“Miss Seton.”
She started, then looked up at him, all attention.
“Miss Seton, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She stared at him in astonishment. “Y-your wife?”
“Yes. It is needful, is it not, so that your reputation will be salvaged?”
“No. No! I cannot force you to marry me because of a stupid carriage accident! Surely, someone will come soon.”
“It is over an hour, my dear, since the time you should have returned home. Your good name has been thoroughly, most definitely compromised.”
Miss Seton jumped up and paced the floor, the quilt dragging behind her. “Oh, this is stupid! Surely there must be another way out of this predicament.”
“I assure you, ma’am, there is no other way.”
“You can’t want to marry me!”
He smiled. “And how do you know that?”
She stopped her pacing and stared at him, suddenly, keenly. “Do you?” she said.
He moved toward her until he was but a hand’s length away. He put up his hand to cup her chin and stared for a long moment into her eyes.
“Yes,” he said and knew he did not lie, however much he knew he could not fulfill his wish.
Miss Seton was still for a moment, then a soft sigh escaped her. The quilt slid from her suddenly relaxed shoulders, and she shivered and hurriedly pulled it around her neck again, blushing.
Reluctantly, he moved away. He had come very close to kissing her. He did not want to seduce her yet, if for no other reason than he did not want to do exactly as Teufel bid—he would do this his own way, slowly.
“I … I need to think,” she said.
Richard shook his head. “No, Eveline, it is past time for thinking. You must admit it is the only answer if you are to retain any bit of respectability.”
She looked at him sharply. “I did not give you permission to use my name.”
He knew it was a ruse, a way for her not to give him an answer. He admired her for it; it showed a bit of pride, the way she tried to retain some semblance of control of their situation.
“True, you did not,” he replied. “My name, however, is Richard, and I will allow you to use it all you like.”
Her lips quivered upward, and a twinkle appeared in her eyes. “I suppose it is rather late for formalities, is it not?” She sighed. “You may call me Eveline, or Evie if you wish.”
“Eveline, then, until we become more accustomed to each other.” He looked away from her then, not able to meet her eyes. She was too perceptive, and if his plans were to work, he could not let her suspect one bit of insincerity. He heard her move away from him, and he watched her return to her footstool by the hearth, pulling her quilt close around her. Silence fell between them again.
The initial warmth he had felt upon removing his wet coat was gone now, though the fire on the grate was still burning strongly. His hands and feet felt numb with cold. His shirt was only slightly damp in places now, and his trousers were almost dry. He sat on a bench close to the fire, and yet he continued to feel colder. He shivered. Perhaps if he were to walk about a bit, he could retain a measure of warmth.
He rose and paced twice around the room, then went back to the cottage window and looked out of it. Rain poured furiously in sheetlike waves against the cottage walls, and thunder still roared in the distance. It was dark, and no one would venture out to look for them for some time. An angry fire burned in his chest, and he returned to walking a bit faster before the hearth. Teufel! Their accident had to have been Teufel’s doing. Well, he would not be forced into seducing Miss Seton before he was ready.
And yet, he could not deny the fact that it did not matter if he seduced her or not at this time; her reputation would be in tatters regardless of what he did to her. What did it matter, and who would know the difference then? He could seduce her now, and either way the tongues would tattle in Bath when they returned. His stomach clenched at the thought.
I would know the difference. She would, also. He grimaced. Good God, it was humiliating! He felt like a bull bought to service a farmer’s livestock.
Richard shivered more violently and rubbed his hands hard over his shoulders to warm both hands and arms. He wished there were a way out of this, a way he could claim his side of the bargain, and not ruin Miss Seton. But she was ruined already! Yet, he felt he could not seduce her—not now, at least. Later, another day—perhaps he would have another opportunity. He shook his head as if to shake the confused thoughts from his mind.
“My lord …”
He stopped his pacing and turned to see Miss Seton gazing at him uncertainly, a blush suffusing her cheeks.
