It doesn’t really surprise me to hear that the major didn’t want you...The words came back to haunt her with a cruel, taunting ring.
She shrugged off her dress, her single hooped petticoat and pantalets, leaving only a damp shimmy clinging to her skin as she quickly reached for the blanket, which she gathered about her shoulders. She turned, her troubled eyes following Drayton across the room, watching as he lifted a full decanter of brandy from his bureau and filled a small glass. He took a long swallow.
Venting a pensive sigh, Drayton tossed a glance at her over his shoulder. He needed a good stiff drink. Several, actually. But there was only the brandy here, to ward off the chill. At least it did that much. He half filled a second glass, which he offered to Ambrosia. He purposely ignored the pleading, bewildered look in her eyes as she accepted it, abruptly turning his back and retracing his steps to the bureau.
Ambrosia blinked painfully as she took a long sip of the brandy, gazing forlornly at the thick amber liquid as the warmth slid into her mouth and down her throat. Has there ever been a man who wanted you? The words began to echo loudly in her head again, even as the fire in the brandy warmed her blood and made her feel lightheaded. Has there ever been a man...? Ambrosia cringed and covered her ears as the voice became louder and louder. Has there ever been a man...?
Ambrosia opened her eyes slowly and drew a hesitant breath. The voices grew softer and finally subsided. She straightened with effort and stared at Drayton’s broad back. Once, not so very long ago, he had looked at her so differently, with a strange kind of hunger that might have negated Melissa’s words. She took a sip of brandy and tried to think clearly. Perhaps she had only imagined such a look. She knew so very little of men, of desire. Perhaps Melissa was right in everything she said. And Ledger, in calling her a foolish child. It was at this last thought that Ambrosia felt her throat sting with fresh tears. She stared at her brandy through a blur of moisture, then quickly drained the glass and set it aside. She hesitated, but only long enough to draw on the courage the strong draught offered her. She drew a deep breath. “Drayton...?” Her voice was weak, tentative.
He whirled to face her, struggling hard to keep from choking on his brandy. She had never called him by his first name before. Her eyes were averted, but she looked extremely fetching dressed in little more than a thin blanket, her long, black hair falling in shiny waves about her shoulders, a smooth length of slender leg plainly visible where the blanket gaped open. He stared at her with careful scrutiny. She met his eyes and he somehow managed to mask his surprise as he lifted an inquiring brow. Her bottom lip began to tremble as she faced away from him to stare at her empty glass. “Have you...have you ever desired me?”
For a long moment he wondered if he was going completely mad. She was far too lovely standing there in the firelight, like a seductive gypsy maiden, the flickers of red and gold on her flawless skin, like something he had conjured up in his dreams. It was a vision that could easily drive a man to madness. He finished off his brandy and swiftly refilled his glass, never taking his gaze from her. Her large green eyes lifted to question his continued silence. No. He had heard correctly. If anyone was going mad, it was certainly not he. He walked slowly toward her, swirling his brandy pensively as he tried to guess at her mood, tried to imagine what kind of game she wished to play. Her breath quickened at his nearness and nearly stopped as he reached out to tuck a long, black lock behind her ear. His fingers lingered there in a light caress. “Have you ever desired me?” he parried.
His voice held a velvet softness which yielded her a precious hint of the assurance she sought, but not nearly what she had hoped. She swallowed hard, feeling that somehow a trap was closing neatly about her, that she would be caught no matter which way she turned. “I-I have been curious,” she admitted in a strained whisper. She eyed Drayton’s nearly full glass and instinctively reached for it, her bravado wearing thin. She took a single large gulp and returned it to him without raising her eyes, missing his smile as he raised the glass to his own lips and drained it in a single swallow. Curious, was she? He intended to find out in short order just how curious she was.
He leaned very close to her, setting his empty glass on the desk beside hers, his hand lightly, but intentionally brushing her breast. He heard her sudden intake of breath but she made no move to flee, no move to fight him. For whatever reason, he determined, she seemed quite curious enough.
“Ambrosia?” His voice was soft, caressing.
