Catherine knew he held his breath, her indecision as obvious to him as it was to herself. Now was the time to clarify her position with the forward gentleman. Unfortunately, she felt powerless to deny him. Nothing had prepared her for the intense onslaught of emotion that had taken her mind and body. Perhaps one kiss—nothing wrong with that, was there?—just so she might satisfy a need she was only now beginning to accept.
She closed her eyes, losing the war with herself, feeling oddly victorious.
The air in the earl’s chest whooshed out in a shaky gasp. He touched her face and his fingers, resting lightly on her cheek, trembled. Could he actually be nervous too?
The earl slipped his hand gently along her jaw, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her to him. He rubbed the curve of her mouth with his thumb. She did not open her eyes but could feel his compelling stare as her lips parted slightly, her breathing coming in short, quick pants.
“Oh, God,” he whispered unsteadily.
He kissed her then, his hungry mouth gliding across the smooth surface of her lips, back and forth with ever increasing warmth. A groan escaped from somewhere deep in his chest. His hand at her neck slid into her hair, grasping the silken mass with almost painful intensity.
Catherine didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him as though her life depended on it. Perhaps it did, for in that instant the peripheral world ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was now, what she felt, what she wanted. And she wanted the earl.
Her pelvis began to tingle unbearably, and when he drew her up against his chest, the urge to press that part of herself against him became almost irresistible. Overwhelmed by desire, she was confused by her response. Wasn’t one kiss enough? And if it was, why was she burning all over? Why did she want another and another?
The earl conveyed no such confusion despite seeming at first unsure. His movements were forceful and skilled. Undoubtedly, he had been here before and he knew exactly what he wanted.
They fell onto the picnic blanket, their lips never parting. He did not rush her as if he knew that would be a mistake. Instead, he continued to kiss her, that simple activity relentlessly stoking her passion. She moaned aloud and felt his excitement surge in response.
At her waist, Catherine became aware of his other hand as it inched slowly, inexorably up her ribs toward her breast. She ceased to breathe in an agony of anticipation. His fingers finally reached their destination, and he gently grasped the tender mound, rolling it beneath his palm, stimulating the sensitive peak. She moaned again.
His touch moved downward, slipping under the edge of her skirt and skimming along the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Her legs began to quiver uncontrollably. She knew what he intended, but so lost was she in the magic of the spell he was weaving, she actually began to fear he might stop.
But his kisses continued unabated, fevered kisses, covering her eyelids and cheeks and throat, finding her mouth again. He whispered ardent words against her ear, his breath hot and rapid, before he buried his face in the sensitive area between her neck and shoulder.
With a single, deft movement, the earl reached for the drawstring of her drawers and, loosening the waist, eased his hand inside the garment to her hip. Splaying his fingers over the soft flesh, he pressed his erection firmly against her lower body and began the instinctive cadence of the mating ritual, infinite pleasure even through their garb. Catherine followed his lead without thought, moving with him, immersed in the erotic sensations.
And that’s why one kiss was not enough, could not possibly be. She had known it all along. But it was too late. Much too late. She wanted him to be part of her, to fill her with his body—to bring her along on his journey of ecstasy. She would come with him now. He need not worry, if indeed he had worried, that she would renege and leave him frustrated. Her frustration would be as keen as his were that to happen.
The earl grasped the waistband of her drawers, pulling them down over her hips, and quickly adjusted his own clothing in preparation for their joining. He touched her intimately, causing her body to jerk in reaction.
Was that whimpering coming from her?
Catherine’s eyes flickered open, and her clouded gaze centered on his handsome face, now taut with desire. He was watching her, his expression a strange combination of concern and lust. Her vision suddenly cleared.
He was allowing her to reconsider! Yes, she should have known. The earl’s sense of honor would demand he do no less. She saw his hesitation and knew the silent question he asked. And in that instant Catherine came to the conclusion she was very nearly in love. She smiled sweetly and, putting a hand on either side of his head, drew him to her and placed a beckoning kiss on his mouth.
She felt the tension leave his body and knew he was lost. He came into her then, a swift thrust that took her maidenhead, although she felt quite certain he didn’t know. And why should he after all? Why should it occur to him that a woman married seven years was still a virgin? And in fairness to his supposed ignorance, her barrier had been fragile as tissue paper and easily ruptured.
That did not mean there was no pain. It came as a complete shock because it was so completely unexpected. Catherine clung to him in desperation, willing herself not to cry out. She mustn’t let him know this was her first time, for that would imply some responsibility on his part, and she did not want to burden him. How disappointing to be so eagerly aroused and then left wanting. Salty tears gathered at the corners of her lids, threatening to escape.
Fortunately, the ache began to dissipate as he moved within her, and a comforting numbness took its place. In a short time she came to realize the pleasure, though hidden by the pain, had not been lost to her. The thrusting of the earl’s hips proved hypnotic, and she found herself helplessly drawn into the rhythm of the movement as once again her excitement swelled.
Catherine began to thrash beneath him in an agitated frenzy, reaching for something just beyond her grasp.
