"Then that should be true for you as well. So your mother should be the one to choose a wife for you," Sarah parried in wry amusement. "After all, who knows you better than your own mother? I'm certain she'd select someone who would be an asset to your career and your home."
Jon's lips curved in a sardonic smile. "But not one who would enjoy warming my bed."
Sarah pursed her lips, annoyed that Jon placed such high status on the marital act. "Another of your requirements for a wife," she said. "She must eagerly warm her husband's bed. I doubt you could find any woman who truly enjoys that. It’s one of the crosses we women must bear."
Jon gave her a disarming smile. "You say that because you have no idea what you're talking about. For a libertine, you're amazingly inexperienced in some areas."
Sarah shrugged. "I know enough."
"Do you?” He placed the reins aside and angled his body toward her. Holding her gaze, he said, “Do you know that when I do this—" he reached out and brushed his thumb over her lips "—your eyes dilate and your breath quickens, and that sends me signals?"
"Nonsense!” Sarah snapped. "You read signals into everything I do, simply because you want to." But she couldn't deny that she savored the musky aroma filling each quickened breath.
"And when I do this—" he trailed a finger along her throat, then moved it in idle circles across her chest above the swell of her breasts "—you can hardly breathe?"
Sarah's body came alive under his touch. She released the breath she was holding and pushed his hand away. "You're distorting things."
"Am I?" Jon placed his lips on the sensitive area beneath her ear and sent a trail of kisses along her neck and Sarah let out a little soft sigh. "Silly mooncalf," he whispered into her ear, "haven't you learned to play your own game?" His mouth covered hers in a lingering kiss. But as the kiss deepened, Jon's hand began doing wondrous things, gliding over private places, and concentrating on an area that she should not allow him to touch, but seemed unable to stop him. Something bizarre was happening, a sensation unlike anything she'd ever experienced, leaving her heart beating so rapidly she found it difficult to catch her breath. Then in an instant, something extraordinary happened that caused her to jerk and shudder and tip her hips up to meet his ministrations. But before she could assimilate what was happening, it was over.
After a few moments, Jon curved a finger beneath her chin and raised it so she would have to look directly at him. Then he smiled a dangerous smile, and said, "That, my precious little peagoose, was only the prelude. Next time will be infinitely more satisfying."
Sarah blushed deeply as unexpected tears of anticipation and expectancy pricked her eyes. Then she looked at Jon in alarm and pushed out of his arms. "There will be no next time," she said firmly, reeling in her prurient thoughts. "That was a brash, untimely move on your part, and it was unwise of me to let you continue what you were doing."
"Wisdom had nothing to do with your response, sweet innocent Sarah."
"Regardless," Sarah said, "it can't happen again."
Won't happen again, she silently amended, lest she lose all control and her virginity as well... and to a man who had no intention of marrying her. "Besides, we mustn't forget we are adversaries," she added in an effort to quell the provocatively erotic thought of losing her virginity to Jon, recklessly, impetuously and with complete abandon.
"Ah yes, our own little Armageddon," Jon said. "And since my first duty is to the colony, I'd better get back to the picnic and perform the important governmental task of handing out trophies after the horse race."
"Back to the picnic?" Sarah found the thought of Jon rejoining Mary Letitia disturbing, even though he indicated that the woman meant nothing to him. And Sarah realized, with startling clarity, that she was jealous, utterly, intensely and undeniably jealous of the woman, and envious of the fact that Lady Cromwell wholeheartedly welcomed Mary Letitia into Jon's life.
Jon reached for her hand. "As much as I'd like to, I can't give out trophies from here." He kissed her palm. "So, my sweet, somewhat more experienced little love, I'll have to temporarily give up the idea of instructing your beautiful body in the fine art of lovemaking."
Sarah's breath grew short with the realization that she wanted him to teach her those things, to teach her everything there was to making love. But she didn’t want to want that. She wanted to be sensible, and levelheaded, and prudent. Yet she was vulnerable to Jon's kisses and silly endearments. It was all rubbish, of course, manipulative rubbish to get her to surrender to him. She knew it, yet it worked. She desperately wanted to surrender.
