Where Dreams Begin

by Lisa Kleypas

  “Am I hurting you?” His gaze, dark as midnight, raked over her face. His hand slipped between their bodies, stroking and adjusting, spreading her so that he rubbed directly against the aching nub hidden amid the damp curls. The moment was so astonishingly intimate that she nearly wept. Her body relaxed to accommodate him, the pinching tightness easing, and suddenly there was no pain in his possession, only pleasure. Abandoning herself completely, she wrapped herself around him, her legs clamping on his hips.

  Zachary's eyes closed, his brow furrowing. He took the back of her head in his hand and brought her forward, his mouth claiming hers hungrily. His other hand splayed over her hips, urging her against him in an insistent rhythm, thrusting in deep nudges that made her squirm and writhe helplessly. He kept kissing her all the while, his mouth offering, taking, consuming her with feverish heat.

  She fought against the tangle of clothing between them, longing to be completely rid of her gown, wanting to feel his bare legs against hers instead of the textured broadcloth trousers. Voluptuous tension gathered inside her, while cries of need broke from her throat. A strange, wild fever had overtaken her, and she couldn't stop herself from writhing harder against him. She loved the rough, dense texture of his body, the thrusting length of him inside her, the big hands that cupped her breasts as she rode him. Then suddenly she couldn't move at all, her muscles locking as burning pleasure blossomed in her loins and spread all through her body. Paralyzed, she bit her lip and moaned as her nerves caught fire and her senses exploded.

  Although she didn't entirely understand what was happening, Zachary did, for he murmured softly and cradled her in his arms, his hips continuing their steady upward drives. She began to shudder, her body tightening in delicious spasms around his invading shaft, and that was enough to send him over the edge as well. He shivered and sighed and buried himself in one last thrust. His hands gripped her buttocks, pulling her hard against his loins as he impelled himself as far inside her as possible.

  Feeling drunk, Holly relaxed heavily against his chest, while the place where they were joined still glowed and throbbed. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and eventually a nervous giddy sound escaped her. Zachary rubbed her bare back soothingly, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

  “That never happened to you with your husband,” he whispered. It was a statement, not a question.

  Holly nodded in perplexed wonder. It was hard to believe they could have a conversation this way, with the heat of him still lodged deep within her. But the storm was still beating outside, surrounding them in dark rain-swept privacy, and she heard herself reply in a drugged voice, “I liked making love with George…it was always pleasant. But there were things he never…and I wouldn't…because it isn't right, you see…”

  “What isn't right?” Zachary pulled a few pins from her hair and unraveled the warm coil of shining brown locks, spreading them in a curtain over her naked back.

  She spoke slowly, searching for the right words. “A woman should tame a man's bestial nature, not encourage it. I told you once before what lovemaking should be—”

  “An elevated expression of love,” he said, playing with her hair. “A communion of souls.”

  Holly was surprised that he had remembered. “Yes, exactly. It should not descend into lewdness.”

  She felt him smile against the side of her head. “I see nothing wrong with a little lewdness now and then.”

  “Of course you wouldn't,” she said, hiding a smile in the thick carpet of curls on his chest.

  “So now you probably think your character has begun to degenerate,” he mused, and her smile faded.

  “I've just had illicit relations with my employer in the summerhouse. I don't think anyone would claim that as evidence of a sterling character.” She tried to move off of him, gasping as the heavy length of him was pulled from inside her. Unbearable mortification swept over her as she felt the abundance of moisture seeping between her thighs, and she groped for something to blot it with. Zachary reached for his discarded coat, and for once he was able to find a handkerchief. He gave it to her, and spoke with a thread of tender amusement in his voice. “I've never seen a woman blush from head to toe before.”

  Glancing down, Holly saw that she had turned varying shades of pink and red over every exposed inch of skin. Snatching the handkerchief from him, she turned away from him as far as possible as she used it. “I can't believe what I've done,” she said in a suffocated voice.

