A Dare to Defy Novel

by Syrie James

  “Be careful, Miss Watson. An unleashed passion can be dangerous, as you have just proved.”

  His words hung in the air. He could see, in her eyes, that she was just as aware of their double meaning as he was. Her cheeks grew pink. She slowly withdrew her hand from his and took half a step back. “I had better try to rein in my passions, then.”

  Thomas slid one arm around her waist and drew her against him. “I would rather you did not.”

  He paused, holding her. Waiting. Giving her a moment to push him away.

  She did not. Her breasts and pelvis pressed against his body, instantly arousing him. Through the thin fabric of their clothing, he could feel her heart pounding just as rapidly as his own.

  Did she want this as much as he did? He felt her trembling, just as she had when they’d kissed in the library. What had happened to his firm resolutions about staying away from the serving staff, about keeping his hands to himself? He could not think about that now, not when they were alone in a moonlit hall, with her curvaceous body in perfect alignment with his.

  “I have thought of nothing but you, every day, since the moment we met,” he admitted huskily.

  With his free hand he reached up and cupped her face, then gently tilted her head back to give him better access to her lips. Just a few kisses, he told himself. It will be enough. Softly, he pressed his mouth to hers. It was the tiniest of touches. A sweet flutter. Once, twice, three times. Absolutely lovely.

  “You intoxicate me, Miss Watson.” And now you must stop.

  But he could not stop. As his lips connected with hers one more time, she moaned slightly. Her arms wound around him, as if trying to press him even closer. With that, all his reserve crumbled.

  Thomas crushed her against him. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, up and down the length of her throat, then back up to her mouth again. Her lips parted for him with a deep, jagged breath. He answered the invitation, sliding his tongue into her mouth. Time seemed to stand still as he kissed her. He could think of nothing else other than his heated need for this intimate connection. And oh, how she responded. At first she was tentative, as if her mouth and tongue were learning, exploring. And then she began to match him, fire with fire. Passion unleashed.

  He felt her rake one hand through his hair, while her other hand ran up and down his back. He stroked the side of her unfettered breast through her filmy gown, a curve so luscious it made him gasp with pleasure. Inching back ever so slightly, he slid his hand in between their bodies and cupped the roundness of her breast beneath his palm and fingers. He kneaded the soft globe gently, finding her nipple through the thin cotton and gently caressing it, an action which elicited another deep moan from her throat, and made him grow even harder with wanting.

  Breaking free of her lips, he bent to lay kisses across that same perfect breast, holding it in his hand and dragging his tongue across the nipple through the thin cotton, until the fabric was so wet it was transparent. Taking the nipple in his mouth, he suckled until the bud grew tight. She gasped aloud, and he heard her breath skittering as hard and fast as his own.

  Straightening, he returned to her mouth and kissed her and kissed her, drinking her in, feeling as if he could never get enough. He wanted more. So much more. His hand trailed down her body, found the inward curve of her waist, then slid lower, over her hip to massage her firm buttocks.

  Her breath was uneven now as he gripped a handful of the fabric in his fingers, and then slid lower and gripped some more. He lifted her nightdress up and up, anticipating the moment when he could slide his hand beneath the garment’s hem, and feel at last the softness of the naked flesh beneath.

  His fingers had nearly reached their goal when an unwanted sound infiltrated Thomas’s brain. Plod. Plod. Plod. What was that?

  Bloody hell. It was the sound of approaching footsteps. From the servants’ staircase.

  They let go of each other at the same instant and stepped back, both struggling to catch their breath. Miss Watson’s nightdress fell back into place as she crossed her arms over her chest, her face blooming bright red. As Thomas retied the belt of his dressing gown, rearranging the fabric to hide evidence of his arousal, he cursed whatever servant had chosen this inopportune moment to appear.

