“But all those times when we were alone together, were you simply being kind to me because I am a friend of Joseph’s?” he asked.
“Yes. No. I mean…I like you. Of course I do. If things were different…” Then she stopped, as though fearful to say more.
“You like me.” He felt a totally inappropriate surge of confidence. With her formal engagement only a day away, he must take steps quickly to fan the flame, or he would lose her forever.
“Well, of course I like you,” she said, as though it should have been obvious to him.
“But that does not explain why you allowed me to kiss you.”
Her eyes went wide, as though it had not occurred to her that she might be required to take a share of the blame for their indiscretion. “It was just a kiss under the mistletoe.”
“That was all it was to you, really?”
She knew quite well that it was no simple kiss. The dim light could not hide her blush. He reached out and touched a curl at her temple. “Suppose I were to kiss you here, tonight. There is no mistletoe to be found, so you would have no excuse for what happened. Would you allow it?”
“I should not,” she said, quietly.
“Should not is quite different from shall not. Let us see which one applies.” He bent his head to her, and kissed her.
It took no coaxing to get an ardent response. Her mouth was open. Her tongue met his. Her body strained to be touched. He need have no fear that she preferred another, for it was plain when they were alone that she wanted no one but him. He pulled her hips tight to cradle them against his erection, wondering how much she knew of a man’s desire and how perfectly she might satisfy it. Did he dare to show her tonight?
“Please,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek. “You were right. It was more than a kiss. Do not tempt me to go further. My parents are here. If we are discovered…” She pushed his hand away from where it hovered by her breast.
His curiosity was satisfied. She’d admitted that she cared for him, and had been moved by him. He should make an apologetic withdrawal and escort her back to find her parents. But it would be far better to give her another reason to refuse, when Stratford finally made his offer. Robert kissed her gently on the forehead and ran a finger along the top edge of her gown, ruffling the lace that lay against her skin. “I suppose this means that you will not let me see the loveliness of your breasts. It will take more time getting you back into your gown than it will take me to have you out of it.”
“Robert!” She said his name in an urgent whisper.
“You did not say no, just now, my sweet. If you wish to put me off, you will need to be clear about the fact.”
“It would be unwise,” she said with a sigh.
“But I wish to please you,” he said. “It will be the work of a few moments. Would you like that?”
“Very much,” she said with a shy smile, slipping her hand in his and squeezing his fingers as though seeking reassurance.
“Very well then. Come over here, by the fire.” He led her to a sofa, and slid to the floor on his knees before her.
“What are you doing?”
He lifted her hem. “You shall know in a moment,” he assured her. Her skirt and petticoats were up around her knees revealing dainty ankles and shapely, silk-clad calves. “It is just another kind of kiss. I promise you shall like it.” He pressed his lips to her kneecap. And her legs, which she’d held tightly together, parted so that he could slide a hand up the inside of her thigh.
She pushed back, trying to close them again, pressing a hand down to hold her skirt in place. “Robert, you cannot. We are not married.”
Yet, he thought to himself with a smile.
“And if someone should discover us…”
“No one ever shall,” he assured her. “You shall be unchanged, I promise.” In body perhaps. But her spirit would be his forever. He withdrew his hand and kissed his own fingertips, and then dipped them below her hem and trailed them up her thighs. “This is not so very bad, is it?” he suggested, leaning forward and laying his cheek against the swell of her breast.
“No,” she said doubtfully and then gasped as his fingers found their mark, slipping easily between the wet folds of her body.
“I wish to touch you with my tongue, there. And there and there.” His fingers grazed lightly along the tops of her thighs and his thumb settled between them, teasing the hair between her legs for a moment before pressing inward.
“Why?” It was more of a gasp than a question. And she made no effort to avoid his questing hand.
“My dear Anne,” he said. “I wish to have something from you that no other man will ever have. I know when I look into your eyes that mine were not the first lips to kiss you. And tonight I dare not seek the ultimate gift. There is no understanding between us. Some things must be saved for the man you would marry.”
“But this other kiss?” Her voice was slow and hoarse, drowsy, as though she was slipping into the spell that he cast. Her body relaxed and her legs spread farther offering no resistance.
“It will be our secret. No matter what else happens, we will have this.”
“Please,” she said, and it was a desperate plea for release.
“Of course,” he said, soothing her. He’d raised her skirt until he could see all of her, pink and glistening in the light from the banked fire, and watched her trembling as the chill air touched her, letting the warmth of his hand be a contrast to it. Then, with one last look at her beautiful face, he buried his face in the musky center of her, drawing the lips of her sex into his mouth and lapping eagerly between them.
Her body went rigid with the shock of it, and she cried out his name. He could feel the muscles of her thighs twitching and massaged them with his hands, forcing them to relax as he flicked lazily with his tongue, first against the little bud of her passion and then at the opening which would be his ultimate goal. He made a few tentative thrusts with his tongue and she gasped and rocked to evade him then wound her fingers in his hair. But she did not push him away, only dragging him forward to the place where he had begun.
