Angel in Scarlet (15 page)

The arm around my waist tightened, drawing me closer still until my body was molded against his, and I curled my arms around him and ran my palms over his back, exploring the sculptured curves of muscle as they moved up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of skin beneath the thin white cloth of his shirt. My legs felt trembly, the back of my knees aching, and I clung to him as ivy might cling to oak, and the strength in that hard, lean body gave me strength and gave promise of pleasure I had never imagined. His dark eyes glowed. He touched my cheek with his fingertips and wrapped his long fingers around my chin and tilted my head back more and leaned forward, bending me at the waist. Lips still parted, he covered my mouth with his own, and the sensations inside were like tight buds that burst into blossom, filling me with splendor.

Often I had dreamed of such a kiss, but this, my first, made those insubstantial dreams seem the shadows they were, the reality of flesh on flesh causing a delirium of delight. Warm and moist, his lips tenderly caressed my own, pressing gently, probing, firm, growing more and more insistent, demanding the response I instinctively gave. He made a sound deep in his throat, a guttural moan, and then he slung his free arm around my back and held me tighter still, swinging me in his arms as his lips continued to caress and then crushed, his need aroused, tenderness turning to torment he must assuage. I seemed to soar into a void of violent pleasure, and the delirium mounted moment by moment until nothing existed but this man, this magic, this miraculous new world of sensation exploding within me.

An eternity passed, yet all too soon he withdrew his lips, and I caught my breath, gasping, and then he buried his lips in the soft curve of my throat and my fingers clutched the cloth of his shirt at the shoulders and my knees seemed to buckle beneath me and I would have fallen had he not held me tightly against him. I threw my head back, my hair spilling behind me in heavy waves, and the pale silver stars shimmered in the sky above and seemed to shimmer inside me as well. I ran my fingers through his hair and clutched it, tugging at the strong silky strands until he lifted his head and looked at me with burning black eyes and then slammed his mouth over mine once more, the second kiss a savage expression of need now bursting its bounds.

He leaned forward and curled an arm around the back of my knees and scooped me up into his arms and cradled me against his chest and I wound my arms around his neck and hid my face in the curve of his shoulder and he carried me over to the nearest haystack and set me down in the hay and then stepped back. The hay rustled noisily, so soft, smelling so sweet, welcoming my weight, and I sank into its softness and looked up at the man who stood before me with hands on hips, silhouetted against the misty purple-gray sky full of pale silver stars. I was limp, had no will, no strength, seemed to have melted, and I closed my eyes and still saw the stars etched against my eyelids as I reeled in darkness and cried silently for a surcease of these sensations that surely soon would tear me asunder. I caught my breath and opened my eyes and he was still there before me as tall as a tree, looming there, and my throat tightened and I was afraid, terribly afraid, fear eclipsing all those other emotions as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his breeches and tugged and the breeches slid down and his manhood sprang free, throbbing with a life of its own, it seemed, ready to rend and ravish.

No, no, no. I must run. I must flee. I mustn't let it happen for it wasn't a dream, not this time, no, it was real and he was real and I was trembling with fear. I loved him, yes, yes, and yes, I wanted him, but the fear took over and drove away the magic and the limpness left and I felt my body tightening and I grew stiff all over, my limbs like wood, and I felt cold, very cold, as though my blood had turned to ice. I wanted to cry out and tell him to stop, to leave, to let me be, but my throat was tight and constricted and it wasn't possible to squeeze the words out. Icy, immobile, I looked at him and looked at that throbbing, swollen tool and somehow managed to shake my head and utter a cry that was a wordless whimper, barely audible.

He did not remove his clothes. He spread his legs wide and then he kneeled over me, a knee on either side of my thighs, and I was like wood, like ice, and he looked at me and saw my fear and frowned but it was too late now, he couldn't draw back, not now, not with that urgent need, swollen and throbbing, demanding release as, before the fear, a like need had filled me. He leaned back on his knees, his face harsh, and then he touched my cheek and I cringed, hay rustling, and he was angry, determined. Cold tears brimmed over my lashes. He touched them with his fingertips and then he leaned over and kissed them away. His lips were moist, warm, gentle, moving over my face, brushing my brow, my lids, my cheeks, finally resting lightly over my own. He was there hovering over me, hard and brutal, and the tender kisses were but a ploy, a prelude to that horror that would inevitably follow. I didn't respond. I couldn't. Every vestige of warmth had ebbed away and there was nothing now but ice and wood and fear.

