His words were softspoken and tender. Athena studied him for even a hint of mockery, but in his eyes there was only earnestness, as if he were suspended between hope and fear. An intense current passed between them, and the world outside their circle melted into the soft candlelight. He took a step toward her, obliterating any distance between them. She looked up into his face, unsure of what to do. He just stood there, his eyes drinking their fill of her expression. His lips were tantalizingly close, just a hairsbreadth from hers. She was almost on tiptoe, almost close enough to touch him. Just a little bit more . . .
His head descended, and their lips touched.
A soft press, that’s all it was. Innocent, tender, affectionate. But his mouth lingered upon hers, increasing exponentially the emotion behind the kiss. She felt something unleash inside him, and his hands traveled up her arms. He took possession of her arms, and pulled her whole body toward him. The kiss deepened, his lips capturing hers one by one.
She was sure she was supposed to do something. It was a dance, he had said, and she was supposed to perform her steps. But she was so enjoying the sensation, the pure pleasure of his touch, that she didn’t want to ruin it with a hamhanded maneuver.
His mouth opened over hers, then smoothed closed. Again and again his mouth caressed hers in the same rhythm, as if trying to communicate something to her. Her mind could not read him, but her body understood what he’d been trying to say. Taste me.
Gradually, her jaw dropped, her lips softened, and her lips mirrored his motions. He tasted like tea, the same tea she had shared with him moments before, except on his lips it was sweetened by the taste of him. Delicious.
His arms came around her and she was engulfed in his embrace. He was like a soft, warm blanket, and his great, heavy arms made her feel totally protected.
Something went into her mouth, startling her. She knew people kissed with tongues, but she had been unprepared for the sensation. His pointy tongue peeked between her lips, and the searing heat of it surprised her. He burned his way into her mouth, tasting her from within. His tongue stroked hers, and she retreated shyly. But the pleasure and adventure he offered was too enticing, and she began to stroke back. She didn’t know when it had happened, but the drawbridge of her heart was smashed to ruins. Only it wasn’t he who’d torn it down . . . it was she.
His tongue lit a fuse that sparked all the way down her body and ignited a flame of pleasure between her legs. Her hands went up to push him away, but they lost their purpose when they stopped to absorb the feel of hard muscle at his sides. She knew what he looked like naked, and she had wanted to touch his body since the moment her eyes had taken their fill of him. Now he was inside her and she wanted more. She wanted all of him.
He must have sensed the same thing, because she felt the beginning signs of his sexual arousal against her tummy. Suddenly, she became conscious of a delicious sense of victory. His arousal made her feel attractive, seductive, desirable . . . wanted. All the things she had desired to feel from Calvin.
Before she could dance down that train of thought, Marshall pulled free. He held her still, his eyes still closed shut. He had a concentrated look, and Athena could see that he was forcing himself to dispel the pleasure. For some reason, as Athena stood panting, she relished seeing that look on his face. It was a sign of her power over him. Although he always seemed to be in control of himself and her reaction, she too could claim some dominion over him. But when he opened his eyes and looked at her—and smiled—it was she who surrendered.
“Miss McAllister,” said Miss Drummond tremulously, “are we expected to do all that?”
“We’re not being graded on this, are we?” asked Alice.
Athena blinked away her dulled senses, her surroundings materializing once more. “Um, the purpose is for each of you to be exposed to . . . er . . . to take a hard look at . . . that is . . . I want you to get a firm grasp—”
Marshall chuckled at her bruised composure.
She gave him a withering look, and stomped off to resume her seat beside Hester. “You may continue your lesson, Mr. Marshall.”
“Notwithstanding what’s on your headmistress’s mind, let’s bring our attention back to the lesson at hand. No, you will not be graded on this, and no, this exercise is not compulsory. The point is, ladies, that no technique, no attempt at pretense, can ever be more pleasing than a natural, candid response to my advances. Just like Miss McAllister’s.”
