He laughed softly and shushed her at the same time. Unless they were in his bedroom, they had to make every effort to be as quiet as possible. But it wasn’t easy to stay silent when Edwin massaged her breasts like that, when his hips ground against hers, when his mouth caressed her neck in that spot that made her tense and tingling and wet.
Edwin cupped her between her thighs and pushed a finger inside her. She pushed against his hand, craving more. He pushed a second finger in and her vagina tightened around him.
“God, Gwen,” he said against her skin. She loved these little moments when he was so turned on he called her Gwen instead of Gwendolyn. That was Edwin’s version of losing control.
She reached between their bodies and unzipped Edwin’s pants. With both hands she stroked him to his full hardness. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back while she touched him. It was a beautiful thing to see him lost in his pleasure, pleasure she gave to him.
Gwen let him go long enough to grasp the fabric of his jacket and push it off his shoulders. She yanked his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt halfway down. She didn’t care about getting him naked right now as long as she could kiss and touch his chest and shoulders. She needed his skin against her skin as much as she needed him inside her. He must have felt the same, because he gripped her hard by the hips again, pulled her to the edge of the desk, and with both hands pressed her thighs wide open. He lowered his head and pressed his tongue inside her. The sensation was exquisite, but the act unnecessary. She was already wet and ready for him.
Edwin rose up and wrapped an arm around her waist, cushioning her as she rolled onto her back. He lifted her legs over his shoulders and with a thrust entered her. She lifted her hips to take all of him into her. Briefly she wondered what important paperwork they were on top of and possibly getting wet. But then he pulled out and thrust in again, hard and deep, and she decided she didn’t care if they were fucking on top of the original draft of the Magna Carta itself as long as he kept…doing…that.
She half-closed her eyes, let herself bask in the heat of her own body and the hardness of his inside her. But her erotic reverie dissipated when she heard Edwin saying her name.
“Gwendolyn?”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him.
“Edwin?”
“You’ll stay, won’t you? No matter what happens? You’ll stay here with me?”
His voice was quiet, serious. He seemed to be saying more than his words revealed. She rolled up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He thrust into her again as she wrapped her legs around his back, clinging to him out of pure desire.
“I shouldn’t ask you to stay. You don’t even know what you’re giving up,” he said as he stroked her hair, kissed her neck. “But please…”
“I’ll stay,” she said, making the promise so easily she couldn’t imagine why he’d called it a sacrifice. For Edwin she would stay. For the boys. For the love of teaching and the love of learning and the love of the life she’d been granted here like a wish she didn’t remember making. It was a wish. It was a dream. It was everything she’d wanted and hadn’t had the courage to ask for. And here it was, in her hands. And she would never let it go.
Locked in each other’s arms, they moved together and against each other and with each other until she shuddered in his arms and he came inside her body. And yet still they held each other, moved by the pledge she’d made him, knowing what it meant without even needing to say it.
Edwin was in love with her, too.
And she would never leave him.
Never.
Chapter Twelve
Gwen spent a good hour on Edwin’s lap in his office after they’d finished making love on his desk. Fully dressed, unfortunately. They didn’t want to push their luck. And with that thought in mind, Gwen finally spoke up.
“We should tell the boys,” she said.
“Tell them what?”
“That we are a we.”
“We should?”
“We are a we, aren’t we?”
“We are,” he said, grinning.
“Good. Then we should tell the boys we are a we before they figure it out on their own. Better to hear it from we—I mean, us. Otherwise the rumors will start flying.”
“They are nosy gossips.”
“Especially Laird.”
“He’s likely already planning our wedding.”
“He loves you like a father,” Gwen said. “He wants to see you happy.”
“I am happy,” Edwin said. “You on my lap in my office…I must have died and gone to Heaven.”
“I didn’t know they had sex that good in Heaven. I need to rethink my theology.”
“Wouldn’t be Heaven otherwise.”
She gave him a heavenly kiss goodbye and left him to his work. Apparently they’d only slightly soiled Edwin’s desk blotter. No report cards, thank goodness.
Gwen returned to her cottage, graded papers, and had dinner in the dining hall with Mr. Price and Mr. Reynolds. After dinner she went for a walk in the paths outside the orchard. She spent an hour trying to figure out a way to tell the students she and the headmaster were a couple. Had it been a larger school, it wouldn’t have mattered. But everyone knew everyone here. All told there were thirty-three people at the school. No keeping secrets in a school so small. She’d much rather be open and honest about their relationship than keep sneaking around, waiting for someone to catch them kissing or holding hands. Or worse.
Laird.
That was it. Of course Laird. He couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. That gossipy twerp was just who she needed. Next time he asked about her and the headmaster—probably tomorrow—she’d tell him the truth. A heavily edited and family-friendly version of the truth, of course. And by dinner, everyone on campus would know. Probably everyone within a fifty-mile radius.
