“I never thought you mad,” he said. “Only…perhaps a little overwhelmed.”
“Yes. And worse than that if you had not been there.”
He glanced away. She pushed back the covers and touched his face, fingers stroking his cheek. “You do not need to ask my forgiveness,” she said. “There is nothing to forgive.”
He shook his head, held mute by the explanations and excuses dammed behind his tongue. Cordelia let her hand drop to his chest, pressing her palm over his heart. Her gaze roamed about the room. “I have not been in this cottage since you took possession. It is very pleasant.”
“I…brought you here because I thought you would prefer it, at least until you regain your strength.” He did his best to ignore the heat of her skin burning through the fabric of his shirt, but his mouth went dry and his pulse began to race. “I took the liberty of loosening your stays. I hope you will not take offense.”
She flushed deeply. “I quite understand. You are, after all, a doctor of sorts.”
“Of sorts.” He cleared his throat. “You should go back to sleep. I’ll visit the house and tell them…I’ll ask Theodora to come, so that the proprieties will be maintained.” He attempted a smile. “I’m sure that no one will think—”
“To the devil with the proprieties,” she said. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him down with startling force. Her breath caressed his lips. “Do not send for my cousin, Donal.”
He froze. “Cordelia…you are not yet recovered from your ordeal. You should—”
“Should. Should. How weary I am of that word!”
“I understand, but…you are not yourself.”
“I am more myself than I have been in a very long time.” Her nails scraped his skin. “I know what I want, Donal. Do not deny me.”
Donal closed his eyes, fighting for control over the desire running hot in his blood. “There is no greater stimulus for the urge to…to procreate than the proximity of death.”
“Procreate?” She laughed. “Ah, yes. You insist that even we human beings are animals.” She stared into his eyes, her own blazing with hunger and conviction. “Do you truly think that I am driven by mindless, bestial urges, lost to all reason?”
“I think you are suffering, Cordelia. You’ll feel differently tomorrow, and regret—”
“I’ll regret nothing.” She seized his hand and drew it to her bodice. “You once told me that I have little faith in instinct. You were wrong.” She released a shuddering breath. “I know this is what we both need. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”
Donal locked his muscles, bracing himself to dash her illusions once and for all. “I cannot stay with you, Cordelia.”
Fleeting bewilderment crossed her face. “What has that to do with—”
“Whatever comes of this, whatever happens between us, I will be leaving Edgecott.”
Comprehension replaced the hesitation in her eyes. “Do you think I do not know that? Did you believe that I would demand that you love me?”
He went hot and cold by turns, stunned by the implacable clarity of her question, the fearlessness of her honesty. “If I could stay,” he said, half choking on the words. “If I could be what you wanted—”
She covered his mouth with her fingertips. “You are what I want. Here and now. Nothing else exists.” Her lips formed the ghost of a smile, the faintest trace of uncertainty. “Is it that you do not want me?”
“God. Cordelia…” He took her face between his hands, no longer caring if she felt how badly he trembled. “I want you. I always have.”
“Then let us both take what we want.” She reached up. “Come to me, Donal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE BATTLE WAS OVER.
Donal came to her at last, his arms strong and sure, his lips gentle as they found hers. For the span of a heartbeat she remembered other times, other kisses…a fumbling experiment with a planter’s son in Brazil, stolen meetings with a young subaltern in India, her first encounter with James, Inglesham’s eminently civilized pecks…and then all thought of other men fled her memory, and there was only him.
She pressed against him, doing her best to make him understand that gentleness was the last thing she wanted. She slid her fingers through the thick, loose curls of his hair and shamelessly begged him to devour her. He opened his mouth, still hesitant, but when she nipped his lower lip he groaned, a deep rumble of surrender, and pushed his tongue inside.
A liquid flood of warmth rushed through Cordelia’s body. She arched her neck as Donal began to remove the pins from her hair, letting the locks tumble free about her face and shoulders. She felt the complete wanton, and yet there was no shame, only growing excitement.
Without words she guided his fingers to the tiny buttons at her bodice, eager to feel his hands on her skin. His breath came hard and fast, matching her own, yet he took his time, opening her bodice and helping her remove the bulky garment. But she was by no means freed of her cage; the stays he had already loosened rested like a weight of steel over her breasts.
She lifted her hair and turned. “Unlace me,” she said. She felt his fingers tremble as he pulled the laces free. Cool air swept beneath her chemise, the final layer that stood between her and the touch she longed for.
He reached around her and cupped her breasts in his big hands, stroking his thumbs over her nipples through the thin fabric. The feeling was indescribably erotic. James had never taken his time with her in bed; even when he was sober he was boyish in his impatience, and though he was never rough he assumed she enjoyed her pleasures as perfunctorily as he did.
Donal did not. He brought her to aching readiness without ever touching her flesh, and only after she was near to crying out with frustration did he turn her about in his arms, lift the chemise over her head and lay his hands on her body.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered. She almost believed him. She accepted his worship as he weighed her breasts in his palms, lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue. She gasped and trembled as he laid her back upon the bed, suckling her gently and then with hungry intensity, giving thorough attention to one nipple before moving to the next. Her gasps and moans were the only sounds to break the silence.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, his gaze warm with admiration and desire. “Your petticoats,” he said. “They are…rather inconvenient.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Most inconvenient.”