He kissed my throat and murmured soft words but the silent cries inside made them meaningless to me. I tried to sit up, tried to get away and he scowled and shoved me back into the hay and held me firmly by the shoulders and then continued to brush his lips over my throat as his hands tugged at the cloth of my bodice, pulling it down, tugged at the petticoat beneath, pulling it down, too, and my breasts were exposed and he touched them lightly with his fingertips, exploring their shape. Lightly, gently, and with the greatest of care, he squeezed my nipples and they began to throb and swell and tiny threads of warmth began to radiate from them, spreading, growing, melting the ice. He scooted down and began to kiss my breasts, his lips brushing, burning my skin, and of its own accord my hand lifted and touched the back of his head as the thaw continued and the fear began to recede, slowly, slowly, bit by bit.

He sat back up on his knees again and looked down at me and smiled and then shifted position again and removed my shoes and lifted my skirts as the hay made music beneath me, rustling softly, as the warm summer breeze caressed my breasts as he had caressed them moments ago. He took my left foot in his hand and began to massage it, flexing it, caressing the instep with his other hand, and then he made a circle with his hands and moved it up my calf, palms and fingers warm and leathery as they moved up, up, squeezing, encircling my knee now, then spreading and caressing my thigh, fingers pressing, fingertips digging into the soft flesh that began to glow and tingle, and the tingle spread throughout me, in my blood, in my bones, a delicious, delectable torture that grew and grew and grew until I could feel a warm fountain within, brimming, brimming, soon to brim over, I knew, soon to drown me in a flood of pleasure.

Fear was gone now, gone completely, and I made a soft moaning noise as his hands continued their sweet torture. I writhed on the hay and it made more music beneath me and there was music inside me too as his fingers fanned out, tenderly touching that secret area. I closed my eyes and listened to the music and drifted in a blissful void, reeling, it seemed, floating far, far away, and then I heard him move and felt his knees on either side of my thighs again and he was atop me then and I felt his weight pinioning me and there was another moment of panic and I struggled but he held me fast with his body, crushing me beneath him with brutal strength. He shifted again and forced me to spread my legs and then I felt his manhood as it touched the opening, entering carefully, slowly, slowly, becoming a part of me.

Panic possessed me anew and I opened my eyes and flung out my arms and made a violent effort to throw him off and I saw his face, saw him grimace, his mouth a tight, determined line, and he pressed down with the full weight of his strong body and I gasped for breath and felt him move deeper, deeper, brutally impaling me and meeting resistance. I was a tiger, fighting him, but it was futile, completely futile, and there was a terrible pain as I was ripped asunder and I knew I was going to die as the magic had died, as the music had died, and then I felt something new, something incredible, and the pain turned to pleasure and I began to move as he moved and beauty came, shimmering beauty, shattering beauty, and I wrapped my legs around his and lifted my thighs and caught his hair in my hands, pulling it, throwing my head from side to side as the fountain welled within and began to brim. I was no longer a tiger, I was a kitten clawing, purring as the beauty became unbearable and I was lost, lost, soaring into oblivion that loomed just ahead, awaiting with shuddering intensity.

Closer it came, closer and closer, and he filled me fully and I held him inside me and clasped him and caressed him and expressed my love with all my heart and all my soul and all my body and love made us one now and then he pulled back and almost left me and I cried out as he filled me again and yet again, our bodies molded together, straining to come closer still. The glory grew, and he was mine and I was his and never, never would either of us be alone again. I lifted and he lunged and both of us moved to the music of love, and then I felt a bliss so bright, so blazing I knew I couldn't possibly endure it, not possibly, not a moment more. He shuddered, shouted, shooting, and I felt the life jetting out of him as life left me, too, and I was torn into a thousand shimmering shreds and cast into the abyss of ecstasy.

