Sarah looked up at him in startled surprise. "What exactly did you prove by that?"
Jon released her. "You decide."
Sarah touched her fingers to her tingling lips. "I'd say you proved you could overpower me. Which proves nothing at all. I never claimed to have the strength of a man, only the intelligence and ingenuity."
"Then why don't you use that intelligence and ingenuity for something important instead of wasting it on your ridiculous bloomer crusade!" Jon said.
Sarah planted her hands on her hips. "I'll have you know that it is because of Amelia Bloomer's ingenious costume, and my crusade, that the women of Victoria will one day be free from the bonds of archaic dress." She went to sit on a log where she intended to doff her gloves, boots and jacket. The fast ride... the heated kiss... All of a sudden, she felt almost overcome by a muggy warmth, her body feverish and damp with perspiration.
Jon folded his arms. "I'd hardly say that the fashions here are archaic," he said, watching her slip out of her coat.
"That's because you've never been forced to trip over lengths of skirts and petticoats while climbing stairs, or had to drag yards of hem through mud and dirt. If you had, you'd change your view of how a woman should dress." She loosened the buttons at the neck of her blouse and fanned her throat. "Furthermore, a woman cannot move or breathe comfortably, or engage in healthy exercise, with every vital organ displaced by whalebones."
Jon watched as she untied the laces of her boot. "It didn't look like you were having too much trouble engaging in healthy exercise on the way here," he said.
"I assure you, only the exhilaration of the ride enabled me to forget the restrictions of my dress." Sarah slipped off her boot.
"Another of Mrs. Bloomer's preachings," Jon said, "females shedding their clothing to expose their limbs?"
Sarah slipped off the other boot. "There's nothing immoral about exposing one's limbs. Men expose theirs all the time, so why shouldn't women?" she said, feeling a rush of feverish excitement at her own brazenness in referring to parts of her anatomy she'd never spoken of with any man before.
Jon smiled. "Good point."
Sarah waited for him to turn. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"I have no intention of removing my stockings with you ogling me, so would you please turn around." Jon gave her a wry smile, then slowly turned his back to her. She quickly rolled down her stockings and tucked them into her boots. Lifting her skirt to clear the water, she stepped into the pool, sending ripples radiating. "You may turn back now," she said, glancing over her shoulder to see if Jon had. To her alarm, she saw him coming toward her while unbuttoning his shirt. Hiking up her skirt, she turned facing him and backed into the pool until the hem of her skirt was soaked and she could feel cold water up to her calves. Still, he kept coming. "What are you doing?" she asked, nervously eyeing a broad, bare chest.
"It's fairly obvious," Jon replied, moving closer. "I'm unbuttoning my shirt."
Sarah's heart pounded with awareness. "Why?"
A slow, diabolic smile curved his lips and his eyes shone with intent. "Why not?" he said. "Don't we men have the same privilege of shedding our clothes in the forest as you women?"
"Well... yes..." Sarah continued backing. "What do you intend to do?" she asked, blood pumping through her veins as the gap between them narrowed.
"I intend to ravish your beautiful body."
A thrill of desire raced through Sarah, which quickly turned to fear when Jon marched into the pool and scooped her up in his arms. "No," she cried, kicking her bare feet. In vain, she tried to pull her skirt down to cover her legs. "Governor! You are no gentleman!"
"I don't intend to be a gentleman," Jon said, marching out of the water. "And I certainly don't want you to be a lady. Out here in this untamed land we relax the rules of propriety. And from your unconventional behavior, it's clear you too are beyond that nonsense. And right now you're driving me wild."
"I demand you put me down at once!" Sarah huffed.
Jon laughed heartily. "I'll put you down on a bed of ferns." Stepping out of the pool, he lowered her to the ground, then braced his arms on each side of her and pressed his lips to the flesh behind her ear.
"No!" Sarah cried. She pushed against his chest, her palms meeting bare hard muscle as she struggled to get out from under him. His lips moved toward hers and she abruptly turned her face to ward off his kiss. "Stop!"
