“My darling … that you should have had to suffer that and I was not there for you …”
The warmth of his touch, the bliss of being in his arms after so many barren years, was too much for Eve. Suddenly she desperately wanted to deny the past, forget it and lose herself in this moment. She knew that she and Rowarth could not go back, that too much had happened to force them apart, but she wanted to hold on to this night forever. In the warm intimacy of this tiny room with the door closed against the world and the future, she could fool herself for a little while that she could recapture what they had had.
“I don’t want to talk about the past,” she said, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I want to spend this one night with you, Rowarth, and forget about all else.”
Rowarth went very still at her words. He held himself under absolute control, aching to touch her, hold her and kiss her to within an inch of her life. His body had sprung into almost instant hardness at the images her words conjured. To lie with Eve again, to rediscover the pleasure they could give one another, to hear her soft cries and take her with all the lust and tenderness and regret that was in his soul … But that was not enough. It would never be enough.
“Just the one night?” he asked.
“Yes.” The firelight shimmered on some expression in her eyes that he could not understand. “We both know that there cannot be anything else for us, Rowarth.”
He would take issue with that, Rowarth thought. Not long ago he might have thought that one night with Eve would be sufficient to sate his need for her and lay to rest the ghosts of the past. Now he knew that it could never be enough. His future would be a desert if Eve were not a part of it. The idea of her walking away from him again in a day, two days, and never seeing her again was intolerable.
His. The possessive desire almost floored him. She had always been his, from the first moment he had seen her, and she would be his again. They had lost each other a little along the way but soon, very soon, they could wash away the loneliness and grief he had seen in her, and the bitterness and revenge that had been in him. And then he would never let her go again.
Eve moved closer to him, which brought her into his arms, and raised her face to his so that he could kiss her. He was within an inch of forgetting everything except his need for her. With a groan he lowered his mouth to hers and she opened her lips to him and he tasted her, hot, sweet, as seductive as she had always been except that his desire for her was so much more potent now. His tongue grazed hers and she gave a little whimper of pleasure. He scooped her up in his arms, still kissing her, his only thought now to take her to bed and claim her once and for all as his own.
Eve stood on the rug before the fire in her bedroom, shivering. She was terrified. She had gone this far, recklessly, on emotion alone, and now a part of her was excited, wanting to luxuriate in the wonderful, wicked pleasure of rediscovering Rowarth’s touch, but she was also nervous, as gauche as a debutante.
He had carried her through to the bedroom and placed her gently on her feet but now he did not touch her. The anticipation and the anxiety thrummed through Eve like a wire. She had thought he wanted her with a hunger that matched her own.
“If you have changed your mind then let us forget the whole matter.” It was her pride talking because she could not bear for him to reject her now, after all that they had been through.
He moved then, so fast that she was taken by surprise, catching her hand and drawing her close.
“I have not changed my mind.” His voice was amused but with a rough edge to it now and the excitement flickered through her blood like sheet lightning to hear it. “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you again and I knew this would happen.”
“How arrogant of you.” How she loved that confidence in him.
Rowarth put a hand under her chin. His eyes scanned her face, eyes so warm, so tender. Eve shivered again, this time with longing as well as fear. She had always known deep down that she still loved Rowarth and tonight she did not want to think about the future. She wanted to banish the darkness, at least for a little while.
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and Eve felt her body quiver in response.
“You’re nervous.” His voice was low. “I swear I will not hurt you.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she corrected him. At least there would be no physical consequences for her; there could not be when she could no longer bear a child. “It’s been a very long time for me,” she said.
Five years …
Tenderness warmed his eyes. “Then we shall do this very slowly and stop whenever you wish.”
“I don’t think I am likely to want that,” she murmured.
He was smiling and suddenly, fiercely, she wanted to kiss that smiling mouth, to taste him and lose herself in him.
“May I kiss you?” he murmured.
So sweet to be asked when most men would simply take.
“Please do …” Her voice was husky. His mouth took hers deeply, fiercely, his tongue tangling with hers in intimate dance. Her skin came alive beneath his hands, recognizing him in the most elemental way, tingling with the need to be close with no barriers between them. She freed herself from his ardent grip only so that she could undress him, eager now, her fingers slipping a little in her haste. She unfastened his stock and then the neck of his shirt, and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss on the hot skin at the base of his throat. A groan rumbled in his chest. She could feel the pulse there beating against her lips with the same rhythm as his heart. His hand went to unbutton his coat and waistcoat. Eve was fascinated to see that he was shaking. He shrugged himself out of the garments and tossed them aside. They hit the bed and slithered to the floor.
He caught her about the waist to press another kiss on her lips. Heat spiraled through Eve, twisting and tightening. Sweet desire flooded her down to the tips of her toes.
“Let me finish …” She pressed her palm against his chest and felt the warmth of his body through the material of his shirt “… or I will never get you out of these clothes.”
He made a sound like a growl. “Be quick then.”
Eve laughed. “I used to think that you were a patient man.”
