by Lory Lilian
He could feel her fingers entwined in his hair and her mouth allowing, returning, and seeking his kisses; but beyond that, his senses were hardly aware of anything except her warmth, her scent, the movement of her body beneath his, and her soft moans. She was finally his.
Yes, every fibre of his body, his boiling blood, an urge he could not control, a passion whose violence frightened even himself—everything was desperately screaming to make her truly his that very moment, to bind her to him forever before she could change her mind and before anything could interfere to stop him.
Strangely, the storm of feelings brought him back from the abyss of his desires, and his heart ached with worry for her—for her feelings and desires.
David suddenly stopped and withdrew from Cassandra, his gaze searching her face. Her head was resting against the pillow, her eyes closed, her lips red and swollen, her chest rising rhythmically as she obviously struggled to breathe. In shock, he saw her nightgown ripped apart—the result of his violent explorations—and her creamy, smooth skin was exposed to his avid scrutiny. His right palm was still rounded upon her left breast and he could feel her heart racing wildly.
Gently, with infinite care, his lips brushed against her eyelashes; her green eyes met his, and what he saw there cut his soul like a knife. There was sadness—a deep, powerful sadness that he thought he could understand.
“My love, I am so sorry! Please forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you. I know I have behaved like a savage. I had better stop; I do not want to hurt you—
“No, no,” she interrupted him, forcing a smile. “You did not frighten me.” Her voice trembled and her eyes locked with his as she spoke with no little difficulty. “You must not worry for me. It is not the first time…” Her eyelashes fluttered as she waited for his reply.
“It is the first time for us together. That is all that matters,” he answered, returning her smile.
Their lips found their way to another kiss—a caring, patient kiss; tender caresses replaced their initial urges; the hunger of possession turned into the certainty of lovemaking.
Gently, he removed the remaining fabric of her nightgown and then his own attire; slowly his mouth left hers and travelled down on a wonderful discovery of her beauty. The perfect roundness of her breasts made his fingers and his lips rest upon them, to caress them in a maddening play that made them both moan and their bodies quiver. She whispered his name, and he looked up at her for a moment only to see her face flushed with passion. The next moment, his mouth followed his hands as he continued to explore her burning skin: her belly, her ribs, her arms entwined around his neck, her hips, and then down to her legs. Each of his touches made her shiver and turned his desire into a wilder urge that he refused to satisfy with the urgency he felt.
It was not the mere submission to his lust, the desire of reaching the moment of absolute pleasure that he was looking for. It was much more than that. It was the simple, absolute need of having her all in every sense for as long as possible—to discover every part of her body, which might help him discover her soul, and to learn how to make her his and assure her happiness.
His hand slid between her closed thighs, and he heard her crying softly. He lifted his head to look at her and covered her face with light kisses, never taking his eyes from her, while his hand moved up slowly until it reached the hidden spot of her desire. She cried again, and he leaned to capture her lips and her cries as his fingers began a dance against her burning flesh, gentle at first and then more daring. Her body shuddered violently, and her legs parted in complete abandon.
A small cry and her body suddenly tensing caused him to stop; his brow knit in worry as he saw her obviously pained expression. She smiled, tearfully, at his reaction and, in a gesture of reassurance and further invitation, pulled his head toward her and kissed him gently as her legs encircled his waist. Struggling to maintain his control, his senses alive, he allowed his body to slide deeper inside her. She moaned against his mouth, but his long-denied desire forbade him to stop again.
Their bodies began a dance of passion in the most perfect harmony—a dance in which he was the absolute leader and she wanted only to follow his lead, a dance he would not allow to end for a very long time. His thrusts alternated between slow, gentle tenderness and wild, unleashed passion as his lips and hands, restless and tireless, never ceased their hungry exploration of her skin.
With unconcealed satisfaction, he watched her shudder with waves of pleasure, her lips crying his name again and again—but his passion seemed inexhaustible, unable to reach completion. His lips lowered to her ear, and despite the vow of silence he had made earlier, he whispered countless times, “I love you,” his words barely audible between broken kisses. After some time, she captured his mouth in another kiss, and for a moment, he wondered if she did it only to silence him. An instant later, the sweetness of her kiss made any concern vanish.
As daylight appeared shyly through the windows, their exhausted bodies demanded their final reward. For some minutes, neither moved nor said a single word.
He gently rolled from atop her as his arms embraced her gently. She turned her back to him as she did not want to face him, but she remained close, her arms covering his. Their bare bodies still seemed to seek the warmth of each other while her long hair caressed his face and chest.
His happiness was greater than he had ever experienced—not only because of the dreamlike, blissful passion they had shared but also because she seemed to allow him to remain with her in her bed despite the fact that morning had come and they were in danger of being discovered. He could not be wrong in his judgment. Her wishes had wholly changed since he had proposed to her.
He was exhausted—the most wonderful lethargy he had ever experienced—and her delicate presence in his arms made him want to prolong their intimacy, so he allowed sleep to envelop him, holding her as near to him as he could. He was not certain whether his lips actually whispered, “I love you,” in her ear before his eyes blissfully closed.
