by Merry Farmer
To prove her words, she lifted to her toes to kiss him. Her free hand stroked the side of his face. He sighed, one sort of tension leaving his body only to be replaced by a completely different, enticing excitement. In one, swift motion, he swept her into his arms and carried her through the small front room of his flat and into the equally tiny bedroom. It was plain and unembellished, but Aggie’s heart raced as though he’d carried her into the most opulent palace on earth.
He lay her gently on the bed, bending down to kiss her. His body was large and heavy above her, but the thrill of it all, the excitement of being mastered by him, left her tingling from head to toe. She reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, unbuttoning them as fast as she could, hands trembling. He reciprocated by reaching for the ties at the back of her skirt, loosening the fabric around her.
Aggie had never hated the fashionable clothes they both wore more. There were too many buttons, too many ties and hooks keeping them apart. They fumbled and groped as they peeled away layer after layer as Aggie grew more desperate for connection by the moment, until she was so desperate she trembled uncontrollably.
Then, at last, the last scrap of their underthings were tossed aside. He shifted them to lay across the coverlet, and their bodies melded together from chest to thighs to toes. He kissed her in a way that made her feel like the most desirable thing on earth, and as his heat infused her, her trembling subsided. She drew her knee up so that she could circle her leg around his hip. The firm muscle of his backside felt divine, but it was the hard spear of him pressing against her belly that left her breathless.
“Are you frightened?” he asked, lowering himself to nibble at her ear.
“No,” she insisted, though it wasn’t entirely true. He seemed so large, which made her feel completely at his mercy. But there was something so tempting in the feeling, something that made her blood ignite.
He trailed his kisses down her neck, nipping at her shoulder. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he whispered, heat and need in his voice. “I want to make this perfect for you.”
“I’m with you,” she managed to squeeze out as his hand circled around her breast. “That’s all the perfect I need.”
He hummed in approval at her comment, shifting lower so that he could tenderly kiss her other breast. She jerked in response to his kisses, arching into him, but as desperate as he made her feel, he took things slow. He stroked her with agonizing slowness, his lips coming closer to her nipple without capturing it. He was teasing her, driving her to distraction, and turning her body to fire. All she could do in response was sigh in encouragement and wriggle against him.
At last, he closed his mouth over her breast, licking and sucking, and sending spikes of pleasure raging through her. She gripped his shoulders, encouraging him to do more. He responded by sliding his hands to her sides and digging his fingertips into her flesh with a possessiveness that left her panting for more.
He didn’t stop there. With tantalizing slowness, he inched lower, stroking and kissing the flat of her stomach and gripping her hips. But just when she thought he would continue to the part of her that ached for him with wet heat, he backtracked, kissing her between her breasts and sweeping a hand up her thigh to her knee, lifting it higher. He was teasing her deliberately, she could tell, delaying the consummation that she wanted more and more with every second, but she didn’t know how to counter him or how to ask for what she wanted.
“You’re so beautiful,” he told her, sliding up so that he could kiss her lips. “You’re a dream come true.”
“I love you,” she said, squirming to bring the hot, hard part of him closer to where she wanted it. “I need you.”
Instead of answering her, he reached between them. The moment his hand came into contact with the throbbing, wet part of her, cupping and stroking her as though she belonged to him, she gasped, then moaned, wanting so much more.
“I want you to enjoy this,” he murmured, his voice intoxicatingly deep. “I don’t ever want you to regret being with me. But I might hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she insisted, even though the tales some of her married friends had shared about their wedding nights hinted that she could be wrong.
“Still, I want to give you this first.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but instead of words, a long, excited sigh escaped as he touched a part of her that caused an intense surge of pleasure. It was more than just a touch, he stroked her, sending fire through her. She felt completely at his mercy in all the best ways as pleasure and emotion coiled tighter and tighter inside of her. His fingers slid into her wet folds, plunging deeper than she could have imagined, filling her exactly how she was so desperate to be filled. And she still wanted more, even as he worked two fingers in and out of her while his thumb rubbed against her clitoris.
All at once, the tension of pleasure building inside of her burst open, flooding her with sensation. She cried out as her body shuddered with release, squeezing his fingers inside of her. He groaned as though he enjoyed the sensations as much as she did, the sound exciting her even more.
She was still throbbing with release when he moved his hand away, shifted above her, and pushed inside of her. The moment of sharp resistance from her body met the continuing waves of pleasure that vibrated through her, and instead of feeling pain, she was consumed by the sensation of being filled, stretched, and completed. He felt impossibly large inside of her, and yet nothing had ever made her feel so alive.
He let out a wild sigh and moved inside of her. As amazing as he felt, her focus shifted to the sounds he was making, the urgency of his movements. A new sense of power filled her. He was losing himself, and she was the reason. His thrusts grew faster and the sounds he made more desperate. She clung to him with her arms and legs, her heart seeming to grow until it enveloped all of her and him as well. He needed her as much as she needed him, and something beyond pleasure, beyond the meeting of two bodies, pulsed between them.
