Dorcas wasn’t a passive participant. She tucked her hands under the back of his waistcoat, reveling in the feel of his skin under the thin layer of his linen shirt. Hot and firm, the muscles flexed under her hands, and he groaned into her mouth, the sound possessing her, sinking deep into her.
She was helpless under his hands, because he overwhelmed her with passion. When she felt him undoing the buttons on her jacket, she helped him. The buttonholes were worn and the buttons slipped through them easily, allowing him access to her own shirt, and the tops of her breasts, where they swelled over the top of her worn stays.
He kissed down her neck, hot and desperate, and then her breasts, but her shirt prevented him reaching anything else. Dorcas didn’t want that. She wanted more. Pulling her hands out from under his waistcoat, she tried to sit up, pulling at her clothes. When he realized what she was at, he lifted away, and tore at his own, dragging his waistcoat off as she discarded her jacket and pulled her shirt over her head.
She wanted more. She wanted everything.
He stared at her, his chest heaving as he drew in ragged breaths. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him, smoothed her hand over the planes of muscles, the ridges and the fuzz of dark hair softening the hard lines. “So good,” she murmured.
“Yes.” He gazed his fill before he touched the back of her hand, and then smoothed his hand up her arm, slowly. Dorcas’ senses enhanced, his caress raised every hair on her head, prickled her skin in a delicious fashion. Then he reached her breasts. Her only garments on the top half of her body were her stays and the fine shift she wore underneath. She shivered, and her body swayed forward without her conscious volition.
With a sound low in his throat that made her long for things unknown, he lashed an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. He lowered his head, and kissed her breasts. The stays, although worn and soft, abraded her, made her long to be free of them. She let the shoulder straps fall as he kissed, licked and caressed. Sensation swept her clean, made her understand what she had missed. How could she have ever imagined she could live without this?
Open-mouthed, he licked his way up her neck, his hands busy on her breasts, and he took another kiss.
His body against hers felt right in a way she couldn’t explain. “Yes, please,” she said when he drew away, preparing to kiss her again.
He froze. Only then did she realize her skirts were rucked up to her knees, and his other hand lay on her calf, sliding up to a place she’d never let anyone touch before. Not even her maid. She saw to her personal needs herself.
But not now. He would touch and he would take.
Until he stopped.
His eyes were wide now, shocked. “We can’t do this,” he said. “Not until we’re married.”
Realization flooded her at the same moment, making her sag forward. She was behaving like a wanton, like any village girl snatching a forbidden hour with her swain. And he was right. They couldn’t do it.
But—until they were married?
Desperately, Dorcas tried to recover her scattered common sense. “Is this a proposal?” She smiled. “Another one?” He might not remember the first one, but she did.
His mouth, full from their kisses, curved in a twisted smile. “I suppose it is. I merely stated I still wanted to marry you yesterday, but I didn’t actually ask. I’m sorry, Dorcas. You deserve all the ceremony, the visit to you in a parlor, the presentation of gifts, the private meeting with your brother. A peck on the lips. Not this.” He reached for his shirt. Dorcas had to stop herself begging him not to. He really had the most magnificent body, and she wanted to see all of it.
“But you overwhelm me. I wasn’t thinking properly.” He tossed the shirt over his head and thrust his arms through the sleeves. “I just—wanted you.” He gazed at her like a starving man. “Want you. There is no past tense here. Dearest girl, please get dressed. I can’t bear to look at you and not take you. And both of us know that can’t happen. Not yet.”
Yes, she did. Not merely for propriety, but for heaven’s sake, he was a duke! He had lands and titles, and responsibilities far above that of most people. “Yes, I see. You can’t think of yourself alone.”
In the process of pushing the linked buttons through the holes in his cuffs, he looked up, a startled expression on his face. “I wasn’t thinking of that. I was thinking of you.”
“Me?” With shaking hands, she mirrored his actions by pulling her shirt over her head. Only then did she notice that her linen cap had gone, and half her hairpins. Wanton, indeed! With her shirt loosely covering her, she unpinned her hair, preparing to refasten it with the pins she had left.
“You. I won’t have you traduced in any way. No gossip, nothing to hurt you, sweetheart. And I won’t tumble you in a field, without sheets and a bed. Without a ring on your finger and your full consent.”
She laughed. “I don’t think my consent could have been fuller.”
“I overwhelmed you.” He reached for her hand. “Sweetheart, the world is unfair. I have more experience than you. I should know how to control my urges better. It’s just the way matters are. I take it you haven’t run around London finding lovers in every corner?”
“Have you?”
He flushed. Dorcas watched in fascination. She’d never seen him so disconcerted before, even when she’d stormed up to his ship and demanded her cargo. “Not exactly,” he admitted. He picked up his waistcoat and busied himself putting it back on. Avoiding her eyes, more like. “But I’ve had some experience.”
“You mean you’ve done this with other women?” Strange that a prick of pain touched her when she thought of that. She didn’t want him with anyone else.
“Not this. Not like this.”
