Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  Cashé innocently rubbed her body against his. “I want something that is just mine...something I will never have to share with anyone else.”

  Marcus took her mouth again, bringing his hand from her waist to brush against the underside of her breasts. He ran his knuckles back and forth, caressing the lower swell of her ample endowments. He drank deeply of her lips and enjoyed how she clawed at his shoulders. Finally, he palmed her left breast and massaged it gently, lifting it to the edge of her gown’s neckline. Cashé moaned, and Marcus sent his finger across her nipple, budding the hard tip with his touch. “You are so beautiful,” he rasped, his lips returning immediately to hers. He thought he might explode with desire.

  “Marcus.” Cashé pushed further into his palm. “I cannot bear it.”

  He smiled at her smoke-filled eyes. “There is so much more, Sweetheart.” He slid his fingers along the lace opening, touching her nipple. He knew from holding her that she wore no corset, evidently dressing quickly to meet him. Nothing would keep her from his gaze if he dared to lower the dress. “Darling...let me see you,” he begged. “I will not hurt you...you must trust me, Ma Chère.” Marcus lightly squeezed the nipple between his fingertips.

  She did not answer, but Cashé lay out across his arm, inviting his attention. Marcus shifted her weight and then maneuvered the material off her shoulder; he lowered the dress’s front to expose her breast as he untied the ribbon of her chemise. He heard his own gulp for air, but he reached for the glorious globe. He had never seen someone lovelier. Marcus squeezed the nipple again, noting how Cashé’s hips undulated to a primitive rhythm. “Breathtaking,” he murmured as he leaned across her to run his tongue around the nub. Then he sucked lightly.

  Cashé understood what he had asked of her, but she had wanted this. She had wanted a man who would love only her, and although she realized on some plane that the earl was worldly, she did not believe he would steal her innocence and then walk away. If nothing else, she recognized him to be an honorable man. His breath caressed her exposed breast, and she held a twinge of guilt, but then he said she was breathtaking, and Cashé knew she had made the correct choice. She relaxed into his manipulations, allowing her body to feel something she had never expected. To be able to give herself to this man would prove the smartest thing she had ever done.

  He continued to circle the dark tip with his tongue feeling the smoothness of her skin with the rough texture of his mouth. Such an arousing contradiction! He realized he was close to taking her like some doxy in a stable, and it took everything in him to withdraw. When he raised his head, Marcus gently restored her clothing as he kissed her neck. “Cashé,” he groaned, “if we stay here... “

  She opened her eyes and flushed in embarrassment. She looked terrified. “What...what must you think of me, my Lord.” She turned her head from his gaze.

  Yet, Marcus would have none of it. “Look at me, Cashé.” He waited until she obliged. “What I think of you, Ma Chère, is nothing as you imagine. You are obstinate and head strong, but you are also thoughtful and tender and passionate.” Her eyes grew in amazement. “I have never met a woman who angered me more or one I have wanted more. You are a conundrum, and I will spend my life learning your many secrets.”

  Cashé’s eyes misted with tears. “You have feeling for me!”

  Marcus chuckled. “Believe me, Sweetheart, if I did not care for you, I would not have stopped. You deserve better than a smelly stable for your first time.”

  Cashé innocently asked, “Where?”

  Marcus kissed her cheek. “Darling, please do not set me thinking of where I might wish to make love to you.” She was the most puzzling woman he had ever met. One moment she spouted strict Biblical interpretations and the next she pondered where they might take pleasure in each other’s bodies. Needless to say, Cashé Aldridge had much to learn about life before this could go any further.

  He stood and set her on the ground before him. Marcus cupped her chin. “You need to return to the house before someone realizes you are missing. The servants are up, and others will soon follow.”

  Cashé went on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “My gift, Your Lordship?” she teased.

  Marcus ran his fingers through his hair. “I do not know what would please you.” He tried to think of something in his bag to offer her.

  “Something you would never give another,” she insisted.

  Then Marcus knew what it should be. He released her hand and strode to where Khan still stood. Fishing in his saddlebag, he found exactly for what he searched. Cupping it in his palm, he dropped a yellowed piece of lace in her open hand.

