Alethea tried to smile, but feared her shaking lips were incapable of the gesture.
“But what really brings me to my knees,” he murmured, his finger running against her bottom lip, his eyes tracking how her tongue followed the movement, “is your taste. God, it’s ambrosia.”
He kissed her. Again.
But kissing seemed like such a mundane, simple word. For surely, a kiss was an everyday thing shared between couples, between mothers and their children, between acquaintances, between lovers. As she grabbed the front of Declan’s shirt and brought their bodies flush once more, every dip and curve of her body supporting his, she knew what they shared far exceeded those everyday acts of affection.
This, whatever was between them, was explosive.
Minutes ticked by—or perhaps they were days—when Declan pulled back. His soft breath panted against her cheek. “I have no intention of pushing my attentions further than this.”
“What if I wanted you to?” The words tumbled from her mouth unchecked.
A deep moan reverberated through his chest. “Don’t say that. I’m barely hanging on to my control as it is.”
She wanted to press him, to demand more of everything, but she didn’t. With deep breaths, each a desperate gasp for restraint, she nestled by his side, her head coming to rest on his chest. Declan’s heart pounded under her ear, and soon she fancied her heart matched his rhythm. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her head as a ridiculous grin spread over her face.
…
The sun had already slipped over the horizon, but its rays still illuminated the western sky with streaks of crimson, gold, and umber. Deep shadows stretched across the meadow, as if taking the secret of their clandestine meeting and hiding it from the prying eyes of outsiders. Fireflies appeared overhead, their glowing bodies darting around the space, and the sight made Declan smile.
“When was the last time you saw a firefly?” Alethea asked, her voice loud in the quiet field.
“I honestly haven’t paid attention.” Declan watched a glowing insect as it hovered above them. “In St. Lucia, swarms can be found throughout the rainforests. There are rumors locals have seen some as large as hummingbirds, whose light can illuminate an entire hut.” He chuckled. “They probably were hummingbirds. The island is known for them.”
Alethea closed her eyes, and he fancied she was trying to imagine the sight.
“I don’t believe I’ve caught a firefly, however, since the last summer we were in this meadow together.”
“Before the scandal,” she whispered.
“Before my father died.”
A dark mantle settled over them, smothering what had been an intimate moment. As Declan’s mind raced for a way to recover their accord, Alethea asked tentatively, “What are the sugarcane fields like?”
Declan’s breath traced across her cheek as he considered his answer. “They’re…beautiful but dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine acre after acre of dense, sweet-smelling crops that grow well over a man’s head. It’s easy to become lost and disoriented. Plus snakes, foxes, and large insects all lurk in the plants. It’s not a place I’d like to find myself under the cover of darkness.”
“How many employees do you have?” Alethea paused. “They are paid employees, are they not?”
The answer mattered. Her sudden stillness told him she awaited his words. Alethea had always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and the moral ambiguity of business would be as foreign to her as if he spoke to her in the Carib language.
He stared up at the darkening sky, where faint stars were beginning to emerge against the inky-blue expanse. He twined a strand of her hair around his finger, gathering his thoughts, before releasing it to start again.
“About two hundred people work my fields in St. Lucia alone,” he offered quietly. “My family’s business had long utilized island or slave labor in the fields. It was argued that the people were used to the climate and terrain, and heaven knows they were in no position to negotiate wages or conditions.” He stopped, the silence stretching as he grappled mentally. “The West Indies Interest’s reliance on slave labor ended, however, when my grand-père met my grand-mère.”
She laced her fingers with his. “Tell me.”
“She was a fisherman’s daughter.” He waited for her to scoff at his grandmother’s humble beginnings. When she merely squeezed his hand, his heart contracted. “Grand-père was tramping through the rainforest with a guide, scouting the suitability of the location for additional fields. He saw her paddling in a small boat to shore, having finished her own fishing excursion in the ocean.”
“So she was a fisherman, or rather, fisherwoman, in her own right?”
He nodded. “She was. She specialized in harpoon fishing.”
“Impressive.”
“Indeed,” Declan said, running his fingertips against her arm. “My grand-père said she also looked impressive. Grand-père said for a moment he thought her an island goddess or sea nymph.” He kissed Alethea’s hair. “It was love at first sight. For him, at least.”
She giggled. “But not for her?”
Declan snorted. “Definitely not for her. He was the sugarcane plantation owner, and was not the most popular man in St. Lucia. Not that he was cruel,” he added seriously, “but between the French and British battles over the island, most white men were viewed with contempt. It took a steady, ardent campaign on his behalf for my grand-mère to soften toward him.” Declan smirked as he remembered the stories his grandfather had shared about his courtship. “She consented to marry him if he freed the slaves who worked for him and hired them instead.”
Alethea jerked into a sitting position, and looked down on him with round eyes. “And he consented? Just like that?”
He studied her face in the dim lighting and tugged her down until she hovered over him, a breath away. Her lips were just within reach, the ghost of their feel and taste teasing, but not satisfying him with their memory.