Gwen walked back to her cottage and took a long bath. When she checked the clock she saw it was hardly past nine. If she was good and asked very nicely, maybe she could talk Edwin into a repeat of today’s performance, but in his bed instead of on his hard office desk. She peeked out her front door. First she looked left. Then she looked right. Then she looked toward the dormitories. No one seemed to be out and about. She was safe to jog over to Hawkwood and hunt the headmaster down. After how good he’d made her feel today, she thought she should return the favor. It was the only ladylike thing to do.
The image of giving Edwin another ladylike blow job put a grin on Gwen’s face and preoccupied her so thoroughly she almost didn’t notice the lady in white standing near the wall. But when Gwen did see her, she decided that now—right now—she’d get to the bottom of this mystery. Gwen didn’t care that “The Bride” was dating one of the boys in secret, but she was sneaking on and off campus in all hours of the night. It wasn’t safe. Not out here in the middle of nowhere.
Miss?” Gwen called out. “Miss, can I talk to you?”
The Bride froze but only for an instant. In another instant she ran off so fast Gwen couldn’t keep up with her. She’d never seen a woman run so swiftly and so surely. She skirted every bump, every stone. She disappeared around a corner of Newbury and was gone.
Gwen stood staring at the school courtyard. Where on earth had the girl gone? She couldn’t just disappear into thin air, could she? Had she gone over the school wall?
With her heart pounding from the chase, Gwen walked back to Pembroke where she’d seen The Bride standing. She saw some footprints in the soft soil, but nothing else. No, something else. She found a scrap of white fabric on the porch that had gotten caught on a nail. Gwen pulled it free and studied it.
White. Lacy. Embroidered. It was nothing but a handkerchief. She sensed no magic in it, no ghostly presence. It didn’t even smell of a woman’s perfume. And it belonged to The Bride. Or did it?
Gwen turned it over and noticed a tiny set of initials sewn into one corner. She recognized the initials in an instant and knew something was very wrong here at Wi
lliam Marshal Academy. She’d hoped the girl was simply a girlfriend. But now Gwen knew better.
She marched back to Edwin’s quarters and knocked on his door. When a knock didn’t get his attention, she pounded on it.
Edwin threw the door open. He wore silk pajama pants, his dressing gown, and a look of consternation on his face.
“Gwendolyn, what on earth—”
“Call the police,” she said. “Miss Muir’s still living on campus.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gwen sat across from Edwin at the kitchen table. He’d ordered her to calm down and drink her tea.
“You haven’t called the police yet,” she said.
“You haven’t touched your tea.”
“I’ll drink it if you promise to call the police after I finish it.”
“I’m not going to call the police, Gwendolyn. There is no reason to involve any outsiders in this matter.”
“I saw her at the boys’ dorms, Edwin. I can’t believe you would be cavalier about the safety of the students.”
“I would die for these boys and you know that. But I know more about this situation than you do. It’s not something I can discuss.”
“You can’t discuss the fact that a crazy ex-teacher is roaming around the school?”
“Miss Muir is not roaming around the school.”
“Then why did I find a handkerchief with her initials on it? It was on the porch of the dorm. R.L.M.—that’s Rosemary Leigh Muir. I saw her name and her initials in her Bible she left behind in the cottage. She is nuts, and she is dangerous, and she is clearly still on campus.”
“She is not mad, and she is not on campus. She left and is not coming back.”
“What did Miss Muir look like? Can you tell me that?” Gwen demanded.
Edwin shrugged. “She was a woman. She had a woman’s features.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Hair? Did she have any hair?”
“Yes.”
“What color was it? Black? White? Blonde? Red?”
“Black and long, if I remember correctly.”
“That’s her then. Long, black hair.”
“It is not her,” Edwin insisted. “Miss Muir is gone. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you that.”
“Why did she leave?”
“She left to get married.”
“What? Left to get married? Who quits working just because she got married? My mom didn’t even do that in the seventies.”
“Miss Muir did.”
“Do you know where she is? Can I call her?” Gwen asked, hoping to wring any information out of Edwin.
“I have no information on her whereabouts at this time, no.”
“So she could be here.”
“She could not,” Edwin said.
Gwen’s hand balled up in angry fists.
“I can’t believe you’re being like this. This isn’t a secret you’re allowed to keep from me. It involves the school, the safety of the students.”
“I am fully aware of that. If I thought the presence of this person on campus was in any way something I should concern myself with, then I would concern myself with it. It is not, however. And you’ll simply have to trust me, but I am not at liberty to discuss it.”
That was not the answer she wanted or needed. She put her tea back on her saucer and stood up.
“I want to trust you, Edwin, but I can’t. Not with this.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” he said and her heart broke at the sorrow in his voice, the regret.
“If you change your mind and decide you can tell me what’s going on, you know where to find me,” she said. “Until you decide to tell me, I would appreciate it if you didn’t come to my cottage. And I certainly won’t be coming here.”
“I understand,” he said, his voice now stony and stoic when just today it had been so heated and heartfelt.
Without another word she turned and left him alone at the kitchen table. Instead of heading straight back to her cottage, she started walking the grounds of the school hoping to find any more evidence from The Bride. She had the handkerchief. Surely there were clues out there to be found.
