The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg

by Jayne Fresina

  "Not everything needs improvement. Like your soft-handed friend Chelmsworth said, some things are beautiful the way they are. And some secrets should be kept forever."

  "Then you don't mean to build Minty's temple here," she said softly, gesturing to the piles of grey stone upon which he'd set the lanterns.

  His eyes darkened wickedly. "No. I had a change of plan. But you'll have to wait and see, Persey."

  She was silent for a while, watching the rain trickle down between those knotted green bowers.

  Joss put his hands on her waist and held her to the tree trunk where she could stay dry. "We're both explorers, you and I. Most folk are content to stay on mown grass. They would be too afraid to wander alone into a deep forest."

  Her eyes looked at everything but his face, so he gripped her chin, tipped her face upward and kissed her again.

  * * * *

  She had discovered the clearing one day about a year after she first came to Holbrooke. Whether or not it was known or visited by anybody else she had no idea. She mentioned it to nobody and never heard it talked of by her husband, or Albert, or Honoria, or anybody on the estate. It was a place she came to often, relishing her secret, enjoying the calm quiet and the glorious array of ever-shifting colors. In rain, like this evening, it was magical, a haven that seemed to belong to some ancient year when bold knights fought for their ladies' favor. The greens, blues and browns all spun together, a picture on a tapestry but one that moved and whispered.

  On sunny days, the little grove was a medley of gold, copper and bronze, shot through with pale green. When it snowed, diamond studded flakes filtered down through the frosty branches above and the little stream froze, as if time itself had stopped.

  Tonight, the rain soon eased. It was one of those sudden showers, commonly seen on the cusp of an English summer. It refreshed the blossoms and brightened the green grass. Come the morning, tiny beads of rain would probably still nestle inside the petals of newly opened roses, until the day's sun returned to dry them off.

  A few last drops fell through the canopy, followed by shy rays of a returning moonlight, stroked by the passing shadow of cloud.

  "So you knew you would bring me here tonight. The lanterns..."

  "Yes. I ran on ahead to prepare. I wanted it to be just right."

  "For what?"

  "You and I, of course." His fingertips gently stroked her cheek. "We can be together here and nobody can disturb us."

  Persey moved away from him, trying to set her thoughts in order. "You mean to seduce me?"

  "Yes," he replied with that peculiar honesty. "I've never done this before so I—"

  "But what good will this do? Where will it lead? How will it end? Who will it hurt?"

  "Hurt?"

  "Lady Honoria feels very passionately about you and she is—"

  "Ten years younger than me, Persey." He stuck out his jaw, defiant. "That's a larger gap in age than the one between you and I. Is it not?"

  She frowned. "How would you know how old I am?"

  He said nothing, just looked at her.

  "And a woman is usually younger than her husband," she continued. "Such an age gap would not be odd between you and Honoria."

  "Husband? For Honoria?" He laughed abruptly. "That's why you asked all those questions about a permanent home? That's why you went to all the trouble to dress me up and shower me with perfume, is it? Shawcross hinted at it, but I thought perhaps he was just an old romantic."

  "Honoria is my only concern. If she thinks she wants you, I must do what I can to make you suitable. Despite my misgivings."

  "Suitable?" He stood with feet apart, hands on hips. "Misgivings?"

  "My stepdaughter is young and naive. She has led a sheltered life and is easily impressed by surface beauty. I do not want her to rush into anybody's arms just because they are handsome."

  He put his hands down, letting them hang loose at his sides. "You think me handsome?"

  Persey rolled her eyes. "You know very well that you are."

  "I don't know that at all."

  "Oh, for pity's sake. You are handsome."

  He grinned. "And you wanted me to kiss you again."

  "Why on earth would I want that?"

  "You said I was a natural at it."

  She tried to be nonchalant, waving her hand in the air. "Well, of course, technically you are proficient, but—"

  He seized her again and took from her lips any words she might have said next. It was some time before she realized she was on tiptoe, his arms around her maintaining balance and yet, at the same time, making her utterly dizzy.

