by Jane Lark
When the dance came to its conclusion and everyone spun to a halt Henry’s hands let her go. She stepped back falling out of a dream.
His hand cupped her elbow. “Shall we walk outside?”
That would be the most foolish thing to do. But Henry was reckless and she was heart-sore. She nodded. It was easier to admit in an action that she would betray Alethea again than to speak the word, yes.
They were close to the doors, there was only a few steps to take, perhaps if there had been more she might have come to her wits.
His free hand twisted the handle and opened the door, the cool night air swept in. It was still light; it was not even twilight yet. Later, when the ballroom had been warmed by the exuberance of hours of dancing, all the French doors would be wide open and the terrace area would be full of people seeking fresh air but this early there was no one else.
“I do not know the Baron well and so I know his garden not at all,” Henry whispered in a light tone as the pressure of his grip on her elbow urged her on.
She glanced back at the windows behind them as they walked down a few shallow steps and on to the lawn. She had not even looked to see if her parents or Alethea saw them leave.
Henry did not allow her time to think, or change her mind. He kept her walking. “There must be somewhere private here.”
Where we might kiss… The thought whispered through her mind
She was numb, she could not believe that she was allowing this to happen a second time. Yet she had dreamed of his kiss, thought about it every night when she had gone to bed—and if this was the last time she would let herself see him… What would one more kiss that she might keep in her memory matter? She’d already stepped across this boundary, the betrayal was complete, repeating it would add nothing to her guilt.
“There’s a path here.” His touch turned her towards an opening in the high yew hedge, it led on to a path which then turned to the left and ran on between two high hedges, progressing farther away from the house.
The sound of the music grew more distant as their steps crunched on the fine gravel.
“Here.” A stone arbour was set back into the hedge. He stepped inside the curved, arched structure. It had a low seat about its edge. He did not sit down but faced her.
No one on the path might see them, in here, yet they would hear someone else coming and could step out as though nothing odd had occurred.
His hand braced her nape and drew her closer.
She lifted her mouth, entirely compliant.
She had no urge to fight this, her heart was full with longing.
I love you. The words whispered through her soul when his lips hovered above hers. He breathed out. She inhaled the air from his mouth. Then his lips pressed on to hers gently, caringly, without any sign of recklessness. Her hands lifted and held his upper arms as she pressed her lips back against his tentatively. She knew nothing of how to do this. Why did he like her?
With one hand still embracing her nape, his other came about her and rested against the curve of her lower back, over the first flare of the skirt of her dress. Her hands slid upwards and gripped his shoulders. His tongue slipped through her lips. She caught it between her teeth softly then engaged in a circling dance, and when his tongue retreated, she chased it into his mouth. He sucked on her tongue in an intimate way.
When she had painted the orchids she’d studied the tiniest detail and now she felt every detail of her body’s response. It ran into her blood, with the flow of water, and it made her muscles ache with a sweet pain as her body pressed against him of its own accord. This was a physical choice, not a decision, he’d told the truth if it was the same for him.
Her arms wrapped about his neck as the skirt of her dress crushed against his thighs and her breasts brushed against his chest. Her corset and bodice were the only things stopping her heart from leaping from her chest.
His hand slid from the small of back to her bottom and pulled her tighter against him.
She was breathless and thirsty.
His other hand left her nape and fell to clasp her bottom too and then she was leaning back against the cold stone wall of the arbour.
She could feel the pressure of his fingertips through her skirts and petticoats, squeezing her bottom as his kiss left her mouth and touched the skin along her jaw.
Her head fell back against the stone and to one side as he kissed the skin below her ear and then a pathway down her neck.
“Henry.”
They should not be here. She should not be allowing this.
He kissed the hollow where her neck turned to her shoulder and his hand came about her and cupped her breast over her gown. He’d taken the speaking of his name as a request for more. It had not been that.
His thumb slid over the material stroking her nipple.
Her nipple swelled and became sensitised and taut—
“I know, my Lord, I was charmed by it too, I cannot believe…” A woman’s voice swept along the path.
Henry’s hand fell and he straightened instantly, then leant to one side, looking along the path. “They are on the other side of the hedge,” he whispered. “Come.” He grasped her hand and pulled her out of the arbour but he did not turn towards the house, instead he drew her in the direction that led farther into the garden.
He pulled her through a break in the hedge on the right, their shoes crunching on the gravel. She hoped the couple beyond the hedge could not hear their haste or the stealth in their behaviour.
She was drawn about the end of another hedge and pushed back against the prickly branches. He still held her hand as his other hand gripped her nape, his thumb reaching to press against her throat.
Henry breathed heavily as his gaze met hers. His thumb lifted and brushed along the line of her jaw. “Let me tell Alethea about us?”
“No. There is nothing to tell. She has grown up thinking you will be hers. She believes it. She’s waited for you.”
“She is happy enough with Stourton…”
“Only to make you jealous. Henry, you cannot like me.”
