Elusive Flame

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  When at last he drew back, Cerynise had no strength left in her limbs. She swayed against him, begging breathlessly, “More.”

  “After we return home,” Beau murmured huskily. Searching her soft, liquid eyes, he pulled the garments up over her bosom and shoulders and refastened the placket. “That will be my promise for later, madam.”

  “But you took away all my desire to leave,” she whispered tremblingly. “I’ll be yearning for you all night.”

  “’Twas my intent, madam.” His warm breath caressed her skin as he chuckled near her cheek. “Every waltz we dance, every glance and touch we exchange will be fired by this interlude and the thought of what will await us once we return home.”

  Cerynise moaned, exaggerating her disappointment. “Do you suppose it’s possible for a wife to rape her husband?”

  “You have more power over my body than I do myself, madam, but how can it be rape when I’d be a willing participant?”

  She smiled shrewdly as her fingers plucked open his trousers and repaid him in kind, giving him a full measure of his own heady potion. Pleased with the results, she drew back for an admiring gaze.

  “Now I’ll be ready for you all night,” Beau groaned, drawing her hand back to him and closing his fingers hard over hers.

  “Just desserts,” she breathed, licking his mouth with the tip of her tongue. She could feel the pulsing warmth of him, imploring her to continue, but with a last enveloping stroke she pulled away. “If I must suffer, sir, so must you.”

  Beau was sure that it would be at least an hour before his blood cooled. “Did I ever tell you what a vixen you are?”

  Cerynise smiled contentedly. “Only in bed, sir. Only in bed.”

  Many of the guests had already arrived by the time Beau’s carriage pulled to a halt before the door. He handed Cerynise down and paused to kiss away the small, fretful frown she now wore. During the long ride out to Harthaven, her mood had become entangled by worry over what the evening would bear. She was especially anxious about being bombarded by catty questions from at least a handful of rejected maidens.

  “If you only knew how beautiful you are, my love,” her husband crooned near her ear, “you wouldn’t let anything bother you, especially Germaine.”

  “I’m sure she has spread it abroad that I lured you into marriage by devious methods,” Cerynise muttered. “And everyone else will be wondering how far along I am…or giving me chiding looks and saying that I shouldn’t be here at all under the circumstances.”

  “You’re a Birmingham now,” Beau reassured her. “You belong here more than all of the others put together. As for your condition, we have no reason to be ashamed, my love. We were quite properly wed when you got with child.”

  Cerynise heaved a forlorn sigh. “That may be well and good, Beau, but tongues are still bound to wag.”

  “They’ll stop…when we’re about eighty years old,” he teased, placing a doting kiss upon her brow.

  She smoothed his black lapel admiringly. Except for his white shirt, cravat and a burnished silver brocade waistcoat handsomely adorned with a high, crisply folded collar, he was dressed entirely in black and looked every bit as debonair as that day when she had seen him with Germaine. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you, Beau?”

  “You’ll probably find me so close at hand, madam, that you’ll want to shoo me away.”

  “Never.”

  Beau pulled her arm through his and, climbing to the porch, whisked her through the front door. The butler took her royal blue velvet cloak, and then, as Beau escorted her toward the guests, who had turned to stare, Heather slipped through the crowded ballroom to greet her son and daughter-in-law. After giving each a doting kiss, she turned a brilliant smile to the roomful of people and shushed their conversations with a graceful wave of her hands. She was promptly reinforced by her husband, who settled a hand upon her shoulder.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Heather called as her sparkling blue eyes swept over the faces of friends and acquaintances, “for those who haven’t met her yet, I’d like to present our new daughter-in-law, Cerynise Birmingham, only offspring of the late Professor Marcus Kendall, whom many of you probably remember. Beau and Cerynise were married in England in late October before they set sail for the Carolinas. They wanted to keep their marriage a secret, and as yet they haven’t confided in me as to the reasons why. I’d like to think it was to allow us the honor of seeing them wed in a church. Yet, as things have a way of developing in real life, Brandon and I are going to be grandparents in August.”