  * * * *

  Her lips were damp, very pink, trembling a little.

  At last she said, "When did you leave Twytchel-on-the-Nene?"

  "Seventeen years ago. I joined the navy."

  "So young?"

  "I was a cabin boy. Had to get away, find adventure. In fact," he paused, squinting, "you and I did meet again in Norwich. Captain Waylett sent me with a message one day. To say he was going back to sea. The same message he sent to all the girls."

  Having circled a lantern, she came back to where he stood. "The little boy in the galligaskins that didn't fit?"

  "Aye." He smiled. "but you had a different name by then. I couldn't be sure you were the same girl and, naturally, you wanted naught of me."

  "How strange that you would remember me so many years later."

  He shrugged. "Why wouldn't I remember? I was in love with you when I was eight."

  "Eight? Oh, Joss! You don't make this any easier when you keep reminding me!"

  "A boy doesn't forget his first love."

  "Why must you be so honest? So forthright?"

  "Not all men lie. I never saw the point of it anyway."

  Her arm was around a tree trunk, her fingers tapping the rough bark as she considered him carefully, skittish as a rabbit again. "I don't know what to do with you," she confessed.

  "Ah." He scratched his temple. "I had hoped one of us at least would know."

  Finally she let go of the tree and walked slowly toward him. She licked her lips and then, catching her breath in a gentle sigh, she raised her hands to his coat and very carefully slid it downward, over his shoulders and his arms.His pulse raced, the heaviness in his loins taking over all other considerations. The moment his arms were released from his coat sleeves he set about the long-awaited unpinning of her hair, letting that luxurious weight and length spill over his fingers like a cloth woven of the most precious silken threads.

  And then, as she unbuttoned his waistcoat, his fingers went to her laces, freeing her breasts from the confines of her corset, and unleashing his own passions likewise.

  * * * *

  Thankfully his preparations for this seduction did not consist only of lanterns. Radcliffe had also brought a fleece blanket, a pillow and a quilt to the clearing. He now spread them out over the mossy ground to make their bed.

  "You really don't care for walls and home comforts, do you?" she remarked, amused.

  "No. This is my idea of a perfect room," he murmured into her hair as they lay together, she in her chemise, and he utterly, unashamedly naked. "And you are my perfect mate."

  When he said things like that, what could she do but submit? There was no false flattery with this man and no stopping him. He was a force of nature.

  His firm, well-hewn body under her hands was another thing Persey could not resist. All these weeks of watching him, admiring and pretending not to care, had let the feelings build up until they overflowed in a mad tumble. One that made merry music, like the waterfall he'd constructed for the estate grounds.

  He was right in that they were both explorers, adventurers.

  They certainly made the most of their curiosity tonight.

  As she licked and kissed her way down his chest, he ran his hands through her hair and she felt him tremble. But he was not cold, she made sure of it.

  "Persey," he groaned in some surprise, when she reached
her goal. "Persey!"

  She could not answer him, of course, for she was occupied with her little feast. Well...not so little, actually. Far from it.

  * * * *

  In his wildest, most lustful dreams, it had never been like this. She was a fire that consumed him, inside and out, but he felt no pain only exquisite pleasure. He went readily into the flames and, rather than weaken his structure, they made him stronger, more alive than ever.

  When he kissed her it was like a breath of life bursting through his lungs, filling his veins and sinews, pumping new blood through his heart. Under his cheek, her breasts made the softest and warmest of pillows, her nipples the finest treat his tongue had ever enjoyed. And down, over her curved belly, he sought out more treasure, the soft, sweet cup of wine that soon made him drunk and yet thirstier for more. Ravenous. Addicted.

  She guided him in at last with a cry of sheer need, her long legs wrapped around his back, her body arching and quivering beneath him, fingernails tearing at him.

