by Raine Miller
She nodded sharply at him, totally unable to form any words.
“Where to, Miss Imogene? You’re the only one of us who has the advantage. Lead us on?”
“Very well, follow me.” She guided Terra out.
Imogene took them to a high meadow dotted with trees, well beyond the boundaries of Kenilbrooke. There was an old rock wall, crumbling enough in places that it could be breeched on horseback. Beyond the wall upon the hill, were the ruins of a castle. Formidable centuries past, but now returning back to the earth in its waning days. The roof had been removed long ago, and with that one act, the castle’s doom had been sealed. The walls immediately began to separate, tumbling down once there was nothing to keep the enormous weight of the stones forced together at the top. The ruin was still beautiful, even in winter and in its dying gasps. Outside the wall, sheep dotted the hillside, grazing and reminding her of the occasion she first saw him. The sheep had colonized the area and fixed themselves in and around the ancient toppled stones. His brother, Colin, and Ellenora Everley paired up and headed off, picking their way through the rubble.
Their pace slowed and Lord Rothvale pulled up next to her. “Where did you find it?”
Imogene knew that he was referring to the lamb she had rescued on the day he arrived, for the grazing sheep had reminded her of the same thing. “Way down there in the creek bed,” she pointed below them to a meandering creek flowing with water. “It was dry then, nothing but rocks.”
“So adventuresome. You were quite comfortable scrambling down into that rocky pit?”
“It wasn’t comfortable, but had to be done. I could not have left the poor thing to die.”
“You are rather fearless I think.”
“More like a girl raised in the typical country way. It was nothing I would not have done were I at my home, at Drakenhurst.”
“You consider yourself a typical country girl? I assure you, that you are not. I have never met anyone like you in my life.”
I feel the same way about you. “Perhaps you’ve not spent enough time in the country, Lord Rothvale.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” He cocked a brow at her and shook his head. “What of your home, Drakenhurst? How did you occupy your days there?” What surprised Imogene the most was how he behaved as if he really wanted to know about her life. Most men would simply greet a lady as society dictated, showing little interest in her person or thoughts. Yet, he looked deeply into her eyes when he asked questions as if her answers were important information he desired to know.
“Drakenhurst is in Essex, a working estate, not far out of London at Waltham Forest. My father kept an excellent stable and enjoyed the hunting when his obligations to Parliament allowed him time to pursue it. From a young age, I realized being out of doors is much preferable to being in. I rode very frequently, and indulged in a bit of target practice as well. I find the required skill and precision of archery a challenge and like the quietness of it. The stillness and concentration necessary, before the arrow is released toward the target is…is satisfying to me, and feels like an accomplishment. I miss it. Since I have come to Shelburne, I’ve not had opportunity to take it up again.” Her voice trailed off and she felt the sudden need to stop talking.
“You are an accomplished sportswoman. You see? I was right. You are not the typical country girl as you modestly claim. You sound like Artemis, goddess of archery and the hunt. What a portrait that would make, Miss Imogene. Just imagine it.”
“My lord, I assure you, I am not the paragon of accomplishment you praise me to be. I had occasion to spend plenty of time indoors as well with the more ordinary and traditional occupations expected of a young lady. I write and keep a journal. I also read a great deal.” Which you know already. “My mamma was ill for a long time, my sister and I attended to her continually. She dearly loved for us to read to her, and later, she had need of me to write her letters.” Imogene looked at him challengingly, not wanting pity, for she was protective of her grief still, and not yet ready to share.
He nodded and wisely let it go. Lord Rothvale had good instincts, which was a fortunate for him, because she did not want to speak about her mother. Not today.
They rode along together in companionable quiet. Again she was impressed by his easiness. He didn’t push. It was more like leading her where she wanted to go. She could speak freely and there wasn’t a pressing need to fill the surprisingly comfortable silences with unnecessary conversation.
“My turn,” she said. “I have answered several of your questions, so it’s only fair you give up some answers, my lord. Agreed?”
