by Candace Camp
The heat in his eyes almost melted her. He put his hands on her shoulders, and slowly, almost methodically, he moved down her body, sliding over her breasts and onto her stomach. His hands parted to glide down her hips to her thighs and back up, then over her abdomen until his fingers touched the pale thatch of curls between her legs. Everywhere his hands explored, his eyes followed, his arousal heightened by the sight of his hands upon her body. He moved behind her and caressed her back and buttocks in the same way, gently and thoroughly.
He dropped a kiss upon her shoulder, then made his way along her collarbone and up the side of her neck, his warm velvety lips sending shivers throughout her body. His hands stole around her and caressed her breasts and stomach as he nuzzled her neck and shoulders. One hand slid downward, crossing her navel and skimming over the flat plane of her abdomen. But this time he did not stop at the thatch of hair, but continued, delving into the damp heat between her legs.
Cassandra’s knees trembled, and she was afraid they might give way beneath her. It made her blush to have him touch her there. At the same time, the excitement was so intense that she wasn’t sure how she could stand it. He slid over the slick folds of flesh, his questing fingers separating and stroking. She gasped as he found the hot bud of flesh between her nether lips and gently began to tease it. She tensed automatically, moving back a little and going up on her toes, but he simply wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her up and hard against him, so that she felt the insistent pulsing of his manhood against her bottom while the other hand moved with her, continuing to caress her intimately.
Cassandra let out a little choked sigh, and her head lolled back against his chest. The way he held her, she could reach nothing of him except his thighs and the sides of his hips and waist, but she made do with that, stroking the outer sides of his thighs and reaching back around to the firm rounded cheeks of his buttocks. She heard his muffled groan, and his hand stilled on her for an instant. He began to kiss her ear, his tongue and teeth teasing her earlobe while his hand stroked her rhythmically.
Her heart was pounding, her breath rasping in her throat. She could hear whimpering noises arising from her which she was powerless to stop. She felt caught in a maelstrom of sensation, unable to distinguish among the wild, whirling pleasures that stormed her body.
Philip moved to her other ear, then began nipping little heated kisses down her back. His hand left her, and she almost sobbed at the loss, but he curved it over her buttocks, squeezing and caressing her, then once more sliding between her legs, but from the back this time, startling a little squeak of pleasure from her. Something hot and foreign to her seemed to be building in her. It was so powerful it almost frightened her, yet she wanted to rush straight into it. She moved her hips unconsciously.
Her untutored response almost unmanned him. Philip groaned and paused for a moment, leaning his head against hers and fighting for control. Then he turned her around almost roughly, pulling her to him, and began to kiss her mouth hungrily. Cassandra kissed him back with equal fervor, running her hands over his back and sides, discovering how exciting it was to feel the textures of his flesh. She moved her hands between their heated bodies and slid them tentatively down his ridged chest and stomach onto the softer flesh of his abdomen. With a boldness that surprised her, her fingers inched down until they closed upon the satin hardness of his manhood.
Philip jerked and made a noise deep in his throat, and Cassandra hesitated, pulling her hand away, thinking that perhaps she had done something wrong. But his hand went to hers, nudging it back to the stiff shaft. Her fingers closed gently around him, exploring.
At last he raised his head and bent, picking her up in his arms. He carried her to one of the long cushioned seats that ran along either side of the gazebo and laid her down on it. He hesitated for an instant, looking down at her.
“Are you sure you want this?” he rasped.
For an answer, Cassandra opened up her arms to him. A look of satisfaction crossed his features, and he lay down, positioning himself between her legs. It was not a wide seat, but there was room enough for them, and they did not notice any discomfort. His manhood probed the gate of her femininity, and Cassandra stiffened a little, but he kissed her until she relaxed. Slowly, he began to push up into her. Cassandra was aware of pressure, then pain, and she thought that somehow this was not working right, but then, with a single slash of pain, he thrust into her.
She gasped, but she was not sure if it was at the brief discomfort or at the new and delicious feeling of his filling her. He was sinking deep into her, stretching her past anything she would ever have thought possible, but it did not hurt. Rather, it was intensely satisfying, as if something missing all her life had been replaced. She wrapped her arms around him, luxuriating in the sensation. He began to stroke within her, pulling back and thrusting in again, moving with a slow rhythm, and with every stroke he built the fires of their passion. Finally he began to move more quickly, and the excitement that had been growing and spiraling inside Cassandra whirled ever faster. Suddenly the desire exploded within her like a fiery sun, shaking her to her core. She cried out, lost in the storm of pleasure. She felt Philip surging against her, then heard his hoarse cry as he shuddered and collapsed upon her.
Slowly the world came back together, and Cassandra was aware once again of who and where she was. Philip released a soft sigh and rolled over onto his back, pulling her up on top of him. He cradled her in his arms, and she rested her head on his chest, listening to the loud and furious thump of his heart, gradually slowing down to a strong, steady beat.
She had never felt such peace, such lassitude. Here, in his arms, she felt as if she were home.