Athena felt her cheeks burn. She turned to Hester and was surprised to find her hunched forward, tears streaming down the clenched fist she held at her mouth.
“Hester? What’s wrong?”
Hester snuffled and darted out of the salon.
Athena called after her. Unable to leave the girls unchaperoned, she could not follow her out of the room. “Hester!” Though she shouted under her breath to avoid undue attention from the girls, she need not have bothered. Their full attention was focused on Marshall as they stood around him, each taking her turn as Marshall kissed her chastely on the lips.
Worry crumpled her forehead. What had upset Hester? She leaned against the doorjamb, wondering what to do about Hester. Then she glanced up at Marshall, remembering the way her heart came alive in his embrace.
And wondered the very same thing about him.
ELEVEN
The blue sky had angered to black, and in an instant, the heavens poured forth a deluge.
Justine had been out riding in the meadow. When the weather turned, she urged her bay colt into a gallop, but the rains overtook her.
She was walking alongside the horse by the time they reached the stables. A figure ran out to meet her, his shoulders darkening as the rain soaked through his brown jacket. It was the handsome young groom she’d spoken to the other day.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as he steadied the animal, “but I fear he may have gone lame. Something happened to his right foreleg out in the meadow.”
The groom took the reins from her. “I’ll handle the colt, miss. You should go into the house and out of the rain.”
She ignored him. “Is he going to be all right?”
The groom crouched low and examined the leg. “Looks like a shoe’s come loose. Not to worry. I’ll take care of it in the stable.”
“It hasn’t split his hoof, has it?” she asked, worry etched onto her wet forehead.
“Let’s have a look inside.”
Rain pounded on the stable roof, creating a deafening noise. The young man led the hobbling horse into the stable, and cross-tied him so he wouldn’t fidget. He lit a lantern and placed it on a small stool beside the horse. He lifted the horse’s hoof, wedging it between his knees, and gave it a thorough examination before setting it down gently.
“The nails on one side have come loose, miss. But there’s no damage to the hoof. Once I pull out the shoe, he’ll be . . . well, right as rain,” he quipped, wiping his dripping face with a wet sleeve.
“That’s a relief. Thank you, Mr. . . .”
He touched a hand to his sodden cap. “Keane, miss. Elliott Keane.”
“Thank you, Mr. Keane.”
His smile dissolved. “Pardon me for sayin’ so, miss, but have you been crying?”
Justine blinked in disbelief. Every inch of her head and body was dripping with rainwater. How on earth could he observe that she had been weeping?
She could dissemble. Or she could upbraid him for his impertinence. But concern was written all over his face. “It is nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Keane.”
“It’s not about the shoe, is it, miss? Because I promise he’ll be ready to ride in no time.”
She pasted on a smile. “No. I was just a little melancholy this morning, and I shared my feelings with Thunder here.”
“Horses make good companions, but awful quiet ones. It sounds as if you could do with a friend right now, miss.”
“Perhaps you’re right. My dearest friend lives in Canterbury. I could arrange a visit.”
&n
bsp; “My mum used to tell me that in times of trouble, better a neighbor nearby than a brother far away.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Keane?”
He shrugged, but measured his words carefully. “I know it’s not my place, miss. And if I’m being too familiar then you just have to say so. But I don’t believe a lady ought to be sad. Every tear a woman sheds is a shame on all men everywhere.”
His hazel eyes stared at her from beneath thick eyebrows that expressed a worry for her that was greater than fear of losing his job. The eyelashes, wet with rain, together with his clean-shaven cheek today, took even more years off his young face. She could easily see how the maids would be taken with him.
“You’re very kind, Mr. Keane,” she said, pasting the smile back on her face. “But there’s nothing you can do to help.”
He nodded quietly. “Very well, miss. You don’t have to say. I’ll just ask Thunder here what’s troubling you. He’s not as tight-lipped as you are.”
She laughed. It was the first genuine laugh she’d had in a long time.
