by Eloisa James
Finally they found themselves in front of the coconut shy, and Tobias handed over five pence for a pyramid of coconuts.
“Your marksmanship is quite good,” Genevieve said admiringly, watching the coconuts fly through the air and un-erringly strike the mark painted on canvas.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Anyone could do it.”
“Not I!” Genevieve assured him. “I think it’s marvelous!”
“You hit ’em all,” the gypsy running the stall said laconically. “Here’s yer prize, then.”
He handed Genevieve a grimy string that trailed to the ground. “What?” she asked, confused.
The gypsy kicked at something, and there was a pained little squeal. “Out with you!” he growled, and a tiny pink pig shot out from under the stall, jerking the string in Genevieve’s hand.
“You can’t give us a pig!” she gasped.
“Didn’t give it. The flash gent here won it. It’s yours now.” He was obviously enjoying the spectacle of two persnickety swells becoming guardians to a piglet.
“Take it back!” Genevieve said, holding the string out to him. The piglet was rooting around her slippers, and although it seemed to be pink and in good condition, well, everyone knew how much pigs smelled.
The gypsy leered at Tobias. “I’ll take back the piggie if yer missus here can hit a mark,” he said. “No capsy girlsy can hit a mark.”
There was something in his eyes that made Genevieve stiffen. She grabbed a coconut and threw it as hard as she possibly could. Alas, it didn’t head straight toward the canvas targets on the back wall. Instead it bounced off a supporting beam with a crack that signaled broken coconut, ricocheted sideways, and hit the gypsy square on the head.
Genevieve took one look at his enraged face, garnished with streams of coconut milk, and ran away dragging the piglet. Tobias was laughing so hard that they only got as far as the next stall, the Scarlet Swan (which they hadn’t bothered to see, as Genevieve was quite certain it would be a normal swan with feathers died in beetroot). For a moment she glared at Tobias, but then a giggle escaped from her mouth. The piglet gave a little grunt at her feet, and finally Genevieve started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
Tobias braced his arm over her head, against the wall of the Scarlet Swan, and looked down at her. Genevieve’s eyes were bright with laughter, and her cheeks were pink. Her hair wasn’t in its neat braid anymore, although she didn’t seem to have realized it. He couldn’t help it: He dropped a kiss on her rosy lips, and then, before she could voice any sort of objection, spun her about and said, “Right! Time to buy gingerbread men!”
Genevieve blinked. He’d kissed her so quickly, not his usual kiss at all. For a moment she’d thought he meant to push her against the wooden walls of the Scarlet Swan (that would be just in his style), but he hadn’t.
Not that she cared, naturally.
Dragging the piglet on his string, they went to the part of the Common where the food stalls were.
“A lady never eats in public!” Genevieve said, with some horror. “Isn’t there a proper eating establishment in these parts?”
Tobias rolled his eyes and bought two mutton pies, a bottle of wine, a couple of tin mugs, and eight gingerbread men (four ladies and four gentlemen).
“I shan’t eat such fare,” Genevieve observed, although secretly she had to admit that the gingerbread people were quite appealing. Suddenly a drop of rain fell on her nose, and then one hit her arm.
“It’s starting to rain,” Tobias observed, bundling his purchases under his arm.
“I suppose we had better find your carriage,” Genevieve said, feeling unaccountably disappointed. Of course she had to go home. Why, the sky was already darkening. “What time is it?”
“Not late at all,” Tobias said. “It only appears to be twilight due to the clouds.”
“Which way is the carriage?” Genevieve said rather anxiously. “Do you think this pig might catch a cold?”
Tobias laughed. “I doubt that very much, you silly duck.” He dropped another kiss on her head. Then he slipped a hand into her arm and began to draw her through the crowd.
Genevieve walked silently beside him. A big drop of rain splashed down her cheek, and another dampened the sarsenet of her cloak. She was aware that against all her better instincts, she would prefer that he didn’t treat her as if she were a small child he’d invited to the fair for a treat. But how would she like to be treated? Ah, that’s the rub, she thought to herself. I want— I want— But she wouldn’t let herself think about what she wanted, or why her skin seemed to be burning just from the light touch of his hand, or why she kept peeking at him, and thinking that truly, he was very handsome. Very.
