The Pleasure Garden: Sacred VowsPerfumed PleasuresRites of Passions

by Amanda McIntyre

  Searching the manor for her, he discovered she was not at home, but out in the village with her mother. Slipping into her room, he placed a note on her pillow.

  Meet me in the Garden….

  Catherine crumpled Joscelyn’s letter in her hand. She was sorely tempted, but knew she could not tempt fate once again.

  “Shall I dress you for dinner now, miss?”

  Turning, she saw her maid rifling through her wardrobe. “No, thank you, Mary. Perhaps you would be so kind as to have supper brought up here. I have a headache, and do not believe I could sit at the table.”

  “Oh, miss, you do look frightfully pale.” With a bob, Mary excused herself. “Let me tell your mother, miss, and then I shall bring up tea and toast.”

  Grateful for the silence, Catherine made her way to the window and watched the waning sunlight cast shadows over the garden. She saw Joscelyn standing beside the fountain, waiting patiently. Closing the drapes, she blotted out the sight, putting him from her mind. But he would not leave her heart.

  The door banged open and she jumped, whirling around to confront the intruder.

  “Your maid says you are ill.” Edward was standing there, his face red. “What is the matter?”

  “A headache.”

  “Nonsense. You’re not missing dinner because of a headache. I’ve brought a few of my mates around. You’ll be at dinner, dressed in the red silk. I want to show my friends what a luscious little piece I’ve got myself.”

  Catherine’s stomach turned sour. She would not sit there and allow herself to be ogled by his friends.

  Edward took impatient steps into her room and grasped her hard about her shoulders. “Do you understand me, damn it? You’ll present yourself and entertain my friends, or you will find yourself at the wrong end my hand.”

  “Edward.”

  The throaty snarl from the door made him release his hold on her. Catherine saw Lord Fairfax standing in the hall. His expression was dark. “Get your hands off her.”

  “Or what?” Edward taunted. “Begone, Father.”

  “The hell you’ll dismiss me like that.”

  Edward’s expression turned florid. “What is it you want?”

  “You, out of this room. Now.”

  Like a petulant child, Edward glared at Catherine. “Fine. Stay in this room then, but expect me tonight after I return to the house.”

  Edward brushed past them. Lord Fairfax watched his son leave, then turned to look at her. “My apologies, Lady Catherine. I assure you, I raised my son better, but he’s chosen not to recall the manners he was given.”

  Rubbing her arms, Catherine nodded. “Of course, my lord. There is no harm done.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, my dear. But soon it will all be mended. By the by,” Fairfax asked, “have you seen my nephew today?”

  “No, milord.”

  “I think you should seek him out. It might very well be worth your while.”

  Curtsying to him, Catherine watched as her future father-in-law closed her chamber door. What an odd conversation, she thought. Turning, she saw the crumpled missive on the floor and bent to retrieve it.

  Edward would be out tonight. Did she dare? Should she risk all and go in search of Joscelyn?

  Mary arrived with the dinner tray, and Catherine sat down, contemplating what she should do as she nibbled on a triangle of toast. Was it just her, or had Fairfax been insinuating something when he had suggested that she search out Joscelyn?

  There was only way to find out.

  8

  THREE HOURS HAD PASSED AND STILL CATHERINE refused to come to him. He’d spent each of those miserable hours alone in the garden, waiting for her. But he did not lose hope. It was fear for her family that kept her away, not fear of him. She did not yet realize what good fortune had been bestowed upon them. Her uncle had freed her—had freed him. Now if only he could find her to tell her. She hadn’t been in the house. He could only hope that she had at last arrived at the garden.

  Trudging across the damp grass, he made his way there. He had no idea what prompted him to do this yet again. Sleeping on the cold ground, waiting for her, was a penance, but he could not resist doing so. Maybe tonight she would come to him.

  Lifting the latch, Joscelyn listened to the gate groan on its rusted hinges. Striding on into the garden, he searched among the shadows for the fountain.

  He hadn’t been able to deny himself or stay away. He had thought about her all day, as he saw to both his and Tate’s affairs. During the long carriage ride, he had dreamed of what he was going to do to Catherine that very night. His need for her was so strong, so compelling. He craved feeling her hands on his body, experiencing the satisfaction of plunging his cock inside a wet sheath he had made ache for him. Would she come to him tonight?

  It was not a hard rut he was looking for but a tender loving, a melding of bodies and hearts and, God help him, souls.

  And there she was, lying on the stone that surrounded the fountain. She was covered by a white cloak, which rippled in the gentle spring breeze as she slept. Like a mirage. He blinked. Blinked again, yet there she was, sleeping before him. She had come to him. Wanted him, and he stood looking down upon her like a fool.

  Catherine stirred uncomfortably and the scalloped edges of her gown parted, teasing him with a glimpse of pale flesh rendered white in the soft glow of the moon.

  He wanted her, despite his fears, despite not knowing what Catherine truly thought of him. At this moment he didn’t give a bloody damn; he only wanted to feel her, to give her pleasure and feel her pleasure him.

