“But your stay here could be considered work, as well. Valuable work!” She used a napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth. “You are here to spend time with your son.”
She could believe what she wanted, he thought, watching the play of the breeze in her hair. He removed his jacket and put it aside. “I am not as casual about my responsibilities as many others in my position, but there are times when I long to get away, to leave everything totally, completely behind. Away from those who know me, away where there is no formality and none of the responsibilities that haunt me every hour of the day.”
She pushed the food away and leaned on her hand, watching him. “And is there such a place of escape?”
“There is!” He smiled at her. “I go there for a month every fall. Have you ever been to Scotland, Rebecca?”
She shook her head, and he watched the tendrils of gold and fire dance around her face. She rubbed one cheek gently on the shoulder of her dress as she continued to lean on one hand. “I’ve heard it is a beautiful land.”
He moved the basket aside and stretched out on the blanket, propping his head on his hand. “It is a wild land…a place of ancient untamed gods where, beneath a windswept sky of blue, mountain streams tear through black crags into tumbled glens of oak and pine. On rock-studded braes that seem never to have borne man’s footstep, bracken and heather battle for a place. Above lochs that have no bottom, ice-covered peaks gleam in the sun one moment, only to disappear in storm clouds the next.”
The enchantment was revealed in her warm smile. “You love Scotland.”
“I don’t believe in love.” He trapped her hand beneath his on the warm blanket. She didn’t try to withdraw. “But I very much believe in passion.”
She remained silent, a thoughtful expression clouding her face.
“What do you believe in, Rebecca?”
She took her time to answer. “I believe in love. I have seen it in the eyes of a little boy resting in my arms. It has comforted me. It has given me peace.” Blue eyes looked searchingly into his face. “But the other terrifies me.”
“Why?”
“Because it is forbidden.”
“By whom?”
“By me!” she said softly. “I cannot allow myself to feel something that cannot be controlled, something untamable and…and violent.”
His fingers caressed the top of her hand, and he saw a shiver ripple across her skin and a blush color her cheeks. “Did you never feel passion for your husband, Rebecca?”
She turned her face away.
“Did you never experience the ecstasy of the marriage bed? The soaring sensations, the coming apart that passion brings?” He could feel the wild beat of the pulse in her wrist. She refused to answer, though. “There is intense pleasure that comes with losing control. There is indescribable peace that follows the violence of such unbridled passion.”
Stanmore’s fingers left the warm fingers and moved up her arm, touching the soft fabric of the dress, caressing.
“Did your husband not know where to touch you?” His fingers reached the exposed skin of her neck above the linen shawl around her shoulders, and he saw her close her eyes as he traced the beautiful column of her neck. “Did he never make you burn with that inner fire only the passionate lover can know?”
Her face turned to him. He held her gaze as his hand moved down and gently caressed one of her breasts through the dress. A surprised gasp escaped her lips, and his hand moved even lower, rubbed the fabric against her flat stomach.
“Did he never pleasure you? Cherish you? Touch you here?”
His hand moved lower. Her cheeks were flushed. Her blue eyes open and aware. She did not push his hand away.
“Did he never learn your secrets and master your fantasies?” His hand moved on top of hers again.
“Tell me what you feel now, Rebecca?”
She swallowed hard, and he pulled her gently down next to him.
“But this is all wrong!”
“Is it?” he whispered soothingly.
“But we shouldn’t. You are—”
He cut off her complaint with a brush of his lips, and she answered the kiss. As he drew back slightly, her mouth followed, kissing him and firing his desire. He rolled a little, his leg pressing against her thigh. His hands slipped around her, pressing her softly against him, encouraging her. She continued to kiss him, and he didn’t think she even realized it when he rolled them on the blanket until she was on top of him.
Slender fingers dug into his hair as Rebecca raised her face. Her lips brushed against his before continuing a journey of discovery across his cheek, his ear, his neck. Uncertain fingers moved down his chest, feeling the curves of muscle beneath the shirt. She shifted her weight, and suddenly Stanmore felt his control starting to slip. Rolling her over, he trapped her beneath his body, his arms around her.
He felt every muscle in her body go taut, and he shifted his weight to the side, leaning on an elbow. Her face was flushed, her eyes stormy, but there was fear there, too.
“Do you feel it?” he said huskily. “Do you feel the need of your body? The need of mine? This is passion!”
A tear welling in the blue eyes brought a great tightness into his own chest. He cupped her face with a large hand and stopped her from turning her face away.
“What is wrong? What are you afraid of?”
Sparkling beads of moisture escaped the corners of her eyes, disappearing into the golden hairline at her temples. He kissed away one tear and then another. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes again.
“Talk to me, Rebecca.”
She closed her eyes, but the tears continued to flow. He rolled to his side and pulled her tightly into his embrace, caressing her back, gently kissing her forehead, her cheek—soothing her as he’d never soothed another woman in his life. He found himself caring for her as he’d never cared for another person in his life. It was some time before she spoke again.
“I am not…I am not who you think I am!”
