The Last Dance

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘I’m impressed you can think of others in this moment when all I want to do is —’

  ‘Then just do it, Rafe,’ she whispered, unable to bear the tension any longer. To hell with others whipped through her mind. To hell with having to be responsible all the time; to hell with the world beyond this warm room with the wind blowing people’s hats off outside and flames dancing joyously inside, burning with the same hot intent that was coursing through her.

  At her challenge spangles of desire stirred deeply and began to pulse in time with her heartbeat, except this time the drumming was a throbbing need. He moved nimbly, silently, and pulled her so close Stella lost her breath. She clung to him, losing herself in the delirium of lust within his embrace. Nestling within the absurd loss of control was a curious sense of safety that his arms provided – here she was home, here she was secure, here no one else intruded.

  Clothes were being unbuttoned, eased off shoulders and hips to pool at the floor like discarded skins, leaving them with nothing standing between their flesh . . . no longer even her conscience. That had floated from her when he’d unclasped a final layer of her clothing and the cold had urged her nipples erect. His arms had stolen around to hold her, helpless hands reaching to cup her breasts. Guilt tiptoed away to vaporise in the flames, which were now the only sound in the room to accompany their heartbeats that Stella was sure she could hear. She swung around to face him.

  The fire’s warmth couldn’t touch the heat searing in his gaze. ‘Stella . . .’ he murmured, stepping back slightly, heedless of his hard nakedness, his voice struggling to get past the passion that was clogging in his throat.

  ‘Don’t say any more,’ she said, hoping it didn’t sound too much of a plea. ‘Show me.’

  He picked her up as easily as she recalled him lifting Grace and she instantly forced herself to banish that memory, or it would allow all those obstacles back into her conscience. She wanted her mind to remain empty, like the wilderness he loved – whether it was desert or the Weald – and where there was only the parched need for each other.

  Rafe laid her gently on the coverlet and the cool of the satin pricked her skin to gooseflesh.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he whispered and began pulling away the covers until even cooler sheets made her shiver slightly.

  She shook her head but it didn’t matter. He was suddenly next to her, his body also pounding with obvious desire yet he deliberately held back while he gazed the length of her in the dim light. She could tell he wanted to talk, wanted to prolong this time that perhaps they might never have again. But Stella didn’t want any words in the way right now; words often led people to places they didn’t want to go. Words might lead Rafe and herself away from this cocoon back to Harp’s End, where people who loved him and trusted them both lived. Or perhaps even London, or St Albans, to where those who loved and depended on her waited.

  Her thoughts tripped on the vision of the faces of innocents. This is madness. This is selfish. This is —

  His mouth tenderly closed upon her lips and sealed her doubt. She wanted him. Stella arched her back to reach up and pull Rafe closer, harder to her and he responded eagerly; seemingly all of his tentativeness had fled too. He pulled the sheets up over them as he moved to cover her body with his – it felt like the tent she’d seen him peeping out from as a boy . . . the place she’d wanted to share with him.

  All thought blanked as Stella rode her passion to a height she didn’t know was possible and where, in the cosmos of a breathless, beautiful ache of desire, she discovered her new sense of belonging, her true home, which was Room 19 of the Metropole, in his arms . . . moving with him to their own rhythm as their selfish pleasure gave her a sense of healing. Rafe was the conjuror working his magical, cleansing affection on her that stripped away all her past grief and replaced it with tender loving. Her excitement escalated further by his sighing relief as pleasure trembled through him and Stella let go then, giving herself completely. She thought she may have whispered his name as they slipped quietly down the gentler slope to the liquid warmth of their entangled bodies.

  Stella made a nest in his arms and settled in with a soft sigh. With the back of his fingertips Rafe traced the shape of her neck and shoulder, passing down the length of her ribs to her hip. There his hand rested, releasing her from the ticklish sensation that had made her smile.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked softly, kissing her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin.

  ‘That I love you,’ she replied, not giving herself even a moment to consider whether to spill this truth.

  ‘Thank heavens for that. I thought you were going to start muttering about who we’re hurting.’

  She turned to look at him, ensuring he wasn’t teasing her. ‘No. I’ve already considered that.’

  Rafe propped himself on an elbow. ‘And?’ He gazed deeply into her eyes and she could tell he was vulnerable.

  ‘I don’t care. I hate myself, but . . .’ Stella shrugged. ‘It’s no good hiding behind bluster or empty words. The truth is I simply don’t have enough room in my heart for anyone but you.’

  ‘Your brother and sister?’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt them. I am providing for them.’

  ‘Grace?’

  She paused. Grace was the one person who might suffer in the equation of their adultery. ‘Grace is a child. She can’t begin to understand what is happening here.’

  ‘She loves her mother.’

  ‘Yes, but I suspect the truth is more that she wants her mother to love her in the same way that her father loves her. The latter fact hasn’t changed because of us, and I refuse to be held accountable for whatever lacks in her mother.’

  He considered this. ‘And speaking of Beatrice . . .’

