by Louise Allen
‘You do not, Lady Maude?’ he enquired, his voice grating on her title.
‘We are both grown up, we can make our own choices.’ Desire, that is what he had said. But not love. Did he not love her yet, or not recognise that he loved her?
‘Damn it.’ Eden turned abruptly away, went to stand with his back to her, one hand on the mantelshelf. ‘You know this is something we cannot choose to act upon.’
‘Because you would leave me before one night was out?’ she asked softly.
‘Because I would not want to leave you at all,’ Eden replied, still staring down into the cold hearth. ‘It is novelty, that is all it is. It has to be. You are a beautiful woman, a virgin I have come to know as I know no others. I tell myself that of course I want you, and that of course I must not touch you.’
‘Because I am a virgin or because of who I am?’ If only he would turn around so that she could see his face. But perhaps it was easier to speak calmly, frankly, to his unresponsive back. Whatever she did, she must not blurt out her true feelings for him or he would be gone.
‘The former overrides everything else,’ he said drily.
Maude bit her lip, wondering what to say, what to do, to reach him. ‘I find I am not so attached to my virgin state as I once was,’ she said carefully.
That brought him round to face her, at least. But he kept the width of the hearth between them. ‘And what if you found yourself with child? Just another inconvenient bastard?’
‘If we were so careless, then I suppose I would marry you. A child deserves to be loved by both its parents,’ Maude said, calmly, her eyes on his face.
His face stark, Eden took a step back. So, that answered that, the thought of marriage produced a physical response of rejection. Feeling slightly queasy, Maude waited to see what he would say.
‘You are so tired of your family and your friends that you wish to exile yourself from polite society?’ he enquired, one dark brow lifted.
‘That was not a proposal,’ Maude retorted, stiffening her spine. ‘It was an observation upon a theoretical situation.’ From somewhere she found a smile. ‘Why did you bring me here if you do not want to be tempted, Eden?’
‘Because when I am with you, my rational processes of thought appear to be in as much of a fog as shrouds this house.’ He turned his back again. ‘I’m a danger to you and to my own peace of mind.’
The bitterness reached somewhere deep inside her. She had been certain that she should not take that first step towards him, should let him come to her, but she could not bear it.
‘How could you be a danger to me, Eden?’ It only took two steps past a side table to be close enough to touch him. ‘You are my friend, you would not hurt me.’ She lifted one hand and laid it lightly on his back. At her touch the long muscles went taut and she heard the sharp indrawing of his breath.
Eden turned, so fast that she could not step away, so close that she had to tip her head back to look up into his face, but he did not touch her.
‘You are such an innocent. If I make love to you, Maude, you will most certainly be hurt.’
‘I am not such an innocent that I do not know what would happen and that, yes, it does hurt the first time.’ And very frightening that sounded.
‘That is not what I meant,’ he said gently. ‘I would hurt you here—’ he lifted one hand and brushed her temple ‘…and here.’ For a fleeting moment his palm rested over her heart.
‘Life hurts.’ Maude caught Eden’s hand in hers and held it a fraction of an inch above the bodice of her gown. He could have pulled free easily, but he left it, passive in her grip. ‘Regrets hurt. My mother said to me once that the things she regretted were the things she did not do, not those that she did.’
And then, just when she thought she could not bear the suspense a second longer, he kissed her. It was not like either of the times he had kissed her before, she realised, dazed, hardly able to comprehend that it really was happening. Now it was neither an angry assault, nor a fleetingly gentle caress. He was intent, it seemed, upon reducing her to utter and complete collapse and she sensed he would devote however much time was necessary to the task.
Maude tried to keep some hold on reality. Eden had one hand firmly in the small of her back, the other, still held in hers, crushed between them. He seemed to be utterly focused upon what he was doing, carried away by his own desires. There was a faint thread of common sense that was observing what was going on and attempting to communicate rationally with her. It was doubtful, it commented, that he was as completely at the mercy of his senses as he seemed. Certainly he was not as adrift as she was.
