by Gail Dayton
Elinor backed away. "Harry, no." She wasn't afraid of him physically, though he was larger than she and powerfully built, a tawny bull of a man. She feared what he could make her feel. "We cannot."
"Why not?" His eyes smoldered at her, as if alchemical fires burned deep inside him. "You liked it. I know you did. There's no 'arm in a few kisses or a bit of a cuddle."
"Of course there is. In kisses like that one. In--in licentious cuddling."
He grinned at her, his gaze no less heated. "Is that wot it was? Licentious?"
"Harry, stop it. I am serious about this."
He stopped, sighed, ran a hand back over his hair, which did not help its disarray. "Right."
He'd backed her almost to the fireplace. Elinor ducked around him, hoping to make it to the door and away. He caught her arm before she'd taken three steps, swinging her around to put himself between her and the door again.
"Oh no," he said. "You're not running away, not till we 'ave this out. I can see you mean wot you're saying, that we can't be kissin' and such. I got that. What I don't understand is why. An' you're not leavin' 'ere till I do."
"Harry--" She ground his name between her teeth.
"I know. We might be 'ere all week with you tryin' to explain. Some things I don't see so clear--like when it's not about magic. But it is wot it is. So explain it to me."
Elinor jerked her arm free of his grasp and plopped in the upholstered chair there by the fireplace. "You are so infuriating!"
"Makes us even then." He stood in the middle of the room, legs spread, hands propped on his hips. "You're absolutely incomprehensible besides. But you're female, so--" He shrugged. "I'll do my best to comprehend, if you'll explain."
"You simply cannot go about indiscriminately kissing people," Elinor huffed.
"I was very discriminating. I kissed you. Only you."
"All right then, me. You cannot just be kissing me willy-nilly."
"You said that. Wot you still ain't said is why. That's what I'm waiting for. An' don't tell me you don't like it, 'cause I don't want to be callin' you a liar."
"Maybe I did. Like it, I mean. But I didn't want to. I can't." Elinor hunted for words to make him understand. She didn't know why he didn't already. It was so obviously clear to her. "Harry, kisses--especially if one likes them--don't stop at just kisses. They lead to--to scandal. I just became magistrate of the wizard's guild. I cannot afford any scandal in my life. Not even the hint of it."
"Is that all you're worried about?" Harry flipped his hand, dismissing scandal as lightly as he had the wizard Dodd. "We'll get married, then."
"What?!" Elinor popped up from her chair, shock slamming into her.
"Married. It's no trouble." He shrugged, appallingly unconcerned.
"No. Absolutely not." So many emotions tumbled through her--anger, alarm, horror--she couldn't grasp other words, words she needed.
"I don't mind."
"Well, I do. I am not marrying you. I am--"
"Wot? I'm good enough to kiss, but not good enough to marry?" His eyes narrowed, fists moving to prop on his hips.
"I did not say that. Stop twisting my words." She stamped her foot. He made her so angry that she actually stamped her foot. She never did that. Elinor tried to collect her emotions and smooth them over.
"I didn't do it right, did I? That's wot's got you all tempered up." Harry went down to one knee and caught her hand.
That hand had a tight grip on her skirt--probably to keep it from striking him for his deliberate misunderstandings. She would not let go, would not give in to him in any way. So a fold of her skirt came up with the hand he took.
"Elinor, my sweet, would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?" He looked up at her, his face as serious as she'd ever seen it.
That was the only reason she didn't strike him with the hand he didn't have hold of, because there was no tiny quirk at the corner of his lips or teasing glint in those smoldering eyes. He meant it.
"No." She snatched her hand out of his hold and walked around him, heading for the door.
She got a little farther this time before he caught her, spun her around, and deposited her on the green velvet-covered sofa.
"No? Just no?" He loomed over her, only one hand finding its hip prop. The other pushed through his hair first. "No explanation, no--nothing?"
Elinor sighed. She was going to have to go into blunt detail. "You don't want to marry me, Harry."
"I asked, didn't I?"
"You just want to--to make love." She selected the best euphemism she could for the act. "You're not in love with me."
