by Emma V Leech
With a curse, he strode to the large sheet of paper he’d pinned up and tore it down, putting a clean sheet in its place. He snatched up the charcoal again. This time the image came with laughable ease, the elegant line of her neck, the soft swell of her breasts and the lush curves of her waist and hips. Despite working purely from memory and imagination he knew he’d captured her, the essence of her, vibrant and full of life. The image of her was one he had never seen in reality, though he’d dreamt it every night since he’d returned and seen her for the first time. The look in her eyes was everything he longed for, her posture provocative. He stood back, breathing hard, longing rising inside him, hot and fierce and suffocating. With a groan, he flung the charcoal aside once more, disgusted with himself, and flung open the door, stalking down to the lake and casting his shirt aside as he went. He doubted a swim would do much to cool his ardour, but he had no better ideas.
Cassius was moving so fast and with such single-minded determination, that he almost tumbled headfirst over the sleeping figure, and was forced to sidestep to avoid it.
“What the devil?” he exclaimed.
The figure at his feet squeaked with alarm and sat up, staring at him. Cassius’s heart jammed in his throat.
“Lottie?”
“Cassius!”
The two of them stared at each other, neither moving nor speaking. For his part, Cassius did not dare. To see her out here, asleep on the grass, all in virginal white like some fairy queen, was more than his willpower had been prepared for. Keeping away from her and far from temptation was one thing, but resisting what was right in front of him quite another.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she said as Cassius tried to keep his gaze from the heavy blonde plait that had fallen to lie between her breasts, or to notice that her nightgown and wrap were of the finest lawn cotton and not as opaque as she might think under the moonlight.
He swallowed, forcing his brain to grind into motion and think of something to say that would not result in him behaving badly. It was not easy.
“By the lake?” he managed, hoping he’d achieved the amused tone he was striving for and the desire-roughened, gravelly sound of his own voice was all in his head.
“I went for a walk and found myself here. I… I don’t remember choosing to come here only… once I was here, I could not make myself leave.”
“Lottie,” he said, meaning to tell her to go straight back to the house, but the words died in his throat as she stood up and took a step closer to him.
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I wish you would not hide down here. I’m certain Eliza feels wretched about it, too. She does not want you to be unhappy.”
He snorted at that. “That is because she does not know the truth. If she knew, she would understand just how badly I have behaved.”
“You did not,” Lottie said at once. “We did not. Nothing happened, and we did not choose to feel this way on purpose. Why must we feel so wretched?”
“Because hurting Eliza is unthinkable,” he said with a shrug.
Lottie sighed. “Yes.”
“You should go.”
“I know.”
But she only gazed at him, temptation incarnate, dressed in gauzy white, and with such longing in her eyes that his body hurt and he ached with the need to touch her. Every particle of his being seemed to incline towards her as if drawn by some unseen force, even though he held himself still.
She turned away suddenly, walking purposefully towards the summerhouse.
“Lottie!” he exclaimed, not daring to follow her, for his self-control was fraying fast, and then he realised with a jolt just what she would see if she went in. “Oh, Christ!”
He took to his heels, but she was already at the door, moving inside. He crashed in behind her, hoping to tear the sketch down before she laid eyes on it but too late.
“I’m sorry,” he began, feeling like an utter blackguard for having drawn her in such a way.
She was staring at the image, eyes wide with shock, her mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise.
“That’s me,” she said, her voice trembling. “T-That’s how you see me.”
“Lottie, I….” He did not know what to say, for it was how he had imagined her, tumbled among the sheets of his bed, her expression inviting him to come back and make love to her again.
She moved towards the drawing, and he wondered if she would tear it down and fling it at him in fury. Had he not only lost his best friend, but also the woman he was falling in love with, both gone in the space of a week? Yet she made no move to destroy it. She only gazed at it, her chest rising and falling too fast.
“It’s a very good likeness,” she said after a long moment, during which Cassius realised he’d been holding his breath. “But….”
He braced himself, awaiting the furious set down, or the caustic reprimand that must surely follow.
“But if you are preparing sketches for a painting, I think you ought to work from life.”
“W-What?” The breath he’d been holding escaped him in a rush, as he saw the wrap fall from her shoulders and her nightgown follow it down to form a soft heap of white cotton at her feet. He gaped, his mouth dropping open as he took in the elegant curve of her spine, her dainty waist and then… and then the most delicious, most perfectly plump bottom in the world. His gaze snagged there, and it was a long moment before he could even consider the long, shapely legs. Then her golden hair tumbled free down her back and he realised she had released it from its plait.
Cassius could not move, could not think, could do nothing but stare in stunned awe at the image before him, an image that would be burned upon his brain until the day he died. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her cheeks pink but her blue eyes calm.
God, she was brave. She threw herself at life, at the things she wanted and was always so completely honest, no matter the risk to herself. She would make herself vulnerable rather than hide behind rules and propriety as most people did. He admired her for that, more than he could say. It was only now that he realised that he always had admired that about her, that fearless spirit, the joy she took in life, making even an ordinary day brighter. Being with her would always be an adventure, no matter where they were.