  He gasped out, sweat breaking across his skin, as the blissful sensation of completion took hold and he buried himself deeper, thrusting harder, thoroughly possessing the woman for which he had yearned all this time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "Not quite like that," she gasped out, grabbing his wrist. "Slower. Not so...determined."

  He was a very good pupil, diligent and very keen on his subject. In fact he was so very keen, that she was obliged to slow him down occasionally.

  "Show me," he said.

  So she led his hand in the rhythm until he could take over, by which time she was undone again.

  Joss Radcliffe's hands were, with just a little instruction, capable of teasing open her petals and bringing her to explode in more glorious color and wanton disarray than her garden had ever bloomed before.

  Lady Flora would be impressed. And heartened to know how well he tended her good friend.

  In a brief resting moment, she asked him what became of his brother Jasper.

  "Oh, he nursed his wounds a few years after you left. Then he wed Mary Buck and last I heard they had a half dozen babes already. But Jasper is happy. He were always content to stay in that village. Didn't want to change or go anywhere different, or see anything more of the world. Not like me. Not like you."

  "Yes."

  After a pause he said, "I remember when you told that story about the old lord left to die in the priest hole."

  "You were there?"

  "I were always there, listening to your ghost stories. Not that you saw me."

  "Well, you were only...oh, lord... eight!"

  "Aye. There wasn't much to me worth noticing."

  "There is much more to you now, Radcliffe." She ran her fingers over his chest and felt again that guilty twinge when she considered the difference in their ages.

  "Call me Joss. You might as well." Stretching under her caress, like a spoiled, contented tiger, he almost purred. "After this."

  "Yes. I suppose so."

  "I always liked your stories. Now you can tell me more."

  "Aren't you too old for stories now?"

  And he laughed. "See? I'm not a boy. Even you know it now, Meg. You can't pretend that's all I am anymore. So put that out of your damned mind." He rolled on his side to kiss her lips. "Are you cold?"

  "No." She smiled.

  "I told you it was possible to lie outdoors at night and not be cold."

  "I didn't realize that this was what you had in mind."

  His teeth nibbled gently at her neck, his hand cupping her breast, the fingers spread wide to possess the fullness. "But I cannot risk you getting a chill, your ladyship." One strong thigh slid between her legs, and she felt the rearing heat of his manhood against her hip. "I'd never forgive myself if I let you get cold, madam."

  So he quickly heated up the air and her body again, in the many new ways she'd taught him. Not to mention a few ways he'd found instinctively already, all by himself. Even her imagination could not have kept pace with his.

  * * * *

  He made love to her until the candles burned down inside the lanterns and then the first purplish light of dawn crept down through the canopy of whispering leaves. If they could have stayed there forever he would have.

  Ah, there was that "forever" notion again.

  But daylight and life would soon intrude. The forest around them slowly awoke— animals rustling in the undergrowth, birds twittering in surprise to find humans in their grove. Even the ferns whispered, and branches, rubbing together in the breeze, creaked like old gossips.

  They helped each other dress and then, as she buttoned his waistcoat, she said, "I hope now I have won your discretion."

  He looked down at her, puzzled. She was biting her lips, her cheeks still flushed pink from their passion. A light bruise marked the side of her neck.

  When he didn't answer, she turned her gaze upward, her hand pressed and still against his front. "I trust now that you will keep my secret, since I gave you what you wanted."

  Joss stared. It felt as if she'd slapped his face for it stung viciously. "That's why you did this? Why you stayed with me all night?"

  Her eyes shimmered in the soft, uncertain light between night and dawn. "Isn't that what this was about? In return for you keeping my secret?"

  For a long moment he fought his anger. "I thought you cared for me, Persey."

  "Well, I—"

  "But you just thought I meant to bribe you. That's how little you think of me still?"

  Her lips parted, but no reply emerged. The warm color drained from her face.