Maude gave her commonsense a firm push away. This was not the time for it. This was the time to strengthen Eden’s desire for her and show him that she wanted him with at least as much fervour.
Maude made herself relax, allowed herself to feel, gave her instincts permission to do just as they pleased and discovered, too late, that they did not need any encouragement whatsoever from her. If she had any illusions that she was in control, of either herself, or of Eden, she was swiftly disabused of them.
Eden’s mouth was an instrument of the most subtle form of torture. Should kissing be like this? It was at once soft, sensual, gentle and yet demanding and hot. His mouth was both hard and sensitive. His lips slid slowly over the seam of hers, his tongue flickering out to nudge, insistently, at the join until she opened to him with a little gasp. There was nothing tentative about the invasion of her mouth—the firm, mobile moist heat of his tongue filled her, probing, licking, teasing. Thrusting.
It was overwhelming that one small piece of flesh and muscle could dominate her, demand, orchestrate her body’s response so she began to sway against him in the rhythm of the thrusts. He was thinking about driving into her body, possessing her fully, she realised that. This intimate joining of mouths was simply a metaphor for that total possession.
Jessica and Bel had tried to warn her about this, and she had refused to listen. This was more than kissing—her whole body was reacting, changing. Her breasts ached and throbbed, heavier, fuller, the nipples fretting against the crisp lace trimming, throbbing with a pain that was almost totally pleasure. Deep in her belly, low where her thighs joined, the ache became a pulse, a demanding drum beat. Maude made a little inarticulate sound against Eden’s mouth and he lifted his head to look down into her face.
In the candlelight his pupils seemed wide and dark, his face hawk-like, even more beautiful, fine-honed with concentration. ‘Maude,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘Maude.’ He buried his face in her neck, his tongue, then his teeth, fretting at the shivering, sensitive skin as he followed the line down, down to her collarbone, tracing the dip with the very tip of his tongue while she sobbed with the building tension.
She needed something, something that would come from this, but she did not know what, did not know how to find it. Did not understand. But he did. ‘Eden,’ she whispered, her lips against the silky thickness of his hair as he bent lower, found the swell of her breasts, found the low edge of the bodice and ran his tongue under it, touching the straining, hard peak of her right nipple. ‘Eden, please…’
Maude clutched his shoulders, shaking, adrift, feeling only the heat and the strength of him. She was leaning back against the table and there was cooler air on her legs. His hand was slipping up under her skirts, stroking up the length of her legs to the mound between her thighs. He cupped it and it felt so right. There was no shame in his touch, only the need to arch against him, seek the point of twisting, aching tension and make it stop, somehow…
He took her mouth again, just as one finger slid through the damp tangle of curls and found the hard knot at the centre of her torment. His tongue thrust, the teasing pressure intensified and everything fell apart into darkness and light and blissful pleasure.
‘Maude?’
She stirred, her body limp and heavy and at peace again. ‘Eden?’
‘I’m here, I’ve got you.’ He was holding he
r on his lap, sitting on one of the sofas that flanked the fireplace. He lay back against its support, cradling her, and the softness she could feel under her cheek was the linen of his shirt, the solid rhythm, his heartbeat. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She supposed she was. That she would be…eventually. She felt wonderful and strange and very shy. Maude snuggled closer. Eden smelt different. His skin was saltier. There was a faint, intoxicating sensation of musk in the air. Arousal, she realised. Hers, his. Theirs. And his had not been satisfied.
‘Eden? What about you? Tell me what to do.’
‘No.’ She felt the shake of his head. ‘We’re in enough trouble as it is. We are going to sit here while you collect yourself and then I am going to sit over there until I collect myself, and then we are going back into the ballroom.’
Maude rubbed her cheek, cat-like, against his lapel. ‘I did not know about that, about what just happened.’
‘I realise that,’ he said grimly. Eden’s body was not relaxed now, holding her. And his voice was no longer tender. Maude felt him shift his grip, felt the exciting bunch and flex of thigh muscles under her and then he stood with an ease that should have surprised her, yet seemed quite natural. This was Eden after all. He could do anything.
