Conscious thought was beyond Blake’s ability. She had him. He was hers. He pushed and pushed, wanting, wanting, wanting—
In one shimmering moment, they were together, and then, in the next, he felt her go over the edge of release. She cried his name, his first name, half sob, half blessing. He pressed deep, reveling in the sensation. Her muscles clenched him, holding him.
No woman had ever given herself so completely, so generously to him—and he allowed himself to follow her. He was so rooted inside her that their bodies felt fused together.
Blake’s physical sense of being disintegrated, blending into her in a way he’d never experienced before. They were completely one, bound by a force stronger than any he could have imagined.
He clung to her, silently vowing never to let her go. She was his salvation, his purpose, his meaning, his life. For a man who had never felt as if he’d belonged anywhere, this was a gift.
Her arms held him just as tightly.
Blake wanted to hold this moment forever. But eventually, his heartbeat began to return to normal. He became aware of his surroundings and realized his breeches were around his knees and her dress up to her breasts. “If anyone walked in right now . . . ,” he started.
Instead of her being embarrassed, a smile lit her face. She placed her hand against his jaw. “They would know we had a good time,” she finished.
I love you, he wanted to say, but he held the words. Everyone professed love after what they’d just experienced.
He wanted that declaration to mean something to her when he said them, and a simple “I love you” would not be enough. For the first time in his life, he understood why men were moved to write poetry.
She ran her hand down the arm that still bore his weight over her. Her blue gray eyes looked up to him. “Would you like to undress completely . . . and perhaps try it again?”
Her suggestion had an immediate impact. He hardened. She had that complete power over him.
She’d noticed his reaction. She scooted back on the bed, her legs exposed to him. “I take that as an ‘aye,’ Mr. Stephens.”
“Oh, aye,” he assured her.
Aileen laughed and began loosening the laces of her dress, which was already hopelessly mussed. Blake didn’t waste time removing his own clothes. His boots were particularly stubborn, or was it that he was clumsy, with proof of his desire so evident?
She was already naked and pulling the pins from her hair. Seeing his difficulty, she set the pins on the table beside the bed and slid off the mattress to kneel before him. She grabbed the heel of his boot and pulled, almost falling over, to her delight.
Blake loved the sight of her breasts, with her hard pink nipples, bouncing with her laughter. She was so beautiful to him.
Yes, Tara had the perfection of a goddess . . . but Aileen was a woman, warm, caring, gracious. Her flaws were part of her charm, part of what made her unique and valuable to him.
He had to touch the shining mass of her hair, tangling his fingers in it. She dropped the boot in her hand and looked up at him.
“So lovely,” he whispered.
Her brows came together. “I’m not, Blake. Not if I stop and think about what we are doing with Tara close at hand.”
“She has no strong feeling for me, or I for her.”
“I know.”
“But I care about you,” he dared to say.
The sadness left her eyes. “I know that as well. You bought a horse.”
So his purchase of Folly had done the trick. “It was the only thing I could do that would have meaning for you.”
“It did, Blake.” She closed her eyes a moment, as if making a wish. When she opened them, there was a peace in their depths. “No one has ever cared enough for me to discover what truly holds meaning for me . . . but you did. I don’t know why events happen the way they do, but right now, I’ve never felt happier.”
And then, before he could answer, she leaned forward and kissed him in the most intimate ways a woman can a man.
All words were wiped from Blake’s mind as her kiss robbed him of sanity. And he realized words didn’t matter. She was right. What was between them was powerful. It defied explanation. Defining it would be futile.
But their actions . . . ? Ah, yes, the way they touched, the way they made love told them louder than mere words what they meant to each other.
And Blake was perfectly content to let her have her way with him . . . as long as he could happily return the favor.
Aileen was in love.
She didn’t leave his bed until the wee hours of the morning, before the servants stirred. Other than a few hours napping in Blake’s arms, she hadn’t slept. Who needed sleep when one was in love?
Her worries the day before for Tara evaporated. It was midday before she remembered the gossip about her sister that had driven her to return to Annefield. But now, the needs of her sister did not excite the same concern. Love had that ability. It insulated lovers from the daily fears of ordinary people. Or was it that love put those fears in their proper perspective?
And that night, after all had gone to bed, Aileen returned to Blake’s bed. He was waiting for her. Eagerly.
Making love to him made her feel whole. And so she went to him the next night, and the next.
The weight of time and regret that had at one time plagued her gave over to the wonder of being exactly where she should be.
Had she once prayed for peace? For her life to have meaning?
Her prayer was answered now. The twists and turns she’d made had been the only way she could have waved her way toward Blake Stephens.
One afternoon, she came across her journal. The last entry had been written shortly before Tara had arrived home.
Reading those words, Aileen could only smile. She took the journal to the kitchen and threw it into the fire.
“What is that?” Cook asked, obviously surprised by Aileen’s actions. Why should she not be? Aileen valued books.
“It is my past,” Aileen answered.
Cook smiled. “Ah, well, then it is a good thing to burn.”
