‘Arabella... Any minute now I may forget I shouldn’t be here, alone with you.’
‘Please don’t go.’
With that unequivocal invitation, without restraint he closed the distance between them. His arms curled around her and once again she felt the immense thrill of being held against him. She was overcome by a passionate desire to surrender herself to him. As his lips touched hers, despite the roughness of his beard which brushed her face, a sharp intake of breath betrayed her longing for him. The force between them had grown powerful and impatient, and the longing could no longer be denied.
His breath was warm, his arms strong, powerful and safe. The blood pounding through her ears obliterated all will and reason and all she could feel was an immense and incredible joy. It was like a wild and beautiful madness. Running her hands over his chest, she sighed, her mouth against his lips.
‘I don’t know why,’ she whispered, ‘but despite everything that has happened between us in the past, I have wanted you to kiss me for so long. I have never felt this way before.’
With iron control, Edward raised his head and, through the heat of passion she had aroused in him, he looked down into her lovely face upturned to his. That one kiss had been too much and too little, leaving them both hungering for more.
‘Stop and think what you are doing,’ he urged softly. ‘I have wanted to kiss you again ever since I kissed you when I was leaving for Worcester. Ever since we left Bircot Hall, there have been times when you have made it hard for me to resist you.’
‘You do not have to do that any more, Edward. I want to be with you—even against my better judgement.’
He smiled, looking directly into her eyes, drawing his finger down her cheek to her nape and through her tousled hair. ‘You really are the most unprincipled young woman, Arabella.’
‘Widow, Edward. I am a widow, not a chaste young woman. I’m a different person to the one you knew.’
‘Everyone changes.’
‘Life has made me what I am. What happened between you and me five years ago doesn’t matter any more. I’m not strong enough to go on hating you—if I ever did. Although I tried hard to convince myself that I did hate you for playing with my feelings, then walking away from me without a backward glance. But circumstances have changed all that.’
He was silent, a deep frown furrowed his brow and his eyes deepened as he struggled for control. ‘But it does matter, Bella,’ he said with unexpected gentleness. ‘It matters to me and I will never forgive myself for hurting you. Of all the women I have known, not one of them possessed the heart and mind and gentleness of you. I am sorry you did not find your ideal husband in John.’
Raising her hand, she touched his face gently with her fingers. ‘Please don’t let us talk about him. Not tonight. Especially not tonight.’
He smiled slowly, a smile that lit his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was marked with humour. ‘Would I be correct in thinking that you would have no objections if I asked to share this bed with you—that I will not be relegated to the chair?’
Arabella cast a glance at the hard-backed chair, wrinkling her nose with distaste. ‘I would not be so cruel as to do that. We both need a comfortable night...’ She hesitated, biting her lip nervously. He noticed and questioned it with a frown. He was waiting for her to invite him into her bed. The knowledge calmed her. To combat a fear one must meet it head on. ‘Please don’t avoid me, Edward. I want you to be with me. I—I know you will think I am quite shameless, but I want you to make love to me.’
‘I don’t think you are shameless. What if I said that I want to make love to you, too, Arabella? What if I said it is all I’ve been able to think about since we left Bircot Hall? The attraction between us has been denied for too long.’ His voice was husky and there was such intensity in his gaze that she could not look away. She saw something more behind that enigmatic gaze, which quickened her pulse rate alarmingly.
‘I would tell you that I have no objections to that. I am not asking for a commitment. That would only complicate things. I—I just want you to make love to me, to give me that one experience I never thought I could have.’
She searched his eyes to guess his mood. They were dark with desire and a predatory hunger, and as she looked at him in the warm intimacy of the room, with Dickon far away in his own world of dreams, another side to Arabella emerged, pushing the old one away, an Arabella without conscience, without shame. She felt something that was completely physical, hinting at joys that could be hers. It was telling her this was a moment not to be missed—a night for pleasure like she had never experienced before.
Gently Edward placed his hands on her upper arms, drawing her to him, lowering his head and pressing his lips close to her own. His mouth moved over hers with gentle persuasion. Her return kiss was tentative at first, as if she’d had time to reconsider what she was doing, but as his heat flowed into her, she began to relax. She felt the evidence of his desire for her pressed against her body. Her head began to spin. What was he doing to her? A situation that had once become a matter of principle had become as slippery as a freshly caught trout.
He was not forcing her as John had done and as he lengthened his kiss she felt a reckless excitement that completely banished any conscience that remained, that overcame guilt or fear that told her she should not be doing this. Her eyes closed in surrender. Her lips parted beneath his and her body became a flame with anticipation of what was to come. All the strange, intense emotions that had existed between them from that first kiss when he had been leaving for Worcester were released and she returned his kiss with a passion so powerful she was shocked by it.
After what seemed to be an eternity, he raised his head and smiled, a slow smile that heated her blood. He raised a finger to brush a lock of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. His finger slid from her ear to the curve of her cheek that left her dizzy. Her breath caught in her throat, so close was he, his heated gaze simmered with intent. He touched the outline of her lips before gently running his thumb languidly, persuasively over the flesh in a way that if she had any objections, they would vanish like the morning mist.
