by Lisa Torquay
Selene sensed his eyes on her and her heart jumped. She’d decided to keep him company to show him she appreciated him standing by her side this afternoon. Only she hadn’t deemed it’d be so difficult to resist his seductive stares and his dashy handsome person.
Her mother had been the only person in her family who gave her support. It had been limited though. As a wife, she depended on her husband’s decisions. The men in her family couldn’t be counted on. For them, she constituted just an asset to be traded at will. Therefore, she thought it endearingly strange that he’d offered her support to help her deal with Charles.
His attitude elevated him in her eyes. Dangerous thing, since she already thought too much about him. Thought. Missed. Craved. Dreamed. Daydreamed. He’d begun to occupy a large space in her inner life. Something she had to be avoiding. He was not for her. His duty lied in finding a lady of breed to continue his lineage. These things had nothing to do with love or passion. There were social and structural circumstances that dictated these alliances. Neither of them had a say in the matter. If she allowed herself to feel more for him than desire, she’d be in for immense disillusionment.
“Isn’t the pheasant to your taste?” His rich velvet voice started her. She darted her eyes at him. And saw he’d inclined his body, being closer to her. So close, she could see the dark rim around his clove eyes.
“It’s certainly delicious. Thank you.” She took a forkful to prove it. There was no disguising the warmth that his voice and his proximity caused in her body.
Her eyes wandered his broad chest wrapped in a white shirt and black coat; his neck in white cravat, his strong chin, his chiselled nose, coming up to his clove eyes. They stared at her so molten, they threatened to melt her in the spot. She flushed and sipped her wine, as her mouth dried. Tense, she bit her lower lip. His daring gaze descended there; it felt as if he kissed her. She sucked in air, fire coursing through her. This intimate atmosphere caught at her nerves.
After dessert, she excused herself hurriedly and flew to her room, coward that she was.
Chapter 13
Later that night, Philip dismissed his valet and undressed himself. He couldn’t decide if it would have been better to dine with her absence or her presence. Both unsettled him. Her absence, because it made him miss her. Her presence, because it set him on forbidden fire. He felt restless, his body raw with need. It’d be another endless, frustrating night. He resigned himself to lie down in a cold bed and prepare himself to endure wakefulness. Again.
He’d been lying there he didn’t know for how long, dozing in and off, images of her racing through his head, throwing his body in hell. He heard the door open. Moonlight flooded in through the gauzy curtains and fell on a feminine form in a snowy nightgown. The goddess of the moon! His goddess!
“Selene.” He muttered, believing he dreamed.
Slowly, she paced to his bed, placed a knee on the mattress and pulled at the ribbon on her neck, her eyes on his.
“Philip,” a strand of her loose rich brown hair fell from her shoulder. “I can’t sleep.” Her voice low, raspy. “Please, help me find my sleep.” The nightgown fell to her slender thighs, her long hair about her.
For the first time in his life, he found himself speechless. His body reacted so violently to the mesmerizing sight of her he could barely breath. Her torso bathed in moonlight, showed off every single curve of her.
He pulled her to his bed, pining her with his eager body. “Yes,” his husky voice making way through his dry throat. “If you help me find mine.”
His mouth sought hers and it was as if desert had met rain. Deep, thirsty, agonizing, their mouths devoured each other greedily. Their naked bodies touched in every inch, she cradled him in between her flexed thighs and embraced him as a lifeline.
“I missed you like a madman!” He muttered in her ear, as his open mouth tasted her long neck. “My moon goddess!”
They kissed, they caressed, they sighed. The moon bathed their entwined bodies, as they moved on each other starved, avid, desperate. Consumed with want, their bodies melted and clung, gave and received. They tried to surface misery and procure ecstasy, relief, fulfilment.