She could not look at him. The skin at the back of her neck began to tingle. He put a forefinger beneath her chin and lifted her face. She closed her eyes. His parted lips lowered to hers with warm familiarity, unhurried, experienced in their movement. She trembled. The tenderness of his kiss faded swiftly as his passion grew. His tongue probed lightly at first, then ever deeper into her mouth. While she clutched tightly at the blanket, her free hand groped hesitantly for his chest. She swayed toward him. His head lifted slowly and he searched her face. There was something very different from curiosity in her response. Something deeper, something stronger. “Ambrosia?”
She reluctantly met his eyes. For what seemed like a long time, he tried to deny what he saw there, the sadness, the desperation, the fear. But it was too poignant, too haunting, almost like the look of someone about to surrender his last bit of life to death. It was a look that had nothing to do with curiosity...or desire.
“Tell me what happened tonight,” he prodded gently. “What were you running from?”
She stiffened, her eyes suddenly hard and impenetrable. She turned away from him, and only his firm grasp on her forearms prevented her from fleeing. “Ambrosia-”
“No!” She twisted and pulled in a valiant effort to be free. But he jerked her tightly against his chest, jarring the breath from her lungs as her bosom pressed hard against him. Realizing she could not hope to escape him, her struggles came to an abrupt end. She closed her eyes and blinked at the tears which had again begun to fill her eyes.
Drayton heaved a weary sigh and gradually loosened his hold on her, placing a hand to either side of her face and gently brushing the tears with his thumbs. He kissed her then, with such tenderness and care that she unconsciously responded, her mouth warm and pliant beneath his. For a time he fought the urge to do what came naturally to him. He knew somehow that it was wrong. But he had waited too long for this, he wanted her too badly. Her hand trembled as the palm perched lightly against his robe and her lips parted slightly, until he even felt the tip of her tongue against his. The kiss deepened, the cool, sweet taste of her filled his mouth.
Tiny tremors of pleasure rushed down Ambrosia’s limbs, and she sighed at the comforting dizziness which had silenced completely the taunting voices in her head. She tensed as his hand moved to break her fingers’ tight hold on the blanket and allowed it to slip silently to the floor. He ran his fingertips lightly over her breasts, taking her breath away as he idly traced the worn ribbon and mended lace edge of her shimmy, tugging gently at the tiny bow until it fell free. She would have drawn away, but suddenly he was kissing her again, demanding more of her this time, his tongue thrusting urgently against hers until she acquiesced.
He murmured her name as his lips slid along the slim column of her throat, and again as he pressed a lingering kiss to the rise of silken flesh that strained against her loosened shimmy. With a half groan of frustration, his thumbs hooked beneath the straps and drew it from her shoulders, leaving her bosom fully exposed to his gaze. “You’re beautiful, Ambrosia,” he whispered as his mouth trailed downward. “You’re everything a man could desire...”
Ambrosia felt hot color shoot through her cheeks as she tried to cross her arms over her naked breasts. She had never expected him to touch her like this, to look at her with such undisguised hunger in his eyes. She was breathing hard and shaking, caught between the strange, sweet warmth she felt whenever she met his eyes and an instinctive need to defend her modesty. She was
totally unprepared for what was happening to her, and the queer little shivers that raced everywhere in her body made her feel weak with confusion. Surely this was not what Melissa had meant by desire. Surely no gentleman ever dared to stare at a woman’s nakedness, or touch her as Drayton was touching her now, and surely no proper woman would allow herself to take pleasure in anything like this. And yet Ambrosia did feel pleasure and reassurance along with fear-a terrible fear-of the power he held over her, of the control she was losing to his experienced seduction. She bit her lip hard to stop the cry that rose in her throat when he nudged her hands firmly aside and began to kiss her breasts. His mouth slid over the satin skin, his tongue circling, making deliberate suckling pulls at the nipples which throbbed in a response Ambrosia could not stop. His hands moved over the silken curve of her spine, pulling the chemise below her hips until it slipped silently to the floor. She gave a tiny cry of protest, but he stopped it with a hard, demanding kiss, a kiss that considerably lessened what remained of her resistance.