“There was no ‘just like that,’” Declan murmured, his voice a low timbre. “They argued. Fiercely. She refused to see him. Grand-père knew it was only a matter of time before slavery was abolished, but his investors fought him, valuing profits over lives. In the end, though, it was their separation, his feelings for her, that became more important than profit. My grand-père bought back the shares, silenced his detractors, and freed the slaves.”
Alethea’s teeth bit into her bottom lip. “I don’t know of a love that strong. I’ve only ever seen curt exchanges and forced smiles when duty dictated. Cold indifference.”
He pulled her down and captured her lips with his own. They melded together as surely as if they’d been forged by the same hand to fuse this way for an eternity. She pulled away to suck in a breath of air, and Declan tucked her against his chest once more.
His hands stroked over her hair and down her back. “You may not know what love looks like, but I do. I may have faded memories of my parents, but I witnessed their adoration for each other. Consider my father was an English duke, from an old, wealthy lineage, who traveled to the Indies to see firsthand the sugarcane enterprise he was keen to invest in.” He ran his thumb along the shallow dip at the base of her neck, where her pulse raced. “And there, in St. Lucia, leagues away from Mayfair and the life he’d known, my father saw a lovely mulatto woman who eclipsed the sun.”
Declan pulled her back so he could meet her eyes. “That’s how he described seeing my mother for the first time. Even after all these years since his death, I still remember when my father compared my mother to an eclipse. I know what love looks like. Even with all the loss and grief I’ve suffered, I am so incredibly lucky to be able to claim that.”
For a span of time, they lay entwined together. He hadn’t intended to share so much with her, but it seemed right to do so. He trusted her. He raised her hand and kissed the back of it before clutching it to his chest. “Does it relieve you to hear my business doesn�
��t rely on slave labor?”
She nodded, and her breath shuddered out of her.
Long, silent minutes passed when caresses were exchanged instead of words. When Alethea asked, “What do we do now?” it appeared to echo about the still field.
“I plan to talk to your father. I have much to discuss with him, so he can’t avoid me forever.”
“Dec, he’ll never approve.” She clenched her eyes shut.
“Perhaps I can use the partnership as leverage. But I won’t allow you to marry Lord Connington.”
“I don’t understand why he’s doing this. For my father to grant me no say in whom I marry is inexcusable.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?” she demanded, arching her back to break from his embrace. “You’re a man. You’ve never had your choices ripped away from you.”
“I was sent away to another country, when all I wanted to do was grieve my father. I was prohibited from returning to my homeland for reasons that remain a mystery. I wasn’t here when my mother and my brother died.” He cleared his throat. “I’d say I have a passing acquaintance with the topic.”
Alethea raised herself up and met his gaze, her eyes shiny and wet. When she kissed his cheek before burying her head under his chin, he accepted her unspoken apology. “I don’t see a path out of this. My father will not change his mind.”
“I never knew you were such a pessimist,” Declan chastised, even as he suspected she was right.
“How can I not be? Surely we torture ourselves with interludes such as this. After everything that has happened between our fathers, I don’t understand how you can be so certain. So assured of a future together.”
When she pulled back to look at him, he reached up and kissed her, her lips slowly branding themselves upon his soul. He released her mouth, but they still hovered a hair’s breadth from each other. “You’re mine, Allie, and I’m yours. From the first time our lips met, I knew you were the only woman I would ever want. Ever covet. Ever desire. I’m a man who’s not afraid to fight for what he wants. I’m not afraid to fight to win your hand.”
Chapter Nineteen
April 1804
It sometimes feels like the night is never-ending. Or perhaps it’s my own personal darkness that shadows my steps.
-The Diary of Margaret Gordon
“That’s where you bested Firthwell and me in that footrace.”
A torrent of vivid, lighthearted memories swamped Alethea as her gaze followed his finger to the area Declan indicated. The walk behind Darington Manor had grown wild and unruly in the time since their childhood races. The heavy boughs of the hawthorn trees that lined the old path greedily captured the sunshine, only consenting to allow ribbons of light to penetrate. But it was enough to encourage swaying grasses and legions of wildflowers to conquer the forest floor. It had transformed into an otherworldly place, which was the perfect setting for such a moment.
Alethea smiled from where she walked by Declan’s side. He had her hand firmly clasped in his larger one, and she reveled in the intimacy of the gesture. She’d walked, arm in arm, with many gentlemen. At balls, soirees, dinner and garden parties, and park promenades. Yet she’d never walked hand in hand with one before now.
Even while he made casual conversation about his memories of the countryside, his finger slowly traced an invisible circle across her palm, and she was hard-pressed to think of anything else. Such a simple contact made her mouth dry and turned her thoughts to mush.
Declan squeezed her fingers, and she jerked her gaze to his. He arched a brow and she blushed, realizing his touch had flustered her once again.
She shook her head to clear it. “If I recall correctly, both you and Fin scoffed at me when I insisted on competing.”
“You were wearing a pink muslin dress. I seem to remember it having lace at the hem.”
