A Dare to Defy Novel

by Syrie James

  “Couldn’t you pull a few strings, due to your title, to get your work shown?”

  “If I did—if that even worked—that would take away all meaning from the achievement. I only want to earn a place at the table, so to speak, due to the value of the art itself, not my rank.” He shrugged. “And now, even if I wished to do such a thing, it is impossible. If I went public as an artist, I could never sell a painting again. My one, surreptitious opportunity to earn income would go up in smoke.”

  Miss Watson blew out a frustrated breath. “Well, it’s too bad. Because you deserve to hang in exhibitions and to have your work seen.”

  “It pleases me that you think so.”

  “Thinking gets you nowhere. Action is required.”

  “I thank you for your interest and concern. But—” He put down his pencil, wiped his perspiring forehead with the back of his forearm. “It is so bloody hot. The only action I can contemplate at this moment is a long, cold drink.”

  “You can say that again.”

  He grinned, then reached into his satchel and removed the bottle he had brought.

  Her eyes widened. “Is that lemonade?”

  “I stole it from the icebox. I am afraid it is not cold anymore, and I neglected to bring glasses. But if you are not averse to drinking straight from the bottle—”

  “Please. I’m a Yankee. Drinking straight from the bottle runs in my blood.”

  Thomas laughed. He moved to sit down beside her on her blanket. Unstoppering the bottle, he handed it to her. As she took the bottle, her fingertips grazed his, sending a zinging sensation up the length of his arm that made him catch his breath. Their gazes met briefly. In her eyes, he read uncertainty, and a reflection of the burgeoning desire he was feeling.

  She held the bottle up to her lips, tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and took a long drink.

  He watched, his eyes riveted to her face. His heart began to beat double time. She was sitting just a few inches away. As she drank, a drop of liquid escaped from the bottle and trickled down her chin, then ran the length of her throat, before disappearing into the neckline of her gown. He wanted, with every fiber of his being, to reach out and trace the path of that errant moisture.

  But he knew he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. That’s all it would take: one touch, and he would be lost.

  “Ahh, delicious. Thank you.” Alexandra’s heart pounded like a drum as she opened her eyes and offered Longford the bottle.

  He took it, drank, then stoppered it and set it aside.

  He was no longer making eye contact with her. She could guess why. From the moment he’d sat beside her, the moment their hands had touched, she’d wanted nothing more than to fling the bottle aside and fold herself into his arms. She wanted it still. She sensed that he wanted it as well, but was too much of a gentleman to act on it. His sense of honor was holding him back.

  Honor? she thought fiercely. Was there any place for honor in this relationship?

  If she’d had any honor, she wouldn’t have taken this position in the first place, wouldn’t have hidden her real identity behind a lie. When he’d made that comment about honesty, Alexandra had wanted to die from shame. She’d been so tempted to tell him everything then and there, but he’d looked into her eyes with such openness and trust that she’d lost her nerve.

  No, it was too late to care about honor. But feelings were another thing.

  A deep, visceral sensation raced through her body and she acknowledged with sudden force what she had been unable to see until now: She loved this man.

  She loved him.

  She didn’t know the precise moment when the emotion had taken hold of her heart, only knew that it had. For the feeling to be this strong, she must have loved him for quite some time.

  Inching closer to him on the blanket, she rose up on her knees, placed her hands on his shoulders, and planted her lips firmly on his.

  She felt him stiffen briefly, sensed his surprise. But seconds later, he responded, his mouth moving against hers. Then his arms swept around her, and she tumbled into his lap.

  His mouth devoured hers. She pulled him closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest. He kissed her and kissed her, his lips moving back and forth across her own. She loved the way his small, soft mustache gently prickled against her mouth. Then his tongue parted her lips and found its way inside, colliding with exquisite intimacy against hers. The kiss was everything she’d been dreaming about, and more.

  Her hands roamed across his back. Every muscle and sinew beneath her fingers only made her hungry to feel more. His own hands wound up into her hair, caressing and smoothing it back from her face as the kiss continued, until she was so breathless she had to break off and gasp for air.

  He paused, too, inhaling great gulps into his lungs as their eyes met, the fevered need she saw there matching her own. She was still sitting on his lap, their arms wrapped around each other as they both struggled to catch their breath.

  He said nothing; nor did she. But she didn’t need words. They were communicating in another manner now. She could sense the way he felt and what he wanted, for she felt and wanted exactly the same.

  He cupped the back of her head with one hand and drew her face closer, until her mouth was just inches from his. With the gentlest of movements, he touched his lips to hers again. He kissed her once, twice, three times, then moved sideways to kiss her cheeks, up to kiss the bridge of her nose, her forehead, back to her lips again. Moving down to her neck, he peppered it with a series of delectably soft kisses that made her tremble, sending sparks like electricity shooting through her every vein.

  She heard him moan low in his throat, and suddenly he was rolling over with her clasped in his arms until she lay beneath him. His body covered her own as his mouth came down intensely on hers. Through the fabric of her gown and petticoat, she could feel a rigid shaft against her thigh, and knew it was evidence of his own fevered need. She returned his kisses with all the fervor that was in her heart, wanting him to know how she felt, that she wanted this, wanted him.

