She allowed him to lead her to one of the French doors that opened onto a verandah. Flambeaux cast dancing flames that reached for the stars and sent golden light into the garden. Twenty steps down and they were surrounded by the heady, musky scent of blooming roses and twining honeysuckle.
He angled her down a gravel path that was bordered on both sides by roses. She dragged her feet, not wanting to go too far. When he put his free hand over hers where her fingers rested on his arm, she skidded to a halt and yanked her hand away—or tried.
He turned to face her. ‘I am only holding your hand.’
She stared up at him, noting the harsh angle of his jaw where the flickering and weakening light from the flambeaux emphasised the hollows of his cheeks. ‘I did not give you permission to do so.’
He held onto her hand with both of his now. ‘Will you?’
She felt as though the precipice from earlier was rushing up to meet her. She couldn’t speak. She could barely shake her head no.
His eyes danced with amusement and tenderness. ‘I had wanted to pursue you slowly. I see it is not to be.’
Flummoxed by his words, she stood mute, taking shallow little breaths that did nothing to ease the sense that she was racing toward something that would change her life forever.
A warm breeze wafted through her hair and cooled her skin even as his regard heated her body. The scents of growing flowers mingled with the intoxicating smell of the man standing too close to her. But she didn’t move away. Her legs were incapable of saving her.
His head bent down so his warm, brandy scented breath fanned her face, caressed her lips just seconds before his mouth touched hers. She stood transfixed.
Sensations cascaded through her. Scents, tastes, hot and cold tingles. Desire.
Her body arced without her conscious volition until her breasts grazed his chest. There might as well be no clothing between them. Her nipples swelled and ached in a way she had never experienced before, never realised was possible.
His arms surrounded her and pulled her closer. One of his hands dropped to the small of her back and nestled her into the heat that was his hips. Shock sizzled through her at the intimate touch.
She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.
The world fell away and had it not been for his arm holding her securely to him, she would have sunk to the ground. Never had she thought to experience anything this powerful. This kiss was so much more than their first.
She parted her lips as his tongue flicked along her skin, probing and teasing. He was inside her before she realised what happened. His mouth moved over hers as he probed her sensitive flesh. Her head fell back and he released her lips.
A whimper of loss escaped her only to be replaced with a sigh of pleasure when his teeth nipped the corner where her jaw and earlobe met. He nibbled the nerve-rich area until Emma thought she would swoon.
Her breath turned ragged when he bent her back over his arm and his mouth moved to the hollow that separated her neck from her bosom. He sucked gently on her skin.
When one of his hands moved to cup her breast through the material of her dress, she gasped only to have him gentle her by returning his mouth to hers. His fingers massaged her swollen, aching mound until she whimpered.
‘Easy,’ he murmured, lifting his lips from hers. ‘I won’t leave you like this.’
Through the haze of desire she wondered what he meant but forgot when his hand moved to her other breast. Her stomach clenched, starting a pattern of response that mimicked his tongue. She shivered with fire then ice then a hot need that spiralled up with each movement of his body against hers.
‘Emma,’ he murmured before slipping his hand under the material of her bodice so that the rough skin of his fingers touched the silk of her bosom. ‘I want all of you.’
He found her nipple and began rubbing it gently, enough to send sparks shooting to her loins. She felt hot and damp and aching for something she knew he could provide. If only…if only…
The sound of Amy’s voice came sharply to Emma’s ears. Emma jolted and without thought pushed against Charles’s chest. He let her go.
She fell back, gasping for breath, staying on her feet only through luck. She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth swollen.
‘What…what have we done?’ she asked softly.
He looked as stunned as she. But he was more experienced. ‘We have nearly made love.’
‘Oh, dear…’ she moaned.
‘Emma, are you out here?’ Amy’s voice intruded once more.
