by Janet Woods
He was hard against her, and her thighs trembled with the effort of not allowing them to take the next natural step, which was to relax and give him access. A couple of thrusts and all her questions would be answered, her frustrations laid to rest and satisfied. It was tempting … so very tempting. He wouldn’t have noticed her blush amongst the multitude of colours on her face, thank goodness, but she could feel it.
‘At this moment, here amongst the flowers, the urge to make love to you is almost unbearable,’ he said.
Her imagination was on the very brink of stepping out of the fiction and allowing the incursion into the factual. ‘I know, Alex. I’m not entirely ignorant of the ways of nature … or of men. I cannot allow it even though I might want to … and I do want to,’ she confessed.
He loosened the crushing strength of his arms and she rolled off him. Turning on his side he propped himself up on his elbow. They gazed at each other, saying nothing. After a few agonizing moments he reached for her hand and placed a kiss on each fingertip. ‘I should be sorry for allowing the male in me to take over … but I’m not.’
Would it matter if she allowed the intimacy he so clearly needed, especially since her own body was raging with desire for the caresses that making love would bring. When he traced a finger over the swell of her breast through her bodice she gave a little shudder of delight, and reminded him, ‘I only asked for a kiss.’
The expression in his eyes changed, became almost feral. Then he took a deep breath, rolled away from her and got to his feet in one fluid motion, his smile self-deprecating as he held out his hands to her. ‘I went too far. I apologize if I embarrassed you.’
‘You didn’t … it was my fault for encouraging you.’
‘It was nobody’s fault. This is not the time and place, that’s all, Vivienne. I would be breaking your father’s trust in me as well as taking advantage of you, especially since he appears to think all peers are well-mannered and honourable gentlemen.’
‘My father is not so naïve. He no more thinks that of you than you would consider him to be … well, less than a man because he’s a cleric. He wants to marry again so it’s in his own interest to get me off his hands.’
‘All the same, if we were observed …’
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Her reputation was already unfairly shredded in London, unless Alex could redeem it. It wouldn’t do to be seen alone with a man now, especially exchanging passionate kisses with one.
He pulled her to her feet and kissed her on the forehead … and so tenderly he almost convinced her that he loved her.
But he’d never mentioned love. She kissed him in return, something light, impersonal and sisterly, to ease the growing tension between them. ‘You wear your hair long,’ she observed.
‘My brother usually trims it for me.’
‘I like it long. Thank you for being so kind, Alex. Most men would walk away from me in this situation. I won’t hold you to that proposal though, so you needn’t play the part of the lovesick swain.’
‘Needn’t I?’ He grazed his knuckles across her nose. ‘I quite enjoy playing the lovesick swain. I’ve never taken on the role before.’ He laughed and picked up the scattered contents of her basket. Eyeing the ginger ale bottle he gave it an experimental shake. ‘There’s some left.’
‘Most of it, I’ve only had a couple of sips. If you’re thirsty please drink it. You can wash down the stolen pear with it.’
He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out the cork he upended the bottle and gulped the liquid down. He gave a gentle belch afterwards. ‘Your pardon, Vivienne, I was thirsty … and I’m tired. There was a lot of dust on the road and most of it lodged in my throat.’
He eyed the horizon, where a line of dark cloud had appeared. The warm afternoon had gathered a sultry feel to it. ‘It looks like a storm is on the way. I’ll escort you home?’
‘The storm will take ages to get here. This is the first time I’ve had the courage to leave the house and I’m enjoying the fresh air. I want to pick a bunch of meadow flowers to take home. Rest here, it shouldn’t take me long.’
Twenty minutes later a low but prolonged howl of wind blew through the meadow. Petals and loose debris were plucked into the air and borne on high. Those plants with stems firmly rooted in the earth were flattened to the ground under the onslaught. Fat drops of rain scattered like a handful of liquid diamonds thrown from the sky. A rainbow arched in fragile stripes, bridging the gap of the meadow. Vivienne remembered a tale about Irish leprechauns who buried their gold at the rainbow’s end. But which was the beginning of the rainbow and which was the end?
