A Love by Any Measure (10 page)

“Yes?” August asked.

She whispered in a raspy yet confused tone. “Your … pleasure?”

August leaned in and kissed her neck tenderly, the movement surprising even him, though he felt the truth of his words as he spoke. “Feeling you experience your first delivery against my hand was very pleasurable,” he assured her. August moved his mouth underneath her ear and lightly bit, being careful in his stance so as to not press the stiff manifestation of his desire into her side.

More startling to them both was Maeve’s sudden boldness as her fingers ghosted over his cheek before trailing over the length of his arm, over his hip, and brushing purposefully over his erection.

Her eyes met August’s; desire, reproach, curiosity and embarrassment competed for control in her gaze. Not wanting her to feel any shame for her inquisitiveness, his hand covered hers, not moving her away but letting her know it was permissible to explore him.

“Does it hurt?”

Her words were so simple, so evidencing of her innocence. And in some way, his nakedness to her at the moment. Not of his body, but of his soul.

“Not hurt,” he answered. “A dull ache. Like being hungry when you’ve just sat at a table watching another feast. It’s … hungry.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes falling to have a glance at its outline through the cloth of his undergarments. “And it hungers for … what I just had,” she concluded. “Will that happen to you too?”

“Yes, a little differently. You needn’t … ” He stilled her hand, aware that her stroking was again playing havoc with his ability to withhold himself. “You must stop. There isn’t any need tonight to … If you keep doing that I’m going … Maeve, please, I … Oh … ”

August’s whole body twitched as her feather touch turned to uncertain, inconsistent strokes. She had no idea what she was doing. Despite the fact that such ignorance may have been laughable with any other woman, that it was Maeve now learning how to arouse and titillate a man first hand, as it were, was only more exciting to him. In his state, even with the irregular rhythm, he wasn’t going to last long against her efforts.

“Maeve, please,” he begged. “Please, this is a bad idea. If you … ”

“Trust me, August,” she mirrored back, a playful smile on her face. “What I do is entirely for your pleasure.”

He felt his body surrender to her siren call. August bit his bottom lip and tried to pull free from his undergarment his hardened instrument. When it sprang free, Maeve’s pace slowed again, as she took in the feeling of him in her hand, flesh to flesh.

He was rising to his breaking point. The combination of her hands, her flared hair, her post-orgasmic grin, the flush of her face, her deep brown eyes.

Just her presence.

“Oh, Maeve, almost … ” His breaths were deep, hefting. His stomach began to clench, and his voice was becoming rough and gravely. “Oh, you’re … Uhh … ”

It was happening. He took one more deep breath, his hips working his member in her grasp, his heavy eyes focused into her intense gaze, the friction taking him …

“August!?”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They both all but fell off the bed.

“August?” Caroline’s insistent voice came again from the other side of the door. “August, is something wrong? I heard a noise.”

Maeve sat straight upright, ashen-faced. Before August could advise her otherwise, she had grabbed her knickers off the floor, her cloak from the chair, and the petticoat from the bed, and dove into the wardrobe, slamming the doors shut behind her.

“A moment, Caroline!” August cried, running to his chair and throwing his robe around himself. He opened the wardrobe to find Maeve pulling her knickers back up in the cramped, overcrowded space.

“Two minutes,” he whispered. She gave him a surely you jest smirk. “It’s just my sister. She’s usually asleep this late. I’ll get rid of her.”

Closing the wardrobe, he rushed to the door, throwing it open to find Caroline, dressed in a full body bolt of white cloth, complete with a sleeping hat, candlestick in hand.

“Caroline?”

She attempted to glance into the room over his shoulder. “Is everything all right? I thought I heard shouting.”

“Shouting?” August laughed, but clearly was not fooling her. “Oh, yes. I banged my foot into the bed post. I must have called out without realizing. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“Bed post?” she questioned, uncertainty, and perhaps doubt, still evident in her voice. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing with which to be concerned,” he assured her, placing his arm on her shoulders and beginning to suggestively pull her back towards her room. “It was nothing, and I swear to do my utmost not to be such a clumsy oaf in the future. Go back to sleep.”