Jon brushed her hair aside, and curving his hand behind her head, whispered in her ear, "Sarah, my sweet, don't fight me."
Something in the way Jon had spoken, perhaps the sound of her name and the endearment in his low, silky voice, made Sarah feel protected, almost loved. And when he moved to kiss her, she didn’t stop him, but instead, allowed him to cover her mouth with his and slip his tongue inside, gliding it over hers until soft moans escaped her throat. The kiss deepened, and she felt a rush of wild sensation that emboldened her to stroke his tongue with hers. Then his hands seemed to be everywhere--on her bare leg, across her rib cage, covering her breast…
And her mind slipped back to a coach in San Francisco. Her dress ripped, her breasts exposed. Her cries smothered by demanding lips. The coach door opening...
She jerked her mouth from Jon's and abruptly turned her head. "No," she whispered, trying to find a voice that seemed caught in her throat. "Please... don't do this..."
"I'm only doing what you encouraged me to do."
"I don't want this," Sarah said in a weak voice.
Jon stopped what he was doing and gazed down at her, his brows drawn. Then an awareness slowly crept into his eyes. "So the lady is an innocent tease. Well, I have no intention of playing entirely by your rules." He brushed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, tipped her chin up with the crook of his finger, and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Then enfolding her in his arms, he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, and said, "I apologize for changing the rules of your game."
Sarah pushed against his chest, and he released her. She moved off him and sat up abruptly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, while rearranging her clothes.
"To spell it out to you, Miss Sarah Ashley from San Francisco," Jon said, "you're playing a very dangerous game."
"If you mean because I removed my stockings, I have a perfect right to do so without you taking it as an invitation to plunder my body."
Jon stretched onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "That wasn't the only invitation you sent. After you left the ship you made plans with a stranger. Do you deny that?"
"If you're referring to the merchant on the waterfront, he all but propositioned me when I only asked if his building was for lease. I'd hardly call that an invitation."
"Then there was the gown you wore at dinner, a very provocative and revealing gown. I'd say that was a definite invitation. A doxy displaying her wares."
"A doxy! My dress is the latest fashion of the haut monde in San Francisco. If you were to attend the opera there, you'd see for yourself."
"And undressing in front of me here? Is that also the style of the haut monde?"
"I was not undressing. I removed my stockings, away from your view, so I could cool my feet in the water after the ride. Many women in the States display their limbs. It's the fashion."
"You're not in the States, Miss Ashley, you're in a wild, untamed country populated by restless lonely men," Jon said. "Merely smiling is an invitation. So I suggest you conceal your naked limbs and save your sultry smiles for the one you wish to find sprawled atop you."
Sarah tugged at her skirt still trapped beneath him and replied, "Nevertheless, you've clearly taken advantage of me. And will you please move!"
Jon rolled onto his hip, allowing her to retrieve her skirt. "You have to admit, you burned like a torch in my arms," he said. "As for me taking advantage of you, you made it damn near impossible for me to move, with me pinned quite firmly beneath you."
Sarah ignored his comment, b
usying herself with trying to straighten her blouse and smooth her rumpled skirt with its dampened hem. She had not intended for things to get so out of hand. She only hoped she could rectify the damage before anyone saw her. "However will I explain my appearance when we return," she said, combing her fingers through her hair, releasing all manner of forest matter while searching for lost pins.
"It's simple," Jon replied, eyeing her steadily. "You fell from a runaway horse."
"I have never fallen from a horse in my life!" Sarah clipped. "It would be humiliating and degrading to admit that I had, when in fact I had not."
"Ah, yes. You mustn't muck up your reputation as an excellent horsewoman."
Sarah looked into Jon's dark, teasing eyes. "You're making light of this," she said, sliding her gaze to a firm, masculine mouth. For a moment, she said nothing, pondering the still too vivid feel of those lips on hers. She'd never willingly kissed a man before Jon came into her life, and she’d never experienced such a strong reaction as when he'd kissed her moments before. An urgency that seemed to start where their lips met rushed downward to twine like a giant coil low in her belly. Her cheeks blazed.