She hung on to the hem of her gown, which had plastered against the front of her body and was slowly inching up her thighs, while the back fluttered like a demented flag.
There was a lull when the world seemed to hold its breath, then the wind dropped and a low and menacing rumble of thunder took its place. She gazed in Alex’s direction. He hadn’t moved. It was supposed to be dangerous to shelter under the tree in a thunderstorm and alarm pricked at her.
She picked up her skirts and ran, calling out, ‘Alex, wake up! The storm’s almost upon us … we must find shelter.’
Oblivious to the storm, he was fast asleep. She fell to her knees beside him and gave him a shake, and although he mumbled something he didn’t wake. He was totally relaxed.
Should she slap him? Her heart melted. He looked defenceless, like a baby in a cradle and she couldn’t bring herself to. She just wanted to sit and keep watch over him.
Laughter trickled from her when she thought of something better to wake him. Leaning forward she kissed him. For a few moments nothing happened, and then she sensed a change in him. She sprang to her feet just before his eyes opened.
‘I was dreaming,’ he said.
‘Of what?’
To which question he smiled with delight. ‘I was hoping you’d ask. I was dreaming of a long pair of legs with pink ribbons securing white silk hose above the knee.’
How could he know she was wearing pink ribbons when he’d been fast asleep? He must be guessing. ‘Is that why you look so smug?’
‘Do I look smug?’
‘You were fast asleep with your eyes closed, and you tell me you were dreaming about wearing white hose with pink ribbons. How odd.’
‘You know very well they were your legs I was looking at.’
‘You can’t see my legs so you must be guessing.’
‘It’s amazing what the wind and rain uncovers. I enjoyed the kiss you gave me.’
She laughed. ‘You have a vivid imagination.’ The sky was darkening and she cried out, ‘We must hurry, Alex, else we’ll be drenched.’
‘We are drenched.’
‘The storm came across quicker than I expected. The church is closer than the house. Papa usually leaves the door unlatched during the day. If not, we can shelter in the porch.’
He was on his feet in a few seconds and snatched up the basket. Dumping her flowers on top he took her hand in his and they began to run.
There was something relentless about the rain. It overtook them when they reached the hedge and swallowed them whole. The wind tore her carefully styled hair into shreds and the water turned it into rats’ tails. Snatched from her head, her bonnet went bowling off down the road. They didn’t bother to chase after it. He took off his coat and sheltered them both under it.
They were laughing when they turned into the churchyard. The door was unlatched and the church interior had an air of gloom about it. Vivienne’s gown trailed slimy mud round her ankles; thank goodness it was one of her older gowns. Panting for breath, she said, ‘I must look as though I’ve been cleaning out a pigsty.’
His laughter echoed around the empty church. ‘Yes … you do rather … luckily you don’t smell as ripe.’
She shrugged, and then shivered. ‘It’s become quite chilly.’
‘It’s because you’re soaked through. We’ll stay until the lightning no longer
poses a danger, then we must get you home before you take a chill. Does your father have an office here? He might have left a coat.’
‘There’s a vestry. It’s behind the altar and down the steps, though it’s not very big. There’s a lost property box there.’ Unease filled her again when every little shadow between her and the vestry seemed to take on a new meaning. She felt jumpy. What if Simon Mortimer lay in wait for her? She moved closer to Alex for comfort. ‘Will you come with me, or wait here?’
He sensed her disquiet because his hand closed warmly over hers. ‘I’ll come with you.’ He kept her hand tucked into his as they made their way down the aisle. The church was filled with noisy echoes, the rattle of rain, doors creaking in the draughts and the bang and crash of thunder. All were accompanied now and again by spectacular white snicks of lightning.
They’d just reached the top of the stairs when there came a prolonged and eerie moan.
