The Last Earl

by Lara Blunte

  Outside, Catherine pulled the veil over her face and, climbing on the horse that was being held for her, she urged it forward without waiting for the groom, who hurried after.

  He is leaving, he is leaving, she told herself as she negotiated the streets as quickly as she could. She had not slept one second, on fire from the kiss he had given her. She had never felt anything like what he had made her feel and had lain in bed, knees to her chest, her whole body hurting with need.

  Adrian had resisted her, and now was leaving, perhaps forever, because he didn't have enough fight left in him. She dimly knew that he was doing the honorable thing, but the honorable thing was not what she needed.

  There was enough thinking left in her to go to the park and tell the groom that she wanted to gallop alone, and that he was to wait for her under a tree; to overcome his protests; to leave her horse, a little further on, with a boy whose job it was to keep it while people strolled, or ate ices.

  She then walked quickly towards Adrian's apartment: she had never been there, but she knew the address from notes that her mother sent him. Her veil was opaque enough to make it difficult for anyone to see who she was, and it was early in the morning: she was unlikely to meet people she knew.

  Catherine only hesitated when she arrived at his building, but just then she saw his manservant, John, leaving.

  It's fate, she told herself. She walked up the stairs and arrived at this door, her heart thundering in her ears. She tried the latch and it was open; she walked in, and he was inside.

  He turned from the window to face her, and she was already ripping her hat and veil off. He raised a hand, as if to stop her, but she walked into his arms, turning her face up to his, finding his lips with hers. She felt him return her kiss with hunger after a moment.

  "Go away," he said, hardly lifting his mouth from hers. "Go home!"

  "It's too late," she whispered. "Can't you see, it's too late...”

  She held on to his neck like a mermaid pulling a man to his doom. When he raised his face from hers, his eyes seemed to be burning, while tears overflowed from hers.

  They had reached the point from which they couldn't turn back, and she was glad; she was glad, and there was a savage certainty in her.

  

  As she lay with her head on Adrian’s shoulder, Catherine knew with a terrible calm that what had happened had to be so. She had been miserable, and now she was happy.

  This happiness went beyond the pleasure she had felt. What had taken place between them had been like nothing she ever thought she would experience and she could not regret it, at least not just yet.

  It was a strange thing to be near a man's body and to be able to touch it. His body was beautiful, taut and muscular where hers was soft, his skin golden where hers was white. She reached out and touched his scars: the bullet hole in his chest and another jagged scar low on his side. He caressed her in return and she shivered as she watched his hands: elegant but square and capable, the hands of an aristocrat who had fought and worked.

  He kissed her hard, and opened her legs again. Her hips rose to meet him, though it hurt. It hurt as if she were being torn apart, and yet it felt better than anything ever had. She clung to him with her thighs so that he would stay deep in her. She could hear her own voice; it sounded hoarse.

  Afterwards, she lay panting and her hair clung wetly to her neck and to her breasts. He was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time and his eyes told her that she was beautiful more eloquently than any men had said out loud.

  His will, which was almost impossible to break, had been broken, even if the price had been her virtue. She should be shocked at herself, but she thought that she might only feel it later, as a bruise that starts to hurt long after the blow that caused it. She couldn't even bother to cover herself now, or to pretend that she had any modesty left.

  He looked deeply troubled. She said softly, "It wasn't your doing, it was mine. I won't throw it in your face."

  Adrian ran a hand through his hair. "I thought it would be like this and that's why I wanted to go. Neither of us is good at dissembling. You will be ruined."

  "I don't care," she said. "Why can't we have what we want? It's not anyone else's business what we do."

  "You're not a child. You know there are consequences to everything. There are certainly consequences to this." He looked at her with regret and caressed her cheek, "I can't marry you, Kate. I will never marry anyone."

  She hid her disappointment and shrugged. "I don't remember asking for your hand."

  He gave a small laugh. "No, but you might start caring about that soon enough. You might start wondering if I am a cad who won't do the right thing, and I can't do it."

  "Maybe I don't ever want to marry anyone. Why do I have to? I will only lose the right to my own property and my money. I will lose my freedom, whereas now I am a rich woman and can do as I like."

  He shook his head. "You're too young to decide that."

  "In any case, if in future I wish to be married I shall still be able to do so. I know that many women of our class marry well after being 'ruined'. The question..." she put her head to one side. "The question is if you think I am worth all the lying."

  Adrian looked at her for another moment. "You'll turn me into a liar and I suppose I can take that. But what is it that I'll do to you?"

  "Whatever it is, I won't regret it."

  "My sweet Kate," he said tenderly. "How can you know?"

  She half closed her eyes, "It's done. I don't regret it."

  He ran his thumb over her mouth, then bent his head to kiss her again. She hadn't known about the physical sensations that could bind people so inexorably together, as if each touch demanded another, as if one had to kiss and kiss until one's lips were raw, as if one had to take a man inside as many times as one could bear.

