"I cannot defy them, Desmond," she told him quietly.
He knelt beside her instantly. "Then marry me. Today if we can."
"What?" Rebecca laughed. "What are you saying?"
"We can make an appointment at the magistrate's office," Desmond responded, smiling. "For me, there is but one certainty in life. I cannot be happy without you near me."
"You are incorrigible, Desmond Baines," she said. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled at him.
"But I'm serious, Rebecca." He looked up at her; his eyes held the intensity of a star. "I will marry you first before they send you anywhere. They will have nothing to say about it." He framed her face with his hands. "You must not leave me, Rebecca. Tell me you will not leave."
Rebecca tilted her head as she gazed at him. "I will never leave you," she promised him.
Desmond rose and walked to the coat rack behind his desk. He grabbed his hat and overcoat. "Come then," he said as he reached out to her. She grabbed his hand and rose from the chair.
One half hour later, they were in the drawing room, waiting for her parents to arrive. They sat side by side. Upon spying the entrance of Lady Garway, Desmond stood up. Lord Garway was directly behind her.
"Good afternoon, Lady Garway, Your Lordship," Desmond started.
"Yes, good day, Desmond," Lord Garway spoke for himself and his wife. Lady Garway took her seat in the chair nearest Rebecca.
"I will get straight to the point then," Desmond began again.
"Please," Lord Garway said.
"Rebecca and I are aware of your disappointment in us," said Desmond. "I understand it. And I'm sorry for it." He looked at each of her parents in turn. He went on, "But we cannot accept your terms. Rebecca does not want to leave. More to the point, I do not want her to leave."
"This is impossible," Lady Garway uttered.
"Mother, please," Rebecca checked her. "You must hear us out."
"Rebecca and I have made an appointment with the magistrate. Tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock," Desmond announced. "So we can be married tomorrow if that is what you prefer."
Lady Garway's demeanor collapsed. "Rebecca, is this what you want?" she asked her in disbelief. "To be married in the fashion of a commoner?"
"What does it matter, Mother? We will be married," Rebecca replied, smiling.
Lord Garway stepped into the debate quietly. "Desmond, I think you've made your point. There is no need for grand gestures." He turned to Rebecca. "Fine, Rebecca, you may stay. But there are rules. Right, Evelyn?"
Lady Garway looked at them both. "I agree. The rules have not changed. We ask that you respect them."
"We're agreed then," Desmond stated. "I shall cancel the appointment."
The four of them stared at each other in silence. "I must be off. I will see you all at dinner." Desmond smiled. "If you will still have me."
"Desmond, it would take far more than this to strain our relationship," Lord Garway said as he walked over to him. He patted him on the shoulder.
Lady Garway joined them. "Yes, of course." She shook Desmond's hand.
"I will see you off, Desmond," Rebecca said as she rose from her seat. They walked together to the main entrance way
"You are my champion," she whispered to him as she kissed him goodbye. "Come back soon."
"I will," he replied. She watched him as he walked down the drive.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The surface of his desk was a muddle of books, documents and scribbles on tablets of paper. Frustrated, Desmond leaned back in his chair and tossed his quill on to his desk.
He had been struggling with his work for the past week. It didn't help that the air in his office was stale and static, and his ability to concentrate was all but completely dissipated.
Except, of course, when he thought of her. Right or wrong, he believed that she was at the root of his scattered mind.
Desmond rose from behind his desk and walked to the window. Every night, he sat beside Rebecca at dinner amid the food, the wine and the banter. Every night for the past two weeks, he could see but not touch; he could smell but not taste. Then, after hours under Lady Garway's imperious surveillance, he would trudge home to another sleepless night. The pendulum had swung from the sublime to the idiotic. It was maddening.
Lady Garway's intentions had been clear from the first evening since the lovers were caught. Somehow she had ensured that Rebecca would never be alone with him.
Abbott was practically omnipresent, and if it was not Abbott, it was one of the menservants.
