by Sara Craven
She lifted herself, pressing against him in her need to be closer yet, some instinct she’d not known she possessed until that moment telling her there was only one path to the fulfilment of her desire. That he had to be part of her, one flesh with her.
He whispered her name against her mouth, then kissed her with ascending passion and yearning, his hands sliding the length of her spine and pushing away the few inches of lace in order to caress the silken swell of her buttocks. A heartbeat later and the lace was gone, leaving her naked in his arms
Darius lifted himself onto an elbow and looked down at her, his eyes shadowed as he gazed at the flushed ivory of her body, the deep rose of her aroused nipples, the concavity of her belly, and the soft dark smudge at the joining of her thighs.
He said in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘Do you know how lovely you are? How totally adorable? My glorious, radiant girl.’
His hand swooped over the curve of her hip, then trailed downwards with deliberate purpose combined with a tantalising lack of haste.
Chloe gasped helplessly, as her body responded with a scalding rush of betraying heat to this new and devastating promise and the certainty of where it must lead.
Her own fingers gripped the broad muscular strength of his shoulders, then feathered down over his ribcage and taut abdomen to the waistband of his pants, fumbling with the fastening and tugging down the zip, feeling the hot, steellike hardness of him through the silk shorts beneath.
Darius freed himself swiftly from the enveloping fabric and kicked it away, sending his shorts after it, then pulling her to him, letting her feel the ramrod urgency of him between her bare thighs.
She made some small incoherent sound and opened herself to him. His mouth took hers and she felt the silken play of his tongue mirroring the first heart-stopping glide of his fingertips as they moved on her with a lingering and exquisite finesse she’d never dreamed could exist.
But no dream had ever taken her this far, overwhelming her in mind, body and soul, making her ache, burn and melt. Turning her innocence in a few brief moments to a distant and unregretted memory.
And if in some dazed corner of her mind, she realised this was because she was in the hands of a master in the art of seduction, she did not attempt to resist because she also knew that she could not, even if she wanted to.
He found her woman’s tiny sensitive mound among the heated satin folds of flesh and stroked it softly and sweetly, arousing it to a throbbing peak of anticipation. Yet, all the same, when his exploration of her deepened to a first gentle penetration, she could not help flinching a little as it occurred to her what the reality of a full physical consummation would mean.
Darius stopped instantly. ‘I’m hurting you?’
She found a voice from somewhere. ‘No. At least … It’s just that I’ve never …’
Her voice tailed away in embarrassment, and she waited for him to take her in his arms and offer reassurance. Tell her that he would make her transition into womanhood beautiful for her.
Instead, there was an odd silence.
Then, as she was trying to pluck up the courage to look at him, he said very quietly, ‘Of course. How could I possibly not realise? Hell, how blind and selfish is it possible to be?’
She did stare at him then, her eyes widening endlessly in bewilderment and a kind of fear as she heard the detached weariness in his voice.
She said, faltering again, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Just about everything, I’d say.’ He was moving to the edge of the bed, reaching for his clothes, presenting her with the implacable view of his naked back. ‘But principally—that I haven’t the least right in the world to make this kind of demand of you. And thank God you made me see it before too much harm was done.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Her voice shook. ‘I thought you wanted me.’
‘Who wouldn’t, my sweet?’ His drawl made the words no easier to hear. ‘As I said earlier you are—very lovely—and frantically desirable. But that is no justification for stealing your virginity in what would probably be a pretty one-sided transaction.’
‘Then why did you bring me here?’
He told her why in a brief explicit crudity that brought the colour storming into her face, and impelled her to cover herself with her hands. Not that he was even glancing in her direction.
‘I suggest you also get dressed,’ he went on. ‘I’d leave you in privacy, but you’re going to need help with those damned buttons.’
Through the tightness in her throat, she said, ‘I managed at home, thank you.’