“Ask away, Miss Imogene. I am yours to command,” he answered lightly, seemingly glad the somber spirit of their conversation had passed.
“Why did your cousin, Mr. Everley, refer to you as wayward, at the ball? He called you his wayward cousin and I want to know why.”
He gave her a lifted eyebrow first and then spoke. “A fair question I suppose. It is nothing sinister, I guarantee. I am ‘wayward’ in the sense of being away from home for a long time. I’ve been in Ireland for the past year putting business affairs to order. Remember, how I told you of the death of my mother last fall? Well, the Irish estate, Donadea, passed to my family upon her death. I had to attend to business there.”
“And Ireland is very agreeable to you?”
“Yes, very much so. In fact, I stayed much longer than was originally intended. When Julian wrote to me of his upcoming marriage to Miss Mina, I felt the time had come for me to return to England, and to my responsibilities here. My family is important to me, and I wished to offer support to Jules, of course,” he finished quietly.
He is loyal to his family. “Do you miss Ireland?”
“It is bewitching to be sure. The old world still exists in Ireland and right along with it, the old world creatures…fairies, and brownies, and elves.” He looked at her stone-faced for a minute before he winked, his green eyes teasing her.
“Even brownies, my lord? They are the naughty ones I’ve heard.” She teased him right back.
“Indeed. I’ve never met a brownie I could trust. They are all wicked little demons.”
“I think somebody else is wicked, telling imaginative tales about the residents of the Emerald Isle.”
He threw his head back and laughed at her, the sound of his laughter hitting her right in the heart. “But truly, there is a magical beauty that pulls you in, captivates you. I know I will return someday.” He looked directly into her eyes and Imogene could have sworn he was referring to her in his words. “Though I am happy to be here in England—it was time for me to leave Ireland, and right now I would not wish to be anywhere else.”
Despite the chill of the day, she suddenly felt hot. “Your name, it is not commonly bestowed, is it? Was Graham your mother’s surname, given you in respect?”
“Yes. You are exactly right. It is somewhat of a family tradition. I thank God my mother was not named Bumweald or Whitelegg, or something equally horrifying.”
She could not hold back the comment. Lord Rothvale was easy to tease. “I don’t know about that, I think Whitelegg Everley has a good ring to it, don’t you?” She kept her face serious even though she wanted to fall on the grass and howl. He saved her by laughing first and letting her join in.
“You have a lovely name,” he said. “Imogene is an Irish name. Did you know? It means ‘last daughter.’ And your surname is shared with England’s most celebrated poet.”
Imogene didn’t feel like talking about her name, rather she watched him intently, looking at his hair. She blurted, “You wear your hair in the old way. Is it because you have been in Ireland?” She immediately regretted her question. “Forgive me. That was rude of me to ask.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind telling you. It just seemed easier at the time. Ireland is very different from England, simpler, less complicated. I have thought of cutting it now that I am back.”
STUDYING her reaction to his words, he observed a
quick furrow at her brow before she whispered the word, ‘regrettable’ so lightly, he barely heard. She fancies the long hair.
“But maybe I’ll just leave it long.” She smiled at him again.
Graham believed in fate. He believed in his frequent and vivid dreams, feeling it was fate that had brought him here to this place, with the purpose of finding her.
He was ready.
Ready to go home and claim his inheritance in the true sense of all it entailed.
Ready even, to take a wife.
The notion of a wife, now that he had met Imogene, was so strong that it was the only way in which he could see her. He needed to be sure though. Sure of her feelings. He could not share any of this with her yet, but held faith in it. His dreams were strong, and Imogene was an ever-present force.
Sleep was something he looked forward to each night, for in his sleep he might find her in a dream. He could go to her. He could touch her.
The laughing sounds of Elle and Colin broke through his musings as they pulled up, riding hard. Graham looked at them questioningly. “The sky, my brother,” Colin directed scornfully pointing up. “It’s going to pour!”
