by Gina Kincade
You are such a pathetic chit! She admonished herself. He was a man of the ton, and you allowed yourself to dream of him marrying you one day? Now your heart will pay the dire consequences of the dullness of your mind while he takes a wife within his class.
She wondered if she had exalted him, therefore missing the shortcomings that had to be there. No one was so close to perfect. She had presumed much, thinking a Marquess could truly love one of her inferior birth. Unfortunately, it was not a new story. Many a poor relation brought into society had hoped, and many had been hurt. Most often, women posed nothing more to aristocratic men than warm bodies to make up for the chilly ladies of social standing. However, she would refuse to think so poorly of her Edmund. She would, at the least, believe he would suffer as well in his longings for her.
She had deluded herself into thinking the differences in the characters of their romance would make their climax unique despite their common plot. In the light of day, theirs was to be a gothic tale with such a noble man as her hero. She had allowed herself the lies for too long, and even her magic could not be used to make them reality.
She would have to live with the memories of being secreted away from the world in his arms, when he had loved her in spite of what many in the world would call her imperfections.
Beyond his unconstrained acceptance and profound interest in her body, Edmund had habitually praised her curves. During their intervals of time spent alone, he could not keep his hands off of her. He smiled like a boy with sweets when his hands were full of her flesh. He could never get enough. Likewise, when he wrapped his arms around her full waist, it brought a coy smile of one tempted to his face.
She recalled the parts of her specifically he could never keep his hands off of, like her bosom, which often overflowed its corset even when not pulled too tightly. One night when they simply talked, hidden in her room, he had freed her breasts, lamenting that she must wear such a device of torture. Then, he had fondled her into a state of utter excitation until her nipples tightened to rosy peaks.
Once, within the main part of the house, when they happened upon an odd moment alone, his hands had found their way discreetly under her skirts to the fullness of her thighs. He had groaned deep within his throat while kneading the flesh there. By the time they'd heard footsteps on the wooden floor, she'd been wet with desire, her insides throbbing with the want of penetration and expansion.
Lord and Lady Sanderly had given them great freedoms by turning a blind eye on a couple of occasions. They had trusted Aubrey to make the right decisions with her un-magical man. Edmund had cared for her as no one ever had, charade or not. He had made her feel his equal in every way, and he had made it feel like the world could be hers for the taking. With him, there was nothing she could not do. Still, the gnawing of his loss sapped her energy more than the hours he had spent lavishing her body with his touch, with what she swore had to be magical fingers, weaving spells of love and passion all over her. Had he truly been magic, though, maybe things would have worked themselves out differently.
Allowing her mind to go back to a time when all she knew was his body covering hers, she wanted so desperately to simply love Edmund—to feel the way she did within his arms, nothing but one night before his mother had visited her. One last time, she thought, more than appeased by the flimsy lie. I will let myself fall into the memory.
“I have come to spend the night worshiping every breathtaking curve of your body,” he had said not that many nights ago, breathlessly stalking from the door toward her bed, where she lounged with a book.
She'd trouble concentrating on actual words with the possibility of his surreptitious arrival. His hands had caressed over her shift, hot and heavy with their intentions as he loomed over her.
“But Sir, my reading…” She'd shivered as she spoke, not able to conceal her body’s cries for his.
“What is this?” he asked, pulling the book from her hands. “Well, it is nothing but love poems and such folly.”
“You think love folly?” She reached a shaking hand to the bulge of his cock at her eye level. He let the book drop to the floor, catching her wrist just as her fingers curled over his hardness.
“I do not,” he hissed loosening his grip and letting his hands fall to his sides. “But, I am a practical man. I wish to be shown love another way.” The heavy-lidded look he gave her ignited a fire deep in her core.
“With my book I could read to you of the fiery passions of love until you were mad with the want of me.” Her hands moved around his firm buttocks as she felt his muscles tense under her touch.
“You know not your powers, then, for I am already beyond mad lusting to kiss every inch of your skin. Now, remove your garment, woman.”
“What?” She giggled her beguiling surprise, letting her hands trail over the taut sinew that made up the mass of his thighs.
“Do not speak of poetry and love in that breathy voice of yours if you can not handle the consequences.”
“Would there be any harm in my doing this, My Lord?” She'd moved fluently up onto her knees, turned her back to him, and started to slide her chemise up her legs and over her bottom, exposing her entire lower backside to him.
“What devilry is this?” He hastened to kiss the swell of her bum, leaving her wet at her core. His fingers gently fell upon her cheeks, gripping them and then releasing the pressure a bit as if some of his faculties had returned to him after a moment of acting on pure, raw lust. Air pulled into her lungs as he let a single finger run down over the heat he'd created there. “I can but barely quell my oft-beastly ways to bring to you no harm.”
He let his loosened grip move to her thighs, moving them apart slightly. After he lowered himself, she heard him breathe out a word that sounded like enchanting before lavishing kisses over the center of her being. The brush of his facial stubble over her folds ignited more of a fire that set her insides throbbing to be set aflame as well.