“Aye, it is.”
Of course, Aileen didn’t mention love to Blake. He was not hers to love, something that, after their first few nights of slaking their lust for each other with wonderful sex, began to bother her.
Blake didn’t speak of a future for them. He seemed to keep his own counsel, although she knew he cared. She could tell by the way his touch lingered, as if she was something precious to him.
During the day, his gaze would often wander to meet hers, especially if something was said that he knew would amuse her. She cherished these moments as small gifts. For the first time, she understood what was possible in a loving relationship.
And they played chess. Hours and hours of it, when they weren’t making love. Blake had moved the chessboard and table up to his room. She doubted if Tara noticed it missing from the sitting room. Aileen couldn’t beat him at the game, although she tried mightily, and he praised her for it.
In fact, Tara seemed oblivious to the new companionship between her betrothed and her sister. They took great care to appear distant from each other during the day, but also Tara spent hours at the stables. Thinking of the rumors, Aileen made some discreet inquiries and learned that Mr. Jamerson had not been at Annefield since the week before.
Aileen also noticed that there had been no callers to Annefield. No locals with good wishes for a soon-to-be bride.
Of course, plans were being made for the wedding celebration, and Aileen was assuming Tara was making them. The wedding ceremony itself would be a small family affair, but there would be guests for the wedding breakfast. This celebration would not be as grand as what Aileen had heard had been planned for the wedding in London. Still, accommodations needed to be organized for the few guests who would be arriving for the event, especially since one of them would be a duke.
The earl couldn’t be called upon to do anything. He hadn’t returned home since h
e’d gone after the widow Bossley four nights earlier. His absence made Aileen’s trips to Blake’s room easier.
Blake and Aileen did not talk about the wedding. She sat beside Tara, with Blake on Tara’s other side, as their banns were read a second time. There was no third reading of the banns for Miss Sawyer and Mr. Jamerson. Nor was the couple in church.
Aileen wondered what Tara thought, but she did not ask her. Indeed, the two sisters rarely spoke to each other.
That night, in bed, was the first time either Aileen or Blake mentioned Tara.
They lay entwined in each other’s arms. Aileen’s head rested on his chest. He’d propped several feather pillows behind him, and she was very comfortable. She enjoyed snuggling bare skin to bare skin with him.
He had a loose arm around her waist. Sometimes they read books like this. Other times they just talked. So far, to Aileen’s knowledge, the servants didn’t know of their liaison, although occasionally she noticed a speculative glance.
Was she sensitive to her past and what they might say?
She tried not to think on it.
“I wish to talk to your sister about us,” Blake said. “I must stop this farce of a wedding before it goes further.”
Aileen raised her head to look him in the eye. “What are you going to say?”
“I will ask her to release me from my offer. Honorably.”
“Why?” Aileen asked, knowing in her heart the reason. She’d known when she’d heard he had purchased Folly . . . but she wanted to hear him say it.
He tightened his hold on her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I will not speak, not yet. I am not free to do so. I know you well, Aileen, and I believe you know me with the same understanding. Let me talk to your sister.”
“May I be there?”
“I don’t believe that wise. You have nurtured her a good portion of your life. The decision she has to make must be hers alone. You must step back.”
“But what if she refuses to release you from your marriage offer?”
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
She did not know the answer.
For a long moment they studied each other, and then she leaned forward and kissed his eyelids, his nose, and the curve of his mouth as it stretched into a smile of anticipation.
“Don’t think on it,” she whispered. “Not now. Not yet.”
His response was to roll over on the bed, his weight on top of her, and love her until she was senseless.
Chapter Fifteen
For a few days, Ruary had not come to Annefield. Nor was he in church on Sunday.
Miss Sawyer and her family were not in church either.
Then Tara overheard the stable lads discussing rumors. They said that Miss Sawyer would have nothing to do with him. They said Ruary had stood for days on General Wade’s Bridge, staring at the smithy’s house.
That information ate at Tara. Had he no pride? Did he not understand that she waited for him with open arms?
It was one thing for him to pine but another for him to make a spectacle of himself.
She would feel better if he would come to Annefield. Then they could talk and she could remind him of what he meant to her. She would not treat him the way Miss Sawyer was. He needed to know that.
And, in spite of the words they’d spoken in the wood that day, this rift between Ruary and his intended gave Tara hope. Here was a sign he was meant to be with her.
On Tuesday, in spite of the rain, she went into Aberfeldy on the pretext of visiting her cousin Sabrina. She never made the call. What she’d really wanted to do was see if she could catch sight of Ruary. He lived in a slate-roofed cottage close to the village. She hoped her presence would make him realize she still cared, that she was there for him.
However, he was not on that bridge or anywhere in the village that she could see. She kept riding around, knowing she was hard to miss on top of Dirk and with an Annefield groom as her escort. At last she gave up and went home.
It was a sad ride, until she began making excuses for Ruary. She’d been silly to believe he would approach her in Aberfeldy. People expected her to marry Blake. The horse master would be sensitive to her reputation and what creating the wrong impression would mean for both of them.
