A Midsummer's Sin

by Natasha Blackthorne

She brought his head down. Cradled him to the softness of her breasts. Her heart beat strong beneath his ear. She caressed his cheek. Giving him her warm, earthy love.

  “If I lose her, I shall have nothing. I may as well die with her.” The words tumbled out.

  “No, don’t say that. It’s not true. You shall have me, Thomas, you shall have me no matter.”

  She was gently sobbing. Barely audible. Her lips touched his forehead. The wetness of her tears fell on him. “You shall have me as long as you desire. Even if you don’t want me, I shall be yours in my heart.”

  Her voice faded to a whisper.

  He clung to those words. He clung to her body even harder.

  * * * *

  The deep rumble of a masculine cough startled him. Much time must have passed. Perhaps they had slept.

  Rosalind released him. He pulled up to a sitting position and ran a smoothing hand over his hair, focusing with difficulty on Reverend Shepard.

  The damned man’s face was always so placid. It was impossible to read. Thomas’ heart thudded hollowly. Rosalind wrapped her hand about his. He squeezed it back and in doing so found his voice again. “Is she… How is she?”

  “The fever has broken. The symptoms have slowed.” A slight smile brightened the Reverend’s appearance. “I believe she may very well survive.”

  * * * *

  Hours later, having left Hannah sleeping peacefully, Thomas walked into the barn, looking for Rosalind.

  She sat on the stool, milking the cow. Her red hair was tied back by a ribbon, falling like a flaming spill against her dark brown dress. She was so lovely. Exhilaration surged through him, wiping away his exhaustion.

  It should have been hard to face her after having broken down in front of her. He had never shown his full face of emotion to anyone. Not even Patience. Well, she would never have tolerated it. Could never have coped with it.

  He had resented Patience. Yes, he had, it must be admitted. He did resent how she had held him guilty before trial. She wouldn’t let him show her how love between them could be. She had lain beneath him still and unreasoning, refusing to allow the least bit of wooing on his part. He had lost interest in bedding her and yet could not have another. He’d been a young man trapped in a cold marriage with a woman he loved ardently yet whom he couldn’t touch.

  Couldn’t reach.

  But Rosalind was strong enough to bear anything. She was so accessible. She gave everything inside herself to him. He was free to show all his feelings to her.

  He felt no discomfort as she looked up and met his eyes. His mind was full of all the things he needed to say to her, yet in that moment everything flew away.

  He needed to be near her. To touch her. Now.

  He wanted to merge with her deeply. To share his overwhelming sense of joy. To celebrate life in the most basic, satisfying way possible with the woman he loved.

  He walked to her and held his hands out.

  She stopped milking the cow, took his hands and let him pull her to her feet. She glanced at the barn door then back at him, her eyes warm and sparkling, mirroring his elation and desire. He led her to an empty horse stall, then pulled her into his embrace, holding her tight to his body, his hands fierce on her back. Their mouths met, open and hungry, and he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. He pressed his growing erection against her.

  She dropped to her knees, looked up at him and placed her hands on the fastenings of his breeches.

  “No,” he said, “not that.”

  “Why not?” She stroked him through the woollen fabric. “You have done as much to me.”

  “That’s different. It’s not as great a sin.”

  “Don’t deny me.”

  He caressed her hair. “Deny you?”

  “Don’t deny me the chance to know you. To pleasure you.” She undid two buttons. “Nothing between us can be a sin, don’t you realise that?”

  She seemed so convinced. She had his breeches open and wrapped her hand about his erection. He leaked in anticipation.

  “Do you believe me?” she asked, stroking her hand up and down his shaft.

  He did. And to his surprise it felt right and good. Their marriage bed would be a sacred place where nothing could be a sin or repulsive so long as it pleased them both.

  She put her mouth over the head and slid down its length, swallowing him completely. She’d obviously done this before, many times. The thought threatened to intrude on his pleasure. But her past hadn’t been her choice. He must forget. He must help her to forget. And he suspected this was part of her healing, to engage in these acts that had been forced on her with someone of her choosing. Someone who would never force her to it.

  On a groan, he gave himself over to the pleasure she offered.

  She wrapped her fist about the base of him, working, as she loved him with her mouth. She moaned deep, sending vibrations through to his balls. Tremors began deep within his cock and his seed surged into her mouth as a kind of joy and bliss he’d never before associated with carnality overtook him.

  She pressed her cheek to his leg, staring up at him with open affection and feminine satisfaction.

  His head still spun with the after-effects but he had to tell her. This couldn’t wait any longer. “I am not the man you think I am. I mean, I wasn’t.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully. “Weren’t you?”

  “I was a horrible libertine in my college years. I was destroying myself with dissipation. I lived a very abstinent life with Patience and I have been afraid of falling back into my former sinful ways. But I see now that what we share is—”

  The barn door squeaked and she pulled away from him, wiping her face with the back of her hand, her eyes wide and alarmed. He turned away and hastily repaired his breeches.

  Rosalind walked out of the stall.

  “Ah, Mistress Abramson.” Reverend Shepard’s deep voice echoed up into the rafters and back down. “Have you seen Goodman Marlowe?”

