by Lacey, Lilac
The day got hotter. As they followed Rodney down to the boathouse, Tara saw that the black clouds which had rimmed the horizon when she got up, had moved higher in the sky, but the sun still burned fiercely and she felt she could hardly wait to be surrounded by the cool of the water, drifting along in a rowing boat and trailing her hand in the river.
‘I’m not sure we ought to go,’ Rodney said as the party assembled by the boathouse.
‘But Rodney, it’s a beautiful day,’ Susannah said at once. Tara knew he was thinking about those black clouds and the barometer which she had seen him consulting before they left the house. But they were on the edge of the river and she was loathe to give it up now. She added her voice to the protest.
‘Shillingford is not very far. What could possibly go wrong?’
‘It looks stormy,’ Rodney said. He was quite right, Tara had peeked at the barometer herself and the needle had been hovering over change, veering towards rain, but she kept quiet, knowing Rodney was more likely to capitulate if pressed by Susannah rather than herself. Susannah did not let her down.
‘It’s much too hot to stand here discussing this,’ she said, and Tara had to admire her commonsense tactic. ‘Why don’t we get the boats out and just row a little way? If it rains we can come back.’ Then she smiled at him engagingly and Tara saw that Rodney was completely won over.
Leo proved to be a competent oarsman and soon he and Tara were far upstream from the others. ‘Are you worried about getting caught in the rain?’ he asked her, lifting the oars out of the water for a moment and leaning towards her.
‘No.’ Tara found she was in danger of getting lost in the depths of his eyes, and his mouth, just inches from her own, was asking to be kissed. She leant towards him, then the splash of an oar further downstream made her jump, and she pulled back. After yesterday she knew she would have no qualms about initiating a kiss, but she was not so blasé as to do it in front of her friends. Still, a kiss was on the agenda for that afternoon, she was sure of that, and maybe more. As Leo dipped the oars she looked back at him laughingly in pleasurable anticipation.
‘Do you know this area of the river?’ Leo asked her as they skimmed along.
Tara wrenched her attention away from Leo to the willows trailing in the water and the long, springy grass covering the banks. ‘A little,’ she said. ‘We must be about half way to Shillingford.’
Leo glanced at the sky. ‘The clouds are gathering,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think it’s going to rain yet. Would you like to press on or turn back?’
Tara peered down the river, the way they had come, none of the other rowing boats were in sight. It wasn’t quite proper for her to be alone with Leo like this, unchaperoned. Of course she had been alone with him during the three sittings he had required for her painting, but that was different, she had been a client and it had been a business arrangement. But now, regardless of Leo’s background, they were together as equals and on an intimate footing. She smiled sunnily at Leo, the opportunity of being alone with him was too irresistible to pass up. Shillingford had a respectable inn, they might take tea there; if the others did not like the look of the weather and turned back for home they could be alone together for hours. ‘Let’s keep going,’ she said.
The first drops of rain fell as Leo was tying the boat up at the little wharf that edged the village of Shillingford. ‘Quickly,’ he said, giving Tara his hand and hauling her rather unceremoniously out of the boat. She glanced back down the river, but there was no sign of the others. Leo hastily tipped a small boy to keep an eye on the boat, then put his arm around Tara as if that would keep the rain off her, and escorted her to the inn a few short steps away. A sudden squall splattered Tara with raindrops and Leo’s arm proved to be quite ineffectual protection, but she didn’t care, being held closely by him, being cherished, was quite enough, she didn’t need to be dry as well.
They took a little table in an alcove by the window and just as they sat down the heavens seemed to open and rain poured down from the sky. ‘I’m glad we weren’t caught out in that!’ Leo exclaimed. ‘I must have spent too much time in the city recently, I never misjudged weather so badly when I was living in the country.’ Immediately all Tara’s senses were alert. Leo never spoke about his past, was he going to open up at last and tell her about himself?
‘What did you do in the country?’ Tara prompted. Leo brushed a lock of damp hair back out of his eyes and she felt herself in danger of drowning in their clear, dark pools.