He encountered her hot and ready. They joined their bodies with supreme delight, oblivious to the world around. Only the moon as their witness, their confidante, their ally. Delved in each other, yielding, taking all the pleasure they could, their tongues mimicking their joining, frantic, shameless, erotic. Until they finally obtained and granted the ultimate peak with abandoned pleasure. Paradise followed in each other’s arms. Sleep finally fell on them.
Deep into the night, Philip stirred. Selene lay on her back and he lay on his belly, half over her, an arm snaked around her waist, the other over his head, his face in the curve of her neck. He didn’t remember having felt so…sated in his entire life.
She opened her eyes. The moonlight made the vivid green languid. Their legs interspersed; she looked at him. His intense stare surveyed her. Beautiful. A real moon goddess.
“Good morning.” He managed to say.
Her hand filled itself with his sleek black hair and he revelled in her tenderness. “Good morning.”
“Are you alright?” Try as he might, his body always stormed in contact with hers.
“Yes. You?” She murmured as a cat just finished with a bowl of cream.
“Never better.” His tone lazy.
Her other hand wandered over his shoulder and reached a scar. “What’s that?”
“This?” He looked in the direction of the scar. “A bullet scraped it, missing me.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I’ve heard it was a fierce war.”
“You’re right.” He lay on his back and brought her with him. “We all went to it to fight and win over the menace.” He’d sold his commission soon after he arrived in London.
At that time, men considered war a fact of life. Without the peace movements that came a century and a half later, war and carnage would be regarded as normal, since they happened often and demanded action. Men didn’t come home traumatized. They came proud and boastful. If injured, they’d recount how it happened in a heroic tone of glory, not bitterness. The spirit of the times.
“How epic!” She commented.
“You fought a war of your own, if I eavesdropped right.” He said, referring to her half-brother’s visit. He changed the subject because he wanted to know more.
“It wasn’t a war, no.” She sighed. “My father gave me the option of being cast off.”
“I’ll beat him to a pulp!” Even though, if she hadn’t married his uncle, he’d never have met her. They’d frequent different circles.
“Not much helpful. It’s all done and over.” She played with his dark chest hair.
“But you didn’t want to marry John.”
Her eyes stared the infinite through the window, a sadness to them. “No, I used to dream of a love-match and a happy family.”
Family. In her mouth, the word acquired a new meaning. What would it be like to have one with her? He’d never thought about those things before. What if she’d already got pregnant? When he took her, he was usually so mad with desire, he never managed to prevent…eventual consequences. He wouldn’t complain if he got her with child. Then she’d have to think of marriage.
“And now?” He rolled a strand of rich brown hair around his finger.
“Now it’s all gone. I missed my chance.” Her tone so definite, it tore at his guts.
“You haven’t, you know that.” He reminded her of his proposal.
“It wouldn’t be a love-match.” She said matter-of-factly.
Ok, so she didn’t love him, what of that. They could build something together, they had the potential for that. He wouldn’t insist, though, and risk another row.
“How did my uncle meet you?” Baronets’ daughters and dukes didn’t go to the same social functions.
“A common acquaintance introduced us, when my father paraded me in St James’s P
ark.” She turned away from him and he couldn’t see her delicate face. “We were in the park and he saw this acquaintance with the duke and approached to start a conversation.”
“I cannot understand why John married you, if he didn’t intend to…”
She turned to him again. “I’ve asked myself this same question, but could never come to a conclusion.”
A mystery his uncle took to the grave. Philip couldn’t say he lamented it. Selene became totally his and he couldn’t help feeling smug about it.
He took the coverlet and slowly pulled it downwards.
“What are you doing?” She tried to hold it. Unsuccessfully.
“I want to see you in the moonlight.” He uncovered all her body. An ethereal light fell over her making her even more alluring. “My moon goddess!” And lowered his head to take her breast in his mouth.
She moaned. “You reprobate!”
“You’ll have to talk to the reprobate down here.” He muttered, as he moved it to touch her thigh and show its sinful condition.