A second later, the rain began to splash down with a concentration that suggested they would never make it all the way across the Commons without being soaked to the skin. They weren’t walking quickly: It was difficult to keep the piglet from entangling himself in the feet of passersby, especially now that people were running in all directions to escape the rain.
“We’d better go in here,” Tobias said, leading Genevieve up the steps to the stall of the Snake Charmer.
“I can’t go in there!” Genevieve gasped. “I’m afraid of snakes. And don’t snakes eat piglets?”
“We have to get rid of that pig somehow,” Tobias suggested, but when he saw that Genevieve drew back in horror, he stuck his head in the curtained entrance, handed the snake charmer a golden guinea, and said, “Make yourself scarce.” The snake charmer grinned, bowed, and trotted off into the distance, snake curled around his neck.
“There,” Tobias said, pulling back the curtains and tying them open. “We have a splendid view and we’re alone.” The whole Commons, which had been a veritable mass of brilliant colors and jostling people but an hour or two before, was emptying as quickly as the clouds were scurrying across the formerly blue sky.
“A chair, my lady,” Tobias said, pulling forward a dilapidated couch to just inside the entrance. Genevieve gave it a suspicious look, then sank onto it. The sky had turned a pearly-gray color, and darker blue clouds rushed across it as if they, too, were trying to get home before it rained. The queer light made the scene all the more interesting.
Tobias sat down next to her and stretched out his legs. In a moment he had the cork off the bottle of wine and was pouring her some. He handed a glass to her as elegantly as if it were of the finest crystal, instead of a tin mug that he’d acquired with the bottle.
Genevieve had a sip. Perhaps it was the novelty, but the wine had a slightly explosive feeling on her tongue, as if it were champagne gone slightly flat. The piglet snorted and snuffled at her feet again, so Genevieve drew them up on the couch (a lady never sits in other than a decorous position!), glancing sideways at Tobias under her lashes. He had taken out a mutton pie and broken it in half. Without even asking, he handed it to her. It was still warm and smelled tantalizingly good.
Ladies never eat out of doors! Genevieve took a bite. It was so good that she took another. Rain was dashing to the ground now, and the only people still braving the Commons were a group of lads playing a fierce game in which the teams appeared to be named after Queen Mary and Lord Spencer. The boys ran this way and that in wild abandon, shrieking “Come on Spencer,” and “Come on Mary,” and generally getting as wet as possible.
Tobias pulled her against his shoulder. She heard a little squeal of indignation as he shoved the piglet away from his boots. The only other sound was the faint shrieks of boys and the silver-white rain slanting down and bouncing from the ground.
“I should like to kiss you,” Tobias said suddenly.
Genevieve had her head tucked against his shoulder, and she’d been thinking the same thing except, of course, it was only due to nostalgia. Because she was desperately in love with Felton. Yet Felton and all his elegant refinement seemed very far away at the moment. So she turned her face up to his.
Tobias was not one to wait for a second invitation. His
head blocked out the rain so fast that Genevieve might have closed her eyes. If ladies didn’t eat in public, they definitely didn’t—
But she lost the thought. His mouth felt sinfully sweet on hers, a wild sweetness that melted her bones with his very touch.
“Tobias,” she breathed, putting her hands into his hair and pulling him to her. He didn’t mind her forwardness: He groaned against her mouth and pulled her onto his lap. Through the thin muslin of her gown she could tell exactly how he was feeling. It was there: in the strength of his arms around her, in the barely audible groan that burst from his throat, in the way his mouth wandered away from her lips, tasting her cheek, her eyebrow, her earlobe.
Genevieve was trembling all over. The only thing to be seen through the door was a curtain of silver rain. No one could see them, and they could see no one. It was as if the world had narrowed to Tobias’s mouth, slanting hard over hers again and again, those locks of hair sliding past her fingers. Thoughts crept into her head that weren’t ladylike— they weren’t even within the bounds of ladylike! Touch me? No lady would say such a thing. Why did he have his hands on her shoulders when she wanted—she wanted— No lady wanted such a thing!
