No more debates, internal or external. Now was the time to be courageous, stealing her last chance at happiness before it vanished forever. She strode out over the snow, enjoying the freedom of movement the breeches gave her, a stray thought reminding her to consider branching out into men’s tailoring before the import of the situation came over her again.
Could she do this? Could she take a gentleman to a house for the purpose of… of…
Yes. John’s footsteps sounded just behind her, steady. Reliable. Moving faster, Anne went on.
It took less time than she’d thought to reach the house. All of a sudden it was there, low-roofed, dark grey against the ice and snow around them. The faint gurgle of water underneath the frozen surface of the river made the cottage seem as if it were whispering, surreptitiously welcoming them.
‘Is it closed?’
‘Yes. I think so.’ Anne looked guiltily back at John, the cold of the air briefly stealing her breath. ‘Would it be wrong to open it?’
‘It’s not being used, and we’re not going to take anything apart from shelter.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ That’s what she’d hoped he would say with every fibre of her being. ‘The door’s at the side.’
Would the gentlemen who fished here during the lazy summer months still inexplicably be in residence? No, they couldn’t be; Margaret had so confidently proclaimed that the place lay empty during the winter months, and Margaret knew everyone’s habits. With a slightly harder shove than the one she had used to gain entrance to the closed stall, Anne pushed open the door of the cottage.
Empty. Thank God. And not just empty, but made ready for the next visitors when the season came. The grate was clean, and there were logs stacked against the wall with a tinderbox resting upon a nearby table. A little snow blew over the threshold, the flakes melting on the flagstones before John stepped into the cottage and shut the door.
‘I’ll build a fire.’ He sounded so matter-of-fact. ‘You’ll freeze otherwise.’
Anne could only nod. As John busied himself preparing the fire, arranging the logs into a precise pyramid and using the tinderbox and flint to light the base, she found herself wondering if he’d been in similar situations to this one.
If he had been, what of it? She had no claim to him. But it still tore at her in a way that none of her other doubts had. She stared at John’s strong back, his swift, graceful hands as he coaxed the flames higher, the heat of the new fire failing to warm her.
It was no use. She would have to at least enquire. ‘Have you…’
John turned. ‘Have I what?’
‘... Nothing.’ For a moment she had seen the nervousness in his eyes, the fear mingled with want. No practiced seducer could ever feign such ardour. ‘Nothing at all.’
Before long the fire was blazing, the logs white-hot as they burned slowly to ash. The cottage filled with warm, idle heat as clouds hung heavy outside, the view from the window all but obscured by ivy and fallen snow. As Anne busied herself with useless things—moving the rug, mopping up stray snowflakes with a rag hung on a hook by the door—she realised that John was staring at her.
The shame of her disguise fell heavily upon her once again. ‘You shouldn’t look at me like this. It–it’s most dreadfully unbecoming.’
‘You look beautiful.’ John paused, his gaze burning as he studied her from head to foot. Anne felt the heat of his stare, the want in it, and suddenly the brazen curve of her hips and thighs was welcome. If he looked at her like this every time she dressed in men’s garb, she would throw away her gowns. ‘Please don’t make me stop looking at you.’
‘I’m not going to.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
All she had wanted to do in the workshop was touch him. Any distance between his body and hers had felt like an imposition. Now, as she stared at him from across the small, wood-smoke scented room, the gap between them suddenly seemed vast.
‘We needn’t be hemmed in like this. Tied.’ She looked helplessly down at her hands, which were trembling with a mixture of cold and excitement. ‘You know that–yes?’
‘I know.’ John spoke in the low, intimate murmur that she’d always wanted to hear from him. The voice that meant they were alone, truly alone, and so unlikely to be disturbed that it wasn’t worth worrying about. ‘Believe me–I know. But I–’
‘But what?’
‘But I don’t know where to start. How to start.’ John looked down at his shoes, an embarrassed flush warming his cheeks as he smiled. ‘I’m no rake. I wish I was.’