"But... you can't go back," she said bluntly.
Jon gave her a disarming smile. "Why not? You're the one who said we were adversaries. I, of course, view our relationship in an entirely different light, as you will too, in time."
Sarah looked at him and pondered the profound longing that filled her, just wanting to be held in his arms again. It seemed that whenever she was with him, she craved his embrace. And when she was away from him, she thought of him constantly. And it came to her that she could be falling in love, which was foolish and risky... a state one must not allow oneself to fall into, and she refused to succumb to such nonsense.
But she knew, without a doubt, that when Jon kissed and caressed her, if he'd wanted to go further, she would have let him. For a few vagrant moments he'd had complete control of her body. He was right. It was their little Armageddon, and if she wasn't careful, he'd entice her to destruction... or to a fool's paradise. So she must maintain her distance, for she feared that once in his arms again, she would not have the strength to resist him. He'd given her a sample of what he had to offer, and now she found it wasn't enough.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dorothy Cromwell marched into the library and slapped the latest edition of The Colonist on Jon's desk. With a grand sweep of her arm, she said, "Perhaps now you'll come to your senses and be done with that woman!"
Jon wasn't in the mood for his mother's theatrics. His mind was on other things, specifically Sarah and her response to him in the carriage. She had a sample of the passion that smoldered inside her, and he knew he'd be obsessed with that thought until it became reality...
Dorothy stabbed the editorial with a stiff finger. "In case you have not read this yet," she said, her thin nostrils flaring, "Mr. De Cosmos says..." She raised the paper, propped her spectacles on her nose, and read: THE FACTIOUS GODDESS OF FASHION HAS AGAIN RAISED HER FIERY HEAD: Miss Sarah Ashley created quite a stir at Beacon Hill Park by parading about in reform dress. The bloomer costume, which proved obnoxious to some, was seemingly not obnoxious to our esteemed governor, who rescued Miss Ashley from certain imprisonment at the hands of scandalized constabulary. Should Governor Cromwell show as much concern for the affairs of state as he does for the affairs of Miss Ashley, he would no doubt realize that Vancouver Island is facing a major political crisis...
Dorothy folded the newspaper and slapped it on Jon's desk, sending papers fluttering, fixed stormy eyes on him, and said, "I cannot see how such ridiculous dress could possibly help bring about the emancipation of women from the tyranny of prejudice and fashion, as Miss Ashley so aptly stated in her handbill."
Jon studied his mother's parody in subdued amusement. She was not all convention and propriety. There was a touch of the rebel in her. His mouth curved in a cynical smile. "I'm surprised you even read the handbill. Did you do it out of curiosity, or interest? I remember, when I was a boy, hearing Father reprimand you because you dared to wear pink stockings."
Dorothy's cheeks flushed. "That is beside the point. I read the handbill so I could prepare myself for whatever nonsense might fill Josephine's head because of it. I assure you, I am not in the least bit interested in Miss Ashley's ridiculous bloomer costume. It’s abhorrent. But her dress is not the issue here. Have you any idea what people must think, you, the governor, making a spectacle of yourself at the picnic like that?"
Jon rested back in his chair, st
eepled his fingers and looked steadily at his mother. "I don't much give a rat's behind what people think."
Dorothy bristled. "That is quite evident! But you should. Not only has Amor De Cosmos portrayed you as a complete ninny, but he is creating ill-feeling toward you in many of the merchants and citizens. The matter of women wearing bloomers has now become a political issue. There would be no dissension if it were not for Miss Ashley."
Too true, Jon thought. De Cosmos's editorials were creating problems for him and his cabinet, and at a time when their attention should be focused on preparing for the arrival of the Crown representatives. The past week alone, on top of his usual work load and duties, he'd had to tend to details in the laying of the water pipes on Yates Street so the job would be done on schedule, he'd had to meet with the Land and Works Committee regarding the installation of more gaslights, and he'd had two conferences with the hospital committee to review the plans for the new lunatic asylum—all tasks needed to be completed before the arrival of the Crown representatives. And his council was in the throes of formulating a new taxing base. And now his cabinet wanted Sarah out of the colony by whatever means it took, the first being to deny her the business license through whatever reason they could invent.