***
David awoke with an odd perception of coldness; in fact, he felt he was freezing. He needed a moment to remember everything that happened, and only then did he realise Cassandra was no longer there. He rose and saw her in the armchair near the fireplace, wrapped in a robe, her knees lifted to her chin, the long hair falling to her shoulders almost hiding her face. He covered himself with the sheet and walked toward her. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, smiling at her. “I already missed you,” he said. The smile she returned to him bore nothing but sadness.
“David, we must talk…”
“Yes, I know.” He felt lighthearted and wanted only to hold her in his arms again. “Cassandra, is there anybody whom I will have to ask for your hand? Except Darcy, of course, who will have the shock of his life, poor man,” he laughed, sitting near her, his arms encircling her shoulders. She disengaged herself and rose from her seat.
“David, there is nobody you will have to ask for my hand, because there will be no marriage; nothing has changed since we last talked.”
Instantly all the blood drained from his face, and he turned livid; a sudden lump in his throat barely allowed him to speak or even breathe.
“Of course, everything has changed; you know that! Surely you knew that last night when you asked me to remain in your room.”
Cassandra struggled to fight back her tears without much success; she wished nothing but to be able to take upon herself his obvious pain, the grief that was darkening his handsome face, his most profound disappointment, everything that saddened him so deeply.
“David, please forgive me…I understand how angry you are, and I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression—
“The wrong impression?” He was almost yelling, unable to control himself. “You asked me to stay with you, Cassandra! You almost begged me to make love to you! And I know you enjoyed it as much as I did; you cannot deny that!” Her face became pale, and she turned her back to him.
“You are right; I was the one asking you to stay! It was unwise and selfish of me to ask you that; it was a mistake, but it will not change anything,” she repeated as her words angered him further.
“No, no, no! You cannot say that; you are not allowed to say that! We talked about this last night! You promised me you knew your wishes and would know them this morning, too. How dare you tell me now that it was a mistake? Are you trying to make a fool of me? Do you delight in mocking me, Lady Cassandra?” His voice was harsh—even rude and offensive—and for a moment she was tempted to release her own anger and answer him in the same manner. Then his grieved countenance, the nervous pacing around the room as he looked so vulnerable covered only in the sheet, and the pain she had provoked in him broke her heart, and she could do nothing but bear the burden of his reproaches. Tearfully, she moved near him and gently touched his arm as she tried to make him look at her.
“David, you have done everything in your power to respect my wishes; you are beyond reproach. Everything that happened was my own will and at my insistence. And last night, that moment, I wanted nothing but to be with you. I do not regret anything except the fact that I have caused you pain now.” She paused a moment, her cheeks flushed but her eyes facing him boldly. “And you were right in another way too. What I felt last night was much more than enjoyment. I never thought that…I…” She hid her face and fought to sweep her tears away before continuing. “But that cannot change what I told you a few weeks ago. I cannot marry you; I shall not marry you.”
“Oh, what a relief to know I was right,” he replied sarcastically. “And what a relief to know you enjoyed our time together so much. So perhaps…may I dare to hope that, though you have no intention of ever marrying me, you might ask for my services again some time? And if a child should happen, what harm can that be, as long as your ladyship has her enjoyment?”
Her small hand slapped him so violently that his head snapped back. His eyes challenged her, but she could hardly keep her countenance enough to speak; she was trembling, and she stretched her hand to reach for a chair. He made no attempt to support her.
“I truly hope you are feeling better now, madam. If you wish to slap me again, please do so. I shall not stop you nor shall I apologise for what I said. You are right; you are selfish and inconsiderate, and I wonder why I am punished to love you. Because no matter how much you ask me to remain silent or try to keep my words unsaid, I do love you, madam. I love you as I never thought it possible to love a woman. Until this day, I never believed the notion of being heartbroken to be true, but now I have experienced it most precisely. You managed to make me feel grieved and ridiculous at the same time. Congratulations, madam. I hope you rejoice in your success.”
At that, he grabbed his clothes and exited the chamber. Sometime later, in the solitude of his room, Colonel Fitzwilliam, though at the advanced age of thirty-three, actually cried. He had not cried since he was an infant. Now he was crying with anger at her and at himself—and also with hatred.
He hated her with his whole being! She had been—was—cold hearted, selfish and insensible. How could he not see that earlier? But how could he see that when he was so blind? Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could feel her warmth in his arms, smell her scent, and taste her flavour; he could hear her sweet moans of unmistakable pleasure.
He had had many women in his bed over the years; he enjoyed ladies’ company, and they enjoyed his. He had always been certain he knew what a woman wanted and needed to take her pleasure. And he always needed little to find his own pleasure in the company of a beautiful woman.
Why had everything been so utterly different this time? Yes, he loved Cassandra; he had known that for quite some time. In fact, he had known it almost since her return to town last spring. From the moment he saw her, he lost interest in other women, even a harmless flirtation. For months in his mind, there had been nobody but Cassandra, but he dared not admit it until he was certain there was no understanding between her and Darcy. Then he proposed to her, and she refused him. Since that day, her presence and image in his mind became even more powerful; she was always with him.
