He stopped pacing and faced her, then shook his head and began pacing again.
Bernie rolled her eyes. This was rather insulting. She could imagine the litany of excuses he listed in his head contained words like honor and duty, reputation, respect, gentleman, protect.
Bernie peered around the room and noticed the large cushioned chair by the hearth. A small table sat next to it with a book open, page side down. Bernie went and sat, lifting the book to her lap.
“What are you doing?” He came to stand before her.
“You seemed to be occupied with your panicked pacing and didn’t appear to be finishing any time soon so I’m sitting and reading”—she glanced at the book title—“Don Quixote.”
He folded his arms. “We have to get you out of here.”
“Why?”
“We can’t—I can’t—you don’t understand how stressful this is to me.”
Bernie snapped the book closed and stood. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to do, but she had to do something. If she let him lead the way, he’d march her back to the castle and they couldn’t have that. They needed to leap and trust love to catch them.
She reached behind and started to untie her dress.
His eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Bernie bit back a smile. Her pulse took off like a firework shooting into the sky, and her stomach fluttered nervously, but she kept her expression calm. Her dress loosened and Bernie shrugged to ease her arms from the sleeves.
His hands came down on her shoulders. “Don’t do this.”
He was fighting himself, she could see by the blaze of heat in his eyes, the flush climbing his neck. There was no scorn or rejection, only restraint, and it was difficult for him. What could she do to free him of it?
“Why?” she asked, her voice low and breathless with her own nervous excitement.
“I don’t want to hurt you and I can’t promise what will happen, but I know once we cross this”—he swallowed—“line. There is no going back. I won’t let you go no matter what. The consequences for us, for your sisters… We would be risking everything.”
Bernie’s throat grew tight. She’d already considered all those things. Those very good reasons for turning back and doing what any other respectable young lady should do had shouted themselves hoarse while she’d climbed the stone wall to his window. Which was not an easy feat even with the large nooks and wide ledges for hands and feet. Georgie was the better climber of all the sisters, but Bernie’s will in that moment had been greater than anything she’d ever know. She’d climbed that wall because she loved him, because reaching that window meant having everything she could ever want.
“I love you. I want to marry you. I’m willing to risk everything for you. The rest we can figure out together, but right now all I can think about is you and me. I won’t be kept away from you.”
He swallowed, his features softening, the blue of his eyes glowing like a flame.
Before she could draw a full breath, his mouth closed over hers and Bernie trembled with the force of her relief. Her arms slipped free of her sleeves, and she tangled them around his neck. He lifted her and her dress fell to her waist. He began to walk then stumbled. Bernie winced as he tripped over her dress, yanking it off her body and then they toppled on to the bed in a pile of arms and legs.
Bernie laughed first, and he followed. Her nerves eased as she looked up into his face and he smiled down at her.
She couldn’t have asked for a better sign of things to come. They may stumble on their path, but as long as she was in his arms, she was right where she wanted to be. She stretched up and kissed him.
And then her stomach rumbled between them like an angry beast.
He pulled away.
“Hungry?”
“I’m famished.”
Chester chuckled and got up to tug the bell pull.
Bernie frowned at her ill-tempered stomach. What a terrible time to have yowling hunger pains. Things were just about to get interesting! She lay back and let out a disappointed sigh while Chester slipped into the hall.
Chapter 13
Chester ran his fingers through his hair as he waited for Jensen to answer the bell. Jensen appeared from the back stairs and met him in front of the door.
“Yes, sir?”
“A tray of breakfast, if you please.”
“Will that be all?”
Chester looked around the hall. “I know I needn’t even ask, but please…”
Jensen nodded, half smiling. “Not a word, my lord. I’d say I’m surprised but I find I’m not. Though her entrance through the window did take five years off my life.”
“You will be compensated accordingly for that, I promise.”
“I shall leave the tray outside the door and knock once to inform you.”
“Thank you, Jensen.”
Chester wished he could feel relieved, but his nerves stretched tautly like the strings of a piano and one snap might take out an eye. He faced his door and took a deep breath. He was not prepared to face Bernie. Not able to resist her like he thought he could. The softness of her skin, the rosy flush that spread down her neck as she’d undressed, it was like a spell, and he’d succumbed so easily.
But dammit, he wanted to give in to her, to feel her body cradle his, to run his fingers through her silky dark hair. He itched to taste her skin, to worship her and explore every valley and plane of her body.
He stared at his door, willing himself into a state of control again before entering.
She hadn’t moved from the bed, but Chester did not join her there. His limbs felt heavy with hot blood, and he busied himself with little tasks like removing his jacket and boots until the tray arrived. Chester brought it inside and set it down on the nightstand.
All the while Bernie watched him. Did she know what she was doing to him? His leash was ready to snap, but first she must eat something.