"And perhaps you should consider it a learning experience," Jon said. "As an unmarried woman aspiring to run a business in a man's world, you need to be prepared to deal with men's unwanted advances. Unless, of course, you plan to marry to avoid them."
"Absolutely not," Sarah replied, frantically picking specks of forest matter from her skirt. "A woman gives up all her rights when she marries… becomes a mere appendage of her husband. She's even expected to give up her name."
"She should want to do that," Jon said. "A wife is, after all, a man's most prized possession, and the world should know who's responsible for her comfort and her wellbeing."
"Poppycock," Sarah said, trying in vain to brush away the bits of moss and fern and other forest debris. "Marriage is a man-made institution inherently unjust to wives. I shall never turn over my earnings to someone less capable than I to invest as he sees fit, or squander as he so chooses."
Jon stood, and while buttoning his shirt, said with irony, "I'm certain, Miss Sarah Ashley, that married or not, you will allow no man to squander the vast fortune you intend to accrue in your business."
Sarah shrugged into her jacket. "You insist on making jest of my plan," she said. "Well, that's about what one should expect from a provincialist." She reached for her boots. Tucking a finger inside to retrieve one stocking, she added, "Would you please turn away."
Jon arched a brow. "I thought there was nothing immoral about a woman's limbs. Besides, after what we shared it seems contradictory that you should want to hide yourself from me now."
"We shared nothing but a brief moment of indiscretion," Sarah replied. "I assure you, it will not happen again." She waited, and after a moment, Jon presented his back to her. After she rolled her stockings up her legs and pulled on her boots, she said, while slapping at a skirt to which every particle of moss and dried debris in the forest continued to cling, "You may turn back now." She gathered her hair at her nape. "Merciful saints, I am a mess, thanks to you. Mandi will be appalled, and I have no idea what to do with my hair. I can't ride to your house with you at my side while looking like this, and I certainly can't ride there alone."
Jon moved in front of her. Resting one hand on her shoulder, his breath warm against her face, he reached into her hair and pulled out a hairpin, then another, and another, then kissed her lightly on the lips and offered the pins. Sarah looked at the big hand cupping the pins, then took them from him and walked over to where the water in the spring was once again calm. Peering into the clear, glassy pool, she gave a despondent sigh, and said, "There are just not enough pins to hold my hair in place." A shadow fell over her, and she saw Jon's face reflected in the pool.
"It's called Mystic Spring," Jon said. "According to the fable, if a man looks into the pool he'll see the face of the woman who'll say yes to his proposal, and a woman will see the face of the man she will one day marry."
For a moment Sarah said nothing, the sight of Jon's face peering back at her holding her captive. Then she gave a little shrug, and said, "A silly notion spawned for idealistic, castle-building dreamers." Darting around him, she walked over to the mare. "If you will, Governor, I'd appreciate a lift up."
"I hope we can at least dispense with the formalities," Jon said, while walking toward her. "After all, you must agree we're no longer strangers. I insist you call me Jon."
Recalling the intimacies they'd shared, Sarah felt her face grow hot. "Very well then... Jon." She placed her foot in the stirrup and Jon clasped her waist, lifted her easily, and set her in the side saddle. She gathered the reins and waited while he mounted.
Once up, Jon eyed her dubiously. "Am I to assume we'll be racing hell-bent for the cottage?"
Sarah laughed lightly. "No, I've had quite enough racing for one day." She focused on the curve of Jon's lips, and she realized, with some misgivings, that she wanted to kiss him again. But she would curb that desire. She clearly had little control when around the man. Turning the mare, she urged it up the path. Jon fell in beside her, and they followed the beach to the cottage, a modest white wooden house with a covered front porch supported by turned wood posts. Nestled against a backdrop of trees, the modest dwelling stood on a rise overlooking the bay. Honeysuckle and morning glory choked rosebushes with withered yellow blooms, and window boxes hung beneath windows obscured by blue-gray shutters. She could envision the shutters thrown open to reveal lacy curtains, and the window boxes filled with pink petunias, and white clematis climbing up the posts. "Let’s look inside,” she said, excited.