What seemed an eternity later his mouth softened and lifted. Ambrosia twisted her head and weakly tried to pry his hands from her back in a single last effort to stop what was happening. She felt so lost, so confused, so helpless, that she could not resist when his arms about her tightened, molding her softness perfectly to his strength, until she was aware of every inch of him, from his hard muscled thighs to his burning blue eyes.
“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, “I need so to take you...” His mouth was pressing intimately to her throat, her breasts, and she felt herself yielding to the gentle pleading in his voice. How could she hope to fight against what she brought upon herself, especially when she could no longer control even her own feelings?
Sensing her surrender, Drayton swiftly discarded his robe and lifted her into his arms, carrying her across the room, easing her onto the bed. Ambrosia closed her eyes tightly against whatever was to happen and struggled to place her mind safely in another time and place. A garden...so long ago...Ledger with his blond hair blowing about his beautiful, youthful face...
Ambrosia gasped as Drayton parted her thighs and was between them, touching, caressing, searching, slowly, urgently, making her tense, making her body quake until she forced herself to leave those feelings behind, to think instead of Ledger’s smile, so handsome, so confident...She bit her lip hard and turned away from Drayton’s kiss, willing away the reality of him above her, probing, touching, making it so very hard for her to remember the gentle kiss Ledger had pressed to her palm, the tiny violet that he-
An intense, almost electric flash of pain was so sudden and so unexpected that she cried aloud, all images in her memory blurring and fading away. She bit her lip until she tasted blood and fought to remain still and silent, though she could hardly breathe. She understood pain. She almost welcomed it. It made the other feelings, the strange feelings of yearning, recede, and put her in control again.
“Ambrosia?” Drayton’s voice was low and strained. “Ambrosia, are you all right?”
Ambrosia opened her eyes. He was searching her face anxiously and his fingers were smoothing a damp tendril of her hair from her cheek. She nodded slowly, wondering if it were over, wondering if he were satisfied. His eyes were soft as he gazed down at her, as he began to drop feather-light kisses all about her face until she felt her body quivering again with that same mixture of warmth and fear, in spite of the pain she still felt, in spite of the discomfort. He covered her mouth with a hungry, pleading pressure that caused her to arch her back in an instinctive struggle to be free, to stop the cruel invasion of the most intimate part of her body. But when she moved against him, his breath caught sharply and something within him seemed to snap. His shaft thrust deeper and ever deeper inside her, again and again and again, until he groaned in near agony and shuddered, then fell motionless and spent against her. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief. It was over.
A few moments passed before Drayton rolled onto his back and reached to gather her against him, drawing a blanket over them both. It was a long while before she felt comfortable lying close to him, after what he had just done. She was very aware of the hard swell of his chest, the crisp mat of hair beneath her hand, the slowing rhythm of his heart, the quieting whisper of his breath.
Drayton’s eyes were troubled as he ran his fingers along the length of her arm, pausing to knead thoughtfully at the lovely curve of her bare shoulder. He knew he had not given her pleasure, knew he had not even possessed her in a way that meant anything, though he had been her first man. The knowledge made him feel empty and helpless, though the fault had not been his. He uptilted her chin to look into her eyes. The fear was gone, and the desperation. The indifference and the despair remained. He sighed and let his hand trace wistfully along the smooth line of her cheek, over her chin, her full, soft mouth. A frown flitted across her brow. He knew that his touch troubled her, that she would rather he left her alone. But he had no intention of letting her alone.
“What were you running from tonight?” he ventured softly, slowly.
Ambrosia’s frown disappeared. Her expression became closed, distant.
Drayton sighed softly. “How long have you been in love with him?”
She lifted her head from his chest and frowned at him as if she didn’t understand.
He drew a long breath and held her eyes. “Ledger. How long have you been in love with him?”
Her face paled at the mention of his name. With a sudden lurch she tried to break away from Drayton’s hold, but he anticipated her move. His fingers gripped tightly at her shoulders and pinioned her easily behind him. He loosened his hold only some moments later when she stilled, turning her face away and blinking in vain against the moisture that filled her eyes. Her voice was barely audible when she finally managed to speak. “How? How did you know?”
