but instead he rolled over and pulled her on top
of him.

“You make love to me,” he said, running his
hands over the curves of her bottom. “I am yours
to command.”

Callie got to her knees uncertainly, and touched
the head of his erection. Tom made a deep hum-
ming noise in his throat. She ran her palm over
the length of him, circled the tip with her finger
and thumb, and watched the reactions flicker over
his face. He jerked in her hand, and something
like agony crossed his face despite the heat of his
gaze. A slight smile crossed her face; they were
both as aroused and nervous as two virgins on
their wedding night.

She wrapped her hand around him once more
and guided him between her legs. As his hips
rose off the floor, she sank down, taking him deep
inside her, moaning at the unfamiliar fullness.
The veins on his neck stood out, and he gripped
her thighs for a moment to hold her still. When he
managed to smile at her again, Callie rose up and
down on her knees, thrilling to that feel of inva-

Deeper Than Desire 43

sion  .  .  . unification  .  .  . completion. She rocked
on her knees again, faster this time, and his hand
slid over her thigh to touch her. Callie froze,
shocked at the powerful sensation of him inside
her as he touched her on the throbbing nub above
her sex. Tom grunted, pushing his hips upward,
and something inside her melted. She braced her
hands on his shoulders and rode him until her
inner muscles pulled tight and her whole body
convulsed.

Tom’s neck arched and his hand flexed on her
hip, holding her tight against him until she quiv-
ered one last time and relaxed. Then he pulled her
down to him, chest to chest, and rolled them both
over. Callie laughed a little drunkenly as he caught
her knees and raised them to his waist, and then
she gasped as he drove into her. He did it again,
and struck something inside her that made her
almost scream. But this time, when she felt that
coiling heat inside her, she kept her eyes open to
watch his face as he moved in her. Tom met her
gaze, his eyes dark, a wave of blond hair hanging
damply over his forehead, and when he caught his
breath and then shouted in climax, it was her name
on his lips. And Callie felt another wave of bliss
sweep over her that was only partly physical.

“Oh, Tom,” she managed to gasp. It was the

44 Caroline Linden

only thought her brain could form.
He laughed softly against her throat. “Still

waters run deep.”
“Very deep.” She squeezed her thighs around

his hips. “I never suspected how deep . . .”
He raised his head and brushed her disheveled

curls from her forehead. “Thirteen years,” he told
her softly. “Since the moment I first saw you.”

Callie touched her fingertip to his lips. “Why
did you not say something?”

His smile was a little sad. “Had I known
what would happen . . .” He lifted one shoulder.
“I was a poor soldier, and not good enough for
you. By the time I thought you might have even
considered me, your father had made other
plans.”

“Do you know,” she said haltingly, “that day in
the church, when I was married . . . You kissed me.
And I wished . . . I wished it had been you, poor
soldier and all.”

He caught her hand and pressed his lips against
the palm. Callie sighed from the pleasure of being
held—treasured—by him. “ I wished it had been
me, too,” he murmured. “I wanted to grab you
and run.”

“Why didn’t you?” She couldn’t stop herself

Deeper Than Desire 45

from asking, even as she knew it would have been
madness.

Tom sighed. “I’ve wondered why not for more
than a decade. I . . . I was a coward, I suppose.”

“Oh no!” she cried. “You mustn’t think that . . .”
He nodded. “I was. I feared what your father
would do—not to me, but to you. I had to go back
to my regiment. I couldn’t have stayed to protect
you and provide for you. The sergeant had already
taken Phillips’s money, and I feared . . .”
“Tom,” she whispered. “I understand.”
“I tried to leave,” he added. “After Phillips died.
You were so altered . . . but my feelings were not. I
thought it would be best if I went away, but some-
how I never could.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t. It would have been a
hundred times worse for me if you had.” She drew
him down on top of her, holding him to her again.
Tom’s strong arms closed around her, making her
feel warm and safe and loved. At last. “Can we go
back to Portsmouth?”
“If you want, darling.” He smiled, kissing her
neck again. “I can be happy anywhere you are.”
“And Granny and Cressida will come with
us?”
“Mrs. Turner will be very welcome,” he agreed

46 Caroline Linden

at once. “I don’t think Cressida will come.”
She bit her lip in worry. She had seen the way

their host, Major Hayes, looked at her sister, and
the way her sister tried not to get caught looking
back at him. “You mean Major Hayes. I suspect
she cares for him, but he hasn’t spoken to her, or
given any indication—”

“I know the look of a man tormented by love,”
he said wryly. “Trust me. You won’t need to offer
Cressida a home.”

“But we will,” she said.
“But we will.” He kissed her.
“And my father,” she began.
Tom sighed, hanging his head. “I told Cressida
and Major Hayes both: I don’t know where he’s
gone—”
Callie shook her head. “No. I know. I don’t care,
either way. I suspect . . . I suspect he’s left us for
good, Tom. And I find it hard to be sorry.” He
looked at her with grave eyes. “But if he comes
back,” she continued, her voice growing firmer, “I
won’t be put off by anything he says. I was weak,
and a fool, and look where it got us.”
Tom wound his fingers through hers, then
raised her hand to his lips. “We both were, I dare-
say. But never again.”

Deeper Than Desire 47

“No.” She looked around. The first gray light
of dawn was bleeding through the windows. “To-
night I came in search of you, determined to be
brave and bold and confident, and look where it
got me. I quite like it here.”

He grinned, tightening his embrace. “I quite
like you here, too.”

“Good.” She kissed him, with longing and lust
and love and a sense that finally—finally—they
had gotten it right. “I plan to stay forever.”

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Harry Sinclair is a covert agent who would do anything
to protect those in his charge. But when he lays eyes on the
stunning Lady Mariah Dunmore, duty and desire collide.
Though every man in London lusts for her, he knows the
fiery attraction between them is unparalleled. But in a world
where trust can turn to treason and scandal can topple the
throne, Harry and Mariah will fight a perilous fight for
their precious love—and their lives. Visit www.AuthorTracker.
com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins
authors.

978-0-06-170635-6 $6.99/$7.99 Can.

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