An Unexpected Sin (9 page)

They were like one of the great paintings—a shirtless man and a sodden woman with their grand ballroom in shambles around them. Their steps were like dancing. A sin, but she let him hold her anyway, for she knew one thing to be true.

If she followed her heart, dancing would be the least of her sins that night.

She sighed happily as he drew her close. Her life was simple, her material possessions few, but in his arms she was the richest woman in all the colonies. She could not forget the day’s sorrow, but in his arms she pieced together a way to live through it. Through the loss, everything had taken on brilliant hues. No fire had ever leapt so beautifully upon a hearth. Rain had never pounded with such vigor.

No touch had ever been so sweet.

She could live forever in this moment—with the wonder in his eyes, as if he, too, could not believe he held her. Nothing could feel better, at least until he leaned to kiss her.

With the gentle caress of his lips against hers, she was lost.

But in the most important of ways, it was then that she was well and truly found.

Chapter Eleven

A wide range of emotions had long assaulted Josiah, but none more relentless than guilt. He had lived much of his life under its burden—for his mother’s death and then again for Samuel’s—and found it renewed most profoundly earlier that day after his walk with Anne’s father. It struck him again that moment on the road when he knew he should insist Anne return home, but one look into her pleading eyes and he could deny her nothing.

Now, inexplicably, the guilt was gone.

The fire was beginning to do its job, yet Anne still trembled. He knew of nothing but to hold her, so he did. Drawing near the fire, he kept her gathered close and together they swayed gently to the crackle of the fire and the thunder of the rain. In time, her shivers calmed, but the moment did not ask for words, so he gave it none.

Perhaps there were none.

She smelled of the rain. He breathed deeply, her scent just as indulgent as the feel of her wrapped so perfectly in his arms. Her height was such that her head nestled at his shoulder, and each of her deep breaths seemed to bring the soft swell of her breasts tighter to his chest. His heart ached for her—for the terrible blow of another senseless loss—but he also experienced a sense of fulfillment with Anne he knew would never come from anyone else. His years numbered twenty-two to her twenty, and with the opportunity to attend college he had experienced more from life than most. But for all of his travels, the contentment that had long eluded him found purchase right here in her arms. For the first time in his life, he worried not for the past, but for the future they would share.

“It is so unfair,” she murmured against his chest. “Elizabeth was innocent.”

Josiah said nothing. He simply held Anne, allowing her to grieve in the only way he knew how.

After a long while, she shifted in his arms and he saw her face. Her bottom lip disappeared momentarily behind her teeth before she asked, “How could anyone believe such a thing of her?”

“Why was she accused?”

“She was said to have caught the attention of a wealthy landowner. He pursued her, but she would have nothing of him. His wife said she knew of his affairs. She claimed she had proof and blamed Elizabeth. She was beautiful, and with these stories other wives began to fear she would similarly lead their husbands to sin.”

The news left him slightly astounded. “How could they have proof of her wrongdoings when she is an innocent woman?”

“The wife dreamed her there. They say a witch’s spirit can go to a man, even when her body remains elsewhere.”

“Spectral evidence.” He had heard of it. It stunned him that someone could become victim of someone else’s dreams, and he was not the only one to react incredulously. From his time in Cambridge, he had learned of a Boston minister who had in recent months publicly challenged use of spectral evidence. He had been made to pay a sum of two hundred pounds or face immediate arrest for his so-called scandalous contest. Josiah knew not the fate of the minister, but the admission of spectral evidence had clearly not altered.

But it was his understanding that spectral evidence alone was not enough. “There was more.”

Less of a question than a statement of fact.

“Yes.” Anne sighed. “Her lineage. She is said to be of a witch’s blood, for her grandmother was hanged three decades ago in Hartford.”

He stiffened. “She was hanged? As a witch?”

Anne nodded. “One of the wives learned of it, and shortly the whole village knew.”

Josiah fought for the control that suddenly seemed to spiral wildly from his hands. “But it makes no sense. Elizabeth was not even born three decades ago.”

“It matters not,” Anne said, seemingly unaware of the panic running its course through him. “Her lineage was proof enough. And none of us who knew her could protest without being accused ourselves. Such is the way. Who would defend a witch but another witch?”