They dismounted, and once in the house, Sarah darted between rooms, imagining curtains on the windows and the old scuffed furniture waxed and polished. “I want to go back right away and tell Mr. Pemberton that I want to lease it before someone else gets to him.” She dashed onto the porch and down the stairs, Jon just behind, and to her horror, caught sight of a carriage moving toward them. "I thought no carriages could get through," she said in a shaky voice.
Jon propped his hands on her shoulders and watched the approaching coach over the top of her head. "Apparently, I was wrong." He dropped his hands from her shoulders, but Sarah knew that whoever was inside the coach would not have missed the intimate contact. While she deliberated whether or not to dash back inside, the coachman guided the carriage to a stop and the coach door swung open.
Lady Cromwell stared at them, her face blanched, her tongue immobile. Harriet Galbraith peered around Lady Cromwell, giving her a discreet nudge. Sarah knew her appearance was disheveled. She could only imagine what both women must think.
Harriet Galbraith reconfirmed the worse. Displaying a decorous smile, she said, "You seem to have gathered a good portion of the forest on your person and in your hair during your ride, Miss Ashley."
Sarah raised a hand to her hair, her quivering fingers dislodging yet more fragments of forest matter. "The trail gets quite narrow where Governor Cromwell was kind enough to take me," she explained, "the area where I asked him to point out available plots for purchase."
Harriet's lips twisted with a serpentine smile. "And did Governor Cromwell show you something that could… satisfy your needs?"
"Mrs. Galbraith," Jon said, "I resent your base insinuations, and I think you owe Miss Ashley an apology."
Harriet shifted her gaze to Jon, and her eyes rested on his rumpled shirt. As she stared, Sarah mulled over what ill luck it was to have been found alone with Jon, in a furnished cottage, looking as if she’d been willingly ravished by the man, and what a tantalizing piece of gossip Harriet Galbraith now had to pass on to the ladies of Victoria...
"Very well, Miss Ashley," Harriet said, "I apologize if I offended you." After a moment, she added, "You might try sponge-rubbing spirits diluted with two parts water on those grass stains. You'll find it effective. Good day, Miss Ashley... Governor."
"Jon," Lady Cromwell said, h
aving found her voice. "I want to see you in my chambers directly upon your return." Ignoring Sarah, she closed the door, and the carriage rolled on.
Sarah stared after the buggy while holding in her mind the image of Harriet Galbraith's accusing eyes, and Lady Cromwell's reproachful gaze. It seemed beyond coincidence that another incident of a sexual nature would trap her again. But this time, Hollis could not have known where she was. Nor could he have acted so quickly. A terrible awareness swept over her.
Jon could have planned this, knowing his mother and Harriet Galbraith would be along, and that the gossip Harriet Galbraith would initiate would thwart her efforts to appeal to the women of Victoria. He'd been quick to point out that the road was closed and they'd have to go on horseback. But the road was indeed open, and now their tussle in the woods seemed suspiciously timely. Was she such a naive fool that she'd fallen into the same sort of trap that Hollis had set?
She held her head high, clinging to what was left of her dignity, and said, "If this is part of your plan to darken my reputation beyond repair, and therefore ruin my chances for business success, let me be the first to congratulate you. You may very well have succeeded."
Jon eyed the buggy as it ambled around a bend. "That's pure rubbish," he said, "And, I assure you, I'll take it up with my mother upon my return."
"Chastising your mother will not undo the damage to my reputation, nor will Harriet Galbraith miss an opportunity to spread some gossip," Sarah said. "I'm certain that an account of the untimely incident will soon touch the ears of every proper woman in Victoria."
Come Be My Love Page 7