‘I don’t wish you were a rake. I wish I were braver.’
‘You were brave enough to put on men’s clothes and slip away to me. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.’
‘Thank you.’ Anne let the compliment warm her, even as the tension in the room grew greater still. A hot, heady awkwardness that felt like swooning by degrees. ‘But… but it isn’t enough. Not for this.’
They stared at one another in silence, the rough stone walls of the cottage close and solid. Even like this, even with everything unresolved and nothing truly happening, being with him was peaceful. More peaceful, more right, than Anne had ever felt with anyone else.
Eventually, John cleared his throat. ‘Tie my cravat.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘My cravat.’ John reached up. Anne watched him, confused, as he loosened the cravat around his neck until it hung loose. ‘You… you could tie it. As you were going to–’
‘In the workshop. Yes.’ The memory washed over her like water, making her breathless. ‘I remember.’
‘I was close then. So very close to… to this.’ John’s eyes reached deep into her core, seeing every part of her. ‘Closer than I’d ever allowed myself to become. So if you did it again… you see?’
Anne saw. She saw every possible future that could come of trying his cravat, of losing her fingers in the softness of the fabric around his neck. Of being so close to him that the scent of him, smoke and snow and new pencils, shivered through her like a drug.
She’d never wanted anything more.
Despite the tremble that ran through her, her steps were steady as she approached him. Reaching her hands upward, looking at the base of his neck to avoid the intensity of his gaze, she took the strips of cotton in her fingers and began to tie them.
Yes. A deep, forbidden heat swelled in her as John’s hands moved to her forearms. He encircled her wrists with such masterful gentleness that she barely felt his grip. Her fingers stilled, leaving the cravat half-tied as she cupped his broad shoulders in her palms.
‘Like this.’ John moved closer. Anne bit her lip as his body brushed against hers, lingering. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘The most simple touch, if it comes from you—it sets me alight.’ His voice was barely audible. It was as if he’d said the words to himself many times, and was half-afraid of saying them to her. ‘I can’t stop it.’
‘Can you…’
‘Anything.’
‘Can you kiss me?’ If he was going to say things that frightened him, she was going to do the same. ‘Kiss me. Please.’
He’d dreamed of kissing her so many times. At her workshop, under a willow tree, underneath a burning sunset–every fantasy had been more elaborate than the last. But here in this small, rough-hewn cottage, with a crackling fire warming the air and the scent of leather and ancient river water lingering in the corners, John’s imaginings could finally become reality.
For a moment he was frightened. Frightened of disappointing her, or worse–frightened that the fierce, blazing magic between them would suddenly die when given the time and space to flourish. He stared at her lips, her ripe, soft mouth so close to his, and prayed. Please let her be as terrified as I am.
No immediate answer came from the heavens. No divine wrath, but no welcome either. Clenching his fists, turning away all thoughts of God, the Devil and everything else, John pressed his lips to hers.
Oh.
Oh.
No, he hadn’t needed to be afraid. Not for a single moment. A deep, potent rush of desire filled him as he felt her mouth react to his, felt the quiver that ran through her skin at his touch. A soft sigh hummed through her lips; John caught it, trembling, a sigh of his own overwhelming him.
‘I–oh.’ Anne gently pulled away, looking at him with wide eyes.
‘I’m sorry. Did I do something–’
‘No.’ Anne’s stare lingered on his mouth. ‘Not at all.’
‘Can I–’
‘Yes. Please.’
He had her permission before, but now it felt different. More definite. There was a hum of frustration in her voice, of want, that he felt mirrored in his own soul. With a swift intake of breath that came perilously close to a gasp, John cupped Anne’s face in his hands as he kissed her again.
Had he ever kissed anyone like this before? Never like this, never with such vivid, maddening need. Never with such growing haste in his lips and hands, slow gentleness becoming near-frenzied passion the more he held her, the more her hands moved over his shoulders and back and clutched the linen of his shirt. Never so drugged with the sound and scent of the woman in his arms, her every breath and sigh music to his ears as he pushed her against the plastered wall, the picture-frames rattling as he took complete possession of her mouth.
