Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
"My you are most certainly a man of many impressive talents. Why do you always hide, even in company?"
"Do I?" he asked tonelessly.
"Well, perhaps hide isn't quite the right word. Just never let anyone see what a caring and deeply, well, passionate man you are."
He sucked in a breath, which she fortunately did not catch due to the volume of the musicians. "Passionate. An interesting word. Any reason for your choosing it?"
She shrugged. "I've seen you play with the children, discuss important things with your friends. Most of the time you are so impassive. Occasionally, though, I can see what lies beneath. A spark, a fire…"
"Parks says the same of you."
"Does he, indeed?" she said with a blush. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about his friend. "I must thank him then for seeing my potential."
"You are quite remarkable. He would be a fool not to see it."
"And you?"
"I am no fool, Lady Elizabeth. However, I appreciate you as a man appreciates a lovely painting in a museum. With admiration, but hardly any notion of having the luck to possess it myself. Or indeed any woman after everything which happened to me in the war."
"But surely-" she started to protest.
Just then, the dance came to an end, and he bowed, effectively silencing her.
She half-hoped he would keep hold of her hand for another dance.
But now Fitzsimmons hove into view and took her arm, leading her away from Will, who turned away as if the matter were not the least important to him.
Yet his words of a few moments before had been so warm and admiring…
After a few moments' conversation, he laughed and said, "Ah, you see, Lady Elizabeth, you cannot fool me."
"How did you know?"
"Your accent, of course."
"Nothing else?"
"No. Why?" he said crassly, not taking the hint.
She contrasted his stark response with Mr. Joyce's warm words of regard. How very odd. Fitzsimmons had professed to be her lover, but it had been the other man's conversation which had been so romantic.
Yet Will had spoken of Parks as if it were evident they were made for each other. Had it been Parks in the cave, and he had told….
She came to an abrupt halt. Fitzsimmons tripped and cursed profoundly.
"I'm so sorry."
"No, my fault," he gritted out. "I am sorry. My language. I forgot myself."
"Are you in much pain?"
"It is nothing. A twinge in my ankle, no more," he said, leading her from the dance floor and into the room set aside for refreshments.
He kept hold of her arm, and sent the servant out for more ice. Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest at being alone with him, when she found herself being kissed.
It was a firm kiss, possessive. She forced herself to stand still, waiting for the thunderclap of sensation which she hoped would come.
She remained passive for a few moments until he released her. Two cloaked men came in shortly thereafter, leading two women whom she guessed to be Fitzsimmons' sisters. She noted one man had a pinned sleeve and long black hair, and the other was of moderate height with sandy hair.
She was glad to see Mitchell and Monroe, and told Fitzsimmons to stay and talk, so he could note down their names next to their numbers.
Elizabeth hurried away, eager to be alone with her swirling thoughts. She had been so longing to be kissed again, yet now that it had happened, why did she feel as though she had been doused with ice water?
Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth made her escape from Fitzsimmons, but there was little chance to be alone at a ball. She was swept up in turn by Clifford, Stewart and finally Parks before the musician's rest interval.
By the time he claimed his dance, she felt more calm and self-assured. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.
"Very much. You?"
"I have to thank you for all your help in arranging such a wonderful evening. You have been most kind."
He smiled. "I was only too glad to help. You too have been most kind to a lonely old soldier. But I fear that my orders shall take me away from Ardmore soon. I have cooled my heels here long enough with nothing substantial to show for it."
"What could you show for it?" she asked in surprise. "The war is over, after all."
"Nothing, of course," Parks said quickly. "I simply meant that I have been appallingly lazy, and ought to at least force myself to read more improving books, go home to my parents' and help with their estate, that sort of thing. But it's been a pleasure to know you. I hope we shall always be friends, even once you're married."
She frowned. This sounded suspiciously like a goodbye to her. Married? "I don't understand. Why would you say I was getting married?"
He laughed. "A lovely woman like you, intelligent, beautiful. Who wouldn't want to marry you?"
She waited, but he said nothing else. "I notice you didn't include rich and titled in your list," she said pertly.
He tisked and shook his head. "You are your own treasure, my dear. All else is dross. I am sure someone more famous and witty than me first said that. We shall have to ask Will which poet."
He bowed to her, and keeping hold of her hand, went in search of his friend.
