Cory laughed. ‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that a kiss is a kiss is a kiss, Rachel. How can one have a sort of kiss?’
‘A sort of kiss is when you miss,’ Rachel said. She looked up to see Cory watching her with interest and felt a faint stirring of the disturbing emotions that had captured her before. Talking about kissing was not a good idea. She hurried on.
‘I did think it was rather clever of Sir John to try to gain my sympathy with his tale of gallantry and near death,’ she said. ‘It might well have worked on some other, more susceptible lady.’
‘I imagine it has worked a score of times,’ Cory said drily. ‘You are hard-hearted, Rachel.’
Rachel started to pack the remains of the picnic back into the basket for her parents.
‘The Midwinter villages are full of rakes at present,’ she said. ‘A young lady must protect her reputation as best she may.’
Cory shifted. ‘And do you consider me to be one of those dangerous rakes in question?’
Rachel looked at him through her lashes. ‘I cannot believe that you are dangerous to me, Cory. We are such old friends that I do not imagine you would either wish to seduce me or be successful if you tried. Such things do not happen between friends.’
There was another pause that felt curiously alive with all kinds of emotions. Rachel drew a short breath to retract her remark, but Cory forestalled her.
‘You are mistaken,’ he said smoothly, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver squirming down Rachel’s spine. ‘I cannot guarantee the outcome, of course, but I can assure you that it would be a positive pleasure to seduce you…’
He put a hand about her wrist and tugged, so that Rachel, taken by surprise, tumbled beneath him on the picnic rug. Cory’s grey eyes were dark with some emotion she did not understand, and she lay still, looking up at him. And suddenly it felt as though she had been waiting for this moment for all her life without really knowing what it was she was waiting for. Cory’s mouth came down on hers and Rachel’s lips parted beneath his and the sensation tore through her like wildfire in the blood, and Rachel was lost.
Chapter Fourteen
Cory had never intended to kiss Rachel. He had been struggling for days to subdue his most predatory of instincts and treat her gently. Then she had looked at him and he had seen the mixture of passion and shyness shimmer in her eyes when she had spoken of kissing. He had known then that she was feeling the same disturbing awareness that he was and he had been totally unprepared for the effect that this knowledge had had on him. Desire had ripped through his body and when Rachel had smiled and said innocently that no doubt he would never wish to seduce her anyway, Cory had known that he had to show her the error of her ways. He had succumbed to his deepest impulses and taken her in his arms.
He had never expected to fall in love with Rachel Odell. He had thought that he had known her too long and too well. Yet as soon as he had seen her again that day by the river his attraction to her had known no bounds. It had lain below the surface of their friendship the whole time, leaving him permanently half-aroused and wholly frustrated. He had been tormented by Rachel’s involvement with James Kestrel and John Norton and Caspar Lang. It mattered not one whit that she had engaged in nothing more than a few harmless carriage rides with her admirers and a few hands of cards. All that was primitive in Cory had wanted to stop her and claim her for his own and now he had her where she was meant to be.
She lay in his arms, her lips open beneath his, her mouth soft, ripe and very inviting, and already Cory had taken this far, far further than he had ever intended. He could not help himself. When she parted her lips so readily for him he felt an astonishing mix of protectiveness and sheer, dazzling male triumph, and he touched his tongue to hers, revelling in the ripple of delighted shock that he felt echo through her entire body. His arms tightened about her and when he felt Rachel’s fingertips tentatively brush the back of his neck and delve into his hair, his body reacted with a tense and surging need. He deepened the kiss, his tongue invading her mouth, his senses ablaze. He could feel the roundness of her breasts pressing against him and he let his hands skim the curves of her body, down to the flare of her hips and back up to the swell of those full breasts. Rachel moved against him, making a tiny incoherent sound against his mouth that did nothing to dampen Cory’s ardour or help him gain a grip on his self-control. He was dimly aware that he wanted Rachel more than any woman he had ever known, and that he was about to do something utterly irrevocable.
