by Beverly Adam
“Does it pain you much?” she asked, feeling a twinge of guilt that she had been partially responsible for his misfortune.
“Nay.” He shook his head, and upon noting her contrite expression, smiled. “It’s almost completely healed. I no longer use a cane and limp but a little. A fact which I credit alone to the skill of the one who set it.” He smiled at her warmly.
She had the good grace to lower her eyes, recalling their angry exchange afterwards. “Sir, you are more than prodigiously generous with your praises towards others this eve, even when perhaps they do not merit them.”
“Please, do not consider me generous. Seldom do I feel called to be so,” he said and lifted her hand to brush a butterfly of a kiss across it.
Her eyes widened. The kiss had been but a mere flutter over her skin, much as it had when he had kissed her wrist in the garden, but each time it sent resounding chills through her.
* * *
The rest of the evening was spent comfortably at the table with her aunt regaling them with some of the escapades she’d shared at sea with her legendary husband, Captain Ian Fitzgerald. The couple had sailed the seven seas and lived through many remarkable adventures during their more than two-score-and-five years together. It was only when his ship had sunk during a storm off the coast of darkest Africa did the couple finally part.
“I’ve traveled to all the seaports of the known world in hopes of hearing of some news of him,” her aunt sniffed in mourning, “but it was to no avail. Not a word of him or his crew to be found. They fear all hands were lost in one of them dark unchartered spots off the African coast.”
Looking at her aunt in proud widow’s weeds, Beatrice for a moment could not help but feel a sharp twinge of sadness and envy. Her aunt, despite her woes, had had companionship, love, and friendship in her life.
But what about me? Beatrice asked herself. With whom have I ever been able to share all my hopes and trust in? Let alone share all my mundane victories? Thus far, there has been no one.
She glanced at the tall gentleman at the head of the table and her heart whispered, But here’s a man with whom one could easily share an entire lifetime of adventures, if you let him.
She shook the thought off, reminding herself of the avarice of men, especially of those who’d previously pursued her. She had but to conjure up the uncomfortable memory of the pinch-faced Squire Lynch’s white mouth to turn her rosy dreams of a happily shared hearth into a frightening nightmare.
Bedad, she trembled at the thought of marrying such a worm. No man could be trusted to let a lady live her life the way she wished. For gentlemen wished only two things from a wife—her coin and her offspring.
Aye, she nodded. ’Twas best to remain a spinster maid than to let any man rule over her, or her heart. But even as she reminded herself of these sobering facts, her gaze kept returning back to the earl’s face, her eyes straying downwards to his firm lips. For the tiniest of moments she wondered if his kisses would always make her feel heatedly mindless of everyone and everything about her. Undeniably, it would have been interesting to find out.
Her aunt, as though sensing this would be an opportune moment for the couple to be alone, yawned into her hand.
“Oh, my—the journey has quite worn me out,” she said. “I believe I shall retire for the night, my dears.”
Standing, the earl helped the tiny lady from her chair. He offered her his arm, but she refused it with a gentle shake of the head.
“’Tis kind of Your Grace, but there’s no need. I can find my way.” She leaned into him and whispered into his ear, “Take your chance with her . . .”Agnes kissed her niece affectionately and said, “I’ll be praying to the Virgin Mary tonight on your behalf, Bea’.”
“Why, Aunt?”
“Because miracles have been known to happen.” And with that dry reply, the lady gave them both a benevolent smile, the same one she would have given if this were their wedding night, and went in search of her bed.
After Agnes left, they sat and companionably drank tea, discussing the festivities planned for the upcoming days and the remaining repairs to be made before the guests arrived. The castle was quiet, except for the gentle tick-tock of the salon clock. It was a comforting sound, the servants having retired for the night.
Druscilla had taken to her bed hours ago with a good book and a hot cup of chamomile tea. No one was going to disturb them. Beatrice’s reputation was protected by her aunt’s presence in the house and her father having secretly betrothed her to the earl. A secret the entire village was now well aware of after he proudly shared the news at the pub, buying a round for the entire house.
Upon hearing the clock chime the half hour before midnight, Beatrice said, “I believe I shall retire for the night.”
With hooded eyes, James nodded an agreement. “I will follow you up. I would not wish for you to trip on the stairs.”
Despite his limp, he insisted on carrying the heavy silver candelabra. He shadowed her, his eyes observing the gentle movement of her swaying hips beneath the layers of red silk as she ascended.
His bedchamber was at the end of the hall. She stopped in front of hers. She turned towards him, but before she could speak, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
“I’ll make a quick check for rats, shall I?” he said, eyeing the large Louis XV bed.
Not waiting for an answer, he made a token inspection, peering into the dark corners and under the bed with the candlelight, knowing full well the small vermin had long ago fled when the renovations began.
“Is it safe?” she asked, peeking around his back.
“I believe so . . .”
She cautiously entered. She was not afraid of many things, but small furry creatures with long tails and sharp teeth, was one of them. The mere idea of stepping on one or worse, being bit, made her hesitate.
