‘What? No better than I ought to be?’
He winced.
‘And then, when I saw you at Lady Bunsford’s that night, you were laughing...’
‘Is that a crime, now?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but you were alive and enjoying life, and so untouched by all that the years had wrought, when so many others were...when I myself was...’ He lowered his head. ‘I know it was irrational. But it was...for some reason...’ He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes. ‘The moment Issy mentioned you, your face kept on coming to my mind. I didn’t want the distraction. Kept trying to thrust it away, the way I’d thrust so many other thoughts and memories away. But I couldn’t. The harder I tried, the more memories kept intruding. It was as though she’d somehow opened a door to the past I believed was locked and bolted. And I couldn’t slam it shut again. I kept seeing you as you were at that assembly, so shy-seeming and so wary of the officers, that I wanted to protect you from them all. And then as you were in the yard, in the moonlight, so trusting, as I thought...and then...’ His face changed. ‘That day, standing on the quayside, clinging to Lieutenant Gilbey’s arm as though he was your only anchor. You, thanking me with tears in your eyes when I ordered him to send you home. And then the anguish on his face, every time he got a letter from you. The way he’d pace back and forth, berating himself. And the needless death of so many soldiers, not to mention the children and the horses...it all went whirling round and round in my head, and then...when I saw you laughing, against the background of all that horror, something inside snapped.’ He shook his head, his face betraying both remorse and confusion. ‘It all came spewing out...’
‘Like when you shake up a bottle of ginger beer,’ she said, seeing how it must have been. ‘You had been holding so much back, for so long, that when you did lose control, there was no telling what form it would take. Just as you can never tell in which direction the cork is going to fly, when it does pop out, no matter how carefully you try to aim it.’
He gave a shocked gasp of laughter. ‘You make it sound so...commonplace.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle your feelings...’
‘No. No, it was a good analogy.’ He gripped her hands a little tighter, his eyes losing some of their bleakness. ‘Of being not quite in control of...of what I was trying so desperately to keep under control. I was right to have been afraid of what would spill out of me if I let down my guard, wasn’t I? Although it didn’t take the form I’d feared it would. I didn’t think I’d become so...angry. At someone who had done nothing to deserve it. Nothing.’ He reached up and stroked her cheek with such tenderness that it melted the last of her inclination to resent him.
‘I’d thought I’d break down,’ he said, his brows furrowing. ‘And end up shaking and weeping in public like...like some of the men did. And then having to reach for a bottle to numb the memories.’
‘Neither reaction would have been wrong, though, would they?’
‘For others, perhaps,’ he objected, looking affronted. ‘But not for me. I needed to...’ He frowned.
‘You needed,’ she said, turning her hand to grasp the one that he still held folded round hers, ‘to stay strong for everyone around you. You are so used to providing for others, you dreaded becoming a burden on anyone else. Even for the short time it would have taken for you to recover.’
His expression hardened. ‘Don’t make excuses for me. It was pride that made it intolerable to risk breaking down in front of others. And fear of looking weak.’
‘Why are you being so hard on yourself?’ As she said this, she suddenly recalled that, not so very long ago, she’d thought she would enjoy seeing him grovel. Yet now he was on his knees, instead of feeling triumphant, all she wanted to do was comfort him. Nothing else seemed to matter any more, not now she knew what had caused him to act towards her the way he had. ‘You cannot be perfect all the time. You are just a man. A man who has been through a terrible ordeal.’ She ran her fingers through his hair. He’d been coping with so much, alone, for so long. He was in such sore need of comfort and running her fingers through his hair was all she could think of to do. It was the kind of thing she’d often wished someone would do for her, when she’d been living with her mother and stepfather.
‘You should be kinder to yourself.’
‘I don’t deserve any kindness,’ he said grimly.
‘Why? Because you survived? When others didn’t? You just told me that Guy’s death wasn’t my fault. That he was just doing his duty and was unlucky. Doesn’t that apply to all the others who fell?’
‘Yes, but I was in charge...’
‘Not of who lived and who died. For goodness sake, only God has that kind of power. And if you lived, then it was because He decided to spare you.’
‘If that is true, then all the more reason to work to prove myself worthy of such a great gift.’
She frowned. ‘That sounds right, but...no, I don’t think it is.’ In spite of disliking the vicar of Market Gooding’s sermons, listening to them week after week had not been without effect on her thinking. Because the minute the Colonel talked about why he didn’t deserve any kindness, the vicar’s exposition of the parable of the talents sprang to mind. He was always going on about how everyone ought to be cheerful, that there was always something to be thankful for, particularly the gift of life itself. So she felt confident in what she said next.
‘Nobody is worthy of any of the gifts God gives. But to try to become worthy is...well, it’s just silly. Because instead of showing any gratitude for what you call a great gift, you have buried yourself under a mound of work so never-ending that your family had to resort to shocking you away from it with all those made-up tales of my supposed wickedness.’
‘But work is my only way to...’