"Who says I'm not?"
"You do yourself. We both know you'd have said it--in your second proposal at the least--if you were."
Harry groaned, head falling back briefly, though not long enough for her to consider escaping. "I ain't good at words, Elinor. You know that. It don't mean I don't feel things."
"I'm sure you do. Feel things, I mean. But I seriously doubt what you feel is love. Be sensible, Harry. Pleasant as--as making love might be, it's not worth the ruination of both our lives, not to mention the wizard's guild, the Magician's Council, and all of England."
His lips twitched, as if only now, when she was at her most serious, did she say something that amused him. He cleared his throat. "Crikey," he said. "That's some mighty powerful fu--making love. 'Ow do you reckon us gettin' married'll bring down the empire?"
"I didn't say the empire, Harry. I said England." She huffed a little sigh. "But you're right. If England falls, the empire likely won't be far behind." She cocked her head at a thought. "Are there dead zones in India? Or Africa? Has anyone investigated?"
"Yes, we looked. No, there don't seem to be any dead zones in India or Africa. They use magic different than we do. An' you're ignorin' the real question, which is, why won't you marry me?"
Elinor laced her fingers together. She hadn't tried to put this into words in a long time. Surely she still could. "I just became magister of the wizard's guild. I may only hold the position for a week, until the challenge with Mr. Dodd, but I could win that challenge, too. Possibly any challenge they throw against me."
"You will."
Again, that confidence he had in her. Where did it come from? Surely not just because he wanted her.
"Be that as it may--" She waved the dismissive hand this time. "If I am the wizard's magister--now that you've talked me into it--I have to be the magister. If I marry you, I will become Mrs. Harry Tomlinson and nothing more."
He swayed as if avoiding a blow. "You think I'd stop you from working magic? I'm the one who took you as apprentice, who gave you the chance--"
"I know. I'm grateful beyond words. And that's not what I'm saying. What is between you and me here in private has nothing to do with what the world outside these doors sees or how they interpret that. The world will see--" She paused, the ramifications of recent developments making themselves clear.
She wanted to get up and pace, but when she moved to stand, Harry...growled. So she stayed on the sofa.
"Wot?" he said. "Wot will the world see?"
"The wizard's guild subsumed under the alchemist's guild, with you as the real magister of both." Another thought struck her. "They may believe it already, since I was your apprentice."
Harry snorted. "They don't know you very well then, do they, if they think you'll go any way but your own."
"Having them think the other way, that I'm leading you by the nose and acting as magister over you would be equally as bad." Elinor frowned. "There are probably some who think that way, too."
"But that ain't the real reason, is it?" His voice was softer, not so angry. "'Cause you just got to be magister today. Why won't you marry me?"
"It is the reason. Or it's related to it. I cannot marry and continue to do the work I must do." Elinor shook her head at Harry's scowl. "I cannot, Harry. It is impossible. A man can have both family and profession because his family supports him and enables him to carry out that profession.
A woman cannot, because she is meant to be the support. A woman who wishes to do something else--like Miss Nightingale, for example--must focus her energies on her purpose. My purpose is magic and now, giving other women the chance to become magicians.
"It's a tremendous change in the way the world works, Harry. That kind of change requires sacrifice and I make that sacrifice willingly."
Harry looked rather as if someone had walloped him in the head with a cricket bat. He sank onto the sofa beside her. "So, it's not me you object to, then. It's marriage itself."
Elinor took a long, slow breath and let it out just as slowly. Finally he began to grasp the issues. "Exactly."
He frowned, shaking his head as he thought. "Amanusa's married. Pearl's married. They don't seem to be 'aving any difficulties mixing magic and marriage."
"They're sorcerers." Elinor felt the rush of heat to her face. She rarely blushed, but this deserved it. "It's not a guild secret or I wouldn't know this, but don't be spreading it around or the scandal would be so horrific we'd never get any more sorcery students. Do you swear to keep it quiet?"
"Sure." Harry gave a little almost-shrug. "Why not?"
