It Happened One Season

by Stephanie Laurens

  “But there are other sorts of injuries,” Lillian said. “I understand that head injuries, for example, can cause more than physical harm.”

  “You think he might have been struck on the head and lost his senses?” When Lillian blushed, Philippa felt a surge of anger. Is this what people thought of him? That he was no longer completely sane? “And I suppose being seen to court a cripple further encourages the idea that he is not quite right in the head?”

  “Oh no, Philippa, I did not mean—”

  “Dear God, Lillian, I hope you will put any such notion right out of your mind. It’s rubbish, I tell you. He is as sane as you or I. Captain Reynolds fought in one of the worst battles ever, and many more before that one. Can you even begin to imagine what he saw and did? Having to kill or be killed. Watching his men blown to bits, and friends fall under enemy fire. Did you hear they ran out of carts to carry away the dead? That bodies lay on the field for days before they could all be recovered? How would you feel if you’d had to live through that? None of us would be quite the same, would we?”

  “I … I hadn’t thought of that. It’s just that most other soldiers—”

  “—strut about like cocks of the walk, inviting glory and adulation. To be honest, Lillian, I suspect all of them are changed from the war, deep inside themselves. They would have to be, wouldn’t they? Most of them cover it up well, at least in public. I think Captain Reynolds finds it more difficult than others to ignore the change in himself. Or perhaps he saw worse carnage than most, I don’t know. But just because he is more obviously changed than other soldiers does not mean he is insane. You must not judge him for having strong feelings.”

  Lillian placed her hand over Philippa’s. “Oh, my dear friend. You are in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Philippa felt her cheeks flame, and looked away. “I am very fond of him, Lillian, and I admire him a great deal. Best of all, he never treats me as an invalid.”

  “Ah.” Lillian smiled. “Then of course you are in love with him.”

  Philippa squeezed her friend’s hand. “I think, Lillian, that meeting Captain Reynolds quite by chance behind a potted orange tree may be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

  Lillian gave her a fond smile, tinged with the merest hint of trepidation. “I hope you are proved right, my dear. And I swear, if he makes you unhappy, soldier or no soldier, he will have me to deal with.”

  Chapter Five

  Damn. Your mother was right.”

  Nat looked at the dark clouds gathering overhead. When he’d announced he was taking Philippa for another walk—because it was the only way they seemed to be able to spend time alone together—Lady Reynolds had muttered something about rain, but she had stopped fighting him. He suspected she would be happy if Philippa caught a chill or was injured simply so she could say, “I told you so.” But she had been right this time. It was most definitely going to rain. And very soon.

  “We’ll be drenched when we return,” he said, “and your mother will gloat.”

  “She probably will. Oh dear, I felt a few drops already. We’d better hurry.”

  Nat took her firmly by the arm. He didn’t mind if they got wet, but the last thing he wanted was for Philippa to lose her balance on the wet path.

  “It is times like this,” she said in an amused voice, “that I wish I could run. Is there perhaps a large tree we could take shelter under?”

  “There is something better than that. We could reach the folly on the east garden if we hurry. I know a short cut.”

  “Let’s go!”

  She set a faster pace than he would have liked, but he kept her as steady as possible. Damn, she was amazing. No, she was not graceful, but she certainly had more strength and energy than many believed. Such a woman should never be coddled like an invalid.

  The next turn in the path brought the domed and pillared folly into view. It was a circular Palladian building known as the Temple of the Muses. Corinthian columns supported a gadrooned roof from which the dome rose in bronze splendor. On the outer wall of the structure was a series of nine niches, each filled with a life-sized statue of one of the Muses.

  Nat guided Philippa up the short stairway into the entrance, set between the niches of Melpomene and Polyhymnia. Once inside, they shook out their coats and hats and laughed at the folly that had brought them to a folly.

  “Oh, it is lovely,” Philippa said as she looked around the circular room.

  The walls and floors were set in patterns of varied colors of marble. Cushioned benches lined the walls, and glass roundels were set above them to bring in light, when there was sunshine. There was none today.

  “This little folly has often been used for small parties,” Nat said. “Our mother used to set out tables around the central pit, and have dinner served in here.”

  Philippa pointed to the circular pit in the center of the room, lined with darkened brick. “This is a fire pit?”

  “Yes. And see.” He pointed upward. “There is a chimney opening in the center of the dome. My grandfather, the old earl, thought the place was too cold and had the pit built. There is a storage closet over here. Let me see if the gardeners still keep dry wood inside. Ah, well done. A good supply. Shall I build us a fire to keep warm?”

  “Yes, thank you. Whoever thought we would need a fire in June?”

  Nat built up a roaring good fire and they warmed their hands on it. He found some of his mother’s collapsible chairs in another closet, and set them near the fire. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over a chair.

  “Give me your pelisse, Philippa. I’ll hang it here to dry.”

  He helped her out of the coat and hung it beside his own. When he turned back toward her, he saw that the thin white muslin of her dress was damp from the rain and clinging to her every curve. His groin sprang to life at the sight.

  Philippa was small in stature and her frame, though more slender than plump, was nicely rounded. In all the right places. How on earth was he to resist her?