A new heat engulfed Emma—mortification. Her bodice and chemise were tucked under her bosom and the cool night air was making her nipples harden just as Charles’s attention had so recently. She fumbled with her clothing only to realise her hair was coming down. A red strand caught in her chemise and she pulled it savagely out, wincing when the pain hit her head.
‘Emma?’
‘Oh, goodness,’ Emma whispered. She looked up to see Charles watching her, his face devoid of emotion. ‘Go away,’ she insisted. ‘If she sees you here and sees me, she will know. Just please go away.’ Tears of embarrassment threatened to spill as she waited anxiously for him to leave.
Without a word, he pivoted and strode into the night. She was thankful he was going away from the house. He wouldn’t meet up with Amy who, from the sound of her voice, was nearly here. Another corner—
‘Here you are.’ Amy came into view. ‘I saw you leave with Charles Hawthorne, but you never came back.’ She halted several feet from Emma and looked her up and down. ‘What have you been doing?’
Emma swallowed her groan of discomfort. What had she been doing? Allowing Charles Hawthorne to take advantage of her. No, he had not taken advantage of her. She had participated, gone so far as to encourage him. She shivered.
Now she had to lie once more to her sister. ‘Nothing, Amy. I just needed some fresh air.’
Amy’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I think you got more than fresh air.’ She looked around. ‘Where is Mr Hawthorne?’
‘I don’t know.’ Relief that she could answer truthfully eased a small part of Emma’s discomfort.
Disbelief filled Amy’s face. Emma expected her sister to start berating her again, their previous conversation being only the prelude to Amy’s discontent.
Amy brushed past Emma and sat on the nearby bench. ‘Em, sit here and let us talk.’
Emma gaped, taken by surprise. ‘It is late, Amy. We would do better going inside to talk.’
Sympathy filled Amy’s face. ‘No, I want to talk here. Now.’
Emma sighed, knowing no good could come of this conversation. Not now. But she sat beside her sister and forced her confusion over what had just happened and her response to the back of her mind. ‘What, dear?’
Amy held Emma’s gaze. ‘I think you need to be honest with yourself, Em.’
Emma raised a brow. ‘I am.’
Even as she said the words, she knew she wasn’t. There was more to her feeling for Charles Hawthorne than she had allowed herself to acknowledge. But how much more?
Amy shook her head and her curls danced. ‘In most things, but not where Mr Hawthorne is concerned.’
The breath caught in Emma’s throat as a sense of unrealness moved over her. ‘Are you talking about my condemnation of him?’
Amy’s eyes became soft and concerned. ‘No, Em. Or rather, yes, but not in the way you think. I believe you berate and denigrate him so much because you are beginning to care for him.’
Emma sat straighter. ‘I am not.’
‘Aren’t you? He was with you until I arrived, wasn’t he?’
Amy’s soft voice felt like a whip to Emma. Surely her young sister was wrong about her feelings for the man. And yet…
And what to say to Amy’s last question? The truth? Was she to put still more lies between herself and her sister? No.
Feeling defiant, a totally new emotion for her, Emma said, ‘Yes, he was.’
‘I thought so. You
look…’ Amy cocked her head and studied Emma. ‘Different. Alive somehow.’
The flush that had engulfed Emma during Charles’s lovemaking returned with a vengeance. ‘Your imagination is running away with you Amy. All we did was talk.’
‘About me? Or Bertram?’ A sly look entered her eyes. ‘Or did you do something else?’
Emma moved until she sat on the very edge of the bench. ‘We talked about both of you.’
‘Ahh…’
It was a very knowing ‘ah’ and Emma knew she had to escape this interrogation before she said something she ought not. She bolted up. ‘I am going to bed. Do you want to walk back with me?’
Amy cast one curious look down the path Charles had taken minutes before, but rose. ‘If I don’t, you will send someone out after me. Not Mr Hawthorne, but someone, so I might as well go with you.’
