“Certainly not. You men would have never lived it down. I’m so glad we staved off almost certain embarrassment for all parties concerned, aren’t you?”
“Indeed.” He loaded the word with irony, which she conveniently ignored.
“Are there really lots of blackberries, Harry?”
“Yes,” he said, enjoying the sight of her pixie grin. “And we’ll pick them all.”
“I can’t wait!” she cried, and tumbled down the trail in front of him.
Crumbling spine, indeed.
Chapter 19
Molly swung her pail, pleased at its weight. They’d picked loads of blackberries and even some wild currants, enough to make four or five tarts! And she didn’t know what she’d been so nervous about. It was a perfectly innocent lake, resting placidly in the sun. How could she have ever ascribed sinister motives to it? It was as pristine and clear as beautiful lakes come!
She’d let her nieces swim in this lake if they wanted to. Or her sister. Or even her best horse.
“See that?” Harry said, pointing at a large flat outcrop of rock bordering the western side. “That’s where I jump in.”
Naked? She wondered what he’d look like. She was insanely curious and losing her breath just thinking about it.
But all she said was, “It’s very high.”
“It’s deep over there,” he said, coming up behind her.
Indeed, that side of the lake looked darker, more brooding. As if it had secrets. She would steer clear of that side.
She felt Harry’s warmth right behind her and had an odd temptation to lean back against him. She felt like doing that instead of talking.
In fact, she couldn’t think of anything to say back to him. She’d developed this problem overnight, it seemed. He was suddenly a person she felt…nervous around. In a pleasantly unsettling way. If she didn’t know herself better, she’d think she was developing a tendre for him.
But she did know herself better. And even if she were starting to feel all melty inside when he came near, she would do well to remember that he wanted to remain a bachelor.
She should also remind herself that were he to lose the contest completely, he would be forced to marry Anne Riordan. Molly wouldn’t go to their wedding. She’d invent something if she had to. Something other than a crumbling spine because then Harry would tell everyone she’d made that up.
“Has Roderick ever brought Penelope up here? I wonder,” Molly finally said.
“I don’t think they’ve visited here,” said Harry. “He and Penelope prefer the southern properties.”
The wind blew across the lake, bringing with it a green scent mingled with the scent of flowers.
“I think this is the nicest one of all,” said Molly.
“You haven’t seen my family’s other properties.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I like this one best.”
“Me, too,” said Harry.
They smiled at each other and sat on a log. There was a marvelous view across the water.
“Are you and Penelope good friends?” asked Harry. “Because I hope you don’t mind my saying so, you’re nothing alike.”
Molly sifted some sand through her fingers. “Everyone says that.”
Harry took a stick and made a circle in the silty earth. “Does that bother you?”
Molly shrugged. “I’ve overheard people say I’m a mere shadow of Penelope. She has gorgeous chestnut hair, her face is that of a goddess, and she’s very charming yet ladylike.”
“And they say you are—?”
“You know, Harry. A hoyden. Perhaps not a genuine hoyden, but hoydenish.” She sighed. “I always feel second-best next to Penelope. She never loses her temper or says stupid things. And she always looks exquisite.”
He raked his hair back. “I feel the same about Roderick. He’s the perfect son. It was why I kissed Penelope before their engagement was announced. I didn’t even particularly like her at the time. She was too damned perfect, as well.”
Molly chuckled. “It’s rather annoying not to be able to find anything wrong with her. Or Roderick.”
“Ah, yes.” Harry’s eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. “Those two deserve each other, don’t they? As Cedric and Fiona do.”
They both laughed at that.
Molly had outgrown her crush on her sister’s husband long ago, but it wasn’t until now that she realized why. She needed someone more fallible than Roderick. Someone imperfect. Someone funny. Even annoying sometimes.
Someone she could make up with by kissing…
A lot.
But it couldn’t be Harry.
“You’re bad.” She elbowed him.
“And you’re a hellcat.” He tugged on a lock of her hair.
“You think so?” she said.
“Oh, yes. Running about the hunting box naked!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She leaped up and scooped a small handful of blackberries out of the pail. “I’ll give you ten seconds to grab your own and find a place to hide.”
“Done,” he said.
“This is war,” she said.
“Of the best kind.”
They were smiling at each other now. But they were circling, circling, just like the old days, when they’d been really young and country neighbors. She’d been about five or six. He’d been nine or ten.
She threw a few blackberries now, and they bounced off Harry’s chest.
He roared and rushed right at her. She screamed and ran, but he was too fast for her.
He grabbed her from behind. She could feel her heart pounding.
“You’re my captive,” he said into her ear. “You must do as I say.”
She stifled a giggle and pulled hard to get away. But he held her in a firm grip.
“Now,” he said, “a gentleman doesn’t throw blackberries at a lady. It simply isn’t done. So you will have to eat these berries in my hand. That is your punishment for being caught so handily.”