  “I'll cherish this afternoon for the rest of my life,” Zachary replied. “I'm going to have this summerhouse goldplated, and a plaque hung over the door.”

  Holly whirled to face him, horrified that he might be serious, and saw the shimmering laughter in his eyes. “Oh, how can you joke about this?” She jerked and pulled at her gown, great masses of fabric wadded and crumpled around her waist.

  “Here, hold still.” Deftly he pulled up her undergarments and hooked her stays and helped her slide her arms back into her sleeves. The evidence of his expertise with womens' clothing was disheartening. There was absolutely no doubt that he had trysted like this with many paramours…She was the latest in a very long line.

  “Zachary—” she began, closing her eyes as he gathered the locks of her hair in one hand and lowered his mouth to the side of her throat. His lips moved in a velvet slide across her skin, causing gooseflesh to rise. She made a despairing sound and leaned back against his solid chest. “I'm appalled by my weakness of character where you're concerned,” she said. “No doubt many other women have said that to you.”

  “I don't remember any other women,” he said.

  She gave a disbelieving laugh, but he turned her to face him, his big hands moving possessively over her waist and sides and back. “What we just shared, Holly…I don't know if it was a communion of souls, but it was the damn closest I'm ever going to get.”

  “It was a moment out of time.” She kept her gaze on his bare chest, her hand moving with a will of its own and stroking the hard, sleek muscles, the thick covering of hair. “It has nothing to do with our real lives. I shouldn't have…it's just…I wanted to be with you at least once. I wanted it so badly that I didn't care about anything else.”

  “And now you think we're going to carry on as if nothing has happened?” he asked incredulously.

  Holly swallowed and shook her head, fighting the urge to curl up against his half-naked body and cry like a child. “Well, no, of course not. I—I can't stay after this.”

  “Holly, sweet darling, you can't possibly think I'm going to let you go.” He gathered her against him, besieging her with kisses.

  Holly had never known before that joy and pain could mingle like this. She clung to him, and briefly let herself respond, kissing him with fierce adoration, clutching him tightly for all the times she would never be able to hold him. Finally she tore herself away and stood, pulling at the bunched fabric of her skirts until they settled into place. She hunted for her discarded shoes, finding one in the center of the summerhouse, the other beneath a bench. Zachary moved behind her, searching for his own clothes and putting them on.

  Sighing, Holly stared hard at some point far outside the rain-splattered window, where the tall hedgerows dissolved in a watery blur. “I knew before today that I would have to leave,” she said, keeping her back to Zachary. “Now, after this, I certainly can't live beneath the same roof with you.”

  “I don't want you to leave.”

  “My feelings for you don't change what I must do. I've already explained why.”

  He was silent for a full minute, grasping the full significance of her words. “You're still planning to marry Ravenhill,” he said tonelessly. “Even now.”

  “No, it's not that.” Holly felt very cold, all the pulsing warmth of their encounter finally draining away. She tried to examine her choices, but all of them left her feeling empty and strangely fearful. It was all too natural to retreat back into the habits of a lifetime, to follow the paths
that had been chosen for her long ago, first by her father and then by George. “I don't know what will happen with Ravenill. I don't even know if he'll still have me.”

  “Oh, he'll have you.” Zachary spun her around to face him. He was huge and dark, staring at her with a sort of resigned fury. “I've had to fight for everything I've ever gotten. But I won't fight for you. You'll come to me because you want me. I'll be damned if I'll bully or beg you to have me. I suppose in the ton's view, a Ravenhill is worth about a hundred Bronsons. No one will blame you for marrying him, especially when it comes out that George wanted the match. And you might even be happy for a while. But someday you'll realize it was a mistake, when it's too late for either of us to do a damned thing about it.”

  Holly turned white, but managed to reply calmly. “Our agreement…I'll return the money…”

  “Keep the money for Rose. There's no reason for her trust to be cut in half simply because her mother is a coward.”

  She lowered her watery gaze to the level of his third shirt button. “You're being cruel now,” she whispered.