‘Then I’ll go. It would naturally be better if we don’t arrive downstairs together.’ His tone was brisk, almost impersonal. ‘If you turn right out of here, then left at the end of the corridor, you’ll come out in the Long Gallery. You’ll remember your way from there.’ He went to the door, carrying his jacket and tie, then turned. In the lamplight, his face was a stranger’s—bleak, even haggard.
He said, ‘This should never have started, and I can only ask you to forgive me, and believe me when I tell you that parting now is totally for the best. One day, I hope you’ll understand.’
No, Chloe thought, as the door closed softly behind him. I never will.
Not as long as I live.
For the moment, she felt numb, but soon there would be the pain of humiliation and the sheer agony of regret, and she could only pray she’d be safely back at Axford Grange before they kicked in.
Her hands were trembling so much that getting back into her dress was a nightmare, but even the struggle with the buttons was infinitely better than having to submit to his touch again.
Now all she had to do was live with the knowledge that she’d naively offered everything of herself that she had to give to Darius Maynard and been rejected, presumably because her confession of total inexperience had suddenly made her less appealing.
But surely he must have known I’d never been with a man before? she thought, forcing herself to use his brush to restore her hair to some kind of order. Or had he listed me as one of the local tarts? The thought made her shudder.
Her bag was down in the ballroom, so she had no lipstick to return some colour to her white face. One of her combs was missing too, and she had to search for it in the bed, but at last she was fit to be seen again.
As she descended the staircase, Penny Maynard appeared. ‘Oh, there you are at last. Your aunt and uncle have been looking for you. I think they’re ready to leave.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry I kept them waiting.’ Chloe forced a smile. ‘I think I had too much punch earlier, so I needed a few quiet moments.’
Penny shrugged. ‘It happens,’ she said. ‘It was one of Darius’s concoctions and they’re always lethal. You’ve probably had a lucky escape.’
‘Yes.’ Chloe kept her smile, although it felt as if it had been nailed to her mouth. ‘I think I probably have.’
And she walked quietly away to find the people who loved her and go home with them, so she could break her heart in secrecy and peace.
CHAPTER NINE
CHLOE stirred awkwardly on the window seat. She was cold and cramped, but that did not explain or justify the tears running down her face. Remembering the events of seven years before had hardly been an exorcism of her personal demons, after all, but more the deliberate opening of an old and still-vicious wound.
She had cried for what remained of the night of the Birthday Ball too, deep racking sobs that threatened to tear her apart. Earlier, she’d explained her disappearance at the dance to her aunt and uncle by saying that she’d felt unwell after supper, and thought she’d eaten something which had disagreed with her.
‘You look like a little ghost.’ Aunt Libby had viewed her, frowning anxiously. ‘Don’t think about getting up tomorrow. Sleep as long as you want.’
And, in the end, when there were no tears left, she’d done exactly that. She’d eventually woken around midday, had a bath and dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, bu
t the face that looked back at her from the mirror as she brushed her hair was still wan with deep shadows under the eyes.
Sooner or later, she would have to face Darius again, probably in public, she told herself, and right now she didn’t see how that could ever be possible.
She had to practise a few cheerful expressions before she went downstairs.
When she went into the kitchen Uncle Hal had returned for lunch, and he and Aunt Libby were standing by the window, their faces grave, having a low-voiced conversation which ceased abruptly when Chloe entered.
She checked. ‘I’m sorry. Is this something private?’
‘No. Oh, no.’ Aunt Libby’s distress was evident. ‘It’s common knowledge by now, I don’t doubt, in every sordid detail. Mrs Thursgood will have seen to that.’
Chloe felt a sudden inexplicable chill. ‘Why, what’s happened?’ Oh, God did someone see me leaving his bedroom? Has something been said?
‘There’s serious trouble at the Hall,’ Uncle Hal said abruptly. ‘Mrs Maynard—Penny—has left Andrew and run off with his worthless brother. It seems they were found together in his bedroom at some unearthly hour this morning in what’s known as “compromising circumstances.” ‘ He pronounced the words with distaste. ‘It’s anyone’s guess how long it’s been going on.