The evening before last, he thought that Rebecca might have slipped through the net. He had arrived early for dinner and stole a glimpse into the library. She was sitting near the window, looking more beautiful than ever.
He strode quickly to meet her, but Lady Garway materialized behind him as if conjured from the air. She ushered them to the drawing room, herding them like a couple of stray sheep.
He wondered if Rebecca suffered through it as he did. It was hard to tell. Rebecca's defining characteristic was her cool sophistication.
In the company of others, she was unlikely to let down her guard, and if she had weakened, he had not seen it.
He alone knew how hot-blooded she could be. In fact, her intensity transported him. Something in the way she moved, in the sounds that she made, steeped his blood in desire for her.
Standing in his office, he lost himself dwelling on it. He became aroused beyond all reasonable measure, considering there was little he could do to gratify himself.
Enough. Desmond grabbed his coat and hat. He walked out of his office, single-minded of purpose.
When he arrived at the house, he did not announce his entry. He opened the heavy wooden doors that led into the hall. His heart was in his throat. It was too much to hope that she would be here alone and without a chaperone.
Abbott arrived. "Mr. Baines, forgive me. I did not hear the bell," he said to him.
Desmond smiled at him transiently. "I hadn't rung the bell, Abbott," Desmond told him. "I was hoping that I could call on Lady Rebecca. Is she in?"
"I'm sorry, but no, she is not, sir," Abbott replied with regret. "She is out riding. But Lord Garway is in the library, if you care to wait for her."
Desmond paused to assess his next play. "Thank you, but no. Please let Lady Rebecca know that I was here," he replied. "I will see her at dinner, Abbott. Good day."
"Of course. Good day, sir."
Desmond exited the front door and immediately made his way around the house to the stables. His gait was steady and purposeful. The yard was empty but for a young stable hand.
Relieved of any need to explain his motives, he looked for the mare that he favored as he entered the stables. His heart raced. It made no sense, but he felt certain that Rebecca was waiting for him. He meant to find her.
After gearing his horse, he mounted and headed onto the same path that he and Rebecca had followed at least twice before. The cool breeze was a welcome change to the stagnant air of his office. He felt alive, invigorated.
The horse seemed to catch onto his enthusiasm and she responded with liveliness to his signals. They galloped through the long grasses of the meadow and slowed as they entered the thicker brush.
When Desmond finally came upon the cottage, he looked about, hoping to see some sign of her. Finding none, he hesitated.
His mare snorted impatiently as he brought her to a solid halt. He needed some respite from his ride.
He dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby tree. He looked at the cottage and made his way down the path to the entrance. He tried the door. It opened more easily than it had in the past. He pushed on it and stepped across the threshold, ducking his head under the shallow doorway.
There she was. "Desmond," she uttered. She stood up from her seat at the small oak table across from the mattress.
"Rebecca," he answered softly. All of his muscles weakened in concert. He walked to her quickly and they embraced. He presse
d her against him, his hands on her hips. "What are you doing here?" he whispered in her ear.
She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "I came here to find you. I imagined that I might meet you here sooner or later." Smiling, she reached up and took off his hat. "And, you see, I was right." She placed his hat on the table behind her. She ran her fingers through his hair as she stared into his eyes.
Desmond would not relinquish his hold on her. "Why did you not tell me?" he asked her. His eyes took in her hair, her lips and the length of her neck.
"When would I have the chance, Desmond?" She smiled at him. "You know as well as I do that Mother has been reigning over us like the Queen of England." She brought her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. He lowered his face to hers, grazing her lips with his.
"She's not here now," Desmond reminded her softly.
"No," Rebecca whispered, breathing him in. "She's not."
She went to kiss him but he pulled away slightly, keeping his lips just out of her reach.
He smiled. "You mustn't, Rebecca," he warned her gently. "Do you know where it will lead?" He brought his hand to her lips and traced them with his fingers.
Rebecca swallowed. "Where, Desmond?" she murmured.