‘Riding, hunting, fishing,’ Leo said. ‘The usual things.’ He really wasn’t very forthcoming, Tara thought in frustration, and, worse, he was quite right. Everyone in the country rode, hunted and fished in one form or another, he had told her nothing.
‘Anything else?’ she demanded. Leo took a mouthful of the steaming tea which seemed to shake the chill off him, then he leaned back in his chair, perfectly relaxed, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth as if he knew exactly what she wanted to find out but knew he would enjoy baiting her far too much to give it to her.
Then he seemed to change his mind and leaned forward, looking at her with as much sincerity and honesty as she could hope for. ‘Well I painted, of course, I always did that. I’ve been painting for as long as I can remember.’
‘What did you use?’ Tara asked entranced, imagining him as a small boy, crushing berries and mixing them with clay to make different colours for paint. No wonder he wanted to paint landscapes if he had begun by using the land itself to make his paint.
‘Watercolours,’ Leo said, dashing her fantasy. ‘My mother had a fancy to paint for a while and I helped myself to her brushes and paints.’ Tara’s view of Leo tilted wildly, if his family had been on the brink of poverty, his mother was unlikely to have dabbled in watercolours.
‘So your family weren’t poachers!’ she blurted out before she could stop herself.
‘What?’ Leo looked at her in disbelief. Tara wanted to sink under the table. Of course his family had not been poachers, even if they had been very poor, that did not mean they would have stooped to criminal activity. It was unforgivably rude for her to have suggested it but she had been so relieved to find she was wrong it had just slipped out. Leo would wash his hands of her now, she was sure. Perhaps he would even refuse to row her back to Wallingford and she would have to find some other means of returning. Walking through the rain seemed her most likely option. Then, incredibly, he began to laugh.
‘I can’t believe you thought such a thing,’ he said, still laughing. ‘What on earth made you think that?’
Tara thought back, ‘Well, you said you had had a little to do with animals…’
‘As does everyone who lives in the country,’ Leo said. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. At once all she was aware of was the warmth of his fingers and the rain beating on the window next to him ensuring their privacy. Nothing else was important. ‘So why did you assume the worst?’
Why had she? Somehow it had seemed easier to believe she couldn’t possibly marry him because he was a poacher than simply because he was not one of her peers. Leo had a perfectly respectable profession, but Tara knew her mother expected so much more from her daughter’s marriage and she couldn’t let her down. She had already had to contend with so much with the scandalous death of Tara’s father. She also knew she could not possibly tell Leo this. It was simply not done to reject a proposal for marriage that had not actually been made. Tara dropped her eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. There was an uncomfortable silence, then she realized why it was suddenly so quiet, the rain had stopped. Leo seemed to notice at the same time as she did.
‘Look,’ he said pointing out the window, ‘There’s enough blue to make a pair of sailor’s trousers.’ Tara found herself smiling at the nursery quip, and Leo still hadn’t relinquished his hold on her hand. Perhaps he wasn’t going to hold her foolish assumption against her. She looked up and saw he was smiling back at her. ‘We
should row back to Wallingford before it starts raining again,’ he said.
Their boat was looking rather the worse for the weather, but Leo leapt down lightly into it and competently bailed out the rainwater. Then he tipped another small boy to bring him a towel with which he wiped the seats and then they were off.
Leo rowed strongly and easily downstream. Tara found herself admiring the way in which he handled the boat, confidently and in control. It was the same approach he took to painting, or, in fact, everything she had seen him do, from horsemanship to dinner party etiquette. They rounded a bend in the river and the light suddenly seemed to grow dim. Tara shivered and found herself regretting not bringing even a light summer shawl, but it had been so hot when they had set off. Leo must have noticed, for he stopped rowing and pulled in his oars.
‘Here, put on my jacket,’ he said, taking it off despite her protests. ‘Now don’t be silly, the rowing is keeping me quite warm, but you are shivering.’
