“Are you happy to see me then?” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. Maria gasped at the thrill, the utter euphoria washing over her at the sense of his touch. Her mouth began to water, and she wanted nothing more than to let her lips find his.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her knees weakened and then buckled when she felt his lips brush her neck. He drew back, and she gazed into his captivating eyes. He smiled, causing his boyish dimple to appear as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.
“Time is quickly ticking, Miss Holt. Surrender to me now, or I shall force upon you my intentions of ravaging you,” he whispered.
His words took the very breath from her bosom; she felt her cheeks go crimson with the blush of desire.
“Your…your mother is about, milord. No doubt she has already been notified of your return,” she whispered, breathless in his arms.
“All the more reason for haste, eh?” he said, taking her chin firmly in one hand and tilting her face upward as his descended toward it.
He squandered no time in bestowing soft, teasing kisses but instead kissed her solidly on the mouth with such potency it near suffocated her. As his mouth devoured hers in heated passion, Maria fancied her own overwhelming, feverish desire might actually give way and render her unconscious. How had she managed to survive an entire year without his touch, his kiss…without him?
“Brockton Richard Thorton! Release that girl at once!”
Startled at the sound of Lady Thorton’s insistent order, Maria broke the seal of their deepening kiss and cast her eyes to the floor.
“Brockton, such behavior! Dear boy, the betrothal has not even been announced as yet. Control yourself!” Lady Thorton scolded, lowering her voice.
“Now, Mother,” Brockton consoled, releasing Maria and gathering his mother into an affectionate embrace while placing a tender kiss on her forehead. “I’ve not seen Maria for an entire year! You must allow my behavior where she is subject may be a trifle…incorrigible.”
Lady Thorton smiled at her dashing son. “Incorrigible? Savage may better term it.” The older woman looked from Maria to her son and back. “Five minutes, Brockton. Only five minutes. After this, a chaperon will be necessary at all times. Understood?” Lady Thorton whispered.
“Understood. Completely unwillingly. But understood…just the same,” Brockton muttered, returning to Maria and capturing her in his arms once again.
“For pity’s sake, Brock. Privacy! Not here in the entry for all the world to see!” Lady Thorton reprimanded.
Maria stood in awe. Was Brock’s mother, the ever proper and respected Lady Thorton, actually suggesting her son, Lord Thorton, proceed with his previous endeavors?
“Yes, of course, Mother. You’re quite right,” he said, chuckling. Then releasing Maria, he took her hand and began pulling her toward the small room adjacent to the entryway.
“Behave, Brockton. Do you hear me?” Lady Thorton called after them.
Having bolted the door behind them, ensuring their complete privacy, Brock turned to Maria. He grinned mischievously and winked at her. Maria drew in her breath suddenly. For the very first time, she began to feel somewhat anxious in being alone with him.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, standing before her.
She looked up at him and then quickly away. Suddenly, the realization of what an indescribably handsome man he was disturbed her. She felt in that moment as if she were once again the child of thirteen he had found cowering behind a door so long ago. How could one such as he truly find anything attractive or loveable in such a simpleton as she?
“You’re jarring my confidence, Maria. Have you, upon seeing me again, suddenly found me inadequate in some way?” he asked. She looked up quickly to see him frowning and completely sincere in his question.
“No! How could you even ask it?” she stammered.
“You’ve rather the look of uncertainty about you,” he said.
“I only wondered…” she began.
“Yes?”
“I only wondered…if you perhaps you were concluding the very thing upon seeing me again,” she whispered.
She heard him release a relieved breath.
“Do you think my mother would find it necessary to let me…compromise you, as it were…for an entire five minutes had my feelings toward you lessened in any respect?”
She smiled and shook her head shyly.
“Very well then. You have your answer,” he said. “Now, to further assure you that I truly love and treasure you, and not only your immortal beauty, I shall refrain from pawing at you for the remainder of the time allotted me.” He folded his arms securely at his massive chest, planted his feet solidly to the floor, and stared straight ahead. “Now,” he said, “yell me what you’ve been about for this past twelve months.”
“Oh,” she began, feigning indifference. “Dreaming of you, mostly.”
His face very nearly broke into a smile for an instant, but he continued to look past her.
“I see. Excellent usage of time, as I see it,” he said. “What else?”
“Oh…and wondering if your kisses were truly as pleasant as I remembered them to be.”
“Pleasant?” he exclaimed, frowning down at her. “Why not cute? Sweet? Common? Passable?”
“I see we still have our ego intact,” Maria giggled.
He reached for her then and drew her to him. “And our talents,” he whispered as he bent to kiss her.
“That is wonderful to hear,” she whispered. He took her mouth with his then, kissing her thoroughly, fiercely passionate. She melted against him, careless of his rough whiskers, abrasive against the tender flesh around her mouth—careless of his powerful embrace forcing the frantic breath from her body—careless of anything save the feel and taste of him.
After a time, he took her face between his hands, tipping her head backward as he rained tender kisses along her throat.