  Mrs. Mitchell reached the top of the stairs and entered the hallway, carrying a candle. Catching sight of them, she stopped short, confused. “My lord? I thought I heard Lillie cry out earlier. And then I heard voices.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Mitchell, but it is quite all right. Miss Watson saw to my sister, who is fast asleep. We were just discussing the matter of Lillie’s nightmares.”

  Mrs. Mitchell stared at them for a moment, then dipped a curtsy. “Very good, my lord. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Mitchell,” Thomas replied. Miss Watson said nothing.

  The housekeeper returned from whence she came. As her footsteps died away, a sense of cold reality seemed to fill the darkened corridor. What the hell was he doing? was the primary thought running through Thomas’s mind. Had he taken leave of his senses?

  He turned back to Miss Watson.

  She looked as rattled as he felt. “I should go now.”

  “Wait,” Thomas said urgently.

  She glanced up at him. In her heated gaze, he read confusion mingled with the aftermath of desire.

  “I do not know what this is between us,” Thomas began, “but . . .”

  “I’d say it’s pretty obvious what this is.”

  Her response was so direct and so unexpected, it caught him off-guard. A brief, uncomfortable laugh escaped him. “Perhaps, but . . . don’t you think some things are better left unsaid?”

  “Why?” Her cheeks were still stained red. “You’re the one who said wait, who seemed eager to talk.”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Before we take leave of each other, let us clarify where we stand.”

  “Okay. Where do we stand?”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “clearly, I am attracted to you. And unless I am misinterpreting your response, I sense that you are attracted to me as well.”

  “I think we can agree on that.”

  “But . . .”

  “But?”

  Did she truly not understand this? Did he have to spell it out for her? “It is an attraction that is neither right nor proper.”

  “Because I work for you?”

  “Yes, because you work for me!”

  She nodded stiffly. “Of course. You’re right.”

  “I took advantage of you, and I am sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I was a party to this as well.”

  “I fear I have put you in a difficult position. I would not blame you if you chose to quit your post. I hope you will not.”

  She looked him squarely in the eye. “I have no intention of quitting.”

  Relief spiraled through him. “I am glad to hear it.” He gave her a tight smile. “I hope this will not create any awkwardness between us. Going forward, I hope we can agree to meet in a more . . . professional capacity?”

  “Of course,” she said again, holding out her hand for a handshake. “My lord.”

  He took her hand and they shook on it. Without another word, she picked up her candlestick, relit it from his candle’s flame, then slipped past him and strode off down the hall.

  Alexandra climbed into bed, her mind spinning. It had all started out so innocently. First that heart-wrenching revelation about Lillie. Then she was just trying to talk to him about his sisters. And then . . .

  The first time they’d kissed, in the library, it had been thrilling. Alexandra now knew that kiss was just a tiny taste of the kind of pleasure that could arise from an intimate encounter between a man and a woman.

  This time, his kisses had been incendiary.

  Shivering beneath the quilts, Alexandra relived the pleasure of being in Longford’s arms. The fevered exchange of his lips on hers. His hands on her body. His mouth on her breasts. Dear God. A
s he’d kissed her and explored her with his touch and his tongue, he’d awakened unimagined sensations deep inside her belly, making her feel wet with inexplicable need in her most feminine of places. Even now, recalling the events in her mind gave rise to a sweet, unquenchable feeling of wanting.

  She hugged her pillow to her chest, remembering Longford’s words:

  I have thought of nothing but you, every day, since the moment we met. . . . You intoxicate me.

  She had felt the same. And he seemed just as unable to control his passions as she was. She’d felt the evidence of his desire when he’d pressed his body against hers. She might not know much about men, but she’d read enough risqué novels to know what that signified. The knowledge that she’d caused such a reaction in a man—in him—propelled her heart into a frenzied drumming.

  Thank goodness Mrs. Mitchell had showed up when she did. Otherwise, Alexandra didn’t know if she would have had the power to stop things from going further. The way things were proceeding, he might have ravished her right there, standing in the hallway.

  Which she knew would have ruined her.