Alex drew them to a stop and his eyes turned into blue stars with the next flash of lightning. ‘Tell me … is this place haunted?’
‘I’ll tell you a story about it as long as you promise not to run away and leave me here alone.’
‘I promise.’
Vivienne felt brave with Alex beside her. ‘It probably is haunted, but that noise is caused by draughts in the organ pipes. The organ tries to play its own music when the wind blows off the sea.’
‘Is that fact or fiction?’
‘Both. Pa made up a story about it once. He said the maker of the organ was a German musician who lost his sweetheart at sea in a storm. The king of storms fell in love with her and decided to keep her, so he turned her into a mermaid. The musician created a lament for his lost love, and he whispered it into the organ pipes before he went to the grave, where it was trapped for eternity. Now, with every storm, his ghost plays a love song to her to entice her back to shore.’
‘Does she ever come to him?’
‘It’s impossible. Her soul can only survive in the sea, and his on the land.’ She lowered her voice. ‘His unmarked grave is in the corner of the churchyard, and on the date of her drowning he rises from his lonely bed and wanders among the graves in the storm, singing for his lost love.’
The hairs on her neck stood on end when another moan from the organ rose and fell. She hadn’t heard if for a long time and had forgotten how the noise sounded, like an animal in pain. She laughed, rather shakily. ‘Pa has a vivid imagination and he made up lots of tales. Do you want me to go down first? It’s only a few steps.’
‘Are you saying I’m scared?’
She tossed lightly at him, ‘Are you?’
‘If you’re not, I’m not,’ and he gave her hand a little tug. ‘Come on then.’
The light in the vestry was dim. Alex picked up a woollen shawl from the lost property basket and wrapped it around her shoulders. With a corner still held in each hand he pulled her by the shawl towards him and kissed her. ‘That should warm you up a little,’ he said, and before she had time to react he released her.
There was a black umbrella hanging on a hook. He grabbed it up. ‘This should get us home.’
They locked the church door and put the key on the hook in the porch. With the umbrella in the forward position like a battering ram they butted into the bluster of the wind and rain and struggled up the slope, avoiding the potholes as best they could and stopping to laugh at each other every so often.
At last they reached the house.
Maria was coming down the stairs. ‘I saw you coming, Miss Fox, and I’ve laid out some towels and dry clothes.’
‘Thank you, Maria. Could you fetch some towels for the earl?’
‘I’ve placed some in the kitchen. They’ve been warming in front of the stove. If you’d like to give me your jacket I’ll hang it in front of the stove, too, sir. It’s nice and warm in there.’
‘Is that you, Vivienne?’ her father called out. ‘You must come in and greet your uncle, John Howard. Is the earl with you?’
‘Yes, Papa. We’re both damp, so if you’ll just allow me time to dry myself.’
‘A little water won’t hurt. Come in at once to greet our guest. I insist.’
She sighed when he opened the door and pulled her into the drawing room. ‘Here she is at last, John.’ His eyes widened. ‘You are not damp, you’re drenched. What do you make of her?’
She stood there dripping, her hair hanging in strands on her shoulders, her gown muddied and her face covered in bruises.
A pair of astonished eyes grazed over her, then he chuckled. ‘I really don’t know what to make of her on this occasion.’
Her father peered over his glasses at her. ‘Good gracious … what have we here? That is you, isn’t it, Vivienne? I’ve never seen you so bedraggled.’
Vivienne laughed at their expressions. ‘How-do-you-do, Uncle? It’s only been a short time since we last met, so this is a double pleasure. Forgive my appearance, you find me the worse for wear since the earl and I were caught in the open in a storm – and it was a most wonderful storm. Now, I must go and dry myself. I left the earl in the kitchen with some towels.’
‘In the kitchen! What ever will he think?’
‘Oh … he’s quite intelligent, Papa. I imagine he’ll think he’s in the kitchen. I might ask him to peel the potatoes while he’s in there.’
