Elyse Mady (14 page)

“Atop of me,” he said in a tortured voice, coming so close that when Hester tried to put a little distance between them, she found herself pressed against a rough wooden crate. Her breath came in spurts, her stays constricting her torso and forcing her breasts up with every short intake. She knew she should worry about the magnificent silk she wore snagging on the unfinished surface but in truth, his nearness sent every sensible thought from her head.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she whispered, even as her knees began to weaken. Her blood seemed to move more thickly through her veins and the sparkling allure of his body drew her.

“I know,” he admitted, nearly shouting. “I shouldn’t even think them. But I do, Hester. I can think of nothing else. I desire you, when I know it is the last thing I should want. I dream of you lying with me. Of kissing you. Of pleasuring you until we are both sated.” His strong body pressed against hers whilst his fingers stroked her jaw. He bent his head and kissed their wake, his mouth tracing the ties of her bonnet.

“No,” Hester replied, trying to block her ears of the shocking pictures his words were painting. Her breath was harried and every time his mouth touched her skin, she grew more and more excited.

“I would see you, silk caressing your skin, your breasts bare to my mouth, whilst you ride me. I would serve as your beast of burden, Hester. I would not complain if you flayed me with your nails or if you punished me by striking me. I would simply be content to serve, letting you take your pleasure again and again. I would watch as you rode me, and I would touch you until you screamed and broke apart and called my name with every stroke.”

Each word he spoke heated her skin further and further. He was breaking down her carefully erected barriers with devastating efficiency. After Jamie’s death, she had tried so very hard to protect her heart and her reputation. She had done nothing that would arouse suspicion. She dressed and behaved modestly. But at night, alone, she had dreamed of being free once more.

“I am not a ranee,” she protested as his lips descended on hers. “I am not.”

“Here and now, you are,” he said with conviction.

She must be sensible. But it was so hard when he looked at her like this. His arms around her waist were heavy and they pulled her against his body.

In the ordinary course of things, she would never have found herself contemplating engaging in a relationship of the most irregular nature.

But nothing in her life was ordinary anymore.

She could continue as she had, circumscribed, dissatisfied and proper. Doomed to never taste Thomas’s kisses again. Certainly, it was the safest course and one that would shield her from a goodly degree of censure.

Or she could forge a different path.

Today, waiting in Newgate for her brother to appear, she had realized something vital about herself.

She could live without many things but she could no longer live without passion. And it was passion that Thomas offered her. In her shame and her grief, she had cut herself off from so much of her own nature. Worst of all, she had almost convinced herself that it was enough.

It was not enough.

She wanted more.

But more importantly, she deserved more. She had asked her brother to trust her to make the right choices for him but she had not extended that same trust to herself. She and she alone was the person who could decide her fate. Happiness was entirely a matter of chance. She had to make a decision for herself in this matter. No one else’s could count.

Robert would be, God willing, released and they would begin their lives anew, somewhere far, far away, where the taint of his arrest could not follow. But while she knew her place was with her brother, she wanted something for herself.

Something she could look back on and remember with pleasure.

She wanted Thomas. She wanted him most desperately.

She knew the outcome of her decision to welcome further attentions. There would be no offer of marriage forthcoming. He had admitted it himself when he’d answered her brother’s accusatory questions. He was married to the sea. If she were to encourage him, it would for pleasure’s sake alone.

Society would see it as shameful. But she realized there was no virtue like necessity. Hester had no means of supporting herself or her brother. Thomas had agreed to pay the fees that would see Robert living in better quarters and would bear the expense of her sojourn in his household without demanding recompense of any sort. It was not a commercial exchange. His honour as a gentleman was all that compelled him to act.

His honour as a gentleman also prevented him from taking the last step that would see them become lovers. Because he thought she was a virgin and he would not dishonour a respectable young woman, no matter how much he craved it.

At the same time, she had to be honest with herself. It would be no hardship to share further intimacies with Thomas Ramsay. She considered for a moment what she had experienced with Jamie. She had loved him with her whole heart and when he had died, she thought she might follow him, so intense was her grief. Now, looking at Thomas as he rained kisses upon her skin, she transposed his face for that of her long-dead love. The comparison grieved her but she did not doubt her feelings.

She loved Jamie, and part of her always would. He was the man she would have married had life and fate been kinder. For a few short weeks, she had even carried his child. His untimely death and her subsequent loss had brought fear and chastisement and uncertainty into her life. Revisiting those dark days was still painful. But the life and family she and Jamie might have had were lost to her.

Was pleasure without love, without marriage, damning? The answer came from deep within her.
No.
She would have her whole life to live properly, demurely. Four years ago, she’d snatched at happiness, come what may. It had been taken from her, but she had been brave enough to take it then. She would be brave enough to take it now.

Thomas desired her. She had seen that in his face, when he had embraced her, caressed her, kissed her.

But while she knew that he did not love her, she had seen countless examples of his caring.

His generous offer, that saw her staying in his home.

His behaviour on the day Robert was first incarcerated.

His defence of her person and the shop in protecting it from the rioters.

He would not force her. It was not in his nature to use his superior strength or circumstances against an unwilling partner. It would be pleasure for pleasure’s sake. No longer would she deny herself experiences simply because she feared the condemnation of watching eyes. She had never transgressed in all the time she’d lived in London, and yet now, when she faced a true challenge, she was judged and found wanting despite her good behaviour.

The hypocrisy was galling.

She took a deep breath, tugging on his hair until he was looking her in the face. He stood, flushed, his dark hair tousled from where she had anchored her hands. “I am tired of living in fear. I want pleasure, Thomas. I want it with you most desperately.” She crushed her lips against his, kissing him deeply, letting her tongue intrude into his mouth. He groaned and the sound travelled through her like a bell. She resonated with desire, and from his answering shudder, she knew he did too.

