Indeed, she simply watched him as if fascinated, desire heating her eyes as she followed his every movement.
He slipped his braces off his shoulders before unbuttoning his linen and tossing it to the ground in a rumpled heap beside his coat. Moving quickly now, he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down along with his stockings, then stood in nothing save his own drawers, his cock a hard bulge in the flannel. He saw her gaze travel downward, her eyes widening. Invitation enough. With no further hesitation, he pushed down his drawers and stepped from them. For a moment, they both stood silently, admiring one another.
“God, you’re beautiful,” she said at last.
“I was just thinking the same thing. Of you, I meant,” he added. “I’ve never in my life seen anything so lovely. Come here,” he commanded, and she readily obeyed, striding proudly into his embrace. Their bodies met—hot, eager, a melding of limbs.
“Your hair,” he murmured against her ear. He was suddenly desperate to see it down, unbound.
“Mmm,” was all she responded before pulling away and reaching up toward the elaborate arrangement piled high on her crown. One by one, she removed the pins and dropped them carelessly to the floor. First one wheat-colored lock fell across her shoulder, its shiny end curling across one pale ivory breast, and then another, ’til at last her entire face was framed in a pale, wavy mass that fell down her back in glossy ripples.
Will could only stare speechless at the sight. How long had it been since he’d seen her with her hair down? Many, many years, he realized. They’d been children. But now…now she was every inch a grown woman, and never would he have imagined the practical, always-sensible Aisling with such glorious hair.
In one sweep of his arm, he lifted her off her feet and carried her across the cottage’s small room to the narrow iron bed in the far corner.
Aisling propped herself up on one elbow, watching him with a mischievous smile. “The bed, Will? But that’s so very predictable, so pedestrian, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but I won’t be rushed today, not like last night. You might want to get comfortable,” he teased, plumping the pillow behind her. “This might very well take all day.”
“As if you could last that long,” she challenged, eyes dancing.
He took a step toward the edge of the bed, his cock heavy with need. “Can’t I?”
“Let me see,” she answered, rising to her hands and knees before him. Before he had a chance to react, she had taken his entire length in her mouth, her tongue stroking the underside of his shaft. His entire body shuddered as he stared down at her in utter surprise.
Slowly, sensuously, she rocked back, releasing him inch by inch until nothing but the head of his cock remained between her lips, her tongue dancing over the sensitive tip. Over and over again, she stroked him with her mouth, taking him more deeply each time. She cupped his bollocks in one hand, squeezing gently, making it impossible for him to pull away.
At last she released him, sitting back on her heels and looking up at him sweetly, all innocence now. “All day, you say? Are you so sure of that?”
“Never mind,” he said, nearly throwing himself to the bed beside her and pulling her atop him. “I must have been mistaken.”
Aisling sucked in her breath as she climbed atop him, straddling him. Oh, how she wanted to tease him, to make him nearly weep with desperation as she tormented him with her mouth. She had no idea it would be so lovely to pleasure him like that, to taste him and tease him. She’d felt him grow harder, longer with each stroke of her tongue, and a part of her wanted to wield that power more, to see it to its completion. After all, she’d written about it so many times as it seemed something that men particularly enjoyed, if the stories in the Boudoir were to be believed.
But she couldn’t wait, couldn’t restrain herself as she sought to fit her quim over his cock instead. She felt the heat of him, the throbbing hardness as he parted her and then filled her entirely. She was already wet, slippery with need as her body found a rhythm, her hips raising and lowering with a quickening pace.
Will grasped the iron bedstead behind him as he strained against her, lifting his head to capture her mouth with his, kissing her roughly and ruthlessly as she rode him—harder, faster, the creaky old bedsprings protesting loudly beneath them.
And then he broke the kiss, falling upon the pillow. His head tipped back, the cords of his neck standing out hard and taut. “Oh, God, Aisling…now…I can’t stop—” A deep groan made the rest of his words unintelligible, but Aisling no longer cared. Their bodies had grown slick, their bodies slapping noisily against one another.