There was so much smug knowing in Amy’s voice that it was all Emma could do not to blush anew. But she was not about to tell her young sister that she had succumbed to Charles Hawthorne’s lovemaking. It would do no one any good.
As they moved through the empty garden and cool night, Emma shivered and knew she was lost.
Chapter Sixteen
Emma awoke with the dawn as was her custom.
She felt different somehow. Then memory rushed back and she felt hot and disturbingly excited. She buried her face in the pillow, wishing she could bury her desire the same way.
What had happened between her and Charles had awoken parts of her body she hadn’t known existed before. The unspoken acts between a man and woman who were lovers were suddenly part of her memory, part of her body. And, heaven help her, she wanted more.
In an effort to banish the new and unsettling need from her body, she rose and quickly donned a simple gown that needed no maid to fasten the hooks and eyes or tie the ribbons. With a deft twist of her wrist, she fastened her hair in a topknot.
She wanted to walk in the rose garden while the dew was still on the petals and everyone else was asleep. It was the most wonderful time of day for her. At home she did it every summer morning, picking the flowers that were in full bloom. During the fall and winter months she walked amongst the trees. Today it might also calm her mind and cool her body.
She wanted to get away from her bed. Beds were suddenly places where more than sleeping occurred. Yet at the same time, she wanted to experience everything that Charles had only given her a glimpse of last night.
She had never considered herself to be susceptible to the pleasures of the flesh, but last night and now this morning she began to wonder. She might even be wanton. Fresh mortification stained her cheeks.
As she moved through the house, there was a lift in her step that hadn’t been there for more years than she could remember. Emma made her way downstairs and outdoors. Fresh, crisp air blew her skirts so her legs and hips were delineated. Her hair lifted in small wisps that escaped her clip. She strode forward feeling strangely happy under the dominating emotion of desire.
Happiness was an emotion she hadn’t felt in many years. She was not sure she had ever experienced desire. Yet, the two had many similarities. Both made her feel good, buoyant and full of hope.
An hour later, she returned to her starting point. The sun was fully risen in the east. Several gardeners were about their work. She nodded at them as they pruned bushes and harvested armfuls of blooming roses.
With a soft trill of laughter at the sheer joy of being alive and being desired by a man who made her blood heat, Emma tripped up the stairs to the parlour. Inside it was cool and dim. Breakfast would be on a buffet in the dining room. She was suddenly very hungry.
Her lips parted in a smile of delight, she moved through the house. She had hoped to be the only one up this early and was not disappointed. She took a pot of hot chocolate and several slices of toast and sat down facing the windows.
Buttering and slathering a healthy portion of marmalade on her toast, she pondered why Charles Hawthorne’s lovemaking had made such a difference in her. She definitely couldn’t marry the man, even if he did ask. Which he wouldn’t. He was a rake. She was a spinster with a family heavily in debt. No, it was simply dalliance they were about. But it still felt new and wonderful and full of mystery.
Just a week ago she would have run from his advances. But she was changing. She was going to experience life before she ensconced herself in another woman’s nursery. Perhaps she would even go so far as to ask him to make love to her.
Just the idea made her dizzy. It was a thought she would never have entertained even a day ago. Women in her position did not take lovers—ever. Yet…
She finished breakfast in charity with her world. Just as she was rising from the table, Mr Helmsley entered.
‘Miss Stockton.’ He smiled. ‘How nice to see you up this early.’ He glanced at her empty plate. ‘You have eaten. Will you stay and keep me company?’
Should she? She studied him. His clothing was good and fashionable without being the height of absurdity. His brown eyes were clear and intelligent. He seemed to have a sense of humour. She could do much worse for a morning companion.
No matter that the image of another man rose in her mind. He was only dallying with her to ease his boredom. This man seemed genuinely interested in her.
She sat back down. ‘I would be delighted to have a cup of tea.’
He came over and pushed her chair in. His shoulder brushed hers and his scent of pine filled her nostrils. She felt nothing. Mr Helmsley was a nice man. She could and would enjoy his company.