She sat up, her hardened nipples stroking the linen of his shirt as he undid the fastenings at the back of her skirt. He lifted her from the bed, and she wriggled free of the skirt with a little laugh of self-consciousness. He caught her laughter with a kiss as he undid the petticoats one by one and let them fall about her feet.
She stood before him in her cotton drawers, fighting the urge to cover herself with her arms. He looked at her as if she were a goddess, a creature out of myth and legend that no man dared touch.
He cupped her face between his hands. “Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No. Not of you. It is just that I am so very plain.”
“Plain? You?” He chuckled and drew her against him. “You are magnificent in every way.”
“Oh, Donal…”
He quieted her again with his mouth on her lips, her throat, her breasts, and then he carried her back to the bed. He stood before her without embarrassment and removed his shirt, revealing a well-muscled torso with a dusting of coppery hair from chest to hard stomach. She had only moments to admire his breathtaking masculine beauty before he began to unbutton his trousers. She could not look away, and when he had shed his drawers she saw that he was fully, and impressively, aroused.
“I do not believe,” Cordelia said softly, “that I have ever beheld such a fine male specimen of the species Homo sapiens.”
Donal’s cheeks reddened, but her compliment only seemed to fuel his desire. He joined her on the bed, stretching out beside her, and r
esumed his caresses, stroking her skin from breast to belly, gliding over hip and thigh as he removed her drawers and left her naked to his gaze. His fingers circled her navel, moving lower to dip between her thighs in delicate exploration.
She closed her eyes and gasped. “Donal…”
“Hush,” he said. His finger skimmed over her slick, tender flesh, finding the tiny bud where all sensation gathered. He teased it with small, circular motions as he suckled her breasts and kissed her throat, bringing her closer and closer to the mysterious and magical moment of completion.
But it was not enough to experience that moment alone, no matter how unselfishly Donal might wish it. Cordelia pressed her face to Donal’s chest, flicking his nipple with her tongue. He froze. She reached down between them and found the hard length pressed against her thigh, stroking it with her fingertip.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered into the hollow of his shoulder. She shifted her legs, resting her thigh over his hip, and guided him against her.
If there had been a moment when Donal might have broken free, when his mind might have overcome the needs of his body, that time had long since passed. He felt Cordelia’s velvet warmth opening to him, heard her low moan of approval as he slid inside, and he was lost. Lost as she wrapped her legs about his hips to pull him deeper, lost beyond all recovery when she gasped his name in time to the rhythm of his thrusts. When he would have been gentle she dug her nails into his back and demanded his ferocity, and soon there was nothing but the dance of their bodies and Cordelia’s sighs of pleasure.
Still Donal held himself back, waiting for Cordelia to reach her peak before he let himself find his. But she would have none of it. She arched up against him, her fingers tangled in his hair, and played him like a fine instruments in the hands of a master. Just as he felt himself begin to lose control she bucked and shuddered beneath him, and with a groan of triumph he surrendered.
With their bodies still linked he rolled Cordelia to her side, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. His heart was so full that he couldn’t speak for fear of the words he might say. Instead he stroked the damp hair from her face and kissed her forehead, content beyond all reason.
She pulled back and kissed his chin, her face still flushed with passion. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
He leaned over her, stricken. “Why are you weeping? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She smiled and wiped at the tears with the back of her hand. “I do not believe I’ve ever been so happy.”
“Céadsearc,” he said hoarsely, hating himself, “you have made me very happy, too.”
She rose up on her elbow, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and smiled at him tenderly. “How strange that I can almost hear your thoughts,” she said. “Right now you are wondering how best to remind me that this is but a temporary pleasure, and that it would be a mistake for me to rely upon you for my future happiness.”
“Cordelia…”
“You need not say it, for I already know.” She caressed his lower lip with her fingertip. “Be at ease, my lord Enkidu. I shall not demand anything of you, save perhaps a few more nights like these. I am willing to take what pleasure we can steal…today, tomorrow, for as long as you remain at Edgecott.”
For all her brave words, Donal heard the quiver in her voice. He was more than grateful to accept the temporary liaison she offered, but to speak of it now seemed crass and vulgar.
“Enkidu,” he said, grasping at a less painful subject. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“It was the name I gave you in my mind when first we met at the Zoological Gardens. You have heard of the Epic of Gilgamesh, the great Babylonian hero? His dearest companion was Enkidu, who was lord of the beasts and could speak their tongue.”
Donal shivered. “I know the story.” Just as he knew that Enkidu, the wildest of wild men, was tamed when he lay with a woman sent by Gilgamesh, and thus lost his mystical bond with his animal brothers.
That would not happen to Donal. He might lie beside Cordelia a thousand times and never lose his abilities…unless he slipped over the deadly border from friendship and desire to love.
“I hope I have not offended you?” Cordelia asked, smiling shyly.