The admission brought a new round of sorrow to her eyes and shook her frame, but not so thoroughly as it shook him. The people of Salem worried so greatly for the fabricated sins of others that they cared not for their own. How else could one so callously bring another to death? Josiah had heard of the arrests in Salem, but—as evidenced by George Scudder’s mention of Bridget Bishop—the names had eluded him. There had been no faces to these crimes. They had simply become fodder for taverns and goodwives, and Josiah kept company with neither.

But that someone should die for their lineage? That changed something. That changed everything.

“This…day,” she said, “has made me realize how fleeting our time is.”

She still trembled, so he turned her so she stood closer to the fire. “We can never be promised more than what we have, Anne. Not more than we have in this very moment.”

A faint grin broke through the sorrow to trace her lips. “Is that your way of evading my hand?”

He gently brushed from her face the strand of hair that seemed always to fall errant. “Be assured I have no intention of evading any of your parts.”

A loud crackle from the fire drew his attention as well as hers, keeping him from elaborating on that point, though for the better. Regretfully, he released his hold on her and tugged another piece of wood from his pile. After poking at the flames, he tossed the piece into the fire and stood, watching for a long moment, waiting for answers that did not come.

But Anne came to him.

It was always Anne.

She approached from behind, and now her hands rested on his arms. “Josiah?”

He turned and clasped both of her hands in his, kissing each one lightly. “I will deny you nothing. For the whole of my life, there is nothing I will not do for you, but I have to speak the truth.”

She looked up at him, brilliant eyes intent with her concern. “What is it?”

He touched her face, pushing aside tendrils of hair so he could see her fully. “When you come to me, I want you to be of clear mind and decision. As such, I fear taking liberties with your affections after such a tragic day.”

She clutched his hand. “Do you not see? Everything is clear now.”

“Tragedy changes people. It makes people want things they may not otherwise.”

“Do you not think I know this? Do you think I do not know the pain of loss? I am—”

He silenced her with the crush of his mouth against hers. He had not meant for it, but he could no more resist than deny her, and she had allowed for neither. Her sharp intake of breath left her lips parted and her mouth open to him, so he wasted nothing. He deepened the kiss, his need so overwhelming he had to fight to maintain control. But the battle was a losing one, and with every sweet temptation she breathed into his mouth, he gave up more of his desire to win. He wanted her so badly he shook, but he could not bear to hurt her.

He could not bear that she might wake with regrets.

“You heal me,” she whispered through a barely broken kiss. “I do not need to think or to worry about what is proper. I need to be with you, for the one thing I do know is my heart is true. I will never want for another.”

His heart pounded, for in her sweetly spoken trust, she had given him not just permission, but her heart.

He would find a way to win her hand.

He would not live for anything less.

From that unspoken promise grew assurance, and from within, a desire unlike any he had ever known. She filled him with a tumultuous ache. Need roared through him, fueled by her tiny whimpers and fingertips clutching at his back, until he could take no more of her clothing. He fumbled at her buttons, forcing away the urge to simply rip free the fasteners, for distant logic suggested she would need to dress again…eventually. But he had this night and this woman and he would explore every inch of her until he could move no more.

Profane words laced his lips at the difficulty of her garments, and in time she was laughing and helping him with the task. Her fingers trembled, as did his, but piece by piece her wet clothing fell away. He did not bother with hanging it—he just let it fall where it may, and when she stood naked before him his heart nearly tore through his throat.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “Simply stunning.”

She blushed so prettily by firelight. She had already gifted him everything—verily, she could offer nothing more—but there was one favor she had yet to grant.

He fingered the tendrils of hair that had escaped her coif and whispered his request. “Please take down your hair.”

She answered with a demure smile, reaching without hesitation to do as he asked. With her slender arms held overhead, her breasts were on full display, their rosy tips erect. He was lost to the sight of them until the moment her reddish brown hair released from its knot and fell in a tangle of waves down her back and she addressed him in breathless tones. “Is that what you desire?”

He could utter but one word. “Yes.”

He wasted not a moment in fisting the strands, tugging gently until she bared her neck to him. Then his mouth was upon her, and he tasted thoroughly the dampness of the rain. Her pulse fluttered under his tongue and her breath quickened. Emboldened by her pleasure, he abandoned her neck and gently, lightly he touched his tongue to the peak of her breast. When her gasps reduced to trembles, he increased the pressure, sending her arching against him.