‘You’ll break the house to pieces.’ Anne’s breathless laughter only spurred him onward. John kissed her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, her eyelids. ‘It’ll fall down.’
‘Let it.’
‘I will. I promise.’
Now that he’d kissed her face, her neck lay waiting for him. Anne’s delighted sigh, her shiver of pleasure, only spurred him onward. He kissed along the line of her neck as he moved closer, pressing himself against her, allowing himself a half-muffled grunt of pure pleasure at the feel of her body against his. Just as he’d dreamed of, longed for–oh, it was as if she’d been made for him. The curve of her waist, the swell of her thighs left brazenly evident by her breeches, fit against him as if they’d been created for his body alone.
‘Can I…’ He moved his hands to the coarse linen of her shirt, gently caressing her shoulders.
‘Yes. Oh, but I–’
‘But what?’
‘Oh, Lord, how embarrassing.’
‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘No.’ Anne’s smile took away the doubt forming in his breast. ‘But I think you’re going to laugh at what you find.’
‘You can remove it yourself if you wish.’
‘No. No, I don’t want to do that.’ Anne looked at him, her lips and cheeks flushed with kisses. ‘I want you to.’
Could she feel how hard he was, pressed against her thigh? She had to; it was damn near escapable. John shifted slightly against her as he moved his hands to her waist, stroking the contour of her body before gripping her shirt. He bit his lip, another grunt concealed in his throat, as Anne slowly pressed her thigh tighter to his rigid cock.
The faint smell of starch filled the air as he pulled Anne’s shirt over her head. As Anne’s hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, the copper-gold magnificence highlighted in the glow of the fire, John found himself stepping back and looking at her chest in utter confusion.
‘I told you.’ Anne’s face was a delightful mixture of humour and embarrassment. ‘Forgive me, but I quite forgot I was wearing it.’
‘Do you normally wear lilac around your—’
‘No. Of course not. But I would have attracted unwanted attention without it in this particular disguise.’ Anne smiled, looking down at the swathe of lilac cotton. ‘Best avoided, I think.’
‘I should have noticed it.’
‘You weren’t meant to notice anything, and neither was anyone else.’
‘I’ve been looking at you for months. I should have noticed.’
‘Well.’ Anne looked back up at him, her smile still hovering on her lips. ‘Now you can examine me at length, and note the difference.’
Coming close to her again felt like coming home. He was already more confident, more sure of the way his body curved and pressed against hers. With hands that only had a slight tremble to them, John untied the knot between Anne’s shoulder blades and began to unwrap the cotton.
‘Ohhh.’ Anne leaned her head against his shoulder; John breathed in the scent of her hair, kissing a stray curl as he unwrapped layer after layer. ‘That’s better.’
‘Good.’ There was something perversely exciting about comforting her and exciting her at the same time. The cotton was thin, the softness of it making his fingers tingle as he unwrapped. ‘Nearly there.’
As the final layer fell away, he let the cotton fall to the floor in a lilac waterfall. Anne kept her head to his shoulder, her hair a golden, sweet-scented cloud as John moved his hands to her breasts.
‘There.’ He cupped them gently, the soft, abundant swell of them sending white-hot sparks through every part of him. Anne gasped; her nipples hardened against John’s palms as he took the weight of her. ‘Better now?’
‘Yes.’
‘You certainly would have attracted attention.’ He probably wasn’t meant to talk to her in situations like these, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d only been able to talk to her in brief snatches before—he couldn’t waste a moment. ‘I’d have never been able to find you. You’d have been besieged by gentlemen.’
‘You can’t possibly tell.’
‘I can.’ John gently stroked her breasts, letting the tips of his fingers linger against her nipples. Anne’s muffled moan against his shoulder made his cock ache with need. ‘You’re all abundance.’
‘I don’t see how you can possibly tell without looking.’