“How could you? At least you found me worthy to be lord of something.”
“Worthy indeed.” She stretched up and kissed him lightly. “But if you feel you have not yet earned your title, I should be more than willing to give you another chance.”
Donal groaned and pulled her against him. Her mouth was hot and wet, and her heart beat strongly against his chest…so strongly that it seemed to shake the very walls of the cottage.
Someone was knocking at the cottage door.
Donal lifted his head, aiming a savage thought at the one who so cruelly plunged him and Cordelia back into harsh reality.
“What is it?” Cordelia asked.
Donal rose and threw on shirt and trousers, buttoning up in haste as the knock sounded again. Cordelia sat up, her gaze losing its softness as she looked toward the door.
“Stay where you are,” Donal warned her. “I won’t allow them to know you’re here.”
She pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders. “Do you think such a thing can be kept secret?” She tossed her hair. “I am not ashamed.”
Donal admired her spirit, but he knew that soon she would begin to consider the consequences of their joining. When she did, she would realize that it was ill-advised to allow either Ivy or her father to learn what had happened.
He tucked in his shirt, pulled on his boots and carefully opened the door. A nervous footman stood on the threshold. He bobbed his head at Donal, attempted to look over Donal’s shoulder, and retreated several steps when Donal fixed him with a withering glare.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Doctor,” the boy said, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his words. “I am looking for Mrs. Hardcastle.”
“And you expected to find her here?”
The footman stared at Donal’s disheveled hair. “I…er, we were told she was with you at the kennels. She wasn’t there.” He straightened. “It is a matter of some urgency, Dr. Fleming. Sir Geoffrey has taken quite ill, and Miss Shipp directed that Mrs. Hardcastle be found at once.”
Donal winced inwardly, certain that Cordelia had heard the young man and would shortly be at the door, heedless of her reputation.
“Mrs. Hardcastle assisted me in caring for the animals she rescued last night,” he said, willing Cordelia to keep quiet a little longer. “It was a most trying experience. She mentioned taking a walk by the river when we parted early this morning. I would advise you to seek her there.”
The footman hesitated, unprepared to question Donal’s statement and yet clearly not convinced. “Miss Shipp fears for Sir Geoffrey’s life, Dr. Fleming. If you would assist me in locating Mrs. Hardcastle…”
“Of course. If you’ll go on to the river, I’ll join you presently.”
He closed the door in the footman’s face and quickly turned to Cordelia. She was already up, buttoning the bodice he had so recently taken such pleasure in removing.
“I heard,” she said before he could speak. “It must be urgent indeed if Theodora sent servants to fetch me.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “Don’t worry about the servants, Donal. There will always be gossip. It can’t be helped.” She heaped her hair atop her head and inserted pins here and there to secure it in place. “I must return to the house at once.”
“Of course.” He fetched her cloak from the stand behind the door and draped it over her shoulders, allowing his hand to linger at the angle of her neck. It seemed likely, even certain, that he would never touch her this way again. “Don’t berate yourself because you were not at the house. If you must blame someone, blame me.”
Cordelia shook her head, one brief jerk of denial, and Donal knew that no plea or demand would convince her that she was not at fault for her absence when her father had taken ill. She would punish herself again and again for havi
ng dared to consider her own needs, if only for a single hour in a life of selfless responsibility.
She hurried to the door, tying her bonnet under her chin, and paused to glance back. Already she had difficulty in meeting his gaze.
“Will you come?” she asked, her voice thin with fear barely held in check. “If my father is as ill as John claimed…”
“I’ll follow you within the hour,” he said. He took a step toward her, aching to give her comfort and knowing she would not accept it. “Cordelia—”
She smiled sadly, opened the door and slipped out into the harrowing light of morning. Donal stood in the doorway and watched her stride away, his eyes straining after her diminishing figure as if she might vanish forever. His vision blurred.
A slight, familiar weight came to rest on his shoulder. “My master weeps?” Tod asked softly.
Donal raked his hand over his eyes. “Tod,” he said, clearing the roughness from his throat. “Where have you been?”
Tod flew up, hovered a few feet above the earth, and landed on the broad-leaved stalk of a yellow hollyhock. “My master called for me?” he asked, evading Donal’s question.
Torn between relief and annoyance, Donal sat on the bench beside the door. “Yesterday,” he said, “I could have used your help in dealing with a particularly unpleasant case of mortal wickedness.”
The hob looked at Donal from beneath his shaggy brows. “The dogs?” He ducked his head. “Reggie told me. He said the Hardcastle helped them.”
“She did, and she could have been hurt if I hadn’t—” He paused, knowing that Tod didn’t deserve his anger. “I’m sorry. I have seen more of man’s inhumanity to his fellow creatures in the past weeks at Edgecott than I witnessed in a year at Stenwater Farm.” He knotted his hands together. “At the races, with Inglesham…I looked for you there. It was a nasty business.”
“Did you punish the Yellow-Hair?”
“No. But when I was there, I dreamed of Tir-na-Nog. It seemed as if I were a thousand miles and a world away from the cruelty of man.”
Lord of the Beasts Page 28