Fitzsimmons saw red as Parks tried to conduct her from the dance floor. He decided the kid gloves had to come off before one of the other young bucks pipped him at the post. "My dance, I believe."
She started to protest, "Oh, but I'm—"
Parks bowed curtly. "But of course. Later, my dear." He bowed over her hand and departed.
They danced silently for several moments in the quadrille as they executed the Le Pantalon figure, the Chaîne Anglaise, Balance, Un Tour de Deux Mains and La Chaîne des Dames.
By the time they got to La Demi-Queue du Chat, he murmured to her, "I can't remain silent any longer. I cannot stop thinking of all we have shared ever since we met. I would love to get you alone again and-"
"Please sir, not here! Someone might hear you!" she gasped, moving to the right in the set.
He did not pass through, but kept hold of her hand and said quickly, "It matters not. I have tried to keep my feelings in check, but to no avail."
She stepped out of the set, pretending to have a loose slipper lace, and made a show of hobbling to the French windows and out onto the terrace.
Then she turned back in the door at the far end of the house, the small room being used by the men as a cloakroom and place to take their ease.
"Please, sir, this is too sudden, and you are far too importunate."
"I cannot help it," he rasped. "I can't stop thinking about all we have shared. You know how I feel about you. I would like nothing more than to ask your brother for your hand. Please allow me to hope at least. But to have an answer from your own sweet lips would be more than I could possibly ask for."
He began kissing her hand. She waited for the tingle, the wildfire sweetness. But there was nothing. No spark, no desire, no surge of passion in her loins.
What was wrong with her? Was she such a wanton that only an encounter in the dark with a nameless faceless stranger could fill her with such delight?
"Darling!" His mouth came down on hers for a brief moment, and she waited for the fire to course through her veins. But there was still
nothing.
"Please, can you take off your mask?" she asked, her voice rock-steady.
He smiled broadly. "Ah, but that would be cheating."
"I don't think so. I need to see your face. See if you are in earnest. It's not an unreasonable request considering you've just declared your intention to speak to my brotherThomas."
He removed the mask, and Marcus Fitzsimmons stood before her.
She was glad her mask covered her own face, for she was a complete state of confusion. She had known it would be him. But his expression was like…
"My dear, we shall be so happy together. This was meant to be. Ever since I first saw you on the beach the day of the storm…."
He trailed off as he realized his error. He was not supposed to have been anywhere near the beach that day.
This was the declaration Elizabeth had been waiting for, but somehow it did not strike her with the delight she had expected it to. She started and clasped her hands together nervously.
"Perhaps your regard for me was somewhat impetuous that day?" she asked quietly.
He ran his hand down her back. "I don't think so. You are all woman. Why should I not desire you?"
She waited for any sensation at all other than nervousness, but none came. She lingered, allowing his hand to travel down yet further, more boldly. Still nothing.
"Shall I go now, go to speak with your brother?"
Something in her posture must have given her away, for as the silence lengthened Fitzsimmons asked, "Unless you think it's too soon, that I should wait?"
He was chomping at the bit with impatience, and wondering why she kept staring at him like a wide-eyed ingenue.
"I hardly know what to think," she said truthfully, before fleeing out of the anteroom and down to the other end of the terrace for some fresh air.
She took several deep breaths and gazed up at the stars. The clock struck midnight, and she tugged off her swirling cloak at last, and untied the silk mask with a sigh.
Elizabeth did not jump as the warm arms came around her waist from behind, for she had expected him to follow. Only now she went on fire. Whatever had been lacking in these past few days and nights since her fateful encounter in the cave, her cup began to runneth over as the hard hands pressed her front most intimately, a teasing finger's breadth from her breast in one instance, and from her delicate mound through the light fabric of her gown in the other.
His warm breath fanned her cheeks, and his husky whisper caressed her ear. "Darling. You look so lovely, I just can't help myself. I've tried to be aloof, let you make a choice without any pressure from me. But these last few days have been torture. Now, touching you like this, I just know we belong together."
She pressed her back into his body, feeling the tell-tale bulge pressing against her buttocks. Her eyes closed as she surrendered utterly, blocking out any other sensation except that of the touch of her lover.
"I know it now too," she whispered. "I've been so confused. I hardly knew what to think. Whether what we shared in the cave was real or not.
"Now you hold me like this, and they're back, all the wonderful feelings you gifted me with when you held me in your arms, touched me until I melted. The heart and the body never lie. I want you so much," she admitted shyly.