‘There was a terrible scene apparently,’ he went on.
‘Shouting, hysterics, and even blows exchanged. In the end Sir Gregory told Darius to go and never come back. And he has gone, taking her with him. Cleared out, the pair of them, lock, stock and barrel. And no-one knows where they’ve gone.’
There was a peculiar roaring in Chloe’s ears, and she felt as if she was looking at her aunt and uncle down a long tunnel.
She thought, I must not—I cannot—faint …
Aunt Libby was speaking. ‘Mind you, it was pretty obvious last night that all wasn’t well. I don’t think she and Andrew even had a duty dance together. But all marriages go through rough times, at one time or another.’ She sighed. ‘Such a good-looking couple, too. It seems so sad. And so awful for Sir Gregory, who values his privacy, to have his family’s dirty linen washed in public like this.’
She shook her head. ‘I suppose there’ll be a divorce.’
‘Inevitable, I’d say,’ her husband agreed.
Chloe swallowed. ‘How—how did you get to know all this?’ she asked, astonished that her voice could sound so normal.
‘Mrs Thursgood’s niece Tracey was helping with the clearing up after the dance,’ said her uncle. ‘As soon as the row began, they were all out in the hall listening, and, of course, they heard everything. Especially Sir Gregory bellowing at Darius that he didn’t have a single shred of decency in his entire body and that if he didn’t get out, he’d throw him out with his own hands. And shortly afterwards, Darius and Penny came down with their cases, got into his car and drove away. Well, he’s always been the rotten apple in the Maynard barrel with his womanising and other antics. And I dare say a lot of people will be saying “good riddance”.’
To bad rubbish. Wasn’t that how the quotation ended? Chloe asked herself. And how could she argue with it when Darius, knowing full well that he was committed to someone else, however illicitly, had deliberately set out to seduce her?
But why? she asked herself, feeling genuinely sick to her stomach as she thought of him entwined with Penny on the same bed where he’d been making love to her only a few hours previously. How many women could he possibly want at a time?
She supposed she should be thankful that what passed for his conscience had spared her when she told him she was a virgin. Maybe there was a lingering shred of decency in him after all.
My glorious, radiant girl. The remembered words made her shiver, her throat muscles tightening convulsively. Everything he’d said and done meant nothing. It had all been simply a means to an indecent end. The gratification of a spare hour. If not her, then someone else. But someone with experience, not an innocent idiot. That was what had stopped him, she told herself.
‘It’s time we ate.’ Aunt Libby was bustling around, placing a bowl of salad on the table and cutting slices of a bacon-and-egg pie.
And Chloe had to eat. Had to sit at the table and listen to all the continued conjecture and force down the food, one small mouthful at a time.
‘I think Penny Maynard must have taken leave of her senses,’ said Aunt Libby. ‘How could she not be happy with a decent man like Andrew? And what kind of life is she expecting with that—fly-by-night?’
But she wasn’t happy, thought Chloe. Not ever. How could anyone not see that? She was always tense—on edge. So brittle you expected her to snap.
Uncle Hal shrugged. ‘Maybe it was just a fling and she never intended it to be found out, only they got careless.’ He shook his head. ‘Whatever, they’re stuck with each other now.’
But were they? Chloe wondered now, uncurling herself from the window seat and standing up. Why wasn’t Penny there at the Hall with Darius? Was it all over between them, or had Sir Gregory’s forgiveness only extended to his own flesh and blood, permitting no more than the return of the prodigal?
And what does it matter anyway? she asked herself silently as she dried her face, wiped her eyes, blew her nose and got back into bed. It was all a long time ago, and we are different people with different lives now. I know what my future will be and who I’ll spend it with. Probably Darius does too, she added, thumping the pillow, and if Lindsay Watson turns out to be his choice, at least his father should approve.
