The man at the top of the cliff was so absorbed in watching the girl he never noticed the man standing on the beach below.
But he did see the storm approaching, the grey clouds scudding in suddenly from the west. Much as he wanted to go down and tumble the lissome wench, it would not do to be caught in the downpour. There would be too many questions if he did. So he raced back to his house, folding his spyglass as he ran.
The man near the cave saw the storm approaching as well, and the girl in the semi-transparent gown blissfully unaware of it. Should he warn her? Try to get her back safely to wherever it was she had come from? Or should he simply take shelter?
Or take shelter with her? a wicked voice inside his head tempted him.
No, he couldn't. Everything hinged on keeping this cave a secret. He simply could not expose its whereabouts to someone he knew nothing about, no matter how lovely she was.
He decided to leave it to Fate. The entrance was already open. If she found it herself, fine. If not, well, she would get drenched, poor thing, but that would be as far as it went.
He took one last look at the refined young beauty and reluctantly headed back into the cavern. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, the clouds loured. Yet he still stared, until he saw her fall in the surf and get soaked.
The gown was now saturated, and clung to her every ample curve, making him groan as his loins flamed nearly out of control and the scent of sweet hot lust mingled with the salty brine of the sea cave.
But he had to get inside. There was still so much to do, even though he was sure now that they would not be coming. At least not today.
As the heavens opened and the rain poured down, he gave the beautiful young woman a last lingering look and lowered his head to duck down into the entrance to the cavern. Soaking wet she might get, but at least her life would be spared.
For if anyone discovered that she had stumbled upon this cave, she would be a dead woman.
Chapter Two
The wind whipped through Elizabeth Eltham's raven-black hair as she strode along the beach, enjoying the solitude and the bright August sunshine. It was the first day she had had completely to herself since she and her brother and the rest of their party had arrived in Ireland almost four months ago.
It had partly been her own fault. She had immersed herself so much in the affairs of each of the vast Eltham estates they had come to survey that she had ensured she would rarely get a moment to herself.
But she had decided it was high time she put away childish things. She wanted to emulate her friend Vanessa Stone in every way. Vanessa was a truly accomplished and beautiful woman, educated, and a great help to her husband Clifford, as well as his constant companion and love of his life.
Elizabeth sighed. She knew that was the real cause of her seeking to be alone on such a fine day. She had been delighted when her brother Thomas had married Charlotte, truly. But between that happy couple and the Stones, she felt like a fifth wheel.
The most recent letters from home at Brimley, Somerset, only seemed to reproach her further for her single state. Jonathan Deveril had written to tell them of his bliss with his new wife Pamela, whom he had married at Eltham Castle just before they had come to Ireland.
Even more remarkable had been the news that Jonathan's sister Sarah had also recently been married, to one of their other Rakehell acquaintances, Alexander Davenport. They were expecting a child in February.
Everyone had been stunned, but delighted. Sarah had always been so level-headed and respectable. The sister of a vicar, no less.
Of course, there had been special circumstances. Alexander had been blind and injured, with no recollection of his true identity at first. Kind and tender-hearted Sarah had obviously taken pity on the man and allowed him to live at the vicarage. Now their baby was well on its way.
Once Alexander had discovered his true identity and sorted out his affairs, they had moved into Jonathan's wife's old home, Ashton Manor. Jonathan had presided over a small quiet ceremony on the grounds. He wrote that his wife Pamela had saved cake for the missing Rakehells, which would be waiting for them as soon as they returned.
Elizabeth hoped for her friend's sake that Alexander was not too ugly or badly injured. The war had damaged many a hale and hearty young man in the most appalling ways. She just couldn't imagine…
Or imagine Sarah of all people giving herself so completely to a man she hardly knew. It was unthinkable....
Yet think about it she did, much to her shame. She was both appalled, and fascinated at the thought of what women did for love.
She shuddered despite the heat of the day. How different might all their lives have been if Elizabeth's own beloved sister Jane had not eloped with Herbert Paxton, a plausible but fiendish seducer…
She knew Thomas had told her not to fear. That when she met the right man she would know it.
But it was not so simple as that. For one thing, her brother kept such a close eye on her, and was so stern with any young man who so much as looked in her direction, she was lucky if she ever got to dance at any of the balls at all.
Admittedly, it had been a lot better since they had come to Ireland. Thomas had decided that to avoid flaunting their title, they would travel as the Elthams, rather than the Duke and Duchess of Ellesmere and their sister Lady Elizabeth. They had been pretending to be lesser cousins simply doing a summer tour of the island.
It was primarily a business trip in any event. They did not need dozens of people toadying to them when all Thomas really wanted to do was get home to Brimley before their first child, due in the late autumn, was born.
Elizabeth had found the little ruse regarding their identity most convenient. But now that she was at Ellesmere Manor, she had insisted they tell the truth, for one glimpse of the lovely old white house sparkling by the seaside as they had driven up the tree-lined drive which seemed to stretch for miles had been enough for her to decide that this was to be her new home.