At last, his thrusts grew frantic and his body tensed. She clasped him tightly, knowing he needed her complete acceptance as his pleasure climaxed, spreading heat between them. Whether it was her imagination or the mysteries of the flesh that she didn’t know, she could have sworn she felt his spirit and his love pass into her, making them one forever. She clung more tightly to him as he relaxed, his thrusts slowing until he fell, spent, to her side.
Peace and joy like nothing she’d ever felt before filled her, and she rolled to her side, still cradling him with her body. The two of them were sweaty and panting, but she’d never felt more beautiful in her life.
“Yes,” she whispered as she caught her breath. It was only one word, but it said everything. Their worlds were the same world now. Their future was one future. She would never let him go.
Chapter 8
Sleeping with Aggie in his arms felt like coming home. No matter who he was, no matter what his origin, as long as he was with the woman he loved, nothing else mattered. Andrew lay on his side with Aggie tucked against him, her back to his chest, stroking her side and her hip. The morning was already hot, and the single sheet that covered them was bunched around their waists, giving him a tantalizing view of her breasts as her chest rose and fell gently as sleep left her.
She stirred, twisting to smile lazily at him over her shoulder. “Good morning,” she said, voice hazy, eyes filled with affection and desire.
“Good morning,” he replied, dipping down to kiss her lips briefly. With a grin, he brushed his hand across her abdomen and into the curls between her legs. She gasped and arched into him as he stroked her clitoris. Her quick, impassioned response, the way she lifted her leg over his to open to him, and the soft sounds of pleasure she made had him hard in an instant.
“I love you,” he said, adjusting so that he could enter her. “I will always love you.”
She gasped, the sound tantalizing and sweet, and bore down on him, meeting his thrusts hungrily. He wasn’t going to last long w
ith the way she accepted him, showing her enjoyment so vividly. He shifted his hands to cup her breast and hold her hips in place as his thrusts grew more demanding and was rewarded with even more tantalizing sounds of yearning. He echoed her as his body tipped over the edge and climax ripped through him.
Her body tensed and throbbed along with his, and she cried out. The moment was perfect, beautiful. But all too soon, another sound cut through the passionate haze. A cry of another kind, closer to a scream. “Rape! Rape!”
Aggie tensed and yelped, and Andrew circled his arms protectively around her. He lifted enough to glance with wide eyes toward the window. Sure enough, Joanna, the Crimpley’s maid, had her face pressed against the pane, her eyes wide.
“Rape,” Joanna shouted once more. “Perversion! Help, police!”
In an instant, panic flooded Andrew and he leapt out of bed. Joanna screamed even louder and yanked away from the window. Andrew managed to shut the curtains, cursing himself for being too overcome with desire the night before to think of shutting them then. A final, distant cry of, “Rape!” sounded from around the corner.
“What’s happening?” Aggie climbed out of bed while wrapping the sheet around herself. “Was that Joanna?”
“I’m afraid it was,” Andrew said, hurrying to the bureau to fetch clean clothes.
The flush that had come to Aggie’s face in the throes of passion drained away, leaving her wide-eyed and frightened. “She’ll tell my father.”
Andrew glanced to her with a grave frown as he pulled his drawers on. “She’ll do worse than that. She’ll tell the police.”
Aggie clutched the sheets to her chest. “Why would she?”
A cold knot formed in Andrew’s stomach. He approached her, resting his hands on her arms and staring frankly into her eyes. “I told you it would be difficult for the two of us to be together. People like Joanna will see our love as a crime.”
“But it’s not,” Aggie insisted, desperation mingling with indignation in her eyes. “There is no law in England that forbids us from marrying or being together.”
“But there are a myriad of small-minded people who will find any excuse to destroy what they don’t want to see.” He stepped away from her and continued to dress. “This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
“I won’t stand for it,” Aggie said, throwing the sheet on the bed and gathering up her clothes to dress. “I won’t let anyone come between us now.”
Bitter-sweetness pulsed through him. His pride in Aggie’s strength was matched only by the dread of everything he knew was coming for them. “If Joanna did run to fetch Constable Baxter, we’re in more danger than you may realize.”
“But why?” Aggie demanded. “What have we done wrong?”
“We’ve fallen in love,” he said, throwing his shirt on. “And make no mistake, a black man with a white woman? If Joanna says ‘rape’, that’s what the constable will believe.”
Aggie didn’t reply, which was a sure sign that she believed him, as much as she hated it. He knew her well enough to know what her frown and her pursed lips meant.
“I’ll have to leave town today,” he said, thinking aloud and hating every conclusion he came to. “I doubt Constable Baxter or your father will leave Brynthwaite to come after me, since what they want most is for me to vanish. But if I stay here, we’re both in danger.”
“I won’t let you go alone,” Aggie said, tying her skirt at the back. “If you leave, I’m coming with you.”
He wanted to protest, to tell her it was too dangerous, that she deserved a better life than one spent wandering with him. But after holding her in his arms, after feeling her body respond to his so freely, he knew that if he left her, he would never be whole again.
“You won’t have time to say a proper goodbye to your friends and family,” he warned her. “If Constable Baxter catches up with us before we’re able to board a train, it could all be over.”