  “No—I mean he was here, briefly but—”

  “Little Hannah is awake and asking for her Papa.”

  * * * *

  Out of the window the sun lay half-risen on the horizon, bathing the kitchen in tones of yellow that seemed strangely surrealistic to Rosalind’s sleep-deprived eyes. The rays of light brightened Thomas’ chestnut hair into sparks of red and gold. Before him sat a bowl of steaming corn mush that remained untouched. Yet his green eyes shone bright as a summer maple leaf.

  She shared his joy and couldn’t help but smile at him.

  Over the hours of the night, Hannah had continued to improve.

  He lifted his mug and took a long drink of coffee.

  She chose to do the same, letting the fragrant brew warm her empty stomach. She had found herself unable to eat for, despite the happiness of Hannah’s continued recovery, nothing remained truly resolved between them. The emotional intimacy of the night before seemed like a dream and his trunks remained packed by the door.

  Once Hannah had recovered completely, he would leave for Harvard College.

  He sat his mug down and regarded her closely. “Did you really mean what you said last night?”

  Her heart stilled then jumped into a rapid beat. She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  His eyes seemed intent on stripping her to the bone.

  She shifted in her seat. “But I…I don’t expect…”

  She bit her lip.

  He pushed his chair back, stood and came to her, still studying her with a curious expression. He held out his hands. She placed hers in them and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He slipped his hands around the small of her back.

  “What don’t you expect? You don’t expect me to be yours in return?” He smiled. “I always was, you know.”

  “I am not the wife you need or desire. I know this. I am not of your faith and I never shall be.”

  “You work hard. You know how to be dutiful. You love God, you are good and kind. You will teach my daughter to be gentle, lovi
ng and giving by your own sweet example. That and loyalty, that’s all I require in a wife.”

  She laughed softly. “Who told you these things about me?”

  “I had no need for anyone to tell me. I saw them with my own eyes.” He pulled away from her. “You are the wife for me. The only wife for me. If you won’t marry me, I shall be forced to be alone all the rest of my days.”

  His green gaze shone with sincerity. She couldn’t doubt him any longer. A feeling as if she’d been holding her breath for over a year and just let it go overcame her. Warmth spread through her, building into elation. A smile tugged at her lips.

  “In Cambridge village, I shall keep a farm as well as teach. In time, I expect to be very well-off. Yes, there will be hard work. But I can afford servants. You won’t have to do it all. It should be a very comfortable life for you.”

  Her smile spread wider. “So you told me before.”

  “It’s my offer, Rose, the best I can give.”

  “You don’t owe me any promises. There is no debt here just because we’ve been lovers.”

  “But there’s something even more important I have to tell you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I love you with all my heart. I see now that God has sent you, the perfect woman for me, to be my wife and helpmate. I know we shall deal well together.”

  She gaped at him.

  “Rose, please, don’t look at me like that. Say something.”

  She searched his gaze for any sign that he was simply telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. She saw only sincerity.

  His expression sobered. “All right, then. I understand your hesitance. You don’t love me, not like that, not yet. You said the things you said last evening because you felt pity for me and now you don’t know the way to take them back.”

  “Oh, Thomas…” She moved from her chair and went to kneel beside him.

  He smiled down at her, caressing her hair. “We have a special bond, you and I. We could be happy together. You could learn to love me in time.”

  She gazed up at him, warmth filling her heart to rival the sunlight filling the kitchen. “But I do love you. I have always been in love with you. I want no other man.”

  He seemed frozen a moment, his hand paused on her head. He looked as stupefied as she had been but a moment past.

  “I want to marry you, Thomas.”

  He pushed back his chair then reached his arms out to her. “Come here, my beautiful love.”

  She took his hands and let him draw her into his lap. She put her hands on either side of his face. His rough stubble prickled her.

  He smiled more broadly. “Let us be wed as soon as possible then.”

  “Yes, oh yes, just as soon it may be arranged,” she said, leaning down to put her lips to his.

  Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

  Carte Blanche: Grey’s Lady

  Natasha Blackthorne

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Philadelphia, PA

  Spring, 1812

  Grey couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Philadelphian women were the cream of the Republic, but damn if this one didn’t exceed all previous definitions. Curling wisps of hair escaped from her indigo bonnet and trailed down her graceful neck. He’d never seen hair that colour—like champagne shimmering in the moonlight.

  She looked up, giving him his first full sight of her face. Sky blue eyes, full of aching, longing…and something else. Abject sadness. Haunting.

  Something caught in his chest. Something reminiscent of pleurisy. Well, it wasn’t surprising. Philadelphia air was notoriously insalubrious and the day was oppressively damp. He blinked, glancing away. Was he losing his wits? Haunting eyes? What romantic nonsense. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was getting a fever.

  He glanced at his pocket watch. God, time was crawling. He’d arranged this series of lectures to entice potential investors, and last week in Boston had been most profitable. However, today, Mason’s Bookstore was packed with adolescent boys who sat with their mouths agape listening to local captains recount tales of privateering glory. His own speech on how and why to invest in a voyage had been met with yawns and bobbing heads. What a waste of an afternoon.

