What a Woman Desires

by Rachel Brimble

  Over and over his thumb circled her nipple, bringing her entire body alive with wanton greed. Her center was moist and aching for his touch. “Thomas.”

  He dipped his head and moved his lips over her face in a shower of the most exquisite, possessive chain of kisses. With each touch of his lips over her jaw and neck, her heart melted a little more. This was it. This was being with a man who admired you, who respected and cared for you like no other.

  Tears burned and she squeezed her eyes shut. When he saw her back . . .

  He stepped away and . . . oh, sweet love . . . gently drew her nipple into his mouth. She scored her hands into his hair, urging his feeding as her center throbbed with want for this wonderful man who could never be hers now she owned Marksville. If their match had been cursed with problems before, now it seemed impossible.

  She owned the house, the land, and effectively Thomas. He would never, ever concede to be with her . . . even as a forbidden lover once they returned to Biddestone. The shame he would harbor for laying with his mistress would be too great if anyone should ever discover it. But here, now, Marksville and all its respectability felt a long way away.

  His mouth left her breast and when her hands slipped to his shoulders, she sensed his tension in the knotted muscle. She snapped her eyes open. “What is it?”

  “You’re crying.”

  She snatched her hands from his shoulders and swiped at her cheeks. “I was . . . I was thinking—”

  “Monica, if you do not want this—”

  “I do.” She urgently cupped her hands to his jaw. “I do so much. You have to believe me. I want you.”

  His gaze bored into hers—blue, beautiful, and full of passion. He groaned and lifted her into his arms. She locked her ankles at the base of his spine as he carried her across the room to her chaise. He lay her down; his mouth locked on hers and he slid his hand over her body until his fingers were in her pubic hair.

  “At last.” She exhaled a shaky breath as his fingers rubbed and caressed her. Their eyes met and she reached for his penis.

  Together they stroked and enjoyed, explored and pleasured until he grew as hard as steel in her hand and her need slipped over his fingers. “Thomas, please.”

  He raised his body and, leaning on one elbow, hovered his weight above her as though afraid she might break if he lay on her. “Lie on me, Thomas. I want to feel your body pressed against mine. I have to live for now. Please.”

  “You’re my lady, Monica. You’re my woman.”

  He entered her as a woman longs to be taken. His thrust was deep, unyielding, and entirely possessive. Her mouth dropped open and her breath burst from her lungs in a rush of pleasure. He was thick and wide. When he drew back and reentered her with the ferocity she craved, Monica lifted her hips to meet him.

  She gripped his biceps as he took her harder and deeper; she raised her knees and he slipped against a spot she never knew existed. Her blood pumped and her body perspired as the momentum grew. He gritted his teeth, his eyes full of custody and lust as he took her higher . . .

  Her pleasure when it came took her breath away, and Monica cried out loud for the sensation she’d heard talk of but never knew existed. Joyous sensations shook her from deep inside and rolled through her body from her toes to her scalp. She laughed at the pure power of it. Thomas thrust deep a final time before his body stilled and he shuddered, finishing with a curse to high heaven.

  His face contorted and Monica’s heart filled with love at the beautiful, wonderful sight of what she had made him feel and what he reciprocated. Gently, softly, he pressed his weight upon her and she wrapped her arms about his gloriously muscular body and pretended she’d never have to let him go.

  Thomas stared at Monica’s dressing room ceiling, his heart finally slowing to a regular beat after their lovemaking. She lay naked in his arms and he trailed his fingers back and forth over the silky skin of her shoulder, counting the seconds until she came to her senses and realized the danger of what had just happened.

  She turned in his arms and rested her chin on his chest, carelessly throwing her leg over his thigh, causing her pubic hair to tantalizingly tease his sensitized skin. She smiled. “Are you happy?”

  He closed his eyes, unable to bear the look of love in her eyes. How could she look at him as though the possibility of what they were doing could be prolonged or repeated? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She stiffened and the potency of her stare penetrated his closed lids, all the way to his damn, loyal heart. He had to do this. He had to make her understand whatever they might feel for one another, they would always be mistress and servant. How was he to risk her reputation and his family’s poverty? He would never leave Biddestone and live in Bath where she so clearly belonged. Their unity was impossible.

  “Thomas, look at me.”

  Slowly, he opened his eyes. She ran her gaze over his face as softly as a lover’s whisper before meeting his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything. I know this is a moment in time.” She smiled wryly. “Maybe an insane moment of madness, but please, for me, don’t regret it. We did what we did and I’ll hold our lovemaking in my memory forever.” She grinned and trailed her nails through the hair on his chest. “I’ll remember lying here with you like this until the day I die, I swear.”

  His heart wrenched painfully and shameful tears burned. He blinked and the threat vanished. “We should get back to Miss Jane.” Carefully, he shifted her weight onto the chaise and stood, reaching down for his discarded clothes, his back purposely turned. “They’ll be wondering where we are. I don’t doubt Mrs. Lacey has a good idea already. She’s got a look of knowing about her that one.”

  “Are you trying to protect me again?”