There was a sudden clatter above them, followed by the intrusive sound of voices and a flare of light that was as shocking as it was abrupt. Cory reacted completely on instinct, rolling over, sitting up and pulling Rachel into the curve of his arm so that they were both sitting looking out over the river, her head on his shoulder. She felt boneless against him, soft and sweet and completely spellbound. He knew that she had not had time to recover herself properly, had no idea where she was. A swift tenderness took him and he pressed a kiss against her hair.
‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’
He felt her nod very slightly, but she did not speak. Then Arthur and Lavinia Odell were coming down the bank and greeting them with satisfaction.
‘Cory! And Rachel! Are we too late? Is there any food left for us?’
There was a pause. In the flare of the torches, Cory could see that Rachel’s face was blank and bemused. He felt a little worried, but he could not deny that he also felt a certain arrogant pleasure to have had that effect on her. It made him want to kiss her again.
The expression came back into Rachel’s face and she focussed on her mother. ‘There is some food, Mama, but I think it better if we retire to the house. It is getting a little chilly here by the river.’
Sir Arthur consulted his watch. ‘I say, it is close on nine thirty! Thought I felt a little peckish. Could not tear myself away-discovered a fifth-century pot in a particularly good state of repair.’
Cory heard Rachel sigh. She got to her feet, stumbling only slightly. Cory leapt up and put out a hand to steady her, but she was already turning away. She was being very careful not to look at him.
‘I will come back with you, Papa,’ she said. ‘I would not wish you to lose your way between here and the dining room.’
Cory thought that she did not intend to say goodbye to him, but at the last moment, she turned and flashed him the briefest of looks.
‘Goodnight, Cory. Th…thank you for…’ She hesitated and Cory had a ridiculous thought that she was about to thank him for kissing her. ‘Thank you for your company,’ Rachel finished.
Cory bowed formally. ‘Thank you, Rachel. I enjoyed our evening. I will bring the hamper back for you.’
That brought him another glance from troubled hazel eyes. He could tell that she wanted to escape his company. Rachel’s lips were swollen from his kisses and now she ran her tongue along them uncertainly. Cory subdued an instinctive movement towards her.
‘Pray do not worry about the hamper,’ she said. ‘I will send one of the servants down to collect it.’
Cory smiled a challenge. ‘I insist.’
Rachel frowned. ‘No-’
‘It is no trouble.’
He saw a flicker of displeasure in her eyes. Evidently she wished to be free of his company as soon as she could and to forget what had happened.
‘Very well, then. If you must,’ she said.
She set off up the path to the house at so brisk a pace that her parents and Cory were left floundering in her wake. By the time that Cory reached the hall, she was nowhere to be seen. He fancied that he just spotted a flash of daisy-spotted muslin whisking around the newel post at the top of the stair. He smiled to himself. If Rachel’s strategy was to pretend that their kiss had never occurred, his would be to make sure that it recurred within as short a time as possible.
‘Please say goodnight to Rachel for me, sir,’ he said politely to Sir Arthur Odell as he propelled the baronet and his lady into the dining room and place
d the hamper on the table. ‘I shall see you tomorrow.’
On the hall table he found the copy of the Ipswich Chronicle that he had requested earlier in the day. Tucking it inside his jacket, Cory went back out into the night. He did not turn his footsteps towards Kestrel Court, however, but retraced his steps to the river, where he divested himself of his neckcloth, jacket and boots-without the aid of a valet-and jumped in the river. It was cool and refreshing. And it was getting to be rather a habit with him.
Rachel sat on her bed in her nightdress. In her hand she held her hairbrush, but the strokes she had started to brush vigorously through her long chestnut hair had stilled some time ago. Now the candle was burning down and she had forgotten the brush and she was only in her room in body rather than in mind or spirit.
She was not quite sure what had happened to her. One moment all had been comfortable and familiar. She had been talking to Cory in the way in which she had done year on year for as long ago as she could remember, sharing confidences. Then she had made her foolish remark about seduction, and then there was a moment when everything had been poised, waiting, before Cory had kissed her with a desire and an intensity that she had thought would steal her very soul.