“Tobias,” Genevieve heard herself say breathlessly.
But his answer was inarticulate, more like a purr than a word.
She took his hand in hers. He pulled back instantly and looked down at her. His face was in shadow. “Genevieve?” he asked.
She knew with a swift flash of perception that he thought she wanted him to stop kissing her. To venture out into that chilly sheet of rain and fetch the carriage. Without saying a word, just keeping her eyes on his, she brought his hand slowly, slowly to her breast. Her cheeks were burning, but the look in his eyes made ladylike seem a foolish, piddling word.
“Ah, Genevieve,” he said against her mouth, and his hand was there, shaping her breast. She gasped into his mouth, feeling her nipple strain against his palm, in tandem with the burning weakness between her legs. “You undo me,” he said, and his voice was hoarse and yearning.
She barely understood him; her legs had turned to water, and it was all she could do to lie back in his arms and watch the way his eyes moved over her breasts.
He stood up and twitched closed the scarlet curtains, separating the Snake Charmer’s hut from the rest of the world, lost as it was in the rain. The light in the shed turned a rosy pink, suffusing a glow over their clothing. He wrenched off his jacket. Then he bent to kiss her neck, and she threw her head back, giving him an arch of creamy skin, a fall of tawny hair, a body straining for his touch.
When she’d put it on, she hadn’t thought about the fact that her docile, oh so docile gown was rather easily unfastened. Such thoughts never occurred to ladies.
“You look at me,” she said haltingly, “in such a way—”
He raised his head. “As if you were all that I wanted, Genevieve? As if I could bury my head in your breast forever?”
Words choked in her throat.
“As if you were the Holy Grail,” he said, and the rasp in his voice couldn’t be mistaken. “A cup of sweetness that I traveled hundreds of miles to find. I found you so easily the first time....”
The words drifted dizzily through Genevieve’s head. His lips drifted over the curve of her breast and then...and then he was suckling her. A little explosion of noise came from her throat and he pulled harder.
“My honeysuckle,” he said hoarsely. “Honey sweet Genevieve.”
It had been all of seven years ago, and many a bad memory had come in between...but Genevieve knew exactly what would happen now. He would come to her. Seven years ago, when Tobias had her on the carriage seat, her clothes vanished. Of course, it hurt back then. But Genevieve didn’t even care if it hurt. Let it hurt! Anything that would assuage this burning impatience. She pulled at him.
“Slow,” he murmured. But she didn’t want slow. She wanted speed and heat, all those things she remembered.
“No!” she said. Then daringly, she pulled up his white shirt. His skin burned under her skin, muscles moving under her fingers in great swaths of power.
“I want you, Genevieve,” he said hoarsely. His shirt was gone now and—
“You’re so much more beautiful than you were as a boy,” she whispered, awed, reaching out with a tentative hand. His skin was golden brown from the Indian sun, a large, powerful man’s body. He shivered at the slow sweep of her hand, jumped when her fingers brushed his nipples. Genevieve was beside herself, lost in a wild sweep of exuberance racing through her veins like the rough wine, like the wind in her face when they rode the Flying Boats.
She leaned toward him and rubbed her lips over his flat nipple, tasted him with the tip of her tongue, heard a harsh groan. She laughed softly, triumphing. She was the one in charge this time! She was no tender miss anymore, startled into blissful silence by every twitch of his finger. She— She— She—
His hand caressed her leg with a sensual shock that sent her body bucking against his, rational thought flying from her head again. And she would have stopped him—of course she would!—except that he was suckling her, and the sweetness of it, the honey of it, spread through her veins until she couldn’t even move her legs. This she remembered. The drugging, achy desire that turned her legs to water and her will to nothing, that made her throw away the precepts of a lifetime and dash into a carriage bound for Gretna Green.