At his back, August heard the catch of a door unhinge and saw, from the corner of his eye, Maeve’s silhouette lithely tip-toeing toward the stairs, the bread sack and her cloak thrown over her arms. Wisely, she had her shoes in hand, and thus stepped silently. Still, as a precaution, August raised the volume of his voice as he continued.

“I was thinking about your caller, Caroline. Why don’t you suggest that he stay Friday evening with us?” Perhaps he’ll keep you distracted. “After all, I’ll be going into town on Saturday morning to meet with Woodrow, and taking him back would be no bother.”

“Are you certain?” she jubilantly asked, turning around. He quickly spun her back to her door, opening the entrance and pushing her in.

“Yes, dear heart, I’m quite certain.”

“Oh, thank you! I’ll write him first thing in the morrow,” she said, her face absolutely beaming with joy.

Caroline’s head curved around the door frame as the foyer door shut loudly. “Was that the front door?”

Quickly moving to dissuade her and pushing her back into her room, August gave the first excuse he could conjure. “Probably one of the servants forgot to close it fully. I’ll just go have a look and be sure. Good night, dear.”

With a quick peck on her cheek, he forcefully closed her chamber door behind her and raced down the staircase. Maeve was already half way across the front yard to the gate when he caught up with her.

“Maeve, wait!”

She turned, vibrant anger emanating from her face. “I can’t believe the position I let you get me into.”

“I … let you?” August repeated back at her. “Time had expired. Your necessity was filled, and what you chose to do beyond that was just that. Your choice.”

“I didn’t hear the bell,” she retorted in disbelief.

“I’d wager not, over your caterwauling, which nearly got us discovered, by the way.” He motioned vaguely to the house behind him as a playful smile danced across his face.

She clicked her tongue. “But you did hear it, didn’t you? And you didn’t stop … whatever it was you were doing.”

“Did you want me to stop?”

A curious look overcame her; contemplation, confusion, and concurrence screwing her face into a reluctant admission by expression.

“Maeve, I can’t stop.”

August couldn’t resist. When he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers, Maeve resisted. Soon she melted into his embrace. It was short lived. As soon as she felt the response of his male body against her, she pulled away, slapping August full force across the face.

“What are you playing at?”

“There’s something happening here. I know you feel it, too. Please, Maeve. Let’s not deny it any longer. Tell me.”

She shook her head tersely. “No. I … I’m engaged. Don’t you see? That was providence just now. Providence pushed your sister to knock on your door. If she hadn’t, we may have … ”

“Your purity is still intact,” he assured her, kissing her nose. “I vow I will not steal your innocence from you.” He smiled deviously at her. “Unless you request it of me.”

“I shall not,” she assured him. “That was wrong. I should not have … Oh! My knickers are to remain on from now on, and you’ll simply have to find your pleasure around them.”

She turned to leave, but August grabbed her arm and spun her around.

“Will you please come again tomorrow?”

“Wha … ?” She hesitated, her body softening as she pulled herself away again. “Aye,” she agreed, throwing her cloak around her shoulders. “But I’m sincere about the knickers.”

He couldn’t resist the flush in her cheeks and the way the tepid moonlight bounced off her brown curls. Without breaching her skin, he pulled her again and gently grasped her knickers beneath the concealment of her cloak, feeling her folds beneath the cotton.

“And should I try the other thing again, with them on?”

“Aye, that you may do twice if you desire.”

August let her go. She made quick her escape through the gate and up the pathway. He turned and grimaced as he walked back up the yard. From the corner of his eye, August saw the light of the middleman’s cottage flash. Looking back, the curtain swung in the window.

“Damn it all to hell.” Clenching his jaw in frustration, August supposed he had more or less been caught by his middleman with his hand in the cookie jar. “Well, Friday’s tea should prove most interesting.”

Searching for that which has been lost

“Maeve O’Connor! What in the name of Saint Peter do you think you’re doing?”

Maeve had, on occasion, witnessed others on the receiving end of Patty’s foul dispositions, but this was the first it had ever been turned at her. And she was in no mood. Jared was due back from town at any moment, hopefully with news as to her father’s whereabouts. Her insides writhed as she sat wordlessly in the chair, not sure Patty intended for her to answer. Then again, she wasn’t precisely sure what she was asking after.

“I thought you were asking all those questions because you were going to try to do something with Owen, not so you could be bedded by August Grayson!”