  Did she want to be ruined? No, her reason told her, she didn’t. But another side of her, a passionate side she’d never recognized before now, piped up from somewhere unknown and deep inside her and cried yes yes yes, I want it. I want to feel, to live, to experience what it means to be a woman. She didn’t want that experience with just anyone. She wanted it with him.

  Such thoughts were scandalous, even wanton. But it didn’t matter, since they would never be acted upon. Thomas Carlyle, the seventh Earl of Longford, saw it as a cardinal rule to never have relations with a woman in his employ. She told herself that such deep principles were admirable. At the same time, she felt a nagging sense of loss. She was so much more than just a member of his staff.

  If only, she thought for the thousandth time, if only I could tell him: I’m an American woman of arguably equal status to yourself. But that felt impossible. And the longer she waited, the harder it would be to say the words.

  The morning dawned bright and blue. Alexandra rose blurry-eyed and splashed her face with cold water from the pitcher, bracing herself to meet the new day, determined to put the events of the previous night behind her.

  Going forward, I hope we can agree to meet in a more . . . professional capacity?

  Lord Longford’s word rang in her ears. Well then. Going forward, she’d keep her wayward thoughts to herself, remain cordial in his presence. She could do it. She knew she could.

  She opened the casement window and gazed out over the expanse of green that encompassed the Polperran House estate. It promised to be a beautiful day. She knew exactly what she wanted to do.

  As soon as breakfast was finished, Alexandra and the girls gathered up their new sketchbooks and pencils, and set out from the house.

  “What’s your favorite spot on the grounds?” Alexandra asked, relishing the bright warmth of the sun on her face as they strode across the back lawn.

  “The stables,” Julia replied.

  Alexandra laughed. “I was thinking of a more greenish sort of place, that would make a pretty picture.”

  “We could go to the fountain,” Lillie suggested. She was in good spirits. Whether she didn’t remember her episode from the night before, or simply didn’t wish to discuss it, Alexandra couldn’t determine, but she thought it best not to bring it up unless Lillie did.

  “The fountain is dried up and dead.” Julia made a face.

  Alexandra was mulling over other possible sketching sites, when the sound of an axe splitting wood rent the air. Whack. Whack. Whack. They soon came upon the woodshed. Alexandra stopped, riveted.

  The Earl of Longford was in the yard, chopping wood. He stood with his back to them, wearing an old pair of trousers and high black boots, and he was shirtless. Apparently unaware of their approach, he repeatedly raised the axe high above his head and smacked it down on the chopping block, splitting a succession of logs into smaller fragments with savage vehemence.

  The morning sun shone on skin that was lightly tanned, picking up the gleam of perspiration. Alexandra’s heart caught as she appreciated the splendid display of masculine flesh on view: his trim waist, the taut muscles of his back, the biceps and forearms that rippled and tightened with every heft of the axe.

  The girls paused beside her, unaffected by their brother’s half nakedness. Lillie was more interested in a tiny white flower she bent to pluck. “What kind of flower is this?” she asked Alexandra.

  “I don’t know.”

  Longford turned, noticing them now with surprise as he rested his axe on the chopping block and struggled to catch his breath. “That’s a wood sorrel.”

  “A wood sorrel,” Lillie repeated softly. “What a lovely name.”

  Longford darted Alexandra a nod in greeting. She dropped a quick curtsy.

  “Out for a morning stroll?” His voice was matter-of-fact, impersonal. No one would ever suspect they’d shared an intimate interlude only the night before.

  Well, Alexandra thought. He was a stronger person than she was. Or maybe he just cared less. “We’re looking for a pretty spot to do some sketching.”

  He wiped his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s a fine day for it.”

  “Is there any place in particular you can suggest?” Alexandra asked.

  He paused. “I can think of a few places.”

  “Will you show us?” Julia blurted.

  He gestured to the pile of logs waiting to be split. “Sorry, I am already engaged.”

  Alexandra frowned. Once again, he was choosing to avoid his sisters. “Surely chopping wood is John’s responsibility, not yours.”