  Hearty applause, blended with laughter and congratulations, soon followed. A sigh of relief slipped from Cerynise’s lips as she felt her tension easing, having been becalmed by the affable way Heather had handled the situation. Her mother-in-law had cut cleanly through to the heart of the matter, skillfully dispatching innuendoes and conjectures with a graciousness that was irresistible.

  Beau was close at hand to introduce his wife to the guests who came forward eagerly to wish them well. Many of Beau’s male companions from years back had been students of her father, and they briefly related amusing tales from their association with their dedicated schoolmaster. Names soon became a confusing tangle that fairly boggled Cerynise’s mind, for it seemed a whole avalanche of amiable guests wanted to extend their congratulations on the couple’s marriage and welcome them back from England. Her softly pleading eyes made her husband chuckle, and he begged for time out to dance with his wife.

  “Feeling better?” he asked as he whirled her about in a waltz.

  Cerynise laughed, evidencing not only her relief but her pleasure at being able to dance for the first time with her husband. She found him every bit as smooth on his feet as the dance instructors whom Lydia Winthrop had hired for her had been. Indeed, he was like some fairy tale prince, who swept her around the ballroom, continually turning in ever-widening circuits until the faces of those who watched became an indistinct blur beyond his broad shoulders. But then, her eyes strayed rarely from his face.

  “Your mother certainly simplified the situation,” Cerynise remarked, reveling in the fact that nearly everyone had been informed of their marriage. “Right now, I feel as if I’m floating on a cloud. Definitely a great weight has been lifted off me.”

  A devilish grin stretched across Beau’s lips. “Is that the way you feel after I make love to you?”

  She looked perplexed for barely a moment and finally understood his risqué remark. “Your weight is immensely more enjoyable to bear, my love, but I think you know by now how much I crave your body. I’ve not seen any finer.”

  Beau’s eyes glowed as he challenged her. “As if you’ve seen more than mine, madam.” He shook his head. “Nay, when you blushed to the roots of your hair the first time you saw my chest, I became convinced that you had never seen a naked man before we were married, but that’s exactly the way I preferred it. I want you all to myself.”

  “And you can have me, sir, anytime you want me.”

  “My old bedroom is upstairs,” he suggested with a warm leer.

  Cerynise gave him a coy smile. “Of course, you know we’ll be missed.”

  Beau sighed, sorely regretting that fact. “Aye, and we’d never get your hair up quite as nicely as it is now. As much as I desire to take my ease of you now, madam, I guess we must wait until we get home.”

  “You’re a terrible tease, sir,” she fussed flirtatiously. “Of that I’m now thoroughly convinced. You know very well I would be leading the way if you’d invite me to dally upstairs with you for a while.”

  Beau tossed his head back and laughed in hearty amusement. “I might yet, madam…but only when I can be sure that no one will come searching us out.”

  The couple’s graceful flight around the ballroom aroused a seething black rage within the heart of at least one who watched with close attention from the sidelines. For the moment, Germaine Hollingsworth stood alone in the crowded room, feeling quite envious of her rival. If not for Cerynise,
Germaine had no doubt that she would have been dancing in Beau’s arms this very moment. He was the very essence of masculinity, tall and powerful, darkly sensual in his good looks, supple in his movements, yet hard as an oak, a fact which had both excited and delighted her whenever she had casually touched his broad chest. She could envision herself running her hands over his naked body, marveling at its firm structure, and bestirring him to a passion that would have made him her willing captive. But it was obvious now that he was Cerynise’s slave. Indeed, if he had ever looked at her the way he had visually devoured Cerynise that day outside of Madame Feroux’s shop, Germaine would have had cause to nurture some hope for herself in the weeks and months to come. Diligently applied temptations could tear apart the noblest intentions if the heart was at all willing. But as long as Cerynise remained the coveted jewel in his eye, Germaine couldn’t foresee that happening. Frankly, she wished that Sticks would drop dead, preferably now, but dying in childbirth would definitely suffice.