Immediately her hand went down to touch it. Her mouth reached his ear. “You can’t mention it like that.” She confided. “It makes me want it.”
“So I’ll never stop talking about it.”
Desire and passion took them over yet again.
They had been invited to a soiree the following evening. Her friend, Viscountess Wilkinson hosted it and Selene felt happy she’d be among her dear friends again.
They sat in the drawing room as both her friends, the Viscountess and Lady Milton performed. Lady Wilkinson at the pianoforte, and Lady Milton singing. They delivered a pleasant musical evening.
At a certain point, Selene saw Lord Pendleton’s daughter, Emily, sit shyly by the duke. Selene sat a couple of rows back. Who could blame the debutante? Philip had everything a woman could possibly wish, looks, a title and the nights with him were… The thought that someone would one day share his…intimacy felt like acid in her stomach. It burned endlessly, bubbling a suffocating nausea she had to swallow dryly. She fought fiercely against that nasty feeling, but it didn’t go away.
He would have to choose a wife sooner or later. Why this effervescent reaction? She wondered as she saw him turn to Emily and smile politely. The girl would be a perfect choice, after all. Her family could be traced back to William, the Conqueror, together with Philip’s own lineage. They’d produce heirs that would unite two of the most important coat of arms in England.
Selene sat there, frozen. Any reaction would denounce her. What would be of her when it finally took place? Loneliness, abandonment, shame. She’d have the memories, though. Those, no one would take from her. She knew she’d suffer, as she realised she was in too deep. She wished she’d never married, never met him. Her life would have been sheltered and peaceful. That life wouldn’t have had Philip in it. The thought made her feel even sadder. Not knowing him and the intense, consuming passion he made her feel would constitute a great loss. She’d lost her dream of a love match, she had…this now. It would have to suffice. She’d have to brace herself to endure what would come in the end, though. How she’d do that was a mystery.
Philip cursed inward colourfully as Lady Emily sat by his side, encouraged by her zealous mama, no doubt. He cursed even more not being able to sit by Selene’s side. No other woman interested him. When he’d told Darius, his friend, that he’d spent six months in the continent as a monk, his friend scoffed at him. Italian and French naughty beauties tried their luck. He hadn’t felt tempted. All he’d wanted was to come back home and find her. Like now. He wanted just this damn soiree over so they could… He didn’t say anything to Darius, naturally. Philip wouldn’t dare confess the…situation even to his best friend. He risked a glance back at her. She sat primly, eyes on the performance ahead. Not a muscle moved, her expression suave and immovable. Oh, but he wanted to break that apparent ice and reveal the incandescent woman underneath. Who would imagine he’d encounter such explosive passion right under his roof.
In the carriage back home, she continued as icy and immovable. Her comportment intrigued him. She made no comment, though. Soon they’d be home and… Yes, home. It felt like it, because she lived there. He wanted her to go on living there for a long, long time.
As they entered a deserted Crompton house, He saw her walk to the stairs, never looking at him. What the hell was going on?
“Good night.” She murmured and went ahead.
“What’s this all about?” He asked in a low serious voice.
She turned her head to him, her eyes unreadable. “Lady Emily would be a perfect match.” Climbing up the stairs, she disappeared in the hallway.
His stare followed her bewildered. She was jealous? He almost laughed to himself. There could be nothing more unnecessary for her to feel than that! Of course he’d never marry Lady Bloody Emily! He didn’t want to! Oh, but he wouldn’t spend his night alone just because of that chit!
He climbed up taking two steps at a time and headed to her room. He didn’t have the finesse to knock, he opened the door, came in and closed it silently. Fortunately, her lady’s maid was nowhere to be seen.
Her back to him, her hands on her hair, taking out pins. Her dress already gone. “I have no intention to marry Lady Emily or any other woman.” He said gravely, nearing her.
“You will have to, you know that.” Her hair totally loose now, fell down her back in rich streaks of brown.