He was right. They had to be careful, but Tara was nothing if not impatient.
She toyed with sending a note, then rejected the idea.
And so she waited, expecting him to appear at Annefield at any moment.
But he didn’t.
The next morning, she sat in her bedroom window with its good view of the stables and watched the lads take the horses out to exercise. No horse master appeared to watch the work.
Tara didn’t know how long she’d sat there waiting. Time had ceased to have meaning. The only thing that brought her back to the present was Ellen entering her room.
“Are you wishing to dress, my lady?”
For a second, Tara couldn’t form an answer. She was that adrift in her own sadness. She raised a hand, a gesture Ellen took for assent.
The maid began making the bed. “Did you hear that Miss Sawyer, the blacksmith’s daughter, is leaving the valley?”
Tara swung around in her chair by the window to face her. “What did you say?”
“Jane’s mother is my aunt,” Ellen said, smoothing the counterpane. “She told my mother that Jane has asked to be sent away for a spell. It’s a pity she won’t marry Mr. Jamerson.”
Tara’s heart danced at the news. “Does anyone know why?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
Ellen seemed to be concentrating on fluffing a pillow as she said, “Jane and her family are not ones for idle chatter. They have not said. My mother has asked, but it is to no avail. All they will say is Jane is leaving on the Mail for Glasgow, where my uncle’s family lives. She’ll be leaving today. Of course, she’ll probably meet a fine young man there. Then again, few can match Mr. Jamerson with the looks. What dress would you like to wear today, my lady?”
The deep desolation that Tara had been experiencing vanished. Jane Sawyer was leaving. Ruary could be hers.
“The blue,” Tara said, choosing the cheeriest color in her sparse wardrobe. Perhaps Ruary was waiting until Jane was truly gone to pay a call?
He was right, if that was his plan. They should let the talk die down before they said anything to anyone.
In no time, she was dressed and ready for anything. She wore her hair pulled back and curled around her shoulders. The blue brought out the color in her eyes, and she knew Ruary would appreciate it if he came to call. And if he didn’t call today, she’d wear the dress tomorrow. Anything to charm him.
When she came down for breakfast, Ingold informed her that the earl had returned home that morning. Tara didn’t care. In London she’d grown accustomed to her father coming and going as he pleased. Her sister was not home either. Apparently Aileen had just left to help deliver charity baskets to the sick in the kirk.
Tara broke her fast with a bit of toasted bread and tea, then set about the task of keeping herself occupied while she waited for that one thing she wanted most of all—a decision from Ruary.
A few hours later, Tara was attempting to work on a needlework piece that really had no purpose other than to rest her anxious mind when Blake found her in the morning room.
He gave a light rap at the door frame. “May I join you?” he asked.
She gave a guilty start. Her mind had been so focused on Ruary that she had paid scant attention to him. Then again, he hadn’t seemed to need any. She didn’t know what he did with his time, but he didn’t appear to be at loose ends.
She’d almost forgotten catching him kissing her sister. The whole incident had ceased to be of importance once she’d learned of Miss Sawyer and Ruary’s fight.
Besides, from what she could see, he and Aileen barely spoke to each other.
“Please join me,” she said, setting aside her needlework and moving over on the settee to make room for h
im.
Instead, he pulled a chair up to sit directly opposite her. His action didn’t bother her. Blake could do what he wished. There was only one man who concerned her.
“Have you been making yourself useful?” she asked, giving him the smile men seemed to like most from her. The one that never touched her eyes.
“I have.”
She smiled again.
He didn’t smile. In fact, he had a grave expression on his face.
“Blake, you seem as if you have something to say.”
He met her eye. “I do.”
“Well, what is it?” she prodded.
“I’ve fallen in love with your sister.”
At first, Tara didn’t believe she’d heard him correctly.
Blake rightly considered her silence as shock. He plunged on. “It was not her fault. Not mine either. It is something that just happened. Tara, you don’t care for me. I beg of you, release me from my promise to marry you.”
For a second all Tara could do was blink, but she quickly found her wits.
“My sister?” she repeated, the surprise in her voice unfeigned.
“You must not blame her. Or if there is blame, then it rests on both of us. Tara, I have never felt this way about another person in my life. I never knew there could be a bond this deep and strong between two people. I’d like to handle this matter honorably. In truth, Aileen would have no other way. She cares for your feelings and understands how sensitive you might be right now.” He leaned toward her. “I want Aileen to be my wife. I can’t imagine my life without her. And let us be honest, there isn’t anything between you and I save for mutual respect.”
Tara released her breath slowly.
What was happening to her?
First Ruary had not come immediately back to her. And now, Blake was telling her he preferred Aileen over herself.
“Isn’t mutual respect enough for a marriage?” she heard herself counter.
“Not for the marriage I want,” came Blake’s answer.
Tara sat for a moment, her mind a jumble of feelings.
The Bride Says No Page 18