“Had I not gone away, Maria,” he whispered, “I promise you…the cost would have been your virtue and—”
“Ssshhh,” she interrupted, placing a hand over his mouth as he gazed into her eyes. “You do not credit your honor enough, Brock.”
He pushed her hand from his mouth as he said, “You credit my honor too highly, kitten.” He smiled as he studied her face, brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “You’ve changed,” he said. “I cannot believe it as you stand here in my arms…yet you are even more beautiful than when I left.”
“I have not changed much, sir,” she told him, unable to pull her gaze from his mouth. She swallowed hard, trying to restrain the desire to kiss him again.
“Oh, but you have,” he said, still looking at her. “You look…and do not take offense…still you look older somehow.” A delightful thrill swelled within Maria at his utterance. She wanted to look older, to appear matured enough to attract and hold such a man as stood before her.
“We have but five minutes, Lord Thorton,” she told him, tracing the outline of his lips with her fingertips. “Do you truly prefer to spend it in light conversation when your mouth could be otherwise occupied?”
She smiled, pleased with herself when his mouth fell agape, his eyebrows raised in delighted astonishment at her flirting.
“Not…not if I’ve an invitation to…” he stammered.
Maria placed her index finger on her lips, pressing it then to his. “Here is your invitation, Milord Thorton,” she whispered. “Do you accept?”
“Vigorously, milady,” he breathed. “Most vigorously.”
His kiss was hers again then—heated, moist, and unrestrained.
“My dear friends,” Brock began, “I am euphoric at the opportunity to announce to all of you good friends…that a boundless blessing has been bestowed upon my most undeserving self.”
A hush fell over the mass of guests. Maria felt her face flush as all eyes began to settle to where she sat at Lady Thorton’s side.
“It has been allowed that,
on this very date one year hence, I am to be the luckiest of men. For it is proud I am to tell you now…of my impending marriage!”
There was a veritable roar of clapping, laughter, and good wishes. Heads bent together in knowing speculation, and Maria felt her blush intensify. Lord Brockton Thorton was about to announce his betrothal to his ward. She knew it was in everyone’s mind.
“Come now, friends,” Brock said, chuckling and motioning for the crowd to quiet once again. “Am I to understand it is so unashamedly obvious to each of you who my intended might be?”
“’Tis obvious to us all, milord. ’Tis the fair Miss Holt!” came a shout from one of the men. As Brock nodded in confirmation, more cheering commenced.
He held one hand toward Maria, and she placed hers in it. She stood, her knees trembling and weak with delighted anxiety. As she gazed up at the dashing young man who would be her husband, her mind whirled. How could an orphaned child such as she come to such a great bounty? It was as if she were living a fairy tale!
After the extravagant meal at which Brock had announced their engagement, the ball commenced. Maria stood next to Lady Thorton as she received well-wishes and congratulations from guest after guest.
“Oh, my dear. What a beauty Brock has captured,” one elderly man said as he stooped and kissed Maria’s hand.
“A treasure like none other,” another said.
Maria began to feel burdened by the compliments, for she knew she was the one infinitely blessed at having one such as Brock for her own. And when she thought she could endure not one more lavish compliment, Brock returned and begged a dance with her.
At the very sense of being held in his arms, she again slipped into a state of complete euphoria.
“What is it?” he asked, smiling lovingly at her.
“Am I truly to belong to you? It is certain this must be a dream from which I will dreadfully wake soon,” she whispered.
He smiled and bent to whisper in her ear. “It is indeed a dream, Maria. One from which you shall wake in a year’s time. And when you do stir from your slumber that blissful morning three hundred and sixty-five days hence, you will find the dream at present suffers immeasurably in comparison to the one that will be your very life’s breath. For on that morning, Maria…you will awaken having slept in my arms.”
Maria gasped and looked around quickly to ensure no one had heard him, even for his having spoken so softly.
“Brock! You mustn’t say such things to me!” she scolded in a whisper.
“Why? Is it revolting for you to think on it?” he asked, winking at her. In truth, she found nothing more wonderful to imagine.
“Never…but someone will hear you, milord!” she answered.
Brock chuckled and continued to lead her in the dance. She became aware the dance was moving them closer and closer to the large doors leading from the ballroom to the gardens. And when she looked up, he was grinning impishly at her.
As she had supposed, once they reached the doors, he quickly took her hand and led her out and into the garden.
“I’ve not had a moment alone with you since I arrived three days ago,” he said, holding her hand firmly in his as they strolled about the gardens.
“Your mother does not trust in our good judgment,” Maria said, smiling.
“My mother does not trust that I still possess any good judgment,” he corrected. “And with good reason, I admit.”
They walked in silence for several moments before stopping at the most fragrant of rosebushes.
“I’ve something to give you,” he whispered.
“A kiss?” she asked, smiling at him.
She was puzzled when he shook his head. He then reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box.
Understanding resplendently struck Maria, and she stared at the case as he opened it. At the vision of what lay within, she gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. The ring was extraordinary in its simple elegance. A single diamond was positioned in the middle of the golden band, three smaller gems, sapphires, at one lower edge.
“Did you think I would deny you a visible token of our betrothal?” he asked.