  Shifting in his seat, he sensed her gaze. Lingering. Burning him. Against his will, he turned back to her. Those eyes seemed to reach across the room, directly into him, to touch his emptiness.

  What a fanciful notion. His wits must be addled.

  She didn’t drop her gaze, as a modest woman might. Instead, she appraised him, boldly weighing and measuring. A hint of her tongue flirted along the seam of her pink lips. Her eyes smouldered as if she’d read his every erotic longing and fantasy in his face.

  He shifted again, trying to adjust for the heated blood rushing into his cock. The corners of her mouth turned up and humour glinted in her eyes. Clearly, she found his interest amusing. She found him amusing.

  By God, then, I’ll have her beneath me, writhing and begging me to fuck her.

  Damned if he wouldn’t.

  The fervour of his thoughts shocked him back to his senses. People were talking and laughing and moving around. The lecture was over. He got up to leave, but he found himself standing at the windows, transfixed by the rain sheeting down.

  “My goodness.” The breathy, feminine voice hit him low in his gut and he didn’t have to look to know who’d spoken. Something primal pounded through his blood. An urge to turn, grasp her by the back of her hair and kiss her with such brute force she would run.

  Shaken, he took several long, deep breaths before he trusted himself enough to turn to her. He looked down to where her head barely met his shoulder and suddenly he was drowning in those azure eyes.

  “It’s so hard, isn’t it?” she said in breathy, bedchamber tones.

  “Pardon me, Madam?”

  “The rain. It’s coming down so hard today. Buckets and buckets full.” Her voice sounded sincere but her eyes glimmered with mirth.

  “Yes, it is.” He kept his tone cool, polite.

  She stood so close his arm almost touched her breast. So close her tangy, sweet gardenia-like scent became intoxicating.

  “Pardon me, Madam, but do you have some question about investing in a privateer venture?”

  “Oh, no, they answered all my questions in the lecture.”

  “But how could they have? You came in after the part about investing.”

  “I didn’t really have any particular questions—I come to all the lectures here.” She glanced at the chalk board on the opposite wall, where the names of the lecturers were posted. “You are Mr Asahel de Grijs Sexton of New York?”

  “At your service.”

  “Your middle name means grey…like your eyes. Correct?”

  “Yes. It’s Dutch.” It had been his mother’s maiden name.

  “And you’re here to invest in privateering voyages for the expected war?” She took hold of the curtain’s thick, gold, braided cord.

  “I own some ships and take on investors. I also invest in other voyages. It’s a numbers game, for safety.”

  She gave a soft sigh… No, it was more like a moan. A lush, bedroom sound that made his lower belly tighten.

  “Well, I was wondering…” She caressed her fingers up and down the braided cord in a way that could only be described as suggestive. Sinfully so. Right here in the book store.

  A tide of lust like he had never felt before swept through his blood and stiffened his cock.

  “I—I was wondering…” She trailed her fingers one last time before she dropped the cord. A half-smile curved her lips.

  “Yes, Madam?” The steadiness of his voice amazed him.

  “Could you—” She drew her lashes down as she spread her lips in a slow, sensual smile. “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride in your carriage?”

  Her inflection left no doubt what kind of ride she meant.

  What true gentleman could disappoint a lad
y? He offered her his arm. “Come, then.”

  She raised fine, pale-gold brows. “I cannot be seen leaving here in your company.”

  “Then what?”

  “Drive around the block and wait there. I shall come along presently.”

  “It’s raining like the flood. You cannot walk in that.”

  “Do you think I shall melt?” Her deep and throaty laugh resonated deep in his balls.

  “I think a gentleman doesn’t expect a lady to walk in the rain.”

  She laughed again. “Oh, but I am not a lady.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” His harsh tone puzzled him. Where had it come from?

  “Did my fine silk gown fool you?” She plucked her coarse woollen skirt. Her fingerless nankeen gloves revealed digits reddened as though they habitually spent hours soaked in lye. The sharp contrast with her refined loveliness made his throat burn and he swallowed tightly.

  She sighed. He glanced up. Her eyes were sad again and her emotion seemed to touch him in places he’d forgotten had existed. Damn, she was beautiful. How many times had he repeated that today? God, he was making a jackass of himself. But what did she really want from him? She was bold, yes, but she lacked the hardened look of a girl on the town. Maybe poverty had forced her into temporary whoring.

  “You need money?” The hoarse terseness of his whisper surprised him.

  “I don’t want your money.” She turned her gaze to him. Bold, blue and full of unmistakable longing. “I only want a ride.”

  * * * *

  Alone with her in the carriage, Grey took her hand and caressed it. Her fingers grated roughly against his. The burning sensation returned to his throat, making him cough. Her eyes were full of that earlier sadness. And longing. Compassion and sympathy flooded him, rendering him incapable of thinking clearly. Making him aware of his own sadness, the emptiness that had been with him so long he’d forgotten it was even there. It was getting to be unnerving. As if there was a cord attached to his innards that she could yank at will.