“You do not have to do this,” he said against her mouth, and she wasn’t sure if he was telling her this or pleading with her. But he could not disguise the revealing hardness between his thighs, nor the laboured breathing that saw his broad chest rise and fall with unwonted quickness.

“I know, and that is why I wish to do it so very much.” She let her eyes take in every inch of him, from his broad shoulders to his well-muscled calves. She held out her hand and he took it, running his fingertip across her palm.

He was considering it. She could tell by the look on his face. She kissed the side of his neck, letting her eyes close as she nuzzled the clean, strong cords. He flinched at the touch of her tongue and she could feel his length spasm against her stomach.

She was panting a little and when his arms tightened around her waist, she found the urge to rub herself against him too strong to resist. The wool of his finely tailored coat abraded the soft cotton of her gown. She stretched up, wanting to kiss him again, but he turned his face away, groaning.

Yet even as he denied her his mouth, his hands went lower, cupping her bottom, kneading it softly. Her breasts ached. They felt heavy and distended as though they too ached for his touch.

“Thomas?”

“I want you,” he groaned. His eyes squeezed shut, as though he could not bear to watch her stilted but sincere seduction. His lips were pressed together, a white line betraying the pressure. “God knows I want you. But I cannot, I will not dishonour you. I gave you my word. Please, don’t ask me to go against my word.”

She kissed him, pouring all of her passion into the caress. When she finally lifted her head, she spoke. “You cannot dishonour me, Thomas. I promise you will not. Your word stands.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anymore, willing him to understand what she was telling him. That she was not a maid. That the offer she was making him was predicated on desire alone and that what happened here, in this Aladdin’s cave, would be a moment out of time.

His eyes flew open, his shock evident. “You are…you aren’t…you’re…” He swallowed. “You were going to marry the sailor. You—you loved him.” He said this as though that was explanation enough.

She nodded, her eyes stinging. He knew that she was no longer untouched and amazingly, it did not seem to distress him. She searched for signs of scorn or revulsion but there were none. All she could read on his face was surprise and relief. And need. Burning, compelling need.

The relief she felt at his acceptance swept over her. He did not judge or condemn. He accepted. Until this moment, here with him, she had not imagined it possible. For four years, her choice had pressed upon her. She had carried it with her, like a millstone. Now, with his acceptance, she felt impossibly light.

“I am asking you to kiss me. Will you do that?”

His kiss held nothing back. Then he whirled about and yanked armful after armful of the glorious yardage from the box where it was stored. It billowed and shimmered as he built their temporary bower. He snatched her up and laid her on the silk. It felt cool against her skin; Thomas’s body above her was heated, and the juxtaposition was exquisite.

She worried for a moment as he began to untie the strings of her plain, drab dress that she would disappoint him. But there was no more time to worry about her appearance as he reared back and set about stripping off his own clothes with hands that she was shocked to see tremble. The sight of his body made her own throb. His chest was lean and muscled, corded with the strength of a life spent on the open sea.

They tugged and pulled with impatient hands at each other’s clothes. His stock, her stockings. His coat, her gown. Piece by heady piece, they disrobed until they were both revealed.

Hester was fascinated and ashamed at her curiosity at the same time. She and Jamie had never lain thus. Their one and only time had been a furtive and unplanned joining, on a hillside, at the base of a tree. Even she could see that Thomas was a thing of beauty. She wound her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely, willing herself to relax. But his body and its nakedness kept intruding, making her stiff and awkward.

Something of her nervousness must have conveyed itself to Thomas for he stopped and looked down at her with tender understanding. “Would you like me to extinguish the lantern?”

Hester nodded, wishing she was braver, but he twisted, wetting his fingertips and snuffing the wick. The warehouse was plunged into a murky darkness. Now, there was only the touch of his hands, stroking her body, enflaming it. She moved restlessly against the makeshift pillows.

His mouth trailed towards her breast, licking and kissing. “I want to taste your skin,” he whispered. “I want to taste you here. And here. And here.” His lips crossed her shoulder, down her arm, each caress burning through her body. She was on fire.

“Yes.”

He was panting now, and she could feel the strain of his muscles as he held himself above her. His hardness was between them but he did not force himself inside. They kissed, again and again, messy and urgent. His cheeks were rough as they scraped across her flesh but the discomfort was unimportant.

Thomas was here. With her. Delighting her. Pleasuring her.

She clutched at his hair and his shoulders for purchase. Every inch of her skin so alive and sensitive, she thought she might expire from it.

She let her knees fall open. He hesitated, his arms locked, his torso sheened with sweat.

“Yes, Thomas,” she urged, and his hesitation dissipated. He thrust home and she cried out.

She had forgotten the sensation of being filled by a man.

There was none of the pain she remembered, only the slick rhythm of his body inside her own. Her hips began to move and her back pressed hard against the floor as she dug her heels in, needing to increase her purchase.

She closed her eyes against the darkness, lights flashing across her eyelids as her body began to tremble.

She remembered what it had been like with Jamie. Of looking up, into the boughs of the beech tree above them, watching the sunlight dance through the leaves as he had slid inside for the first—and last—time. His face so loving, so equally unsure of their course, as innocent in the way of these things as she. Of the way, when it was done, he’d kissed her and held her in his arms and told her of his love for her, of his plans for their life together.

Thomas grunted, sliding deeper, his mouth at her throat, licking and sucking as he bucked and thrust. The sun of her memory had set long ago. Jamie was dead. There was only the here and now, and the delight that Thomas’s body could bring her. He moved more quickly, each thrust deeper than the last. There was a pressure, a need, building inside her, escalating with every stroke.