by Jenny Brown
Eliza paused abruptly. “Oh no! I have muddled it.”
Edward’s hopes which had been on the rise, deflated. “Why, what is wrong?”
“You asked the question, so the ascendant describes you, but I forgot that the question was about your friend’s marriage, not your own. So I must read the chart for the friend, not you, and that changes all the houses! She leaned her head against her hand. “It is so vexing! I am never sure whether a friend is a Third House relationship or an Eleventh House one, so I am in doubt as to which planet to assign to your friend. And now I am reminded most forcibly why it is I don’t like casting this kind of horoscope. There is far too much to remember!”
She cocked her head up in that endearing way of hers. “Perhaps you can help me decide which house to use for your friend. Is he an older, serious man?”
“No, I should say he was quite frivolous,” Edward replied.
“Is he fond of talking?”
“Quite.”
“Then the Third House must describe him, being ruled by Mercury. But Mercury is afflicted on this chart by Mars. Is your friend prone to speak without thinking?”
“At times.”
“Or perhaps it is that he is prone to speak falsehoods, especially where women are concerned. Oh, of course,” she added, answering her own question. “That must be true, as you already told me he is a sad rake.”
He was glad Eliza’s eyes were on the chart and could not see his struggle to maintain his composure. But he also found himself gaining a new respect for Eliza’s abilities. He had not expected the chart to reveal quite so much of the truth.
Eliza pondered a little longer then said, “It is, after all, as I had thought. When we ask the question about your friend, rather than yourself, his marriage would be described by the Ninth House whose lord, Jupiter, is in the Tenth. That means that the marriage would indeed be only for the sake of reputation.” She pointed her pen toward the paper. “And the outcome is clear, too. Mercury’s next aspect will be a square with Jupiter.”
Edward interrupted, “The outcome is clear to you perhaps, but I am at sea with all your houses and lordships. What is the final judgment?”
“Why just what I told you before. Your friend should not marry the lady. If he does, only problems will ensue. But I am so glad I caught my error in time! Had I continued to read the chart as if the question was about you instead of your friend I should have thought it a love match and one I should have recommended.”
Edward said no more. He had learned a valuable lesson about attempting to manipulate Eliza with the stars. But as he sat in silence while Eliza packed her books and charts back into the flowered satchel, he realized that his clumsy appeal for help had not, after all, been a waste of time. She had told him what he needed to know.
She believed that a marriage would only be justified if there was the possibility of a child. And in saying that, she had, unwittingly, shown him exactly what it was that he must do if he were to gain her assent to the proposal of marriage his honor required him to offer her.
So that was that.
He rose abruptly and strode over to the armchair where Eliza had seated herself after finishing her consultation with him. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll help you bring your things upstairs.” Then he snuffed the candles, all except for one branch, which he picked up with one hand. Wordlessly he reached his other hand for hers, knowing, sad rake that he was, that her response to this simple gesture would dictate all that came next.
If she did not take it, the path ahead was uncertain, but if she did—all would move in the direction his ludicrously rejuvenated sense of honor decreed it must.
He gazed into her eyes, remembering the power of the kiss they had shared in the moonlight. Had it just been the power of the waves that had moved her then, or was she almost his? As he waited, an overpowering longing for her swept through him. He dragged himself back to rationality. It was she who must be swept away, not him. And indeed, he sensed her even now teetering on the edge of making her decision. His hand lingered just out of her reach, then brushed against hers. He willed her to take it, feeling his need for her welling up inside again. At last, she gave him her hand. He squeezed it gently, letting all he felt for her flow into the softness of her touch. Then she stood up.
The kiss had not been just a trick of the moon.
Chapter 15
As she let Edward lead her up the stairs, Eliza wondered at the calm with which she had behaved throughout the past hour. For upstairs, in the same room to which he was leading her, lay that poisonous letter she had buried at the bottom of Violet’s trunk—the letter she had found on her bed when she had gone upstairs to change her rain-dampened clothing. Immediately upon seeing her father’s seal on its cheap paper, she had known she would have to leave Edward immediately—and she must do it without giving him any hint of why it was she was leaving.
Her father could sniff out money like a bloodhound. Hadn’t he managed to show up on her doorstep only days after the solicitor had handed over her Aunt Celestina’s carefully hoarded bequest—despite his having let years go by in which she hadn’t heard a single word from him? And now he had tracked her down again, writing so coolly that although word had come to him that she had given herself to Lord Hartwood without benefit of marriage, he would leave it to others to judge her, for he was on the brink of an enormous breakthrough. The potential for gain was immense—but only if she convinced her wealthy protector to make a heavy investment in his doomed and damnable scheme.
Her father hadn’t changed. She knew he never would, but still, the truth slashed through her like a knife. She must leave Edward now, before her father could make his way to Brighton. There was no alternative. She would not let Edward become yet another victim of her father’s obsession. She couldn’t bear watching his regard for her turn into contempt and then disgust.