Rachel’s lips parted and she gave a tiny sigh. There was no point in pretending any more. It was impossible now to profess that Cory was her friend and that she was utterly indifferent to him as a man. She had thought that passion was for other people and was overrated at that, and Cory had proved the folly of her belief with one kiss. She corrected herself. Two kisses. The embrace in the billiards room should have alerted her to what to expect and given her fair warning of what would happen if she mentioned the words seduction and rake within a few sentences.
Rachel realised that her feet were chilled. She slid into bed and pulled her knees up to her chin, hugging them close. She remembered the feeling of absolute rightness that had taken her in the moment before Cory had lowered his lips to hers. It was as though he had always been there for her and that moment held the promise that he always would be. But those were foolish thoughts. She did not deceive herself that Cory had kissed a great many women in his time and that it had probably not meant a great deal to him. After all, she had brought everything upon herself with her ridiculously naïve comment about him not wishing to seduce her. No doubt a rake would take that as a challenge, and a most provocative one at that. And so Cory had kissed her to disprove her theory.
Rachel pulled the brush through her hair with brief, distracted strokes, then put it down on the nightstand, lay down, and pulled the blankets up about her shoulders. It seemed a little unfair to Cory to think that he would view the matter as nothing more than a flirtation. She was sure that he cared for her. She had heard the tender note in his voice when he had asked her if she was all right. Yet loving and being in love were two very different matters. She knew that she loved Cory and for a moment she trembled on the edge of wondering whether she was falling in love with him. Then she turned her thoughts from that troubling idea. Such a way would lie nothing but disappointment and unhappiness, for they were utterly incompatible.
Rachel lay with her eyes wide open, staring into the dark. Briefly she wondered what might have happened if her parents had not burst upon them at that point. She could not answer the question with any certitude. Presumably Cory would have stopped kissing her at some point-she did not pretend that she had had either the inclination or the will to stop it herself. Or perhaps, being a rake, Cory would have taken matters to their natural conclusion and proved once and for all that if he had set out to seduce her completely he would not fail in his aim.
Rachel turned over on her side and curled up tightly. She could not let it happen again. One kiss was a mistake, two was carelessness, but three…Three would prove that she wanted Cory to be more than a friend to her. And even if she did, she could not have him.
She fell asleep on the thought and was most disconcerted in the morning to discover that she had left her clothes strewn all over the room and had had no thought at all to put them away.
The following morning was a Sunday, a fact for which Rachel was profoundly grateful. It meant that there was no work on the excavation site and that her mind was fully occupied with the task of marshalling Sir Arthur and Lady Odell and the servants for the trip to church in Midwinter Mallow. This was no small matter. Sir Arthur was completely oblivious of which day of the week it was and when he discovered that it was Sunday, grumbled that Mr Lang was as windy a parson as he had ever met, and his preaching was a dead bore. Lady Odell fussed vaguely over the fact that Rachel would not let her wear her Inuit tribal dress to church, and Mrs Goodfellow threatened that they would be obliged to have a cold collation for dinner if she had to walk all the way to and from Midwinter Mallow with her bunions in the state they were. Eventually the party was packed into the carriage that Olivia and Ross Marney had sent to convey them to church, and Rachel, feeling exhausted, clambered in as well.
Despite the length of the Reverend Lang’s sermons, there was an excellent turn out at St Martin’s that morning. The Duke of Kestrel was in the front pew and had graciously invited Lady Sally Saltire to join him. Rachel sat one row behind and admired the elegant curl of the jaunty feather in Lady Sally’s hat. Concentrating on the feather also prevented her gaze from sliding sideways to where Cory Newlyn sat. Cory had come in very late, just when Rachel’s nerves had settled with the thought that he would not be present. He had taken a seat directly in her line of sight, and studying his clear-cut profile distracted Rachel completely from the message that Reverend Lang took a good forty minutes to deliver from the pulpit. As his voice droned on Rachel fixed her gaze on Lady Sally’s hat, but her mind kept returning to Cory with increasing repetition. She wondered if he would approach her and, if he did, how she would feel and what she would say. She wondered if he would make reference to the previous night and, if so, how she could respond. Then she wondered why everyone was looking at her and realised that they had all moved on to the prayers whilst she was still standing up.