  “I think I could be a gentleman about almost anything, except for losing you. Don't expect me to take it with good grace, Holly.”

  Swiping her hand across her eyes, she managed one last whisper. “I want to go back to the house.”

  Despite the cover of Zachary's greatcoat and the shelter of the umbrella, Holly was thoroughly soaked by the time they reached the house. Zachary brought her in through the French doors connecting to a gallery filled with sculpture. The long rectangular space was shadowed and streaked with silver from the patterns the rain had made on the window. Statues were dappled and painted with gray rivulets. Dripping, his hair clinging to his head, Zachary stared down at the obdurate woman before him. She was shivering and tense, so closed away from him by her obligations and promises that they might as well have been separated by a granite wall.

  Her small, pale face was surrounded by streaming tendrils of brown hair, making her look like an unhappy mermaid. He yearned to carry her upstairs and strip away her cold wet clothes and warm her with the heat of a fire, and then with his own body. “I'll talk to your mother and sister tomorrow,” Holly said unsteadily. “I'll tell them that my work here is done and there's little reason to stay. Rose and Maude and I will be packed and gone by the end of the week.”

  “I'm leaving for Durham tomorrow,” Zachary muttered. “I'll fry in hell before going through some sham of seeing you off and wishing you well, and pretending there's nothing wrong between us.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She stood before him, her small frame held stiffly. She was so damned elusive, wounded, regretful, intractable—and so clearly in love with him. Zachary was furious that honor and common sense meant more to her than he did. She forced herself to return his gaze, and there was a perplexing glint of fear in her eyes. She was afraid to trust in any kind of future with him. He knew how to coax and badger and entice people into doing things they were reluctant to do, but he would not use those skills on her. She would have to choose him willingly, and it was clear that this was something she would never bring herself to do.

  Charged with bitter defeat, Zachary longed suddenly to be away from her, before he did or said something they would both regret for eternity. “Just one more thing,” he said, his voice coming out far more harshly than he had intended. “If you leave me now, don't come back. I don't give second chances.”

  Tears dropped from her eyes, and she turned away hastily. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, and fled the gallery.

  Fourteen

  “I don't understand,” Elizabeth said unhappily. “Is it because of something I've done, or…have you finally decided I'm unteachable? I'll try much harder, my lady, I promise—”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Holly rushed to assure the girl, reaching out to hold her hand tightly. After a sleepless night, she had arisen with bleary eyes, more resolved than ever to follow the course she had decided on. She had to, before she did things even more ill-advised than she already had. Her body felt unfamiliar to her, filled with sensations that lingered from the encounter in the summerhouse yesterday afternoon. She had never known the lure of fornication until now, never understood the power it had to ruin peoples' lives and break apart families and dissolve sacred vows. Now she knew why men and women had affairs, and why they would risk everything for the sake of them.

  George wouldn't have recognized his loving, virtuous wife in the woman who had abandoned herself with Zachary Bronson. George would be horrified at what she had become. Ashamed and afraid, Holly had instructed Maude to start packing all their possessions as soon as possible. She had tried to explain to Rose, as gently as possible, that the time had come for them to return to the Taylors, and of course the little girl had been upset by the news. “But I like it here!” Rose had cried angrily, her brown eyes flooding with tears. “I want to stay, Mama. You go back, and Maude and I will stay here!”

  “We don't belong here, Rose,” Holly had replied. “You know very well that we weren't planning to stay forever.”

  “You said it was for a year,” Rose argued, snatching up Miss Crumpet and holding the doll protectively. “It hasn't been a year yet, not nearly, and you were supposed to teach Mr. Bronson his manners.”

  “He's learned everything he needed to from me,” Holly said firmly. “Now stop making a fuss, Rose. I understand why you're unhappy, and it grieves me terribly, but you're not to trouble the Bronsons about this.”

  After Rose had stormed away and disappeared somewhere in the huge house, Holly had reluctantly asked the Bronson women to meet with her in the family parlor after breakfast. It was not easy to tell them that she would be leaving the estate in a day or two. To her surprise, she realized that she would miss Elizabeth and Paula more than she would have ever expected.

