by Jenna Jaxon
Elizabeth had expected her senses would return once she no longer bore witness to the incredible raw sexual power of that kiss. Her body, however, continued to throb, then to ache with the need to feel a man’s touch once more.
Lord Brack stopped just at the tree line, well out of the light. He loosed her hands from their grip on his arm, then cupped her face, just as Michael Thorne had done to Nora, and sank his mouth onto hers.
A bolt of fire shot through her, down her arms and legs, through fingers and toes. Her core heated as though a sun burned at the center, and the ache deep inside her, begun while they watched the harvest couple, became a demand she could not ignore.
Brack deepened the kiss, his tongue stealing warm and welcome into her mouth. She arched her neck, opening herself fully. Let him take her here and now.
As if reading her mind, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so tightly to him that every muscle in his chest pressed into her, hard as granite yet comforting as a safe harbor against her hurts and fears. Ah, but she had missed that sense of safety so very much.
Still his tongue explored, now her mouth, now her ear, where his rough panting breath sent new shivers down her spine. His lips traveled lower, down her neck. She couldn’t repress the moan this time. Her whole body trembled, ached for Dickon to lay her down here on the ground and take her as he had so many times before.
This wasn’t Dickon.
Like a spray of cold water shaken from a rowan tree onto her naked body, Elizabeth jumped back from Lord Brack, suddenly very aware of who he was and where they were.
He too stepped back, blinking as if roused from a dream. “Elizabeth?”
Covering her face with one hand, she held the other out as if to fend him off. What had come over her?
He didn’t move toward her but looked away, toward the still-lighted circle where Michael and Nora danced wildly with several other couples. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Easton. I’m not sure what came over me.”
“No, my lord, I must beg your pardon.” Elizabeth didn’t quite know where to look. Not at him, not at the dancing couples. She settled for the ground at her feet. Probably best he didn’t see her fiery cheeks.
“I am afraid the spectacle of the harvest lord claiming the corn maiden quite carried me away.” He sighed deeply. “I think you may have been affected by it as well?”
Elizabeth risked raising her head. “It was . . . most powerful. I believe many pagan rituals are.”
“Yes, well, I am sorry I took advantage of you in the moment.” He shook his head. “Most unforgiveable.”
“I forgive you, my lord.” She leaned forward, putting a hand on his arm to reassure him. “I was as much to blame.” Heat stole through her palm where she touched his arm. She snatched it back. “One wonders if it is the ritual or the very place itself that channels these feelings.”
“You felt it as well?” His eager voice touched that ache deep inside her.
“I must confess I did.” She almost whispered the admission. Could she actually be standing here in a field in the middle of the night saying these indelicate things to a man? A particularly nice gentleman too. What must he think of her?
He seized her hands, startling her afresh. “Do not be ashamed, Mrs. Easton, I beg of you. I hope you have noticed these last few days of the house party—no, even before that, when first we met—that I have come to have the greatest respect and admiration for you. Gratitude as well, for your friendship with Georgina.”
“Lady Georgina is a dear, dear friend. I would do anything within my power for her.” The pleasurable tingles where he held her hands had begun anew.
“You are one of the kindest spirits I have ever known.” He pulled her a step closer. “I have been waiting for the right moment to tell you just how much I admire you.”
His gaze warmed her as much as his words. She could fall into those big blue eyes and be lost forever. Willingly. Oh, dear, was she doing it again?
“Lord Brack.” She leaned back, pulling her hands from his and winding them firmly around her reticule. “I fear a sudden headache has come upon me. Likely brought on by that potent Wrotham ale.”
“Mrs. Easton—”
She started toward the area where the horses and carriages waited. “Perhaps that is why ladies are seldom supposed to indulge in it.” She must get away from this place, before she was truly lost. “Will you please see me to the carriage? I believe it is time I returned to Lyttlefield Park.”
“Allow me to escort you back.” He fell in step beside her, but didn’t offer his arm.
Perceptive man. If she touched him again, she would completely lose control and quite likely abandon herself to him here and now. And while that prospect had a wild appeal to her at that moment and in this place, in the light of day it simply would not do. “Thank you, my lord, for the offer, but I cannot allow you to leave the festivities on my account.” The short drive back to Wrotham Park alone would give her time to cool this unusual desire for him. If she remained here, in the wild sensuality of the night, she might ravish Lord Brack on the spot.
“I believe it has concluded.” He swept his hand toward the now-ragged circle where the locals were milling about.
Indeed, the festival seemed at an end.
“It would be my greatest pleasure to see you home safely.” He chuckled. “Even though the robbers in the area are apprehended, a lady at night alone is never a wise choice.”
Although this might be the one exception to that rule. “Very well, then.” Elizabeth resisted a sigh. He’d got what she called a stubborn man face on—Dickon had shown it to her enough times, she recognized it on other gentlemen. She would simply have to keep a vigilant distance from this most attractive man. “I thank you for your kind offer.”
His joyful smile did nothing to buoy her confidence.
She steeled herself for the touch of his hand. “Should we wait for the others, perhaps? They will be needing the carriage as well.” If others accompanied them, surely she’d be less inclined to think heated thoughts about the gentleman seated across from her.
“The distance is less than half a mile. We will send it back directly we arrive.” He tapped on the roof and the coachman started the team. “If you are in distress, we must get you home for some tea as quickly as possible.
“You are truly kind, my lord.” Elizabeth relaxed against the soft leather seat and smiled at the personable young man. He would make any woman an excellent husband in due time. It might even be her, if only she were ready to give up her love for Dickon.
She firmed her lips into a pleasant smile. Even though Charlotte and Georgie had been actively advocating a match between her and Lord Brack, that didn’t mean she was ready for it. Such a major change in her life must take more sober consideration than a few days’ acquaintance, delightful though the gentleman might be. She had Dickon’s children, Colin and Kate, to think of, after all. There was no need to rush into marriage.
Not even to satisfy the hollow ache deep in her core that suddenly yearned to be filled by the man in the carriage.