  Cashé looked on in dismay. “It is lace, my Lord.” Her eyebrow rose in question. “I never thought you as the type who kept lace in his bag.” She suspected it belonged to his mother or his grandmother.

  “I carried it with me through all the years I was away from Berwick. It has survived battles and the worst of conditions.”

  Cashé smiled brightly. “Then I shall cherish it until we meet again. Was it your mother’s?” She delicately folded the scrap of material.

  “No, it was Maggie’s”

  Cashé saw the pain flit across his face. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Who is Maggie?”

  His Adam’s apple worked hard, but Marcus managed to say, “Maggie...Margaret Wellston...my twin.”

  He said no more, but she realized now why he had understood her better than anyone else and why she had required his approval above all others. Cashé walked into his arms; there she remained in a silent embrace until they heard voices in the stable yard. “Farewell, Lord Yardley.” She touched his face with her fingertips and then turned quickly toward the rear door.

  Marcus automatically caught Khan’s bridle, but he watched the sway of her hips before she had disappeared from sight. He had walked the animal outside to mount. He needed to draw attention away from her return to the house.

  The head groomsman spotted him. “Is something ill, Your Lordship?”

  “No,” he said jovially. “I just seem to be a bit distracted this morning.” Marcus accepted the man’s boost into the saddle. “When you speak to Lord Worthing, tell him I appreciated his hospitality.”

  “I will see to it, Lord Yardley.”

  Spotting the pale blue of her dress crossing in the direction of the lower gardens, Marcus turned Khan twice in a circle to keep the men’s attentions. Then he rode away–his heart folded neatly in the palm of her hand–all his love wrapped in a small fragment of lace.

  Cashé had not had time to think about what had happened with Wellston in the Kerrington stables. She had rushed from his embrace to the privacy of her room, clutching the lace he had placed in her hand–a piece from his twin sister Maggie. She had known he had had a brother for whom he cared, and she had known His Lordship’s parents no longer lived, but he had never mentioned a twin. Even when she had disclosed Satiné’s existence, Lord Yardley had said nothing. What was it that so devastated the man that he had clung to a scrap of lace? And why had he shared it with her? Yes, they had shared an intimacy that she never expected from any man. Yet, when he had handed her the lace, Lord Yardley had touched her soul, not just her body.

  Returning to her room, Cashé had stripped away her gown and had returned to bed. Pulling the blanket around her, she had buried her head into the pillow and looked at the lace as it lay beside her on the bed linens. She placed her hand over it and closed her eyes to imagine that he rested beside her–holding tightly to her hand. Cashé never felt so much love. She kept telling herself that the earl truly cared for her, or he would not share his token.

  Later, she had analyze how he had touched her–how her breasts swelled just thinking of him–how a heated dampness appeared in her most private place. When His Lordship’s mouth suckled her, fireworks, like those she had witnessed at Vauxhall Gardens, exploded before her eyes. She had wanted him to do more–to touch her in other places. Uncle Samuel would think her a pure wanton; he would denou
nce her actions–would call her the most vile names–would force her to confess to the entire congregation and do a very public penitence. Yet, Cashé accepted the fact that if Lord Yardley walked through her chamber door, she would welcome him to her bed. “What has happened to you?” she asked herself, but the only answer was a piece of lace–her connection to the Earl of Berwick.

  “I need to discover more of Maggie,” she said aloud as she tried to calm her nerves and return to sleep. “Lord Yardley’s relationship to his twin would tell her how she fit into the man’s life. If he agreed to share his demons, then she would need to be prepared to help him.

  Marcus’s body still strummed with life an hour after he had ridden away from Kerrington’s stable. He would never be able to look at that building again without seeing Cashé’s form stretched across his lap. Just the thought of it brought another rush of blood to his groin. How he managed to withdraw, he still could not explain. Marcus wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman. Unfortunately, he recognized that once would not be enough. He would never sate his need for her–even if he had her every night for the rest of his life.