He did not answer until she turned her eyes to question him. “You called out his name as I took you.”
She swallowed hard and looked away again in humiliation. She was silent for a long time. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He sighed and rolled over on his back again, drawing her into his arms. She wondered fleetingly why he showed no anger. Surely her mistake had wounded his pride.
“How long have you been in love with him?”
Ambrosia fixed her eyes on the steady rise and fall of his chest, finding the movement somehow comforting. “Forever,” she admitted softly.
“He was your first love, then?” She did not answer that; she did not need to. “First loves always last forever,” he told her quietly. He gave a reluctant smile. “The pain lasts almost that long too. But after a while, you learn to live with it.”
The green eyes that rose hesitantly to study his face were openly skeptical. His smile deepened, a warm smile. “Is it so difficult to believe that I was in love once?” She lowered her eyes, considering.
“It doesn’t help to run away from it,” he went on after a moment, when she did not speak. “I suppose it’s because you really can’t run from yourself, no matter how far you go, or how hard you try.”
She lifted her head. “Did you run away?”
His gaze was even and totally honest. “Yes.”
“From what?”
His smile faded slowly, and for the first time since she’d known him he pointedly avoided her eyes. All the same she saw the sadness in them and heard it in his voice. “From the memories...from all that I wanted and knew I could never have...” He paused. “I lost everything when she died.”
Ambrosia watched as dozens of emotions crossed his face at once, watched pain and vulnerability rise clearly in the eyes that had always been strong and resolute. There was something in his face, his eyes, his voice that reminded her of that first night, of the man who had worked so hard to save the wounded soldiers at Heritage. The memory made her reach instinctively for his hand, made her lace her small, white fingers care
fully between his lean, tanned ones as she lay her head against him.
The gesture brought Drayton back to the present, and he looked down at her with a renewed longing for what might have been. She felt his gaze and lifted her eyes to meet it. He pressed a kiss to her hand, holding her eyes even as he lowered his mouth to meet her lips. His mouth lingered, his tongue gently played. When he met her eyes again, they were watchful, wary, perhaps even distrustful. But they were no longer sullen, no longer distant.
With deliberate slowness his mouth descended a second time, and the tenderness in his kiss became something stronger, something warmer and more intimate. Ambrosia’s hand slipped unconsciously about his neck and pulled at the soft curling ends of his hair. His tongue probed inquiringly, then assertively into her mouth, lighting a tiny spark of warmth in some secret place within her, a spark that burned bright and hot as a part of her began to let go. A thousand feelings burst forth in a single splendid moment as he held her tightly and claimed total possession of her mouth, as she felt some unexplainable force eating away at a part of her, a part she had never surrendered to anyone, a part she wanted very much to protect. She tensed and struggled to regroup her defenses, but Drayton’s hand was already moving to her breasts, gently touching, exploring, arousing, until the rose-tipped crests throbbed and hardened, aching for the feel of his mouth. With a cry of surrender, she grasped at his hair and drew him closer, wanting him to touch her, wanting to feel his body hard against hers. She was capitulating to a force she did not understand. And yet her spirit knew nothing of defeat at this moment; it felt strong and triumphant, even as she admitted to a need that was stronger than anything she had ever felt before. Hot tremors of longing flashed down her spine, and a fire seemed to be flickering everywhere inside her. Once, as a child, when she had nearly fallen from the top of a very high tree, she had known a similar dangerous elation as she swung uncertainly between the safety of her hold and serious injury. Now, as she opened herself to his most intimate touch, as she arched to allow him entry into the moist warmth of her body, something far in the back of her mind warned her that she was letting go to grasp for something every bit as dangerous. Yet she ached to relieve the tension that coiled tighter and tighter inside her, with each of his urgent thrusts. The pleasure was building, wave upon wave, until it exploded in a shower of heat and light. She let out a joyous cry of relief and elation as she clung to him, feeling his similar shuddering fulfillment within her and knowing fully now what it meant.
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