Finally, he lifted his head and met her steady gaze. “You’re a lady. You’re a…”
“Virgin?” she finished helpfully.
“Yes.” He bit his lip.
Dorcas laughed. Exactly who was being naïve here? “Yes, that’s true. I’m that strange thing, a virgin. But being a virgin doesn’t mean I’m completely innocent. I’ve read books, I’ve seen pictures, I’ve giggled over lewd stories with my sisters. I know what I’m doing here.”
But she couldn’t deny that all that reading and viewing and giggling hadn’t prepared her for the intensity of her response to him. “I’ve even kissed a man before.”
“You have?”
He sounded outraged. Oh dear, was he the kind of man so jealous he wouldn’t allow her to even look at other men?
“Of course I have. It’s normal social conduct.”
“But not the way we kissed just now.”
“No.” She paused. “Well, only once. A neighbor, long before Gerald inherited the title. We didn’t advertise his closeness to the earldom, you know. We tried to be like our neighbors. We had a modest social circle. And he liked me, and I liked him. But the kiss was a disaster. I never wanted to repeat it. So we drifted apart and when he married another woman, I felt nothing but relief.”
He lifted her jacket, moved closer and wrapped it around her, holding it, so she could push her hands down the sleeves. “Good,” he said firmly. “Unless you don’t want to repeat what we just did.”
“Didn’t my response tell you what I wanted?” she demanded indignantly. How could he mistake her desire for him? She’d have let him take her then and there if he’d wanted to. “And I wanted it, too. You weren’t taking me, we were taking each other.”
For some reason, that made him laugh, short and harsh. “True enough. I wanted you to do—things to me, of your own volition, and you were making a wonderful start of it. Let’s leave the rest until our wedding night, hmm?”
How long would that take? She wanted him now. Was he asking her so that he could defer the wedding?
He continued as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Perhaps she had, she wasn’t sure. “As quickly as possible.”
“And so we marry? Just like that?”
He huffed. “Whenever
we wish.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t known about special licenses before, but she hadn’t needed to before now. Her brother had married Annie after the reading of the banns. They’d attended St. Giles’ Church for the three Sundays preceding the wedding, despite the unfashionable area, and they’d wed in the place they’d both attended for many years.
And he hadn’t asked, though both of them knew that if he did, she’d accept. Perhaps she’d have the formal proposal someday soon, but it didn’t matter to her. “You have to visit Gerald.”
“When it’s safe to do so. My mother and brother know what I want. Even they don’t know where I am, but they will, once this business is sorted out.”
“What will you do next?”
He touched her chin. “I have men combing London for clues, and while I’m here, I’m keeping my eyes and ears open. I’m well enough to move to the main house now and assume my real identity.” He smiled. “But I think I will wait for a day or two.”
When she was decently dressed once more, her jacket neatly buttoned, her cap and hat in place, he stood, and reached down to help her up. Only then did he claim a kiss, and he kept it short, though tender. “Thank you for my meal,” he said. “I promise that if you choose to do that again, I won’t fall on you like a starving animal.”
“I rather liked the starving animal,” she confessed.
He grinned. “Nevertheless, it won’t happen again. Well,” he amended, “not for a while. I’ll walk with you back to the orangery.”
She shook her head. “Better not. I’ll be fine. I’m on my brother’s land, after all. Someone might see you.”
His mouth flattened, but he nodded. “Very well. But take care.”
“All the care in the world,” she promised him.
Chapter Seventeen
While she didn’t visit him every day, the men at the mine grew used to seeing Dorcas crossing their land, a basket slung over her arm. Some even greeted her, but they never stepped out of line. They seemed to accept her as the sweetheart of the man sent by the duke to assess the new seam of coal.
While Grant held her and kissed her, to Dorcas’ great disappointment, he never allowed himself to get as carried away as that one sweet experience under the shadow of the hedge in the field.
If she were a country maid, she could let him go as far as he wished. She didn’t care. She was finding difficulty accepting all this; that she would be a married woman in a month, that Grant wanted her with a desperation that matched her own, that she would be a duchess, for heaven’s sake.
Not her. Never Dorcas Dersingham.
Had Damaris felt like this? She longed for her sisters, so she could learn what they thought, especially Damaris, who had gone through something similar. But Damaris had the love of her husband. Dorcas wasn’t at all sure that was what she and Grant shared. Passion, certainly. Friendship, yes. But love? What was love, anyway?
As usual, his kiss was sweet, but carefully controlled. Dorcas sighed, but accepted it, and turned to put the food she’d brought on the table. They were in his tent, comfortable by the standards of this camp, but this was the home of a steward, so nobody thought it unusual. Or if they did, they kept quiet. She had even become more used to meeting him without a chaperone.
And her family still had no idea. But then, Dorcas had always spent hours with her plants. She had spread her interests from the mysterious seeds to what the gardeners were planning for the next season.
Grant’s smile warmed her, as it always did. She’d be seeing that a lot more in the future. “Did you tell your family?”
“I sent them a letter,” he said. “And asked them to come to the house. Finally, it’s ready to receive them. When they arrive, this idyll will be over. I’ll have to join them and explain the whole. But my mother will not be allowed to interfere again.”
