by Dayna Quince
“India sounds terribly frightening.”
“Yes, but it is also more beautiful than I can adequately describe. The fauna, the animals—yes, even the tigers.”
Thea laughed as she moved her pawn forward. “What is the food like?”
“They favor spices. It is very fragrant and sometimes unbearable to eat if one has a weak stomach.”
“Unbearable?”
“The spices and curries they use burn the tongue and the digestion of them, if one is used to only English food, can be bothersome.”
“Oh. I don’t think I would like it.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” He smiled at her.
“I can’t think of when I shall ever have the opportunity.”
“It is difficult but not impossible to recreate the dishes here. I shall have to look into it. I’ve grown to like a lot of the food I had while there.”
“What of the people? Are they civilized?”
He laughed. “As much as any human can be.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that they are backward.”
“I know. They have their laws and customs just like we do. They have their rich and their poor, and everyone in between, just the same as us, only from time to time they must fear being slain by the wildlife.”
“Oh, dear. I think I will stay in England.” Thea laughed nervously.
He claimed one of her pawns. “You shouldn’t be afraid to see the world, Thea. Fear is just as dangerous as anything you could face out there.”
“But my fear won’t eat me, will it?” She took his knight.
“If you let it, it certainly can.”
Thea bit her lip. She stared at the board, but she was thinking of his words more than she was considering her next strategy.
Fear was an acquaintance she knew well.
“Thea?”
“Hmm?” She looked up.
“Check.”
“What? How?” She glared at the board.
He grinned at her. “I’m only teasing. You’re decimating my troops.”
“You’re a rogue.” She leaned back in her chair. She made her move, and he his. She was about to take his bishop when Mrs. Hale brought them a tray of tea.
“Such a dark evening. One must hurry to bed when the weather rages like this.” She turned to Thea and raised a brow.
Thea pressed her lips together. “You need not wait for us to retire, Mrs. Hale. We can look after ourselves.
“It’s all right, Miss Manton. I can’t sleep with such wind anyhow. I’ll be in the kitchen mending linens. I’ll leave the door ajar so I can hear you if you have need of me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hale,” Felton said graciously.
Thea wasn’t feeling so gracious, though she did appreciate the tea. She could hear the wind howling, and it was enough to chill her. “Thank you, Mrs. Hale.” She murmured and accepted a cup. Mrs. Hale retreated.
“She’s chaperoning us, you know,” he whispered.
“I gathered as much,” Thea whispered back. They shared mischievous smiles.
“Does she think I’ll steal away with you in the night?” he asked.
“Could you? Not in this weather, though.”
“She thinks you’ll ravish me.” He grinned
Thea stifled a giggle. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”
“Ah, so I won’t be your first innocent.”
“Nor my last,” Thea teased. “I’ve been called dangerous before.”
“Have you? Who would dare…?”
Thea liked the way he was smiling at her. “Lord Rigsby.”
“The man who’s breeches you’ve worn?”
“He said my curves were dangerous.”
Felton dropped his gaze to the chess board. He knew at that moment if Lord Rigsby were here standing before him, he’d be shoving his king down his throat. Jealousy raged inside him. She spoke of Rigsby with fondness but was there something more?
Felton didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like a ferocious growl. He ignored the tea and stood to pour himself something stronger. At the decanter, he released an angry breath and tossed back a finger of whisky. He swallowed the fire in his throat.
“I’d like to meet your Rigsby.” And punch him in the face.
“He isn’t my Rigsby. He is Lucy’s brother and like a surrogate brother to me.”
“Oh?” He turned. Like a brother. That was a relief to hear. But did Rigsby feel the same? Felton had to assume that any man who’d seen Thea in those bloody breeches would never be the same. Felton certainly wasn’t. It wasn’t just the breeches. The breeches were…the jam on the flaky buttery scone that melted in your mouth.
He needed to touch her desperately. His eyes cut to the open door. No doubt Mrs. Hale was standing guard.
He returned to their game and sat. She was beating him soundly. “I think I will retire after all.” He stopped whispering.
She looked up and frowned. “Are you feeling well?”
“Yes, but I’m not as spry as I used to be.” He stood and drifted toward the door. “Goodnight, Miss Manton.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter 7
Thea frowned at the chess board. She may as well retire, too. She looked up as someone entered and found Mrs. Hale.
“I may as well find my bed.” She lifted the tea tray.
“Don’t bother with that, my dear. I can take it to the kitchen.”
“I’ll blow out the candles,” Thea offered.
“Thank you, but Mr. Hale will be here in a moment to bank the fire.”
“Oh, yes. Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.”
Thea slowly climbed the stairs, feeling a touch of loneliness for the first time since her arrival. She looked towards Felton’s door with longing. She hadn’t wanted the night to end like this. She paused before her door, wondering if he was still awake. She was startled when the door opened.
Mr. Hale emerged with an arm full of logs.
“Tonight will be a cold one, I’m afraid.”
“So it seems.” She held her door open for him and watched as he added more wood to her fire and set the other logs aside.