  Stella lifted a shoulder, her lips thinning. ‘Beatrice loves you but in an almost sinister way. I can’t speak for her but I can tell you that my feelings come from a different place. I can put my hand on my heart and swear this love stems from purity, not for gain . . . not for a husband, not for status, not for wealth, not for any form of acquisition other than your love in return. If we had to live in a hovel and catch rabbits for food, I suspect my feelings for you would sustain me through the challenge.’ She grew serious. ‘I thought you wanted to avoid crowding all the others into this bed with us?’

  He laughed sadly. ‘I do, and yet they loom over us, don’t they?’

  There was no denying it.

  ‘Dear Stella.’ He squeezed her hip. ‘Trapping rabbits will not be necessary.’

  She turned to face him, in a position suddenly to study individual hair stubble in his chin, the soft suggestion of the dimple she sensed from his childhood, the thick, dark flop of hair that had fallen across his forehead, which she tenderly pushed back. ‘I was trying to make a point.’

  ‘Which I do understand. However, I don’t wish you to become anxious. Things must change.’

  ‘Do you mean in your life?’

  ‘In all our lives.’ Rafe sounded wistful.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. There are others beyond our family in this bed, Stella.’ She frowned, puzzled, waiting for him to elaborate. ‘The old enemy in Germany is beginning to gain strength again.’

  She blinked. Germany. That was a twist in their conversation she hadn’t seen coming. ‘Adolf Hitler’s in our bed?’

  ‘We can jest but he seems to have a plan in mind for Germany and there’s nothing shy about it.’

  ‘War?’ she whispered, vaguely horrified to be having a second conversation about it in the same day. It was time to come clean with him. ‘Rafe, I have to own up to something but you must promise you won’t be angry with me.’

  ‘Have you ever heard me angry?’

  ‘I have, actually.’

  ‘Oh, really,’ he mocked.

  ‘Last night.’

  He made a clicking sound in his palate. ‘That wasn’t anger with Beatrice; that was years of disappointment and despa
ir. If anything —’

  ‘I’m not talking about that,’ she cut in, embarrassed. She wanted to own up quickly. ‘I’m talking about later, when you spoke to Basil.’

  Rafe’s unflappable demeanour slipped and his expression clouded.

  ‘It was an accident. I was expecting a late call from Suzanne Farnsworth, you see.’

  He waited.

  ‘After your argument with Beatrice I stayed in my room, too embarrassed I suppose by what I had witnessed to be confronted again. You came to my door and I . . . well, you know what I did. Later, I tiptoed to the parlour to get a snack. I could hear you stomping about upstairs and, well, frankly, I wanted to put some distance between us. I was on my way back to my room when the phone rang in the main hall. It was so loud I thought it would wake the entire household. I remembered Suzanne and dashed to the phone.’ She looked anxiously at him but couldn’t read his expression.

  ‘But I answered first,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do. I was damned either way.’

  The silence lengthened between them like a dark cavern suddenly opening up. She stroked his cheek. ‘Rafe, I would never repeat anything.’

  ‘I know. It’s why I can trust you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He leaned back and checked his wristwatch. ‘I’m sorry, Stella, I have to go.’

  ‘Wait! You can’t leave it like this. You’re angry with me.’

  ‘I’m not angry with you. I’m glad you overheard. Now read the letter. Like it or not, you’re involved now in an effort to prevent a potential war.’

  Stella shook her head.

  He sat on the side of the bed. She felt suddenly cold . . . hollow. ‘The future is uncertain for all of us,’ he warned.

  ‘Is that your way of telling me to forget this happened?’

  Rafe moved above her to stare even more intently. ‘No! It’s to tell you never to forget this occurred, no matter what happens.’

  She was unnerved by the ferocity in his look. ‘I shouldn’t have been so honest.’

  ‘Stella, it’s your honesty I admire most about you.’

  ‘Then be honest with me. Why are we here?’

  Rafe sighed, searched her face. ‘We’re here because I couldn’t bear that our moment on the Weald yesterday was the one and only time I’d kiss you.’

  ‘So you did follow me today?’

  He nodded. ‘I suggested you’d need a wardrobe for our voyage. I suspected my wife would send you here rather than London where she was headed.’

  ‘Rafe, this is real for me. But I can’t live as an adulteress. As it is, when we leave the haven of this room I’m going to feel like a mistress . . . or worse.’

  He tried to shoosh her, frowning at her sentiments, but she pushed on. ‘My mind is made up. You’re the one with the decision to make.’

  ‘And you’re the one with the power to break my heart,’ he admitted.

  ‘I’m going to ask you again. Do you love me?’

  He took a long, slow breath. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m terrified by how I feel about you.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He rolled back to lie against her, covered them both with the sheets to keep the chill off. ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone.’

  Stella wanted to scream her relief. Instead she reached up to stroke his face. ‘And?’

  ‘I might ruin your life and everyone else I care about in the bargain because of it.’

  The joy turned bitter in her throat. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m no good for you, Stella.’

  She pushed him away now and sat up, heedless of the cold or her bareness. ‘I can’t believe you’ve just said that.’

  Rafe clutched her to him, holding her back against his chest, his arm pinning her close.

  ‘I have never loved anyone as I love you and even though we’ve spent so little time together I feel we know each other. And I sense you already believe that I am dangerous.’