Maeve gasped and threw her hand over her mouth. “How did you find out?”

A smug expression overcame Patty’s features as she wagged her finger in reprimand. “Ah, so you admit it! Not that you could deny it after we saw the two of you outside our cottage. For heaven’s sake, laying with Grayson? Your ma would turn over in her grave.”

Maeve scoffed. “I haven’t laid with him!”

Patty narrowed her eyes intensely. “But you want to. I can see it plainly in your eyes. “

“I … do … not … I would … never … How … could … ? Psha!”

Such a stutter was as good as a confirmation. “Come to your senses!” she exclaimed. “You fool! Do you know how hard it was to talk Patrick down? He almost bolted out and broke Grayson’s neck! If anyone were ever to find out about this, word would get back to Owen quicker than whiskey to a sailor. Do you think he’d marry you then? Really, my husband should not have more concern for your good name than you do. Why would you subject yourself to this?”

Maeve felt all of two thumbs tall and made of mud. Quite sure all the color had drained from her face, her words died on dry lips. In a bitter, hostile turn, she reflected the venom right back.

“Why not ask Patrick?” she spat. “Quick to take a shilling but shill the lassie, is he? You know what kind of vicious money grabber he can be, come rent’s day. Further, why not ask him what he did with the ewe he took from us? And then ask him why I had to make an offer of my body to Grayson so we wouldn’t be evicted?”

If the fire on the hearth had suddenly died away, the cottage could have been warmed by the flames burning in Patty’s cheeks alone. She gnashed her teeth almost to mush.

“How dare you!” she hissed, her hands fisted in anger and tugging at the sides of her dress. “What would we do with your bloody ewe?”

Maeve stood fast and faced her down with all the veracity one could muster against a mad Irishwoman. Her anger drove her feet to move swiftly, crossing the room and taking a firm stance just a few steps away.

“I don’t rightly know! Maybe he had his way with it, seeing as he’s busy sticking himself into other places he doesn’t belong!”

And so, as day turned to night and still her father had not come, Maeve hadn’t anyone else to whom she could turn. She didn’t know what August’s reaction would be, especially given the state she was in as she threw open the doors of Shepherd’s Bluff just past sunset. He had told her to always come straight to his room. The fire crackled and the clock ticked its customary cadence, but the master proved absent. She stood a few minutes in the solitary chamber, contemplating her next move. Would she dare go in search of him throughout the house?

Yes, she would. Matters were too grave and time was short. Maeve needed to act.

She ventured forth, driven by determination and desperation. Quietly at first, and then in ever growing volume, Maeve called his name from corner to cove. She passed slowly by each door, trying to discern if there was evidence of any human inhabitant in the room beyond.

Across the landing in the adjacent bank of doors, one opened. In anticipation of seeing August, of running into his arms and begging his assistance, Maeve swung about. Familiar green eyes stared back, but the petite, fair-skinned beauty was not August.

Maeve was momentarily frozen in fear. Her eyes set about gauging the distance to the front door when the lady spoke.

“Do you need something?” Her tone was sweet and tender and somehow sounded motherly despite her youth. “Is something wrong?”

Maeve wet her palate and attempted to sound coherent and proper. “Yes. I’m looking for Aug ... Lord Grayson. I need help.”

The lady smiled warmly as she made her way from behind her door, standing in a night gown that was more of a white sheet with arms, and a frilly sleeping cap. In her hand she held a candle lantern, and the flickering against her complexion made Maeve think so of August’s beauty.

“Help with what?”

Poor Maeve drew breath to begin dispensing her woe, but the light creaking of footfalls up the back hall drew both of their attention. August strode quickly into their company, his gaze fixed somewhat frighteningly, somewhat excitedly, on both women before him.

“I see you’ve met Maeve O’Connor, Sister,” he stated as he reached the top of the staircase, sounding dismissive of her name. Maeve had suspected, but would admit that her imagination had been mocking her. “Though as to what she is doing here at this hour is beyond me.”

“Lord Grayson, I apologize for so rudely barging in, but I’m in dire straits. Dire straits, indeed, and I haven’t anywhere else to turn.”

He scratched his chin and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor and avoiding her gaze. “Is this inquiry of an official matter?”