“Richard, I am quite warm now, and I can see you are not any warmer than when you started. Perhaps …” Her face grew more red. “This quilt is quite large. Perhaps you would care to share it?” Her gaze fell to her hands clutched tightly together in her lap. “I understand our … our situation, how bad it is for both of us. It cannot be any worse than it is now. Certainly, it will be no worse if this quilt covered you as well. Lady Brookland has told me of your past illness; I could not feel comfortable if you were to become ill again because of my selfishness. You need not sit very close …” She looked up at him again, biting her lower lip, modesty and anxious concern clearly at war in her expression.
He stared at her, considering her invitation. From any other woman he’d know it to be an invitation to further intimacy, but with Miss Seton, abruptly, he felt unsure. All he knew was that he felt tired, his teeth chattered, and his fingers and feet were frozen. What difference did it make, indeed? He nodded curtly.
She opened the quilt, and he caught a glimpse of smooth shoulder and white shift before he moved to sit beside her. He stumbled a little as he sat and involuntarily grasped her arm.
“God heavens! Your hand—it is like ice!” she gasped.
He felt his hand taken and chafed between her own. He looked down at her, at the quilt tucked firmly under her chin. She caught his gaze and blushed, but went on with her rubbing.
“Let me have your other hand— Oh, dear, this one is just as cold. I cannot help thinking your illness must have affected you more than it appears. You seem to be healthy, my lord, but your constitution cannot be strong when your blood runs so cold!”
He did indeed feel warmer, now that he was covered with the quilt and sitting beside her. Her hands upon his seemed to radiate warmth. He smiled and closed his fingers over her hand and brought it to his lips.
“You are very kind, ma’am.”
Miss Seton gazed at him, her hands suddenly still. He had never been so close that he could see into her eyes. They reminded him of a meadow, of home, of shifting shades of green upon lake and grass on a summer’s day. They drew him in, and Richard raised his hand to touch her face. She turned her head slightly, so that her cheek fit into his palm, and closed her eyes. But now her lips trembled, tempting him with the possibility of kisses, and he smoothed his thumb gently across them. They moved, and he felt her breath, quick, upon the ball of his thumb. Then her eyes opened again, warm and full of light, and he was lost. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Her lips were sweet, as sweet as he thought they’d be whenever he had looked at her. She gasped, and he deepened his kiss. He’d been so cold—cold as winter, as a deep dark pit. But Miss Seton—Miss Eveline, Eveline, Evie—was warm and soft and he needed her. He moved his hand to her waist and drew her gently to him. She wore no corset, perhaps because of the earlier heat of the day; he could feel the dip of her waist through her shift, the rise of her ribs, her breasts’ fullness.
“Marry me, Eveline,” he murmured against her lips.
“I … no, this is not right … I cannot …” Her voice was breathless.
He did not know if she protested his proposal or his actions. He moved her so that she sat upon his lap, then slipped his hand inside her shift. She stiffened, and he kissed her again, softly, then firmly, the
n softly again. Her breath came more quickly, and she relaxed. Slowly, tentatively, her hands moved up his chest to his neck, exploring him.
Ah, God, she was sweet. Richard pulled her down to the rug, and the quilt tangled around them. The thought came to him that he was seducing her now, and it made him pull away briefly. No, he could not do this, not now. But he gazed into her eyes, heavy with passion and confusion, and he felt he must kiss away the confusion and make her feel a passion to match his. All the practiced techniques he had planned fled his mind, and he only wanted her to feel as he felt, touch as he touched. He wanted to give her pleasure, not as a trade for his own as he had done with other women, but for her own self and for him.
He moved his lips down her cheek to the long column of her neck. Her breath quickened, but no protest came from her. He pushed her shift from her shoulder and kissed the path he made. Her skin tasted of salt, and of woman.