“Come with me, sweetheart,” he whispered urgently.
Her eyes locked with his, and Catherine stared into their smoky depths.
All at once she cried out as she was sucked into a whirlpool of sensation so profound, she was hard pressed to explain it. But that seemed the signal for which he was waiting because, at her sudden gasp of pleasure, he buried himself deep within her. A growl of ecstasy rose from his throat, and he rocked back and forth, wringing the last of the passion from both of them.
For several moments, the only sounds in the little glen were the breathless pants of the exhausted couple. The earl lifted his head to look at her.
Catherine gazed at him dreamily. “The most extraordinary feeling overtook me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” she said in wonder. “I’d wager it’s a bit like opium, though—once experienced the desire for more is compelling.” She laughed softly.
He stared back, his brows drawing together in disbelief. “Doesn’t your husband see to your needs? What a dolt he must be.” She was confused by his anger and must have appeared that way, for he shook his head as if resigned. “Don’t mind me, love. I’m feeling possessive and I have no right.”
“I don’t mind.”
Adam smiled at her, a sad smile. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are? I fear you are the opiate.”
She ran fingers along the bridge of his cheek. “You’re rather lovely yourself, my lord,” she teased.
Laying his forehead against hers, he chuckled. “Sprite. If I did not know better, I would say I’ve been enchanted.” He kissed her, lips lingering on her mouth before he rose back on his elbows. “I wish I could spend the remainder of the day resting on top of you in this oh-so-pleasant manner.”
“I would like that, also,” she said wistfully.
“I suppose we should return to the castle.” His voice was filled with regret.
He rolled off Catherine and helped her to her feet. They spent the next several minutes erasing all evidence of their
slip from respectability. Packing the picnic basket, the earl tied it to his horse. He then stood with his back to her as though uncertain, his hands resting on the basket, the silence stretching between them until she began to feel uncomfortable. When he finally turned to her, his features were a mask of regret.
“I hope you can forgive me. I should never have allowed myself to give into temptation,” he said. “It was wrong of me.”
Catherine experienced a stab of disappointment so profound her stomach did a sickening flip. “I want no apology,” she said over a throat gone tight with hurt.
“I took advantage of you. I know better and there is no excuse for my behavior,” he insisted.
“I knew what I was doing. The responsibility is not only yours,” she stated. She softened her expression and held out a hand to him. “Please, lie to me—say anything you must, but don’t say you’re sorry, for I feel no regret.”
Adam grasped her arms and pulled her to him. “Do you understand what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” she said woodenly, “I know exactly what I am saying.” She released herself from his hold and looked at him defiantly. “I’m saying I don’t care.” She drew in a deep breath and, though she tried valiantly for control, her chin trembled with emotion. “Just once I wished to see what I have been denied—what I’ll always be denied. Is that so much to ask? I risked all today to know the answer to my question.”
“Was it worth it?” he asked in a gentle voice.
Catherine felt a teardrop escape from beneath her lashes. “It might have been better had I never known,” she acknowledged with sudden insight.
She turned away from him then and mounted her horse unassisted, spurring the animal from the clearing without looking back.
The earl was left to follow in her wake.
*****
“The deed is done, my lord.”
“Are you absolutely certain, Willy?”
“Aye, my lord. I watched to the very end. It was hard to tell exactly what went on, though, ‘cause they never got undressed.” He sounded disappointed.
“That will be enough, Willy!” the baron roared. “I don’t wish to know all the sordid details. It causes me much pain to know my wife has been unfaithful to me.”
“But I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“What I want is not necessarily what I like.” Lord Bourgeault rose from his desk and walked to the window to stare unseeingly into the stable yard below. “I knew it would take only the right bait to bring her around.” He spoke mainly to himself but Willy answered him anyway.
“You’ve brought any number of gents here what would have been able to do what you had in mind, my lord. What makes him so special, personally I don’t see it.”
“You don’t have to see it,” the baron said contemptuously. “Aside from being young and handsome, and it would appear virile, he has the added advantage of being a gentleman.” When Willy looked as though he might interrupt, the baron snapped, “I’m not talking about his birth, you fool. Plenty of men qualify if you use that as your measuring stick. Lord Ashworth is a gentleman by nature. He prides himself on doing the pretty, and women eat it up. That’s what makes him different.”
Lord Bourgeault turned his hooded gaze on his servant who stood by the door, clearly ready to flee if the atmosphere in the room turned any darker.
“I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble, Willy, to produce this little charade. Let’s hope it bears fruit. As for you, I suspect your difficult ‘chore’ this afternoon will provide you with enough licentious daydreaming to last you a twelvemonth. Get out of my sight!”
*****
CHAPTER 4
Adam paced the floor of his apartment, agitated. He was put out with himself, for he had offended Catherine. He hadn’t meant to hurt her by apologizing. He had wanted her to understand that he respected her, that he held her in highest regard. Instead, she had been insulted as if he were trying to ease his conscience by taking responsibility. She had certainly disabused him of the notion that she thought him to blame. His admiration for her had grown dramatically with her refusal to play the innocent.