“Finally?”
A slight shrug accompanied his grin. “Finally. My great-aunt was eccentric, right down to the way she ran her house. It was, and parts of it still is, crammed with—things. Everything. She never threw anything away, and according to the servants, she would scream at anyone who tried to get rid of more than household waste. Women!” He hurried to correct himself. “Except for one, of course.”
She couldn’t penetrate the mystery she suspected surrounded his family, especially his guarded references to his brother. He was very protective of them, but apart from describing his brother as “ill”, he didn’t go into more detail. Dorcas hadn’t questioned him too deeply. Besides, she didn’t want to break the delicious connection she had with him.
Time for reality later. Or was she just putting off asking him a question he might refuse to answer? It hadn’t passed her notice that he was decidedly cagey where his family was concerned. But if she married him, she’d be part of that family. Surely she should know something?
Gently, she pulled away from him. “I do have to go, or I’ll be late for dinner. My maid already despairs of me. She has everything ready, and bundles me into my clothes. But she’s getting very good at it. I haven’t had her long, only six months, so this is her first summer with me. Wait until we get to autumn!”
She let him help her into her cloak. Today was overcast, threatening rain, so she’d brought her hooded cloak. So far, it had held off, but the skies were leaden with unshed rain.
“Why autumn?”
“Harvest, preparing for next year, putting bulbs out to dry, pruning. And I plan.”
“You’ll have more than gardens to amuse you next year,” he murmured. Pushing the folds of her cloak aside, he kissed her neck. “And soon. I won’t remain in hiding for much longer. When my man’s report reaches me, I’ll come out and defy whoever the assassin is. Would-be assassin,” he added. “Because he isn’t going to win.”
His fond words showed her that he still loved his mother and brother. And was protective of them. No doubt he would be the same way with her. As it was, he walked her as far as the orangery every day, and if she hadn’t reminded him that he might be recognized, he would have taken her to the house.
“You don’t have to walk with me,” she said. “I know you’re busy.” She indicated the papers on the table that showed the plans for the mine. She moved to the table and looked at them more closely. “You plan to expand the mine this much?”
She checked the landmarks, the parish church, the house she lived in, the smaller manor house, and then tracked the size of the mine. “That will take out the south side of the grounds.”
“If your brother agrees. I’ve almost finished here. The seam is a rich one.”
“But the land!” she exclaimed, aghast.
He sighed. “You won’t see it from the house. It’s grass, a few trees, some shrubs. Surely you can’t object to that?”
“And the orangery.” But that wasn’t her chief concern. The orangery could be moved. “There are trees that are hundreds of years old in that part of the grounds. Historic. They can’t be replaced.”
“Yes they can.”
“No!” With tears in her eyes, she spun around. He made a grab for the plans when her cloak would have washed them off the table. “You can’t do this! I’ll talk to Gerald, he’ll never allow it.”
“And tell him where you’ve been?” Grant gave her a smile that was all teeth. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“When you put the scheme to him. Gerald promised me he’d never destroy one of my gardens again. That was when the garden at Bunhill Row was turned into Annie’s silversmithing yard. I’ll hold him to that.”
She would, she truly would.
When Dorcas stormed out of the tent, Grant didn’t follow her. Very wise. She wouldn’t allow him to do this, to sink his mine and scar the land. Trees that old couldn’t be transplanted. They would die. The thought of how much beauty would perish made her feel ill. She pressed her hand to her stomach. It hurt to think about it.
She sped across the field and across the stile that marked the boundary between Gerald’s land and
Grant’s. She had to make him see reason. The world didn’t need that much coal, surely. Well, London did, but she’d never heard of a shortage of the stuff. Honestly, before she’d spent time in the country she hadn’t given much thought to where coal came from. The coal merchant, as far as she was concerned.
Nobody had ever made her look before. But from the scouring of Grant’s land, that small area that marked the existing mine, she knew the destruction would be appalling. Nothing would survive the fires, the digging, the disruption to the earth. They would burrow like moles, and like moles, send up evidence of their presence that would destroy the land.
It wouldn’t survive that kind of treatment. It couldn’t.
When she caught her skirt on the stile, she dragged it free, tearing it in the process.
Grant fought his instincts for all of ten minutes. After staring sightlessly at the plans for the mine, seeing nothing, he gave up. Pausing to grab his hat and shove his arms through the sleeves of his coat, he set out after her. He had to explain, to beg her pardon, to reason with her. Perhaps she hadn’t looked at the plans properly, or she would calm down. He had no idea she’d go off like a firework.
This was the second time he’d seen her lose her temper. A fiery spark of a woman. As he strode across the field, he only paused once to recall the kind of woman he’d thought he’d wanted. Gracious, gentle, a nurturer.
Well, she nurtured flowers. He supposed that was something. Her occupation had led him to believe that he’d met the earth mother he’d been looking for. Instead, he’d found something very different. But that didn’t stop him wanting her anymore.
A Trace of Roses Page 14