The Mistress of Trevelyan

by Jennifer St Giles

  “May I have this kiss?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. He bent to me, his lips capturing mine with a questing fervor that matched our midnight adventures. Pressing against him, I moaned, my body instantly awakening to the call of his passion.

  His arms wrapped around me, his leg found purchase between mine, and his palm cupped my breast through the thin muslin of my dress. I slid my hands over the hard contours of his shoulders and back, feeling the remarkable breadth of him and wondering how he could be so gentle and yet so strong. Then I ventured lower, remembering how his breeches had clung to him, and knowing that I’d feel the hard length of his arousal, straining against soft cotton. I pressed my hand over his need, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he gave me. He shuddered and responded with an even greater, insistent need.

  “May I have you?” he asked, his voice strained and as intense as the hammering of his heart.

  “Yes,” I said, arching to his touch, wanting him as much as I wanted to breathe.“But what about—”

  “Interruptus, thy name is heaven,” Benedict said, kissing me harder.

  “But… what about… the detriment to your… constitution?” I asked between kisses.

  “As you are wont to say, my constitution is remarkably strong.”

  “Strong constitutions are a very good thing to have, Benedict. Especially right now.” Minutes later I was half sitting, half reclining in his massive wing chair, my skirts hiked up and my drawers snatched down. Benedict kneeled between my legs, his arousal freed from its cotton prison and sliding inside me, driving me heavenward. At some point, the light-heartedness fell away like a mask being torn from us, and the desperation of our passion, made even starker by the light of the day, revealed itself. I knew this time we were stealing together wouldn’t last, but I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t find the strength to deny myself his touch.

  I was still shuddering with the force of our passion when a knock sounded on the study door.

  Dear God, not only had I lost any sense of practicality I’d ever possessed, but I had to have lost my mind with it. The look on Benedict’s face seemed to mirror my own horror.

  “The window seat, behind the curtains. Hide there quickly.” He stood, scrambling to fix his breeches. “Go,” he urged.

  Standing up, and trying to hold on to my drawers as my skirts fell down, I rushed to the window and dove behind the curtains onto the cushioned seat. It took me but seconds to gather my skirts and curl myself into the space. I was slightly cramped, but not terribly so.

  It wasn’t until another sharp knock resounded that I heard Benedict open the door.

  “Benedict, I need to speak to you about a troublesome situation.” Mrs. Trevelyan’s voice cut straight to my stomach, making it flip-flop with nausea.

  “Mother, this is not a good time. Might we discuss this before dinner? You are walking well enough that I will take you on a stroll through the garden.”

  I thought I was about to expire with embarrassment. The position I’d placed both of us in was completely intolerable. I should have stayed in the schoolroom or my quarters.

  “The matter is rather private, and I do not wish to be overheard. I will take but a moment. Are you feeling well?” Mrs. Trevelyan asked.

  “Yes. Very well,” Benedict said, sounding harried. “But this discussion really needs to wait.”

  “You look flushed,” Mrs. Trevelyan said.

  Could this situation become any more horrendous?

  “Just returned from riding Odin to a business matter that needed my immediate attention,” he said.

  Yes, I answered my own question. Much more horrendous. Riding Odin indeed.

  “Then I’ll get right to the point. I realize that Miss Lovell is doing a fine job with Justin and Robert, but I have some serious reservations about her continued presence here.”

  “Mother, we discussed this once, and I said the subject was closed. Miss Lovell has proved herself to be an exemplary governess.”

  “But at what cost, Benedict? I hesitate to say this, but I must. Have you seen the way Stephen looks at her? The boy has found another angel to worship. And I have seen you watch her, too. It is happening again. The whole sordid situation that happened with Francesca, only this time over the reddened hand of a washerwoman. I will not have it. She does not belong here. She’s another charity project you have allowed yourself to become responsible for. Just like that lad you hired, who then ran off with the silver. Just like that woman you—”

  “And I will not have this,” Benedict’s voice lashed out. I flinched, shoving my hands beneath my skirt, for not even I could look at my reddened skin.