She wondered how she had managed to converse so coolly with Edward tonight after reading that poisonous letter. How had she been able to discuss Miss Austen’s book and advise him on his friend’s predicament? She must be as good an actor as he was, for she had carried it off so well, without ever letting him suspect that her heart was breaking with every word he spoke to her and every liquid glance of his warm brown eyes.
Her sadness had made her stupid, of course. How else to account for the mess she had made when reading that chart for his friend? But he had not noticed. Sometimes his self-absorption came in useful.
But no matter what she felt. Now that her father had tracked her down, she must leave Edward, though it would be so hard to do so. Though it would be intolerable.
Perhaps that was why she had dressed herself in the most scandalous of all of Violet’s garments, the peach silk dressing gown. And nothing else. She was no longer the innocent she had been when she had first opened Violet’s trunk. She knew very well the response such a garment would provoke in him. But as she had tried to accept that she must leave Edward forever her sadness had turned to hunger and something fierce had risen up within her and declared that if this last night with him was all she had left, she would enjoy it to the utmost.
She would open herself to life. She would give herself up to what he had made her yearn for with all the teasing foretastes of joy he had given her already. Not just the pleasures of the body he had awakened her to, but the rest of it: The way he listened to her and valued her opinion. The way he respected her intelligence and brought out in her the playfulness she had so long suppressed. He had given her so much. Her heart swelled as she remembered the way he had shown her how much he needed what she alone could give him, no matter how hard he might try to hide it behind that ironic façade. Perhaps it was fate that the book he had bought for her spoke of the regrets of a woman her own age who had turned away from love. She would not make that mistake.
So it had been with only the faintest tremble that she had given her hand to Edward in the library and let him lead her up the stairs to her small room in the attic.
When they reached the landing, she stood at the doorway, uncertainly fumbling with the knob, hoping he would not turn away and leave her there alone. That he had forbidden her to do this was no longer a concern. She would leave him the next morning, anyway, before he had a chance to send her away. Still, she half expected him to make some protest as she pushed open the heavy, squeaking door and drew him into the room after her. But he, too, seemed to have forgot his prohibition, for he had followed her into the tiny bedroom and closed the door behind them with a decisive click.
He put the branch of candles he was carrying down on the table. He dropped her satchel and placed her new book on the side table where the gold stamping on the bindings glowed dimly in the candlelight. Then he stopped and looked at her with a questioning look that made her feel all the more how devastated she would be if he were to leave her now. Still clutching his hand, she led him silently toward the bed and motioned him to sit down beside her.
As he seated himself beside her on the bed his eyes met hers, and she saw that, inexplicably, they were filled with a look of determination. For a moment, again, she expected him to rise and flee. But he did not. So she would make the most of it. He was here with her tonight, and though tomorrow she must leave him, before she left she would learn what it was that happened next between two people who had been drawn together as strongly as the two of them had been.
As if he had heard her thoughts, he leaned over, whispered her name, and then kissed her.
It was not like the kiss by the shore. Then they had been outside, and the energy of their kiss had risen with the wind and been quenched by the sound of the sea. But there was no sea here. There was no wind here. There was only the rising feeling of something inside her as old as the sea and as fleeting as the wind that reached out toward him in the silent privacy of the small bedroom and waited for him to show the way.
And he knew it. His kiss was long and slow. As his lips parted, taking hers with them, the soft, delicate probing of his tongue met hers, and she felt an agony as something opened within her she had not known was there. It was as if a current of yearning flowed from his tongue to the pulsing center of her body. And then his hands began their dance.
His fingers glided over her silk-covered breasts, teasing and treasuring them, gently and then harder, as if he had heard her need and responded to it almost before she’d become aware of it. The current flowed stronger as she soaked in the exquisite sensations. He pulled loose the sash of her scandalous dressing gown, and it gave way, falling open before him and revealing her naked body. His deep brown eyes widened and became even more beautiful as he regarded her in the candlelight. His pupils were black and immense. There was nothing between the two of them now but skin and energy.
His fingertips found her nipples and twirled them into madness. Sensations flooded her, almost too much to take in. Overwhelmed, she lay back against the thin pillow on the bed. His lips broke contact with hers, filling her with disappointment until, moments later, they found the hollow of her neck, and his feather-light kisses sent electric shivers pulsing through her body. Almost before she knew it, his lips had moved on and licked and nibbled at her ear. The sound of his quickening breath ignited a yearning deep within her.
He pulled himself upright. As his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt, she hungrily took in the flash of his cool pale skin against the darkness as he peeled off the shirt and tossed it aside. The golden hairs that spread down the center of his chest gleamed faintly in the candlelight, gilding him with dancing sparks.
Then he embraced her again. His flesh against hers was warm and comforting. The hard muscles of his naked chest sank into the resilient softness of her breasts. As he pulled her closer the touch of his wiry curls as they brushed against her sensitive skin inflamed her. Still clasping her in his warm embrace, he gently adjusted her position until she was lying on her side. Then his hands roved up and down her back, pressing on muscles that luxuriated in the release brought about by his touch. He kneaded them harder, making tension melt and sending waves of pleasure coursing down her spine. As he drew spirals on her shoulder blades with the tips of his fingernails, she gripped him convulsively, filled with need for him.
