Mariel (14 page)

“But you did,” she whispered as she gazed at his handsome face. She wanted to take the sorrow from his face so it would be alive with happiness once more. Her hands slid along the sleeves of his frock coat.

She sighed softly as he pushed aside her thick hair to place teasing kisses against the side of her neck. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. When his mouth moved to cover hers, her eyes closed in eager surrender to the passion swirling through her. As he leaned her back onto the blanket, she drew him with her. She had found what her heart craved, and she did not want to lose it.

As the pace of his kisses grew frantically, she felt the answering surge of longing within her. She gasped with the power of the desire overtaking them as his tongue slipped between her open lips to conquer the interior of her mouth. It jabbed and retreated, caressed and cajoled until she found herself moving with its rhythm, yearning to feel it touch all of her as succulently.

His lips roved along her face again to seek the hidden joys of her skin. Although she heard her own voice whispering his name in a breathless tone, she was only aware of the ecstasy urging them to satisfy it.

He drew away from her slightly, and she opened her eyes slowly. “Must you stop?” she whispered.

A wry grin crossed his lips. “You always read me so well, my love. I
must
stop, for to continue would be more than I think you want now.”

“But, Ian, I want you to kiss me.”

“And I want to kiss you.” He did so very lightly. When he heard her moan of longing, he moved away from her. That she responded so ardently to his caresses should not have surprised him. He could not imagine Mariel being halfhearted about anything.

He reached for the basket. Uncorking the bottle of wine, he poured two glasses. He tried to ignore how her fingers shook as she reached for the one he held out to her. He admired the fall of dark hair swirling around her shoulders, shadowing the form he wanted to learn intimately. As he lifted his goblet to drink, her hand touched his wrist, halting him.

“One moment,” she whispered. “I want to make a toast.”

“A toast?”

She lifted the glass and said softly, “To our hearts' dreams. May they come true soon.”

While she drank delicately, he watched her. He had come to this distant shire to escape those he knew in London. Their pity and unintentionally cruel remarks cut into even the thickest skin. Coming to Foxbridge had been a mindless race from what had been. He had not expected to find this special treasure here.

“Drink up, Reverend,” she urged with a laugh, which severed his serious thoughts. “Or do you think of your sermon tomorrow? Will you be preaching on the virtues of abstinence?”

He drained the glass easily. “Why not the sin of wastefulness? Your uncle keeps a fine cellar, Mariel.”

“I hope you will meet him.” She drew her knees up to her chest. Her full skirt covered her demurely. “Uncle Wilford is like no one else I know. He does exactly as he pleases. He comes home when he wants and goes wherever he chooses. Each place he goes to, he brings me home a present. I have a closetful of the most exotic outfits you could imagine.”

Taking her glass, he moved closer to her. His avaricious gaze swept over her as he murmured, “You might be surprised what I could imagine.” He traced an invisible path of rapture along her cheek. “If I could select one exotic costume for you, I would like to see you dressed in the crimson glory of a sheikh's favorite.” His hand moved to stroke the silken wisps of hair floating aimlessly on the breeze. “To see the entire length of you hidden only in filmy silk.”

“Ian!” She was startled to feel the heat of a blush rising along her cheeks.

He laughed at her rosy face. “You didn't think clergymen had fantasies?”

“Not of that sort!” She chuckled. “By the way, it is not crimson. It is royal blue. Almost the same shade as the automobile's upholstery.”

“What is royal blue?”

“My harem outfit, which Uncle brought home from the Ottoman Empire. He told me he bought it from the man who makes them for the sultan's harem.” She folded her arms on her knees and watched the clouds racing the sea wind. “It is blue velvet with gold tassels. The girdle is embroidered with strange symbols and set with carnelians. He even purchased the matching pointed-toe slippers.”

When Ian did not join with her laughter, she met his steady gaze. She gasped as she saw the naked hunger on his face. His mouth captured hers once more, licking the drops of wine from her lips. Instantly she felt the longing envelop her in its heated mists.

His kisses along the angles of her face were tantalizing. Their gentle teasing made her long for the return of the fire of his touch. He smoothed her hair from her forehead so he could kiss the soft skin. He felt her stiffen against him at the same time he saw the puckered line of a scar. Now he understood why she wore her hair in unstylish thickness across her forehead. It hid the one thing that detracted from her perfect features.

Pushing away his fingers, she rearranged her hair to conceal the mark. His strong hands kept her next to him. A cry of horror erupted from her lips as he moved the hair aside again so he could see the three-inch-long scar.

“Don't, Ian,” she begged in a tone foreign to the Mariel he knew. He could not have imagined her pleading with him about anything.

“How did it happen?” He sensed her pain. Although from the look of it, he guessed this had happened years, ago, he could tell the anguish of whatever had caused the injury still burned within her.

“I was hurt in an accident.”

“An accident? What type?” he pressed.

She turned tear-bright eyes to him. “Ian, the day is so lovely. Do we need to discuss this now?”

“I think you do, honey.”

With her eyes closed, she fought the horror, which rose in her whenever she thought of that nightmare time. “I was hurt the night my twin sister died.”