Already she felt her womb begin to clench, her insides quivering, her thighs trembling. Pinpoints of light exploded behind her eyelids as she lowered herself, taking in every inch of him, allowing him to fill her, to stretch her as he spent himself deep, deep inside her.
Their cries of pleasure mingled, hers breathy and high, his low and guttural as they both arched into one another one last time. At last spent, Aisling fell across him, her lips just inches from his throat as she caught her breath. He smelled so clean, slightly salty and all male—a heady scent, she realized. Nothing at all like Esterbrooke, who’d smelled faintly of onions and smoke when she’d so stupidly allowed him to take her virginity.
“So much for all day,” Will said at last, running his fingers through her hair and making her shiver. “And so much for the French letters. Damn.”
French letters? Of course. She hadn’t even thought to reassure him, though she had been keenly aware of the timing herself. “Don’t worry,” she said, pressing a kiss against the spot where his pulse leaped below his ear. “My monthly courses came only last week. It should be safe enough right now.”
She felt his lips against her hair. “And here I’d planned to take my time. It’s all your fault, you know.”
“Next time, perhaps,” she murmured sleepily, suddenly wishing more than anything for a short nap, there in his arms.
“Will there be a next time, Aisling? Truly, how long can this go on?”
She sat up, looking down at him. His brow was furrowed, his jaw tight as he rubbed one temple. He seemed almost…angry, but Aisling could not fathom why. “As long as we want it, Will,” she said, shaking her head in confusion.
“If you say so, then.”
“What do you mean, if I say so?” she snapped. “I don’t understand you, Will Cooper!”
“I don’t quite understand it, myself.” He ran the pad of his fingertip across her lips. “It’s just that I find myself greedy, wanting more, not wanting to let you go. And yet I know that this cannot go on forever.”
Aisling felt a lump form in her throat. Why did he have to keep bringing up the end, when they’d only just begun? She didn’t want to think of the end, not yet. Yet there was no denying it—time was not their friend. Christmas would come and go, and Will’s holiday would end. He’d go back to Cambridge, to his life there, leaving her—
“Do you remember that time when we were children, when I pushed you into the swimming pond?” he asked, drawing slow, lazy circles on her skin with his fingertips. “You were fully clothed, wearing a frilly white frock with pink ribbons. I can still remember the look of fury on your face when you climbed out, dripping wet.”
“I can still remember the black eye I gave you not a minute later,” she said, smiling in smug satisfaction.
“Jack put me up to it, did you know that? Offered to pay me, even, but I refused his coin.”
“Why, that bastard!” she said, shaking her head, knowing it sounded exactly like something her brother would do. “I had to toss that dress in the rubbish bin, you know. It was entirely ruined, and Nurse was furious with me.”
“Well, have you any idea what kind of hell I got for having my eye blackened by a girl?” He chuckled softly. “Jack told everyone, as if he was proud of you or something, and I never heard the end of it.”
“I’ll never understand that broth
er of mine,” she said, shaking her head. Jack had always been her greatest tormentor, and yet her dearest friend. Perhaps it was because they were so close in age—only thirteen months separated their births. Irish twins, their grandmother liked to call them.
Will reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Say you’ll see me again tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Yes, yes, of course.” But how?
“My mum’s house,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “She’ll be out tomorrow, in the afternoon, helping Mrs. Brandon prepare for guests. She told me I’d have to get my own tea. Can’t you come up with an excuse to spend the day in Bedlington?”
“I might as well be a child, needing permission to go anywhere or do anything on my own.” She sighed loudly. “But I can promise that I’ll try. Will that do?”
“I suppose it will have to,” he answered, his voice tight. “Do you need to return home now?”
“No,” she said, snuggling back against his chest and pulling a rough, woolen blanket over them both. “I’ve got hours ’til Mother returns. What about you?”
“I’m not expected until teatime. If my mum shows up then, that is. Did you know she’s stepping out with Mr. Beeton these days?”