“But if you ever feel like you need a friend, miss, one that isn’t so far away, you only have to send for me.”
Justine extended her gloved hand. “Thank you, Mr. Keane, for looking after Thunder—after both of us, actually.”
But when he reached out and took her hand, an insidious and desperate idea germinated in her head. She knew this would be the only moment they would ever touch, and she silently cursed the glove which stood between her skin and his. There was only one other way she could steal a caress before this moment passed forever.
Forbidden, her mind kept telling her, but that made her want it all the more. Among the stifling trappings of a lady in which Justine lived, she could barely breathe. But with her dress plastered against her body and her hair matted on her face, she had never felt less a lady. Here in the stable, with no one around, and the heavy rain outside forming a curtain of privacy, there was an opportunity to take a step toward the wicked. Here, she became a thing of instinct and feeling, like the horses that watched from the stalls.
Just one kiss, her body begged. Highborn men expected too much, but lowborn men asked for nothing. The practice sessions on erotic kissing with Lord Rutherford traipsed through her memory, but they seemed ill-fitting now, as if her experience with that man had all been a sham.
Tremulously, she closed the distance between them, and with a hesitant rise of her face, placed a soft kiss on his lips.
Immediately she cast down her eyes. She felt foolish—worse, depraved. He was a servant. She had taken advantage of her superior position. He’d be fearful of losing his post now. To make matters worse, she was about to turn thirty, and he was at least five years her junior. It was inappropriate, scandalous—forbidden.
She waited for him to hem and hedge, and back away with some muttered excuse about mucking out the stable. But he didn’t budge. She glanced up at his face, and gasped at his expression.
It was a look of such intensity that it stole her breath away. He was not judging, but understanding; not fearing, but feeling. A gentle tug on her hand pulled her closer until she was underneath his gaze. His eyes swept over her face, just inches under his. He brought his lips down upon hers. And gave her a real kiss.
His full, warm lips caressed hers in a way that made her feel wanted, desirable. Never had she experienced such a heavenly sensation, as if she were drenched in warm honey. For all Lord Rutherford’s expertise in awakening erotic sensations, nothing he had taught her had made her feel like this. It was as though Elliott Keane were making love to her from the inside out.
She wanted a moment, and he had given it to her in full. It was the eternity after this moment that she was now afraid of.
TWELVE
Marshall’s boot landed in a puddle as he jumped from the hansom cab and ran up the stairs to the front door. The rain sliced sideways, needling his face.
Gert opened the door and let him pass. The maid took his drenched cloak and hat and led him to the study. Within a few moments, Hester came in.
“Thank you so much for coming to see me, Mr. Marshall. I hadn’t expected you, considering the inclement weather.”
“The letter you slipped into my wage parcel last night sounded important. I did not dare miss the appointment.”
“You are soaked to the skin. Please sit here by the fire.” Hester wrung her hands. “I shouldn’t have summoned you. Especially in so furtive a manner. Do forgive me. I was impetuous and stupid.”
“Lady Willett, you strike me as neither impetuous nor stupid. But I did detect an elevated sense of urgency in your note . . . and of unhappiness.”
“Yes. Yes, there was that.” Hester perched herself on the edge of the opposite chair. “I had thought to speak to you—in private—when Athena took the students to the museum today. But I’ve since reconsidered. I really shouldn’t burden you with my troubles.”
He leaned forward. “Tell me what has happened to cause you such dismay.”
Hester chewed her lip. “It was something you said during the lesson last night which gave me pause. You said that when a man truly loves us, we shall know it by his actions. Do you really believe that?”
Surprise registered on his face. “Well, yes, I do. I have always found that the character of a man is spoken by his deeds, seldom by his words. Men may proclaim their wisdom or goodness, but the true test of it is in the fruit of their life.”
“And what if a man’s actions don’t speak of love, but of indifference?”
Marshall sighed. “Lady Willett, it is difficult to discuss these matters in the abstract. Is there something specific that is troubling you?”