It took her a while to fall asleep, and when she finally did so, she found herself tormented with the kind of dreams that hadn’t troubled her for a long time. Dreams that she was imprisoned by silken cords, unable to resist, while a man’s hands and mouth explored her body with voluptuous sensuality.
And when she woke, her skin was slick with sweat and her entire self was one shivering ache of yearning.
While the words my glorious, radiant girl were, for reasons she did not dare examine too closely, still churning somewhere in her brain.
And Memory Lane, she told herself grimly, is now permanently out of bounds.
‘So they’re having another of their Birthday Balls,’ said Mrs Thursgood, with a sniff. ‘Asking for trouble, I’d say. Who’s going to be running off with someone they shouldn’t from this one, I wonder?’
Chloe, her face wooden, placed her letter on the scales. ‘Postage to France, please,’ she said.
‘France is it?’ Mrs Thursgood adjusted her glasses and peered at the electronic reading. ‘Getting a job over there, are you?’
‘No,’ said Chloe. ‘I have a friend who’s working on the Riviera.’
If it’s any of your business, you nosy old bat, she added silently. But I’d rather be interrogated about Tanya than talk about the Birthday Ball.
But Mrs Thursgood was not to be deterred. ‘Darius Maynard’s been away in London for a good while. It’s a wonder his father can spare him. But he’s always here and there, that one. Probably keeps a lady friend up there out of the way.’
Chloe, conscious of a growing and interested queue behind her, bit her lip until she tasted blood and forced herself to concentrate on Tanya.
The postcard received from her two days before had said, Ignore the blue skies. The mistral has been blowing for all week and the kids are hyper. Les parents have pushed off to Italy with friends, and I’m stuck at the above address going quietly insane. Help.
Trouble is I’ve no real help to give, Chloe thought, as she attached the stamps and waited to receive her change. In fact it had been a hell of a struggle to try to sound cheerful and positive in return, when there was so much that she could not or would not mention, such as tomorrow night’s dinner party at the Hall. At which, of course, Darius might or might not be present.
It’s been one long whirl here, she’d written at last. I’ve been riding, dog-walking and generally getting back into the local swing. My uncle is retiring quite soon, and I�
�ve been helping redecorate the house before they sell it. She’d paused, chewing the end of her pen, then added, When my feet eventually touch the ground, Ian and I plan to sit down quietly and sort out a date for the wedding.
But would they? They dated a couple of times a week, but their relationship was still worryingly static, without even the anticipated invitation to the cottage anywhere on the horizon. And if as Ian had indicated, they needed to restart their relationship, it was a pretty muted affair, plodding along rather than sweeping her off her feet as she’d secretly hoped, and so badly needed to happen.
She wished she could confide in Tanya, but found herself jibbing at expressing her concerns in black-and-white, as if by doing so she would somehow set them in stone. Make them seem more serious than they really were.
After all, she reminded herself, marriage was for life and Ian was merely being sensible for both of them. Making sure they were sure.
But one of these days, Chloe told herself, when he wasn’t on call, or attending a meeting, or playing squash, she would seize the initiative and drive over there, taking the ingredients of a steak and wine dinner for two in a carrier bag.
‘I hear the Grange is going on the market soon.’ Mrs Thursgood intruded on her thoughts once again. ‘So you’ll be moving on too, I dare say.’
‘I have plenty of time to make my own plans,’ Chloe returned coolly, putting her coins in her purse and heading for the door.
Safely outside, she drew a deep breath. An errand at the post office often resembled an encounter with a grinding machine, she thought broodingly, and how nice it would be when she could brandish her engagement ring in front of her inquisitor and say, ‘I’m going nowhere.’
Not a noble ambition, she admitted silently, but Mrs Thursgood effortlessly brought out the worst in her.
She returned slowly to her car. She’d planned to drive up to the Hall, as she’d done each day following Darius’s departure ten days earlier and two increasingly irascible messages from Arthur, in order to exercise Orion. But the postmistress’s comments on the reasons for his trip had managed to get under her guard in some unexpected and infuriating way.