‘My pony was Alfy and he was a stubborn Welsh.’ Nicholas laughed, dividing the last of the champagne between them. ‘One day, we were up in the hills, looking for treasure.’
‘Treasure?’ He loved the way her eyes lit up. ‘Your home sounds very exciting.’
‘Oh, it was, we were surrounded by legends. There was gold in the hills, left there by supporters of a would-be king. Stefan and I were always hunting it when the fish weren’t biting. One day, we were up in the hills and we went to cross a stream. My stubborn pony, who, I might add, had no trouble fording streams in his entire life, decides he won’t cross. Stefan is on the other side already. Alfy races up to the stream and just stops.’ Nicholas snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that. He stops and I go sailing over his head straight into the water.’
Annorah laughed. ‘I hope you were more wet than hurt.’
‘I was. It takes a lot to hurt a boy. Boys are tough. But so was Alfy. It took us a half-hour to get him over the stream. We didn’t find any gold that day.’
‘Did you ever?’ Annorah’s voice had dropped to a near-whisper and the moment changed to something more potent, more dangerous.
‘My answer might surprise you.’ He held her eyes, his own voice quiet, too. ‘We found a few coins over the years, old Spanish doubloons. To this day, I think there’s treasure up there, somewhere.’ The magnitude of what he’d done was starting to settle on him. He’d talked of his childhood, he’d talked of Stefan and it had felt good, devoid of the usual rush of guilt. Even now the guilt would not come. There was only the glow of happiness inside him as he recalled those summers.
‘You should go back and claim it.’ Annorah said. He knew she meant nothing by it, couldn’t mean anything by it. She was talking about the gold. He was the only one thinking of claiming a time long past. He needed to end this.
‘It’s a child’s wish born of bedtime stories, Annorah, nothing more, but I like to hold on to it anyway.’ He rose and took her hand, drawing her to him. ‘I have other bed times, and other wishes on my mind tonight.’ He kissed her, tasting the champagne on her lips, feeling her passion rising stoked by memories of the afternoon and the intimacy of their conversation. Her want for him was sincere and for once, he thought, his might be, too. ‘Annorah, my love, it’s time for bed.’
Chapter Eight
Annorah lit the last candle and stood back to see the effect: just enough light, just enough shadow. They wouldn’t be entirely in the dark. It was a purely calculated guess on her part. What did she know about seductions? Should she already be in bed? Should she sit in the chair by the window? She really ought to stop thinking. She did better when she didn’t.
Annorah nervously smoothed the silken folds of the nightgown. It had fit perfectly. She’d known a moment’s worry when she’d changed. What if it didn’t fit? It would be a small tragedy if the beautiful gown hadn’t, but it had. She slipped on the filmy outer garment and glanced at the little clock on her bedside table. Nicholas had said he’d come in twenty minutes when he’d left her at the stairs. She had five minutes remaining for any preparations she wanted to make. She’d brushed her hair, lit the candles, put on the nightgown. She couldn’t think of anything else. Maybe she should... No, she told herself, don’t overthink this. Go sit in the chair and read a book until he comes or at least pretend to read one.
* * *
She didn’t have to wait long. Nicholas was prompt. He looked enviously at ease in her candlelit bower. His dark hair was loose on his shoulders and he was dressed simply in a silky paisley banyan trimmed and belted in black. The vee of the neckline gaped slightly, leaving no question that he was naked underneath—no fussy nightcaps or bulky nightshirts for this one.
He smiled at her as he stopped briefly at the bedside table and put a few small objects on it, his smile chasing away her nerves and replacing them with a trill of excitement. This was going to happen and it was going to happen with him, with Nicholas D’Arcy, who had managed in a short space of time to rivet her with his grace and command of both the indoors and outdoors, with his stories, with his touch, with his interest in her. It was quite an intoxicating combination, never more so than now when he stood before her, his hands in the empty pockets of his banyan, looking down at her with fond eyes and a smile.