And now…she seemed to have offered herself to him, but she deceived him so grossly. Why was everything so different with her? Why did he kiss her more than all the other women in his life together? He had touched, caressed and known every single part of her body, and her skin had burned and shivered under his touch. He still remembered the way she embraced him, the way she kissed him, the way her eyes looked at him. “Oh, what do I care about that?” he yelled to himself, causing his servant to enter and ask if he could be of any help. The colonel almost threw the man out of the room; he wanted to see nobody. The only thing he cared about was the answer to his question: How could a man hate and love a woman so completely at the same time?
“BE GONE,” he said harshly when the servant entered his room again half an hour later.
“I beg your forgiveness, sir; there is somebody to see you urgently.”
“Damn and blast! I do not want to see anybody; can you not understand a simple request?”
“The poor man is not at fault. I asked him to let me in.” Cassandra’s voice disturbed the silence, and he jumped from his seat, prepared to throw her out together with the servant, but the moment he saw her face, he frowned and remained still in the middle of the room. Cassandra’s eyes were swollen and red, and her ghostly pallor made her look illusory. He did not know what to say or do. It was at that precise moment that he realised his love would never diminish, no matter how much he hated her.
“What is your ladyship doing here? Someone might see you in my room, and you would be utterly compromised.”
His voice did not lose its sharpness, but this time his rudeness pained and affected him more than her. She only smiled bitterly and took a seat without waiting for his invitation.
“David, I know you are very angry with me. Do not worry; I shall leave soon…As soon as Darcy and Elizabeth are married, I shall leave England. They will be a wonderful family together, and Elizabeth will be perfect for both Darcy and Georgiana. They will not need me anymore.”
He made no reply, though he wanted to shout, “I need you.”
“I realise you will probably never want to see me again, and that is the best and wisest thing to do, but I cannot bear the thought of hurting you so deeply, to see you suffering so much without knowing why. I never imagined your feelings were that powerful or that my refusal would affect you so.”
“You did not know? But did I not speak to you of my feelings? Or perhaps you considered me a cad who liked to play at words of love to make an advantageous marriage arrangement?”
“David, please…” Her voice was barely audible. “Let us not argue more, I beg of you. I have no strength left, and I still have to do the most difficult thing I have ever done.”
Her eyes become tearful again, and this time he hated himself. What on earth was happening to him that he behaved like a lunatic and made her cry?
“David, what I shall tell you now is something I have never told anyone. Darcy is aware of every detail as he partially witnessed the events, but I never really talked to him about it. You are the single soul who will share this burden with me, and if you want, you may stop me now before I begin.”
“I will gladly share any burden with you,” he answered before he knew what he was saying.
“No, do not say that! Please do not say that! You do not know what you are saying.”
“Cassandra—
“Please do not interrupt me, or I shall never be able to finish the story. Let me speak before I change my mind.”
David nodded and took a few steps, taking a seat in the nearest chair. She sat on the settee—only a few inches apart, yet the gulf between them seemed immense.
“You know, of course, that I left town four years ago after the scandal with the Markhams. You were not in Town then, so you do not know the kind of rumours that were spread. They implied Markham wanted to do his
honourable duty by marrying me, but I refused him My refusal of such an extraordinary match could only be attributed to the wantonness of my character.
“Of course, not everybody was on Markham’s side—quite the contrary. The respectable families in Town were well aware of the Markham heir’s reputation. Lady Fitzwilliam herself was kind and tried to comfort and support me. However, the damage was especially bad as it fell upon Darcy too—and by association upon Georgiana. You know that Darcy had the crazy idea we should marry to put the scandal to rest, but I knew that was not possible. Darcy deserved a true marriage to give him a chance of happiness and an heir for Pemberley. So I left London…I left England, with only the company of Mrs. Simmons, my companion.”
“I never knew how bad things became. Mother sent me a few words, but—
“Oh, do not distress yourself; there is nothing you could have done. When I left, my plans were to visit Italy and who knows what else. My only thought was to put as much distance between England and me as possible. Of course, Darcy knew every detail of my plans, step by step, or else he would not have allowed me to leave.”
She smiled bitterly, a small, barely visible smile. He only nodded silently.
“On my first night aboard ship, I walked out on the bridge-deck and stayed there for more than an hour, watching the water and sky. I loved the sea the first moment I saw it. A little after midnight, a gentleman approached me—a man with the most serene blue eyes I have ever seen. He said I should have dressed in warmer clothes if I wanted to spend the night outside. Then he offered me his coat, and I could never explain how we came to spend the night talking. It had never happened to me before; by dawn we knew everything about each other. Thomas—his name was Thomas—was a doctor in His Majesty’s army. He had retired because he had been wounded in the chest, and he was travelling to Italy to visit relatives. His father had been in trade, but his parents had passed away when he was very young. He was an orphan with not much family left—as was I.”