‘Do you want me to look?’
‘... Maybe.’
For a moment all Robert could feel was tenderness. Immense, overwhelming tenderness, mingled with a sentiment that he had never felt before–never come close to feeling. He kissed Anne’s hair with closed eyes, reverently, cherishing the way she pressed herself tighter to him. ‘Then I’ll look.’
Moving back, still cupping her breasts in his palms, he took in the sight of her. Tousled hair, reddened lips, fire-warmed skin, her clothes a delicious backdrop. With a final caress, biting his lip at how pleasurable the feel of her was, he took away his hands.
‘You see?’ His breath caught in his throat at her magnificence. Her breasts, despite the red marks of the cotton that had bound them, were as perfect as the rest of her. ‘All abundance.’
‘You make me sound like a field at harvest time.’
‘Fields at harvest time are the most beautiful fields of all.’
More kisses. More deep, searching kisses as he pressed himself to her, her hard nipples tight against his chest as he felt her quiver with want.
Everything was suddenly frenzied. There would never be enough kisses, enough touches–they had to do them all now, in this instant, while they were in the same place. John shivered as Anne pulled off his shirt, her bare hands moving over his skin with such clear want that it was all he could do to speak normally. ‘Yes. Like that.’
‘And your breeches.’
‘Help me.’
They worked as one, swift in the warmth of the fire. There was no time to feel embarrassed, awkward, out-of-place–there was only now, staring at one another, their deepest vulnerabilities now revealed.
‘You're… you’re breathtaking.’ Anne’s eyes were wide as she looked at John.
‘As are you.’ John kicked away the pile of clothes, a corner of lilac cotton just visible beneath the pile. He could finally see her as he was meant to; her skin was so pale, the shadow of golden-red hair at the meeting of her thighs glowing like the rest of her. ‘Utterly.’
‘Come to me.’ Anne’s voice shook. ‘Please.’
He didn’t need to be told twice. He came to her with a hoarse, low gasp that he couldn’t restrain, however hard he tried; it was just too go
od to be in her arms, all of him, her skin hot and needy against his own. Too good to feel her hands moving lower, taking bold possession of his back and thighs, trembling as they took hold of his cock as he buried his face in her shoulder.
‘Like this?’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Like that, then.’ Anne’s soft laughter in his ear made him tremble as much as her touch did. ‘Show me.’
‘Let me touch you too.’
‘Please.’ Anne’s breath quickened as John slipped his hands beneath her thighs, boldly stroking her mound. She was wet; he delved deeper, making her gasp. ‘Oh God.’
‘Lie down.’ With his free hand John reached for a pile of thick woollen blankets resting by the fire. He threw them haphazardly to the ground, gently sinking to his knees as Anne knelt with him. ‘It’s easier this way.’
How perfect she felt as she lay down, pulling him to her. How right her body felt beneath his. With slow, deliberate patience John kissed his way down her torso, kneeling before her parted thighs as he drank in the sight of her.
‘I want to–’
‘I know. But we can’t.’
‘Yes.’ Anne looked at him, biting her lip for a short, fraught moment before she spoke again. ‘I just wanted you to know that I would, if we could.’
‘And I would. A thousand times over.’ John gently, reverently kissed the base of her stomach, the scent of her desire thrilling across his nerves. ‘But let us do what we can. Let–let me do what I can.’
They had never had enough time. They would never have any time after this. But here in this precise moment, bent between Anne’s thighs as she lay in breathless abandon on the heaped pile of blankets, John felt as if he had all the time in the world.
No waste, though. No waiting. She was hungry for him, and he would give her everything he had.
Her thighs trembled as he kissed her mound. A long, slow shiver rippled over her skin as he ran his tongue along her centre, opening her, tasting her intoxicating sweetness for the first time. Gripping her thighs, stroking her flesh with his thumbs, John licked her with deep, passionate want as his own desire raged within him.
Lovestruck in Lilac: The Brothers Duke: Book Three Page 4