“My lord …”
“Richard. My name is Richard. Say it,” he murmured against her skin. “Ah, you are beautiful.” He needed to be close to her, he was so cold and she warmed him, and he wanted to be in her, to be enveloped in the heat he knew was there. He moved to kiss her lips again and pulled her shift farther down.
“Richard … I don’t …”
“My God, Eveline, I have wanted you for so long. Tell me you will marry me.” He kissed her deeply and cupped her breast with one hand, stroking gently. “Please.”
“I … Oh, Richard!” Her voice was something between a gasp and a sob. “Oh, Richard, yes, yes!” And she pressed herself against him and kissed him with fierce passion, her lips imitating what his own had done just moments before.
Eveline did not resist him. She could not. From his first kiss she knew this, knew it was hopeless. She loved him, and he wanted her, wanted to marry her. She felt her heart was full of fire and light and a joy that spread throughout her whole self. Her mind conspired with her heart, and she told herself that it did not matter; she was ruined anyway, her reputation would be in shreds when she returned home. The supposition would be that she had given up her virtue, regardless of her actions. She would be unmarriageable to anyone else, for even what money her father could gather together for a dowry would not make up for her fallen state.
But he wanted her, wanted to marry her. He had said so with his words, and now his lips and his hands. It would not matter, no, nothing mattered but this, the heat and the joy.
His hands touched her face, her hair, her body, and it was fire, it was wind, it was deep water. She loved him, and she would seize what there was in his kisses and caresses, to hold to her heart when she became old someday.
She knew a moment of doubt when he moved away from her to gaze upon her breasts and watch his own hands moving upon her flesh. Eveline shivered with an odd chilled feeling. She had seen the misery behind his eyes when he first proposed, and though she could sense his sincerity when he said he wanted to marry her, she did not know if it were truly duty or love.
And yet, now he kissed and caressed and there was a fire in her body. Did her kisses inflame him as well? She did not know much about men, and she had had no opportunity to learn this side of them. Perhaps … perhaps he did care for her after all.
Tentatively, Eveline’s hand moved up to his neck as he kissed her. He smelled of damp hair and of lemons, and the faint taste of wine was in his kiss. She touched the nape of his neck hesitantly and felt the curls there, softer than she thought they’d be. Then, daringly, she moved her hand downward to his chest, beneath the open shirt. He let out a breath like a moan and caught her hand, but did not move it. He kissed her more passionately, moving down her throat. Eveline twisted her hand from his grasp and boldly pushed her fingers through the light mat of curling hair upon his chest. But Richard seized her hand again and laced his fingers with hers as he continued to kiss a trail that shimmered like trickling champagne on her body. She started to protest at the unfamiliar sensation, but her voice came out only as a sighing moan. It did not matter. Nothing mattered but this.
She felt him move a little above her, and his fingers played over her, raising her shift from below, up to her secret places. She clutched his shoulders, but he kissed her and she relaxed once again, closing her eyes.
Richard touched her again more intimately, moving slow and quick and slow again. Eveline tensed uncontrollably at the pleasurable ache that grew within her. She wanted … wanted something, something more than the pleasure his hand was giving her, and yet she did not want him to stop. She felt him move over her, spreading her legs widely, and something hard and warm rubbed back and forth over where his hand had touched her. She pushed her hips against him urgently and wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing and moaning at the hot intensity coursing through her.
Then he moved a little lower, and the hardness entered her body. A sharp pain made her open her eyes, and the breath she released was a whimper.
He kissed her again, tenderly. “I am sorry … sorry …” he murmured and moved back a little, touching her with his hand. “It will be better, I promise you …”
The pain eased, and she relaxed again. He did not move his body except to touch her where he was joined to her, and then, slowly, he pushed in. She ached, but it was a different sort of ache now, and as he moved in her the pain faded and became an urgent scintillation, just on the edge, the edge of—
A burst of fire and ice spread from where he moved within her, and her breath came from her in a long moan.
