by Julia Donner
Tingles shot up her arms when he brushed her hands aside to work at the ribbons. She stared at the spotted Belcher neckerchief he wore. A faint, exotic scent enveloped her face, heady and spicy, an expensive scent. She knew nothing about men’s cologne.
The silk knots resisted. He murmured something in Gaelic and paused to search in the driving coat pockets. “I take it you know the owner of this barn.”
His nearness sent a frisson of warmth over her chilled skin. Willing her teeth not to chatter, she explained, “Squire Hensley. He owns a great deal of land and farms in the county. The rest is part of the Grange.”
The item he’d found in the coat pocket was a small knife in a leather sheath. He tucked the sheath in his pocket after withdrawing the slender blade. “I’ve no patience for unmanageable ribbons. The material has shredded. I’ll pay for a new bonnet. Hold still now.”
“No need for that,” she said in a constricted voice, her heart pounding. “I had planned to refurbish it for Christmas. Green ribbons this time.”
He slid two fingers between the mangled ribbons and her neck. “Your heart is beating as fast as a captured bird’s. Don’t worry. I won’t cut you.”
The slender blade revealed its sharpness when it sliced neatly through the silk. He sheathed the blade and returned it to the coat’s pocket. He lifted off her bonnet with care and said in a gruff voice, “I’m sorry, but it looks quite ruined.”
He placed it carefully on the seat as he spoke then stared at the bedraggled hat with a sadness that turned into grim resolve. He turned that stern look her way, trapping her in place. She felt terrified to stay, but unable to flee. She said nothing when he began to unfasten the braided frogs on her cape. He’d compressed the fullness of his lips into a firm line. His long fingers trembled as he worked on the fasteners at her throat and down her chest. She didn’t dare lift her gaze higher. She focused on the slight cleft in his chin.
She’d never known that men reacted like this, so moved by their passion that they quivered. The tension in his body made her think of a wire strained to the point of breakage. She had pity on his condition, since she suffered the same, a wild thrumming filled her. She no longer wanted to contain the frantic longing writhing to burst free, to fling forward into beckoning temptation.
He peeled the cape from her shoulders and held it for a moment, then let it slip from his fingers and fall to the straw-littered barn floor. He stared at the rain-drenched bodice of her dress, the buds of her chilled breasts under clinging muslin. His gaze narrowed and moved up to her lips. In the next moment, he wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her close. His mouth settled on hers, sending the world whirling. Then nothing else mattered.
She’d been kissed before, long ago. She remembered enough to know that this man was different. There was no hesitancy, just confidence and knowledge of how to handle a female on the edge of a swoon. Her body reacted before she could withdraw or protest. Every muscle acquiesced. She melted and sank into dizzying pleasure. Heat from his fingers seared through her saturated clothes. A throbbing pulse filled her head and body. This was so much more than she imagined.
The burn of his mouth lifted from hers to sear a path over her cheek to her neck. He nipped her chin. In disjointed words, he whispered things against her ear, shocking yet exciting things. His lips glided back to her mouth, shocking her when his tongue delved inside. A frantic need clawed for freedom, but she didn’t know what to do, how to let it go.
He grabbed her wrists and lifted her arms, guided her hands up around his shoulders. She clutched the high collar and pressed her chest against his waistcoat. He groaned when she clutched him close and couldn’t get enough of the feel of him. He seized her braid, directing her head back and to one side. His lips left a trail of tingling heat down her neck. Descending, he nipped her breast through the wet muslin. The slight pain sent a shaft of piercing sensation down to her soles. His hands dropped to grasp her bottom, massaging her against his hips in a languorous rhythm of ever increasing pressure. The leash she’d held so tightly in check ripped free.
Reckless and impatient, she tugged on his shoulders and adjusted her stance so that the yearning place between her thighs met with the rubbing hardness of his. He answered with a low laugh and shoved against the precise spot. A blinding shock of pleasure splashed across her consciousness, seizing her body in a vise. His body shuddered against hers, his fingers digging deep, holding her in place as he moved against that spot and sent her mind reeling. The world came back into focus when he released her and stepped back.
Crushing abandonment held her swaying in place. In a daze, she watched him grab his driving coat from the curricle and take her hand. Amazement had her following him, willing to do anything for more of the miraculous world his hands and mouth created. She stood weaving in place as he yanked open a stall door and flung his driving coat over a heap of straw. His mouth was on hers the moment after they tumbled down together onto the coat. A dark corner in her mind comprehended that this must not continue. She must tell him to stop, but her body cried out for his, as if uniting with him would complete a missing part of her being. She kissed him back, using her tongue as he had, exulting in his response. She grasped the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer. She didn’t stay the hand dragging up her skirts and marveled that she felt no shyness, no hesitation when he touched her where no one else had, that he played her body like an instrument. She thrilled to the praise he whispered, hoarse instructions she did with eager hunger. The weight of his body over hers felt like victory, as if all the weary, lonely roads in her life had led to this moment of knowing what it was like to be so desired by a man that he lost all restraint.