Eyeing his mother, he said, "You know bloody well if it weren't Sarah, De Cosmos would find another way to attack me."
Dorothy pursed her lips. "Besides that, there is the issue of Mary Letitia. She was absolutely mortified when you walked away to rescue the Ashley woman. Then you didn't have the common courtesy to rejoin her after you returned from wherever it was you vanished with the woman. In fact, upon your return, it appeared you made every effort to avoid Mary Letitia."
"That's because I did." Jon held his mother’s angry gaze. "Before the picnic I made it clear to Mary Letitia that we would not be spending the day together. She chose to ignore it, so I felt no obligation to stay with her. Nor do I feel any remorse over my actions with Sarah. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mother, I’m going do something rash, self-serving, and infinitely gratifying." He shoved his chair back and strode out of the room.
His mother called after him, "Where are you going?"
"To see Miss Ashley of course," he called back. "Where else?"
***
In the dining room of the cottage, and surrounded by a group of enthusiastic admirers comprising Charlotte Potts, Flora Pickering and Elizabeth Thurman, Sarah demonstrated one of her new Singer sewing machines. Although initially the picnic episode had seemed devastating to her cause, she realized now that because of it, she'd actually gained ground in her pursuit. Word spread quickly that she had been rescued from certain imprisonment by Governor Cromwell, who left Mary Letitia Windemere's side to do so, and now it seemed she’d gained three bosom friends—Charlotte, Flora, and Elizabeth. The women were ecstatic that Mary Letitia had received her just reward. They also seemed to have smoothed things over with their husbands. What's more, Elizabeth's father, a prominent commission merchant, and Flora's husband, Jeremy, a grocer, had each agreed to sign Sarah’s application for her business license.
Slowly working the treadle of the sewing machine, Sarah demonstrated to her three new friends how quickly and uniformly a seam could be stitched. She held up the fabric to display its straight seam. "It's as simple as that," she said. "You can even regulate the length of the stitch by turning this little thumbscrew" —she demonstrated briefly to the wide-eyed women— "so you’ll find that it's very easy to master stitchery on the machine. As you saw, all I did was operate the treadle and guide the fabric under the little foot."
Flora took the fabric from Sarah and studied the seam closely while Charlotte and Elizabeth peered over Flora's shoulder in awe. "That is positively incredible," Flora said. "A person could make a garment in mere hours."
Sarah smiled brightly. "The bloomers that I gave each of you were fashioned from start to finish in less than a half-day each. As I see it, with one woman cutting patterns, and two working the machines, we could turn out forty pairs of bloomers in a week, or fifteen complete bloomer costumes with matching tunics in that same amount of time."
Flora clapped her hands in glee. "How terribly exciting to be a part of such a movement, actually making garments that will change the course of history."
Sarah chuckled at Flora's enthusiasm. "I don't know about that," she said, "but they should at least change things for the women of Victoria."
"Absolutely," said Flora. "And if I work in your emporium, perhaps Jeremy will allow me to keep some of the money I earn and put it in my own bank account, as you mentioned some wives in the States are doing."
"Are you saying that you'd work for me when the business is going?" Sarah asked, staring at Flora in expectation.
Flora batted her eyelids nervously. "Well... yes. That is, if Jeremy will allow it."
Elizabeth looked askance at Flora. "You know perfectly well he won't."
"But that's where you're wrong," Flora said. "After we got home from the picnic and Jeremy calmed down, he agreed that my bloomer costume was practical. He even said I could wear it in the garden and around the house. He said he liked the way the trousers clung to my—" she stopped short, her face scarlet. "That is, he just didn't want me to wear it in public where other men would, you know, see my... shape."
Elizabeth smiled knowingly. "But do you really think he'd actually agree to let you go to work for Sarah?"
"He wants to pay off the farm," Flora said. "We have even talked about taking in boarders, but the place is so small and the walls so thin, we decided against it."
Baffled, Sarah looked at Flora. "What do thin walls have to do with taking in boarders?"
Flora looked at her, wide-eyed. "Don't you know?"
Sarah shrugged. "Don't I know what?"