Richard heard it and felt the pulse within her. He could hold off no longer, and he kissed her full on the mouth, moving quickly, fervently. She cried out again, and he poured his life, his soul, his heart into her. “Eveline, Evie, love …”
He sank down upon her, then pulled her to her side, holding her close, kissing her eyes, her cheek, her lips. An odd feeling, secure and sure, came over him. He felt as if he had come home at last, something he had not felt before even though it was now four months since his return to England. “Beautiful, so beautiful …” he murmured against her throat.
He felt her hand caressing the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. She was smiling, but there were tears just at the corners of her eyes. Richard’s heart twisted with pain. He had hurt her, he knew, but he could not help himself, she was so warm and he had been so cold. He kissed her gently.
“I am sorry, my love, that I hurt you,” he said.
Then he realized what he said and knew it was true: He loved her. Ah, God, no.
“It … it is all right, Richard, truly. It does not ache much now.” She blushed and hid her face on his chest. “I did not mind it … afterward.” She raised her head again, smiled tremulously, and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “I love you.”
He held her close, pressing a kiss on the hair that curled on her forehead. He closed his eyes in despair. He loved her and now he had to leave her, and it was almost more than he could bear. My home, my estates, he told himself. Marianne. I must save them. But the words were ashes in his mouth, dry and bitter.
Chapter Nine
Sunlight stroked Eveline’s eyelids, and she opened them, momentarily disoriented. Her bedchamber did not have faded wallpaper, nor did it have a cracked mirror on one wall. Then a sigh beside her wakened her memories, and she blushed.
After their intimacies of the evening before, Richard had carried her to the cottage’s small bed and had lain with her there to sleep. But his caressing hands had wakened her in the night, and he had loved her again, less painfully and more joyfully than the first time. She remembered his eyes in the flickering firelight, full of light instead of shadows. He had called her “love,” murmured endearments in her ear, and kissed her tenderly, and she knew in her heart he truly loved her. He had asked again that she marry him, and she had said yes, and yes again.
Not wanting to disturb him, she turned carefully and gazed at his still sleeping face. The angled planes of his face softened in repose, and he looked you
nger than his years. She wanted to touch his face, but feared to wake him. Sunlight shifted over his face, and she contented herself with watching him and listening to the silence of the morning.
A slight snore issued from his lips, and Eveline giggled, putting her hand over her mouth to suppress it. With a jerk Richard opened his eyes. He saw her, then smiled.
“Good morning, Eveline.” Pressing a gentle kiss on her lips, he pulled her close to him.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling. He gazed at her intently; she wondered what he was thinking, but did not feel like asking. It was too comfortable in his arms, and she did not really want to disturb the moment. Eveline moved her fingers over his face, tracing the line of jaw and temple. He was a miracle to her, handsome and gentle, with a well-informed mind—and he loved her. Had he not said it, time and time again, as he kissed her and moved upon her last night? And they were to be married. Her heart swelled to bursting with joy and love for him. Practicality nagged at her mind again, however, and she sighed and pushed him gently from her.
“However, it is morning, my lord, and we must be on our way, I believe.”
“Call me by my name, and then kiss me again. Then, perhaps, I shall think of it.”
Eveline blushed. “Oh, heavens. Very well, then … Richard.” She pursed her lips.
He grinned. “None of that, my dear. You did not kiss that way earlier.” He ignored her further blushes and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and gently trailed his fingers over her breast. The tingling began again, and she sighed and relaxed. But once again a certain urgency pushed insistently at her mind for attention.
“Oh, Richard, please … I want … but I think we must go home and, oh, dear, what must Papa be thinking?” The thought banished the sensations that were beginning to course through her. Richard released her, and she sat up. “Oh, how selfish I have been!” Eveline pressed her hands to her cheeks and closed her eyes in shame. “I did not even think—Papa must be ill with worry for me, and I cannot have him upset. If only there had been a way to tell him I was safe! Please, we must go away from here as soon as possible.” She stood up off the bed and clutched the quilt to her chest.
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