  Beau was completely entranced with the soft pools of adoring hazel that he beheld before him. They glowed with a shining luster that radiated her love for him. Feeling immensely blessed to have found such devotion, he swept his beautiful wife around the ballroom floor. Her pliant body moved with his, as if their minds were joined in sweet accord. He had no doubt they were, for he could read the desire flaming in those darkly translucent depths and knew that his own shone with equal fervor.

  For Cerynise, nothing existed beyond her husband’s encircling arms and the endless glitter of green eyes that held hers captive. Their words were muted, an intimate sharing of comments, affirmations of love, and secrets solely their own. There was a warm, underlying excitement within her that he had kindled with his earlier promise, and the slightest brush of his thigh or the gentlest squeeze of his hand on her waist made her breasts tingle in anticipation of that moment when she would be alone with him again. Though her fingers lightly brushed the fabric of his coat and casually caressed him in ways that were totally acceptable even in the midst of so many people, each glance they exchanged was charged with erotic meaning, each smile a reminder of what awaited them upon their arrival home, for it was only there that they could be assured of adequate privacy. It was nothing less than a slow, rhythmic dance of building desires, a sensual ritual in foreplay that excited them, yet no one else could discern.

  The music continued to fill the ballroom, and Beau reluctantly yielded his wife to the other Birmingham men who came to claim a dance for themselves. He, in turn, performed his duty by his mother, sisters, and cousins. Tamarah was included in that list, and though she pleaded with her parents to be allowed to stay up for the whole affair, she was sent off to bed in Brenna’s room at an hour appropriate for a girl her age. As for the other young women in the room, for Beau it was as if they didn’t exist. His heart and his gaze were firmly fixed upon his wife who, even while being escorted around the dance floor by his relatives, seemed to have eyes only for him.

  Beau had been drawn aside by several of his hunting companions and as he laughed and chatted with them, Cerynise and Brenna accepted glasses of punch from a servant. The two women were engrossed with watching the dancing couples, but it wasn’t long before both of them became aware of Germaine urging Michael York out onto the floor. The man didn’t seem to know how to respond to her invitation except to accede to her plea, yet apparently it wasn’t where he wanted to be. He seemed terribly discomfited by the depth of her bodice, for the woman was all but spilling out of a dark violet confection which appeared more of a marvel of engineering than a generous endowment. Making a concerted effort to appear casual, Michael looked everywhere but at her, and as soon as the tune ended, he quickly excused himself and beat a hasty retreat to his fiancée, who listened with smiling attention to what had all the appearances of being an anxious explanation. After a moment he kissed Suzanne’s hand as if relieved and drew her out onto the ballroom floor, where he danced divinely, at ease.

  It didn’t take much imagination for Cerynise to come to the determination that it would only be a matter of time before Germaine also cornered Beau. The thought was barely formed when she saw the woman moving toward him with an inviting smile.

  Brenna leaned near Cerynise to whisper, “Do you see where that woman is heading now?”

  “Toward my husband,” Cerynise answered in a muted tone.

  Brenna ground her teeth in vexation. “Wouldn’t you like to pull that hussy’s hair out?”

  “By the roots,” Cerynise affirmed, remembering the jealousy that had once been aroused when she had seen Beau handing Germaine down from his carriage that day in Charleston.

  Brenna patted her sister’s-in-law hand consolingly. “Trust Beau to do what is right.”

  A pensive sigh slipped from Cerynise. “He must be cordial to her, of course.”

  Germaine’s popularity among the men might have heightened her confidence to the degree that she fully expected any member of the opposite gender to drop whatever he was doing at her approach. But Beau was so busy conversing with his friends, that he looked right past her, never even realizing she was near. It caused the woman an undue amount of shock and frustration, for he seemed genuinely unaware of her presence. The tiny brunette set her arms akimbo and stamped her foot to demand his attention, but upon realizing she was there in front of him, Beau promptly introduced her to a young gallant who was far more eager to lead her onto the dance floor.