Very well then, the lady knew what she wanted, and he was happy to give it to her. He swirled about it, whispering, kissing, sucking, as she murmured softly, “Oh. Oh. Oh.” Then he slid a hand up her leg to push two fingers into her as deeply as he could go. Her muscles clenched on him like a vise as she lost control and gave herself up to him, heart and soul.
She whimpered as he gave her a final, brief kiss and stroked her with his hand, almost as one might soothe a pet. Would that she could do the same to him. While she was clearly sated, he was anything but. He’d been hungering for her since their first day together, and now desire was roaring inside him, tearing at his soul. If he could not have her, here and now, he longed for a solitary release while the taste of her was still on his lips.
He laid his head against her knee for a moment, praying that this was but a temporary parting from her body. Then he pushed her skirts out of her lap, and straightened them over her legs. And he waited, at her feet, for her reaction.
“You should not have done that,” she said at last. Her eyes were bright with some emotion that he could not read.
“But if I did not, you would marry Joseph,” he said. “You do not love him. You love me, or you never would have permitted what just occurred.”
“I am still going to marry Joseph,” she said. “There is nothing else for me to do. But you have made it so much more difficult.”
He swore, low vehement oaths that made her flinch. But he did not care if his words hurt her. He had been sure, only a moment ago, that there would be nothing in the world that could part them, now that he had proven to her how it would be between them. Why, though he was on his knees before her like a supplicant, did she still wish for another?
Before he could speak, a voice called from the hall, “Anne?”
“Here, Mother.” She gave him a frantic look and he threw himself away from her, back
into the darkest corner of the room as the door opened.
“What are you doing in here, of all places?”
“I felt feverish and hoped a brief nap would help me. I am sorry if I have caused difficulty…” She drew back into the shadows as well so that her mother could not see the tears shining on her lashes.
“Well, come on then. The carriage is almost ready.”
“A moment to compose myself, please. Then I will come.”
Her mother gave a sigh. “Very well, then. But Mr. Stratford has already retired. It is not yet our place to linger too long.” She withdrew from the room, and Robert heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.
He waited a moment before shutting the door. Then he returned to Anne’s side. She was weeping in earnest now and he put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “Am I the reason for these tears, Anne?”
“It is not you,” she sobbed. “It is everything. I do not know what to do.”
“You must cry off,” he said. “Tell your parents you cannot marry Stratford.
“They will not want to hear,” she said with a fresh sob.
“Then tell him,” Robert said. “I have confronted him on the subject. He will not break off, at this late date, for your sake. If you do not end it for yourself, it is quite hopeless. I will not speak, if you say nothing, no matter how much I might wish to. I have said more than enough, already. You must be the strong one, Anne.”
“And I never was,” she answered, not looking up. “Perhaps if Mary was here.”
She had mentioned her late sister before, when they had first met. It seemed that the Clairemonts subsided into a place of perpetual grief over the loss. Mary had become the ghost at the feast that blighted the family’s happiness. But what a child that was five years in the grave had to do with the current situation, he was not sure. “Then the lot would have fallen to her. Or it might never have occurred at all. But it does not matter. She is dead and gone, much as no one wishes to acknowledge the fact. You cannot rely on her for help. You must be the one to speak, Anne.”
Her tears fell faster, and she shook his hand from her shoulder. Then she stared at him, angry and resolute. “I am stronger than you know, Robert Breton. And that is why I will not alter what is about to occur. It is best for all of us. Do not think that you can change my mind with your sly words and your temptations, and your…pleasure.” The last word brought a fresh sob and she stifled it with a balled fist. Then she turned and fled the room.
Chapter Three
“This party would be an excellent time to finalize the arrangement between you.” Her mother’s tendency to state the obvious made Anne flinch back in her carriage seat and rub her cheeks, wishing she could hide the embarrassed flush on her face.
“I cannot very well demand that Joseph make the announcement.” It was bad enough when her mother made casual pronouncements about her future when only family was present. But on tonight’s journey to Mr. Stratford’s house, they were not alone.
“His inviting other young ladies to your engagement ball does not bode well.” Mama glared across the carriage at Barbara Lampett, who was looking as uncomfortable as Anne felt. Mama loathed Barbara, probably because she had been a special friend of Mary’s, and was thus a perpetual reminder of that time just a few years past, when everything had been right and good and hopeful. Mr. Stratford was new to the community, and had blundered into the old family feud between the Lampetts and the Clairemonts by insisting that Barbara be included in the evening’s plans.
“I think there was someone he wished me to meet,” Barbara said hurriedly, trying to diffuse the tension in the small space they shared. “He was quite clear about there being eligible gentlemen in attendance.”