“All of them?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How many do you have?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ten.”
“All right. I am rather hungry.”
“Close your eyes.”
She did. Her heart was still racing from all the fun. And maybe from Harry’s nearness, as well.
“Now turn around,” he said. “Slowly.”
She did.
“I’m releasing your arms,” he said. “But don’t run. I caught you fair and square, after all.”
She stayed still, her eyes closed.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded.
She did, and was somehow afraid. And then she was laughing. He laughed, too.
But then he was stern. “You must trust your captor, Molly. Always.”
“I will,” she said, and schooled her mouth to stop grinning and to make an O instead. It seemed to take forever, but then Harry finally placed a blackberry in her mouth. She bit down on it, enjoying the sweet spurt of the juice. Then she swallowed.
“Another,” she demanded, her eyes still closed.
“This is supposed to be a punishment,” Harry said, and plopped another in her mouth.
That one was delicious, as well. “You’re too slow,” she said, and opened her mouth.
This time Harry put in several. It took her a few moments more to chew and swallow those.
“Are we almost done?” she asked, her eyes still closed. “Your Majesty?”
“You are a most disrespectful captive. You’re supposed to be frightened. Now open your mouth.”
She opened her mouth. What was taking him so long?
And then she felt—rather than saw—his face moving toward hers. Perhaps he was blocking the sun. Before she could comprehend, his lips were on hers. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, and his body pressed her close.
Closer.
She wanted to be so much closer, even though it didn’t seem possible. His muscular thighs and c
hest enveloped her, it seemed, in a searing embrace.
“Harry,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Hush, my captive,” he said.
And their tongues melded, the remnants of blackberry juice lingering in her mouth, making the kiss particularly sweet.
Molly wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck. They shouldn’t be kissing. She wasn’t really Harry’s mistress.
Yet for the first time, she realized that she wanted to be.
If being a mistress meant this.
Chapter 20
Alone. They were alone. On a bright, beautiful afternoon at his favorite place—the lake.
Harry tore his lips away for a moment and picked Molly up. She coiled her hands about his neck and met his lips again with a fervor that he found entirely—
Entirely—
Oh, hell. He couldn’t think. He could only do. And he wanted to do more. So much more.
“Harry,” she murmured low in her throat when he laid her gently down on a soft, grassy bank dappled with an occasional shadow from passing clouds.
He felt the sun still warm and bright at his back, but he covered Molly with his body and plundered her mouth until they both broke away and stared at each other.
“I want more,” she whispered. “I want—”
Her gaze grew frustrated. She put her hand on his jaw. “You do something to me, Harry. I—I can’t stop thinking about you this way. Every time I look at you—”
“I can’t stop thinking about you this way, either.” He bent to kiss her. “And it’s torture,” he said against her lips.
“Yes,” she murmured, and ran her palms up and down his back, and then suddenly, her hands moved around to his middle and slid down to his groin.
Oh, God. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the Magna Carta. Or…or anything.
Anything but what Molly was doing to him now.
“Touching you here excites me like almost nothing else,” she whispered in his ear. “I first felt it when I sat on your lap in the carriage. And then last night. And this morning, too, when you held me from behind during ‘Kubla Khan.’”
He opened his eyes and groaned. “If only you knew how much it excites me when you touch me there.”
And with all his willpower, he forced himself to remove her hand.
Her mouth dropped in disappointment. “I want to excite you that way, Harry. Please.”
“You already do that—without even touching me,” he said, then managed a grin. “It’s a peril all men have to live with. Showing that, um, enthusiasm at inappropriate moments.”
“But now is appropriate.” She rubbed him again with her palm. “No one’s looking.”
No one is looking.
The invitation in her eyes was damned near impossible to resist. But who was he fooling? He’d have to be dead to resist it. No living male could turn away from those eyes. That mouth.
This girl.
“Molly—”
“Sssh,” she said. “Show it to me. Please.”
Hovering above her, Harry inhaled a great breath and began to unlace his breeches with one hand.
“Let me,” said Molly, and pushed his hand away. Her hair was spread out like a fan on the grass.
“I’m flattered by your enthusiasm,” he said, only half joking. He bent down and ravished her mouth while she played with the laces, finally loosened his breeches, and yanked on them until they were at his thighs.
And then she looked down. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Kiss me back and stop talking.”
She sighed and kissed him back, just as he’d asked, and the kisses became even more passionate when he felt a jolt of heat—
From her hands. They were touching him in a soft, curious way, and he couldn’t help it. He ground himself into her palms and moaned at the delicious sensation.
Her palms pressed right back. “I love to see you this way, Harry,” she murmured. “I want to touch you like this all the time.”
“Any time you want,” he choked out. “That is—”
“Kiss me back and stop talking,” she mimicked him with a giggle.