His dark eyes focused on her anxious face in the candlelight. She was standing between the bed and him.
“No harm will come to you,” he whispered huskily.
Putting down the candelabra on the side table, he gently touched her face. It was as if he’d been thinking about nothing else for the last couple of hours, but of this moment alone with her. He was taking his chance.
Although she would never admit it, she wanted him to take her into his arms. Deep inside herself she knew it was the reason why she’d come to the castle. Her aunt had been right. She was not there merely to help her new neighbor. She was there because she wanted to be with him. She wanted him to touch her, to connect with him in the most intimate manner a man and woman could by making love.
She looked into his eyes. She could see the desire he held for her in their dark blue depths. He wanted her. The knowledge sent a tingling awareness coursing through her body, heating her blood. His eyes mirrored her own secret wanting.
He placed his hands around her waist and began to kiss her. He stroked her mouth with his tongue, stirring something deep inside of her, a feeling she knew had been missing from her life. It was a wild, heated emotion that she thought to have tamed into submission long ago, but had been reawakened the fateful morning when she gave him the magic coin.
Yes, she silently decided, ignoring the inner voices that warned her against trusting men. I want him . . . I want to become one with him.
He began to undress her, loosening the back of the red gown. Gently, he pulled it down over her shoulders until it went over the curve of her hips and finally lay in a pool of silky fabric at her feet. She stood only in her undergarments and rubies.
She heard him suck in his breath as he looked at her and said, “I have desired you for a long time now . . .”
“You have?” she could not resist asking, almost in disbelief. Men were always after her money, not her. This was the first time a man confessed he desired her alone.
“Yes, and believe me, my dear, I have dreamt of you, a great deal, over the past few weeks . . . I have wondered what it would be like to touch you again, to feel
your body against mine, and how well our bodies would fit together when I made love to you.”
She said honestly, “So have I . . .”
He gave a heartfelt laugh at her words, and rewarded her with a passionate kiss on the lips. Her arms reached up and wrapped themselves around his neck, encouraging him to continue.
“A minute,” he said. He removed his hands from her waist, taking off his evening jacket. Lifting his arms up to reveal the hard muscles he’d earned in the military, he shrugged off his white shirt.
He hesitated. “Shall I continue?”
She nodded, comfortably lying down on the bed. She propped herself up with one hand, her eyes taking in the beautiful proportions of the half-naked man standing before her.
There was no doubt she wanted him. Skin bronzed from working outside on the castle glowed in the candlelight. She wanted to touch him, to feel the smoothness of his sun-kissed skin beneath her fingertips, to have his body pressed up against hers, and to feel his response to her touch.
He sat down on the bed next to her and removed the last of his clothing. He was completely naked. Her green eyes shone with approval, taking in the manly contours of his body.
Between the two pillars of his strong thighs and below his flat stomach was his manhood. She stared at it, curious, unafraid. She was a midwife, familiar with the manner in which men and women made love and created children. His had come to life from the passionate kiss they had shared and stood erect under her fascinated gaze.
“You are a stud,” she said honestly.
“A stud? You mean like a stallion?” he asked, amused by the word choice. “A rather crude, but pleasant comparison.”
“Aye,” she reaffirmed. “Despite the nasty scar you wear, nature has definitely favored you.”
“And you, my dear vixen, are a living Aphrodite,” he said, his voice thick with desire. She looked like the pagan goddess of love, lounging on the bed’s rich blue coverlet, wearing only her corset and gems. Her hair was still piled high on her head in the Grecian style, a small ruby coronet crowning it.
He began to untie her corset, freeing her breasts from the confines of the restricting garment, gently cupping them with his hands, weighing them. He bent down and sucked on each nipple, teasing them with his tongue, until she let out soft sighs of pleasure.
He placed his arms on either side of her and carefully held himself above her. She lay comfortably back against the soft mattress as his hands and mouth continued stroking her body, awakening a swirling desire between her legs. He rubbed himself against her, his hardness causing her to want to press all of herself up against him, until invitingly she lifted her hips. She wanted him to enter her, to answer the growing need between her legs.
“Soon,” he whispered into her ear, not wanting to harm her.
He gently opened the lips of her sex to be certain she was wet and ready to take his manhood. His fingers probed, stroking gently at first and then more quickly until she was moving restlessly beneath him, raising her hips so that his fingers would go deeper.
“Please . . .” she moaned, wanting him inside of her.
He smiled knowingly, and kissed her lips, then placed the tip of his manhood inside of her, his breath turning into a heavy pant, not certain if this was her first time, trying not to harm her. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead.
“There’s no barrier,” she said, breathlessly, not wanting him to stop. “Lost it ages ago while fox hunting . . . it broke when I landed hard after taking a jump.”
Relieved, trying to maintain control, he hissed air out between his teeth, entering her completely, his hands cupping her backside. He rhythmically began to move inside her, his body cradled by her thighs.