  He clenched his jaw and jabbed his legs into his trousers, huffing out a laugh. “What happened just now was far from protecting you. I’m just concerned—”

  “Good, because right now, you’re protecting nobody but yourself, and well you know it.”

  He snatched up his shirt and put it on, his fingers trembling at the buttons. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re a coward if you do not face me and admit how much you wanted our lovemaking. That you wish you could have me over and over until neither could live without the other.” Her voice cracked. “Damnation, Thomas, what is wrong with you to not accept this is as hard for me as it is for you? Why won’t you accept I left before because Marksville was killing me? I didn’t run from you, or Jane or anybody I loved; I ran in order to survive.”

  He whirled around, his heart aching and his blood roaring. “And now this, me touching you, making love with you, feeling the power of your pleasure around my cock makes it easier?”

  She flinched, and Thomas wished his soul to hell for so crudely lashing out at her, but not knowing any other way to vanquish the romantic notions that seemed to be running through her head.

  “This is real, Monica. This isn’t about what you, Miss Jane, or I want. We don’t get to choose. Normal people do not get to choose what to do with their lives. They live by the rules and try their best to ensure no one they love and care for gets hurt along the way. Anything else is anarchy and selfishness.”

  Her cheeks flushed and she pushed to her feet, her glorious breasts rising and falling in anger as she snatched up her drawers and tugged them on. “And that’s how you see me, I suppose? Anarchic and selfish.” She straightened and fisted her hands on her hips, heedless of what it did to him to see her breasts thrust forward, heaving under the force of her anger. “Well, the estate is mine, Thomas. All of it. Papa has left me Marksville, Mother his money, and Jane . . .” She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “Jane he has left his apartment here in Bath.” She dropped her chin and opened her eyes. “He’s played every single one of us just the way he always did. So your wish to have me back at Biddestone has come true.”

  He stared, his body rigid with tension to see her brief happiness when they’d lain together
quashed and instead, her body tense with anger and frustration. “I didn’t wish for you to make the decision to come home under duress. I wanted you to want Marksville. I wanted you to make it your own and take pleasure in it. This doesn’t satisfy me. I can see how unhappy you are.”

  “I am unhappy. I’m unhappy and angry, and despising my father with every bone in my body. Bath is my home.” She threw her hands up in the air, the volume of her voice bouncing from the walls. “Bath is my home and he has taken it from me.”

  She turned and snatched her chemise from the dressing table where it had landed when he drew it from her body and tossed it aside.

  His heart leaped into his throat.

  The scars on her back were white and silver against the darker hue of her skin. Crossed and straight; ridged or smooth.

  Words failed him as tears of rage burned behind his eyes.

  She fumbled and cursed, the material knotting in her hands the more she tried to straighten it. “For the love of God . . .”

  The saliva drained from his mouth and he blinked to clear the red mist blooming at the edges of his vision. “What did he do to you?”

  She stilled.

  He waited, his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists at his side.

  Slowly, she turned. Her eyes met his and they glowed bright with pride and determination. “They no longer hurt and they no longer bother me.”

  “What did he do?”

  “You know what he did. The scars . . .” She lifted her chin. “The ones you see are of no consequence. What he did to me, I carry in here. . . .” She pressed her hand to her breast. “My skin is nothing more than paper is to pen. It can be read and then the reader chooses whether to remember or ignore. Can you ignore the scars on the outside, Thomas? For me?”

  Time stood still as he looked deep into her eyes, a pulse beating in his temple. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath through flared nostrils, fighting for control, fighting for the strength not to run from the room and smash his way through the prison walls and into Baxter’s cell so he could beat the man to death with his bare hands.

  “Thomas? Look at me.” Her voice cracked. “Please tell me you see me as you did before.”

  He snapped his eyes open and strode forward, snatching the garment from her hands. He cupped her jaw and brought his mouth to hers. He poured his entire being into the kiss, showing her, proving to her just how much he loved her and how beautiful she would always be.

  Her nails dug into his biceps and she returned his kiss, their passion swirling and igniting to a dangerous and potent crescendo until Thomas feared his heart would burst from his chest.

  He pulled back and with a final look over her face, he closed his eyes. “This is madness. My love for you is dangerous, Monica. It’s dangerous because no one in this entire world provokes such fear in me.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “If you make me ashamed of what happened between us . . . if you make me feel less than Malcolm and my father have managed, I will stay here in Bath and sell the entire estate to the first bidder.” She swiped at her cheeks, even though her tears continued to fall. “I will only come back, I will only try to make a life in Biddestone if you promise me you will accept our lovemaking and move on. I want to help you. I want to help all the tenants, and the only way for that to happen is for me to return to Marksville with my head held high and you by my side.”

  He stared deep into her eyes before handing her the chemise and lifting his hands to her face. He brushed away her tears with his thumbs and looked deep into her eyes. “What do you want from me?” he whispered. “Don’t you understand? I have no choice but to think of my family who rely on me. I can’t do that if I follow my heart and give it all up for you. You have a huge house and lands, but I refuse to be dependent on you. No good can come of what we feel for one another. No good at all. God knows I’d die for you, but that won’t help my family retain their pride.”