  And was there any reason why he should? They were to be married, after all.

  “Your dress is wet,” he said. “Should we take it off and let it dry before the fire?”

  She looked down at her dress and must have realized what was revealed, because her face and neck flushed pink. “You want me to take it off?” Her voice trembled.

  “Only if you want to.”

  “I think I do, but I’m a bit frightened. I know what will happen.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so. Not from any firsthand experience, of course.”

  Nat smiled at her attempt to cover her anxiety with humor. “Philippa, my dear girl, nothing will ever happen between us that you do not want. I promise you. Will you let me kiss you?”

  She opened her arms, and he stepped into them. He did not kiss her right away, but just held her close, his chin resting atop her head. Philippa’s nose pressed against his waistcoat, and she breathed in the familiar scent of him. His arms banished the chill, and she thought she could have stayed here, with him holding her like this, forever. After a moment, he lifted her chin with a finger, and touched his lips to hers.

  He kissed her sweetly and tenderly, and she almost wept with love for him. He had implied there could be more between them if she wanted, but he was gentle with her, not pressing for anything she wasn’t willing to give.

  But she was willing. God help her, she was. She loved him and wanted to be as close to him as possible. Although it shocked her to realize it, she was ready for him to do anything and everything to her. But he would not, unless and until she let him know that she wanted it.

  She wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck, and teased his lips with her tongue, seeking entrance. He obliged her, and the kiss deepened, and quickly became lush and heated.

  When he pulled away, panting, she tried to pull him back, but he stepped away to strip off his waistcoat and neckcloth. She could see the golden brown skin of his throat through th
e open neck of his shirt, and she wanted to kiss him there, to taste his skin. Where had such an idea come from? She giggled softly to imagine how brazen she’d become. In the next moment, he pulled off his shirt, and she was spellbound at the sight.

  He was beautiful. Broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, well-muscled, with skin bronzed from the sun, and a light dusting of golden hair on his chest. Dear Lord, he was perfect.

  And she was not.

  How could she bare herself to this perfect man?

  He stepped close to her and turned her around so she was facing away from him. He fingered the tapes at the back of her bodice and said, “Shall I?”

  And all at once a great sob escaped from her. She covered her mouth with her hand and walked away from him. Oh God, she hadn’t meant to cry. How mortifying. She blinked furiously, trying to stop the tears, but a few managed to run down her cheeks. She was ruining everything.

  Nat came up behind her and touched her shoulder. “What is it, my dear. Did I frighten you?”

  “No. No, of course not. It is just …”

  “Just what, sweetheart?”

  “I am bent, you know. Crooked. My hip …”

  He turned her around and took her in his arms. “I’ve lost count of the number of scars I have,” he said. “Saber wounds. Gun shots. Got in the way of a French bayonet at Bussaco. That one almost killed me. A supply wagon mule once bit me in the leg.”

  He felt her chuckle and knew the storm had passed. “I’m not perfect, either, Philippa. But I am ready to give myself to you completely, scars and all, if you will have me.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes still bright. “You know I will.”

  He kissed her again and the heat flared between them almost instantly. She wanted this, he knew, but she was an innocent, and insecure about her body. He would try to take it slow, but at the moment, he was on fire for her. Crooked hip and all.

  Once she was almost limp in his arms, he set her gently aside and pulled several of the bench cushions onto the floor beside the fire. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow in question. She bit her lip and nodded.

  He helped her out of her dress, and she stood before him in her chemise and stays, looking diminutive and lovely and very innocent. He unlaced her stays from behind, and as the corset fell to the floor, he caught her breasts in his hands. They were soft and round and perfect. He teased them with his fingers while he kissed her neck and shoulders, and her soft moans of pleasure were almost his undoing.

  He turned her in his arms and kissed her deeply, while his hands slipped the straps of her chemise over her shoulders and down her arms. She gave a little cry of alarm when it slid to the floor. She was naked now, except for her stockings and garters.

  Nat stepped back so he could gaze at her, but she instinctively covered herself. He took her hands and held them out. “Don’t hide from me, Philippa. You are very beautiful.”

  And she was. Yes, her pelvis was tilted and one thigh was more muscled than the other, but her curves were quite luscious, her breasts high and round with dark nipples, and her skin was snowy white and flawless. The triangle of hair covering her sex was dark red and thick. She was perfectly, deliciously lovely.

  “I think we will leave your stockings on,” he said, thinking how erotic she looked wearing nothing else. “But there is one thing more I want to see. Can we let your hair down?”

  Thankfully she did not wear a complicated arrangement today. It was the matter of removing a few pins and uncoiling a long plait, and the beautiful red tresses fell almost to her waist. He lifted them in his hands, wrapped them around his arms, and buried his nose in their depths.

  It was too much. He could wait no longer.

  In a matter of seconds, he’d stripped off his boots and pantaloons and small clothes. Her eyes widened, and he allowed her to study him, to accustom herself to his nakedness. And his erection. “I am all yours, Miss Reynolds.”

  “And I am yours, sir. All yours.”