He brought his lips close to hers again and whispered, "Shall I show you?"
He came closer and licked her lips slowly. Her taste was distinct: fruity and minty, like a candy.
He wanted to freeze time. He picked her up by her waist and placed her on the table. Standing between her knees, he kissed her fully on the lips, plunging his tongue into her mouth.
His hands pulled up on her skirt until the edge of it lay across her thighs and he felt Rebecca catch her breath.
His fingertips crept beneath the fabric to her skirts. When he came upon the flesh of her upper thighs, he sighed long and low.
"Rebecca, I have waited so long for you. These days and nights have been torturous," he said softly. "Do you know that?"
"Yes, Desmond," she whispered. "Absolutely torturous." She breathed in quickly as his hands slipped underneath her petticoat. "I have longed for your touch so much, Desmond."
She bent her head down and raised her skirt to her waist.
Desmond watched as she undid the ribbons of each slipper in turn with the silk material gliding through her delicate, soft fingers. He leaned over and took off each of her slippers.
She watched Desmond run his hands up and down the front of her bare legs and thighs. They kissed again, their tongues hungry for each other.
Desmond caressed her legs one last time before he grabbed the stray chair and pulled it towards him. He sat down facing her, her legs on either side of him. Rebecca stared down at him; her eyes were bottomless black pools.
He slid his hands upwards along the silkiness of her inner thighs. Fingers sliding beneath her petticoat again, he sought her heat. Despite his hunger for her, he was determined to take his time. He looked to Rebecca.
"Yes, Desmond," she whispered.
She leaned back. He began to finger her gently with his right hand. Rebecca whimpered softly, very softly. He probed her until he found what he was looking for. He looked into her eyes again. They were wide and wanting him.
"Don't stop," she whispered desperately. With his left hand, he rubbed her mound gently. The fingers of his right hand were wet and hot within her. Time had stopped, and he was caught up in her course to rapture.
Rebecca was breathing rapidly. My God, this is delicious, she thought. If he continued to handle her like this, she would not be able to hold back. She bit on her bottom lip with the effort of her restraint.
She moaned, "Oh no, Desmond, not yet."
He kept at her. "Oh, please..." she cried out.
Desmond felt the shudders of her climax with his fingers. He pulled back her petticoat with his left hand and bent forward for a taste.
Rebecca wrapped her legs around his neck. She pressed herself against his open mouth. She quivered again suddenly in a second round of bliss.
She gasped. "Oh, my," she breathed.
Desmond kissed the inside of her thighs and gently extricated himself from her tender trap. He rose and pulled her to him. He held her gently as she recovered her senses. She rested her head against his chest, breathing heavily.
"Desmond, how do you know how to please me so well?" she asked him softly.
She raised her head to look at him and he lowered his lips to hers. She opened her mouth for him. He wanted to drink her in; his tongue licked the edges of her lips, her teeth, and her tongue.
With his hand at the back of her head, he pressed her mouth even more firmly against his. Her lips were trembling. Rebecca was amazed at the depth of her craving for him.
Minutes after her last release, she wanted him yet again. But this time, she wanted his quintessence, the core of him. They had not yet broken their embrace when Rebecca lowered her hands to his waist. She felt for the buttons of his jacket and began to undo it.
It was Desmond that broke away first. His haste betrayed his waning ability to hold himself in check. He completed the undoing and threw his jacket on the floor. Picked Rebecca up in his arms, so her skirted legs were locked around his waist. He then dropped her softly on to the mattress below.
Rebecca's fingers began to work on the buttons at the front of his pants as Desmond watched.
She released his suspenders, reached into his briefs, and grabbed him forcefully. The two of them gasped in quick succession.
"Rebecca, you are so perfect. Do you know how perfect you are?" he murmured.
"Take me, Desmond," she urged him breathlessly. She leaned back on her arms and moved her hips forward, her mouth open.