Again she reached up to kiss him, full of feminine power and a bubbling happiness that took her by surprise. It was so long since she had felt like this. Joy and discovery, excitement and nervousness all mingled within her and made her feel honey-soft inside. She freed his shirt from the waistband of his pantaloons and burrowed underneath, fanning her hands out against his stomach. His muscles rippled against her fingers. He caught his breath and ripped the shirt over his head. Eve stared as the firelight turned his body golden and bronze, smooth, hard and sculpted. Beautiful. Time had not altered the physical perfection she remembered so well.
Her throat dried. She reached out to him but he was too quick for her, picking her up to lay her on the thick rug before the fire. His hands traveled over her, easing the gown from her, unlacing her stays with quick, practiced movements, taking her chemise from her so that she was naked but for her stockings. Eve was quiescent and still, her breath coming rapidly, her eyes fixed on his face where she saw intent concentration and desire distilled.
“Ah …” His eyes went almost black with lust as he exposed her body to his gaze. He sat back on his heels, a flush of arousal along his cheekbones. He had, she noticed, an enormous erection that his pantaloons could barely contain.
“Turn over.”
He rolled her onto her stomach. Her breasts, so full and sensitive now, brushed against the soft caress of the rug and she groaned. He leaned over her to press kisses up her spine and over the line of her shoulders. Her nipples hardened, her entire body alive and prickling with arousal. He licked a path down her spine again, his hot, wicked tongue spiraling over her skin, and Eve moaned. When his hands swept up her thighs she allowed her legs to fall open and felt the coolness of the air against her flesh.
“Leave the stockings,” she managed to say,
as she felt his fingers on her garter, and she heard him laugh. The rough edge to the tone made her heart beat in double time. His caresses rose higher, stealing over her in a seductive circling motion that made the heat pool deep within her, until he reached the softest skin of her inner thighs. His fingers grazed her cleft and she cried out, the sensation blazing through her even as her body grasped for more. His hand was on her hip and he rolled her over so that she was staring up, dazzled by sensual need, into the hard, hot glitter of his eyes.
“I want to see you …” His words were low and harsh. “You always were so very beautiful … I want to touch every part of you …”
Eve felt very beautiful, worshipped and adored for the first time in five long years. There was reverence in the way Rowarth touched her, as though she was exquisitely precious, and awe in the way that he looked at her.
At last he moved to unfasten his pantaloons and his erection sprang free of the constraint, thick and hard. He lay beside Eve on the rug and started to kiss her all over again, his hands holding her still as he ravished her mouth deeply, his fingers tangling in her hair. He dropped his head to her breasts and skimmed his tongue over the sensitive underside and up to the nipple, licking and sucking, wrenching a gasp from her lips that was half moan, half plea. She wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her now and she reached for him, but he held off, making her wait.
“Patience …” There was amusement in his voice. “I want you to really want me …”
Oh, she did. She thought she would die of the wanting.
He trailed kisses across the curve of her stomach and she felt her muscles jump and clench. She arched, raising her hips, begging now.
“Darling Eve …” His voice was a dark whisper. “You have always been mine.” He moved between her thighs and hung there poised for what felt like the longest moment of her life. The emotion strung out between them, fierce and tight and impossibly tense, and then he slid into her, claiming her, so smooth and deep that she cried out.
Her body shifted to accommodate him as he thrust with strong, slow strokes. Already the pleasure was building within her, shimmering and tantalizing just out of reach. She wanted more. She wanted to explode.
“Faster, if you please …” She dug her fingers into his buttocks to pull him even tighter inside and felt his body jerk in response.
“So polite …” His breathing was ragged. He obliged her by plunging deeper and harder, driving her higher and higher as she smoothed her hands down his back to encourage him on and bit his shoulder in an agony of need and ecstasy. She had lost all coherent thought, everything drowning in pure pleasure and the absolute necessity of fulfillment. And then her body clenched and she came with a blissful, dazzling intensity. Fireworks exploded in her head, flooding her mind with light. Her body clasped his in helpless spasm, and she held him and heard him call her name as he, too, fell into the deepest languor and pleasure. Past, present and future collided in the most perfect reunion.
In the aftermath she felt him draw her close, tucking her into the curve of his arm as though she was the most precious thing on earth, her head on his shoulder and the beat of his heart against hers, and it felt like coming home.
Eve woke to see the light flooding the room and to feel a quick, uncomplicated joy. Rowarth was lying beside her, his arm about her waist in casual possession, his legs tangled with hers. She could smell his skin, at once familiar and exciting. Her body quickened again and she shifted, feeling the ache inside that was the aftermath of bliss and the promise of pleasure to come. It had been so perfect. She had never imagined it would be like that again.
The happiness fled. The loss she had staved off the previous night came flooding back, filling the emptiness within her soul with its bitter harvest. She had gone into this knowing that she loved him but that she could never keep him. Not Rowarth, with his responsibilities and his obligations, not least amongst which was his need to produce an heir for his dukedom with some suitable, blue-blooded, fertile aristocrat. She had borrowed him for one last night, loving him too much to deny either of them. And now she would have to give him up because that was the only thing to do.