  “Superb!” Brenna exclaimed cheerfully in a whisper and turned to meet Cerynise’s radiant smile. “Isn’t he marvelous?”

  “Oh, indeed!” Cerynise agreed happily.

  “Now look,” Brenna urged. “He’s coming back to you.”

  Beau cast a questioning grin toward his sister as he took Cerynise’s arm. “Do you have any objections if I dance with my wife, Little One?”

  Brenna willingly accepted the cup from her sister-in-law. “None at all, Tall Man.”

  As the couple moved away, Brenna turned to find a place to set the two cups and was somewhat startled to find a russet-haired young man a few years her senior approaching her. She recognized him immediately as Clay’s closest friend.

  “Your pardon, Brenna, but I was wondering if you’d care to dance. Clay said that you might be acceptable to the idea.”

  “I’m very acceptable to the idea, Todd,” she replied, bestowing a dazzling smile upon him.

  Gleaming white teeth were readily displayed in a jubilant grin as Todd hurriedly took the cups from her and passed them on to a servant. Gallantly he swept her a bow and then drew her small, slender hand within the bend of his arm, causing her father’s eyebrow to jut sharply upward, even from across the length of the room.

  With a coy smile Heather sought to smooth her husband’s ruffled feathers as she rubbed a hand down his lapel. “Todd is only asking our daughter to dance, my dear, and I’d be very appreciative if you’d do me a similar favor.”

  He clicked his heels in a debonair bow. “May I have this dance, madam?”

  “I’d like nothing better, my love.”

  Brandon laid a hand possessively on the small of her back and led her toward an open space on the ballroom floor. Still, he couldn’t resist a complaint as they began to dance. “I overheard Clay talking to his brother about Todd Phelps’s growing infatuation with our daughter, madam.”

  “Well, he’s definitely a nice young man, from an upstanding family, but Brenna is only sixteen.…”

  “My sentiments exactly, madam.”

  Heather smiled as her husband strove to keep their youngest daughter in sight. Brenna was his baby girl, and from all indications, he was going to be extremely reluctant to give her up to just any young swain. A man would have to prove himself an exceptional individual before he’d find favor with her father.

  Some time later Beau and Cerynise stepped out onto the front porch for a bit of fresh air. They meandered arm in arm to the far end of the veranda, where a huge live oak allowed only mottled moonlight to
pass through its rustling leaves, which left the area swathed in deep shadows. The chill of the evening soon elicited a shiver from Cerynise, motivating Beau to open his coat invitingly. Bracing his legs apart, he pulled her close against him as he leaned back against the white facade and folded his arms around her shoulders.

  Cerynise sighed dreamily. “Little did I imagine when I was a girl hopelessly smitten with you that I would actually be standing on this very porch someday, married to you and with your child growing within me. Though I nurtured the fantasy of being your wife for many years, my love, it finally seemed so outlandish that I forced myself not to think of it anymore. Being so far away, I had serious doubts that I would ever see you again. Alistair will probably never know how great a favor he did me by throwing me out of the Winthrop house when he did.”

  Beau chuckled softly. “I’d almost be of a mind to show my gratitude with a kiss instead of a fist in the face.”

  “Kiss me instead,” Cerynise whispered warmly, lifting her face expectantly.

  He indulged her request well beyond a simple husbandly peck, and soon she was straining up close against him with her arms locked about his neck, returning the favor. It was a thoroughly passionate kiss, one that stroked across their senses and awakened familiar fires. His left arm was tightly clasped about her waist, allowing his right hand to move over her back with the freedom he was wont to enjoy, caressing her hip through the soft layering of her gown and underwear, dipping into the tempting crevice and following its path downward until his hand was firmly clasped between her buttocks.

  A feminine clearing of a throat ended their kiss abruptly. Cerynise would have stepped away in acute embarrassment, but Beau had the presence of mind to keep her close against him. It was certainly no time for his wife to desert him.