Christ! Graham looked up to ominous, rolling, storm clouds. Right then, the sky opened up and unleashed with a vengeance. The sound of it like a giant thundering beast coming at them gave the instinct to bolt. “We are caught and there’s nothing for it! Prepare to get wet!” Graham shouted as the four of them headed back at a hard run.
Imogene looked like she was having the time of her life—so free and unconventional. Galloping in the rain, getting soaked, feeling the water run down his face, was the least of it. Having those things happen with her, stirred him. It felt wildly intimate. As their horses pounded over the turf, she looked over and met his eyes. Grinning widely, she yelled, “I love this.”
He laughed out loud in response to her declaration, taking in the vision of her. So beautiful—even in the pouring rain—racing over the fields, soaked to the skin, clearly loving every minute of it. And I love this…with you.
As they approached the grounds of Kenilbrooke, Colin and Elle shouted their goodbyes and headed away toward the stables. Graham and Imogene continued on together toward Wilton Court at a gallop. It was not much farther to go, and too soon they arrived, riding straight into the barn to get out of the rain. Graham leapt down from Triton and was waiting to help her dismount, his hands latching on to her waist, pulling her down toward him. He wasn’t going to miss this chance to touch her and have her body up against his. Not possible, and propriety could be damned.
Imogene closed her eyes when his hands grabbed hold, and opened them again when her feet touched the ground. She breathed heavily from the exertion of the ride, and a great smile broke out on her face. “That was the best ride I have had in ages. I’ll never forget this day.”
Me either. Graham was mesmerized again. Even soaked, she was exquisite. “Are you cold?” he managed to ask.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Your clothes are soaked.” And in all the right places… He tried not to stare at her damp bodice showing every delicious curve of her most perfect, lovely, and noticeably chilled breasts. What he wouldn’t give to have his mouth on that part of her right now. He did try valiantly, but was not completely successful. Saints help me!
Imogene shook her head slightly. “It does not matter, this experience was worth it,” she gulped, her breath still coming out strong and steady.
Graham could not stop what he did next. Reaching out to touch her face, he pushed a wet tendril of hair away from her eyebrow. Nothing could have prevented him. His fingers kept moving, with a will of their own, tracing down the side of her face, along her cheek, under her jaw line and finally ending at her chin. Imogene closed her eyes again at his touch.
“You amaze me, so unique, not like any other,” he breathed, thrilling at her response to his touching. She felt something, he was sure.
“I thank you for that, my lord. It is meaningful to me that you think so.”
“Would you like to go again? When the weather permits?”
“Oh, yes I would,” she answered, nodding.
“I go to London today.” He watched her carefully.
“You are leaving?” She frowned before she could school her response—he hoped that was the reason, at least. And that she didn’t want him to leave.
“Just for a day or two. I have pressing business and must go.” He’d caught her frown and was glad for it. “I’ll be back before you know it, and when I am, I want to see you. To call upon you, formally.” She did not react right away, but her eyes held. “Do you understand what I am proposing?” She nodded, her focus never leaving his eyes. “And do you wish it, Miss Imogene?” She nodded again. “Tell me, please. I need to hear you say it.” His true demeanour was being revealed. The real him. The dominant part of him. He could not help it, and if she was to be truly his then she would have to accept him in this way.
“I wish for you to call upon me, Lord Rothvale.” Her brown eyes glittered at him and he wanted to record this moment. How she looked at him right now, the beauty of her, how very fine she was.
“Well, then….” He nodded back, never breaking eye contact with her, taking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed it on the side, where he pulled her skin into his mouth a little. There was just the tiniest brush of his tongue and he held it much too long for propriety’s sake. He was dying to touch her but he also wanted to see how she would react to him. Imogene allowed him to have his way for a moment then she drew in her breath sharply. The sound pushed Graham out of his trance, and he released her hand quickly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but that was a lie. He wasn’t a bit sorry he’d gotten to taste her skin.
Shaking her head the slightest little bit, she said, “Do not be,” and then backed up slowly. “Good day, sir, and Godspeed on your journey.” She stood before him, her expression unreadable.