Desmond guided himself to her and penetrated her gently. He slipped inside her so easily, as if he was the missing piece, like he belonged there. The heat and the creaminess of her drove him mad.
Impossibly, he found his footing and began to slide himself back and forth ever so slowly. He watched himself enter her and draw back. He would not last long.
He closed his eyes. He wanted to hold onto it and endure, to marinate in her sublimely wet and hot canal. He swallowed and took in the sight again. He thrust himself into her.
Rebecca exclaimed softly, "Yes, Desmond, oh, yes..." With slow deliberation, he drew back and thrust again. "Oh...Desmond," she whispered blissfully.
Her head was back, her skirt raised wantonly about her waist. He was holding onto her thighs when he arrived at the point of no return.
"Oh, Rebecca...you are so beautiful," he gasped. His hips moved faster. "I can't stop it," he whispered to her passionately. It was his turn.
He let out a soft low groan as he went off inside of her, his hands in a firm grip around each of her thighs.
"My God, Rebecca," he breathed as his rapture subsided in waves.
He stayed inside of her. He was panting. He pulled her towards him and she draped her arms about his neck. They held onto each other tightly.
Only seconds had slipped by when Rebecca spoke, "I can't go back there, Desmond." She drew back from him and looked into his eyes. "We belong together.”
He touched his forehead to hers. He pulled out of her.
Desmond agreed. 'Things cannot go on as they have," he said definitively. He bent down, grabbed his pant waist and started to dress himself.
Rebecca gestured to him, "My boots, Desmond, please."
He picked them up from the floor and handed them to her. He watched her as she replaced them, sheathing each slender long limb in turn. Her head was bent down as she fastened them.
At once, he wanted to unfasten them and start again. He leaned over to her and kissed her, fully and fervidly. She kissed him back with equal vigor.
Their plans could wait.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The mattress was small but serviceable. Atop it, their bodies were melded in a slow, impassioned rhythm and their eyes were locked onto each other's gaze.
Leaning on his left s
ide, Desmond measured the movement of his hips as he immersed himself in her again and again with indulgent deliberation.
This blissful oneness was almost too perfect. They were no longer conscious of time or their surroundings. It was a suspended state of rapture that neither of them had ever experienced or even knew existed.
"Now, Desmond," she said in a whisper so soft, she could barely be heard. Desmond shifted his weight until he was directly above her and he deepened his advances.
Rebecca opened her mouth, her eyes fixed on his face. Vibrant waves of pleasure washed over her with increasing intensity.
Desmond's eyes were pleading with her. "Come with me," he said, his voice low, "I'll wait for you." Rebecca closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She felt his lips against her throat. He knew her so well. She felt herself cresting; in the next instant, she was awash in a heaving hot and sensuous sea. Her body quaked and her mouth was open in a silent expression of complete ravishment.
Desmond was overwhelmed by his desire. He plunged forward, reaching into her. His release was fierce and long and his entire body shook with it.
Rebecca's hands grasped at the sheet on either side of her. She gasped as she came a second time.
Desmond covered her open mouth with his. He savored the last bits of his subsiding climax with the taste of her in his mouth.
They sustained this last kiss, both of them unwilling to end their intense union. Desmond pulled back slowly. His breathing was still apace as he lowered himself beside her.
"How are you, my darling?" he whispered to her. He gathered her in his arms, placing her head on his chest.
Rebecca smiled and said softly, "That was lovely."
"You're lovely," he replied, stroking her hair. A minute passed. He raised his head, saying, "We should dress. It seems certain now we'll be late for dinner."
Rebecca smiled at him lazily, her eyes half-closed. "I'm not hungry," she replied.
"Come now," he said softly. "You must have worked up something of an appetite." He sensed her reluctance to return to the house.
"If I do have an appetite, I am sure to lose it once I'm confronted by Mother," she said with regret. "Really, Desmond, it's completely absurd. She treats us like a couple of unruly children."
Manor of Pleasure: An Erotic Historical Romance Page 10