* * *
CASSANDRA AWAKENED RELUCTANTLY, pulled from her sleep by a shaft of sunlight that poured in through the crack in the curtains and fell directly across her face. Groaning, she rolled away from it, burying her head in her pillow, but sleep eluded her. With a sigh, she turned onto her back and lay staring up at the tester above her head, her mind filled with memories of the night before.
They had not lain together in the summerhouse long. Philip had shaken them from their dreamy, languorous state, saying that they had to get back to the house soon. It would never do for her aunt or someone else to find her missing from her room and go looking for her. For her part, Cassandra was too wrapped up in contentment to feel much concern for her reputation, but she did as Philip asked, dressing with as much speed as she could muster and walking back up to the gardens with him. She had gone into the house first, slipping through the conservatory and up the back stairs to her room, thankfully meeting no one on the way. She had fallen into bed and gone immediately to sleep. Now was the first time that she had really reflected on what had happened.
Her lips curved up into an involuntary smile as she remembered their lovemaking in the gazebo. She loved Philip. She had known that for sure last night as they had hurried off down to the summerhouse. She had been fully aware of what she was doing and of the consequences. Had she been uncertain of her feelings for Philip, she would have held back. But her heart had been as sure of what she wanted as her body.
She knew that marriage would not be the result of their tryst. Her aunt was no doubt right about that: men like Sir Philip Neville did not marry penniless girls. But that had not mattered. All that had mattered was the fact that she loved him and wanted to be with him.
She was, she supposed, a fallen woman now. If anyone found out about last night, her reputation would be in tatters. A virtuous woman, she reflected, would probably be consumed by remorse this morning. Cassandra realized that she felt none, only a wonderful joy that made her feel light as air.
She arose and rang for the maid, taking her time about bathing and dressing. By the time she went downstairs, the breakfast dishes had long been cleared from the sideboard in the dining room, and she made do with a cup of tea and a piece of
toast brought from the kitchen by one of the footmen. He also informed her that Sir Philip had left earlier this morning for a meeting with the estate agent and had said that he probably would not return until supper that night.
The day seemed much bleaker after Cassandra heard that news. She was glad that she had already slept through much of the day. She idled through the afternoon, packing for the trip to London in a dreamy, desultory way that was not like her. She spent some time in the nursery, half listening to the twins’ and Olivia’s chatter.
Cassandra did not see Philip until supper that evening. As soon as she walked into the room, his eyes went to her, and there was a gleam in them, quickly shuttered, as he gave her his usual polite bow. They said little to each other directly, joining the general conversation both during the meal and afterward in the drawing room as they listened to Joanna butcher an etude. However, Cassandra noticed that time and again she would find Philip watching her. There was a look in his eye, a glint of warmth and familiarity that, brief as it was, Cassandra still found stirring.
She wondered what would happen later tonight, if he would risk coming to her room. Her room lay almost at the opposite end of the hall from his. He would have to move unnoticed and unheard past his own mother and grandmother, as well as her aunt and cousin. It would be dangerous for him to do so—dangerous for her reputation, at least—but Cassandra couldn’t keep from hoping that he would. Later, when she went up the stairs to the bedroom floor in a group with her aunt and Joanna, Philip stayed downstairs after escorting the ladies to the foot of the spacious stairway. He bowed over each of their hands, and it seemed to Cassandra that his lips lingered a fraction too long on the back of her hand and that as he straightened up there was a meaningful gleam in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was real or if she was simply indulging in wishful thinking.
But she prepared for bed with greater care than usual, taking a perfumed bath and brushing out her hair so that it hung in a shiny fall across her shoulders and back, instead of putting it up into a neat braid, as she often did. She had little to choose from among her nightgowns, for all of them were practical white cotton, without even any frills or ruffles to dress them up. She wound up deciding to sleep in a simple shift that she often wore beneath her petticoats. It was sleeveless, with a round scooped neck, a very plain thing but a little less concealing than her high-necked, long-sleeved nightgowns.
Cassandra crawled into bed, turned the lamp down low and lay waiting for the sound of Philip’s footsteps in the hall. They did not come, however, and after a long while she fell asleep, curled up on her side, her pale hair spreading out over her pillow.
She was awakened by the feeling of the deep feather mattress shifting a little beneath her. Before she could come fully awake, a hand slid around her waist and Philip’s voice whispered in her ear, “It is I. Don’t scream.”
“Philip!” She turned, smiling.
“Sorry to awaken you.” He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, and he did not look the least bit sorry to her. “I wanted to make sure everyone was asleep. Grandmother has ears like a hawk when it suits her.”
“I am glad you came.”
“Are you?” He bent and brushed a kiss upon her lips. “I wasn’t sure, but I did not think you looked at me forbiddingly tonight.”
A giggle bubbled up inside her. “No. Indeed I did not.” She thought about asking him about the work he had been doing today or about their upcoming trip to London, but she found that she really was not interested in talking about that or anything else.