  The room vibrated with the force of Benedict’s anger. “Stephen ceased to be a boy at least ten years ago. It is time you stopped pandering to his sensitivity just because he’s like Father. Perhaps then he will find the strength to stand without a drink in his hand. And washerwoman or not, Miss Lovell shows more strength of character and intelligence than any simpering lady of social standing dillydallying through life.”

  “That does not change the facts, Benedict. So it would behoove you to stop pandering to the fantasy of—”

  “Of what, Mother? That a man’s worth should be measured by his word rather than his ancestry? The world is changing.”

  “Not that much. This is not the deck of your ship. This is a city with a social structure that must be adhered to. And you had best remember it before you damage this family and your sons. Find Miss Lovell a post somewhere else. Preferably East. And find a male tutor for Robert and Justin, as you had planned to do. Do it before it is too late.”

  Benedict didn’t say anything, and I heard the study door shut. I closed my eyes and fought for the breath that the truth of his mother’s words had stolen. Though I sat in the basking warmth of the sun shining through the glass, I grew cold inside.

  Benedict pulled open the curtain, and I turned from him, too shamed to face him.

  “Titania,” he said, reaching for me, pulling me against him even through I fought him. “I am sorry. You must not take her words to heart. She’s of a different era and does not understand.”

  I shook my head, not believing him.

  “Please, do not turn away.” His voice deepened with emotion. “Robert needs you. Justin needs you. And God help me, so do I.”

  I could not keep from him. I turned to him, burying my face against the surety of his chest, and I wrapped my arms around him. I wouldn’t let myself cry. I wouldn’t let him know, for he’d surely try and argue, but I knew his mother had spoken true. It cut me deeper than any pain I’d ever known to realize that the more I stayed within the circle of his arms, the more I’d rather die than leave him. To stay here long enough to help Robert and Justin, I could no longer be with Benedict. But I couldn’t force the words from my mouth. I needed time to think, to figure out the best way to say all that was in my heart. Tonight, I would have to tell him.

  22

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. I dressed for dinner, spoke to the children, went to the parlor. I smiled when I was supposed to, spoke when appropriate, and managed to push my food around on my plate so that no one noticed that I barely ate a thing. I couldn’t. I was crying inside, hurting as much as I hurt when my mother had passed away. Maybe even more so, for I’d a long time to prepare for her passing. With Benedict, I felt as if I had to rip him from my heart while I still had strength enough to keep it beating when I did. But I thought it was too late already.

  Benedict looked my way several times, a worried frown marring his chiseled features. But I could tell by the pointed effort he made to keep his distance from me that he was as much aware of the eagle eye of his mother as I was.

  Tonight of all nights, it was decided to return again to the music room. It wasn’t until we all entered the room that I realized I’d paid little attention to the others. I hadn’t even looked at Stephen, and I wondered if he was as enamored with me as his mother seemed to think. When I
sent a nervous glance his way, I found him looking at me with an odd expression, almost as if he was worried about me.

  “I have a recitation that I would like to do for everyone tonight,” Stephen said. “And I would like to dedicate this especially to Miss Ann.”

  My breath froze in my lungs. No, Stephen, I thought. Your timing couldn’t be worse. I shot my gaze to Benedict, only to see his jaw clench.

  Mr. Henderson, who stood near Benedict, seemed to catch the sudden tension and set a hand on Benedict’s shoulder. “It has been quite a long time since you’ve done a recitation, Stephen. I have missed your flair for such things. What did you have in mind?”

  “Words from the master of witty prose, Shakespeare. And tonight I would like to share with you the wisdom of Portia, the rich heiress of Belmont, from The Merchant of Venice, as she speaks of mercy as a ‘gentle rain from heaven.’ ” Stephen stood, cleared his throat and began his speech.