Hester’s eyebrows tented. “It is a delicate matter . . . concerning my husband. I love him very much, and I believe he loves me. But I do not know if he loves me in the same way that I love him.” She glanced uneasily at him, and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I must be embarrassing you. It’s just that . . . last night you stood in front of us all stating with such authority that inspiring love wasn’t a technique to be learned, and yet . . . I do not know how to win my husband’s affection.”
“If I can be of help, I am at your disposal.”
“Your counsel is all I seek.” She worried her lip some more. “My husband is . . . inscrutable to me. He is a responsible man who provides for my needs in every way. But I fear that he doesn’t care for me . . . outside of the bedchamber, that is.”
“I see.”
“When we’re alone together at night, he is all attention. But in the light of day, he changes. I don’t seem to matter to him anymore. I seem to vanish, as if I were of no more significance than the furniture. He rarely goes out with me, and he hardly shows an interest in anything I do. I thought perhaps that I wasn’t being alluring or distracting enough. That’s why this academy became so important to me, why I invested so heavily in it. I wanted to learn from our gentleman teachers how to overcome my inadequacies and become the woman my husband desires. Certain lovemaking techniques were explained to me . . . things I was told would please Thomas. The kiss of flesh,” she admitted with a timid shrug. “He enjoyed it very much, but the very next day, all was as before. I had become invisible once more.” A look of consternation clouded her delicate features. “I feel as if I’m living between parentheses. I don’t know what to do. So I ask you, Mr. Marshall. Is there something else I must do for him, something that will inspire him to love me better?”
Marshall clenched his teeth. It was lamentable that a woman as beautiful and tender as Lady Willett could wind up with a cold and distant man like her husband. And yet Marshall was too honest to ignore the commonalities he shared with the baron. Did he too not consider marriage to be a vapid and inconvenient obligation? Did he too not regard wives as little more than fixtures in a home? Had he not arranged his sister’s marriage to a man who presented a socially advantageous match, rather than a caring and attentive matrimonial prospect? Personified in this brokenhearted w
oman was the product of his own careless attitude.
He regarded her thoughtfully, her brown eyes brimming with unshed tears. She expected him to tell her some secret or heretofore undisclosed lovemaking technique. How like Athena’s way of thinking it was. It was foolish to believe that by learning how to please a man in bed that a woman was going to make him fall madly in love with her. There was more to it than that. Much, much more.
But in Lady Willett’s case, something had to be ruled out first.
“Forgive my indiscretion, Lady Willett, but is there a chance that your husband might have become unfaithful to you?”
She sighed. “I do not think so. He has not shown any outward sign or inclination, nor has he left the house for any stretch of time. His absences from my side are legitimate and I have been able to substantiate them. Mind you, even if I had suspected an infidelity, I would never challenge him with it.”
“Why not?”
“Shame, I suppose. Countess Cavendish’s book teaches that if we have made our home a pleasant place, our husbands should not be likely to forsake it. And if a wife suspects her husband of adultery, Countess Cavendish admonishes us not to reproach him. We are advised to resign ourselves and let our virtuous behavior serve as a beacon to light his way back to his home.”
“I see,” he said, even though he didn’t. A marriage bed was not meant for three.
“But therein lies my problem. I don’t want to drive him to the arms of another. What is it that I am doing wrong?”
He sighed deeply. As a bachelor, he knew he was ill equipped to advise someone on the subject of marriage. The Captain Marshall Hawkesworth of a few months ago might have encouraged Lady Willett to accept her husband’s indifference as an advantage in an arranged marriage; at least he didn’t care enough to be violent. But Mr. Marshall had discovered that there was far more to a wife than most men are taught to expect. There was her intelligence and audacity whenever she stood her ground; her humor or sensitivity, when she wanted to bring him down or lift him up; her passion and tenderness, which she revealed if he were man enough to inspire them. He smiled . . . Miss Athena McAllister had awakened him to all these things.
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