Though she clutched blindly at his skin, she found his waistband. Her hands moved lower, where his manhood strained painfully against his breeches—though never so terribly as when she touched him through the fabric. He attempted to maneuver away from her, but she caught quickly onto the game and looped her fingers in the band, capturing him gamely.

“I hardly think it fair I am the only one exposed,” she said.

She had distracted him from her breast, and now he stood before her breathing as if he had been chased. “It may not be fair, but have you any idea what will happen if you touch me?”

“I have an idea,” she said coyly, “but my experience is naught.”

“And if you touch me there,” he growled playfully, “your experience is likely to remain as such.”

“Are you saying I cannot maintain your interest?”

He laughed. “I think it safe to say that is one thing with which you need not worry.”

“In that instance, perhaps you should join me.”

He trembled, though he knew not if in anticipation of that moment or from the strength of his desire. If she touched him, he might well explode. He reassured himself with the knowledge she knew not what to expect, but that only brought forward the importance of the moment. She trusted him, and he did not take lightly the honor.

And apparently neither did she. Without waiting for his answer, she went to work on his waistband. Judging by her speed and dexterity, it was clear her skills at undressing far outdistanced his. To that point, she said, “You have but one or two buttons with which to contend. A woman has many.”

“You have but one first time, sweet Anne. Are you sure you wish for it to be like this.”

“I wish for nothing more,” she said.

The slight tremble of her voice hinted at her nervousness, but she did not tarry in pulling his breeches down to his knees. When his manhood sprang free, so did an entirely new awareness of her vulnerability, and with it, he could no longer doubt her want of him. Her eyes grew wide and round, but not with an alarm. He knew not what to call her expression other than one of intense curiosity, but whatever it was, she wore it beautifully.

She wore it for him.

His intoxication with this woman left him wanting for balance, so it was without grace he managed to disentangle from his breeches. Her attention never left its mark. Thinking he might explode under her scrutiny, he drew her close…only to realize his mistake when he, swollen harder than he had ever been in his life, grazed the soft skin of her belly. The touch left her grinning and nearly sent him to his knees.

He ended her humor by fastening his mouth on her breast. This time the hissed breath was hers, and he had little trouble coaxing her to the floor. He centered her over the fabric of her discarded skirts and crawled so he held himself above her, caging her in with his arms. “The accommodations are lacking,” he murmured, his lips to her neck.

Without giving her time to dispute, he again closed his mouth over her breast, teasing the hard peak with his tongue. She said nothing, but her fingernails at his back spoke well enough. Unduly pleased with himself, he switched to the other side, leaving the first wet and exposed. But the mistake was his. She sought breath and arched against him, pressing hard against his groin and nearly ending him.

Left to suck in ragged breaths, he withdrew from her breast and sought equilibrium, but it was not to be won. So he gave in.

He reached for her entrance, hoping to find her ready. Finding her drenched.

The touch of his fingertips sent her hips high against his pelvis, his name spilling from her lips. Josiah held on, praying he would not finish before he started. Wondering how he could possibly start without finishing on the spot.

Her eyes were half closed and fixed along the length of their bodies.

“Look at me,” he said. He wanted to be sure, but he also wanted to see the moment in her eyes where she truly became his. “I have heard this might hurt,” he whispered.

She shook her head and offered a small smile. “And I have heard it to be of pleasures unimagined.”

He hoped that for her. Oh, how he hoped.

As he positioned himself near her opening, he saw his entire world in the dark green depths of her eyes. So many years of missing her and wanting her seemed to have come to that one moment.

So many years had come to the next.

As gently as he could, he began to push into her, and as quickly as those first sensations overcame him, he wanted to plunge the rest of the way. She was fire to him. Fire and heat and seizure, her sleeve so tight he nearly lost all control.

She, too, had sucked in a breath. Her eyes drifted wide, then closed, before finding his again. They traded hard breaths, him trying for all his worth to keep from tumbling ahead of her into pleasure, until he could refuse no more. His eyes fixed on hers, he pressed further inside. Her body resisted his only momentarily, before allowing him to push through, leaving her gasp echoing in his ears.