His breathing picked up, his heart thudding erratically behind his ribs as she moved to the daybed he’d had brought down from the house. He’d draped it with rich fabric, velvet and satin, and cushions in vibrant colours, and it was all he could do not to moan with longing as she laid herself down upon it. She raised one arm above her head and Cassius made a strangled, whimpering sound he wasn’t terribly proud of, but that any man with a pulse would have well understood. Her breasts were full and creamy and tipped with delicate pink nipples and oh, God… Oh, dear God in heaven, he was going to hell. He ought not look. He… He looked. He looked and looked and could not stop. He ought to throw his coat over her and turn his back and… and run like hell, but he wasn’t going to.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice faint and nervous as she arranged herself for him.
Cassius swallowed, finding his mouth dry.
“Lottie,” he rasped, his chest rising and falling like a damned bellows.
“Don’t you want to draw me?” she asked with challenge in her eyes.
“Want to?” he said with an incredulous laugh. “Of course I bloody well want to.”
He ought not to have spoken so, but he was so far beyond proper behaviour it hardly seemed to matter. What he wanted was to join her on the day bed and feel all that warm silken skin along the length of his body, to kiss every satiny inch and map her curves from head to toe with his tongue.
“Well, then,” she said, putting up her chin. “Th-Think of me as a bowl of fruit. You are a professional, are you not?”
“Lottie, if anyone were to see—”
“Then make very sure that they don’t,” she said, her tone fierce. “It is for your eyes only, Cassius.”
“Of course it bloody is!”
he exclaimed. “You think I would let anyone else see—”
“No,” she said, before he worked himself into a passion over the idea. “No. I do not. So… this is for you, Cassius. Paint me as I am, with no flattery, no disguises, or clever tricks. Paint the truth and know that you alone have seen what I really am.”
“Do you think I know?” he asked, curious about that. “Do you think I see everything that you are?”
A slow smile curved over her mouth. “Do you remember the summer before you left? We were all out on the terrace. It had been a long, hot day and everyone was sleepy, dozing in the sun. You told me of all the places you were going to visit in France. I was so envious, and I told you that I wanted to travel too, especially to see Egypt and visit the pyramids. We talked about it for hours.”
Cassius nodded. He did remember, with startling clarity. Had it begun then perhaps, without him realising, for he remembered the passion in her eyes as she’d spoken about the great Italian explorer, Belzoni and all his discoveries. He’d been as caught up in the conversation as she had, but then it had been time to dress for dinner and… had he forgotten? Or had he known he was playing with fire? Either way, he’d been about to go away for two years so perhaps he had just not allowed himself to think… to consider…
“I don’t know everything about you,” he said, finding himself breathless, as much with excitement at his sudden understanding as with the glorious creature laid out before him. “No more than you know everything about me, but I think we both like adventure and surprises, and walking into the unknown. I think you could live a different life and find joy in it. I think we could do that… together.”
She let out a breath, her eyes sparkling with happiness and he knew he was right, knew this astonishing woman was brave enough to face the life he wanted to live. No, not only to face it, but to relish it, just as he would. Eliza wanted to change the world in which she lived but that world was in England. Cassius wanted to see everything, to record the world in its entirety, and Lottie wanted that too, and that was the difference between them.
“You want to leave again, don’t you?” she asked.
Cassius nodded, knowing he could admit it to her. He was so happy to be home, to see his family and the people he loved, but there was an itch inside of him too, something that tugged at his soul and beckoned him to pack up and go.
“So do I. England is stifling sometimes. There are so many rules, and I’m so often in trouble for breaking them. I should like to see places where life is different.”
“We shall,” he promised her, though he had no right to, not yet. “Somehow. We’ll figure it out, Lottie.”
“I hope so, Cass. I’m counting on it. Now, you’d best get on and draw me, warts and all remember,” Lottie said with a laugh. She gave a happy sigh and stretched on the day bed, and Cassius swallowed a groan. Perhaps he was weak. He was most certainly reprehensible not to force her to dress and send her back to the house, but Cassius could have no more have turned away from the sight before him than he could have flown to the moon. Even his desire for her was set to one side as he worked, though it simmered in the background, revealing itself in every sumptuous sweep of his hand as he reproduced the beauty before him with loving attention to detail. As the hours passed, he produced sketch after sketch, each one finer than the last, his heart singing with joy, with love for this beautiful creature, this goddess, who made him come alive and inspired him to reach higher than he’d ever dared dream.
The last sketch was his favourite, the image he would carry in his heart always, engraved there for all time. For his beloved had fallen asleep, her lovely mouth parted on a sigh, her hair tumbling over her breasts, the nipples peeking shyly through. She was relaxed, safe in his presence, and the honour of her trust in him was enough to make his throat tight. He gathered up her night gown and wrap, and told himself sternly that she would get dressed and he would escort her back to the house. That was all. Good Christ, as if he hadn’t been villain enough for one night.