  ‘You’re mysterious,’ she qualified. ‘You have secrets but I am not frightened by you. I know you’re a spy of sorts. None of that is my concern.’

  ‘But it might be,’ he warned.

  ‘I don’t care. I just want you to be in love with me as I am with you.’

  ‘Beatrice has no impact on me. I come and go as I please. She makes few demands other than fidelity.’

  Stella’s shoulders slumped. ‘That’s fair.’

  ‘But I have not been faithful to her. Beatrice gets out of our marriage what she set out to gain . . . status, security and the husband she wants. I am discreet in my few dalliances and they are far fewer than I’m sure many might believe, especially Mr Potter.’

  ‘I see. I hate all of them.’

  He pulled her back down, smiling, so he could look at her. ‘The point I’m making is that I could never be unfaithful to you. The fact that I now have to return to Harp’s End and Beatrice sickens me. You’ve changed my life – I had it all ordered and in place and you’ve upset everything.’

  ‘You brought me to Harp’s End, and under false pretences.’

  ‘Because you’re a sorceress who has cast a spell over me.’

  She smiled in spite of her glumness.

  ‘The thing is, my darling Stella, I don’t think I can even bear for Beatrice to touch me now that I have you so completely in my focus. And she will see that. She won’t need her vicious daughter to confirm anything. If she gets so much as a whiff of my devotion to you, she’ll poison your future. That’s why I am dangerous to you.’

  She’d listened but heard something else whispering beneath his words. She had spent too long observing people’s mannerisms to not notice the guile in the way he avoided her gaze just for a heartbeat.

  ‘You’re lying, Rafe. That’s not what you meant.’

  He stared back at her, shocked. ‘Lying? I’m laying out my heart here.’

  ‘But you’re still holding back. Something else unnerves you. What are you scared of?’

  ‘I’m scared of losing you.’

  ‘You won’t, not if you love me in the whole way I love you.’

  ‘Love isn’t always enough, Stella.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘You should. Your parents demonstrated that.’

  She sucked in a breath and helpless tears welled. ‘How can you throw that at me?’

  ‘Because I have to protect you: from Beatrice, from Georgina, from the grief of your parents and the challenges they’ve left you with. But especially from me. I have to protect you from the pain I might bring.’

  ‘Are you leaving me today?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  ‘You’re running me around in circles. I don’t understand what you’re hinting at but not saying.’

  He gave a nod as though drawing a line beneath their conversation. ‘We’re going on a voyage, Stella, and you have to be strong and distant from me as I must be with you.’

  She hesitated. ‘Can you?’

  ‘Yes. I have years of experience of being Douglas or Monty. So, I will seem cold. I need to appear entirely disconnected from you to keep my wife’s suspicions unstirred.’

  ‘And then what?’

  His expression clouded momentarily. ‘I need your help but I’m not sure how just yet. If all goes to plan, when we return I shall be leaving my wife. I doubt she’ll agree to a divorce so you need to ask yourself whether you are ready to be the other woman.’

  Stella opened her mouth to answer.

  ‘Don’t be hasty. Reputation is precious. Consider it long and hard before you decide.’

  ‘What’s the point in having an unblemished reputation but living as a miserable spinster?’

  He smiled and its warmth burned away her anxiety. ‘I love you, Stella. I’ve loved you since the first moment you sneered at me.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ She grinned. ‘But I thought you were drunk and just out for a good time with whichever girl took your fancy.’
r />   ‘You saw through me, though.’

  Stella nodded, not wanting to spoil this moment, especially as her gloom had been chased away. He loved her. Wasn’t that all that mattered?

  ‘What about Grace?’

  ‘We shall work it out. Once the pain passes, Beatrice will accept that she cannot stop me seeing my child. Besides, Grace wouldn’t stand for it.’

  ‘Watching Beatrice with you . . .’

  He waited, questioningly. She lifted a shoulder in slight defeat. They both knew what she was reaching for.

  Rafe smoothed back her hair. ‘In years gone it has felt easier to stay than fight her because I’ve had nothing to fight with. I’ve not felt passionate enough for anyone to upset my world for.’

  ‘Then knowing that will keep me sane for the coming weeks.’

  ‘You will have to forgive me – I’m apologising now for how heartless I might appear.’

  ‘You’re forgiven,’ she said, not truly understanding but kissing him softly and immediately feeling his stirrings of passion again. ‘How long did you say we have?’

  ‘Just long enough to remind you about what you mustn’t forget,’ he added, pulling her on top of him as they both dissolved into the intimate laughter of lovers beneath the tousled sheets.

  18

  She clung to him as they walked back down the seafront and she was glad of the brisk wind that chilled, forcing her to bend into it.

  ‘You should have remained at the hotel. You shouldn’t be on the front,’ he murmured. ‘I’m glad you agreed to stay overnight too.’

  ‘What will Beatrice think?’

  ‘Beatrice isn’t thinking about you, darling Stella. Besides, she’s up in London. All you’ll do if you came home is rattle around at Harp’s End trying to avoid me and Georgie. And before you ask, I’ll speak to Grace if she’s more lively. And you’ll be seeing her soon enough.’