Aisling nodded. “I’d heard that from Mother. She gets all the local gossip, you know. Anyway, good for your mum. Mr. Beeton is a decent man. I think he will treat her well.”
“I hope so. I hate leaving her all alone in Bedlington. I’ve tried to get her to come up to Cambridge, but she refuses. She’s so damn proud of that shabby little cottage. I just don’t understand it.”
“Because it’s hers. I…I almost envy her that. Her own home, her own livelihood, difficult as it might be,” she added.
“She could get on well enough with what I send her each month,” he said, sounding defensive. “But she refuses to give up her work, hiring herself out like she does. It’s almost as if she wants to demean herself.”
Aisling could hear the frustration in his voice, could feel his body tense beside hers. “You’re being much too hard on her, Will. She’s proud of the work she does, and rightly so. It can’t have been easy for her, all these years, raising you all alone amidst the whispers, the innuendo.”
“How can you touch me, knowing I’m someone’s bastard?” he said, his voice catching. “Someone’s by-blow, nothing but a castoff? You, of all people? The daughter of a baronet, for fuck’s sake.”
The pain, the self-loathing she heard in his voice tore at her heart. A tear gathered in the corner of Aisling’s eye, and she wiped it away quickly, before it fell, giving her away. “I don’t care about that, Will. Perhaps I did…before. Perhaps I thought myself better than you, superior in some way, simply because of my birth. But now that I know…now that—” she swallowed hard, willing the tears to remain at bay, damn it “—I’m ashamed for feeling as I did before. Jack called me a snob, and he was right. I was a terrible snob, and I’ll never forgive myself.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Aisling. But you have no idea what it was like, growing up as I did, never quite fitting in anywhere. The working-class boys picked on me for my education, and my schoolmates picked on me for my working-class background. I was damned either way.”
Aisling nodded, having heard such tales from Jack through the years. “I can’t even imagine. But then, I’ve never felt as if I fit into my world quite right, either. I never could do what they asked of me—smile prettily, hold my tongue, act as if I hadn’t the brains God gave a goat. I let a gentleman take my virtue, and then do you know what I did when he offered marriage? I laughed. The very idea of being married to him, of feeling his damp, slippery hands all over me every night…” She trailed off, her stomach pitching uncomfortably. “I couldn’t do it. I knew my secret was safe. After all, it wouldn’t reflect well on his masculine pride if everyone knew I’d refused him after giving him a tumble, would it?”
“Most definitely not,” Will agreed.
“Anyway,” she said, waving one hand in dismissal, “enough about that.” Propping herself up on one elbow, she gazed down at him admiringly. Though the mischievous glint in his eyes was the same, everything else about him was so very different from the boy she remembered. Gone were the bony shoulders and skinny chest, replaced now with a well-sculpted torso with a dusting of dark hair that narrowed into a fine line, bisecting his taut, rippled abdomen.
“By the looks of you, I’d say you’ve broken your own fair share of hearts,” she said, feeling strangely possessive now.
He shrugged, drawing her closer as he did so. “Perhaps,” he answered noncommittally, then immediately changed the subject. “Tell me about your stories. Whatever made you start writing them?”
“I found a copy of the Boudoir in Jack’s office a couple years ago, and, being the wicked girl I am, read it from cover to cover that very night. Suddenly I had this idea that I could do that, write stories like those. I wrote the first one in a matter of days, and showed it to Jack. Once he got over the initial shock, he agreed to take it to London. I suppose I have some talent, because the Boudoir snapped it right up and asked for more.”
“You’ve no idea how impressed I am. And these things you write about, are they fantasies of yours?”
“A lady never tells,” she answered coyly.
“You must let me read some, then. The curiosity is near enough killing me, especially after the tease of reading that one little bit in Jack’s study.”
She snuggled against him, rubbing her nose against his neck. “Would you like that? Reading my stories?”
“You’ve no idea,” he said, cupping her bottom.