  “The quality of mercy is not strained;

  It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

  Upon the place beneath: it is twice Blest,—

  It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

  ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes

  The throned monarch better than his crown;

  His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,

  The attribute to awe and majesty,

  Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;

  But mercy is above this sceptred sway,—

  It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

  It is an attribute to God himself;

  And earthly power doth then show likest God’s,

  When mercy seasons justice.”

  My fears eased as he spoke. Stephen’s recitation was beyond compare to any performance I’d seen, which I had to admit was extremely limited. Still, I could see he had a great talent. I stole a glance at Benedict and was glad to see that his attention was riveted on his brother. Though Stephen had dedicated the recitation to me, the words were clearly meant for his brother, and I think Benedict realized that.

  When he finished, the room was silent. Mr. Henderson clapped first, and everyone followed suit. Stephen took a bow. “Now, dear brother, would you grace us with your expertise upon the piano?”

  “Anything else would prove to be anticlimactic, I am afraid. That was extremely well done,” Benedict said.

  “I did not waste my time back East, but sought to make myself a better man. I had no place to go but up, you know.” Stephen spoke as if he’d made a joke and laughed, but I caught the look he exchanged with Benedict, and I thought that just maybe one small step had been taken.

  Constance slipped between the brothers and pouted at Benedict. “But you just have to play a song, Benedict. I would love to hear Alan sing for us before he leaves for home. Play the one he used to sing all the time with my—” She hesitated, swung around, and looked at everyone. “Please, just once can we sing the song she loved?”

  A long silence followed Constance’s plea, and though I thought her request ill timed, I felt for her. She truly seemed to be grieving for her sister and wanted to have good memories to cling to. It wasn’t much different from Robert and Justin’s need to express love for their mother with flowers on her grave.

  Mr. Henderson cleared his voice.“Well, Ben, I think I am up to it. I hope your playing is not as rusty as my singing, or we are really going to need a brandy before we sleep.”

  “We will need that anyhow,”Benedict said, but he moved over to the piano and settled himself to play. Katherine, as she had before, went and sat on the floor next to the piano and placed her head against it, a woman reaching for something she could never have. As I sat and watched Benedict play, absorbing his every movement, feeling every note he struck as if he played upon my soul with the gentle strength of his hands, I too knew that I had tried to reach for something I could never have.

  When the clock struck the midnight hour, I made my way to Benedict’s bedchamber. My plan to tell him of my decision to stop this fever between us before it destroyed us both fell silent as I opened the passage’s door into his room. I stood there stunned. Candles lit the quarters, and an exotic scent hung enticingly in the air. A trail of roses lay upon the floor, leading a path to the bed, where Benedict, dressed in his robe, reclined with a rose in his hand.

  He held it out to me, and tears stung my eyes. No man had given me flowers before. I was awed by how this man, this busy man, had taken the time to reach all the way into my romantic soul. Had he known what I’d planned to tell him?

  I looked into his eyes, and could do nothing else but go to him. Morning would be soon enough to face the harsh truth. Just one more time, during the mists of midnight I’d pretend that what I wanted most in life was truly mine. Just one more time.

  Reaching the bed, I took the rose from him, noticing that this rose, so perfect and beautiful, had no thorns. He’d sheared them away. Would that pain in life could be so easily dispatched.

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  Benedict rose to his knees and gazed directly into my eyes. There was a deep well of unspoken things between us, a well that now swirled with turmoil, for there was no denying that his mother’s words had affected us both.

  “No,” he said, taking hold of my hand, urging me to kneel upon the bed before him. “Thank you. Come let me love you tonight, Titania. I need you.”

  Easing the rose from my fingers, he set it aside, then slipped my robe from my shoulders. With a slow gentleness, he unbuttoned my gown and lifted it over my head. He wore only a robe, which he untied and shook off, then pulled me into his embrace. He kissed me tenderly, barely brushing his lips over mine before he kissed my cheeks, my eyes, and my forehead.