He turned her into his arms, and kissed her torridly, all their pent-up longings feeding each other's desire. His mouth slanted across hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth so possessively she felt as though he were putting his stamp upon her. Molding her to his body and mind until there was no he and she, but a mystical oneness. She curved her fingers up his neck through his long hair to his scalp, and again his shoulder went on fire as she stroked it.
The pain was out of all proportion to the lightness of her touch, and he thought once more with a superstitious shiver of all the myths about the healing power of love.
He wasn't sure of anything any more; he hadn't seemed to possess any sort of certainty about his life since he had met Elizabeth in the cave. All he knew was that his shoulder had been getting better every day, and the thrill of being in her arms was something he simply could not surrender.
He backed her up into the small space between the open French doors behind a huge potted palm. It was not much better than the cave, but a bit less damp and odiferous. Their hips ground together, and he had all to do not to tear down her magnificent coiffure in the silver coronet to touch her silken hair, or shred her gown in his desperate effort to nuzzle himself against her bare breasts.
Her breath was coming in short panting gasps, and his own respiration was so labored he felt as if he were drowning.
His hands continued their devastating exploration of her lower body, until she could feel herself on the brink of the remarkable wave of release such as she had felt in the cave. And he had not even touched her bare flesh….
His tongue had set up a most suggestive rhythm and was penetrating her mouth in a way which left her in no doubt of what was going to happen next. But not here, not now….
Could they get up to her room unseen? she thought wildly. She could barely stand of her own volition. The only reason she was still upright was the fact that she was pinioned firmly between his body and the wall. But there was no force, nothing being done against her will. She wanted him all, every single glorious masculine inch of him. Inside and out.
He dragged his mouth away from hers to rasp, "We must be married at once. I can't live without you any longer. I know it's been so sudden, only a matter of days. But I haven't slept a moment since we met, I want you so." He showered her face with small kisses, her brow, eyelids, cheeks, as he spoke.
Her lashes fluttered but did not lift. "We must. Yes, we must. It's not sudden at all. It's like I've known you a lifetime, as if we're meant to be together. Even now I want to take you up to my room, up to my bed, and lose myself in your arms. Let you lose yourself inside me."
"Oh, darling," he groaned. "I'm not going to be able to face your family if you say such heated things to me."
"I can't help it," she whispered, cheek to cheek, the black velvet of his mask caresssing her flesh as she surrendered herself utterly to the rapture of his nearness. "Each time you touch me, I burn even more for you, not less."
"My darling Elizabeth. We'll have the special licence drawn up and marry by the end of the week."
"Oh, yes, please, my love." She kissed him again, sliding her tongue so sensuously against his own that he lifted her right off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist.
So lost in each other's arms were they that they did not hear the approaching footsteps until the intruder was just about on the terrace.
"Elizabeth, Elizabeth, where are you?" Thomas called.
Her lover quickly yanked down her gown and checked the bosom to make sure she was decent.
With a last tender kiss he turned around to face her brother.
"Elizabeth, I need to speak with you. Are you out here?"
She brushed past her lover's darkly-clad shoulder without even daring to look up, and stepped out from behind the potted palm.
"There you are." Thomas's smile altered only slightly as he saw his sister's flushed features and her inability to look him in the eye. Oh no. She couldn't possibly want to marry…
The tall blond man stepping out from behind the plant a moment later and removed his mask.
Thomas practically buckled at the knees with both surpreise and relief.
"Thomas. Your Grace. I was just coming to see you. Will you listen to my suit for your inestimable sister' hand?"
Thomas smiled. "I don't think I really have to, now do I? It appears from what I've just seen that my sister has already made up her mind."
"Your Grace, we never meant to--"
He raised one hand. "Don't apologize, please. I quite understand. I know you have done nothing dishonourable. But just to be on the safe side, so the two of you don't burn for each other any longer than you have to, we can arrange a special licence first thing in the
morning, and then call upon the vicar."
He smiled from one to the other as they stood side by side, Elizabeth not even daring to look at the man who now slipped one arm around her waist with evident pride.
Her brother didn't mind? Wasn't upset? Not even about her undoubtedly dishevelled and well-kissed appearance? She had thought he couldn't stand…
The Duke put his hand out. "Welcome to the family. Well, a closer relationship to me in the family anyway."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 47