His eyes caught Maeve’s for a second, and she gave a little gasp. Caroline did not seem to notice, thankfully.

“It’s about my father.”

He looked reassuringly at Caroline. “Go back to bed, dear. I’ll take Miss O’Connor to the library. I’m sure she’s quite sorry to have disturbed you.”

“I am, Miss Grayson,” Maeve said, playing along.

“Think nothing of it,” Caroline returned, reaching out to rub Maeve’s arm gently. “After so many years, it was a pleasure to finally meet the infamous Maeve. I hope your troubles are quickly resolved. Good night.”

Maeve returned a good night before following August down. They rounded the banister post and moved through a dim corridor with walls covered in lavish paintings. August neither spoke to nor acknowledged Maeve in word, though a certain sense of gravity began to manifest between their bodies when at last they reached a set of double doors. Maeve ventured inside at his gesture, beginning to fear that his silence perhaps implied anger. He followed her in, closing the doors behind.

In an instant, she found herself thrown against the wall, August’s hungry mouth pressing hard against hers. All fears were abated and even her urgency was temporarily pushed aside as she attempted to make reason of what was happening. His moves were desperate, hurried, and dare she say, even sincere and passionate. But the worries which had driven her to act so brazenly quickly brought her back to the moment.

“August, please … ”

He drew back, his eyes meeting hers, his expression one of frustration.

“What’s happened?” he quietly asked. “Are you hurt? Did Patrick do or say something to you?”

Maeve’s head cocked to the side as she tried to decipher his immediate assumption. “Patrick? No, nothing. But my da, he’s missing. He went out yesterday afternoon and never came home. I’ve been all over Middle Lake today. Jared Boyle searched all over town and couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.”

August looked both confused and conflicted. “Maybe he found a place to sleep for the night.”

“No, Da is always home by dawn. Please, August, I know it’s none of your concern, but I just need … ”

Maeve shivered as he reached for her, cupping her cheek in his hand and kissing her forehead gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

He pulled her by the hand back through the double doors and up the corridor.

“Caroline?” he called from the base of the stairs.

Her door opened again without delay and she stood looking down, her eyes narrowing on August’s hand around Maeve’s. Instinctively, Maeve withdrew and rung her hands in nervous deflection.

“Miss O’Connor’s father is missing. We’ll go on horseback and start looking. Wake up the staff and have them organize a search party.”

Maeve sputtered. “The staff? Surely—”

His insistent gaze cut her off. “We will find him, but we shouldn’t fail to make use of all the resources at our disposal. Caroline?”

She nodded and dashed up the far second floor corridor and back towards the servants’ quarters. August took Maeve’s hand again and led her out the front door.

“Perhaps we should ask Patrick’s help?” she timidly suggested, seeing the light of the middleman’s cottage across the grounds. Even if Patty was upset with her, surely they wouldn’t carry that grudge over to the detriment of Rory’s welfare.

“I think it best if we avoid the O’Keefes for the time being,” August said, pulling her toward the stables. “They are not likely to be very pleased at seeing us together again so soon.”

Her insides twisted. So August too had learned of the witnesses to their parting the evening previous. They reached the stable and August began dressing two horses, one of which Maeve recognized as Gwen, August’s mare.

“August, I cannot.”

“Of course you can. Arthur’s easy-going.” He smiled wryly as he finished off the bindings of the saddle on the stallion’s back and threw a saddle blanket over Gwen’s. “He doesn’t buck too much.”

Maeve let out an exasperated sigh; he didn’t understand what she was trying shamefully to admit. “No, I mean I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

An incredulous glance met eyes that tried to look away. The saddle blanket was abandoned as August mounted his mare and offered out a hand.

“Then you’ll just have to be with me.”

Reluctantly, Maeve extended a hand, and August pulled her effortlessly onto the mare’s back, positioning her in front, his right arm hooking around and anchoring her. As he directed Gwen from the stable, his chin came to rest on her shoulder as he whispered in her ear. Don’t worry. We’ll find him. Where should we start?”

Despite the dire situation, his warm breath sent shivers through her entire being. Maeve’s left arm hooked over his, under the pretense, she told herself, of keeping herself from falling off.

“Let’s pass the lake again, then make our way into the mountains. Perhaps someone along the way has caught sight of him.”