  Tonight I felt a difference in his manner, in his touch. He moved as if he had all the time in the world, as if he’d brought time to a halt, and we were the only two people in the universe unfrozen. Then he kissed me deeply, with a longing and a reverence that wrapped a bittersweet chain about my heart. This man had captured my every dream, my love, and my soul and freed them to soar. I kissed him back, equally meeting his every touch.

  Leaning, he softly brought us both to the mattress, I upon my back with him over me. I thought he would kiss me then, love me then, but he didn’t. He sat back, picked up the rose, and brought it to my lips, brushing the fragrant velvety petals gently across my mouth. I inhaled, taking in the scent of rose, of sandalwood, of him, and felt as if a different kind of ambrosia fed my senses.

  He bathed me then, bathed all of me with the petals of the rose, from the tip of my nose to the tender flesh of my instep, from the peaks of my breasts to the valley of my femininity. And finally he took each of my hands, my reddened, work-worn hands, and bathed them with the softness of the rose. He made me feel beautiful, made me feel cherished. I thought I could know no greater tenderness, but I was wrong. He followed the brush of the rose with the brush of his lips. Every place the rose had delved, his lips kissed until he again reached my hands. He kissed my fingertips and threaded his fingers through mine so that we were palm to palm. It wasn’t until he gazed into my eyes at that moment that I saw the ferocity of the passion he held in check. And I knew even before I arched to him that I would be unleashing a fire that might consume us both.

  “Yes,” I said to him with conviction. “Love me tonight. I need you, too.” The fire erupted, instant, blazing, scorching. His lips claimed mine, our tongues mated in a primal dance that fired our need as air fueled the heat of a fire. I locked my legs about him, urging him to join with me. No words were said as he thrust into me and I arched to him. We needed nothing but each other’s touch and the perfect mating of our bodies and hearts.

  I awoke several hours later, surprised to find myself alone in Benedict’s bed. Where was he? The expanse of his room, its richness, the luxury of his jumbled covers, didn’t belong to me. I didn’t belong with him. I’d hoped to spend the night in his arms before I told him of my decision.


  It was probably better this way, I thought as I rose and dressed. I’d leave his bed with the memory of a perfect night, and in the morning I’d go to his study and say the words that we both had to face.

  After I dressed, I picked up each rose he had left for me and gathered them against my heart, feeling tears fall in my soul. He’d removed the thorns from them all. And I knew I would have to hold on to that forever. I’d have to hold on to the passion we’d shared, keep the roses next to my heart, and remember that thorns didn’t have any place in the beauty he’d shown me, no matter how painful our parting would be.

  Taking my lantern and my roses, I left Benedict’s room. My stomach knotted, as if what I was doing wasn’t right. No, I told myself, taking a deep breath. This is what I had to do, for Benedict, for Justin, for Robert, and for myself. I shut the panel to his room behind me and started up the stairs. Now that I was completely in the dark, I realized the oil in my lamp was low, and only a sputtering flame was left to guide my way. But I knew there was enough of the wick to last for a while yet, so I continued up. Three steps from the landing, I thought I heard a noise behind me. I swung around, expecting to see Benedict there. Yet only darkness met the glow of my lamp.

  My heart sped up even as I chastised myself for being overly imaginative.

  “Hello. Is anyone there?” Only my own voice echoed back at me. I never felt more alone than I did at that moment. Not even when my mother died had I felt so completely vulnerable and alone.

  Turning, I hurried up to my room, my feet moving as quickly as I could safely go in my slippers. I rounded the stairway to my floor, and suddenly something black and hard hit me, knocking me backward.

  I screamed as I fell back. The lamp and my roses went flying. I tried to twist my body to put my hands before me, to do anything to break my fall. My hand caught the rail, and I clutched it desperately. The impetus of my body plunging downward ripped the rail from my hand, and my knee and hip hit the wooden stairs hard, sending pain shattering through my body. I rolled. My back scraped across the stairs, and my head slammed hard, making my stomach clench with nausea. I came to a stop as my side rammed into stone.