‘Thank you,’ Tara said, deciding to accept his offer gracefully. Leo passed her his jacket, then without warning the skies opened. Fat raindrops splattered on Tara’s bare arm. Instinctively she raised the jacket for protection, slid closer to Leo and used it to cover both their heads. She felt his arms wrap round her and the faint stubble from his cheek brushed against the smoothness of hers. She closed her eyes, breathing in the smells around her; the freshness of the rain, the tang of the river, the wet willow leaves brushing against them as the rowing boat drifted towards the bank, but most of all, Leo’s scent, his warmth and masculinity assailing her on every level as she pressed close to him, oblivious to the rain soaking through her light muslin dress.
His first kiss was on her temple, then he kissed his way down her cheek, edging ever closer to her mouth. Tara felt anticipation build within her like the embers of a fire which Leo was slowly fanning with his breath. Then, just when she thought she would have to turn her head and capture his mouth with her own, he reached her lips. His kiss was strong and sensuous, Tara felt as if she were drowning within it, then Leo pulled her tightly against him so that her breasts were pressed against his chest in the most intimate manner. She longed to tear aside the fabric which ran between them so she could explore his skin with her own. Tentatively she reached up and began to undo the buttons on his white shirt.
The rain dribbled down her arm, making them both wetter, and she could feel raindrops creeping into the neckline of her dress Only her head remained dry, under the cave of Leo’s jacket, but it did not matter. She was enveloped in a steaminess that had nothing to do with the weather. The buttons were undone and Leo’s shirt fell apart. Tara placed her palm on his chest luxuriating in the feel of his skin and its light sprinkling of hair under her hand. She explored with her fingertips and found his nipple. She ran her fingers lightly over it and was rewarded with a sudden intake of breath from Leo. Tara felt an answering response within her, as if Leo had taken her own nipple in his strong fingers and tugged on it sensually. His kiss deepened and she felt at that moment that she would do anything he desired.
The rain eased and Leo pushed the jacket aside. A few stray drops of rain landed in his hair and glinted in the watery sunlight. He pulled back from Tara, still holding her and she could feel a faint trembling in his arms as if her were having trouble controlling his feelings. He smiled at her, then glanced downwards and she saw his expression change to one of pure desire. Looking down at her dress, Tara saw that the rain had completely soaked through her dress and the thin cotton slip she wore beneath. The wet fabric clung to her breasts, moulded to them perfectly, while her nipples, hard and erect, were clearly visible as little pink points jutting upwards towards Leo.
‘Perfect,’ Leo breathed. She longed to have him take her breasts in his hands, to warm them, cradle them and relived the building tension within her, but instead he glanced up at the sky. ‘We’d better row for home,’ he said. ‘The rain will soon be back.’
He picked up the oars again and she must have made some small noise of protest, for he laid them back down and looked at her. ‘Here,’ he took the fine muslin of her bodice in his fingertips. For a moment she thought he was reaching for her nipples, but he simply gave the fabric a tweak and Tara gasped at even that tenuous contact as the damp cotton rasped over her skin. ‘If the material is not stuck to your breasts it will dry more quickly,’ Leo said.
‘Are you concerned for my decency?’ Tara demanded in disbelief.
‘Oh, Tara,’ Leo’s voice was husky and any doubts she had about his desire for her fled at once. ‘You are so lovely, and if I am to have any chance of concentrating on the rowing and getting us back to dry land before the storm really sets in, I need you to appear just a little decorous. If not, I will be completely lost.’
‘I see,’ Tara said meekly and suddenly found herself quite happy to let Leo take charge of the situation. He could be her guardian, both physical and moral, she was more than willing to place herself in his hands. Then she couldn’t resist flashing him a smirk as she realized how true that was in every sense.
Tara stepped onto the damp turf next to the boathouse and shook out her dress. It was still very wet but she had slipped on Leo’s jacket when the rain had stopped and that went a considerable way towards preserving her modesty. Back in her room Tara lingered in the hot bath her maid Betty prepared for her. She thought of Leo, in a room not so far from here, doing the same, naked in steamy water, perhaps also thinking of her. It was an alluring thought. The all at once she found herself impatient to see him again. She stood up, letting the water cascade from her body, aware of how much Leo would have liked the sight, and allowed Betty to wrap her in dry, fluffy towels.