Focusing her eyes on his face, she could see the firmness of his mouth, could see the tightness of his jaw, could smell the heat of his skin which she welcomed, though she would have protested any such admission. She was consumed by her growing desire. She swayed a little, for she felt the heady aura of his masculinity, his vigour. The next moment he again claimed her lips with warm, possessive ardour. When he at last lifted his head their gazes locked and despite all that had transpired between them she wanted to feel his heat within her, his body close, his hands upon her flesh.
She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t be doing this, but his lips felt right, his arms felt right—everything about him felt right. She was starved of love, her body was starved of love. What did it matter what had gone before when his mouth and his hands, his body, could give her so much pleasure? She told herself that it didn’t matter if he didn’t love her, that there could be no lasting future for them. Had she not decided on a life without convention, to make her own choices?
He held her close so that she could feel the beating of his heart and she knew he was fighting against the need to possess her completely before they were both ready. She reminded herself of her husband’s rough handling of her and it was not hard to remember how she’d had to force herself to submit to him. But at that moment she could think of nothing but the fire this man could awaken with his touch.
Taking his mouth from hers, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, placing her on the covers. He undressed her slowly, his eyes caressing every inch of her body. She might not be a virgin, but she blushed as he removed every article of clothing and tried to hide her breasts with her hands. He laughed softly and removed her hands and kissed the lovely soft mounds of flesh, and then she relaxed.
<
br /> When she was naked and exposed and the light bathed her in a soft golden glow, his gaze swept over her, taking in every inch of her, every detail of her slender body, her small pert rose-tipped breasts and slender waist and long, lithe legs, and the smile that curved his lips was one of admiration.
‘You’re beautiful, Arabella.’
She trembled at his tone. ‘Flatterer.’
‘I told you once before. I have no need to flatter you.’
Laughing lightly, she reached out and pulled him down on top of her. They kissed and clung to one another, then she suddenly pushed him away.
‘Take off your clothes, Edward, and please do it quietly,’ she whispered, looking concernedly at Dickon, who had turned over in his sleep. ‘We don’t want to wake your son.’ Her breath came quickly, her skin was flushed.
‘Have patience,’ he murmured, standing up to remove his clothing.
When he had at last shrugged out of his clothes, she gazed at him in awe, earthy and vital and strong, all rippling muscles and sinews, and she wanted him. She held out her arms. She wanted the firm feel of his body against her bare flesh that was glowing and pulsating with life.
Stretching out his body beside hers and wanting to savour every exotic moment, he was in no rush to possess her. His experienced fingers were incredibly sensual. They stroked and teased, caressing her breasts, her flat stomach, her thighs. The quick rise and fall of her breasts, her shallow breathing, the fast beat of her heart, all told him how much she wanted him.
When his mouth moved to circle her breasts, kissing each one in turn until they hardened, the rosy nipple standing firm and proud, Arabella moaned in pleasure. Considering she was no chaste virgin, she still possessed a trembling innocence which he found incredibly erotic. He longed to bring her to ecstasy, to let her experience the pleasure that had clearly been absent from her marriage.
To his delight her legs opened at a slight pressure of his hand and she half-sighed, half-moaned beneath him as she felt the moisture from her loins as his rigid manhood pressed against her flesh. He kissed her long and deep as her fingers trailed a line up his spine, then her hands relaxed and, gaining confidence, began stroking his back, his buttocks, his sides.
The heat within Edward swelled until he was on fire. The very essence of life, the body his own had so fiercely desired, lay beneath him. Taking control, he settled his muscular thighs between her own and found her waiting for him. Raising her hips to accommodate him, effortlessly he slid inside her moist warmth.
Arabella could resist no longer. Her legs rose and clasped around his waist and she moved as he moved, moaning and sighing as he drove himself into her with masterly precision. Everything was forgotten in the feverish crescendo of desire, in the heat of motion and each pleasurable sensation, thrusting, touching all of her with a driving, primitive rhythm until the final moment of release. Deep inside, the hard contractions started and built, surging through her, burning and filling her to the very centre of her being, until the flame subsided and her body relaxed.
Her breathing irregular, her heart beating faster than normal, Edward’s manhood still swollen and held in the warmth of her, still moving gently and tenderly—she knew then what it was to be a woman and felt a rare peace. Never had she experienced anything like it.
Opening her eyes, she stared up at him. Tears of gratitude and fulfilment welled in her eyes, one single tear forming on her lashes.
Staring down into her eyes, he kissed it away, stroking the hair that curled around her bare shoulder. ‘Tears?’ He smiled a gentle smile. ‘Was it as bad as that?’
For a long moment she did not answer, but he saw the long column of her throat tighten as she swallowed with some difficulty. ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered, when she was able to speak. ‘Quite the opposite. I thank you, Edward—with all my heart.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ he murmured, kissing her shoulder. ‘The night isn’t over yet.’