“Sweetheart …” He was stirring. He stroked a palm over the soft skin of her stomach. He sounded happy. Another crack appeared in her heart.
He rolled over, looked at her, and at the expression in his eyes she felt sudden acute apprehension. Her heart was thumping. She knew he was going to ask her to be his mistress again and she was so sorely tempted to agree. To have Alasdair Rowarth in her life again, even if it was only for a little while … Would she sacrifice the independence she had achieved here and all she had worked for in order to be with him? And could she watch him wed another woman and produce an heir when she had thought once that she would be his wife and she knew that she loved him more than anyone else ever could?
“I once asked you to be my wife, Eve,” Rowarth said. “Now I am asking you again. Will you marry me?”
“Oh, no!” Eve could not quite bite back the words in time. This really was a disaster. She had not imagined, not dreamed, that this could happen. And of course it was utterly impossible, for all the same reasons that it had been before.
Rowarth was looking quizzical and a little chagrined at her outburst.
“I did not think the idea would be so abhorrent to you,” he said.
“I thought you were going to ask me to be your mistress again,” Eve said helplessly.
Rowarth did not look pleased. In fact he looked most forbidding. “That position is not on offer.”
Oh, dear. She knew she had offended him. No, she had hurt him. She could see it in his eyes. She loved him so much that it made her want to cry, she who had once thought herself as hard as diamonds. “I … I cannot.” Her heart was breaking piece by little piece. She wanted to explain why, but it hurt so much to open up those final dark secrets that she did not think she could force out the words. Besides, she could not bear to see his face when he knew the truth and to hear him retract his proposal. Like her, he knew that a man, a duke, needed an heir to his dukedom. He cared for Welburn so much, had done so since his youth with both a sense of responsibility and a deep love. It would be imperative for him to pass on that love and that duty to the next generation.
“My life is here now, Rowarth,” she said. “Flattered as I am by your proposal, I believe that it would be a mistake to try to re-create what we had.”
He had gone very still. There was a hard, determined light in his eyes. “Last night you told me that you loved me.”
Had she? She had no recollection of it at all, but during their impassioned lovemaking it would have been fatally easy to pour out all the feelings she had harbored for him during those five long, lonely years.
“Did I say that?” She forced lightness into her tone, making the entire experience sound no more than a pleasant tumble rather than something that had touched her soul. “A figure of speech, my dear. I certainly enjoyed it—”
He looked as though he was going to argue. He looked as though he did not believe her. Her defenses felt perilously weak. One word from him and she might falter. She moved to put a stop to it before it had started.
“I believe a gentleman can accept a refusal with good grace?”
Now he looked really angry. “If you wish to put it like that …” He bit the words out. “You tie my hands, madam. I will say no more.”
He leaped from the bed, magnificently unconcerned about his nudity, and gathered up his clothes, throwing them on haphazardly with swift, angry movements before wrenching open the door. Then he looked back.
“Farewell, Eve,” he said.
She heard his furious steps on the stairs, heard also Joan’s startled squeak as they met in the shop doorway and heard the door slam behind him. She lay still and forced herself not to watch him walk away from her because she knew that if she did she would change her mind and run after him and that was the one thing she could not permit herself to do.
&nb
sp; It had been the most damnably miserable day. No matter that the sun poured down from a cloudless sky and the pavements of Fortune’s Folly bustled with people shopping, taking the waters or walking on Fortune Row. Eve was unhappy and Joan shook her head over her and brought her endless cups of tea for solace.
“I told you so,” Joan said. “No good ever comes from tangling with handsome gentlemen.”
“I am not tangled,” Eve snapped. “He has gone.”
Business was improving. A young lady had called by that morning. Miss Alice Lister had brought in a footstool to sell with an enormous, vulgar coat of arms on it.
“I’m afraid my mother embroidered it,” she said sadly. “She will sew our family crest on anything that doesn’t move away fast enough. Please, could you get rid it for me? I truly cannot bear to look at it.”
Eve had chatted with her and had smiled and sorted out the stock that had come in over the past few days and the time had dragged, the hands of the clock edging around so slowly into a future that now seemed colorless and gray. She had sent Rowarth away again because it was the only thing that she could do, for his sake and her own. Now all she had to do was forget him for a second time; no easy matter when she ached for him with every particle of her being.
At three-thirty the doorbell clanged again. Eve had been dealing with the accounts—hateful job—while Joan was in the village. She came out into the shop in time to hear the key turn in the lock and the shutters rattle closed.
“What on earth—”
Rowarth.
Impossible.
He was standing just inside the door. He had the key in his hand. Shaking, Eve moved several of the counter items at random. “I thought you had gone,” she said foolishly, since he was standing right before her.
“I’ve come to claim something I lost.” He sounded confident, authoritative, the humor lurking just below the surface. Eve’s heart leaped and she tried to quell its insistent beat.
“This is a pawnbroker’s shop,” she said, “not a lost property office.”
Tangled Reins and Other Stories Page 32