‘Prove yourself worthy of being spared, yes, we’ve already established that,’ she said gently as she shook her head. ‘Do you know what you remind me of? That parable about the man who buried the coin in the ground instead of using it to do some good. Oh, I don’t mean that your work isn’t doing some good. It is possibly doing a great deal of good. But the manner of your life...’ She shook her head. ‘Instead of treasuring the gift you have been given and showing how greatly you appreciate it by living your life to the full, you are burying yourself away as though you think it is worthless. And clearly, you are not worthless. Otherwise your family would not be so devoted to you. You need—’
‘You,’ he said, breaking in with such a fierce expression in his eyes that it almost stopped her breathing. It was so similar to the way he’d looked at her so many times before. Though there was an added ingredient now that made all the difference, as he repeated the words, ‘I need you.’
‘You...you need me?’ Her voice came out in a rush as she remembered how to breathe. For she’d admired him so much, for so long, believing it was impossible for him to return a tenth of her regard, that this seemed like a miracle.
‘Your belief in me,’ he said, both hands reaching up to cup her cheeks now. ‘Your compassion.’ His eyes roved over her face with what looked like hunger. ‘Your strength,’ he breathed, his eyes fixing, finally, on her lips.
‘All of you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been fighting what I feel for you right from the first. Then I thought you were too young. But now—now you have grown up to become the strongest woman I have ever known. And I cannot fight myself any longer. I want all of you. Everything you are.’
Her heart was thundering. She was breathing fast, as though she’d been running, even though she was sitting still. And there were currents of something dark, and demanding, swirling through her veins. Through every single muscle in her body.
‘I want you, too,’ she finally admitted. In a way she’d never wanted any other man. Not even Guy.
He closed his eyes, sagging with relief against her breast.
She d
idn’t push him away, although the position was highly improper. Instead, she started stroking his hair again, offering him the comfort he so clearly needed. Because it was obvious that the next thing he would do would be to ask her to marry him. So that she could be that source of comfort and strength that he’d just admitted he needed.
And for the first time in an age, she could see the point of marrying a man. When she’d eloped with Guy, it had been because she thought marriage was the only way a woman could escape an unhappy home. She’d thought she needed a man to take care of her. She’d also remembered how happy her mother had been with her father and had thought that Guy might be able to make her happy, too, because he’d promised he would do all in his power to make her happy.
But since then she’d seen her aunts living totally independently and being completely fulfilled in every way without a man in charge of their lives. And she’d come to think that was what she wanted, too. Apart from the fact that without a man, there would be no babies.
And even now, she didn’t feel as if she needed a man to find happiness. It was just the thought of being needed...
Well, in that sort of marriage, she wouldn’t be the weaker, dependent partner. She wouldn’t be a victim, as her mother had been.
Cassy couldn’t have imagined that a day which had started out so badly could have ended up like this. She couldn’t help smiling. She hadn’t come to Town looking for a husband, but, oh, how glad she was that she’d run into Colonel Fairfax. Or, rather, that he’d run into her.
She put her arms round his bowed shoulders and hugged him. Rested her cheek against the crown of his head.
A shudder went through him. And then he made to lift his head. So she raised her own, giving him the chance to speak. And make his proposal.
He gazed at her for a few seconds, looking a touch uncertain. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised he was a bit nervous about what her response would be. After all, he hadn’t exactly been the most charming of suitors, had he? Quite the reverse!
But she did admire him so. Even when he’d been at his worst, she hadn’t been able to stop wondering what it would feel like if that harsh mouth ceased berating her and gave her the kiss he’d threatened her with instead. And, now she’d heard what he’d been through and understood what had made him treat her so unfairly, all she wanted was to spend the rest of her life helping him to recover. To be happy.
So she stroked his hair again and smiled at him encouragingly.
And, as if it was the sign he’d been looking for, he surged up from his knees, took her in his arms and finally, oh, finally, he kissed her!
Chapter Sixteen
Cassy had no idea how to respond because no man had ever kissed her before. Not like this, full on the mouth. But even though she felt unsure of herself, and what she was supposed to do, it was still by far the most wonderful moment of her life. The man she’d hero-worshipped, holding up in her imagination as the ideal man, for so many years, had not only grovelled at her feet, but was now still on his knees, kissing her as though his life depended on it. He’d realised she was innocent of all the things he’d flung at her. And thought she was, instead, exactly what he needed.
And, oh, it felt so good. Physically, that was, as well as emotionally. Who would have guessed that having a man’s lips pressed to hers, with such fervour, would unleash such glorious feelings in totally unrelated parts of her body?
She was just starting to wonder if she might have the courage to try to do more than just sit there letting him do all the work, when, to her immense disappointment, he tore his lips from hers. But she didn’t have time to do more than wonder fleetingly if she’d done something to put him off, before he began pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw and then her neck, which made her spine turn to liquid. It wasn’t long before the cocktail of relief and bone-melting sensation he was creating meant that she couldn’t hold up her head, but had to let it loll back against the chair. At which point she realised that he must have undone some of the buttons at the back of her gown, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to tug down the modest neckline of her gown and begin trailing kisses along her collarbone.