  "What a fool I was. What a fool I am," he exclaimed, taking a step back and reaching for his coat where it lay across a low branch. "Because I thought you'd fallen in love with me at last. That I'd finally won you over."

  "I didn't know..." she stammered. "I assumed you meant to use the information about my past..."

  "Even after I told you not to fret and that I wouldn't say anything?" he demanded. "Even though you know I'm an honest man who keeps his promises, you still thought I lied, Persey? You know I am so honest I frequently say things only an idiot would say to a woman." A hard laugh spat out of him, hurting his chest. "I love you. There. Who but a fool incapable of a lie would say that to a woman who thinks so ill of him?"

  Her eyes were very wide now, dotted with raindrops although the sky was clear. "How can you be in love with me?"

  Joss could barely hear her, the anger was too savage inside him. It roared in his ears. "You cannot tell me what to do and how to feel, madam. I am my own master now. You are not the only one who escaped what everybody expected for them. Not the only one who wanted something better. And you won't tell me I can't have it." He caught a breath. "I shall try not to bear a grudge for this wickedness you thought of me, for grudges make a man's heart bitter. But for now, madam, I can look at you no longer."

  Then, drained of words, he stormed off.

  It was all rather dramatic he thought later, once he'd calmed down. But his emotions were heightened that morning and the fact that she had thought him capable of rotten bribery was more than he could tolerate at that moment. Putting distance between them was the best thing until he could calm his temper.

  * * * *

  Persey walked to the lodge in something of a daze. The rising sun spread arms across the cloudless sky and the air breathed with the rich scents of summer, but she could not take pleasure in that beauty as she normally would.

  She ached. Joss Radcliffe angry at her was something quite fearsome and unexpected. He was usually so mild-tempered and affable, a smile never far from his lips. Even when they were in the labyrinth on that first day, when he discovered her ruse, he had not been that furious.

  How could he love her? What use would she be to him?

  But, apparently, she had misunderstood his reason for seducing her. And he was right in that he had told her not to fret because he would not tell anybody about Meg of the Long Legs. She simply hadn't been able t
o believe it.

  Shawcross opened the door for her as she came down the path.

  "Madam, I became most concerned when Ruth found you were not abed this morning. Thank goodness you are here."

  "I decided to take an early walk before the sun came up," she lied, finding that far easier than a certain gardener ever would, apparently. Ruth, the maid, would have seen by now that her bed was not slept in, but Shawcross did not mention it, discreet as ever.

  Damn Radcliffe! Why had he done this to her?

  She stormed into her parlor, shaking off that doziness, her body humming now with a curious energy.

  First things first! She marched to the mantle and took down the little glass dish, tossing the crystal lid to a chair. Marzipan comfits. A handful directly disappeared into her mouth, sweetening her tongue and sure to improve her mood. Chewing, she went to the window and opened it. Fresh air. Good. Although she'd probably had enough of that last night.

  She paused, one hand on the window latch, and stared at her crooked reflection in the leaded glass. Her eyes were very bright. And wet.

  Oh, lord! A bruise on the side of her neck. Another on her bosom.

  A hussy! He had turned her into a hussy, who rolled around outdoors, on the ground, in the nude. No doubt there were many more bruises.

  More marzipan. Yes. Lovely, lovely marzipan.

  "Madam," said Shawcross, entering the parlor behind her, "shall I make coffee?"

  Well, at least she still kept her neck unbroken. It was bruised, but nobody was going to put a noose around it. Not today.

  She lived to tell another tale.

  "Madam?"

  "Yes, please, Shawcross," she managed through a full mouth. "Thank you."

  Back to normal.

  But it was not, of course, and it could never be again, not now that Joss Radcliffe— as he called himself these days— had put his filthy hands all over her. Not now that he had looked at her with wounded eyes and made her heart ache.

  Not now that she finally knew what it was really like, not just to give physical pleasure, but to receive it. Over and over again.

  The damnable man had exhausted her, physically and mentally. But she could no more call him a boy, could she?