“We have to talk,” he said, gazing down into her eyes, his hand caressing her cheek. “I am sorry I was closeted all day with Simpson. And tomorrow will probably be the same.” His hand drifted downward onto her throat. “Then we will have the Moultons with us on the way to London. We should do it now.”
His eyes followed his fingertips as they trailed down over the white expanse of her chest and onto the luscious upswelling of her breasts, and he seemed to lose track of what he was saying. Cassandra didn’t care. She had no desire to talk; she suspected that he was wanting to make clear the parameters of their affair, and that was something she did not want to hear.
“There will be time enough later,” she murmured, reaching up to run her hand through his hair.
“What? Oh, yes…later…” He bent to kiss her, and there was little talking after that.
* * *
CASSANDRA WAS ALONE when she awoke. She had not expected it to be otherwise. When she had snuggled back against Philip, spoon-fashion, last night, she had known that very soon he would slip away back to his room. She was grateful, of course, that he was concerned for her reputation, but she found herself thinking how nice it would be to wake up with him by her side. To look into his face first thing each morning. Then she gave herself a mental shake. That was never to be, and she must get used to it.
There was as little to do today with Philip gone as there had been yesterday, and by the end of the morning, she was completely packed except for a few last-minute things. She had even got most of her aunt’s and cousin’s things organized. Joanna looked quite pleased with herself, and Cassandra could only think that the reason was because Philip was not hanging around Cassandra as he had been ever since they arrived at Haverly House. It afforded her some inner amusement to think how utterly wrong her cousin was about the status of Philip’s feelings for her, but even that was not quite enough to make up for the irritation of watching Joanna smirk.
Shortly after their luncheon, one of the maids knocked on Cassandra’s door and handed her a folded note. Cassandra pounced on it and read it. Her lips curved up in a smile. It was from Philip, as she had hoped. It said that he intended to finish with the estate manager this morning and suggested that she meet him at the old abbey for a ride around two o’clock.
Cassandra wasted no time getting on her riding habit, an old one of Violet’s, which she had kindly had refitted for Cassandra, and going down to the stables. The head groom wanted to send a groom with her, but she declined, reasoning that in a few minutes she would be joining Philip, anyway. When they had still been able to afford to keep a stable, she had always ridden without the services of a groom, and she felt rather foolish riding along with the groom trailing her at a respectful distance.
It was still a trifle early when she set off, but Cassandra didn’t mind waiting at the abbey. It was one of her favorite spots. When she arrived, she was not surprised to find that Philip was not there yet. She tied her horse beneath the shade of a tree and strolled around, peering into the various ruined rooms of the old monastery.
She heard the scrape of something on stone, and she turned, thinking that Philip had probably arrived. However, she could see nothing but another wall beyond the tumbled-down wall of this room, so she walked back out of the room and turned down the remains of a long, narrow corridor. She passed another doorway, and a flicker of something caught her attention. But before she could stop or turn back to see what it was, something slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the floor. A sharp pain split her head. Then there was nothing….
* * *
CASSANDRA CAME TO consciousness slowly. Her head was throbbing, and she felt sick to her stomach. She opened her eyes, which she quickly discovered was a mistake, and closed them again until the world stopped spinning. She let out a groan and lay there for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
She was lying on something hard—it felt like a wooden floor to her—and the smell of dust tickled her nostrils. The air was dead and still. Slowly her mind cleared, and she remembered being at the abbey, walking along the corridor…then being hit hard, the ground suddenly in her face, and pain exploding in her head.
The memory seemed to stir up the pounding in her head, but it did not clear up her confusion at all. Where was she? What had hit her? Her first thought was that a stone must have fallen from the
wall and struck her, knocking her down. But even in her still-dazed state, it didn’t take long to realize that that theory made no sense. If a stone had hit her, she would still be lying in the abbey, with the sun pouring light over everything, not in a dimly lit room.
Slowly, using great care to keep her head from spinning again, she raised her head, then pushed herself up onto her elbow. Thankfully, though her stomach lurched a little, she did not lose her lunch, and after a moment she felt better. Gradually she continued until she was sitting up, and she looked around her.
This was no place that she recognized. She was in a large round room that rose straight up about two stories tall. The walls were brick, and there were four windows higher up. Rickety stairs, in many places missing steps, ran up the wall to the wooden ceiling above. The last stretch was not stairs but a ladder that went through a square hole in the ceiling. In the center of the room stood a large pole going all the way up and through the ceiling. At the bottom the pole was some sort of machinery with gears. All of it looked quite old and long unused. A coating of thick dust lay over everything.
There was a trail through the dust on the floor, leading from where Cassandra sat to a short wooden door in the wall not far away. It was the mark, Cassandra supposed, of where someone had dragged her through the door and across the floor. There was no sign of any other person about.
Whatever last hopes Cassandra had that the knock on her head had been accidental were banished by the sight of the drag marks. Someone had intentionally hurt her, then hidden her in this odd place.
Cautiously she levered herself to her feet, groaning at the increased pounding in her skull. But after a moment everything settled down again, and she walked toward the door. She had little hope of it being unlocked, but she had to try.