  She felt the muscles of his arms and back under her hands, his weight on her and there was something as old as time telling her the world was in that bed, and beyond that she could not think.

  II. Six. Desire

  For three days, Catherine had no news of Adrian.

  Her pride once again forbade her from going to him, or writing. But as the first day passed, she started to understand the real nature of yearning.

  Before, she had wanted him without knowing what she wanted. Now she knew exactly what she was longing for. Her body had become her worst enemy and it tormented her at all hours of the day and night.

  She had lost control of herself for the first time in her life and in the most devastating possible way. She, who had built a life of emotional independence, now felt inexorably tied to another person, a person whose actions and thoughts she could not influence, a person who was as impossible to read as an ancient stone in some lost language.

  On the third day she became sure that he had left, as he had threatened to do, and her thoughts became dark, confused and desperate. What had she done? How would she bear his absence?

  She also felt that she wanted to find him and shoot him, convinced that in spite of his apparent honesty, he had used her and played with her as if she were a toy he could discard.

  Her nerves were strained and she couldn't bear to be touched, not even by Henriette, so she pulled her hair back in a heavy chignon and donned a simple white shirt with a collar, and a sea green skirt that didn't require a crinoline or much fussing with hooks and knots. Then she sat with her mother in the drawing room, pretending to read so that they did not have to talk.

  When the footman walked in and announced Adrian, Catherine had been on the same page for about one hour. The moment she heard his name, it seemed to her that her heart had emigrated from its cavity and was beating in her throat instead. Her book fell to the floor and she made a movement as if to get up, but then sat back down on the edge of the sofa.

  Adrian went straight to Lady Ware when he walked in, and kissed her on the forehead. He then took Catherine's cold fingers.

  Moving away, he sat across from he
r and she steeled herself to look at him. He was facing her mother, who had embarked on a series of exclamations and questions. His dark hair was perfectly brushed once more, his face was clean shaven and he was a very polite and different man than the one who had been at his apartment a few days before.

  Yet, as Lady Ware went on with her monologue, he suddenly threw Catherine a look, and there was nothing polite in it. Everything they had done together was there, in that look. She cursed her stays, which seemed to be gripping the life out of her, cursed whatever her mother was saying, and prayed for some sort of delivery.

  Her prayers must have been heard by the right agency, because the footman again entered to announce that the priest had arrived. Lady Ware, who hated to keep anyone waiting, became immediately flustered, but Adrian stepped into the breach and pulled her to her feet saying, "Don't fret about me, Aunt Helen. Kate will keep me company."

  Lady Ware looked at her daughter, "Kitty, you must ring for tea. Adrian will want tea! I shall try to return as soon as I can."

  Lady Ware went out and Adrian closed the door. Catherine got up dazedly and started moving to the bell, but he got to it before her and took her hand, "I don't want any tea," he said

  Now she was breathing so hard her stays would crack, or her ribs would. He had put her hands behind her body and his face was very close to hers.

  "I thought you had left England," she said a little stiffly.

  "You can see that I haven't."

  She looked up at him and felt that there was a visible pulse beating on her lips. She wanted him to kiss her very badly. He shook his head.

  "Not here. Find a way to come to me."

  She nodded, "Yes."

  He moved away from her and reached out for the bell. "Now let's have some tea. I can be civilized, you know."

  "That's not nearly the most interesting side to you," she told him, and went by him with a flounce of her skirt as he laughed.

  

  The sun went up strong and bright the next morning, and Catherine had not slept one second. A thousand times she told herself she should not go to him, and a thousand and one times she realized she would go, that she had no more sway in the matter than the sea had over the moon.

  It did kill her, as he had known, that she would have to lie and lie to her mother. And yet she got dressed, and at breakfast convincingly mentioned that she wanted new clothes and was going out with Henriette to the seamstress, to choose materials, patterns and order some new things.

  Catherine knew that Henriette could be trusted, but there was John. Adrian said he would contrive to send him on errands, yet servants knew things. They knew things they never even witnessed.

  Henriette went into the seamstress' pretending to choose buttons and ribbons for her mistress to look at, and Catherine went on to Adrian's trade entrance. Her heart was racing when he opened the door and took her in his arms.

  "Oh, Adrian, I shouldn't have come!"

  "Hmm." He nuzzled her face with his lips. When they finally closed over her, she felt an ache low in her belly.

  "I might have been seen..." she sighed.

  "Do you want to go?"

  She could smell the soap he had used to shave, could see the blue of his eyes, the curve of his lips; she could feel his arm around her waist. Had she been certain that she would find immediate condemnation on the other side of the door, she would not have left.

  He lifted her and carried her to his room, and there he started to unhook her dress. As he did, he kissed the skin that was slowly revealed, and she felt that every inch of her was coming alive. He slipped his hand inside her dress and around her waist. She tried not to make any noise, though by lingering on her skin, on her neck, she felt that he was half torturing her.

  She finally stood only in her chemise and stockings, and he turned her around as he slipped the garment off her shoulders and kissed her breasts.