  His hand caressed her waist, then rose up to cover her breast. But too many layers of clothing separated his hand from her flesh. She wished her clothing to be gone, to be naked beneath him.

  Before she could further that thought, all of a sudden, to her extreme disappointment, he stopped. She could see the hard evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers as, with a groan, he rolled off of her onto his side and lay there unmoving.

  “We cannot,” he said, deep regret etched in those two simple words.

  What he did next took her by surprise. In a few swift movements, Longford yanked off his boots and stockings. Leaping to his feet, he strode to the edge of the pond, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Throwing his shirt onto the bank, he walked determinedly into the water, then dove beneath its depths.

  Alexandra sat up, catching her breath as she watched him swim away. We cannot. She sensed that it had taken all of his strength to break away from her. She understood why; her own body was aflame, and she wanted more.

  Alexandra stood.

  The future that lay before her was murky, but she knew one thing for certain: she loved him. She may never feel this way about a man again, might stay single for the rest of her life. But they were here together now. Alone. This moment might never come again. If anything more was going to happen, she was going to have to make it happen herself.

  She unhooked the bodice of her gown, took it off, and tossed it aside. Then she unfastened her skirt and stepped out of its folds.

  With each article of clothing she removed, Alexandra knew that she was playing with fire. Her knowledge of lovemaking was limited to the embraces she and Longford had shared. But she was ready and eager for its mysteries to be revealed to her, as long as it could be with him. And she was reasonably certain that if she walked into that water half naked, his resistance would crumble.

  A tiny voice in the back of her mind struggled to be heard, warning her t
hat there might be repercussions. Repercussions which could change the course of her entire life. But she forced the voice away.

  He was swimming away from her, unaware of her actions. She undid the hooks on the front of her corset and divested herself of it. Then she took off her petticoat. She was now down to nothing but her thin chemise and drawers. Despite the warmth of the sun on her bare arms and shoulders, she trembled, resisting the urge to cover herself. If she were going to do this, she had to give herself to it, body and soul.

  Holding her head high, Alexandra crossed the mossy bank and walked into the pond. Her toes contracted as they touched the soft, muddy bottom. The water at the edge of the pool felt as warm as a bath, but grew refreshingly cooler as she plunged forward.

  The water was just lapping at Alexandra’s thighs when Longford turned and caught sight of her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dear God.

  She was walking into the pond. And she was nearly naked.

  Thomas wanted to call out What are you doing? But the words stuck in his throat.

  He told himself that she just intended to swim. Overheated by their amorous encounter, she needed to cool off, as he did. But that did not account for the determined look in her eyes, or the fact that she was swimming straight toward him.

  He touched bottom, his shoulders just above the surface of the water. Moments later, she was there, wrapping her arms around him, her face just inches from his. He was still desperately aroused, but felt himself grow harder yet as her breasts and slippery body came into contact with his.

  “We should not . . .” he began, placing his hands on her upper arms, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away.

  “I want to,” she whispered. “Don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he admitted, his voice so low, it was practically inaudible to his own ears. “But . . .”

  In answer, she pressed her lips ever so softly against his.

  Thomas almost lost control at that. But he steeled himself as he gripped her arms and broke off the kiss. “I do not think you understand what you are asking for.” Swallowing hard, he looked directly into her blue eyes. “Have you ever . . . ?”

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “But I want this. I want it. With you.” She kissed him again. Harder this time.

  He could resist no further. He gave in to her lips, returning her kiss with all the passion he’d been restraining. His tongue plunged into her mouth. He slid his arms around her, pressing her to him.

  With one hand he stroked the length of her back, then cupped her firm derriere. As if by instinct, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist until he could feel, through their wet clothing beneath the water, the apex of her femininity pressed up against his rigid shaft. He heard her breath catch in surprise, as if the contact had evoked some unexpected sensation. He held her there, pressing her tightly against him, as his other hand roved over her back, then up between them to capture one of her breasts in his palm.

  He massaged her breast as he deepened the kiss, their wet slippery bodies moving against each other. All that separated his hand from her flesh was a thin layer of drenched cotton, yet even that was too much. He wanted to feel her naked flesh, wanted no barrier between them.

  Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the pool, up onto the mossy bank, to the tree beneath which her blanket was spread. Kneeling down, he set her gently on the quilt. Her chemise and drawers were so wet, they were transparent. He could see her rosy areolas and pink nipples poking through the fabric, as well as the dark triangle between her legs, a sight which made his breath come hard and fast.

  He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. But he had to be careful. He would not, he promised himself, take this beyond a certain point. Grabbing hold of the hem of her chemise, he said, “I want to see you. All of you.” She raised her arms, helping him as he pulled the sodden garment over her head.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, gazing at her bare breasts. “You are so beautiful.”