“How do you possibly remember that?” she asked, although a thread of pleasure ran up her spine that he’d memorized such a detail.
His forehead puckered in thought. “I suppose the impracticality of it, the sheer femininity of it, made an impression on me.”
“Femininity? Is femininity incompatible with speed? With strength? With endurance?” Alethea sucked air into her lungs, realizing her defensiveness had made her breathless.
Declan drew them to a halt. His grip on her hand tightened and he leaned close, his gaze intent on hers. “You beat us in a fair race. No matter that we told you not to do it. That you were a girl and it wasn’t done. That you weren’t fast enough. Or strong enough. Nevertheless, you persisted. And you won.”
She pressed her lips together and glanced away, surprised by his easy agreement.
“I walloped you both. Don’t try to diminish my victory.”
His chuckle was like a caress across her skin. “I would never dream of it.” When she snorted, he drew back to offer her a mock bow. “My apologies for offending you, my lady.” He considered her for a moment. “I’d like a rematch.”
Her jaw unhinged. “You cannot be serious.”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“To start.” She shook out her skirts.
He frowned, and Alethea resisted the urge to smooth it away with her fingers. “Yes, that would be a hindrance.” A heartbeat passed and he smirked. “Take off your dress.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“If your dress will encumber your movements, simply take it off.”
She huffed. “So you’re suggesting I run in my stays?”
“Precisely.”
“Tell me, do such practical suggestions work on your lady friends abroad?” she asked with a glare.
“I’ve never suggested it to anyone but you.” He paused. “Pity that.”
Alethea rolled her eyes so hard she feared she’d lose her balance.
“We don’t have to race, of course. I just thought you might be up for a friendly wager.” Laughter tinged his voice.
“Ladies don’t gamble,” she said automatically, and clamped her mouth shut in censure.
“That’s right. I had forgotten.” He looked about them. “Still, it is only you and me. I definitely will not discuss with others what we do here.”
When she raised a solemn brow, he spread his hands. “Don’t you ever just want to feel the wind against your face? Feel the sun kiss your skin?”
Of course she did. She’d always longed for the freedom he spoke of. But growing up with a strict father and a critical mother, she’d only been able to engage in such spirited behavior on rare occasions…and usually in Declan’s company. She exhaled as her gaze skimmed the landscape around them. No one, however, was about to tell her not to enjoy this innocent fun with her childhood friend.
Except nothing of how she felt for Declan was innocent.
Alethea reached behind her to undo the buttons that ran up her back. The chore was a bit awkward, but she managed, even as she refused to relinquish her hold on his attention. She could ask him for help. But, as always, Declan seemed to know this task was as much about asserting her autonomy as it was about the actual race itself.
She didn’t need his help and never had.
Declan watched her with a heated gaze as she pushed her loosened bodice down, pulling her arms free of the muslin before allowing it to pool at her feet. Stepping from the puddle of green fabric, she flipped her slippers off and faced him. She threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin, standing proudly in only her chemise and stays. “Shall the sixth tree be our finish line once again?”
He coughed into his hand then looked at the tree in question. “I suppose that works.”
Gliding past him, she picked up a stick and aligned it across the path in front of them. “We’ll use this as our starting point.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “Past experience has taught me not to allow you to set the course.”
He halted in the act of removing his coat. “That was only one time. And it didn’t take long for Firthwell to get over the bit of rash
he got.”
“I will take no chances, Declan Sinclair, of you trying to sabotage this race in your favor.”
“I would never dream of doing such a thing, my lady,” he said, clutching a hand to his chest. In the next breath he shouted, “Go!”
Alethea gritted her teeth when Declan shot away in a mad dash. However, his boots made running cumbersome, and she gained on him. She had been quick and sure-footed as a child, and she was delighted to see such traits had not left her. A giggle escaped her on a labored breath as she passed him.
She was sprinting past the fifth tree, the sixth tree finish line within sight, when a pair of thick arms encircled her waist from behind. She was lifted into the air as if she weighed a sixpence, and Declan clutched her close to his heaving chest.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t do anything to sabotage the race.” She puffed, reaching for a sense of irritation but finding none.
“Sabotage? I did no such thing. I was chasing after you, and I caught you.”
She twisted in his arms and smacked his chest. “We were supposed to be racing each other to the sixth tree and you know it.”
“Poppycock! I was chasing after you. I merely thought the sixth tree marked the spot where I’d have to relinquish my pursuit.”
“What rot.” She laughed.
He walked her backward with a wicked smile until her back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He looked down at her for a long moment, his gaze skimming over her face, and murmured, “Is this rot?” a second before his mouth claimed hers.
La, the man could kiss, Alethea thought in a daze as he nibbled on her bottom lip until she opened to him. His tongue swept in to intertwine with hers, and heat pooled in her belly.
She reached up to knot her hands in his hair while his drifted from where they rested on either side of her head to slowly travel down her arms, pausing at her breasts. She quivered in nervous anticipation. To have him touch her there made her nipples harden into points, and she arched her back ever so slightly.
To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal) Page 14