The pressure of his entry, the slight discomfort that made her stiffen, brought reality into focus. He paused, and she feared he would withdraw. Having come this far, she would not go back. The wonder of having him within her compelled her to lift up to receive. She used her hands on him the way he had on her, pulling him closer. A barrier within gave way, followed by a gentle slide so deep she felt utterly filled, sublimely connected in a way she’d never imagined.
A gruff, prayerful groan brushed over her ear. He didn’t move. His heartbeat throbbed against her chest. She hadn’t known that there could be an immediate emotional and spiritual connection to another person. She comprehended him completely. His reason for the suspension of movement was to concentrate and control the passion raging inside, to rein it in and mold it to his purpose.
She delved her fingers into his hair, as she had dreamed of doing, wiping the black strands back from his brow. The movement rubbed her chest against his. He returned to her with devouring kisses that sent her mind into chaos. But there was more. He rose up slightly and began to move, using a hand under her bottom to guide. Uncomfortable friction became tingling heat then a frantic goal beyond her reach.
“Come with me, mo chuisle. Come with me.”
Go with him? Where? She clutched his shoulders as his thrusting movements roughened. Her body wanted her to do something. Wild need swamped the ability to think. She couldn’t understand his whispered instructions. Then he impatiently shoved her skirts higher and slid his fingers to the place where they joined. Streaks of pleasure arched her hips up to meet him, urging her to move, a response unrecognizable and primal, making her want to laugh and cry.
He groaned against her ear. “That’s the way.”
Instead of fighting the waves of pleasure, she gave in and sank into the dark well of sensations sweeping through her. His words no longer had meaning. All thought centered on the place where his fingers rubbed. She grabbed his sleeve to halt the unbearable pleasure but the rhythms inside and out never altered. Then the ache broke free, split her into a million shards. Instead of going dark, the world went white. From a distance, she felt his final erratic thrusts. He stilled and muffled a hoarse sound against her neck. Wanting to share his experience, she enfolded his bowed head and pressed her cheek to his brow, utterly amazed that she co
uld inspire such passion in this man and smothered a laugh of disbelieving delight.
Enchantment dissolved when one of the horses coughed and snorted. Ana blinked and stared up at rafters glutted with hay. The day, the moment came back into focus. The rain had slowed to a shushing trickle. She became aware of their shared, irregular breaths. Strong fingers gentled, relinquishing the clasp that held her in place.
No, she would not regret. Now she had a sweet memory. It was one thing to endure as a spinster, someone no one wanted, untouched, unloved. From this moment on, she knew. She could hug this experience in private and never again feel as if she stood outside, ignorant and rejected from what others so easily took and enjoyed.
She tilted her head back and out of the nest of his neckerchief. His scent filled her head. Echoes of bliss still rippled along tender nerve endings. She allowed her head to list to one side, unwilling to contend with what came next, the stepping back from it all, the distancing of oneself from the awkwardness that must follow rash actions. Now came the unpleasant part, aftermath and consequences, the extrication of their physical connection. Since he was the experienced member of this coupling, she would defer to him. Closing her eyes, she gathered courage and focused on his uneven breaths brushing against her ear.
His lips brushed over her brow as he withdrew. She pressed her eyes tighter as he lowered her skirts. He paused before drawing them all the way down to her ankles. It was too late now to think about her lack of modesty. She stopped her hand from tugging the material back into place. She was his. There would never be another, so she let him look.
He helped her to stand. She stood passive and compliant as he brushed her clean of straw. When he raised his hand to her cheek, she stepped back. He started to speak and she raised her hand.
“Please, I would ask that we never discuss this. I would find it,” she almost said mortifying and revised, “uncomfortable.”
Although her gaze was lowered, she cringed inside from the hurt in his reply when he gently answered, “If that is what you wish.”
He led her to the curricle where he shook out her cape and his coat. Then came the business of putting on damp outerwear, backing the team out of the barn, while neither of them spoke. Not waiting for his help, she scrambled up into the curricle when he left the team’s heads and moved to climb into the carriage. She could survive this, go on with her life, and maintain her dignity no matter how fragile.
Outside on the road, she clasped her hands in her lap and stared ahead. The world had been washed clean, but now she felt sullied and ridiculous. She had let loose the tethers of restraint and showed herself for the inferior thing she was—nothing more than a woman to be used and discarded, as her mother had been by her father.
She mentally fled from resurrecting that ancient offense. She didn’t want to associate today with the past. Most of all, she wanted to retain the event as a tender remembrance, one of the sharp pleasure and delicious madness without the tarnish of a weak man’s abandonment.
Viewing what had happened in a practical sense, the ferocity of Carnall’s passion was incentive enough to coerce the dullest female to reciprocate. She focused on the unusual state of her body, tranquil and yet vibrant. It would be prudent to preserve this condition for as long as possible. The resulting lassitude had inexplicably rendered her problems to insignificance, not as overwhelming.
Justifying her actions came to an abrupt end when she realized that the academy stood around the bend in the road. Dread filled her chest, replaced by horror when he reined in the team before coming in sight of the academy. He meant to converse about what had happened? She’d told him that she didn’t want that. Beyond that, she wasn’t yet fit to construe intelligent remarks and was too emotionally delicate to protect herself or make sense.