Despite the bath and the lateness of their return, Tara was the first to the parlour where they customarily gathered before dinner. She was just wondering if she had cut short the luxury of her bath for nothing when the door opened and Leo strode in. Tara felt her breath catch in her throat. She had thought him handsome before, but dressed in his evening blacks, his wild hair still faintly damp from his own bath, and with eyes that reached for her the moment he saw her, he looked more desirable than ever before.
For his part, Leo was more than glad to find Tara alone. Although their conversation earlier, when she had confessed she thought him the son of a poacher, had further convinced him she would never consider marrying him, the boat ride home had given him undeniable proof of how much she desired him. It made her even more attractive. He was determined to discover whether she was already the mistress of another man, and if she proved to be he would set out at once to make her his own.
His heart seemed to swell as she smiled at the sight of him, but he resisted the temptation to take her in his arms, it would be too easy to get distracted and lose the opportunity this moment of privacy afforded him. Instead he sat down on a yellow damask sofa and she joined him there.
‘Tell me about your friends,’ Leo said. He could tell by the slight widening of her eyes that she was surprised by the question, but Tara, he knew, would enjoy talking about her friends, she adored them. The only question was, how much?
‘You know most of them,’ Tara said. ‘There’s Rodney of course. I am so relieved his affections are firmly secured on Susannah. He is so amiable and such a gentleman, I would have missed him dreadfully if we had quarrelled.’
Leo nodded. He did was quite certain she did not have an arrangement with Rodney. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Freddie I think you may know even better than I do,’ Tara said. ‘We met in my first season when I think he may have had some thoughts of offering for me. But Freddie is not really interested in such things. He is more concerned with watching his fortune grow both on the stock exchange and at the card table. It doesn’t really leave time for anything else. I think he will only marry when he feels the need for an heir.’
She was surprisingly astute, Leo thought. That was exactly how he saw Freddie himself, although he wondered if his friend might have made room in his
life for a dalliance, however from what Tara said it seemed unlikely. ‘He likes to flirt with you,’ he fished.
Tara laughed. ‘Party manners, nothing more. Freddie and I have always flirted, it is just our way.’
‘I see,’ Leo said. ‘Tell me about the rest of your friends.’
Tara’s eyes grew wary. ‘There is Philippe, of course,’ she said. ‘But every time we discuss him, we argue. Besides, you know all about him that there is to know.’
‘Do I?’ Leo asked, suddenly alert. He had seen for himself that Tara was very fond of the Frenchman. Was she having an affair with him? That would be intolerable! ‘You have told me you have no desire to marry La Monte,’ he said carefully. ‘But surely he wishes to marry you?’
Tara shrugged. ‘If he does, he has the good sense to keep such an idea to himself.’
’He enjoys your flirtations,’ Leo went on, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice, sensing that if she detected it she would change the subject immediately.
Tara reached for his hand and at her touch, Leo found himself falling once more under her spell. ‘I flirt with all my gentlemen friends,’ she said, looking at him very wide-eyed, perhaps wondering how he would react to such honesty. He longed to demand she give that up and save all her coquettishness for him, but he forced himself to keep to the topic.
‘With La Monte, is there something more?’ he asked. Tara gasped and he could tell from her fleeting, shocked grip on his hand that she took his meaning immediately.
‘Of course not!’ she said, gazing at him, her pupils dilated and her eyes unreadable.
There was a step outside the room and Tara just had time to snatch her hand back before the door swung open and Rodney and Freddie came in. Rodney asked some affable question about their boating experiences, but Tara was unable to take it in. Had Leo really asked her if she were Philippe’s mistress? She ran the conversation back rapidly in her mind. With La Monte, is there something more? Yes, he had asked her if she and Philippe were lovers, but why? Beside her Leo was talking about the inn at Shillingford as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day either in the rowing boat of just now, here on the sofa. Then another thought dawned on her. Did Leo want to make her his mistress? Was that why he wanted to discover if she already had an arrangement with another man?