Chapter Six

Sunlight spilled and splattered through all the windows and filled the house with light. It was a gorgeous day, a glorious day, and I hugged myself and smiled and wondered how I could contain my happiness. Father was in his study and Marie was in the kitchen and Solonge and Janine would be returning soon now, for it was after four, and I knew Hugh would come to call and speak to my father and ask if he would consent to our marriage, and Father would give his consent, I knew he would, and the future would be ours to shape and share. Was it really possible to be so happy, to feel such joyous elation shimmering inside? I smiled again and stepped into the hall and looked at myself in the mirror there and was surprised to see I still looked the same although there was a sparkle in my eyes and a delicate pink flush on my cheeks and my lips couldn't seem to stop smiling.

I moved on outside into the garden and smelled the soil and the flowers and hugged myself again and strolled in the sunshine and the shadows of the oaks and thought about last night and smiled once more. After we made love he held me in his arms for a long while and stroked my hair and kissed me tenderly and then we had made love a second time and it was even better, leisurely and lazy and lovely, each of us savoring the splendor, and it was almost dawn when finally we got up and adjusted our clothing and brushed off the hay. Slowly we strolled across the fields and past the sleeping village and down the shadowy lane, Hugh holding my hand, silent. The first pink-orange light of dawn was staining the sky as we reached the end of the lane, and there was the cottage, all shrouded in shadow, the pinkish light reflected dimly in the windowpanes. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me for a long, long time and then released me and left abruptly, without a word, and I slipped silently into the house and upstairs to my room and the sky was a pale yellow-white when finally I slept.

Neither of us had spoken during that slow stroll home, both lost in thought, remembering the bliss, the beauty, but words weren't necessary. We would be married, for he loved me and I loved him, and he would leave Greystone Hall and find some other work and I would be beside him to help him and encourage him and there would be hard times, true, but we would succeed and even the hard times would be good because we would be together. I strolled under the oak trees and daydreamed about the future until Marie called me in to help her with dinner, too impatient for her girls' return to notice my mood. I peeled potatoes and sliced them thin, grated cheese for the sauce, washed the asparagus and set the table, dreaming all the while. Marie was testy, snapping irritably, but I paid her no mind. She was going to be surprised when Hugh showed up to ask for my hand, but I doubted she'd make a fuss. She'd probably be glad to get rid of me, I thought, though it would mean hiring a servant to help in the house.

It was after five when the fine carriage returned with Solonge and Janine. A footman brought their things into the hall. Both of them were tired, Janine yawning, Solonge exasperated with her mother's questions and asking her to wait until after dinner for details. Dinner was strained. Father wasn't feeling well. His face was drawn. Marie was put out with all of us, tapping her fingernails on the table. Janine continued to yawn, and Solonge was silent, looking put out herself, her beautiful face hard. I suspected the ball had not been a huge success, but I wasn't really interested. I kept listening for Hugh, waiting to hear his step on the porch, his knock on the door. Marie had prepared a fancy dessert, but no one wanted it. Father excused himself and went to his room, and I heard him coughing behind the closed door. Marie told me to clear the table and then took her girls into the front parlor.

I cleared the table and washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. He did not come. Marie began to argue with her daughters in the parlor, her voice growing more and more irate, and finally she swept into the hall and went to her room and slammed the door. Janine and Solonge went to their rooms, too, and the house was quiet then and the clock ticked loudly, eight, eight-thirty, nine. I waited, and he didn't come. I stepped onto the front porch and watched the play of moonlight and shadow on the ground, not really worried, not allowing myself to worry, telling myself there was bound to be a good reason why he hadn't come to call. I went up to my own room at eleven and tried to read but couldn't, and it was after two before I put out the light and tried to sleep.

I was standing at the window in the front parlor the next afternoon when Solonge came into the room, looking bored and restless and lovely in a pale salmon orange frock with thin tan stripes. Marie had one of her excruciating headaches and was shut up in her room, the inevitable cologne-soaked handkerchief over her eyes, and Father was shut up in his study. Janine, of course, was taking a nap, and the house was very still. Solonge sighed and looked at me and, seeing my expression, asked if something was wrong. I shook my head and tried to smile, but I couldn't quite manage it. My stepsister frowned. Never openly affectionate, often hard and bitchy, Solonge was nevertheless fond of me in her way, and she was genuinely concerned.