‘I don’t want it to end. You will never know what you have done for me.’
‘I think I do. You told me there was no joy in your marriage.’
‘No. Making love with John, who was never tender, was never a pleasurable experience. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was totally without passion, without consideration.’ And afterwards, she remembered as the memories came flooding back, there had been pain and misery and the dark and unmistakable bruises all over—a legacy of his violence. No, what John had done was so ugly set against what she had just shared with Edward. ‘I—I found the act painful and often undignified, leaving me unsatisfied and unfulfilled. I told myself that there had to be more to it than that.’
‘And now you know there is.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, unable to believe she had confessed the ugly cycle of brutality and submission John had put her through. ‘I’ve never told anyone what John did to me. I couldn’t. I was too ashamed. But what we have done was wonderful and I will treasure the memory always.’
‘Memory?’ he murmured, planting light kisses on her cheek, her lips. ‘What is this nonsense? You speak as if this is the last time we will make love, Bella. I told you, the night is not over.’
‘There is still a little time left for loving, I know. But our journey together may well be over,’ she murmured, her body contradicting what she said when it began to respond to his closeness once more. ‘We neither of us know what the future holds.’ She sighed, her eyes, sultry and warm, holding his. ‘It would be so very easy to fall in love with you, Edward. But considering the dangers of the situation we find ourselves in, that would be foolish. Don’t you agree?’
He eased away from her to lie on his side, gathering her into the circle of his arms. Both trembled and the only sound in the room was Dickon’s gentle shuffling in his cot and their prolonged rapid breathing. They lay without speaking. There was so much he wanted to say to her.
At length he said, ‘I shouldn’t have ended our betrothal, Arabella. Now I have found you again—after making love to you—I have reason to regret my actions more than ever. I can’t tell you why I did.’
Turning her head, she looked at his handsome face set in sombre lines. ‘It’s quite simple really, Edward. You loved Anne Lister.’
His eyes filled with pain and suffering. ‘I didn’t love her,’ he said with bitter clarity. ‘I don’t think I ever did. It was impossible to love her in the sense that you mean. What I felt for her was dark and primitive—something ugly.’
Arabella fixed him with a level gaze. ‘And how do you feel now? Are you free of what it was that bound you to her?’
He nodded, kissing the top of her head. ‘She has been dead over two years. If it were not for Dickon, I would not give her another thought. My concern now is to keep you safe, and Dickon, to reach Bristol and secure a vessel to take us to France.’
He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that everything would be all right, but he couldn’t find the right words. There was a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. How could he tell her that all would be well, when he didn’t know himself?
However, the night was not yet over and there was still pleasure to be had. Arabella was close and all feminine warmth, soft skin and tumbled hair. He held her in his arms, turning her to face him.
Arabella saw desire once more in his dark-blue gaze, and something more. What she saw was so profound that she was mesmerised. Her throat was tight from an aching need and she willingly gave in to the silent demand she saw in his eyes.
They made love again, more than once, and each time was sweeter, more intense than the one before. Arabella was startled by the pleasure unfolding, the fierce, probing hunger as she began to find herself. And afterwards she lay back on the pillows and slept.
* * *
It was mid-afternoon when they reached the outskirts of Bristol, where they had to sell the horse and cart at a liv
ery stable. Arabella was sorry to part with the old horse. It had served the Stanhope family well over the years, but they had no choice. In any case they could not take the cart into the town. Edward explained to her that no wheeled traffic was allowed in the town for fear of weakening the structures of the honeycomb of wealthy merchants’ cellars beneath the streets, which were used as warehouses for their goods.
Carrying only what they would need for the crossing to France, Dickon holding Arabella’s hand, they made their way along the often steep, narrow streets teeming with people. Arabella looked about her with interest, at the high timber-framed houses, their upper storeys jutting out so much that they almost blocked out the light. Horse-drawn sledges were everywhere, some piled high with merchandise from the ships in the harbour.
‘We’ll find somewhere to stay,’ Edward said, shouldering the canvas bag he carried and lifting a tired Dickon into his arms. ‘We need a good hot meal and a comfortable bed.’
At the mention of bed, Arabella recalled the previous night, although it had not been far from her thoughts all day—how could it be after what they had done? Remembering the way he had looked at her, intimately and tenderly tucking her hair behind her ear, smiling suddenly, almost in surprise, as if he had found something precious, a lovely, precious treasure. Heat rose in her face and her heart raced in her chest. When she turned her eyes to his and caught his gaze, he smiled a knowing smile.
‘Of course, if you prefer I can request two rooms.’
‘No,’ she replied, smiling softly, already anticipating the pleasure that would be theirs in the night to come. ‘One will do perfectly.’
Perfectly attuned to one another, they were impatient to be together, their mouths joined in a sublime kiss, their flesh pressed together, touching each other, discovering each other, growing familiar, tender, exciting each other, that was in itself exquisite while knowing there was much more to learn, much more to come and that it would be as good, if not better, than what had gone before.
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