Maeve hoped her fears were foolish and August was right. There weren’t many cottages in the mountains, but a few misers kept shabby residences away from the valley and the city. Though not social creatures, surely they would offer Rory O’Connor a warm spot of ground if he should stumble upon them intoxicated.

Gwen strode effortlessly across the stretches of field as though she carried a sack of feathers. August pulled Maeve closer when jolts or jarring threatened to shift her away. Every so often, his lips ghosted across her cheek or neck. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he had orchestrated her father’s disappearance purposefully to get her in this position. Guilt and exhilaration battled for mastery of her senses at the self-acknowledgement of how much she was enjoying the closeness the situation provided.

The lakeshore was empty, and they passed the O’Connor cottage again to find it vacant as well. In the meadow, the lamplight of several of the servants of Shepherd’s Bluff crisscrossed, looking wherever a patch of ground was concealed in tall grasses. Maeve and August stopped only long enough to learn that the others had found no trace of Rory. Under the blessed light of the full moon on an unusually cloudless night, Gwen whisked them away from the valley and up in to the forested hills, where the occupants of three cottages reported no sign of him. When the trees became too thick for the mare to maneuver, they dismounted.

“Will we be able to find our way back?” August asked hesitantly, securing the leather binds around a tree.

Maeve scoffed, feeling a rush of superiority in this particular venue. “I know these woods better than you know your house. I could walk through here blindfolded and touch nary a thing.”

“Make your way up here often, do you?”

Her cheeks flooded red. “At one time, I came here often.” She was able to stop herself from saying, “in order to relive that day.”

“I suppose I’m left with no choice but to trust you,” he said offhandedly, and added with a teasing smile, “though wouldn’t this be a keen way to do away with me.”

He followed wordlessly as she led him down one of the lightly-treaded trails running along the stream. Every minute or two, a call of “Da” or “Mr. O’Connor” would carry on the breeze, but not once was there a response. As they wound up the hillside, Torc Falls revealed itself as a sliver of silver through the trees.

August froze in place, forcing Maeve to double back after a minute or so when she realized the she was alone.

His eyes were fixed upon the falls. The moonlight filtered through the trees, creating the illusion of a thousand fairies dancing in the water. The sound was gentle, as it hadn’t rained since several days before. Maeve allowed the silence to endure, waiting for him to make spoken that which she was certain he was thinking.

“This is the place, isn’t it?”

An echo of the pain of that horrid day ten years ago stood like a phantom between them.

“Aye.”

In a moment, his mood changed as a childish grin overcame his features and he turned his hand around, lifting it to Maeve’s cheek.

“Why did you let me kiss you?”

Blushing cheeks were poorly disguised by dismissive words. “Oh, come along. I was shy of thirteen. How could I have had understanding of such things?”

“And I hadn’t hardly more years to my tally than you,” he countered, flexing his thumb. “I repeat: why did you let me kiss you?”

She shrugged her shoulders and hid her eyes. “You seemed sad. I imagined what it would have been like to lose my ma.” The words died in the air. No, she told herself, this wasn’t about Sine, this was about August. “You just seemed so frustrated all the time. So when you went missing, I followed your trail and found you here at last, and you were so glum and alone and lost … ”

“I was lost.”

“I know. Everyone spent hours looking for you. Your father was in such a state. Da said there were rumors he was saying we had stolen you and were holding you for ransom. Anyhow, when I found you here by the waterfall, I just wanted to comfort you.”

“I was so weak then.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Maeve. “I was powerless to help her. Powerless the stand up against my father. All I could see in his eyes was his disappointment. And then, when she did die, a miracle happened: he cared about me. But he hated Ireland, hated the Irish, somehow blamed the whole country for her death, as much as her life. When he treated you so … Maeve, I … ”

Those words hung in the air as he turned his gaze to her.

“It was so long ago.” It was her best attempt at letting him know she didn’t hold fault with him for Emmanuel’s words. As to his own, Maeve came to know later how that pain of losing a mother could twist good judgment. She had forgiven August his transgressions in absentia. “I don’t know why. It just seemed … right.” With a hastened sigh, she turned away. “Mercy, it was only a little kiss. Nothing to make much ado about.”