The notion that nothing would happen on that bed, or anywhere else in the room, had flown the coop. They were going to become lovers today. To touch each other, to indulge their bottled-up passions. He’d wanted this for as long as his fevered brain could remember. But what about her? She was an innocent. She didn’t know what would happen, how far they could go and still further. He would have to show her, step by step, lesson by lesson, the ways of passion, of bodies, the differences between men and women.
His stomach knotted.
Unless Violet had told her everything already. Chester could imagine all the lurid conversations those two would have, giggling over tea and biscuits.
Bernie picked at the mountain of eggs, bacon, sausage, and buttered toast Jensen had brought. It was enough for two.
His stomach rumbled.
Perhaps it was for two.
Chester moved nearer and saw the extra fork.
Bernie glanced up. “Hungry?”
His eyes dropped to the milky skin of her neck and collarbone, to the valley of her breasts. She showed little reticence about being dressed only in a shift in front of him. The sturdy cotton revealed nothing.
He ripped his gaze back to the food.
“I had forgotten I hadn’t eaten yet either.”
She smirked. “Join me, then.”
Chester pulled a chair close to the nightstand, and they attacked the mountain of food. They didn’t speak, which was a relief. Chester didn’t know what to say anymore. His mind was set on doing.
More specifically, what they would do once they were finished eating.
He tried to focus on everything but her, the fire in the hearth, the growing brightness outside his window, or the diminishing plate of food. But over and over again his gaze returned to her, to her mouth as she nibbled on bacon, or the fork as it approached her lips.
By the time he was finished eating, he was hard as a diamond in his breeches and the only saving grace was the napkin spread over his lap. He stood and turned away.
“I’m finished too,” she said behind him.
He took the tray and left it outside his door. Locking it.
He adjusted himself and faced her.
She had been watching him, legs curled to her side, leaning on one hand on his bed. Entirely comfortable and absurdly beautiful. He committed the sight to memory. There could be many mornings like this. Shared moments between the two of them, vulnerable not only because skin and undergarments were exposed but because their hearts would be too. He strode forward, his feet heavy. He was entering a new world, one where Bernie would belong to him completely. He would know things no other man would know. He would see her as no other man would see her, unless he died young and she remarried, God forbid. They were no longer friends, not the way they’d been as children. He swallowed, his heart pounding as he reached the bed.
“Do you need a drink?”
“I sipped from the glass here.” She nodded toward the glass of water he kept by his bed.
“I assumed it was yours?” she raised a brow.
His, theirs, he was hers, everything he owned was now hers. A wedding wasn’t needed for his heart and head to commit to her. It was an easy decision, a vow between him and God.
This was his life now. Lover to Bernie, someday soon, husband to Bernie, and after that, father of their children.
The heaviness left him and he felt like he could fly, like his blood had turned to champagne and the bubbles had reached his head. He placed his hands on the edge of the bed in front of her and leaned toward her.
“We need to discuss some things first.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like what?”
“Like my experiences and your level of knowledge on the matter. I don’t want to frighten you or fumble through it. I’d like to know what you’re comfortable with.”
She came up to her knees and slung her arms over his shoulders. “I’m comfortable with you. Talking is your way of controlling the situation.”
He chuckled. “Very well, I need to talk about it first. Humor my poor nerves, will you?”
“Fine.” She let go and sat back warily. “Are you a virgin?”
He nearly choked. He coughed and took a swig of water.
“Are you?”
“No, Jesus, Bernie.” He set the water down and refilled it with the pitcher of water at his shaving basin.
She glanced away, her smile fading. “Who…”
Chester’s palms grew damp. He didn’t want to tell her this story. He could only imagine what she was feeling.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“You’re the one who insists on talking. I had other ideas.”
“I have those same ideas, but this is important. You’re important.”
“But I’m not the first woman to be important to you,” she said with a pout.
“You are the first and only.”
She peeked at him, color spreading over her cheeks. “I am?”
He nodded and sat beside her. “Tell me what you want to know.”
She chewed her lip for a moment, and he took her hand. This was easier than he thought it would be. Her discomfort made him want to talk about it, to soothe her fears.
“How many women have you…lain with?”
“Four.”
Her eyes widened. “Four? But I thought men went away to university and chased skirts? Collecting conquests like new cravats.”
He twisted his lips. “Most men do, but before I reached university, I had learned to be more circumspect. You see…” He thought about whether he should tell her everything, but he must. She deserved to know the truth. To know how long he’d wanted her and how it shaped the man he’d become.
“When I was sixteen, I’d just come back from summer break. It was after the summer, when part of the bluff collapsed, do you remember?”
She nodded.
“My friend, Peter, had just come back and wasn’t feeling well.” He grimaced as he remembered Peter’s predicament. “He…itched.”
“He itched?”
“Dreadfully so, and then things got worse. His…anatomy changed, oozing and swelling. He showed me and I tell you, it was the stuff of nightmares for a boy and his—um… Well, as you can imagine, he didn’t want to tell anyone that he was sick.”
“How did he become ill?”