  Nat lifted her into his arms and laid her gently on the cushions. He stretched out beside her and began to slowly stroke her breasts while he kissed her neck and shoulders. Soon, his mouth had replaced a hand and he teased her cold, puckered nipple with the warmth of his tongue. Philippa had never felt anything like it. Her whole body trembled and tingled, from her toenails to the roots of her hair. Her breath caught. Her head fell back. Her body arched. She was almost delirious with pleasure. When one hand snaked down her belly, she moaned. When his fingers found her most secret, private place, she gave an involuntary jerk of astonishment.

  She knew in that instant that she had been waiting all her life for such sweet astonishment, and from a man who was not only beautiful, but gentle and patient with her innocence. She was ready, though, to give up her innocence. She leaned into him to see what other delicious surprises he had in store.

  He did not disappoint. His hands and mouth stirred up almost unbearable sparks of sensation, no quarter given. He gave attention to every part of her body. Her hair, which he seemed to adore, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. His hands skimmed her thighs and hips and belly in ways that made her forget that she was not perfect. He made her feel perfect.

  And she touched him, too. Shyly at first, but more boldly as he encouraged her to explore.

  Finally, he lay over her and nudged her knees apart. “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “No.” Anxious, excited, but not afraid. She would never be afraid with Nat.

  “It will probably hurt this first time. I will try to be gentle.”

  He took her mouth first in another lush, languorous kiss in which his tongue moved in and out in a way that sent heat rushing through her veins. All the while he gently urged her knees apart and she felt his erection hot and hard against her. When his fingers reached down again to her sex and began to circle a tiny bud of pleasure, her body arched off the floor and she cried out in surprise. This touch, this new touch, stimulated her in a way she could not have imagined. Tension built and swelled until she was mindless with pleasure and practically thrashing against his hand. And finally the tension uncoiled and reached a peak of explosive sensation she had not known to expect.

  “Oh, Nat.” Her breath came in pants so she could barely speak. “I had no idea.”

  “There’s more to come, darling.”

  He kissed her again, and before the kiss ended, he had entered her and made her his own. There was a brief instant of pain, the sense of stretching, a still moment while he allowed her to adjust to him, but as soon as he began to move in her, it was all pleasure and more new sensations, and a profound intimacy she had never imagined.

  As his rhythm increased, she felt waves of hot sensation overtake her again, and soon another explosion had her arching and bucking against his thrusts, and crying out his name. He uttered his own cry soon afterward as he reached his own peak of pleasure.

  They lay entwined and panting for several long, languorous minutes. Finally, he moved to his side and pulled her up against him. The feeling of his firm chest against her soft breast was still a fresh miracle. She would be happy if they never moved again, if they lay here together for all eternity.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “More than all right. I am … dazzled.”

  “And your hip?”

  “Is fine. You made me forget all about it.”

  He ran his fingers along the edge of her hip, then over her breast. “I will be happy to make you forget as often as you like, ma’am. And on a proper bed. Without the wind sweeping down on us.”

  “The wind. Oh, Nat. It has stopped raining. We must go. I want to stay, but we must go.”

  Nat sighed and sat up. “I know. Soon.”

  He kissed her again, slowly and deeply. She was delicious, his Philippa. And he was mad for her. He wanted her again, and was pleasantly startled to realize that he was ready. But it was her first time and she would be sore, perhaps. And Lady Reynolds would soon be sending out a search party.

&
nbsp; “I suppose now I have to figure out how to get you put back together so you don’t look as though you’ve been tumbled in a folly.”

  Before he could stand, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Nat. I never thought I could have this. Not that I actually knew what it was. But I never dreamed I would know this kind of pleasure.”

  “Neither did I, Philippa. Who would have thought that two misfits given to hiding behind trees could find so much pleasure together?”

  “It was fate.”

  “And the sweetest bargain ever struck.”

  He stood alone on the terrace after dinner the next evening, enjoying a cheroot, and musing on the changes in his life.

  Everything about his life was changing. Everything he’d hated about himself and what he’d become since Waterloo was changing, slowly but irrevocably. It had all started when he’d first met Philippa while hiding in that damned ballroom. From the moment she’d spoken to him, nothing had been the same. Or ever would be.

  Nat had allowed himself to wallow in self-loathing and doubt for a year. Now, he wanted more from life. Philippa made him want more. She’d found the empty place in his heart, the one he kept carefully hidden, the one filled with disappointments and fears and impossible dreams. She’d swept all that clean and taken up residence with her hope and cheer and fierce courage, her endless possibilities. He did not know if he could ever again be the man he once was, but he could certainly improve on the morose creature he’d become since Waterloo. With Philippa by his side, he believed he might ultimately be able to grow beyond the aftereffects of battle and become a new, stronger person he could be proud of.

  When they’d made their bargain, he had thought she was a safe choice. Not insipid or giggly. Not clingy or possessive or needy. Not dramatic or complicated. And despite a physical flaw, she did not wallow in self-pity. A perfectly ordinary woman with whom he could share a comfortable life. A safe choice.

  Instead, he’d fallen alarmingly in love with her, and that changed everything.