Charles rolled over in bed, taking the mass of covers with him, and reached for a woman who wasn’t there. He relaxed onto his back and stared up at the brown canopy. What was happening to him?
In his dream he had made love to Emma Stockton, kissing and caressing her until the pale peach tint of her skin had blazed like the setting sun. Her nipples had been hard nubs, the colour deepening to a dusky richness.
His loins throbbed, and his entire body ached with the need for release.
‘Mornin’ Guv’.’ Stoner’s gravelly voice intruded on Charles’s misery. ‘It’s about time you was up. This is the country.’
Charles groaned and sat up, careful to keep the bedcovers over his hips. No one else needed to know the state he was in. ‘This is a house party, Stoner. People sleep as late as they wish.’
‘Well, your lady is up and about.’ Stoner gave him a sly glance while setting hot water on a nearby table.
‘I don’t have a lady.’ If he did, he wouldn’t be in this condition. Or more accurately, he’d be in this condition but have a way to remedy it. He was still aroused.
‘Good you feel that way, Guv’, cause she’s with that Mr ’elmsley.’
‘What?’ Charles jerked to attention, and his embarrassment shrank. After last night’s kiss and her response to his caresses, she was with another man? He hadn’t thought her the type to encourage two men at once. ‘Hmmm… Maybe I should be up and about.’
Stoner grinned without looking at Charles. ‘Thought you might change your mind.’ He sharpened a razor. ‘Got ever’thing to clean you up.’
Charles threw off the covers as his former state subsided, and slipped naked from the bed except for the bandage on his shoulder. He slept naked no matter what the weather. It was a sensual experience he heightened with silk sheets he had specially made to his specification. He was a hedonist and intended to take pleasure wherever he could, and particularly in bed.
He gave himself over to Stoner’s ministrations. Nearly an hour later, he went straight to the room where a breakfast buffet was laid and noted both Emma Stockton and Helmsley were missing.
He sauntered to where his sister sat and took a seat. ‘Good morning.’
Juliet looked at him. ‘You’re up early.’
He yawned. ‘Went to bed early. Been here long?’
Her smile could have been a smirk. ‘I arrived just as Emma Stockton and Mr Helmsley left. They were going for a walk in th
e gardens.’
Charles’s gut churned, but he kept his face inscrutable. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Popular place, the gardens.’ She spread marmalade on a piece of toast. Munching delicately, she watched him. ‘Don’t like that, do you?’
He took the mug of ale the footman brought and drank down half. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She laughed. ‘Of course you don’t.’
Lady Johnstone entered and made a beeline to them. She sat down with a thump. ‘Good thing we’re the only ones in here.’ She pinned Charles with her stare. ‘Helmsley’s got your filly.’
Charles blinked in surprise and nearly sputtered his last swallow of ale. ‘My filly?’
‘Don’t think I invited the Stocktons for my own entertainment.’ Lady Johnstone continued. ‘Both nice girls, but one’s too emotional and the other’s too namby-pamby.’
Juliet said, ‘You told Emma the other night that she wasn’t.’
Lady Johnstone snorted. ‘Changed my mind. Although—’ she gave Charles an appraising once-over ‘—I noticed her leaving with you last night and returning without you much later. She looked better than I’ve ever seen her. And you, my fine buck, look as wound up as a child’s top.’
Charles looked from one woman to the other and decided he wished they weren’t the only people in the room at this moment. They might have minded their tongues otherwise. He drank the last of his ale and stood.
‘Excuse me, ladies, but I have business elsewhere.’
‘In the garden if you want the chit!’ Lady Johnstone’s brook-no-nonsense voice said.
Charles felt heat rise to his face. He made a curt bow to his godmother. ‘Thank you for the prodding, ma’am.’
Juliet smothered a laugh behind her napkin. ‘She is right, you know.’
Georgina Devon Page 22