  “It must be Zach,” the girl exclaimed. “He's been horrid lately, as bad-tempered as a baited bear. Has he been rude to you? Is he to blame for this? I'll go see him this minute and knock some sense into him—”

  “Hush, Lizzie.” Paula's compassionate gaze rested on Holly's distressed face as she spoke. “You won't solve anything by charging about and making things more difficult for Lady Holly. If she wishes to leave, she will go with our affection and gratitude, and we won't repay all her kindness by tormenting her.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bronson,” Holly whispered, unable to look the mother of her lover in the eyes. She had the awful suspicion that Paula, intuitive soul that she was, had guessed what had occurred between she and Zachary.

  “But I don't want you to leave,” Elizabeth said stubbornly. “I'm going to miss you so awfully…you're the dearest friend I've ever had, and…oh, what shall I do without little Rose?”

  “You'll still see us.” Holly smiled warmly at the girl, while her eyes stung with tears. “We'll remain dear friends, Lizzie, and you are welcome to visit me and Rose whenever you wish.” Feeling a choking wave of emotion rising inside, she stood and wrung her hands nervously. “If you'll excuse me, I have so much packing to do…”

  She left hastily, before they could see her tears, and the two women began to talk animatedly just as she reached the threshold.

  “Did Lady Holly have some sort of falling-out with Zach?” she heard Elizabeth ask. “Is that why he's nowhere to be found and she's planning to leave?”

  “It's not quite that simple, Lizzie…” came Paula's careful reply.

  No, it was not simple at all.

  Holly tried to consider what it would be like to marry Zachary, to become his wife and plunge into his ostentatious, fast-paced life. To leave behind everything she had known…to become a different woman, really. She ached with bitter longing, wanting him with all her being, but something inside her recoiled and shrank from the prospect. She searched blindly for the reason why, to make sense of her own fear, but somehow the truth refused to crystallize. It remained diffused and chilling inside her.

  Zachary had never accepted defeat
before. He'd tolerated it in small doses, perhaps, always knowing that in the larger scheme of things, he would have what he wanted. But he'd never been truly vanquished, never known a real loss. Until this, the biggest loss of all. It made him feel vicious and a bit crazed. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to weep. Most of all he wanted to laugh at himself for being a big sodding fool. In the nonsensical stories that Holly read aloud some evenings about Greeks and their amorous, carelessly cruel gods, mortals were always punished for reaching too high. Hubris, Holly had once explained. Too much prideful ambition.

  Zachary knew he had been guilty of hubris, and now he was paying the price. He should never have let himself want a woman who was clearly not meant for him. What tormented him the most was the suspicion that he might actually still be able to obtain her, if he bullied and tormented and bribed her into it. But he wouldn't do that to her, or to himself.

  He wanted her to love him as willingly and joyously as she had loved George. The very idea would have made most people laugh. It even amused him. What must Holly think when she compared him to her saintly husband? Zachary was a scoundrel, an opportunist, a rough-mannered scavenger—the definitive opposite of a gentleman. Clearly Ravenhill was the right choice, the only choice, if she wanted a life similar to the one she'd had with George.

  Scowling, Zachary strode to the library in search of a packet of files and letters he intended to bring with him to Durham. A flurry of packing was going on upstairs, as Maude and the housemaids stuffed clothes and personal belongings into trunks and valises…and as Zachary's valet packed suits and neckties in preparation for his trip. Zachary would be damned if he would watch Holly leave the estate. He would go first.

  Reaching his desk, he began to rifle through piles of paper, not noticing at first that someone else was there. A little peep came from the depths of his big leather chair, and Zachary swung around sharply, a question on his lips.

  Rose was sitting there with Miss Crumpet, the two of them nearly lost in the deep upholstery. With a sinking heart, Zachary saw that the child's face was splotched and red, and her nose needed wiping.