“Would you like a warming pan for your bed?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Hale. The room is very comfortable already.”
He nodded and departed.
Thea stared at the fire for a moment more before going behind the dressing screen to put on her nightgown. She took off her glasses, blew out her candles, and slipped into bed. She would force herself to sleep if she had to. Otherwise, she knew she would dwell on the things she wished would have happened and simmer in disappointment all night long.
There was a scratching at her door. She sighed and left her cozy covers. She would have thought everyone else was abed by now, too.
“Yes?” She pulled the door open a crack. Her heart skidded and then continued on in elation as blue eyes stared back at her.
“I came to see if you are warm enough.”
“I’m very warm.” And getting warmer with every heartbeat. “Is your room too cold?”
He looked very serious as he stared back at her. “Thea, may I come in?”
She nodded and opened the door. He slipped in, silent as a mouse. She closed the door, licking her dry lips.
He looked around the room, eyes settling on the fire. “I see Mr. Hale made certain of your comfort.”
“Yes.”
This felt like a dream. He was still mostly dressed, but he wore only a shirt, breeches, and stockings. Thea suddenly remembered her own lack of clothing. She swiftly picked up her robe and put it on.
She turned to find him watching her. Something was different about him tonight. Every part of her had hoped for a moment just like this, a moment that would provide the perfect opportunity for another kiss, and here it was. So why was she so nervous?
He moved slowly toward her, and she couldn’t catch her breath. He stopped before her and gently pulled one of her h
ands from its tight grip on the sash of her robe.
“I have a confession to make.”
“All right?”
“Hearing you speak of Lord Rigsby makes me…insanely jealous.”
Thea swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He chuckled.
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Do you fancy him?”
“Lord Rigsby?” Thea hesitated. The first words to her mind were ‘good heavens, no’, but then… He was handsome, and when he’d complimented her the day she wore the breeches, she’d felt something, but it was nothing now—nothing compared to the way she felt when she looked at Felton.
A smile from Rigsby could make any woman swoon, but when Felton smiled, it was like seeing a sunrise for the first time. Her heart bloomed inside her.
“No. He has his charms, but…I don’t know. It wouldn’t be right.” She gave a small shrug.
He smiled. He looked extremely happy.
“Thea. If you don’t tell me to leave, I’m going to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened. That was bold of him, but nothing was going to move her to speak at that moment. She waited, and he waited, his smile growing. He brought a hand to her cheek.
“Do you want me to stay?”
Thea nodded. She was a wanton, and she didn’t care. If wanting him was so wrong, it shouldn’t feel this bloody good.
She stepped closer and his lips caught hers. She felt like she was diving into chaos—a new world, a new version of herself. What had she just agreed to? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter because the one thing she believed with her whole heart was that Felton would never hurt her.
She could trust him.
He stole her breath with his kiss. Thea did her best to match everything he did, but she struggled to remain present when her wits were scattering like leaves. His arms came around her and hugged her body to him tightly. All her breath escaped her in a rush, but she didn’t mind. What was air when she had Felton’s lips against her own? He pulled back. Her eyes blinked open, and she looked up at him.
“What must you think of me?”
“I think you are lovely.”
She put her hands to his chest. She should push him away, but everything inside her clamored for more closeness.
“I fear I don’t know what to do.”
He eased himself back now. “Are you afraid?”
“No,” her brow creased, “but I am aware I should be.”
“I respect you, Thea. And above all else, I will always put your comfort and needs before my own. If you wish me to leave, you need only say it.”
Her heart melted. He was so considerate and kind. “And if I don’t, what then? What will happen?”
He straightened, his face somber, his eyes stormy in the low light. “Absolutely nothing you don’t wish to happen.”
Thea felt a burst of frustration. “As reassuring as that sounds, that still doesn’t answer my question.” This time, she moved away and stood before the fire. “I’m not sophisticated enough to know what any of this means. We have to speak plainly with each other.”
She felt his presence behind her.
“You wish to know my intentions,” he stated.
“I wish to know what will happen next. What does it mean if you stay?”
Felton grew weary. He knew what she was asking. He even knew precisely how to answer. But if he did, he feared he would scare her. Did she feel as strongly as he? He knew without a doubt what he wanted. He wanted her—body and heart, to have and to hold, for all the rest of their days. But he had nothing to offer but himself as of yet. He had no home to share with her, no means of caring for her. He needed just a little bit of time to arrange the beginnings of a life for them. How could he promise all these things to her now with nothing to show for it?
“It can mean whatever you want it to mean.”
She tossed a glare at him over her shoulder. She did not appreciate that answer.
Felton ran his fingers through his hair in aggravation. Christ, what was he to say? He can’t propose—not yet. It was only this morning that he had the revelation that he would make her his in every way. What sort of revelations had she had thus far?
“Thea…” he began hesitantly, “I’d be a liar if I didn’t say what I want is to stay in the room and worship your body. There are so many things I want to give you, but at this moment… all I have is myself. I won’t make love to you, I won’t take what should belong to your husband, but we can still get to know one another. We can still share in each other, explore this mutual desire.”