  Longford met her gaze squarely across the expanse that divided them. “Perhaps I like chopping wood,” he answered emphatically, as if daring her to contradict him again.

  “Even so,” Alexandra replied calmly, “you could consider doing it later. Your sisters would so enjoy your company.”

  “Please?” Julia said. “I am grateful for the sketchbook, Thomas. But I should be even more grateful if you would come with us.”

  “And show us the best place to draw,” added Lillie.

  Longford paused, glancing at his sisters, then his eye caught Alexandra’s again. He let go a sigh, set down the axe, grabbed his shirt and waistcoat from where they lay nearby, and began to put them on. “Well, if all three of you are going to gang up on me, how can I say no?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Longford led the way down a series of paths that went deeper and deeper into the woods, in a direction Alexandra had never explored.

  As they walked, Alexandra smiled to herself, happy for his sisters’ sake that he’d agreed to embark on this outing. As for herself, she’d just keep her distance from him as best she could, both physically and emotionally.

  “Where are we going?” Julia asked, skipping to keep up with her brother’s brisk pace.

  “You shall see,” was his only reply.

  After they had walked for twenty minutes or so, the path wound down into a wide, sloping valley populated by beech and birch trees. Alexandra caught her breath, entranced by the beauty of the scene before them.

  The trees, whose trunks were green with moss, thrust their leafy branches overhead like welcoming arms. Sunlight filtered down through gaps in the canopy, admitting glimpses of the blue sky above, while bathing the woodland floor in golden beams of light. On a rise about a hundred feet distant stood a small, slightly crumbling, grayish-white structure that could only be described as a Grecian temple. A set of cut stone steps led up to its wide base, and four fluted columns held up a Doric pediment.

  The most magical aspect of the setting, however—the thing that was so glorious, it overrode everything else—was the abundance of vibrant wildflowers that covered the ground like a dense, bluish-purple carpet, the endless blooms nodding on tall green stems in every direction.

  “Bluebells!” Alexandra was me
smerized. The sight brought back vivid images of patches of similar flowers that she and her sisters used to come upon while wandering through the countryside. The sudden memory made her ache all over again for Madeleine and Kathryn, a longing she had to shake off with a firm, deep breath. She had Julia and Lillie, now; and she was beginning to love them almost like sisters. “They’re a deeper color than the bluebells that grow in New York,” she observed. “I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

  “It’s the season for them,” Longford commented.

  “It’s an enchanted bluebell forest!” Lillie beamed, dancing in a circle with her arms thrown wide.

  “I forgot this place was here,” Julia mused. She sat on a large tree stump and opened her sketchbook. “I’m going to draw the Grecian temple.”

  Longford hesitated, then asked: “May I sit with you?”

  Julia’s eyes grew wide with delight. “You may,” was her proper reply.

  He plunked down on the stump and watched in silence as Julia picked up her pencil and began to draw.

  Lillie announced that she wished to draw the bluebells. She sat cross-legged on the woodland floor before a section of vibrant blooms, and Alexandra settled beside her, offering a few words of instruction.

  For some time, the only sound that reached Alexandra’s ears was the soft scratching of pencils on paper, and Longford’s and Julia’s quiet voices from across the way. Julia asked questions, which he answered. Alexandra could see the delight on the young lady’s face as she eagerly listened, and drew. How wonderful, that he was sharing his knowledge with a sister who so dearly wished for the attention. Considering his current, self-professed aversion to all things art related, Alexandra knew it must cost him something to do this.

  After a while, Longford came over to see how Lillie was faring. Wanting to give him private time with his sister, Alexandra got up and found a fallen log some distance away, where she began a sketch of her own.

  Longford spent a good half hour helping Lillie with her sketch. As Alexandra watched, she could see that Lillie, although almost frozen with shyness at first, soon warmed up. After a while she was laughing and chatting as he gave her encouragement and feedback.