Anything but fall easily in love with her, it seemed. He set her down on the sofa and went to take the one opposite. Even in candlelight Maude could see just how aroused he was. To her shame he saw where she was looking.
‘These evening breeches are not designed for concealment,’ he observed, sitting and crossing his legs. ‘Let us sit and discuss unpleasant things for a while.’
The haze of satisfied desire was fading rapidly, leaving Maude staring at reality. ‘No doubt you can think of several,’ she managed to say.
Too soon, the voice in her head whispered. Too soon. That had been desire, pure carnal lust. Not love. Was it even, on his part, much to do with affection either? And she had melted at his touch, all her careful, foolish, strategy in ruins. I had no idea, Maude’s thoughts whispered. None.
Her friends had cautioned her, and in her innocence she had failed to understand. Thinking she could manage a man with the sensual experience and the lack of social constraints of Eden Hurst was like thinking she could ride a wild horse bareback. And now she had fallen. And he had made love to her and remained in control. She had laid her desires open and he had sated them and murmured not one word of affection as he did so. And he had been right—in the morning, when she could think clearly, she knew this was going to hurt a great deal.
Maude clenched her hands together. What had she said to Bel? I have enough breeding for both of us. She was Lady Maude Templeton, daughter of the Earl of Pangbourne, and she never, ever, ran away from anything or anyone.
Eden drew in the same deep, calming breaths he used before stepping out on to the stage or dealing with a difficult negotiation, then he conjured up the face of the Earl of Pangbourne and imagined his expression if he discovered that his daughter had been making love with Eden Hurst. That was a start, enough to chill anyone’s ardour. If he needed anything else, he could remember that he was the bastard son of a disgraced Ravenhurst and had nothing at all to offer her, certainly none of the things that she deserved.
The trouble was, whenever he looked across at Maude, whenever he drew breath and caught the scent of warm, aroused woman, lust grabbed him again with hot claws.
Why couldn’t he resist her? He could resist any other woman on the planet. It was merely sex, he tried to tell himself, an appetite to be controlled just as one would control hunger or anger. But somehow, with Maude, it was mysteriously more.
‘That will not happen again,’ he said, deliberately harsh, wanting to see her flinch, wanting to repel her.
‘No. I can imagine it was very unsatisfactory for you,’ she said softly. ‘But thank you for being so careful.’
‘It was far from unsatisfactory,’ he said, charmed into truthfulness. She should be weeping, or having the vapours, or throwing the china at him in reaction by now, not being sweet and understanding and—and Maude. ‘It was beautiful to hold you in my arms and to see your pleasure, a privilege that you trusted me.’
That sweet, dazed bliss, the knowledge that he had given her that, overwhelmed the desire simply to take her, thrust into her body, find his own release. It was working now, he could feel the brute nagging lust subside into something that was a warm, regretful glow.
‘I think we should go back now, have some supper before we are missed.’
Maude nodded and got to her feet, grabbing at the arm of the chair. ‘Oh my, my legs are so shaky!’
Eden reached for her, then snatched his hand back. Better not to touch her, not while they were alone like this. He saw the look of comprehension on her face and winced inwardly. He should have been strong for both of them, but even now, he could not truthfully tell himself he was sorry.
‘If you go first,’ he said, unlocking both doors, ‘and then take the door on the right in the corridor, that opens up into one of the retiring rooms. I’ll go out of the door we left by.’ He snuffed out the candles as she left with a terse nod. ‘Wait for me by the door to the supper room.’
Alone, he stood trying not to think and then found his right hand was pressed to the centre of his chest as if to soothe the pain there. But why was he in pain? Why did he feel as though he had just lost something?
Chapter Sixteen
‘Maude? What has happened?’ It was Jessica, right behind her. ‘Where have you been?’
‘What do you mean?’ Maude retorted, too flustered to be anything but defensive. ‘I’m hungry, that’s all.’