Maria could only stare at him as he removed the ring from its case and, taking her hand, placed it on the appropriate finger.
“It is…it is…entirely unnecessary,” she whispered.
Brock reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand, caressing her lips with his thumb. “It’s only a trivial token of my love for you…of my obsession, Maria,” he said quietly.
“Obsession?” she repeated doubtfully.
“Obsession,” he stated firmly. He traced her lips once again with his thumb and then said, “It is difficult for you to believe, is it not?”
She looked away shyly as he continued.
“Difficult because I am so much your elder, inheritor of a title and wealth. I am sure your mind has concocted other such ridiculous reasons for doubt as well. I know you.” He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “Know this, Maria Castillo Holt…I have no other passions in life, save you. I have nothing else in the world that I could not live without, save you. Wherever I may be, whether far away from you or holding your tempting form in my arms…my thoughts are of you. You doubt my terming you my obsession. Yet I tell you only this: it is what you are.” He dropped his hands from her face and turned away, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling tensely. “I suppose you find me weak and lesser masculine for saying it. Most men are not inclined to bear their souls thus, so to speak.”
She brushed a tear from her cheek and, reaching out, grasped one of his strong hands. “I love you, Brock. More than you can pretend to understand,” she whispered.
“Obsessively?” he asked, turning to her, his adorable grin hinting to expose his darling dimple.
“Ever so much more than obsessively,” she said.
Brock turned to her, his eyes traveling the length of her. He seemed to struggle with some inward battle, all at once finding victory.
A profound rapture rose within Maria’s bosom as he took her in his arms, her throat the willing recipient of one soft kiss. She let her arms slip around him as she pressed her lips tenderly, lingeringly, against his throat in return. Brock straightened, instantly tense.
“I should take you in,” he said.
“Yes. You should,” she whispered, reaching up and letting her fingers tangle in his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.
“We must return,” he stated, yet he stood unmoving.
She nodded and whispered, “Yes. We must.”
Brock bent, pressing his mouth to hers, kissing her with rough intensity. Though Maria found this kiss somewhat uncomfortable, nearly painful in a manner, still she reveled in it, thrilled by its complete power over her senses. She could believe him when he kissed her like this. Believe he loved her as obsessively as she did him.
“I must have one more drink of you first,” he mumbled. “Endeavor to quench my thirst, Maria.”
She smiled, her fingers once again lost in the softness of his hair.
“I cannot, milord,” she whispered, “for my own mouth is dried out for want of yours.”
“Maria,” he breathed a moment before crushing his mouth to hers.
“I was about to send someone out there to retrieve you, Brockton,” Lady Thorton knowingly whispered upon their return to the ballroom.
“I only wanted to give her the ring, Mother. It should be a private gesture, do not you agree?” Brock whispered in response to the reprimand.
“Yes. And I am sure the redness and overall…um…condition of Maria’s lips is due to her smiling so broadly at your offering it to her,” Lady Thorton said, winking at Maria. “I’m not at all sure that it is wise to harbor the two of you under the same roof any longer.”
“Two days more, Mother. And then you can breathe easier,” Brock whispered.
Maria felt discouragement trying to creep in on her blissful evening. Two days! And
he would be gone again! And for how long? Would he stay the entire year this time as well? Her heart stung, ached, pained her in every regard at the thought. She could not live another moment without him. She could not! And yet, to own him, she must. Still…how would she endure?
For the two days following the ball, Brock and Maria accepted various invitations to luncheons, visited various tenants of Lord Thorton’s property, rode for miles and miles, and kept as otherwise occupied as was possible. Each moment she was not in his arms found Maria anxious to the point of nausea over his impending departure. An odd sort of foreboding seemed to settle in her as well, and she wondered how she would bear his absence again.
A great despair settled over Maria as she retired that last evening, her only thoughts that when she awoke in the light of morning, it would be to find Brock already gone. It was torturous! Why had her father stipulated she be eighteen before she marry? She was sure if he could have guessed at what would be between them, surely he would not have made her age a factor of his terms.
“Maria,” came the whisper. She awoke instantly at the sound of his voice, the knowledge of his presence in her chambers.
Sitting up, she found Brock standing beside her bed. He was dressed for travel, and panic overwhelmed her.
“You will write to me?” she begged, her voice quivering with emotion.
“Of course,” he whispered. “Now, be quick and see me off. Mother will have me beheaded if she catches me in here,” he chuckled.
Maria threw aside her quilt and stood before him, aching to be in his arms.
“I correct myself. Mother would have me tortured to a long and miserably slow death,” he said, studying her from head to toe. Maria knew she stood before him in only her nightdress, but it mattered not to her.
It was pointless to beg him to stay. Brock was, after all, an honorable man no matter what he professed to be in the intimate moments they shared. She knew he would do nothing to tarnish their reputations—or at least hers. Yet she was beginning to believe it was, indeed as he maintained, difficult for him not to touch her at every opportunity.
“Will you kiss me goodbye then?” she asked in a whisper.
Born for Thorton's Sake Page 8