  She untied the string at the waist of her drawers, and he quickly peeled them down the length of her legs, until she lay completely naked to his view. His trousers were the only barrier between them that remained, but he didn’t dare remove them. He stretched out beside her, rolling her into his embrace again until they were no longer two bodies but one, with mouths, arms, and legs firmly entangled.

  His hands and lips were everywhere. Touching. Massaging. Caressing. It was all Alexandra could do not to cry out from the pleasure of it. His mouth nuzzled her breasts, first one, then the other, licking and sucking at her nipples, sending little electric shocks zinging throughout her body.

  Her heart pounded. Her breath became ragged. She thought nothing could feel more wonderful. And then . . .

  Then his hand found its way to her most intimate place. With his fingers, he began doing things to her there that she had never imagined, things that made her gasp with shock and pleasure and an undefined yearning that burned deep beneath her belly. Expertly, he manipulated the flesh of her feminine folds, paying special attention to a spot she hadn’t known existed, a nub that was so sensitive, it seemed to leap to life and vibrate against his touch.

  “Oh,” she cried. She couldn’t say more, for with every pressure of his fingers, she felt a storm of intense pleasure rising deep within her feminine core. She panted as the feeling built and built, every muscle in that region seeming to tighten as if seeking some kind of inexplicable release, until the feeling became everything there was.

  She cried out again as it suddenly overtook her, as if her body was exploding into a million fragments of pleasure and light.

  Slowly, slowly, she came back to herself. Through a groggy haze, she saw him smiling down at her, a kind of satisfaction in his eyes. But when he rolled on top of her again, and his mouth once more came down possessively on hers, she was reminded that he had not yet been satisfied. She could still feel the evidence of his need, a shaft of steel pressed against that part of her which had just been awakened to heavenly bliss.

  Breaking their kiss, she gripped the waistband of his trousers and said quietly: “Take these off.”

  Thomas paused. He was painfully erect, aching for completion, cradled against the very cove of her femininity. Every impulse urged him to remove the final barrier that separated them, to free himself and plunge into her again and again, to relieve the sweet, desperate tension that had been building inside him for weeks.

  Instead, he took a long, deep breath and shook his head, touching his forehead to hers. “I do not dare.”

  Her blue eyes widened with confusion. “But how else can we . . .”

  He silenced her with another, brief kiss. “My darling, I know my limits. I am only trying to protect you.”

  “But . . .”

  “Trust me when I say that we have taken this as far as we can go. Any further, and I could no longer restrain myself. If I were to even . . .” He broke off, then shook his head. “The consequences could be too serious. I do not want to ruin you.”

  Her face clouded with disappointment and guilt. “A single coupling does not always end in . . .” She did not finish the statement.

  “But it can. Therefore, it is too great a risk.”

  “But what about you?”

  “I gained my pleasure in giving you pleasure. That is all the gratification I can, or will, allow myself.” He reached up to smooth her wet hair back from her face. “You are so lovely, Lexie.” It was the first and only time he had allowed himself to call her by her given name. It sounded strange yet wonderful on his lips, and seemed to startle her, as well. He kissed her again. “So lovely.”

  Lexie. He’d called her Lexie.

  Hearing that name, spoken with such affection for the first time in so many months, by a man she adored, caused Alexandra’s eyes to fill with tears.

  Longford said it would be best if they returned to the house separately. Alexandr
a nodded, although the suggestion brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She wasn’t at all ashamed of what they’d done, but understood why it was important to him that they keep it a secret.

  They dressed and gathered their belongings. She left first, her hair dripping and her heart pounding as she made her way through the gardens to the house. Making love with Longford had been glorious, thrilling, electrifying. Under the tender ministrations of his hands and mouth, her entire body had felt as though it were on fire. He’d brought her to a point of explosive pleasure that had surpassed anything she’d ever conjured in her wildest imagination.

  Now that her own physical needs had been satisfied and she could think coherently again, she realized that she’d behaved very recklessly. If things had progressed any further, she might well have conceived a child. She was grateful that he’d had the presence of mind to exercise such restraint.

  At the same time, Alexandra sensed that in stopping when they had, they’d missed out on the most important part of the act. That as intimate as the experience had been, an essential connection had not been made. And she felt guilty that he’d been left wanting.

  The evening passed in oppressive solitude. Dinner was brought up, and Alexandra ate alone.

  She paced back and forth in the nursery, her thoughts turning to the days ahead. She had to work here seven more weeks to earn the money for her passage home. She wondered what would happen when the girls returned from their holiday. Would Longford continue to invite them all to dine with him occasionally? Or, now that they’d broken his rule and made love, would he find it too uncomfortable to be around her? She hated to think that those evenings with him which had brought her so much pleasure might be at an end, all because she had insisted on taking things . . . where she’d taken them.

  A sleepless night ensued, in which Alexandra mentally examined the events that had brought her to this moment. From the day she’d escaped her awful fate in London, she’d been increasingly drawn to the man who’d rescued her, even when she’d believed him to be a poverty-stricken artist. Since coming to Cornwall, she’d gotten to know him intimately. And she’d fallen in love with him.