With that thought in the forefront of his mind, he moved to the day bed and covered her with the wrap before leaning down to wake her.
“Lottie,” he said, his voice low, not daring to touch her, to shake her awake, for if his skin touched hers he would surely be lost. “Lottie, darling, wake up.”
“Hmmm,” she mumbled, hazy with sleep as her eyelids fluttered.
Cassius saw a dazzling flash of lapis lazuli blue that made him long to reach for his paints, even if he’d not slept and it was almost dawn. He smiled at her, the desire to pull her against him greater still, though he denied himself that too.
“Wake up, love.”
She blinked, focusing on him at last as her mouth curved and she reached for him, coiling her arms about his neck.
“Lottie,” he said, sounding more a croak of desperation than her name as she tugged at his neck, pulling his head down, and pressed her lips against his.
Chapter 11
Wulfric,
You are insane to consider returning and stirring up another hornet’s nest. For even were it not your intention, your presence will inevitably cause trouble as it always does. Keep your anonymity, my friend. It has served you well this many years.
I must tell you at his point that Nic has deserted me. Though I find it hard to fathom after he has been my shadow for so long, something has driven him from my side, and I do not know what. I have a suspicion that a woman is at the bottom of it, but you must agree it seems so ludicrous I can hardly believe it. We have been here days only, and… but I must do something to fix the situation. If only I knew what.
― Excerpt of a letter to an anonymous friend, from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.
Dawn. Morning of the 7th July 1838, The Summerhouse, Holbrook, Sussex.
Cassius was lost the moment her lips touched his, reduced to a quivering schoolboy in the arms of his first sweetheart. He had never been short of female attention. His father had attained a wicked reputation as a young man, though he protested it was far from true, but he was still acknowledged one of the handsomest men of the ton. Cassius had been made in his image, as anyone would tell you. Though his father had given him many a stern lecture on the perils of dallying with the female household staff—which he had heeded—it had not been easy. Women liked him and were drawn to him with little effort on his part, and he liked them too. There was nothing that pleased him more than tumbling into bed with a willing partner, especially one who knew what they liked and was prepared to ask for it.
Lottie, though….
Lottie made him giddy. When he saw her, he could think only of poetry, of the need to capture her image in every aspect, of the desire to take her to his bed and never let her go. She called to something inside of him that wanted to pack up his paints and head off on an adventure with no set destination in mind.
Eliza would not care for such a life, he knew, and so he had decided on the two years he had taken to cure his wanderlust before he settled down. Not that it had worked. His time away had only cemented the knowledge that a settled life would drive him mad. He’d tried to pretend otherwise, tried to tell himself it was just cold feet and would wear off, but the closer to home and Eliza he’d got, the more despondent he’d become.
Lottie would not want that of him. She would not ask him to stay in one place, but she would follow him in a heartbeat. He knew that now. Now she’d reminded him the memories returned, tumbling over each other. He remembered the days before he’d left with Lottie pouring over maps and asking him if he would visit this place and that one. He remembered now, the longing in her eyes, the yearning to go with him. How the hell had he forgotten? She had been so excited for him, so obviously envious and he… he could give her that. Lottie would not care about uncomfortable carriages or sleeping in rooms that were not quite respectable or going to places that had seen nothing resembling a tourist. Lottie would live it with him, would demand she go with him and not be left behind, just as she had when the
y were children, determined to be included.
“Darling,” he murmured against her lips, trying to pull back, knowing it was dangerous to them both in so many ways… but he made the mistake of looking down at her instead.
Cassius found himself drowning in a sea of blue, in the swathes of Mary’s cloak, the brilliant flash of a kingfisher skimming the lake on a clear summer’s day.
“Oh, God.”
He moaned and pressed his lips to her temple, her nose, her cheek. He sought the warm, delicate patch of skin beneath her ear that made her breath hitch when he kissed it, and he forced his hands to remain braced against the day bed and not on her. His palms itched to feel her warm skin, to fill his hands with her and lose himself in the pleasure of her. Yet, he had made such a mess of everything already. He would be a bloody, damned gentleman if it bloody, damned killed him. It really might too.
“We can’t do this.”
Lottie made a sound akin to a sob of frustration and he wanted to weep too, for he would surely run mad if he could not have her. Now. At once.
“We can’t… Eliza….” he said helplessly.
It was the one thing he could say that would bring them back to their senses, as brutal as a bucket of ice water flung over their heads.
“Yes,” Lottie said, resignation in her tone. “I know.”
Cassius let out an uneven breath and forced himself to move away. He turned his back as Lottie stood and dressed, the rustling of fabric providing his imagination with quite enough information to torment him.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” she said, her voice dull.
Cassius turned, wanting to take away the sorrow he could see in her eyes. “I’ll walk you back.”
She shook her head at once. “No. Someone might see. It’s only the garden, and I got here easily enough. It’s quite all right. Goodnight, Cassius.”