When his tongue pushed between her folds she let her head fall to the bed, pushing her bottom up in the air and opening herself up further. His groan vibrated through her as he placed his mouth fully on her opening and poked his tongue inside. As she began to tremble, he moved to suckle her engorged nub. In no time at all, he'd sent her flying over that precipice of pleasure her body had been begging for since she'd first heard him enter the room.
“Aubrey.” He said her name, letting his hot breath blow over her.
Finding herself back in the present moment and wet once again, she let the image fade to a blur. The devastation of her present plight overtook her thoughts. She arrived in Cork, Ireland a shattered remnant of the woman to whom Edmund had made love to.
The idea of one more sail did not sit well, but she longed for the magical island of numerous childhood tales. Thankfully, it didn't take much asking around to find Ger O’Lawton, a journeyman with a reputation for doing anything for those flush in the pockets. By the by, he was willing to take her to her island of salvation.
On the other side of caring about the impropriety of traveling alone with a man on a small craft, she'd already endured the scathing looks of those on the last ship as a lady traveling un-chaperoned upon the seas despite her station. Many had tried to start up conversations with her when her body forced her to dine. She had been beyond all the vague answers she could come up with as she tried to evade their prying questions. At least, she had been able, thanks to the tight quarters, to scurry her way back and forth to her room without having to find herself alone with some rake.
Ger looked beyond a rake. Even with her general distaste for his sex at the moment, the good world had not also struck her blind. No Irish gentleman, he stood before her a brazen-faced, muscled, and shameless about it man. He had ogled her upon their introductions. She had done her best to remain oblivious of his suggestive stares, however, when he'd glanced out at the water, she had taken notice of how his tawny curls shined in the sunlight in a quite fetching, albeit unruly manner. This highlighted his
tanned skin, covered in generous muscle, and his blue-green eyes that sparkled such mischief when he caught her looking.
Even with such a man before her, she ached to be within Edmund’s warm embrace. A faint smell of his skin must have been conjured by the plague upon her mind. She tried to rein in extolling his best of appearances. Her memory fluttered back to enduring watching him dance an intimate waltz with Lady Elizabeth Ward at a private ball. Letting the anger wash over her, she hoped to put a stop to her errantly obsessive thoughts.
“Pray tell, what makes a lass such as yourself travel alone to a remote island?” Ger had broken her revelry with the gruffness of his baritone voice.
“All I can offer you is a bag of moonshine. Do you wish to hear such nonsense? Is the guinea I offered you not enough of an answer?” She'd replied, attempting to match him gruffness for gruffness.
“Pardon my inquiry.”
“All you need to know is that giving me a safe journey both ways will have you meet with someone quite wealthy. You will be compensated beyond the large sum you have already been given. Pardon, but what I gave you is all I have and an exorbitant sum at that. You did concur to come for me upon our agreed upon date. If I arrive untouched and unharmed, back in Ireland again, my benefactor will be beyond generous.”
Ger had smiled at her and nodded his head in agreement. She had not cared about the money. It was more than worth it and the risk of traveling with this man to get to Triaill Brimuir. She did have a few spells, if the need arose, to help him maintain his distance. He need not know that she already had the money with her either, and that once among a great amount of people on her return she planned to give it to him and disappear.
She knew not how society worked here, or the danger she may be placing herself in. However, these showed as her only options of getting to the island to heal and then begin a new life for herself with some distant relations in Ireland.
Chapter Four
She had left England in the rain and arrived on her island in the sun, weary both physically and mentally. The island at first glance had looked inhospitable all along its shores. It had warned her away in her state of exhaustion. However, it did not take long, once she'd stepped upon the land, for Aubrey to truly know the place to be a paradise.
She found a good part of a gothic villa still standing. At one time, it had probably been the best place on the island. To have even part of a dilapidated structure to call her own granted her great joy, however, considering herself a householder when the only one to occupy the island seemed a folly. Mostly, she believed herself housebreaking, until the whispers of her ancestors made her feel at home. The magical energy swirling around the island helped her to begin to accept the hand she had been dealt.
By the end of her first days, she had no desire to leave this place. Here, no one could help but to presume renewal upon their being. Her feelings for Edmund had not changed. She still wished to be with him, an urge that choked her sometimes and sat like a rock in her gut others. Yet, she'd gotten to the point of no longer letting it consume her. The energy of the place calmed her, so the pain she knew would always be a part of her kept to a dull, manageable ache. She stopped analyzing her feelings, just let her thoughts flow through her. Mental and physical pampering had been her only priorities. Surviving on magic and the purest vegetation she had ever tasted, she reconnected with herself and came into a small amount of peace with the way things stood. Her muscles no longer forgot how to engage. Her smile no longer forgot to appear for hours on end. Even her thoughts no longer spent every waking minute lamenting her fate.
Trying to control or ignore her wayward emotions would only confound her problem. In the same manner, wallowing in them was not an option for a witch. Besides, the magical potential here called to her. It sang of her possibilities. The island was truly enchanted.