‘You have no idea,’ he sort of growled into her skin, ‘just how long I have been dreaming of running my tongue over this mole.’ And then to her shock, he really did lick his way over not only the mole on the side of her neck, but right along the chain of moles that ran just below her collarbone. Licked her! If anyone had told her that a man might want to lick her, anywhere, she would have screwed up her face in disgust because it sounded so...animal.
But it wasn’t disgust making her moan and plunge her fingers into his hair. It was...oh, lord, something equally animal springing to life inside her. Something that made her want to hitch up her skirts so that she could wrap her legs round his waist and rub up against him like a...like a...well, she didn’t know what!
Fortunately, he was clearly in the same frame of mind, because he pulled her to the edge of her chair, ran his hand up her skirts along almost the entire length of her leg, then pulled her into almost the exact position she’d just been thinking was so shocking. She couldn’t get either leg anywhere near his waist, because he hadn’t pushed her skirts out of the way completely, but she could raise her left one and rub it along his thigh. Which felt good, though it wasn’t enough.
However, she couldn’t object to his lack of foresight too much when he didn’t seem to be able to keep his hands focused on any one part of her. They roamed everywhere, as if he wanted to explore every inch of her. And not just his hands. His mouth followed the path his hands had travelled, kissing her shoulders, her face, her hands, her breasts, her chin, her ears...
And all the while he was undoing more buttons, pushing more fabric out of the way, as though he simply had to get his hands on skin.
Oh, but she knew exactly how he felt, because she wanted her hands on his skin just as badly. And, since she was such an expert on the subject of clothes, having made so many, for men as well as ladies, she had no trouble locating all the relevant fastenings.
The moment her fingers began working at the buttons of his waistcoat, however, he reared back, breathing heavily. And instead of simply getting the garment undone as swiftly as possible, she slowed down, knowing that this meant more to him than just disposing of a garment. He was letting her get closer to him than he’d allowed anyone for years.
In the same way that she was flinging all her own caution to the winds.
Once she’d slipped the last button through the eyelet, she slid her hand inside his waistcoat and laid it over his heart, which was pounding. He removed his own hand from where it had been kneading at her hip and pressed it over hers. Then raised it to his mouth and kissed the palm.
Did he want her to stop? Had this gone as far as he was able to go?
Or perhaps he was offering her the choice to stop. Which made her all the more determined to demonstrate that she trusted him.
Or, at least, that was part of it. A small part, located in her brain. The rest of her was just clamouring for him to continue. For no other reason than that she wanted him. More than she’d ever thought it possible to want anything.
She searched his face for answers. But he closed his eyes as he placed her hand back on his chest and went totally still, as though he was awaiting her next move. As though he was surrendering to her will.
Well, if he was going to let her do what she wanted with him, then so be it. She wanted to get her hands on bare skin. After all, he’d touched her all over the place, so why shouldn’t she do the same to him? And now that she’d undone his waistcoat it was relatively easy to tug his shirt free of his breeches and get her hands inside.
The moment she reached his skin, he shuddered. And moaned. And even though he kept his eyes shut, the expression on his face was one of bliss. Bliss that she’d made him feel. Which spurred her on to be even bolder. She
brought her hands round to his chest, feeling the coarse tuft of hair at its centre, lowered them to the hard muscles of his abdomen...
He grabbed her hand to prevent her exploring any further. Opened his eyes to look into her face, with such naked adoration and longing, that her heart swelled. No man had ever looked at her that way before. As though she was special. As though nothing and nobody else existed. Just as nobody else existed for her, in this moment, but him.
And then he started kissing her again. And this time he somehow coaxed her lips apart so that he could delve his tongue into her mouth.
And now it was her turn to get the cork-about-to-pop-out-of-a-ginger-beer-bottle feeling. Only in her case it felt more like when she’d seen a mischievous lad take the brakes off a cart parked on the brow of a very steep hill. At first it had only slowly started to roll downhill. But it steadily gained speed until it was careering down the slippery slope until nothing, absolutely nothing, could have stopped it.
And, oh, she’d had the brakes fastened for so long, when it came to this man, that it felt positively glorious to let them off and just let this passion flaring between them carry her along wherever it might take her.
‘Bedroom,’ he panted, rearing back and tugging her to her feet. ‘We cannot do this here, on the floor.’
She wouldn’t have cared. But before she could say so, he’d lifted her up into his arms and was stalking across the sitting room to the door which did, fortunately, lead to her bedroom, rather than the corridor. For a moment a wave of hilarity at the prospect of him carrying her out on to the landing, with their clothing mostly undone and half-hanging off, made her want to giggle.
He smiled back down at her.
The smile transformed his face. She reached up in wonder to stroke his cheek. She’d always known that he could be like this. That all the angriness was a facade hiding something far better. And here it was. The man she’d met at the assembly at the White Hart. The protective man who’d later rescued her from Guy’s folly. What was more, he was gazing down at her as though she was some sort of miracle.
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