She felt his manhood pulse inside her, and while awkward at first, met his thrusts with a passion of her own, the hot waves of desire in her lower region overwhelming her until she heard herself cry out. They continued their coupling until he suddenly removed himself with a shout of his own and spilled out his seed next to her.
Knowing it was her first time, he turned towards her and began praising her. He reassured her, gently stroking her hair and planting kisses of gratitude. “You’re a lovely, desirable woman . . .”
He then stood up and sought out the washbasin. She watched him, admiring the manly grace of his naked body. He returned and gently washed her, rubbing her body dry with a towel. He quickly kissed her and placed the coverlet snugly over her naked body.
Trying to locate her night dress, which hung in a dark corner, he stumbled into her clothes press, “Ouch—” he muttered and rubbed his shin.
He returned to her side with the prized gown.
“Lift your arms up,” he said. He helped her put on the gown, awkwardly placing it over her head. A small rip was heard as he pulled too hard. A ribbon lay in his hand.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, staring down at it. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Druscilla can sew it back on tomorrow,” she whispered, her green eyes smiling at him, amused by his clumsy efforts to help her.
He became somber, not returning the smile. He looked down at her thoughtfully, wondering how he could protect her if it was discovered that he had been in her bed. What could he do?
“If it is discovered that you and I, um—” He looked at her, unsure how to finish the sentence, for she had not told him how she felt about having become sexually intimate with him.
“Had made love together, yes?” she finished for him, wondering what he was trying to say to her.
“Your reputation would be in shreds. I think, therefore, I should do the right thing by you,” he finished quickly. He got down on one knee and did what he thought was the noble thing to do, sacrifice his bachelorhood.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
She frowned, her face darkening.
“You think I should marry you?” she queried, her voice lifting in disbelief. “Because we were sexually intimate?”
“Yes, in a nutshell, that is what I think,” he answered a little sharply, his right knee beginning to throb, the same one he had badly twisted when he was shot out from under his horse. “I want to save your reputation.”
“Indeed . . .” she said, coolly surveying him.
Her eyebrows lifted, never in the world imaging that a man would so bluntly ask her to marry him right after making love. Not because he loved and admired her. Oh, no—but because the jackanapes wanted to prevent a scandal!
“That won’t be necessary,” she answered primly.
She pulled the coverlet up to her chin, eyeing him as if suddenly he had turned into one of the despicable rats she had been afraid of earlier. Imperiously she added, “You may leave now, Your Grace.”
“What do you mean that won’t be necessary?” he asked, feeling as if she’d just slapped him. She was supposed to be breaking down in tears of gratitude and saying yes to his proposal. What the devil! What was she, an unfeeling shrew?
“You needn’t sacrifice your bachelorhood, sir, because of me,” she explained, discarding the cover in exasperation. “I am a lady. And you are, for the most part, a gentleman . . . I . . . that is we . . . do not have to follow the rigid conventions society expects of us and marry. We had an affair. Therefore, what happened in this room concerns no one but ourselves. No one need know what occurred here tonight.”
“An affair,” he repeated, looking down at her as if she stated for a fact that the Irish gentry had children out of wedlock on a regular basis.
“Aye,” she said defiantly, although she felt a lump develop in the middle of her throat after saying it.
“My proposal meant nothing to you?” He almost growled, his face rigid with contempt. “And losing your virginity to me was merely a—a lark?”
“No—I mean—Yes.” She didn’t know how to respond.
She felt a sharp pang somewhere in the region of her heart. She looked down at him, still kneeling on the floor.
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Why did he have to look so wonderful? It was so much easier when he was acting like a pompous, good for nothing jackanapes. Why did he have to be so noble about taking her virginity? And why, oh why, did he have to go and propose marriage to her and ruin everything?
They stared at each other, both exasperated with the other . . . both breathing heavily in anger. The very air about them felt thick and heavy with the potent mixture of anger and sexual attraction. Suddenly, he stood up and taking her into his arms, he began kissing her in a way that made her heart sing.
She did not push him away. Instead, she forcefully pulled him on top of her. She wanted him to make her forget herself. She wanted to be simply a woman making love to a man.
His hands moved over her body, lifting her nightgown over her legs. He rubbed himself up against her, skimming her body with his own, until she felt a familiar warmth between her legs . . . but he had not forgotten.
Abruptly, he stood-up.
“Where are you going?” she asked in a fog of desire. “Stay.”
“Go to the devil!” he said, biting the words out angrily, snatching up his clothes. He stomped over to the closet armoire and pushed on the back.
“I’m not your stud, Madame! I am a man!”
Much to her surprise, a secret door swung open. Naked, he strode into a narrow hall, which led to his own bedchamber. Before she could say another word, it closed behind him with a sharp click.
He left her open-mouthed, staring at the now empty place where he had once stood. Turning on her side, she punched her pillow in frustration and muttered one word, “Men!”
She tried to speak to him the next day about what had occurred between them, but he quietly dismissed the topic as not important.
“Don’t trouble yourself with my feelings,” he said when she persisted. “Do what you promised and I will consider your debt fully repaid.” And she did.