"Sorcerers get magic from making love. From physical desire. They almost have to be married. Besides--" She adjusted her posture, sitting up straighter, wedging herself in the corner, farther away from Harry. "Pearl isn't the magister and Amanusa's husband isn't a magician at all. It's not the same. Though I can't say that Pearl's marriage to Grey hasn't caused complications."
"All right." Harry nodded. "I don't say I agree with your reasoning, but I can see it. I understand why you think you can't marry. But Elinor, there's something between us."
He brushed a fingertip along her neck from her ear down to the low round collar of her dress. It made her shiver. "Yearnings," he said. "Feelings. Wanting."
"Ignore it." Her tone was brisk. Far brisker than she felt. "It will go away."
"I don't think so." He teased her earlobe with that finger and traced around the shell of her ear before laying his hand, warm and heavy, on her upper arm. "I'm not much in the petticoat way. You know that. I been too busy to bother much with chasing down females, especially since too many of 'em ain't got good sense. But I don't want you just 'cause you're here an' I don't 'ave to bother with chasing you."
When had he moved next to her, pinning her in the corner?
"I like you, Elinor. An' I want you somethin' fierce." His eyes blazed into hers, the amber glints in the mixed-up hazel-green-brown of his eyes somehow flaring brighter. "That's not something that'll go away just by wishing, or pretendin' it ain't there. Especially since you fancy me as well."
"Harry, we can't."
"Why not? You won't marry. I get that. I think it's stupid, but I get it. But--do you really mean to cut yourself off from living?" He picked her up and set her in his lap and God help her, she was too weak to climb back out of it. "We'd be good together, we would," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
He had one arm round her back, the other weighting down her legs. His perfect lips nibbled heated kisses along her jawline, following as she leaned away from him. She should get up, push her way out of his lap. Why didn't she?
"The scandal--" she whispered.
"We can keep it quiet, if that's wot you want. No one would know." His hand had found her breast again, his fingers tracing its contours. "You're givin' up marriage. Do you honestly, truly want to give up everything? Every bit of pleasure, of--of bein' with somebody you care for? I do care for ya, Elinor. I ain't good at sayin' so. No good at flower words or even the regular words properly said, to tell you the truth. But wot I say, even if I say it badly, I mean it. Every word."
He stroked his fingers across her naked back. Somehow, while he was distracting her with his hand on her breast and his low-voiced, plain-spoken seduction, he had unbuttoned her dress halfway down her back. And now that she realized it, she still didn't utter a word of protest as he eased it off her shoulders so he could kiss them with his beautiful mouth.
"I'm afraid," she whispered, shocked into voicing the truth by the feel of his mouth there, where no man had ever touched her bare skin.
"I'll look after you. I'll take care of you. Don't you know I could never hurt you? Never let anyone else hurt you?" His hand--the one that wasn't still unbuttoning her dress--had abandoned her breast to find her ankle beneath her foaming petticoats. "I'm good at that, at doin' wot I say."
He pushed her dress lower without hands as he kissed his way from the top of her shoulders to her collarbone, to the upper slopes of her breasts. His arm behind her gave support as she tipped her head back, offering him access. She was mad. She had to be. But the sensations swarming her could not be denied, refused to be thwarted.
"We're good together." Harry had dragged his lips across her skin back up to her ear to murmur into it. "We could be even better. I want you to be sure what you're givin' up. Be sure you can really do without it."
Dear heaven, he'd untied her corset laces. He was nosing aside her chemise to kiss his way-- His hand was on her thigh under her skirts.
"Harry--Harry, what--" She couldn't catch her breath. "What are you doing?"
"Just givin' you a little taste, love. Just a tad bit o' wot we could be like together." He lifted her head, lolling against his arm on the end of her boneless neck, and kissed her. His tongue plunged deep to capture her cry as his fingers found the slit in her pantalettes.
He teased her tender folds, combing through her curls as he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breast, and then licked across her nipple. The sensation shot straight through her to the place between her legs where his fingers played and she gasped, writhing in his embrace. He slipped a finger inside her, through a sudden, embarrassing wetness, and groaned around her nipple. The vibration made her gasp.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" She hadn't wet on him. She was sure of it.