‘A pound for your thoughts, Annorah.’
She laughed. ‘I thought it was a penny?’
He gave an easy shrug and took the chair opposite her. ‘It is, but your thoughts are worth more than that. Tell me.’ In the candlelight, he was irresistible, but that was just an excuse. She knew he was irresistible anywhere.
‘I was thinking how I feel I’ve known you far longer than a day. Logically, I know that is the height of silliness. I’d never set eyes on you before yesterday. It’s foolish, I know.’ She shook her head. Foolish, yes. True? Yes.
‘There are primitive religions that believe souls meet in dreams even before they encounter one another in life,’ Nicholas postulated softly. ‘Perhaps we’ve met there.’
‘Do you believe things like that?’
‘I think we ought to be careful what we hastily discard simply because it seems improbable, especially when so many people believed it.’
Annorah leaned forwards, her elbows on the little table between them, intrigued. ‘Truly?’
He leaned forwards, too, his earnestness drawing her in. ‘Us being together is improbable and yet here we are. Something wanted this to happen.’ His soft, clipped tones rolled over the words, slowly, carefully. ‘So many things had to align in order for us to be here tonight. I can’t believe it is purely by accident.’ Nicholas gave up his seat and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. ‘We are meant to be, Annorah.’
Warmth and strength flowed through his hands, his face a study in reverence as she held his gaze. ‘Do you honestly believe that?’ She’d never heard anyone talk this way. Her dyed-in-the-wool Church of England family would have found it as scandalous as what she’d done in inviting him here. She was aware his hands had moved to her hair, combing through the long tresses she’d left loose over her shoulders.
‘I believe it, Annorah.’ His voice was husky, his eyes dark with desire as he spoke, leaving no margin for doubts. He moved away from her then and stood, drawing her up as he’d done at the table. He held her arms out to her sides, giving himself full purview of her. ‘White lace becomes you,’ he murmured.
His mouth was at her throat, expertly kissing a trail to the pulse at the base of her neck. Her arms twined about him of their own accord as if it were the most natural of movements, her body arched into him, her head thrown back in full abandon. She let him suckle, let him lick, let him kindle the fire that burned in her. She let the sweet heat of that fire take her and in those flames all inhibitions, all doubt was burned away, replaced by unrestrained want.
The transparent robe fell first. She barely felt it. His hands were at her breasts, moulding and cupping through the silk, his breath a ragged pant. He urged her to sit again and he knelt before her, moving down her body, hands shaping her hips, his mouth pressed to her most intimate juncture, his breath warm through the thin fabric. Then his hands were gathering up the gown, up past her calves, past her knees, until it bunched about her waist and she was bare and exposed to him, a sensation that was both delicious and decadent.
There was only a moment to contemplate the wanton in her before it was overcome by a new sensation—his mouth directly on her down there. Part of her, a very small part of her, argued she should feel some embarrassment at this boldness, but the embarrassment simply would not come. There was only a keen awareness of his breath against her damp curls, of his tongue stroking a secret place within her folds. Oh, how that place wanted to be stroked! Every nerve in her body was centred on that spot, drawn there by his touch.
An intense wave of pleasure swept her and her body slid fo
rwards in the chair. She anchored her hands in the thick depths of his dark hair for balance, searching for purchase against pleasure’s return. This was the pleasure of the afternoon repeated, but yet there was an entirely new level of anticipation. This time she knew what awaited, eagerly sought it and the knowing provided an exquisite torture of its own. She arched into him one last time, the wave finally cresting and she rode it to completion.
Her senses returned one by one and in no great hurry. The world settled into its ordinary pattern except for the fact that Nicholas still knelt before her, his eyes intense blue coals, his hand resting lightly on her thigh. Slightly self-conscious now that the initial wave of passion had passed, Annorah tugged her gown down.