When the horses halted on the verge, he told them to stand and lowered the reins. He turned slightly on the seat, his knee grazing hers, sending a shock up her leg. She willed herself not to flinch and clenched her fists tighter when he slowly reached up and touched the hair at her nape. His gloved fingers came away with a strand of straw that fluttered to the road mud when he flicked it away.
“Tatiana, we must talk.”
She couldn’t mask the shrill note beneath the stiffness of her reply. “I never gave you leave to use my—”
She broke off, hearing how ridiculous that sounded. She’d just allowed him to take her virginity but he needn’t know that. She didn’t want him to know. For some bizarre reason, she preferred he thought of her as adulterous rather than physically innocent.
His intent study of her profile grated on nerves pressed to the limit. The request to talk about what had happened between them was not an unreasonable one, but she couldn’t muster the wherewithal for the task. The idea of constructing a plausible reason for not talking about it was beyond her. She might never be able to verbalize the irrational reason. There were some fears one never vanquished. Hers had to do with trust and abandonment. She felt more comfortable ending the affair now, before he made the decision to cast her off and move on to another.
He gently entreated, “Please, we must be sensible. In these instances, there might be consequences.”
She strove to not sound harsh and heard her failure when she replied, “Surely no one becomes in a family way from one…instance. Many couples strive for months to acquire an heir.”
“And many anticipate vows and produce children born prematurely. It only takes one time.”
She refused to answer to that truth, since there was nothing to use as an argument. She sensed his quiet frustration and resignation before he relented, faced forward and lifted the reins.
“Very well, ma’am, if that is what you insist. But we must consider the consequences of today’s lapse and speak at another time. I am at your service.”
She pinched her lips together. No, there would be no discussion. It was exactly as he said, a lapse. There would be some unpleasantness with the matter of encountering each other when he came to visit his sisters, but they were adults and could manage to pretend nothing had ever happened between them with polite aplomb.
The sterile solution created an odd twisting just under her heart. That could be managed also, for she must. What had happened between them—an aberrant fluke in her case—was undoubtedly not uncommon for a member of his social strata. He would go his way, she hers. What if he wanted to do this again? Would she? What would she do when he offered the carte blanche? What if he did not? If he didn’t suggest that she be his mistress, wasn’t that another form of rejection?
The short distance to the house felt like an unending journey. She rode the entire way afraid he’d coerce an answer from her that she wasn’t yet able to decline.
Chapter 7
Ana handed off her damp cape to Elsie, keeping her face averted to hide the flush that would not relent. “Please inform Cook that I will not be at dinner.”
“Shall I tell your aunts that you are not well?”
“No. I’ve taken a bit of a chill from the drive and damp weather.”
She cut off Elsie’s next question by going up two flights of steps to her cramped quarters with her aunt. Sensations continued to ripple over her skin. She couldn’t shed the humiliation of the return drive with Carnall, the uncomfortable silence, and when they did speak, the stilted nature of their conversation. Perhaps not conversation, since most of it had been monosyllabic. Her need for privacy—to understand what she’d experienced and done with Carnall—wreaked a nervous itchiness under skin that still resonated excitement. She never imagined such sensations existed. The many veiled references in novels couldn’t compare.
A forlorn sound interrupted her lapse into humiliation and self-condemnation. Someone was weeping and trying to muffle the sounds of distress. The despair wiped away Ana’s troubles. Girls in their teenage years were no strangers to rioting emotions, but the choking wretchedness of these sobs sounded utterly hopeless. She slowed her pace and peered around a corner.
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br /> Charlotte St. Claire sat huddled in a window embrasure, handkerchief pressed to her face, and shoulders shaking. The girl had come to the least frequented part of the house to cry out her pain in secret, away from her sister, her maid, and the other students. Her misery wrenched Ana’s heart.
Ana crept forward, and with a whisper, announced her presence. “Miss Charlotte?”
The girl immediately threw up her head and straightened her shoulders. She blinked rapidly as she stood, but there was no hiding the reddened eyes and pink-tipped nose. Devastation on a countenance that usually radiated sweetness looked horrendously tragic.
“Headmistress, I am most dreadfully sorry. I shall return to the unrestricted areas of the house.”
Ana slowly reached for Charlotte’s fisted hands, clenched at her waist, then gently clasped the girl’s wrist. “No need for apologies. There are times when we must have a bit of privacy, but please, if you would, sit here with me. Take a moment to collect yourself before returning to the others.”
While Charlotte composed herself, Ana spoke in a conversational tone to give the girl time to calm. Questions about how she was faring at the school asked with a soothing voice distracted Charlotte from her misery. The answers also informed Ana that Charlotte’s distress had nothing to do with the school.
Ana kept the girl’s chilled hand tucked within hers. “I am led to suspect that missing your brother’s visit is not the reason for your present state.”
Charlotte reacted to the feeble joke with a tremulous smile. “No, ma’am.”
“I would ask you to consider a solution I’ve found helpful when I am faced with a problem that seems insurmountable. Sometimes, when we speak to another about a difficulty or problem, we can hear the solution in our words.”