  Unfastening his breeches, he dropped them to the ground. His cock sprang free, heavy with arousal. Never had anticipation coursed so heavily through him. It was as if he were a virgin again, awaiting his first conquest.

  Hearing Catherine sigh and watching her lips part on a soft breath, he felt his body stiffen, and to relieve some of the exquisite ache, he palmed his cock, studying her in the light of the moon. How many times had he pleasured himself imagining this? How many nights had he found release with his hand, wishing it was her body he was pouring himself into? Too damned many.

  Carefully, he removed the cloak and laid it on the grass. Then he turned, lifted her gently and placed her on it. She squirmed, and he kissed her, unable to resist sliding his finger across her smooth cheek.

  Lying so that he faced her, he propped his head in his hand and trailed his thumb down her throat to where the lace shielded her body from him. It was an erotic piece of clothing, revealing, yet at the same time concealing the places he most desired to see. Her curves were outlined, but he could not see her nipples, only the faintest hint of pink circles beneath the lace design.

  Now painfully aroused, he parted the gown with one finger and allowed himself to look his fill. Her breasts, round and full, quivered with each of her breaths. Already her nipples were erect and he could not stop himself from brushing the tip of his finger across them. She moaned and shifted restlessly, and he watched her breasts sway with the movement.

  Grasping his cock, he stroked its length, fearing that if he did not do something to assuage his lust he would spread her thighs and sink into her body. Needing to feel her, he parted her gown more to reveal her curls and lush thighs.

  He grazed the tip of his cock along her belly, savoring the softness, the wickedness of pleasuring himself while she slept, naked, before him.

  “I want you,” he whispered in the quiet, unable to stop the words that sprang from the depths of his soul. “Always only you.”

  “I want you, too,” she replied sleepily. He looked up to see her lashes flutter open. She met his gaze and smiled secretly. “Am I dreaming? Have I only wished you here?”

  He smiled back. “You came to me, remember?”

  “I did. I couldn’t pass another night like the last, aching for you. Crying because I wanted you. Joscelyn, I haven’t been able to think of anything else but you, and how you must despise me for what I let you believe.”

/>   “I never believed you. Edward could convince any woman to do his bidding. But we are together now, and we need not talk of Edward.”

  “Oh, I hope you aren’t just a dream!” she whispered, tracing his mouth with the tip of her finger.

  “No,” he groaned, reaching for her hand and placing it inside his shirt so that her palm rested against his heart. “I am real.”

  She smiled, inching closer to him so that her breasts brushed against his shirt and her lips were impossibly near his. When he captured her lips and swept his tongue inside, she mewled softly and brought her hands to his hair, raking her fingers through the length of it. Joscelyn groaned, needing her hands on him, wishing he could be naked in her arms, feeling those soft fingers stroking his scarred flesh.

  “I need you, Cathy,” he murmured against her mouth. “I need to feel you and taste you.”

  “I need you, too,” she sighed, grasping his hair as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts. “I want you so much, more than you can ever imagine.”

  He tongued her nipple, listening to her hushed breathing. If he was any sort of gentleman, he would lift her up, carry her to the house and make love to her in a proper bed, not out here in the garden. But he was no gentleman, and the garden on the eve of Beltane was a most fitting place to share their bodies.

  Flicking her nipple with his tongue, he smiled when he heard her gasp. He released his cock and flattened his palm on her belly, which quivered beneath his hand. He felt her tremble when he drew her nipple between his lips and sucked.

  “My God,” she cried, tangling her legs with his and arching her spine.

  Her breasts grazed his face, and Joscelyn could not help but push her onto her back so that he could suck at one nipple and tug at the other. She moaned when he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, and when he tweaked it she gripped his hair. Joscelyn smiled, knowing that if he slipped his fingers between her thighs he would feel the honey seeping from her body.

  Her hands were moving now, exploring his shoulders and arms. He felt her fingers pinching his flesh, her nails biting into him through the thin linen of his shirt. Her enthusiasm and heated response encouraged him and he skimmed his fingers down her breasts, past her belly to the damp curls between her thighs.

  She whimpered and he captured her cry with his mouth, slipping his tongue deep into hers as he parted her sex and slid his finger up the slick length of her. He circled her clitoris and she bucked against his hand, moaning while she clutched his shirt.

  “Yes,” she gasped, tearing her lips from his as he slid first one, then a second finger into her.

  “Do you need another to fill you?”

  She nodded and reached for him, bringing his mouth down atop hers. He growled low in his throat and plunged a third finger deep within her, swallowing her cries.

  “God, but I want you,” he whispered, nipping her lips while he continued to finger her tight passage. His thumb circled the bud at the crest of her curls and he felt her stiffen, then arch again.

  “Beautiful,” he rasped, watching Cathy’s emotions play across her shadowed face.

  Her keening cry echoed along the garden walls as she stiffened and bucked against him, and all the while he drove her on with his fingers until she was panting and writhing and begging for his cock.

  “I want to touch you,” she gasped, reaching for the tails of his shirt. “I want your skin against mine.”