“Then we’ll just have to take the first train out of Brynthwaite,” she answered, her voice quiet and serious.
They were mostly dressed, so he crossed to her, stopping her frantic movements as she did up the last of her buttons to cup her cheek with one hand. “I swear, I will make it up to you someday.”
She blinked up at him, strength shining in her blue eyes. “What do you have to make up? It’s my decision to come with you, my decision to leave this life for a new one. It is my choice.”
Overcome with love, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She surprised him at every turn, proving that she was the most magnificent woman he had ever known. A part of him felt as though every risk they were about to face would be worthwhile as long as they could be together.
“I’ll have to let Jason Throckmorton know that we’re leaving,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the bedroom to the front room of his flat. “He may be able to help us divert the authorities and avoid attention wherever we go.”
“You’re right.” She nodded. “I’ll go home and pack a bag. I also have some money we can take with us.” She grabbed his hand. “Everything will be all right.”
He kissed her once more, his pulse pounding in his ears. “There may be other people who can help us as well. Ted Folley. He’ll vouch for us, keep our flight a secret from the rest of the town.”
“We should hurry,” Aggie said, resolve painted in her face. “We will make it through this.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand, praying that she was right.
Aggie’s thoughts were at war with themselves as she dashed across town in the early morning light. She didn’t want to believe that Joanna was actually fetching the constable to arrest Andrew for rape. She couldn’t accept that anyone could do something so low, or that the constable would believe the accusation. But there she was, running for home as though her life—or rather, Andrew’s life—depended on it.
Brynthwaite was busier than usual for so early in the morning. Townspeople were already out on the town square, adding last-minute decorations to booths and leading livestock to the areas where they would compete. She spotted Roger Lakes and his sons hurrying toward the pub, looking more than a little shifty, but she didn’t have time to see what they were up to.
She made it home without anyone stopping her and crept through the kitchen door. “Joanna?” she whispered, searching this way and that as she hurried through, hoping not to be heard. She received no answer, though. Joanna wasn’t home yet, which could work to her advantage.
“…changes that will be made when I’m mayor,” her father was in the middle of saying as Aggie crept past the breakfast room.
She pressed her back to the wall just outside of the breakfast room, her heart racing. Her parents were in the middle of their meal, chatting away as though nothing were out of the ordinary. They would continue to think everything was as it should be as long as they didn’t see her in her current state of dishabille, her hair tangled and undone, her clothes rumpled.
“Do you think the town council would agree, though?” her mother asked.
“They will agree once they’re made to see the truth,” her father went on.
Aggie held her breath and cut through her mother’s sitting room and around to the stairs in the front hall to avoid being seen. Her parent’s conversation continued at a steady drone as she tip-toed up the stairs, wincing every time the wood creaked. At last, she made it to her room and dashed inside, shutting and locking the door behind her.
There was no time to lose. As fast as she could, she stripped out of her clothes and pulled open the drawers of her bureau. It felt as though she was caught up in a whirlwind as she dressed in fresh clothes, took down a carpetbag from the top of her wardrobe, and packed as much as she could, all at the same time. All the while, she kept looking out the window, searching for any sign that Andrew was in trouble or for Joanna’s return. It felt odd that no one was kicking up a fuss, no one knocked on her room demanding answers, and that everything seemed the same as it was on an
y other day.
At last, her clothing packed, the money from her savings jar tucked into an old reticule, dressed, and with her hair brushed and styled as simply as possible, Aggie poked her head out into the hall. The house was quiet, and she could still hear her parents talking in the breakfast room. She gripped her carpetbag with both hands and crept back down the stairs, heart in her throat.
She had almost reached the door when her father’s call of, “Agatha? Is that you?” sounded from the breakfast room.
Aggie gasped, her hands and feet tingling with dread. She thought as fast as she could, dropping her carpetbag by the hall table at the bottom of the stairs before heading to the breakfast room. Her hands were shaking, so she clasped them behind her and pasted on a smile as she stepped through the breakfast room doorway.
“Good morning, Papa, Mama,” she said as calmly as she could manage.
Her parents sat at either end of the table, their expressions as dull as they usually were in the morning, eyes focused on the last of the food on their plates. A place was set for Aggie, and a variety of breakfast dishes sat in the middle of the table.
“Agatha,” her father repeated, cutting a piece of sausage, “I was hoping to talk to you this morning.”
“Oh?” Aggie asked, her voice shook.
“Darling, do sit down and have some tea,” her mother said, barely looking up from her plate.
Still shaking, Aggie pulled out her chair and sat, as tense as a coiled spring. She helped herself to a cup of tea and a single slice of toast as her father cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been thinking about your status at the shop.”
“You have?” Aggie asked, buttering her toast and forcing her hands to remain steady.
“Yes.” He drank the last of the tea from the cup in front of him, then set it on the saucer in a deliberate motion. “I feel as though I was too hasty with you the other day,” he said, an unusually tender expression softening his face. “It was wrong of me to bow to gossip. Entertaining rumors only encourages more rumors. I should have stood up for you and denied any wrong-doing on your part.”