***
“Your insipid wife is being incredibly tight-lipped about this Ford woman!”
Squire Wentworth ignored her as his fingers hurried to undo the laces on the back of Louisa’s fashionable French stays.
“Careful!” she chided as his strong pull pressed the stiff cane into her delicate flesh. “Just call one of the maids!”
“Nay!” His lips were already on the bare skin of her shoulders. “I couldn’t bear to stay away another minute. Why didn’t you let me in last night, hussy?”
“I was far too tired.” Louisa said lazily, leaning her head back against him. “And don’t you dare complain about this morning, either! Just because your wife chooses to leave your bed before the lark sings, I don’t see why I must take you in.”
“Leaves my bed? I’ve told you the little fool doesn’t share my bed.” As Wentworth helped her shrug out of the corset, Louisa enjoyed the tingling in her breasts as his fingers lifted them and stroked the nipples through the thin chemise. The squire’s own clothes lay in piles around the bedchamber, and he rubbed his exposed sex against her buttocks through the silk fabric. “You belong in my bedchamber…not here.”
“You are a fool, Wentworth,” she said with a laugh. “And what would your wife and your servants think of your guest taking up residence in the master’s bedchamber? Oh, the scandal!”
He squeezed her breasts and bit on the side of her neck. “Scandal? You didn’t care what anybody thought for all the time you came to me at my London townhouse!”
“But that was different! When you lured me there…”
“Lured?”
“…lured me from my poor late husband’s bed, I might add, you were not married to this silly chit. And later…well, later your wife was never there!”
“Such absurd shyness is not becoming, Louisa, in such a woman of the world.”
One of his hands slid downward over her belly, and he cupped her mound roughly through the thin layer of white flowered silk of t
he chemise, causing her to gasp.
“Discretion was certainly a secondary concern during the three years that you were married to that old goat Nisdale. If I recall, he would not give you what I was giving you.” He squeezed hard, and she reached back one hand to grasp his powdered hair. “You openly enjoyed what I gave you—the money—the clothes—aye, even the rough and dirty tumble, now and again, eh?”
“I don’t care to talk of that now, you disgusting ape.”
He grinned as he lifted his head off her shoulder, pulling his hair out of her grip. “Aye, disgusting. And that’s why you came down to Hertfordshire, did you not? You are here to be with me!”
Louisa decided that the question did not merit an answer, but smiled slyly over her shoulder. Kicking the corset away, she freed herself of the squire’s grasp and moved toward the mirror standing by the window. Watching her own reflection, she slowly peeled off the thin silk chemise.
“I give you credit, Wentworth. Lately, it seems you have established a reputation among the ladies of the ton for your…well, unusual sexual preferences. Most of them are quite unsure whether they should be afraid of you or throw themselves at you. Quite the sensation, I should say.” Her breasts were perfection, Louisa thought as she stared at the pink tips already extended because of Wentworth’s handling. “Why, there is even talk of your absolute control over your wife.”
“Is that so? Talk of me among the ladies?” She could hear the note of satisfaction in his voice.
“Indeed. They say the silly chit fears you…acts in complete obedience to your wishes!” Louisa let her gaze travel down her own reflection in the mirror and linger to admire the triangle of soft hair at the juncture of her legs.
“It is a man’s place to command.”
“Pray, I wonder if all this manly command could be used to pry some answers out of that wife of yours.”
“Answers about what?” he replied suspiciously.
She pushed gently at the blonde hair piled high on her head. “About who this woman is, of course…this Mrs. Ford…and what she is to Stanmore.”
She gasped aloud as a hand seized her by the hair, jerking her head roughly to the side. She hadn’t seen him move—hadn’t been aware of his approach. Her haughtiness disappeared instantly, as she felt herself thrown hard against the nearest wall. Stunned, she was still trying to regain her breath when she felt his hand encircle her throat.
She could hear the anger in his whisper. “Are you here to be with me or with Stanmore?”
More than anything else in the world, Louisa wanted to correct the brute on the ridiculousness of the question. Looking up into the murderous eyes and feeling the fingers pressing on her throat, though, she quickly recalled her intentions.
“Am I not here at Melbury Hall?” She gave him her most seductive smile and stroked his hip with the inside of her knee. “Of course, I am here to be with you. Do you wish me to kiss the rod, as well, you beast?”
Her pretence served its purpose as he lowered his hand from her throat to her leg. He was still clay in her hands, she thought, wrapping both legs about his waist. And a moment later, as the squire drove deeply into her, Louisa conjured her most convincing cry of ecstasy.
Like clay, she thought.
CHAPTER 19
“Perhaps, then, you should tell me who you are.”
Rebecca stared at him, shame coursing through her. One moment she was acting like a harlot, the next she was as frosty as a glowering duenna. Trying to gather together whatever remained of her dignity, she pulled herself out of Stanmore’s arms and seated herself about an arm’s length away. He sat up as well, reaching out and wiping the tears from her face.
“I am not the woman you think I am!”