“Probably that Breton bloke.” Anne’s father grunted. “He’s a bit high in the instep for you, my dear.” He smiled condescendingly at Barbara. “But a bit low…second son…”
“You have not even met him, Father. He is really very nice. And neither too high nor too low.” And none of her business, either way. She should not be showing a partiality to Robert. She should not be thinking of him at all, especially on a night that might end in her engagement to someone else.
Thankfully the talk turned to the weather, which was turning foul, and the likelihood that they would have to stay the night in their old home. Only a few weeks ago, the thought of sleeping in her old bed would have thrilled her. But now, Anne was thinking not of a return to lost comforts but the possibility that Robert Breton would be scant feet down the hall from her. She might wait until the rest of the house was asleep. Then she could go to him, and beg him to do what he had done, with his mouth moving on the most intimate part of her body as though he was speaking directly to her soul, while his fingers were probing and stretching, plunging and withdrawing, making her imagine a tangling of bodies and bedsheets, bare skin and firelight. Oh, Robert…
The carriage hit a bump and she bit her lip, relieved that the sudden shock had kept her from crying his name aloud. Had he known what he was doing to her? She’d thought that the first time was an aberration. But then it had happened again. If there was a third such event she was likely to dissolve until there was nothing left of her but that feeling.
No wonder they cautioned young women on the wickedness of being alone with a man. If they realized that this was what awaited them, there would not be another minute wasted on watercolors and embroidery. How would she look at him tonight without remembering that moment, and feeling what he had done to her?
More importantly, how would she look at Joseph? Robert was right. When the offer came, she could not accept it. Joseph might understand, but her parents would be furious. She would be lucky to have a house to return to, if she spoiled the plans that had been so carefully arranged.
She must pray that Robert had meant what he said about caring for her. If he offered, then even if she lost her family, she would have no fear of the future. But there must be no more dallying in dark corners with him until she’d settled things with Joseph Stratford.
And that proved harder than she expected. They arrived at the house. Joseph greeted them just as any good host should. But then, he was off again, into a crowd of people. Whenever she saw him he was surrounded. He even danced with Barbara Lampett, much to Mama’s disgust.
Try as she might, Anne could not seem to get a moment alone with him. She could not blurt the truth out for all to hear. The breaking of an unannounced promise might be easier than if he’d made a public declaration. But she must allow the man some pride and do this with discretion.
Finally after fruitless hours waiting for the right moment, she saw him standing alone in the doorway of the refreshment room. She excused herself from the conversation she had joined and hurried down the hall in his direction.
But by the time she arrived, he was gone, and she was not alone.
Robert Breton stood with his arms around Barbara Lampett, his lips on hers, bodies close together. He was kissing another woman in the very same room where he had first kissed her, under that same mistletoe as though there were nothing special about it.
She had been a fool to think it was more. Had not her mother warned her of the lying ways of men, and the need for caution? She had given her heart to a faithless stranger.
She turned and ran in the other direction, though she heard Robert calling her name. Did he think he could explain away the truth that was right before her eyes? To avoid the scene she darted through the first door she could find, and practically into the arms of her fiancé.
Mr. Stratford looked up, nervous, and surprised. It was quite unlike him. She had thought that nothing could unsettle Joseph, who was cool, confident and in control, even when facing the armed men that had come to break his frames and destroy his mill.
But he had not looked easy these last few days. She had blamed it on the stress of the holidays and the presence of guests when so much was still at stake. Many of the men here were possible investors. He had much on his mind.
She put on an amiable face, closed the door and stepped toward him. After a halting few moments he spoke, as she’d always known he would, making the offer that the whole of the Clairemont family expected. “Miss Anne Clairemont, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
All she had to do was say no. Or beg for a postponement. Her father had insisted that the success of this house party was rested on settling the matter of her engagement at precisely the right moment. The only reason Mr. Stratford meant to have her was to impress his guests. It was her job, when the proposal came, to accept with all the grace she’d been bred to.
She had been ready to throw it all away, and ruin the evening on a romantic whim. It was all Robert Breton’s fault for confusing her, making her think that the wild, dramatic, swooping and diving ecstasy he brought her was anything more than a game to him.
Now he wished to play with someone else.
Anne looked at Joseph Stratford, who was a fine and upstanding man in his own right. If he had a fault, it was that he was not emotional enough when it came to courting her.
But that was probably for the best. She gave him her best smile and replied, “Thank you. I would be honored in return.”
There. The deed was done and she had committed herself to him. If the kiss they shared after was wooden, at least she could tell herself that it was not shared with another. Joseph was too wrapped up in his business dealings to care for one woman, much less two.
And if Barbara Lampett looked guilty when she found her in the retiring room a few moments later, the poor girl had no reason to be. There was no harm in sharing a kiss with an eligible young man when one was similarly unattached. She had done just such a thing herself. It had been nothing more than that. Anne moved to the opposite side of the room and seated herself in front of a mirror.
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