Her father hurried to the door. ‘Don’t you dare, Vivienne. I’ll go and see if I can find him something dry to wear.’
John Howard chuckled after her father left and Vivienne grinned at him.
‘You won’t mind if I desert you too, will you, Uncle? I promise not to be too long. Then I’ll fetch you some refreshment.’
He moved to where she stood and she didn’t flinch when he examined her face. ‘If Simon Mortimer did that to you he deserves more than a mere boxing match as punishment. Are there more bruises?’
She nodded. Vivienne had forgotten her discomfort while she was with Alex. Now, with just one reminder of her attacker’s name, all the shock and physical hurt of the abuse came rushing back. Although she’d managed to escape from him, Simon had made her feel like nothing, and had reduced her to nothing in her own eyes.
Her smile faded. With it went the bubbling sense of intimate excitement she’d shared with Alex, replaced by tears she couldn’t quite hold back.
She bobbed her uncle a curtsey, saying more formally, ‘Excuse me, Uncle. You find me at a disadvantage, and I was so looking forward to seeing you again.’
Far from being embarrassed, he handed her a handkerchief. ‘Go and compose yourself, my dear. Simon Mortimer will not get away with this. Nobody will believe you encouraged his attention by the time I’ve finished with him. As for the baron … he’s already been punished.’
‘In what way?’
‘Your cousin, Miss Goodman, is undecided on whether she will become his wife, after all. I believe Viscount Statham is eager to step into the breach.’
Vivienne cried out, ‘But she can’t jilt Freddie! She loves him and he loves her. She will break his heart and break her own at the same time. You must stop her from being so foolish.’
‘I’m not a marriage broker, Miss Fox.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I could speak to the girl on your behalf. Perhaps you would write her a note expressing your opinion on that.’
‘I would prefer to return to London with you. I’ve forgiven Freddie, who meant me no harm, but I definitely have something to say to Simon Mortimer.’
‘Where would you stay? Your aunt thinks you’ve brought shame on the family and she will keep you at a distance.’
The sick feeling returned. ‘I had not thought of that. Would you not offer me shelter then?’
‘Do you honestly think I would compromise myself in such a manner? Besides, I’m staying at my club, and they do not allow females past the front door. As matters stand, if you put in an appearance it would make matters worse, and yourself even more conspicuous. Imagine what the tittle-tattlers would make of your appearance.’
In his high-handed way he was right, of course. ‘Am I to take it that you would rather I didn’t return to London?’
‘Lord LéSayres suggested you might approach me with this request. He is adamant you should stay here until the matter is resolved, and in that we must take your father’s feelings into consideration, which I have done. I take it you would not seriously entertain a request from Mortimer to wed you?’
An exasperated sigh left her mouth. ‘Not for one second, and if that was my last second on earth I’d seek him out and kill him.’
‘Allow me to speak plainly. That’s one of the reasons why we don’t want you in London. We have plans for retribution already in place, and they do not include murder or threats. It will be handled in the way of gentlemen, and hysterical female outbursts that have no real purpose other than to vent feelings are not part of them. Allow your protectors to handle the matter and all will turn out well, do you understand?’
Nobody had spoken to her in that sort of tone before and it was like having a pail of cold water thrown in her face. As if she wasn’t wet enough.
The truth in what he said snapped her out of her temper and did what it was designed to – it stiffened her spine. ‘Of course I understand. What is the plan you spoke of, are you going to tell me?’
Amusement filled his eyes. ‘Not until it has reached resolution.’
She would not be able to outwit this man, and she offered him a wry smile. ‘I’m quite in awe of you, Uncle. Are you as clever as reputation would have it?’
He thought about it for a second or two. ‘Successful would describe me better. I should be modest and say I’m not clever, except that would be a lie, because the perception of cleverness is in the eye of the beholder. So the answer is … there is no answer to that. However, I’m successful in most of my dealings.’
‘Very well then, Uncle John, I will allow myself to be guided by your sage advice.’
‘I’ll make a note of it.’