  “You gave her Maggie’s lace,” he chastised his actions aloud, but despite the words, Marcus felt no regret at having done so. He had never expected that something would feel so right. He had cut the lace from the hem of the dress in which they had buried Maggie. At the time, Myles had criticized the impulsive act, but Marcus’s mother had told her second son to allow Marcus his grief. And that lace had been with him every day since Maggie’s funeral–every day, until today. Today, he had entrusted it to Cashé Aldridge. Would the girl understand how the delicate yellow threads were his connection to his sister? Would Cashé treasure it as he did?

  *

  “What do ye mean? She be gone?” Lachlan Charters demanded. He had shoved Samuel Aldridge against the drawing room’s wall.

  Aldridge attempted to smile and to loosen the man’s grip from his neck. “Not...not gone,” he croaked, lodging his fingers around his attacker’s and sucking in air. The viscount pulled at his cravat and straightened his waistcoat as Charters took a backward step. “Cashémere is visiting her sister and her maternal uncle. That is all.”

  “I be hearin’ that ye allowed the older one to marry her English duke. I thought ye be against their joining.” Charters fisted and unfisted his hands in a constant threat.

  Aldridge smiled purposely as he edged away from the wall. “My niece had her heart set on being a duchess. Plus, the connection is a good one for my family.” Averette spoke with a false bravado. “I escorted Velvet to Derby, where she and Thornhill chose to speak their vows before family and friends. Thornhill’s sister is with child, and the future earl would not permit his wife to travel.” He turned the truth to his own devices.

  “And ye be leavin’ Miss Cashémere behind?” The big man circled the desk to threaten Averette again. “The girl belongs to me. I paid ye, Averette. Paid ye a tidy sum to be making the girl me wife. What if Cashémere be choosin’ that fancy viscount she be keepin’ company while in England? That would be makin’ me most unhappy.”

  “I assure you, Charters, that my niece will have nothing to do with Viscount Lexford. She is a good girl and knows the punishment for going against my moral lessons. In fact, I expect Cashé to convert others to our ways.” Averette actually believed much of this speech. He had no doubt about his influence on his ward. “It is best to give Cashémere some freedom before she weds. She will make you a better subject then.” Averette poured himself a glass of claret and took a sip.

  “Then we be lettin’ the girl taste her freedom with the baron and her younger sister, but I warn ye, Averette, that I give the girl three months. After that, I be not responsible for what happens. I mean to have Cashémere or me money–you must decide.” Charters stormed from the room, leaving the door rattling in his wake.

  Aldridge sank into his chair before taking a deep drink of his wine. He had made it a habit to drink only in the privacy of his home. “There must be a way without Morton’s interference,” he murmured. “I must find an ally to bring Cashé home.”

  *

  “What do you think of Viscount Lexford?” Cashé asked as she shared tea with her twin in one of Linton Park’s smaller drawing rooms. Lord Yardley had departed eight hours prior. Cashé knew how long he had been gone because her eyes involuntarily traveled to the ormolu clock on the mantel. They had done so repeatedly since her early morning farewell. Predictably, the baron had announced that they would retire to Chesterfield Manor tomorrow, and Cashé anxiously had put her plan to rid herself of Aidan Kimbolt’s attentions in place.

  Satiné looked up suspiciously. “Does it matter what I think of the gentleman? He seems to find you irresistible. The question might be more appropriate if directed to you. What is your opinion of Viscount Lexford?”

  Cashé did not respond immediately. She had concocted a plan of which she had hoped her sister might partake. Since becoming aware of her growing need for Lord Yardley’s approval, Cashé had carefully observed Satiné’s interactions with both Yardley and Lexford, and she had thought Satiné held a preference for one and not the other. Cashé elongated the pause as part of her scheme. “I suppose the viscount will call often at Chesterfield Manor.”

  “It is very close to Lexington Arms,” her sister noted.

  “The viscount is very handsome.”

  Cashé watched closely for her sister’s reaction and found it satisfying to hear Satiné stifle the sigh that slipped from her lips. “Indubitably–he is extremely attractive.”

  Again, Cashé waited, increasing her sister’s interest. “As is the earl.”