A knock at the door brought his head around. “Enter.”
A pair of footmen came into the room and poured two buckets apiece of hot, steamy water in the tub next to the hearth. In the following ten minutes the process was repeated twice again before the tub was full enough to accommodate the earl with a comfortable bath. He waited for the footmen to exit after their final trip then began to disrobe.
He removed his shirt and riding breeches and, as he unbuttoned his undergarment, he noticed a red-brown stain spattering the front of his crotch. Curious, he peeled off the drawers to examine them. On closer inspection, much to his amazement, he decided it was blood.
Where had that come from? Had his lovemaking been so rough he had hurt Catherine? He had to admit he didn’t know for certain. She had not complained. In fact, he could have sworn she was in the same condition that had driven him. And yet, since he could detect no bodily injury to himself, it must be Catherine’s blood.
He stepped into the bath and sighed as the heated water enveloped his body. Puzzled, he continued to ponder the odd turn of events. Surely, if he had been hurting her Catherine would have said something.
All at once the simplest of solutions occurred to him. The high drama of their lovemaking had brought on Catherine’s menses. The thought pleased him, maybe because the hypothesis was so sensible he could absolve himself from the unwelcome guilt. He accepted the argument because he could think of no other, completing his bath in thoughtful reflection.
*****
Catherine stared at herself in the mirror. The young woman who looked back at her appeared no different than she had this morning when she had dressed for the day. And still, there was something, something she could not quite put her finger on. She stepped closer to the glass, trying to discern the subtle change. It wouldn’t show on her face, would it? Of course not. The loss of one’s virginity did not alter one’s features, but no doubt about it, between dawn and dusk this day a transformation had taken place.
Perhaps it wasn’t so much a visual thing as an emanation from within. She felt different, therefore, she was different. But that did not explain the ache that was now her heart. Deep inside tears poured in a torrent of grief, but outwardly her eyes remained dry and remote.
What a fool I am, she thought. How could she possibly believe she could touch the fire and not get burned? What had she told the earl? She wanted to know what she had been denied. It would have been better had she remained ignorant.
Why had he ruined everything by apologizing? The most dramatic moment of her life had been reduced to an impetuous act that begged pardon. She wanted him to rejoice with her, to be as profoundly touched as she had been. Instead, he had distanced himself from her by pleading temporary loss of control. The letdown hurt unbearably.
Catherine believed his remorse was genuine, but rather than regretting their lovemaking, she wished him to regret that they might never love again.
She grasped the bell pull and gave it a yank, sending an echo through the drafty halls. Several minutes passed before a breathless Edna appeared at the door.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my lady, but Lord Bourgeault sent for me. I have a message for you.”
Catherine sighed. “And what might that be, Edna?”
“He said you are expected at supper.”
Catherine whirled around. “I should have known. I’ll not get out of it tonight. Damn! Damn!”
Edna stared at her mistress, eyes wide with shock.
Catherine caught the look on the servant’s face and cringed in self-disgust. “Oh bother—please, just have my tub filled so I can bathe. I can’t go downstairs like this.”
“Lord Ashworth is having his tub filled at the moment. As soon as that is completed, I will see to your bath.” Edna paused then whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “Isn’t our guest the most handsome gen
t you’ve ever seen?” She smiled at her mistress guilelessly.
Catherine sent her maid a look of such displeasure, Edna gulped and dashed from the room.
“He’s probably tossed up her skirts as well,” she fumed aloud. An illogical assumption and unfair, she realized, but her feelings were battered and she was unable to be fair.
Of course, the earl would be taking his bath right at the moment she wanted to wash! His convenience before hers, naturally. She stormed on in this unreasonable fashion for the better part of fifteen minutes before the footmen entered her room with the first of several buckets of water.
Catherine was left to undress herself because Edna had not yet returned, and she fumbled with the hooks of her dress until she was scarlet with rage. She flung herself into the bath, causing a cascade of scented water to slosh over the edge of the tub onto the woolen carpet.
At that unfortunate moment, an unbidden thought of the earl reclining in his bath came upon her. She imagined his strong shoulders and broad chest as they rose above the surface of the water, the steamy liquid glistening on smooth, masculine skin. He would stand then, the foamy suds slipping down, down—oh my! What was she thinking?
How could she entertain such thoughts about a man she had just been cursing to the depths of Hell? She forced herself to remember her anger. Much less disturbing to be incensed, she thought, and less painful than the self-pity she had allowed herself to wallow in upon returning home.
She finished her bathing in haste, scrubbing her skin until it shone pink. Was she washing away more than an afternoon’s perspiration?
“Some things never change,” Catherine spoke aloud a short while later as she stood in front of the wardrobe, once again trying to choose an ensemble that would not make her hang her head in shame. She had nearly given up hope, when her hand grazed the skirt of a rose silk gown hidden in the back of the cabinet behind its more garish sisters. How had she forgotten this little gem?
In the Garden of Temptation Page 6