She looked back at the fire without responding.
He stepped closer to her, his shirt brushing the back of her robe. He felt her all around him when he stood this close. He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. It reminded him of berries in the summer. He wanted to reach out to her, but he wouldn’t, not unless she gave him some sort of sign. Please, God, he begged.
She bent her head down, the nape of her neck calling to him, begging for the caress of his lips. He held himself still. Surely, this was the moment. His heart beat like a drum in his ears. His head bent closer, his breath stirring the feather hairs at the nape of her neck. Her hair was roped into a thick braid over her shoulder.
His lips brushed her skin. She shivered but didn’t pull away. He heard her quick intake of breath. His arms came around her, one splayed hand to her midriff, bringing her back against him. He wanted to moan. Being near her was so exquisite if was almost painful. She smelled of lilies or something flowery he couldn’t name. Whatever it was, surely, it’s what heaven smelled like if heaven were a small woman held in his arms named Thea. She covered his hand with hers, holding him there. He claimed the soft skin of her neck with his lips thoroughly, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. Could there me anything more delicious and sweet? No, his body moaned. He wanted her, he must have her. But those thoughts were dangerous and heady. Thea must always come first. Always. If he wanted to be a man worthy of her, he needed to chant the words over and over into his mind and rein in his own urgings.
“Darling, may I touch you?”
“Yes,” she said with a sigh so light it floated away from her.
His hand on her midriff remained, but his other hand, the devious one, feathered its way from her thigh to the apex of her legs. Knowing fingers pressed into the fold of her thighs, searching for that wondrous place. He could feel her legs tensing but not resisting.
He found her, the slope of her womanhood and the treasure it guarded. He pressed harder, circling his index and middle finger. Her head dropped back and lolled to the side, and another sigh escaped her.
Oh, yes, she liked this. His own body hummed with gloating triumph. Again, he circled, and then he pressed deeper, using the fabric of her nightgown to his advantage. It blunted his touch, which would ultimately make her more desperate for it.
Thea could feel a wicked fever taking over her body. It tickled her skin, radiating from his touch and filling her with an urgent need to move—to do something—anything to feed this strange need. She pinched her eyes closed, sparkles filling the black void behind her lids as she fought to keep herself still and accepting of his touch. She didn’t want him to stop but was afraid he would if she moved too much. She feared he would think she didn’t like what he was doing and—oh yes, she liked it. She liked it too much. Perhaps the burning of her skin was the shame she should be feeling for being such a reckless wanton—but it felt so wonderful, so new and thrilling.
It couldn’t be shame. Not when it was so lovely.
Thea leaned back against him, giving her weight to him. Her knee’s felt like gelatin, and her only anchor was the press of his hand on her stomach. Her own hand clung to his as the rest of her body floated on a mist of pleasure she’d never known before. She wanted to move—she had to move. Her body was begging for it. A soft whimper escaped her, and his hand stopped. Oh no!
“Felton?” she said weakly.
But he didn’t pull away. His devilish fingers rested ever so close to her aching center but did not move. He began to pull up her nightgown, and Thea shivered. As the gown rose, her skin grew warmer from the heat of the fire. It snapped, sparks raining down and mesmerizing her as her mind fought away the fuzziness in her head and continued to lose. She didn’t want to win. She wanted to lose herself completely. She closed her eyes again. She would let him do as he wished. She trusted him completely in this. She didn’t know where such trust in him had come from. She just knew it was there inside her. With her eyes closed, her other senses became stronger. She could follow the rising of her nightgown by the wave of heat that climbed her legs. Then it was no longer just heat but his hand that slid under the bunched hem and touched her bare thigh. She bit her lip—it was that or giggle madly.
His lips trailed over her neck, and Thea fervently turned her head to catch his mouth. He stole her breath. His tongue claimed her mouth, and Thea returned the rough caress. Between her thighs, his wicked fingers turned inward. She gripped his hand at her stomach, her other hanging at her side, fist curled tightly. But she didn’t stop him, and he didn’t stop as he stroked her virgin flesh. It was so shocking and so intensely divine, her body bucked and an immense joy radiated through her. She gasped, and then a warbled moan escaped her as the joy muted to a tingle throughout her limbs. Her knees went slack, but Felton caught her. He scooped her up and laid her on the bed.
Thea was so alarmed by her body’s odd behavior that, no matter how delicious it felt, she buried her face in the pillows and couldn’t look at him. She was startled when she felt the bed dip beside her, and she was pulled against him, her body, once again, snug against his.
“Don’t be frightened by your desires, mon tresor.”
Thea timidly peeked at him. “I don’t even understand them. I don’t understand myself.”
She caught his wide grin.
“And that makes me so very happy.”
“Why?” Curiosity made her turn her head enough to meet his eyes.
“Call it male satisfaction. Deep down, we men are still as possessive and territorial as our Norse ancestors. No other man’s hands have dared what I now claim as mine.”