“He told me he’d lost his virginity to his town’s local barmaid. He’d known her all his life and she was—his words not mine—the local man maker.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“She deflowered the boys. Peter said it was a tradition in his town.”
She shuddered. “Disgusting!”
“It gets worse. Peter developed a fever and he seemed really sick. I didn’t know what to do. He made me swear not to tell anyone, but he—I was afraid he would die, so I did.”
“You did the right thing,” she said and squeezed his hand.
“The doctor saw to Peter and he didn’t die, but he had to leave school and he never returned. I don’t know what happened to him. I didn’t have his address.”
“So, he caught a disease from the barmaid?”
“There are many intimate diseases. After seeing what happened to Peter, it didn’t make sense to me to risk that sort of thing. So I thought I’d wait.”
Her brows raised. “But you said you weren’t a virgin.”
Chester swallowed. This part he hated to tell her. “When I was nineteen, my father asked me straight out. He didn’t like my answer and so he took me to a brothel.”
She stiffened.
“It was a very clean brothel, he assured me, and I didn’t have any…issues like Peter did. But I never went back, and I took every precaution before being intimate with anyone else, choosing my partners carefully.”
Bernie had her head tilted down, one finger digging at the coverlet. “Oh.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
“No, it’s just that…I don’t know. I’m jealous and I don’t like it.”
He touched her cheek and tilted her face to his. “I didn’t like it either.”
“But don’t men like it quite a lot? Aren’t you…a slave to your passions, as they say?”
He chuckled. “Who are they?”
“Other men mostly.”
“I wouldn’t classify most men or any of my friends as slaves to their passions, and definitely not myself.”
“I think you’re different from most men, Chester. You’re…good.”
Chester shifted uncomfortably. Good? Good did not inspire much from the opposite sex. He’d had enough attention from women through the years to know they found him appealing. Good made him sound like a pious pastor. The kind one would never want to imagine themselves in bed with.
“Good.” He grunted the word.
Bernie leaned into him. “Don’t take insult. It’s only one of your many qualities, and I’ve considered it a great deal.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about me?”
“I have of late.”
He raised a brow. “And what conclusions did you come to?”
She placed her hand over his heart. “You are like a classic hero. You will always do the right thing, loyal, reliable, accountable.”
“Not now.”
She giggled. “And it’s driving you mad. Here I am sitting in nothing but my shift and yet I remain untouched.”
His body instantly hardened again. “I want to touch you.”
“Yes,” she said as she slipped her hand inside the neck of his shirt. “I want you to touch me to but you insisted on talking first, to make sure I understood what would happen next, to protect me, to help me.”
Her fingers brushed through the hair on his chest and his head began to buzz.
“Here beats the heart of a true hero, a man who would do anything for me.”
“I’d give my life for you,” he uttered, his voice hoarse. She was weaving her spell again around him.
“I pray you never have to. I want a long life with you. I love you.”
He placed his hand over hers under his shirt. “I love you. I think I’ve loved you long before I knew what love was. I didn’t want or need other women because I was always waiting for you. And you are worth the wait. I dreamed of this moment, of having you here where there were no more walls between us, no more facades of friendship.”
“You are my friend and so much more.” She caught his mouth and kissed him, and the last of Chester’s restraint fell away, as if the chains he imagined holding his will in place had been nothing but cobwebs. Could he have declared himself sooner? Had this piercing happiness been at his fingertips before if he’d only been open to seeing it?
Whatever the case may be, they were here now, and for this moment, in this room, he wasn’t going to allow anything to steal their joy. They could pretend they were a world away from their problems, his parents, her family, and just revel in each other.
She leaned over him and straddled his lap. Chester filled his hands with her curves, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips and bottom. He held her down on his hardness, thrusting up against her softness.
She gasped into his mouth and ground down against him. He shuddered in rapture, bunching up her shift and pulling it over her head. He leaned back, biting back a groan as he took in her beauty, the pink upturned nipples of her breasts, the hollows and swells of her waist and stomach, the thatch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. He wanted to taste all of her.
Chapter 14
Cool air washed over Bernie’s skin, followed by the heat of his gaze wandering over her body. She resisted the urge to cover herself and let herself be exposed. There was no shame in the way he looked at her, his eyes blazing, his gaze touching her like a caress.
Her breathing tight, she reached for his shirt, tugging it from his waistband. He helped her pull his shirt off and then wrapped her in his arms. The skin-to-skin contact startled her, like a splash of cold water, only there was so much heat. His warmth engulfed her and she melted into him, her sensitive nipples grazing his chest hair. She never knew he had chest hair. He hadn’t had it as a boy.
When did men grow hair on their chest? It was a mystery—he was a mystery. But no longer. He’d never told her about Peter and his disease, or how his father took him to a brothel to be rid of his virginity—she immediately pushed away that thought. She wasn’t going to think about the past. All she wanted to focus on was right now, how his hands touched her skin, sweeping across her back, sometimes gripping her or just skimming lightly with his thumbs, as though he played her like an instrument, creating music with his touch.
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