  She covered his hands with her own, her gaze on his mouth, and she released a defeated breath. “I understand, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take another moment like the one we just shared. It doesn’t mean we can’t love each other in stolen moments so I have something to live for. I’ll go home and I’ll do my best to do well by all of you, but without you to love I can’t stay there. I just can’t.”

  Thomas shook his head, his heart breaking. “I cannot make love to you and then resume being your servant. Why would you even ask that of me? We’ll end up brokenhearted and resentful. Neither you nor I will be happy living that way. This stops now and we think only of our duty to our families.”

  “Thomas—”

  “We have to, Monica.” He gritted his teeth and dropped his forehead to hers. “But please, do not ever think I say these words because of the scars on your back or the sadness in your eyes. If things were different, if either of us were free . . .” He closed his eyes. “I have to look after everything my father has worked for, or so help me God, I will have abandoned everything that matters to me for something that might perish within a year or two.”

  She lifted her head, her eyes full of pain. “You think what we feel will only last for a year or two?”

  Thomas inhaled a long breath through flared nostrils. “How could a passion like ours last a lifetime?” He shook his head. “You know as well as I do such a thing is impossible.”

  He released her and turned to dress, allowing her the privacy to do the same. For a long time, he heard no rustle of clothes or shifting of her body and sensed her despair and disappointment permeate the room, splitting the chasm between them wide open. Thomas fought the tears in his eyes and filled his soul with the knowledge he had done the right thing by letting her go . . . the gentlemanly thing.

  To let her down now . . . to break her heart when it had barely known his was far better than to wait until she fell as deeply in love with him as he was with her. To do that would mean she endured the cruel pain of a million knives striking and twisting in her heart as they did in his.

  Chapter 16

  Monica stared at Matthew Cleaves, Biddestone’s squire, as he leaned back in his chair and steepled her fingers beneath his chin. “I cannot believe Marksville is entirely yours. Your father must have wanted you to run the estate above anyone else to leave it to you. You do accept that?”

  She shook her head. “I accept nothing of the sort. He gave me Marksville as a clear punishment for not marrying Malcolm Baxter and doing as I was told.”

  Matthew dropped his hands and smiled. “But you’re a wealthy woman now. An independent woman with an entire estate of her own. How can that be deemed a punishment?”

  “I don’t want it, Matthew.” All I want is Thomas. “I have never wanted it and my father knew that.”

  He frowned. “And what of Jane? Is she upset about the will too?”

  Monica inhaled. “We are still discussing what is to be done. Jane would’ve gladly stayed here and I would have been happy in Bath. My father turned the tables and gave each of us the opposite of what we want.”

  “He gave Jane his Bath apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I, like you, could not have foreseen that happening.” He frowned. “But if you both want the other, can you not draw up papers to reverse the holdings so you have the Bath apartment and Jane has Marksville?”

  Monica sighed. “Maybe, but to do so will mean I move back to Bath and leave her to sort out the numerous difficulties here. What does either of us really know about running an estate?” She shook her head, frustration burning inside. “If I go now, I am once more abandoning her as I now feel I did before. She would love Marksville to remain her home but has made it clear she doesn’t want to bear the responsibility of it alone. If the truth be told, I want nothing more than for Mama and Jane to come live with me in Bath.”

  “But they don’t want that?”

  “No.” Guilt twisted inside Monica. Wasn’t her need to convince her mother and Jane to come and live in Bath al
l about her own inability to make a life for herself in Biddestone . . . rather than theirs? Wasn’t she slowly beginning to like Marksville, even if she did not love it? Wasn’t she running away once again? She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m convinced moving to Bath would be good for all of us in the end.” She opened her eyes and stared at Matthew, inwardly pleading that he understood her. “Mama would have access to the waters and the best physicians, and Jane would be free to attend dinners and balls with some of the most influential and interesting people in the city.”

  He stared, his intelligent eyes quiet in their assessment. “But if it’s not what they want . . .”

  “But that’s just it, there’s no saying what Mama wants.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Mama is really not well, Matthew. Her mental health is deteriorating at a rate where she needs to be moved now or not at all. She is looking frailer and more in need of healing every day. I have worked hard for what I have in Bath. How can I sacrifice that for something I don’t want, no longer know, or have any idea of making work for the tenants or us? Yet . . .”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Yet?”

  Monica slumped back in her chair. “Yet, I have a duty to the people who live and work on the estate to make a decision that is best for them. If all I cared about was me, then I would just toss the deeds to Jane and hotfoot it back to Bath and the theater. I can no more do that than I can say I want to stay at Marksville.”

  He exhaled. “If Jane wants the house but doesn’t want to be alone in the running of it, I really don’t think she’ll have to worry about that for long.”

  Monica frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean a husband won’t be far around the corner for either of you once people learn of your good fortune.”

  Monica stiffened. “Please do not call Marksville or the potential of a husband because of it, good fortune. It isn’t. It implies Jane and I are little more than a note made out for several hundred pounds of income every year. The notion is tainted with the stink of everything I despise about our class.”