“I have no choice in it, Susan.”
She knew.
The pressure from his thumb against her jaw, lifted her chin, angling her lips, and then his covered hers.
Her arms wrapped around his neck. She would never feel like this again—never be happy again—she wished for every drop of these last moments, and they would be moments, her parents would miss her if they stayed here much longer.
His tongue danced with hers and the heel of his hand braced the edge of her breast as his thumb lifted and then stroked her nipple through the cloth. The movement drew all her awareness.
She longed for more. To discover every sensation with him. But there was Alethea to be remembered and tomorrow guilt would set her on a pyre made of hell’s fire.
She broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Henry.”
His forehead rested against hers, as his thumb continued to stroke across her nipple. “If I could, Susan, I would release the buttons at your back and unlace your corset, and lift your breast to my mouth and suck your nipple. If I could I would lay you down and do far more.” His brown eyes burned as they looked at her with a desire for the things he’d described.
The ache that had been twisting through all her muscles grasped at those between her legs.
“But we must return to the ballroom, Uncle Casper will be looking for you, and I shall restrain myself until we marry.”
Marry…
No. No. There was no hope of that.
He pressed another kiss on her lips, then his tongue slid into her mouth, she sucked it for a moment and then danced hers about it, then pulled away.
Her forehead fell on to his shoulder, and she held him tighter leaning into the crook of his neck. “You were promised to Alethea. You cannot marry me.”
She breathed in, lifted her head and let her arms slide from about his neck.
His hands grasped her waist, holding her between his body
and the hedge.
She met his gaze. “You have to let me go.”
“I will tell Alethea now—”
“It does not matter.” Her voice flooded with the pain she did not want him to hear.
“She and I cannot—”
“I know.” Her hand lifted and her gloved fingers covered his lips to stop him arguing. His warm breath seeped through the silk. “And I cannot. It would not be fair on her. She is my sister, Henry. Do you not see?”
“And that would be fair on you and I?”
He would have kissed her again, but she turned her head. “Let me go. We are being selfish.”
“I wish to be selfish in this!” He was getting angry.
“If I was in Alethea’s shoes I would not be able to bear it. To have to watch us together. To know my sister cared so little for me she would do such a disloyal thing… It will hurt her, Henry. I cannot hurt her like that.”
“She would not sacrifice herself for you.”
He was wrong, she knew. “She would.” But how could Henry understand when all his life he’d only had need to think of himself.
“And this little tête-à-tête?” His fingers tightened on her waist.
“It must be our secret. But I shall remember it, rejoice in it and regret this carelessness forever.”
He frowned and shook her, making her body sway, as though the gesture might sway her judgement.
She shook her head. Then gripped his wrists and pushed his hands away. Then she smiled awkwardly and moved out of the space between him and hedge.
“Susan,” he said as she began walking back along the path. “Susan,” he called.
She did not look back. She would not have been able to see him clearly anyway without her spectacles—and through a haze of tears.
When she reached the open lawn there were couples on the far side, but from what she could see of their movement through her blurred gaze, none of them noticed her walk out from the path.
She hurried up the steps to the terrace, wiping away the tears that had slipped free and blinking others away. One of the French doors had already been left open. She passed through it and looked about the room, squinting, to try and see her parents, it was Alethea’s tall hairstyle that identified them, and then the colour of their clothes. She walked about the floor unmindful of those she passed.
As she neared her parents Alethea walked away on the arm of a gentleman.
Susan was glad, she could not face her sister. Now that she’d left Henry her mouth had flooded with a bitter taste of disgust. She did not like herself anymore.
When she reached her mother, she said, quietly, “May I go home, Mama.” She did not want to see Henry come back into the ballroom. She could not speak to him again, or Alethea. She’d broken her sister’s trust.
“Why?” Her father stepped closer. “What has happened?”
“Nothing. I just… I have a headache. I went outside to try and relieve it but it is worse. Please may I go home?”
“I shall take you,” her father answered, then looked at her mother. “Will you remain with Alethea?”
“Of course.” She smiled at Susan and embraced her. “Go straight to bed and have a maid bring you some herb tea.”
Her father held her arm as he guided her from the room.
Tears ached at the back of her eyes and dammed her throat as they awaited her shawl and her father’s hat. She had made a mess of everything. She was as rebellious and reckless as Henry in her way.
She wrapped her arms about herself. Her father glanced at her with concern.
She had never been a weak woman she never gave in to ill-health, he must think this odd.
During the carriage ride home she was silent and so her father was silent, yet he watched her.
When they reached the house, he asked, “You are not too ill?”
“No. It is only a headache.”
“And nothing has happened to upset you?”
“Nothing.”
“You are sure?”
“I promise.”
“Susan?” He did not believe her.