“Very well.” Aisling sat up and looked longingly at the discarded food on the table, her stomach grumbling. “Is there any way you could bring the basket of food over here? And the wine, perhaps? I took it from Father’s personal wine collection, after all, and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. I think it’s a rare vintage.”
“You are a naughty girl,” Will teased. Disentangling himself from her limbs, he stood and wrapped the blanket around his waist. “Sir Reginald will be most displeased.”
“Sir Reginald is a son of a bitch, and he can go to the devil for all I care.” And take his Mrs. Gaylord with him, she added silently. “But right now, I think I would very much enjoy a picnic in bed.”
“If a picnic in bed will make you happy, then that’s what you’ll have, Miss Wainscott,” Will said with a mock bow, looking slightly ridiculous with his tousled hair and near nakedness. “After all, I aim to please.”
Aisling only smiled, thinking just how well he did please her. Perhaps the picnic could wait a bit longer, after all.
6
SMILING HAPPILY TO HERSELF, AISLING GUIDED her little motorcar down Bedlington’s dusty main thoroughfare, the engine a noisy hum. She pulled up in front of the haberdasher’s shop and cut the engine, supposing this was as good a place as any. She had a few errands to run—a ruse, mostly, though she’d buy some hat trimmings and pick up a pair of shoes she’d brought in last week to be reheeled. She’d make her presence known in town, however briefly, and then duck inside the Coopers’ cottage at the top of the road.
Anyone who saw her in town would assume that, after her errands, she’d stop in to take tea with Louisa Abbott, the shopkeeper’s daughter, as she always did. Or that perhaps she’d take a basket of fruit and some of Cook’s muffins and breads to old Mrs. Simmons or to the poor Barrett brood. Either way, no one would find it odd to see her little Renault roadster left outside the shops for a couple of hours, even if they didn’t see her out and about.
Reaching over the door, she secured the brake, then removed her goggles and gloves and placed them inside the drawer on the dash. How she loved her shiny red motorcar, and what pride she took in mastering it! It had been Jack’s before he’d grown tired of it and decided he needed a larger, more powerful one, one with seating for four rather than two. Aisling had managed to convince her reluctant brother to let her ha
ve the car, if she learned to drive it. It hadn’t taken her more than a couple afternoons to do so, and she’d been racing around the countryside ever since.
Of course, that had given the wagging tongues of Bedlington yet another reason to consider her “fast”—both literally and figuratively—but Aisling didn’t care. Even now, she saw a pair of women come out of the draper’s and shake their heads when they saw her sitting there on the tufted red leather seat, unpinning the crepe de chine veil from her tweed motoring hat.
Aisling raised one hand and waved, smiling broadly. “Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Appleton,” she called out gaily. “A lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, Miss Wainscott,” they replied in unison, then bent their heads together to whisper about her, no doubt.
Still smiling to herself, Aisling opened the door and stepped down to the road where she stood briefly, dusting off her Jaeger-lined cream serge coat and tightening the muffler about her throat, before she set off on her errands. Thankfully, the sky was clear today, a bright blue without a hint of clouds. The air was brisk, but not unpleasantly so. A perfect winter’s day.
Not a quarter hour later, she stood in front of Celia Cooper’s cottage, looking around furtively before hurrying forward to rap on the door. The door swung open, and without a word of welcome, Will hustled her inside, gathering her into his embrace.
“Do you think anyone saw you?” he asked, his breath warm against her neck.
Aisling shook her head. “I don’t think so. Besides, if anyone saw me headed this way, they’d assume I was on my way to the Barretts’. They’re only a few doors up the road, after all.”
“Ah, yes. The angel of mercy, visiting the poor,” he said, sounding vaguely sarcastic.
Aisling bristled at once, pulling away from him. “Don’t say it like that, Will. What would you have me do, instead? Ignore them?”
“I was only teasing you, Ash. That’s what Jack calls you, isn’t it? ‘Ash.’ It somehow suits you, I think.”
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