‘I’ll allow that for now, Annorah. But not for long.’ He smiled and rose, stepping away from her. ‘Now it’s your turn to watch.’ His hand went to the wide black-satin belt of his banyan and slowly drew out the knot. The banyan came off and he stood before her, gloriously nude. ‘Look at me.’
Look at me, watch me. Yes, she would look, she would watch. The temptation was too great to resist. Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. ‘Yes.’ Every inch of him was perfectly sculpted male. The map of his musculature was an atlas of ridges and planes all carved to lead the way down the smooth bronze expanse of his chest to the most male part of him, to where the peninsula of his phallus jutted proudly from his body.
Nicholas reached out a hand and pulled her to him. ‘Now, you.’ His hands capped her shoulders, his eyes holding hers as his thumbs slid beneath the straps of her gown and guided them down her arms until the gown was able to slip off of its own accord. His hands framed her, warm on her bare skin where they palmed her breasts, thumbs rubbing across her nipples in a delicious friction.
‘You’re so beautiful, so perfectly made for me,’ Nicholas whispered. He danced her backwards until she hit the bed. He followed her down, his body above her, his dark hair falling forwards on his face. He looked like a warrior prince of old come to claim his prize. Her body thrilled at the savage imagery of it.
His phallus nudged her thigh, looking for invitation and she gave it. She wanted to be the prize, wanted to be claimed. She was weeping with it. Nicholas bracketed her with his arms, muscles locking as he rose over with unerring position. Then he sheathed himself, sure and slow. This, too, was an exquisite torture, both pleasure and pain. She felt her body stretch around him, accommodating, learning this new invader and with a final thrust, he was home, the invader no more.
Annorah moved instinctively beneath him, the pain of his entrance giving away to the pleasure of his full arrival. The rhythm began; the rocking, the little withdrawal and forwards surge of him within her over and over until she was mad with it as she had been at the river. But this time, as powerful as the pleasure was, it wasn’t enough.
She was alone in the pleasure when it took her. In those raw moments of discovery she knew she shouldn’t be alone. Nicholas should be there with her and he wasn’t. Nicholas had withdrawn mentally long before he’d withdrawn physically. The realisation stabbed at her like a jagged edge of otherwise smooth glass and, like any jagged edge, it cut, slicing through the fragile fabric of her fantasy.
* * *
Nick was in a wonderful place. Sunlight lay just beyond his eyelids and there was a beautiful woman within arm’s reach. There was nothing like lazy sex in the morning to start the day off right. He reached for Annorah, his body remembering her ardent responses in the night, only to find the bed cold where her warm body should have been. His eyes flew open, all senses alert. Something was wrong.
A quick scan of the room revealed she was not in it. She had not only left him in her bed, she’d left the room. He’d not anticipated this. Nicholas threw back the covers and grabbed up his robe. He made his way back to his room and dressed quickly. She would not get away so easily.
Nicholas caught her on the steps, moments from a clean getaway. ‘Annorah, you’re up early.’ At least she was for someone who’d spent the night in his arms. Half past ten was early indeed. He kept his tone casual, but the signs were damning. Annorah was dressed for going out in a striking blue driving ensemble. She’d meant to leave him. He’d startled her and when she’d looked up at him coming down the staircase, there’d been a moment of guilt in her eyes.
‘I have an appointment in the village. It slipped my mind.’ She smiled to dispel any doubt about the authenticity of her claim.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Nicholas offered, his mind racing. What had happened in the night? The way she was twisting her driving gloves was a sure sign of nerves and awkwardness. He’d thought last night had gone well. She’d shown only the slightest of discomforts from the initial pain and there’d been pleasure for her. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. What had he missed? He’d given her a near-perfect experience. In fact, he’d nearly given himself one as well. It had taken all of his discipline not to get caught up in it, too. He’d not felt genuine pleasure in the act for quite some time and it had crept up on him in complete surprise last night. Fortunately he’d caught it in time. There was only trouble down that road.