Flora looked at Charlotte, then at Elizabeth. When no one responded, Sarah scanned the flushed faces. "Does it have anything to do with... what married people do?"
"Of course it does," Elizabeth replied. "I mean, some men are very noisy."
Charlotte nudged Elizabeth. "Only the men?"
Elizabeth chuckled. "Well, sometimes women are too... so I hear."
Sarah pondered her reaction to Jon's caresses in the carriage. It had been all she could do to contain the moans of pleasure that threatened to erupt. Actually, she wasn't at all certain they hadn't slipped out. Perhaps lovemaking could be noisy, at least if it were she and Jon...
"Sarah?"
Sarah looked down at the puckered seam. She'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of Jon that she'd neglected to guide the fabric beneath the presser foot. How easily distracted she was. But the indecent thoughts had begun to bedevil her again. Actually, the thoughts didn't seem as indecent as they were risqué. Deliciously risqué.
She pulled the fabric loose and clipped the thread, then proceeded to untangle the knot. "This rarely happens," she said. "My mind wandered."
"To Jon Cromwell?" Elizabeth asked pointedly.
Sarah shrugged. "Well, not exactly. That is..."
"He is a handsome devil," Charlotte said. "And we think you two would be perfect together."
Sarah stared at them, wide-eyed. "You do?"
"Yes. And so do you."
Sarah brushed away the pieces of thread she'd cut loose and pulled on the bobbin thread. "I really have no time to consider him—" A series of firm knocks startled her. She looked toward the door, and said, "Who in the world can that be?" Gathering her skirt and slipping from behind the sewing table, she swept open the door. "Jon!"
He kissed her lightly and walked in without waiting to be invited.
"Do come in," she said ruefully, catching the smell of horse and leather and sweet hay as he passed. Male and earthy... no lingering trace of soap or cologne on him. She looked at his broad back and lean hips as he stood gazing around the room. He was so sure of himself, so certain that she wanted him there.
Scanning the women, he smiled and said, "Don't rush off on my account, ladies."
Flora's eyes shifted between them. "We were just leaving," she said, gathering her reticule.
Sarah moved to stop her. "But we aren't finished yet." She scowled at Jon, who responded by giving her a furtive smile. "Really, you needn't go, any of you. Jon is not staying." She glared at him. Before she could stop the women, all three gave her a quick hug and marched out of the house and headed toward Flora's spring wagon. For a moment, Sarah stood staring after them. Then she turned to face Jon, hands on her hips, eyes burning with ire, and said, "You have your nerve, marching into my house like you own the place and sending my guests away. That was incredibly audacious of you."
"Audacious, yes. But effective."
"Well, you're not staying."
Jon stepped around her and closed the door.
"Why did you do that?" Sarah's heart began to pound.
"Because I don't want to shock your lady friends by what I do next." Jon stalked toward her.
Sarah darted behind the table, using it as a buffer between them. "Stay away from me."
Jon looked across the table at her. "Do I present that much of a threat? I’ve never taken a woman by force and I don't intend to start with you, so you have nothing to fear, at least not from me. But maybe I'm not the one you're worried about."
Sarah breathed deeply, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. "You are vain and arrogant to even suggest you have such an effect on me. What happened in the carriage was purely a result of... surprise. It won't happen again. I am now wiser, more experienced, and capable of controlling my... desires."
"Ah, so we're finally talking about desires. We are making some headway." Jon moved around the table.
"That changes nothing," Sarah said, continuing to keep the table between them as she made her way along the edge. "And will you stop this. What do you intend to do?"
Jon placed his palms against the table and looked directly at her. "What I intend to do is to lift you in my arms and carry you into the bedroom, where I will remove your clothes, garment by garment—" he slowly began circling the table again "—then I’ll lower you to the bed, stretch out alongside you and teach you the finer art of making love. I’ll start by suckling your toes, then I’ll make my way up your lovely legs, covering every inch of your body with hot kisses. Every inch, Miss Ashley, every single soft, warm, delectable inch, until you're crazed with passion and writhing in my arms, at which time I’ll thoroughly, and completely, satisfy that need."
Come Be My Love Page 17