Once the service was over, they all stood about the church door and on the path to the lych gate, chatting in the sunshine. Mr Lang had buttonholed Sir Arthur and was trying to persuade him to agree to take a party around the excavations. Sir Arthur, who hated groups of what he referred to as antiquity tourists, was being decidedly awkward about it. Rachel fretted. She could see Cory moving towards her, pausing for a word with the Marneys, exchanging a greeting with Lady Sally Saltire, working his way unobtrusively in her direction. She repressed a childish desire to dive for cover behind the nearest gravestone.
‘Papa…’ she said beseechingly, ‘I am sure there can be no difficulty in showing some of our neighbours the work that is progressing on the excavation.’
‘Splendid idea,’ Cory said. He was standing beside her. ‘Lady Sally has just been asking if she might join a party to view our work.’
‘Sightseers, tourists,’ Sir Arthur grumbled, under his breath.
‘I think that was an agreement,’ Rachel said, smiling sweetly at Mr Lang. ‘I will make the necessary arrangements.’
Cory took her arm and drew her to one side. Rachel went, a little unwillingly. She was very conscious of the milling crowds and curious glances.
‘I would like to talk to you, Rae,’ Cory said. ‘About last night. Please.’
Rachel looked around again. It seemed a rather public place to be choosing for such a discussion.
‘I cannot,’ she whispered. ‘Mama and Papa-’
‘Will be perfectly safe if you leave them for a few moments,’ Cory said smoothly.
He took her arm and drew her towards the relative privacy of the lych gate. Rachel went with him, scarcely aware of where she was going. Now that Cory was here with her again she felt almost paralysed with embarrassment and awareness. It felt as though she was obliged to discuss a peculiarly intimate topic with someone who should be no more than a friend. Something felt out of kilter. A wave of heat wa
shed up from her toes to envelop her whole body.
‘I am not certain that this is a good idea, Cory,’ she said. ‘May we not pretend that it simply did not happen?’
‘Not this time,’ Cory said, a little grimly.
‘I thought,’ Rachel said a little desperately, ‘that it was a mistake.’ She looked at him, willing him to agree with her.
‘A mistake,’ Cory said thoughtfully. A smile curled the corners of his mouth and Rachel’s pulse jumped in response to the expression she saw in his eyes. ‘Was it a mistake that you responded to my kiss like that?’
A burning blush swept over Rachel again. She clutched at another idea. ‘Perhaps that is not the correct word. Shall we say that it was just an accident?’
‘It was an accident waiting to happen,’ Cory said. ‘You must see, Rachel, that it was bound to occur sooner or later.’
That stopped Rachel in her tracks. She looked at him. ‘Was it? How do you know?’
Cory smiled at her. ‘Now I think about it, I think that I have always known it. One day you and I were going to kiss each other. It was inevitable.’
They looked at each other. Rachel thought that Cory looked rather pleased with himself and she felt her temper rise, rather as it had done when they were younger and Cory had been so brash and conceited and she had wanted to take him down several pegs.
‘Well, I wish you had told me,’ she said crossly.
Cory cocked an eyebrow. ‘Do you? What would you have liked me to say to you? Something along the lines of “Rachel, you and I are strongly attracted to each other and it is to be expected that at some point we shall kiss each other?”’
Rachel frowned harder. ‘It would have helped.’
‘Helped you do what-run away from me?’ Cory spread his hands wide. ‘I think you have done quite enough of that already, Rae. The very fact that you are always running leads me to believe that you feel exactly as I do.’
Rachel bit her lip. She could not contradict him. ‘I do not deny that I have been somewhat…taken by surprise by my feelings for you,’ she said.
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