The two loving couples didn't mean to make her feel left out, she knew. But it had to be hard for the Stones, especially with their two small children on the trip as well. She did as much as she could to help, but she always felt an intruder, slightly embarrassed, as if she had seen something she should not, though Clifford treated her with almost excessive deference.
Vanessa had given birth to their second child a several weeks before in Galway, another fine healthy baby boy, and she was blooming. If anything the couple looked as though they were well on their way to creating a third, Elizabeth thought with a blush.
Charlotte and Thomas were even more amorous now that she was rosily pregnant. Elizabeth had caught them several times in most torrid situations, and hardly dared enter a room without knocking and waiting at least five minutes.
Elizabeth again suppressed a twinge of envy for the two lucky young married women who seemed to have found heaven on earth with their most attentive spouses.
Elizabeth strode up the beach, enjoying the exercise, the glorious well-being of body, mind and spirit which only a day by the seaside could give. Feeling as light-hearted as a child, she stooped to take off her shoes and stockings, looking around on the beach to make sure no one saw her.
Her thin pale yellow muslin gown was one of her more sheer ones, cool and comfortable. She noted as she bent to untie her garters that it was almost see-through in the bright sunshine. But what did it matter, when she was alone, and the day so magnificent?
She pattered up and down in the cool sand first, and lifted her skirts up to her knees with one hand as she ventured into the surf. Just as she had thought. The bright sunshine was deceptive. This was the south of Ireland. The water was slightly warm, but not nearly as comfortable as a nice bath at home. Still, it was fun to kick, splash and run, playing tag with the tide as it roared in and the sun dipped lower toward the horizon.
The wind picked up, plastering the gown to her body. Gray storm clouds began to scud across the sky, dark, ominous. That was another thing about
the south coast of Ireland-the sudden storms which could spring up out of the Atlantic like evil water sprites.
She looked up the beach again, right and left, this time seeking shelter. She knew the storm was going to descend in less than ten minutes. The house was at least fifteen minutes away up the strand, unless she ran like the wind. But then the tree-lined avenue might pose a danger of its own if this were a thunderstorm.
As if to answer her question, the ground trembled under her feet as the thunder rumbled. A fork of lightning flashed through the sky, causing her to start. She fell into the surf, saturating her clothes up to her waist.
Blast. It was bad enough getting soaked by a storm. Now she was drenched by frigid salt water, and her sopping skirts were only going to slow her down if she tried to make a run for Ellesmere Manor.
Elizabeth caught sight of a movement out of the corner of her eye. As she gazed hard at the cliffs opposite the sea, she thought she saw something dark and bright at the same time. A man?
She blinked again as the first huge drops began to plop down on her. No, a dark hole. A cave. Shelter.
Pushing herself off the sand, she lifted her dripping hem and began to run as fast as her long legs could carry her. The fierce wind tugged at her shawl and broad-brimmed sunbonnet like witch's fingers, sending them sailing up the beach. Elizabeth paused only an instant before pressing on. Losing a couple of garments was the least of her worries.
The lightning flashed jaggedly once again. The accompanying boom from the heavens would have been enough to strike fear into the soul of even the most rational of women. Young and alone as she was, Elizabeth could not help giving a start of fear. With a final spurt she charged the rest of the way up the beach, and crept into the low cave entrance.
She tried to straighten, but found herself pressed up hard against the front of a lean, solid masculine body. She gasped and would have turned to flee, but the deep voice in the darkness soothed, "It's all right. You're safe. I won't hurt you."
"Unhand me!" she said to the pitch darkness, trying to squirm away from the all too male presence.
"Sush, it's fine," he said, grasping her hands lightly. "Listen to the storm. You can't go back out there. It's too dangerous. Stay with me. Stay, please."
His warm grip had traveled up her arms to her shoulders, his thumbs lightly caressing the bare flesh of her neck and throat, dipping into the hollow at the apex of her collarbones in an almost proprietary way, as if clasping the object of his deepest desires.
"How do you come to be here, sir?" she gasped, going hot and cold all over in an instant at the sensuous contact.
"Like you. Taking shelter from the storm."
His hands slid down to her bare arms now, and he could feel the goose-pimples rising upon her silken flesh.
"You're freezing," he said softly.
His warm breath fanning her cheeks only made her shiver more. She wanted to move, out of the cave, or at least out of his grasp, but it was as though she were somehow frozen in time.
Yet when his hands left her body, Elizabeth nearly cried aloud. She found herself stepping closer into the warm wall of his frame. She had no sense of space in the pitch darkness, and put out her hands to explore her surroundings. She came up against a rock-hard abdomen and chest encased in a heavy linen waistcoat, the muscles rippling powerfully under her hands as he removed his jacket to drape it over her shoulders.