Around and around campus she walked until her feet were tired. Anger kept her on the move. Edwin should trust her, shouldn’t he? He needed to trust her. She thought he did trust her. He’d told her about his first lover, his wife, the truth about his divorce. Those were all aspects of his past she wanted to know but hadn’t needed to know. This she needed to know. And yet no amount of begging and pleading would get the truth out of him.
What was he hiding? And why was he hiding it?
But those questions were the least of her concerns. What mattered more than anything was keeping the boys on campus safe from harm. And Edwin didn’t seem at all worried about the madwoman roaming campus. Fine, she’d protect the students herself if she had to.
She returned to her cottage and sat at her kitchen table. Answers. That was what she needed. If Miss Muir were still living on campus she would need things—food, water, a place to shower, a place to sleep. She’d supposedly lived in this cottage before quitting to get married. The Bible in the table proved she’d been here.
Gwen got out the Bible again and this time she flipped through the pages. Back at Savannah State, Gwen had taught a seminar on the poetry of the Bible—the Psalms, Song of Solomon. The Fun Books, as her students called them. But Miss Muir didn’t seem interested in “the fun books.” But the lists of rules in the Old Testament had certainly captured Miss Muir’s attention. The word abomination was circled over and over again throughout the Bible. Everywhere it occurred it was circled. Eating pork and shellfish were abominations. Trimming one’s beard was an abomination. Cross-dressing was an abomination. A man lying with a man was an abomination. That verse hadn’t just been underlined by Miss Muir, it had been underlined twice.
And circled.
And starred.
Fine then. If Miss Muir was like that, then tonight Gwen would eat oysters for dinner while wearing pants and reading gay erotica.
Miss Muir…who was this woman? Better question—where was this woman?
Gwen had never seen Miss Muir/The Bride near the cottage. Only on the wall and by the dormitory. But Gwen left the cottage for nine hours every day. Breakfast was at eight. Classes started at nine. Lunch at one. She had her last afternoon class at three. She didn’t return to the cottage until five at the earliest. Was Miss Muir—or whoever she was—sneaking into her own cottage to sleep or eat or bathe?
A chill of apprehension passed through Gwen's body. Was she sharing her home with an intruder?
Gwen looked everywhere in the cottage and when she found no hints of anyone living there but her. Cold comfort that, but it was something. She knew so little about Miss Muir. Edwin had told her almost nothing. Maybe the boys would be more talkative.
She went into class on Monday morning prepared to begin A Midsummer Night’s Dream. What she wasn’t fully prepared for were the ten apples on her desk and a “Welcome to Marshal” banner strung across her chalkboard.
Her eyes filled with tears as she smiled at the class.
“No, don’t do that,” Laird said. “No crying. We’ll take the apples back if you start crying.”
“I won’t cry,” she said, crying.
“There was a note hanging in the dorms that said you were the new official teacher of literature at Marshal. We might have been happy to see that,” Christopher said.
“No more Ivanhoe!” Jefferson yelled, and the class applauded and hooted.
“This is very sweet of you boys,” she said. “You didn’t have to spend your weekend making me a welcome sign.”
“We’re stuck at an all-boys school,” Christopher sighed. “We had to find something to do on Saturday. It was either make a sign or rob a bank.”
“I’m glad you spent it making me a sign instead of engaging in criminal behavior.”
“The banks are closed on Saturdays,” Christopher said
with a shrug. Then he smiled at her to show he really was glad she was here. She didn’t bother telling him that banks were, in fact, open on Saturdays. No reason to give the boys any ideas.
“Hope you found something fun to do over the weekend,” Laird said, his voice a little too innocent for her liking. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I prepared lectures and notes all weekend. I didn’t rob any banks either.”
“So you didn’t have any fun, Miss Ashby? None at all?”
“None,” she promised. “Teachers don’t have any fun. Ever.”
Laird nodded. “Of course. Right. No fun at all.”
“None. Now speaking of no fun, let’s get to work.”
She turned around and started to write this week’s lesson plan on the board.
As soon as her back was turned she heard one of the boys put on a perfect female falsetto and gasp, “Edwin!”
Her piece of chalk froze on the board as the entire class burst into giggles.
Gwen blushed so bright she felt the heat all the way to her bones. But that was okay. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she was the teacher and these were teenage boys. It was only a matter of time before her little angels showed their devilish side.
“Actually, before we start our new book, let’s do something fun. Take out some paper, boys. We’re having a test.”
She turned and glared at Laird who had already proven he could do a good falsetto during the play.
“We’re taking our welcome sign back,” Christopher said, sliding down in his seat with a frown.
At the end of class, Gwen got even more revenge on the boys.
“Laird, Christopher, stay behind a moment,” she said.
The boys froze in obvious terror. The class gave them looks of sympathy on their way out.
As soon as they were alone in the room, Laird started.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ashby. I didn’t mean…it wasn’t me,” he lied. “I just—”
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