"Shh." He laid his cheek against her bosom. "It's just your body gettin' ready for this. For pleasure. Sayin' how much it likes what we're doin'."
Oh, dear Lord, she was lost. Utterly and completely. She whimpered and squirmed in his lap, whether for escape or eagerness, she didn't know. It didn't matter. Harry wasn't letting go. His arm tightened around her, his mouth found hers again, and his fingers slid up her surprisingly slick channel to a place that made her shudder with the pleasure of his touch.
Languid heat spread through her, drawing her tight as it dissolved her will. All she knew was that she needed this. No. She needed more. She clutched at Harry's shoulders, her back arching with that need, thrusting her breasts toward him.
"That's it, love," Harry murmured, dragging his mouth across her skin, across the rise of her breasts. "Show me wot you want. Shall I kiss your tits, then? Such sweet, lovely tits they are."
His praise and the faintly vulgar words he used made her feel erotic, beautiful, totally female to his raw masculinity. He licked over her nipple again, both of them, and again the lightning arrowed to her sex. When he closed his mouth over the peak of her breast and suckled, as he stroked her relentlessly below, sensation grew into pleasure too intense to bear.
She told him so, gasping. "Harry--I can't bear it. I can't--"
"Shh." He rubbed his face over her breasts, the scrape of whiskers adding to the sensations driving her mad. "Nothing to be afraid of. It's all right. Stop fighting it. Just let go. Let it 'appen."
"I can't." Her body had become an alien thing, driven by forces beyond her control. Pleasure rippled through her, taking her over. "Harry, please. Help me."
"I will. I am. Swear it." His tongue licked out to tease her nipple again, before he lifted his head and pressed his cheek tight to hers, his lips brushing her ear. "Just let go. I'll catch you. I'll always be 'ere to catch you."
He tightened his arm behind her back, crushing her naked breasts to his broad, fully-clothed chest. The stern texture of his worsted wool coat, the satiny brocade of his waistcoat, the smooth linen of his shirt, felt o
utrageously erotic against her skin. The strength of his hold assured her that he would indeed catch her.
"Let go, Elinor, love," he murmured in his lovely, rough-edged voice. "Come for me, sweetheart."
Maybe it was the endearment. Or the feel of his clothing on her bare breasts. Maybe it was his strong arm around her or his clever fingers, never ceasing with their circling and stroking and teasing. More likely, it was everything at once, but whatever it was Elinor found herself pushed up some impossibly high pinnacle of physical delight, where she paused for an endless instant before the pleasure burst over her and she fell. Her body throbbed and shook, consumed by pleasure, her voice stolen away save for a single, gasped "Harry!" She fell and fell and fell. And Harry caught her in his kiss.
When she came to herself again, Harry had both his arms wrapped around her, one over her bared back, the other round her hips, holding her tight and safe. He murmured nonsense in her ear, about how brave she was and how beautiful, about how she shook so sweetly, and how he'd known she would be all fire and passion.
Shame flooded her. All her noble intentions, all her high-minded rationality had been routed by mindless animal desires. She was no better than--
"Don't," Harry said, holding her tighter. "Whatever you're thinkin', stop it."
"How do you know I'm thinking anything at all?" She pushed away from him and he let her sit up, but refused to let her move out of his lap. "Obviously, I wasn't," she muttered, yanking her chemise back up over her breasts.
"I know you're thinking, 'cause I know you." Harry lifted her and set her on the sofa beside him facing away and calmly tightened her corset as if he helped ladies dress every day of the world. "You're always thinking. You're probably thinkin' even when you're asleep, instead o' dreamin'. Besides, you stiffened up like a poker in my arms, instead o' lyin' there soft and sweet like you been doin'."
"Harry, this was wrong. We should never have done it." She wanted to accuse, to say "you shouldn't have," but he hadn't done anything alone. He never would have if she'd actually said no. And she hadn't.
Only when her loss of control had frightened her did she speak at all. She would accept her share of the blame.