The heat of the coat, heavier than her thin summer-weight muslin and still warm from his body, was like a caress. Almost without thinking she wrapped her arms around his waist. She shivered with heat and cold and something nameless, as shadowy as the man she was with.
She lifted her head to look into his face, but all was darkness. Her eyes closed as his lips came over hers in an exploratory kiss. His hands were light around her slender back. She knew she could step away if she wished. Instead, she stood on tiptoe, the better to deepen the contact and press herself into the delightful comfort of his body.
One part of her mind screamed that what she was doing was so incredibly wrong she was bound to burn in Hell for it. Not to mention what her brother would say if he ever found out.
The other part of her had never felt so alive. Her family was most affectionate, but this was something far more. The embrace contained need, longing, wonder, and passion. Danger, fear, pain, and sadness. It was as if he spoke the words aloud: "I need you. Don't go."
Yet Elizabeth was sure he could not have uttered a sound. As his hand stroked the damp tendrils of hair away from her cheeks, his other hand running down the length of her tresses to her bottom, her lips parted and his tongue now twined sinuously with her own. He tasted magnificent, of cinnamon and a host of exotic spices and tangy orange peel. He smelled like a rich citrus grove, along with fine leather and linen.
Elizabeth drank him in like fine wine, each sip leaving her gasping for more, each tantalizing fragrance caressing her sensitized nerve endings. She heard his heart thundering in his chest in time with her own, like the surge of the tide, the rhythm of their breathing, in, out, in, out. She moved her hands up his broad back, curving the fingers of one into his thick, longish hair. The other kneaded his left shoulder.
He flinched at once, as though a stray bolt of lightning had struck him. Damn, he thought, gasping with pain, then pleasure. He had barely had any sensation in it for so many months that he had almost forgotten the shell fragment still lodged deeply inside the muscle. No one had touched him in so long, he had not realized it was still so painful.
But as her long fingers began to insinuate themselves into the opened throat of his shirt, all pain was forgotten. He had never felt so soothed, or so rampantly aroused.
His two gasps of pain had served to deepen their kiss. He grabbed her so convulsively she was now pressed up the full length of him. Every inch of his body writhed against her, including those of his desperately yearning manhood. He half-expected her to jerk herself free and slap his face. It was what any decent, sensible girl would do.
But the lithe beauty stood her ground. His hands roved down her delectable curves, and he cupped her to him more forcefully. He flattened her against the broad smooth rock which served as the door to his cavern, pressing their bodies together from head to toe.
His shoulder still felt on fire, but her fingers continued to grip him there, while her other hand was now traveling down his back in a long sweep that ended on one of his buttocks.
Elizabeth was hanging on for dear life, trying to right her reeling world. She had had to put up with one or two bold kisses in her time. They were a sad fact of life if one was a wealthy heiress.
But this was like nothing she had ever experienced before, wild and thrilling, yet not even satisfying, for already her whole body seemed to be begging for more. More of what, she had no real idea, except that it was the forbidden fruit which she had heard spoken of in whispers. What men and women did when they were alone, when and only when they were married. And when they need have no fear of any child coming of the matter.
Still, she knew that was not quite true either: Jane and Sarah had been proof of that. As would she be if she kept letting this total stranger whose face she could not even see keep touching her like that.
For his hands had begun to rove all over, exploring, soothing, yet setting on her fire at the same time, scorching her through the thin drenched muslin of her gown. Her shoes and stockings had fallen from her nerveless fingers, and now the man's jacket tumbled onto the sand as he stroked down her neck, shoulders, back, right down to her thighs.
A tickling coolness upon her calves told her he was now tugging up her dress. She jumped in shock as one hand shot up her thigh, and was impeded only by her lacy linen drawers. He pulled her leg up high against his waist and ground their hips together, leaving Elizabeth aquiver with desire. She groaned against his questing lips and pulled him tighter.
At last his mouth freed hers, moving along her cheek. His kisses, open and hot. traveled down her neck and thro
at, downwards to the neckline of her gown, licking, nuzzling. The rasp of his lightly bristled chin made her arch her back even more fiercely. With a few flicks of his lean hard fingers, he bared her breasts and began to suckle their tops and licked between them, until at last his mouth slid over to take one nipple into his mouth.
Elizabeth frenziedly yanked at the fastenings of his shirt, trying to touch him everywhere at once, his warm soft skin like a drug she could not get enough of. His lightly downed chest was like nothing she had ever felt, rippling with muscles which she felt sure could squeeze the life out of her if they chose.
Yet his huge hands were so gentle as they whispered over her, one hand upon her bare bottom, the other gliding down the delicate curve of her stomach until he reached her soft curls. Only then did she understand the true nature of what was about to happen to her if she didn't try to control this wildfire passion which had sprung up in the darkness and was blazing out of control.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 35