  The inner voice that had been telling her that she shouldn't be so wanton was silenced by him. She hardly knew what she was doing as she arched her body towards him, instead of displaying modesty.

  He made love to her slowly, and she was aware of every taste and texture, of his lips on hers, on her skin, or her breasts, of his stubble, of his hands. She loved the slight pain she felt when he was inside her, and the faint violence there was in pleasure.

  When she tried to get up and get dressed, they ended up making love again, standing against the wall. Afterwards, as they lay together on the floor, she wondered if the act of love ought to be something tamer.

  "Is it always like this?" she asked him, her cheek seeking the muscle on his chest.

  She felt his hand caressing the small of her back. "What are you asking?"

  "If...If I am very wrong to..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

  He sat up and leaned his back against the wall, pulling her to him. "You aren't wrong in my eyes."

  "But do girls...behave this way?"

  "I haven’t known other girls. I only fear for the consequences there might be for you."

  She gave a small smile. "Then we are different in that. I can face the consequences. I only want to know that I am not some...aberration. A girl who can give up her modesty so easily."

  "You didn't."

  "Still, it must be natural, and that is why girls are told to stay away from it. If all girls knew, they would all be ruined."

  He laughed. "Yes, society seems hell bent on keeping girls from knowing anything, or having any pleasure. But don't listen to me, because I have been told I am odd and mad often enough."

  "Perhaps it isn't always like this..." she said in a small voice. "Perhaps it's like alchemy."

  "Something like it." There was a smile in his voice.

  She sighed again, because she had waited all her life to feel like this, and now she felt it far too much. She hardly knew whether this was love, she only knew it was something finally stronger than she.

  When she finally got up to leave, she was terrified by her own image in the mirror: her hair was matted, her lips bruised by his kisses and her cheeks flushed. She started to run a nervous hand over her face but he made her sit on the bed and began untangling her long hair and pinning it.

  He was careful and patient, but he wasn't so skillful at it that thoughts of other women came to her mind. She glanced at his reflection in the mirror, at his head bent over hers, at his hands going through her hair and at the unmade bed. He made her feel like she didn't care what happened, that it was all, all worth it.

  II. Seven. The Difference Between Them

  An unmarried girl's life did not afford many opportunities for her to meet a lover; in fact, it was carefully designed to avoid anything like it.

  If she went riding in the park, Catherine must be accompanied by a groom ─ who couldn't always be left behind ─ and walking in the street with her maid too often could easily expose her to comment. At best a woman of her position would be found common by doing such things, at worst it would arouse suspicion of the truth.

  So, tortured by desire, Catherine created occasions during which she could meet Adrian in public. It gave her a powerful thrill to see him going about a room and to know that they had a secret life together. He would give her look, a smile, something that acknowledged their bond, and then the unbearable wait for the next time when they could be alone would begin.

  Lady Ware was, as usual, overwhelmed by the idea of giving soirées, but her daughter organized them with efficiency and ruled over them with flair. She called a prestigious Austrian pianist to the house because she knew Adrian loved music, particularly by Mr. Schubert, who was rarely played in England.

  Catherine invited a few other people to hide the fact that she longed to see her lover even from him, but the only other person she was truly glad to greet was Charles Dalton, of whom she had grown fond.

  When time for the music came Catherine sat on an Aubusson settee, her embroidered skirt spread around her, and Charles took the chair by her side. Not long afte
r Adrian strolled over and sat next to her.

  She addressed him, "I was telling Captain Dalton that you have a weak spot for Mr. Schubert. He doesn't know what to expect, as he has not heard it played before."

  "Indeed," Charles said pleasantly. "I do enjoy Beethoven’s music very much, that's as far as I can identify any preference."

  "Mr. Schubert has not yet become well known here," Catherine added. "Perhaps he is too dark for the English?"

  Charles bent forward, showing interest. "Dark?"

  "Wouldn't you say...?" she turned her head to look at Adrian and her eyes begged him to like Charles and be sociable to him, though she knew that he disliked to say anything that sounded pompous, or even profound.

  Adrian smiled at her and said to Charles, "I like that he isn't afraid of ugliness. Then, when the beauty comes, it seems all the more beautiful. And I believe that he expresses regret like no one else."

  Charles nodded, "I shall try to listen for all this."

  "Lord Halford specially requested this first piece, so I am sure we shall be able to understand what he means."

  Catherine turned once more to Adrian. Charles felt there was complicity between them, and he understood that Halford had a magnetism that was difficult to resist. He dearly hoped that the girl would never know the meaning of regret.

  The music, however, was about to begin, and the candles were snuffed everywhere except around the piano.

  As the first poignant notes were played, however, all Catherine could think about was how near Adrian's hand was to her; if he only moved it slightly he would touch her. While he seemed absorbed in the music, she was oblivious to it. She leaned back further against the settee. It was only after what seemed like an eternity that she felt his hand touch the inside of her arm.