On these, her worst of days, she could walk to the energy center of the island and work out her anger with powerful magic. This place allowed her access to such powers as she had never known. Of course, the situation that had brought her here left her with emotions raw enough to power the toughest of spells. She'd played with magic like a girl again, jostling her current unbridled talent, allowing the jittery rush of power to sweep through her. Her abilities evolved into a force to be reckoned. This fact alone gave her the boost to her ego she needed to begin moving beyond her past. Of course, her magic, no matter how powerful, proved most of the time to be only a healing distraction.
She wished to stay here forever in this hideaway, used in the purest sense of the word. No one could claim any interest in her here. Aubrey had been granted time free of the outside world. She knew someday soon she would have to join society again. She'd stashed away the money Lady Dalysbury had given her in her makeshift home until she could figure it all out. Luckily, odds were, no one would come to disrupt her new life on a deserted island.
She sat perched high above the water on an outcrop of rocks with her eyes closed as the sun sat directly above her. The rhythm of the blue water lapped, splashed, sprayed and retreated as if in song to soothe her. Her breathing took on a normal rhythm, one calm rather than sort and jagged. The occasional splash of a fish hitting off beat served not as a distraction, but a mental blessing. The song of the sacred wren joined the band as she sunk further into peace, her limbs draped without effort over her curved spot on the land.
An object in the water struck an off kilter note, but it brought no alarm to her sense of safety. Her eyes remained closed and her mind remained open. A series of these interruptions to the music of her surroundings finally roused her into wanting to see the source of the natural commotion. To her surprise, a boat wafted lifeless over the water. With no breeze, it floated at the mercy of the tides. At first, far enough away to appear to be abandoned, she thinly hoped it had broken free from the docks of another island in one of the storms of late.
As the boat got marginally closer to her shore, an aimless gnawing of suspicion persisted. The impact of shock reverberated through her body as a head rose up out of the bowels of the ship. The boat, still too far away, prevented her from making out any features, but the muscular silhouette made the figure distinctly male. At first she fixated on it, equally intrigued and apprehensive, her muscles returning to tight and her breath growing to short pants.
Before long, she recognized the journeyman’s boat. Too soon for Ger to come for her. With an odd tremor of fear, she questioned if he had thought himself stupid in leaving a defenseless woman upon this island when he could have tried to have his way with her. At least her magic made her secure enough out here to make that worry abate.
The last of her calm slipped away when a second defined shape appeared. Ger had someone with him. Disappointment reared its ugly head, slumping her shoulders, to think she would have to share the island with another. It took but a moment for this to register as odd. In all of her days, she had never known of anyone with money enough to come here. Watching as the boat gravitated towards the island, Aubrey scurried off the rock in search of answers.
Consumed with anxiety, her body vibrating from the wrath of it, she marched vigilantly through the trees, keeping a cautious eye out for the first hint as to who it might be. At least, she kept reminding herself, she was quite capable of defending herself against them if need be. She rehearsed in her head the binding spell she had practiced since she had arrived here. There had not been any need for it but to make herself feel better. Her recurring daydream of hitching her travel companions all together into one large heap along with Lady Dalysbury brought a wayward smile to her face even if she would never perform such a spell.
As the craft bobbed in the water closer and closer to her shore, the unidentified man on the deck stood facing the land. Acutely aware that no other figures had emerged, she started to panic. The last thing she wanted to do was share the island with some male wizard. Contemplating conjuring up something dreadful like a storm to send the ship back out to sea, her mind reeled around her pos
sibilities.
Full of trepidation, her fingers wound tightly together, she hid herself further within the brush as the boat finally crashed upon the shore. When the man stumbled off, appearing like one ape-drunk, her heart jumped and her lungs froze. He turned to take in what would be unfamiliar surroundings. When he called out her name, she crouched under the foliage, barely able to breathe as she assessed the gentleman in a tattered waistcoat. No matter how many times she blinked her eyes, Edmund still stood there on the seaboard of her island.
His waistcoat openly flapped, leaving his well-defined muscles to be outlined by the wind hitting his thin shirt. His missing neck cloth allowed her a view of the thick nape where she had once nibbled upon his salty skin. She found this more troublesome than anything else, her desire building, tightening her core with needs uncontrollable. His face, tan from his travels, glistened from the heat of the day. These more rugged changes to his aristocratic fashion unfortunately improved upon an already amazing man. Twitches left her wet betwixt her thighs as he called out her name again.
His eyes darted around like a child’s, instinctively mistrusting his unfamiliar surroundings. The panicked look on his face juxtaposed the strength of his gait. She responded physically with an overwhelming urge to comfort him and let herself be comforted by him. The feel of his lips she easily remembered. The taste of him seemed already present in her mouth. She wanted to see those dark brown eyes of his sparkle with the sun against the backdrop of his golden-brown skin.
Delight ardently ran through her when she realized what it all meant. He had searched for her. What must he have gone through to find her here on this deserted island? Then, the panic came to overwhelm her again, swelling her throat, interfering with her ability to bring air in and out of her body. Not emotionally stable enough to see him or to send him away, love and fear mingled, forcing her heart to beat in double time.