‘That’s not necessary, it would just bore you. I’m helping children in the village with reading lessons.’ Annorah politely dismissed his offer, but he would have none of it, even if he had to insist.
Nicholas strode down the stairs and took her arm. ‘As it happens, I’m very good at reading. Most librarians are. It’s an occupational hazard, or so I’m told.’ He gave her a charming smile and marched the two of them out the door to the waiting gig.
Once they were underway, Nicholas took a more serious tone. ‘Now, tell me what’s really going on.’
‘Nothing is going on, I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean.’ Annorah kept her gaze fixed straight ahead on the empty road.
‘Then I can only deduce from the empty bed and your attempt to leave me alone for the better part of the day that this is about last night.’
‘Oh, no!’ she assured him a bit too hastily to be convincing, but at least he’d stirred up a measure of guilt for her covert attempt at abandoning him.
‘Good, because I thought last night was practically perfect,’ Nicholas put in. That got a response. Her head turned to look at him, her eyes narrowed in consideration.
‘It was perfect,’ Annorah said with a hint of cold aloofness to her tone.
‘And that’s a problem?’ He understood women better than most and they were still a mystery to him at times. What could possibly be wrong with perfection?
‘It was too perfect, Nick. It was an exquisite performance. I have nothing to compare it against, but I am certain your technique was flawless as I am sure it always is. I had not expected it to be like that. I had not expected to be alone at the end when it mattered the most.’
She was disappointed. The words she’d used that first evening came back to him: a mistake. She thought last night had been a mistake. His professional pride was pricked at the notion he’d finally failed a woman in bed. Nick set his mouth in a grim line and concentrated on the horse. Her own pleasure was supposed to blind her from that small absence. Apparently it hadn’t. She’d wanted him there with her, finding release together. Didn’t she know the one thing he couldn’t give her was a piece of his heart? In his line of work, emotional exposure was a true hazard. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen if he tried it. Librarians had an easier time of it.
Chapter Nine
It was not going to be easy to face the children at the weekly reading lessons. Annorah swallowed hard, trying to subdue the lump in her throat as the village came into view. It might be the last time she saw them. If she did not marry, all this would be lost to her. The small home that had been allocated to her, should she choose to remain unwed, was up in the north.
She had not planned on facing this day with Nicholas as a witness. Nor had
she planned on facing it with her aunt’s latest letter fresh in her mind. She’d planned on facing it alone as she had faced so much else in her adult life. But Nicholas had risen before she could leave the house, and her aunt’s latest missive had been in the mail reminding her of all that stood to be lost if she didn’t come to the house party and make an agreement with the suitor her aunt had waiting.
Her aunt was more desperate to keep the money in the family than she was to keep Annorah. Annorah could only wonder at what kind of suitor she’d managed to find this time. Over the years, there’d been plenty. Her aunt hadn’t given up even after Annorah had. Two broken hearts and several lukewarm ones had been too much for Annorah to bear. She’d retreated from the field, never believing it would really come to this. She’d always believed the lawyers would find a way out.
Nicholas parked the gig at the side of the vicarage and came over to help her down. He’d not said much since she’d essentially called his lovemaking an empty performance. That was fine. She had too much on her mind at the moment to be much of a conversationalist.
‘Are you all right, Annorah?’ Nick asked. ‘You’re pale. Are you tired?’
His tone was so solicitous she felt badly for how she’d treated him this morning. She forced a smile and took his arm. ‘Perhaps just a little.’ She was tired. Tired of feeling dead inside, tired of battling a foe she couldn’t defeat. It was hardly fair to take her frustrations out on Nicholas, who, like the villagers, knew nothing of her true situation. Last night he’d just been doing his job. No doubt, his sophisticated clientele in London handled the arrangement with more discernment than she.
‘Miss Norah, Miss Norah!’ A dark-haired boy ran up to them and grabbed her hand, swinging hard. ‘I learned the passage you gave us last week. Can I read first?’ He noticed Nicholas. ‘You brought a friend!’
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