He cupped the side of her face in his hand and looked directly into her eyes. “But I must tell you something now, Molly. I can’t hold back much longer.”
“Don’t,” she told him. “Don’t hold back.”
He would distract himself. He released her breasts into the sunlight and sighed with pleasure. He wished he could see all of her that way, but he couldn’t. He had to show some restraint, didn’t he?
“Where are those berries?” he said, as he swirled his tongue around her nipples.
“I don’t know,” she moaned, her fingers running through his hair. “I set them down somewhere.”
“Wait.” He jumped up and somehow managed to pull up his breeches over his hardness.
“No!” she cried. “Don’t go!” She sat up on her elbows. “Harry!”
“I’ll be right back,” he assured her over his shoulder, and grinned. His delectable companion was most impatient. He ran for the bucket, swooped down and grabbed its handle, and ran right back.
“Lie back down,” he said, when he’d reached her again.
“Pull your breeches down, Harry.”
He laughed. “I will in a moment, hoyden. But first, be still.”
She lay down, but he could tell that obeying him was costing her.
He squeezed a handful of berries over her nipples, and the juice ran down their soft mounds. With care, he lay over her again and suckled her.
All her impatience drained away. “You feel exquisite,” she whispered, running her hand over the muscles in his arms. “But your breeches are still on.”
She stretched out her hand toward his groin.
“In a minute,” he said against her skin, and then gave in to an impulse. He pushed her gown up her leg.
“What are you doing?” she said breathily.
“Enjoying you,” he said, and stroked her thigh with the flat of his palm. And then, in the middle of a lavish kiss to her breast, he moved his hand to her softest place, to the nub of her, careful not to enter her with his fingers.
It was her first time. He wanted to go slowly.
Her legs fell open to the sun. He explored her, exulting in the shivers that coursed through her and the soft moans she made in response to his touch. A moment later, with a cry and an arch of her back, she became the most desirable woman he’d ever known.
“So this is what being a mistress means,” she said with a contented sigh, her arms still flung over her head.
She smiled at him from her grassy bed, and he laughed. Then he kissed her, glad to have pleasured her so well.
They lay in silence for a minute and listened to the wind play through the trees. Then she reached to remove his breeches again.
“You’re a stubborn wench,” he said.
A moment later, she was clasping his length. “I want the same thing to happen to you,” she murmured.
“Are you sure?” He couldn’t believe how much he longed to make love to her.
“I’m quite sure,” she said.
Of course, a coupling was out of the question. But there were compensations for his restraint, nonetheless. Compensations in the form of an enthusiastic girl who seemed to care very much that he feel the same intense pleasure she’d felt a moment before.
When the inevitable approached, he rolled to the side so as not to muss her gown.
Afterward, they both lay on their backs again and stared at the sky.
“I don’t know what to say,” Molly said.
Harry turned his face to her. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I’ve thought of something.” Her smile was slow but real. “Can we do it again?”
Harry laughed. “No, you minx. We should probably get back to the house. We’ve several cantankerous couples to restore to good humor.”
She propped herself up on an elbow and looke
d down at him. “I’m going to remove the bureau in front of that dressing room that connects our two bedchambers. You can come in whenever you like.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But why?”
He pulled a lock of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Because it’s nearly impossible to stop progressing once you get started doing what we did today. And we can’t have you fully compromised, my girl. That leads to babies and”—he hesitated—“marriage.”
Her face fell. “You’re right.” She laced up her bodice, smoothed her skirt, and stood up.
“You understand that having a child out of wedlock would be disastrous for you, don’t you?” He clambered up and put his hands on her shoulders.
She wouldn’t look directly at him. “Of course. It means you’d have to marry me. And that’s an outcome to be avoided.”
She stood back from him, and suddenly, the air was thick with awkwardness.
The whole way home from the lake, the awkwardness didn’t leave them. Molly kept several paces ahead of him, walking steadily, never looking back.
Harry followed close behind, but he had no desire to speak, either. What could he say? They both knew that no matter what happened between them this week, they had no future together. Molly understood that. She was a willing partner in the dangerous pleasure game they were playing together.
So why did he feel so despicable?
Chapter 21
A lady should be able to conduct conversation anywhere, a voice in Molly’s head said.
A lady is not afraid.
Often Molly pretended she was hearing the voice of her mother, saying things she wished Lady Sutton really had told her. But obviously, her mother hadn’t. She’d died before she could give her daughter advice about life.
Which might explain why Molly usually made up things as she went along. She was at supper now with the rest of the company. Somehow, she’d muddled through this week.
It came to her then: a lady always muddles through.
There. Another homemade proverb to add to her repertoire.
“Wine,” Athena was saying in that sultry voice of hers, “is the summation of all that is…eternal.” She cast a mysterious glance around the table and smiled.
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