“And what woman is that?”
She could feel the weight of his gaze on her bowed head. Vanity had never had played an important role in Rebecca’s life, but right now she was incredibly conscious of how terrible she must look to him. She could just imagine the look of her red nose and swollen eyes, the wild hair that had come loose and no doubt conveyed an image of Medusa. She stared at the weave of the blanket while she tried to collect her thoughts.
“I am not…I do not…I’ve never engaged in this kind of activity before.” She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. “This…this intimacy frightens me…terrifies me.”
“Are you saying that, aside from your husband, you’ve never been with any other man?”
She shook her head first, before nodding furiously.
He moved closer, and Rebecca felt the warmth of his breath on her ear. “And how many years have you been a widow?”
“Eight…Nine years,” she managed to croak.
“To think, a woman of your beauty…your…” His warm hand moved caressingly over her back, and she shivered. “But what a fool I am to complain of the stupidity and the blindness of other men.”
“This is just what I mean.” She turned to him and was sorry the moment she did, for the look of tenderness in his eyes was something totally new, something she was not prepared for. “I…I have never sought the attention of men. I…I did not wish for this…this thing to be happening between us now.”
“I had no wish for it, either.” He looped a loose strand of her hair around his finger. “But it is undeniably here, as you say, between us. And we cannot ignore it.”
“But we must!”
“Tell me why.”
“I’ve said it before. It is wrong. It is…“
“Do you have someone who is waiting for you in America?”
“I do not! But this is not about another man’s claim on me. It is all about how I was raised.”
“How you are raised is very important, Rebecca, but are you still a child? Suppose I said that sometimes we try to hide behind traditions we have been taught because we think we can be safe there,” he challenged. “Are you still an innocent child, Rebecca?”
“I am twenty-eight!” she answered earnestly. “And you have no need to press this point, m’lord. I know I am far from innocent.”
“Of course. For anyone who lives in this world, the age of innocence is past.” A trace of amusement shone in his dark eyes. “But do you intend to join a convent after your return to the colonies?”
A flash of temper rose color in her face. “I hardly find it amusing that you should entertain yourself at my expense.”
“I am doing no such thing. My interest, though, is purely pragmatic. No matter what my attraction to you might be, I will cease to pursue you if your intention is to engage in some religious life.”
“You are making fun of me.” Rebecca pushed herself to her feet and walked a few steps away before whirling on him. “I am to retain my reason, not only for my own sake, but for yours, as well.”
“Is that so? And how is that?” he asked lazily.
He looked the part of some well-dressed highwayman stretched out on the blanket beside the water. He could be a Captain MacHeath or a Willmore come to life. Staring at him, she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her argument when he watched her with so much heat in his dark eyes.
“If we were…” She moved her hands desperately in the air.
“To become involved.” He finished her sentence for her.
She nodded. “Then I know…well, that I will not be the same.”
“And you think that would be so terrible!”
She nodded tentatively. “But consider how your life might change, as well. What happens then? I mean you appear quite happy with your life as it is now…and I think it would be very wrong to muddy up what is…perfect.”
“You think I am perfect?”
“Hardly!” Her quick answer made him burst out in laughter. Rebecca couldn’t hold back her own smile. “I meant no disrespect, m’lord.”
“Of course you did.”
“Very well, perhaps I did.” She put her hands on her hips. “But, to speak honestly, how else am I going to deal with you? You are…well, reasonably han
dsome. You know you have both poise and charm that many women might find attractive. And you are incredibly arrogant to ignore my request that you direct your attentions elsewhere. You, m’lord…you should be dining with people—with women—of your own rank. I cannot understand why you should notice me at all!”
He sat up on the blanket. His voice was low. “Do you find my attentions so hateful, Rebecca?”
She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “Here you are, starting again.”
“Answer me.”
“Of course, they are not hateful.” Rebecca was startled when she opened her eyes and found him standing before her.
“You like my attentions. Admit it, you enjoy them. You enjoy being with me.”
She wanted to deny the truth that he was speaking, but she couldn’t.
“I say that you like me, Rebecca. And I believe you desire me as much as I desire you. Now, if you would stop your endless quibbling for any length of time and gave this some honest thought, I believe you’d see that there is no sound reason for stubbornly refusing to surrender to your wants.” When she tried to turn her face away, he reached for her chin and held her in place. “What are you saving yourself for? Most importantly, why are you robbing yourself of something that offers a promise of real fulfillment?”
Rebecca felt the insides of her body vibrate with anticipation.
“Do not be afraid of what might happen after. I am not one who shirks his responsibilities. I will take care of you.” His face descended, but he didn’t kiss her. “I will not, however, press you beyond your own desires. On the other hand, I will not go away, either. I will just wait until you come to me!”
***
Following a young black-skinned girl who carried a small bundle of bread in her apron, Jamey had easily found his way to the half-circle of ramshackle dwellings where most of the slaves lived on a stream by the edge of a grove beyond Melbury Hall.
The Promise Page 20