“You may re-join Mama and Alethea at the ball. I am fine, Papa. It is probably only that I am tired. I will do very well here on my own. I simply need to sleep, that is all.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes, Papa.” She held his arms and rose to her toes to kiss his cheek, remembering another kiss that had not been so innocent. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” He nodded.
He did not turn away but watched as she walked up the stairs.
Once her back had turned the tears within her broke through the dam and flooded over, running down her cheeks in silent misery.
When people fell in love was it not supposed to be something that was happy, not tragic?
~
Henry clasped his head with both hands, his fingers clawing in his hair as his elbows stretched out in a gesture that implied a lack of control. Susan had walked off the path. He could no longer see her. He looked up at the sky which had turned the deeper blue of twilight. His arms fell. How the hell did he manage? What was he to do?
He sucked in a breath.
Damn. He did not want Alethea. If he took a wife it would be Susan. I still cannot. She had thrown the idea of marriage back at him. Her loyalty to her sister was commendable, especially when he had now realised that at times that loyalty was not returned. Yet he did not wish Susan to be righteous in this, he needed the rebellious Susan.
He drew in another breath. He would persuade her. Convince her. He would tell Alethea that there was no feeling on his part, and that she was better off pursuing her Earl and he would damned well court Susan. He was not so loyal, or moral or obliging that he would give Susan up and accept misery only so that others might not think ill of him.
Self-centered.
Damn it, he was, and he was glad to be, and proud to be, and he would not walk away from what he wanted. He would fight for what ought to be. He would be self-centered for them both!
He sighed out and began walking back towards the house, his arms swinging with the pace of his strides.
When he entered the ballroom he saw her.
Uncle Casper held her arm in a way that seemed protective as he led her from the room. Henry looked at Aunt Julie. She watched Susan and Uncle Casper leave with an expression of concern.
The current dance drew to its conclusion with a crescendo of music and the space about him became full of heavily breathing, hot and perspiring dancers. He was lost amongst them.
Which way to turn? What to do? He could hardly follow Susan, and yet his heart seemed to have left his chest and walked out of the door beside her.
“Henry where have you been? I was going to save the second dance for you but you were not here?”
He faced Alethea.
She had danced the last, her skin was glowing with warmth and her eyes bright with the fun she was having. Her eyes said, dance with me, even if her lips had not been so forward.
He lifted his arm and complied as he’d always done. “May I have this dance then?” He could not continue to carelessly comply. Because now he cared, and he cared for someone else.
The music began, announcing another waltz. Of all the dances. He was in no mood to dance it with anyone but Susan.
Alethea smiled broadly as her hand lifted to his shoulder. She was being her most charming. Perhaps she had realised that her flirting with Stourton was not having the desired effect.
He took her hand and slid his other to her back, aware of every difference between the sisters.
The music swelled and he began to turn. Alethea’s bright blond hair caught the candlelight and reflected it back and her very blue eyes looked at him with the smile that sought to allure him.
He longed to look into pale grey eyes that expressed a depth of truer emotion.
Yet he and Alethea had been friends for years, it was not difficult to dance with her and make conversation, and here was not the place
to tell her the truth. So he danced, and breathed, and his heart continued beating no matter that it felt as though it might shatter. What he talked of though, was Susan. He sought stories of her.
He wished he’d made an effort to know her well when they were young. He had been so self-absorbed he’d never noticed the things that were the same about himself and Susan. They might have been friends then. It was unsurprising that she had not liked him before and it was no wonder she had no faith in him now.
~
Susan lay in bed hugging her damp pillow, she had cried more than she had ever cried. But then she had never had a real cause to cry before.
A slight tap struck the bedchamber door, then the door creaked open. “Susan…” Alethea whispered when she entered the room.
Susan let go of her pillow and swiped the cuff of her nightdress beneath her eyes as the candle Alethea carried spread light into the room.
“Do you feel better?” Alethea asked as she walked around Susan’s bed.
No. She felt worse now that Alethea was here. Guilt dropped like a heavy stone into her stomach. She had not been crying out of guilt or for her sister’s loss, she had been crying for her own loss. She wanted to be with Henry. “A little.”
Alethea set the candle down on the far side of the bed and climbed in beside Susan then turned back and blew the candle out. The room descended into darkness as the smell of burnt wax filled the air.
The mattress dipped as Alethea lay down and turned towards Susan.
“I waltzed with Henry after you left.”
Susan thanked God for the darkness, otherwise she could not have hidden her pain.
“I have forgiven him, I think. He is too charming for me to be able to remain irritated and of course he waltzes divinely, so how can I stay angry with him.”
Tears filled Susan’s eyes. One slipped on to her cheek then dripped on to the pillow.
“When he danced with you did he say anything about me?”
“No, we were speaking of silly things,” of things found only in foolish dreams. “You know how he likes to tease.”
“Yes.”
Susan’s heart cramped, becoming hard and painful at the sound of contentment in Alethea’s agreement.
Henry’s fist was clenched about her heart.