  Satiné smiled obligingly. “Yes, the earl is a striking man.”

  Cashé’s voice automatically softened to a breathy whisper. “Dark penetrating eyes–strong aristocratic nose–ruggedly handsome face–wide shoulders.”

  Thankfully, Satiné had taken the bait. Both her tone and her stare betrayed her puzzlement. “I had not noticed His Lordship’s eyes.” She stammered, “I mean…I have looked at his eyes, but never found depth there.”

  “Lord Yardley’s eyes speak of his soul,” Cashé protested. “When he is angry or when he is pleased or when he is frustrated.” Images of the earl’s eyes dazed with desire sprang to her mind, and Cashé felt her breasts swell in response.

  Satiné leaned forward, pressing her own opinions. “But they cannot compete with the viscount’s coffee brown ones–nor does his appearance–the way Lexford’s sandy blonde hair falls over his forehead, teasingly blocking his vision, as if he is looking at you through a screen.”

  Cashé stared at Satiné, totally contented with how her sister had disclosed what Cashé had secretly observed. She spoke the truth when she admitted, “I find his constant battle with his hair a bit distracting.”

  Satiné smiled privately. “Really? I find it quite endearing.”

  They sat in quiet companionship for a few brief moments, each considering the man she affected. Cashé broke the silence, “May we speak honestly?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Although we are sisters of the same blood, we have not known each other. Uncle Samuel demanded a different type of obedience from what Uncle Charles did. We are the same, but we are different.” She recognized the moment that Satiné understood and acknowledged the truth of Cashé’s thoughts with a tilt of her head. Encouraged, Cashé continued, “I have had a longer acquaintance with Viscount Lexford, and I find him quite agreeable company, but he does not stir my soul.”

  “And the earl does?” Satiné’s countenance held a bit of mischief.

  Cashé’s turmoil–the feelings exploding every time she thought of Marcus Wellston–rolled on. What the Averettes had taught her was in stark contrast to what she had felt when the earl came near her. “I often despise the man, and I am likewise certain he cannot tolerate me, but I admit I cannot remove my eyes from him.” She turned to her sister. “I acknowledge needing Lord Yardley�
��s approval, and I believe you feel the same about the viscount.”

  Satiné bit back a laugh. “I might.”

  “Then what shall we do about it? How do we convince Lexford and Yardley that they affect the wrong twin?” Cashé realized Yardley would require less persuasion than the viscount. She moved to sit beside Satiné.

  “Can they tell us apart?” Satiné began, hatching her own plan. “Mama and Papa never could. When anyone first meets us, he searches our countenances for the differences, but finds none.” They both paused in contemplation of the possibilities. “The differences, at the moment, lie in our experiences. I suppose I could become a bit more outspoken and you a bit more conservative.”

  Cashé caught her sister’s hand. “We could teach each other about our respective lives.”

  “That means total honesty between us,” Satiné cautioned. “Are you prepared to do so, Cashémere?”

  Cashé answered quickly. “I suspect the differences are quite striking. You may be more astonished than I. Although I am curious about some of the lessons you have already mastered in preparation for your Come Out.” Satiné nodded her head in agreement, but Cashé noticed her sister’s raised brow, indicating that she might change her mind. “We shall see neither man,” Cashé continued quickly, trying to squash any qualms Satiné held, “for some time once we return to Uncle Charles’s estate. We could teach each other–become different women, sharing a common experience. If Lord Yardley wishes more of your ladylike softness, Cashé will adopt those qualities.”

  “And if Viscount Lexford prefers Cashé’s obstinacy, I can learn to be more like Cashé,” Satiné insisted.

  “Then we are in accord?”

  Satiné spontaneously hugged her. “We have more than concurrence; we have a compact for love.”

  “With a touch of Cashémere.”

  “And one of Satiné.”

  Cashé giggled, “I was considering how we might begin. I thought we should start with discussion sessions and then look at our clothing choices, before, finally, executing the occasional switch on Uncle Charles or the servants. Eventually, we shall fool Lord Lexford.”