Then again, he released her, but this time she felt no fear he would not return. She watched as he drew off his breeches and stood before her as nature had made him, proudly erect, massive and beautiful in a way she had not known a man could be. Though there was something frightening, too, about the power that now radiated from him.
As if he had sensed how new this was to her, when he took his place beside her again in the bed, he stroked her cheek. He made little comforting noises with his mouth and moved his hands slowly down her flanks with a gentle teasing touch. Again the hunger built within her, even stronger than before. She raised her lips to his and kissed him fiercely, pouring into her kiss all the desire he had made her feel. Her tongue throbbed as it explored the taste of him. She felt herself becoming moist inside.
She needed so much more of him. Still locked in their kiss, she drew his naked body closer, pressing herself against his long, luxuriant flank, and writhing against him as she rejoiced in the feel of his hardness. Releasing his lips, she nibbled at the base of his neck and heard him moan softly. The sound of his need for her drove her to near desperation.
Yet even as she felt herself being swept away, one small part of herself stood aside and watched, struggling to store each fleeting moment of bliss in her memory for after it was over, saving it for that time, so impossible to imagine now, when her memories would be all she’d have to console herself with, after he was gone.
Edward’s mind reeled. The woman beneath him wanted him as no woman had ever wanted him. His demure Eliza! What was going on?
He tried to get control of himself. Despite the way she was arousing him, she was still a virgin, and nothing about her newfound passion suggested otherwise. He struggled to keep his control as her lips nibbled at the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. He must not overwhelm her. But when her small, even teeth nipped at the tender flesh there, sending a shock throughout his body, he knew it was not she who was in danger of being overwhelmed. Her hands raked through the mat of hair on his chest. Her scent enveloped him. He’d never smelled anything as enticing as her spicy clean skin and the fainter, maddening musk of her desire for him. Her hands drifted downward below his navel, exploring the sensitive skin above his pubic hair with fingertips that seemed to know exactly what he needed at the exact moment he felt his need. He moaned at the pleasure her dancing touch evoked, until she silenced him with her lips, kissing him hungrily, pulling his tongue into her warm, moist, hungry mouth, and driving him almost to the brink.
But two could play this game. Taking control again, he let his hand drift over her taut belly. Her breathing quickened. He thrilled at the tiny shivers that went through her at his touch. He brushed against the auburn curls that awaited him below. Feeling her startle, he paused, then circled her navel playfully yet tenderly, until she relaxed again. He glanced up at her face and saw the blissful way her ginger lashes fluttered as her eyes drifted closed. He kissed her gently on her lightly parted lips. No woman had ever been so beautiful.
He let his fingers drift back to her sumptuous mound and found her silky curls. He teased them until he felt her rise to meet him. Gently his probing hand explored the open, welcoming cleft he found awaiting him below. He heard her breathing grow harsh as he kneaded the tight ridge of her excitement, rolling its slickness between his two fingers.
She arched against him and cried out. The pressure in his manhood grew as her wetness gushed forth in response to his determined probing. He longed to kiss her there and learn the taste of her, but held back not wishing to frighten her. Only when he felt her full and swollen beneath his hand, did he part her legs and kneel between them. Gently, oh so gently, he placed himself against her opening, sliding against the wetness there. He gave her time to adjust then gently increased the pressure until the tip of his
manhood entered her. He felt her stretch and stopped. He must not hurt her. But her face still held that look of bliss. She widened her legs and the movement almost brought him to the edge. He froze, waited a moment, then pressed harder against the slippery membrane until her sharp intake of breath made him stop again. He pulled back, delaying for one last instant whatever it was that would happen when she changed from maid to woman. But just at that moment her arms tightened around his back. She pulled him closer, forced him deep within her and he slid home. At last, she was his.
He paused, luxuriating in the slickness of her. He hoped he had not hurt her.
“I’m all right,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Don’t stop. I couldn’t bear it.”
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t have stopped now, even if he’d wanted to. He embraced her and whispered her name as he plunged into her silky depths. He felt her tighten around him as her desire grew. At each thrust, her hips arched to meet him. Her breath quickened with his. Her moans of pleasure echoed his own. Their breathing rose together. Yes, she was his, but he was hers, too. Entirely hers, lost in the wonder of her. Then she shuddered, and he felt her convulsing around him. She gave one last gasp of pleasure, and he exploded in ecstasy inside her.
When it was over, he was afraid to look at her. He had never bedded a virgin. He had never bedded a friend. He had just done both and he wasn’t sure if he could bear the aftermath. If she were to cry, if she were to berate him for seducing her, he didn’t know how he would face it.
He would marry her, of course, and perhaps this was the time to make her his offer when they were both still overwhelmed with the passion they had just shared. But something held him back. Her words describing the horror of being tied to a rake came back to him, more devastating now that it was too late for him to heed them. Would she hate him because he’d maneuvered things so she would be tied to him whether she wanted it or not?