  His body froze and his mind went blank when he felt the tentative touch of her fingers on his flanks. “No,” he commanded, shoving himself away from her. “No, Catherine, don’t touch me, I cannot bear it. I know what you feel.”

  Catherine lay still on the ground, watching as Joscelyn pushed himself away from her. She couldn’t believe he didn’t want her touch. He had allowed her to see him, and she had told him that his scars meant nothing to her. Yet still he was afraid.

  Letting her eyes skim down his wrinkled shirt, she saw his erection, thick and hard, soaring out of a nest of dark curls. He met her gaze through the shadowed moonlight, but then turned his head, refusing to look at her. She had not missed the haunting loneliness that flickered in his gaze, and she reached for his hand, but he snatched it away.

  “Cathy—”

  “Shh,” she whispered, realizing he was trying to hide his scars. She recalled that his hand had been burned and cut, the same hand she had reached for. He was afraid of her response, and it broke her heart to think he might consider her so shallow. “I want you, the man you are. If that means scars and all, then so be it. Just let me touch you, Joscelyn.”

  He swallowed hard, and she knew that if she did not say something the moment would be over. She could not let it be, could not go back, after he’d taken her so far. She wanted this, wanted it with him. “You’re beautiful to me because you’re everything I’ve ever desired in a man.”

  Her fingers reached out to his thighs and she tentatively stroked the hard muscle. His jaw clenched and she watched his erection swell further and throb, jutting out from beneath the hem of his shirt. Skimming her hand through his dark curls, she captured his shaft and smoothed her fingers down the length of him. “Please tell me I can touch you like this.”

  He nodded, and captured her hand in his, curling his fingers around hers, showing her how he liked it.

  “I didn’t want it this way,” he rasped. “I wanted to taste you, to bring you to climax after climax, to have you begging me to fill you.”

  “I am begging.” She met his gaze. “I want you inside me, want you to show me all the things you’ve dreamed of when you were away, fighting for your life.”

  “Catherine,” he murmured, lying atop her and capturing her breasts in his hands. “I want so desperately to make this right for you.”

  “You will.” She smiled, covering his mouth with her fingers. “It will be perfect.”

  As she kneaded his bottom, she spread her legs, showing him that she was submitting to him, in essence giving him everything she had left in the world.

  “I’ll take care of you, Cathy, I swear it.”

  “I know,” she sighed, feeling his beautiful fingers part her, teasing the honey from her once again.

  “So wet,” he groaned, nudging his shaft between her legs. “It’s just for me, isn’t it, Cathy?”

  “Yes.” The unyielding hardness of him slid into her. She was stretched to the limit, and had never felt anything more fascinating than knowing that Joscelyn was inside her, a part of her.

  “Cathy,” he mumbled against her throat, driving deep. “Tell me you want me, that it’s only me you want inside you. I need to hear the words.”

  Somewhere deep within her she felt his torment, tasted his fear. He wanted to be desired as he was now, and not just what he had been before the war.

  “Give me the words.”

  He was stroking her so hard, so precisely, that she could barely breathe, let alone speak. The exquisite sensation was building again, and Catherine felt herself becoming weightless, floating, waiting for the pleasure to take her.

  “Damn it, Catherine, I need to know,” he growled. His breath was hot against her skin and she felt perspiration trickle from his forehead onto her cheek. “Please tell me that you feel something.”

  “I love you,” she cried, feeling her body splinter. She clutched him tightly, squeezing him to her as he released his seed deep inside her.

  She’d said it. At long last Joscelyn would know how she truly felt. She loved him, and never more than right now, when he was still buried deep inside her.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Catherine was tracing her fingertips along his chest, tickling his nipple—both nipples. Exquisite pleasure was elicited from the one, and nothing but numbness from the other.

  “You don’t want to know about that,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Besides, I have something much more important to discuss.” She shivered when the breeze blew, caressing their skin, and he held her tight to him, and used
his jacket to cover her up.

  “Of course I want to know about the war. I want to hear everything.”

  Closing his eyes, he fought past the images of the conflict. He did not want this moment blackened by his memories.

  “Trust me,” she whispered, and then rolled over onto him, straddling him, gazing down upon him through a curtain of blond hair. “I will keep you safe,” she said, smiling.

  He smiled back, filled his hands with her breasts and enjoyed the slick wetness of her quim on his cock. He hardened, let himself go fully erect and waited for her to make the next move.

  “Tell me,” she moaned as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. “Or I will get off and go back into the house.”

  He reached for her bottom, gripped her, bit down gently on her nipple until she writhed, moving her sex along his cock. She was such an innocent. She thought to tease him, but what she didn’t realize was that he could make her come like this, just with rubbing.

  “Joscelyn,” she moaned, “tell me.”

  “That I want to touch you all over? That I want your breasts in my hands, your nipples against my tongue, my cock inching inside you?”

  She sighed, a thrilling whisper that escaped through her parted lips when she felt his erection throb beneath her. Instinctively she brushed him, rubbing along him, her lips parting in a silent plea for more.

  “I could make you come for me with only words, do you know that?”

  She shuddered as he trailed his fingers along the length of her spine.