“Not while we are embroiled in…this.” He embraced her from behind, his head lowering to merge in her hair, inhaling its perfume. So petite, she fit in his arms perfectly.
She sighed, her body sagged against his, her head fell on his chest. His hand encountered her breast over her chemise. He fondled it, gaining a moan from her.
“This is easily manageable.” She murmured as her arm lifted to hold him by the nape of his neck.
The movement stretched her body against him. His hands explored her over her chemise.
“Oh, but it is not.” He pulled her hair to the side and deposited a kiss on her neck. “I’m not giving you up, even if I am married.” He nibbled her neck. “What do you say to that?”
“You’re a scoundrel.” She breathed faintly.
“I can’t behave properly where you are concerned.” His fingers sought her womanhood. Her breath caught.
“You can’t behave properly. Full stop.” Somehow, they had reached her canopied bed.
He chuckled huskily. “You’re absolutely right.”
To show it, he made her hold the bedpost, lifted her chemise and took her, to her amazement. She arched her body, seeking more of him and he granted her all he had.
Chapter 14
A good thing Philip spent his days at Parliament and sometimes made it to his club in the evening, Selene thought. It made her live her own days in a more serene frame of mind. His presence always unsettled her, made her self-conscious and…giddy. The nights never let up though. In the silent household, he would come to her chamber and emblaze her to incineration point. This whole thing engulfed her and she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know where they were heading. Frankly, when he took them both to that special place only he could, she lost all awareness and the future seemed unimportant.
Jenkins caught her in the middle of these thoughts. “Excuse me, Your Grace.” He bowed. “This invitation has just arrived for you.”
She took it and opened. The Cunninghams had invited her for tea that afternoon. “Thank you, Jenkins. I’ll accept.”
“Very well, Your Grace” He bowed and left.
It would be good to go and chat a little. It’d distract her from her fretting.
She turned to prepare to leave. It had to be a little funny this…courting the earl performed. His mother unfailingly present, watchful, prying. What would it be like to be the countess? The poor lady that married him, would be marrying his mother altogether. Another reason to evade any possible proposal that he might make. Still smiling, she called for the carriage and left Crompt
on House.
“Hello, Jenkins.” Philip gave him his hat, gloves and coat. Mid-afternoon, Parliament over, he’d decided to come home and have dinner with Selene. “Where is Her Grace?”
“At the Cunninghams, Your Grace.” He arranged the coat over his forearm “They invited her for tea.”
Upon hearing that, a volcano spit fire in his blood. The blasted earl would not let go! “Thanks, Jenkins.” He said with difficult politeness. “Please, send her to the study when she arrives.” And headed to the study.
What did the pauper think he was doing, bloody hell! Couldn’t he go find another heiress or something? Of course he couldn’t be infatuated with her, or could he. Young, beautiful and rich, Selene had everything a man could possibly wish! The nights with her would be… Damnation! No other man would know what the nights felt like! Not with her!
He’d been fuming and trying to do some book keeping when someone knocked quietly. At his invitation, the door opened. Selene. If possible she looked even more tempting today in a dark green dress that hinted at her perfect breasts, the afternoon light falling on her rich brown hair, drawing copper streaks on it. Her orange flowers perfume ensnaring his senses.
He lowered his clove eyes to the book again. “Has he proposed yet?”
“Proposed?” Her silky voice had a hint of vexation to it. Clearly, no proposal would come while she bore half-mourning.
“The pauper earl seems desperate for some cash, don’t you think.” His peripheral vision saw her lifting her hands to her waist.
“Stop interfering with my social life and mind your own duty of marriage and heirs!” Her voice low, firm.
He lifted his clove eyes and met her vivid green ones, flashing fire. Oh, but she aroused him to unbearable point. “I asked you to marry me!”
Her torso inclined towards the desk. “I said no!” Her chin lifted. “I am not suitable.”