His hand was above her garter now, touching her skin, and her skin never felt so soft. It was as if she could feel herself through him, as if his hand were hers, sliding along skin as smooth as that of a baby, slipping between, dropping one finger into—
Genevieve’s back arched straight off the couch. His mouth took hers, hard and fast, and his hand was still there, where no one had ever touched her except him. It was all she could do to wrap her arms around his neck as tightly as she could because the tingling was there again, almost frightening, growing and spreading down her legs, making her buck against his fingers....It was better than it had been seven years ago. Worth ruining herself. Worth it all. Even worth Erasmus.
And then, blissfully, it wasn’t his hand anymore, but To-bias himself, coming to her with a groan that tore from his throat. She froze.
“Genevieve? Does it hurt?”
It didn’t hurt. It was—it was the feeling of him, the odd, wonderful feeling of being part of Tobias. She tasted her own tears.
“Genevieve?” His voice was strained, as if he were clenching his teeth. He didn’t move.
So she moved for him: up, up, and the sparks flew clear to her toes. Up again, and again. Then he took over with a groan of pleasure, plunging into her as if he had no control, no borders between his body and hers. Liquid gold ran along her legs like summer lightning, and then she arched against him, shaking and trembling and just managing to say his name before—
Pleasure burst over her head as if she were drowning, pulsed its way to her fingertips. She cried out, buried her face in Tobias’s chest, and let the bliss of it pound through her body, a sweet wave of fire that came again and again before it receded.
She didn’t even open her eyes afterwards. She was too tired, too weak and too hot. He seemed to know it too. She lay there, feeling the hair sticking to her forehead, and feeling the premonition of tears. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her throat. Then, when she still didn’t open her eyes, he began buttoning up her bodice, fumbling a little in an endearing way.
A few seconds later she heard him open the curtains. It sounded as if the rain had lessened, but she wouldn’t— she couldn’t—open her eyes. That would mean returning to reality, to the truth of the situation. She was ruined again.
How could she marry Felton now? Ruined again. Again. Perhaps she would just lie on this dingy couch for all eternity and never return to the fragments of the life she had put together. He came back and picked her up, tucking her against his chest in a manifestly unsuitable position. But after being ruined, it seemed pointless to plead
for circumspection.
When he finally spoke, his voice was still rough, with a faint rumble of elation. “Sometime, Genevieve, we’re going to have to find a bed together. We could make love slowly, just for a change.”
She lay back and let that remark sink into her mind. How much slower could they go? Before he gave up trying altogether, Erasmus had skipped all the parts Tobias began with, and just kept trying to take his—his tool and put it inside her.
A few moments passed. Genevieve could feel her heart slowing from its frantic pace. Tobias was tracing little circles on her shoulder with his fingertip. “I have the oddest feeling that you haven’t made love since we made our way to Gretna Green,” he said finally.
“Actually, Erasmus...,” she said, surprised to hear that her voice was still wispy and almost breathless.
“Was he incapable?”
“He tried,” she said, feeling a faint pulse of loyalty. Erasmus had not been a very comfortable husband, but he had been as kind as he’d known how.
“Humph,” Tobias said. He was shaping her foot in his palm. “You have lovely, delicate feet, Genevieve,” he said presently. “The toes of an English lady, no doubt about that.”
“Ladies don’t act like this,” she said, opening her eyes.
“The lucky ones do,” he said, and the vein of amusement in his voice was healing.
“How would you know anything of English ladies? You’ve lived in India for years.”
“Well, actually, I don’t,” he admitted. “You are the first and only lady I’ve loved, Genevieve.”
“I suppose you met hundreds of Indian princesses, though.” She’d read a long description of a visiting Indian raja and his exquisite bride in the Times.
“Are you asking me if I maintained a harem?” He started tickling her feet. She curled up her toes in protest.
“Did you?”
“No.” Then he added, “Harems are found in other parts of the world, Genevieve, but not in India. I did meet some beautiful women, though. They were ladies, if not born in England.”
Genevieve didn’t want to discuss it any further. “What time do you think it is?”