He bowed first, and then watched as she turned and fled the stable. What the bloody hell? You’re supposed to court her, not devour her.
But sweet Christ, she’d tasted good.
Graham knew he was in for a tortured dream sequence that night. To be relentlessly tormented by the blonde beauty he had yet to claim was indeed a sweet kind of torture. Soon, he would claim her. Soon, but not yet. He allowed himself indulgence in the thought.
The three-hour ride to London, in patchy rain, gave him plenty of time to reflect upon her reactions at what he’d done in the stables. He went over and over it again in his mind, knowing he had taken a liberty to be sure, but felt certain she had been affected, in a good way. Her little gasp had been one of passion, not fear. She was passionate. From her delight in riding freely in the rain, to her reaction to his kiss, he knew she was passionate. And he would be the one to discover the depths of it. He hoped he hadn’t scared her off him. He would know soon enough, wouldn’t he?
THE yelling, the arguments, the crying. The child was crying, and so was her mother, somewhere. The monster laughed at him again, at everyone. His mother, dressed in riding clothes, wept at his feet. His father lay cold in the coffin. He felt so alone, helpless, weak. “Don’t ever turn your back on them, my son,” his mother implored. “She is of your blood! If for no other reason, do it for me!”
He faced the monster. “Why do you torment me? Am I never to have any peace?”
The monster laughed at his pleas.
“Don’t bring shame on the family, son!” his father shouted at him from the coffin. “Do your duty, nothing more. No more need be done. Let it go.”
“I hate you!” he screamed at the monster.
The monster cackled with glee...
Graham crashed awake from his nightmare, bolting up in his bed. His eyes travelled down his body and got a gander at the cockstand he was sporting as he panted against the headboard. Not exactly the type of dreams he’d hoped for tonight.
He brought the image of Imogene into his mind—her be
autiful face and body—and focused on them. He did this until his racing heart calmed and his head stopped spinning. His hand moved down to between his legs and found his rigid cock. It wouldn’t take long and by God, he needed the release. He couldn’t go out and take care of himself at a bordello, and he wouldn’t want to anyway. Didn’t think he would be capable. The days of bordellos and whores were over. He just wanted one woman now. His hand stroked a little faster. He imagined Imogene’s mouth, with her beautiful lips kissing down his body, lower and lower. He sheathed his cock a little tighter in his palm until the tip wept. He saw her flicking out her lovely tongue to taste the droplet—and that was all it took. His bollocks tightened as the climax mastered him, and he spilled over his hand, the musky scent of spunk filling his head along with the images of her that he’d put there. The release was something, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted the real thing with her. He wanted to come buried deep between her sweet thighs, pleasuring her right along with him. He wanted it all with Imogene.
As he got up to wash his hands, he took a good look into the mirror above the washbasin. He saw the straight dark hair and the big body he’d been born with, the green eyes, and the decent teeth he could thank his mother for, and wished he could change the past. He wished it with all his heart, but again, that question of ‘want’ and ‘reality’ resurfaced to remind him life rarely gave up what you really desired. He prayed Imogene would be the exception.
When Graham got back into his bed, it took some time for him to find sleep again. But when he finally succumbed, it was of her that he dreamed.
FIVE
We do earnestly repent,
And are heartily sorry for these our misdoings;
The remembrance of them is grievous unto us;
The burden of them is intolerable.
The Book of Common Prayer ~ Holy Communion, 1662
THE hours Imogene spent reflecting on his kiss in the barn were extensive. Less concerning to her was the lack of propriety than her physical reaction to Lord Rothvale. Graham. His name was Graham. She wanted to be able to call him by his given name but wouldn’t dare to do it until he asked it of her. When he touched his lips to her hand it was like nothing she had ever experienced. She found herself forgetting everything about the requirements of proper decorum. He simply took control of her body. While the feelings were exciting and wonderful, she still found them confusing. Even through it all, something deep inside told her he was not a dishonorable man or trying to prey upon her. How she knew it, she couldn’t say, but she knew it all the same.