‘You and Mr Hurst vanished over half an hour ago,’ Jessica said. ‘And you look…different. Have you—? No. No, I refuse to believe that even that man would do such a thing in the middle of a ball.’
‘What do you mean, even that man?’ Maude managed to keep her voice down to a furious hiss with difficulty.
‘The man’s a notorious rake,’ Jessica hissed back. ‘But I never believed he’d debauch a virgin. I should have spoken to your father. I am never going to forgive myself if I find he has—’
‘Well, he hasn’t. Unfortunately,’ Maude snapped, perilously close to tears all of a sudden. ‘I had been going to talk to you, ask your advice, but now, I never want to speak of it again to you.’
‘Of all the naïve, headstrong, romantic idiots.’ Jessica shook her head in disbelief. ‘How you—’
‘Maude, are you all right?’ It was Eden, tall and broad and here, just when she needed him.
‘No, I am not all right,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘I would like a glass of champagne, please. And I want to sit down somewhere where I will not be nagged at by hypocritical friends,’ she added in a fierce undertone to Jessica. ‘I was there when you came back from Gareth’s bed at eight in the morning in your evening gown—remember?’
She had never once exchanged a cross word with Jessica and now, here they were, hissing at each other like the start of a cat fight. Unable to bear the expression of shock on her friend’s face, Maude whirled round and walked into the supper room.
‘Sit.’ Eden had found a table. ‘Wait there and do not pick any more quarrels until I get back.’
Maude sat, feeling dizzy with reaction and trying to look as though she was having a wonderful time and the only concern she had in the world was what delicacies her partner was going to bring her.
‘Here.’ Eden put a filled plate in front of her and sat down. ‘Eat.’
‘I can’t. I want some champagne.’
‘Eat,’ he repeated, filling his own glass and leaving hers empty.
Maude forked something up and chewed it with dogged determination. ‘I’ve quarrelled with Jessica,’ she said, sick at heart.
‘You’ll make it up,’ Eden said. ‘Please eat some more, you’ve gone white and it is worrying me.’
A spark of humour surfaced. The poor man was obviously used to dealing w
ith Madame Marguerite’s spectacular tantrums, but pale-faced female misery was outside his experience. ‘I don’t expect this is the usual result of one of your interludes with a lady, is it?’
‘No,’ he confessed. ‘But everything to do with you is unusual, Maude.’ She smiled at his serious face. ‘What are we going to do about this?’ he asked. She had the feeling the question was to himself, as much as to her.
‘Nothing?’ she ventured. ‘See what happens?’
‘Maude.’ He leaned closer under cover of pouring her some wine. ‘We are having trouble keeping our hands off each other. It does not take much imagination to see what will happen next if things carry on as they have been.’
‘We will not meet unchaperoned,’ Maude said. ‘Then things will calm down again.’ From the quizzical lift of his eyebrow she could see that she was not convincing him of that. ‘There will be so much work for the theatrical entertainment that we will not have time to think of anything else.’
Eden shook his head, but made no further comment. In silence they ate, sipped their wine and, and, Maude thought sadly, were alone with their thoughts.
‘Lady Maude?’ She looked up, startled to realise where she was, and found herself looking at the enquiring face of Mr Hethersett, her hostess’s elder son. ‘We have the next set, but if you are still engaged…’
‘No, I have quite finished. Thank you so much, Mr Hurst.’ He was on his feet, assisting her with her chair, putting himself between her and her new partner to give her precious seconds to collect herself. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered again. There was still the last dance to come.
Mr Hethersett, a ponderous young man, was hardly the liveliest of partners for a vigorous country dance. Maude had to concentrate on her footwork, so much so that it was not until she was facing her and had to join hands for a round, that she realised that Jessica was dancing too.
Their eyes met, Jessica’s distressed and hurt, before the dance separated them. Maude stumbled over her partner’s tardily withdrawn foot and continued down the line, blankly miserable not to have the support of the one friend she had always thought would be with her, come what may. Would Jessica really go to Papa? Somehow that was less important than quarrelling with a dear friend.