“Twin sister?” He released her, his shock too intense to allow him to be still.

“My sister Lorraine. There was an accident. She was killed. I was hurt.” She refused to look at him. Softly, she said, “I don't want to talk about it.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.” Her hands reached for his. “No more now, Ian. Please.”

He drew her head against his chest and stroked her back. “As you wish, honey. Just remember I don't want to do anything but learn everything there is to know about the fascinating Mariel Wythe.”

“Let's eat. Then we can take a walk along the water.” She smiled weakly, trying to regain the joy she had known moments ago. “The water is so cold this time of year. You will not want to put your toes in it for at least another month.”

Although he wanted to discover why a frightened Mariel hid behind the brash front she exposed to the world, he did not want to ruin their brief hours together. He listened to her light chatter and responded. At the same time his mind was busy with unanswered questions. He was sure if he asked them in the village, he would hear the story of the night Lorraine Wythe was killed and Mariel hurt. Those queries he would not make. He wanted her to open her wounded heart to him. Only when she trusted him with that pain could she allow herself to bare her heart to other emotions.

The picnic luncheon met the high standards Mrs. Puhle insisted were kept in her kitchen. It did not take them long to enjoy the sandwiches and salads while they sipped on the sweet wine.

Mariel waved aside the offer of dessert. “You can eat both, Ian.”

“I just may,” he said with a laugh. “Chocolate layer cake may be my downfall, especially Mrs. Puhle's.” He shook his fork at her, and dark crumbs fell to the blanket. “Don't tell Mrs. Reed I said that.”

“I will not do that. There is no wrath like a cook scorned.” She giggled as she packed the napkins and dishes back into the basket.

He yawned as he finished the last bit of the frosting. “All right. Let's go for that walk. I think I have had too much sun. It's made me sleepy.”

“Not too much of Mrs. Puhle's delicious food?” She stretched as she stood and looked out over the water. Not seeing Ian's eyes on her appealing silhouette, she said, “I think I shall sleep well tonight.”

His arm snaked around her slender waist to draw her close to him. Careful this time to lean on his cane, he drew her lips beneath his once more. He felt the soft lines of her body and yearned for far more than this chaste kiss. Her innocent words painted an image in his mind of her sharing his wide bed in the front bedroom of the parsonage.

Suddenly he laughed. Mariel had made it quite clear how she would feel about any seduction in that building.

“What is so funny?” she demanded.

“You, my dear.”

“Me?” Her nose wrinkled as she looked up into his face. The sun was glaring into her eyes. “I don't think I like the sound of that.”

“How about the sound of this?” He whispered in her ear, “You are the most enticing, most—”

Mariel whirled away and chuckled as his words were lost in another gigantic yawn. Weakly, he grinned at himself. He certainly would never charm her this way.

“I think we should go before you fall asleep, Ian,” she teased.

Knowing anything he said would bring more merriment, he simply offered her his hand. She smiled as she slipped her fingers between his. They wandered along the beach while she pointed out various sights among the craggy rocks.

Pools of water were warm in the sun, but the splash of the ocean reminded them of how close they still were to winter. Sand squished between their toes as they left deep footprints behind them. They walked about a mile before turning back toward their blanket.

She paused by a wide crack in the cliff wall he had noticed at the beginning of their stroll. “Wait here.”

Before he had a chance to reply, she raced away across the sand. He watched as she searched for something in the basket. A smile reflected the joy within him. He could never guess what Mariel would do. To discover the lush sensuality hidden beneath the prim clothes she wore had been a true delight.

Mariel glanced over her shoulder as she felt Ian's gaze on her. Bending to her task, she fought the soul weakening strength of her longing to feel his lips on hers again. She could not lie to herself and pretend that was all she wanted. With the fierce power of the kisses he placed on her skin, she wondered how much more potent would be the love they could find together.

Despite the strictures of society, her uncle had felt she should know about the physical side of the love shared by men and women. He had answered her questions with an honesty unacceptable in Victorian England. Mariel knew well the danger of the strong yearnings overtaking her.

With a grin, she told herself she was being foolish. Although Ian enjoyed kissing her, he was the village pastor. He might think of kissing her in his study, but he would hardly be imagining the delights in her mind. She remembered the many sermons Reverend Tanner had repeated Sunday after Sunday about the evils of lust.

She shook her head. That wicked desire could not be what she felt for Ian. As she looked at him surreptitiously again, she knew there could be nothing evil about this sweetness binding their hearts together.

Finding what she wanted in the basket, she rose. When she returned to where Ian stood, she held out a candle. She also carried a box of matches. Pointing to the crevice which was two feet wide and nearly five feet tall, she asked, “Shall we go into the cave?”

“I would guess you have come this way often if you are so well prepared,” he teased.

“You have been curious about the Wythe family. I thought I would show you something here.”

His forehead furrowed. “About your ancestors? Is this where you have buried them?”

She smiled mysteriously. “Not exactly.” Striking a match, she held it out of the wind as she lit the candle. “Are you coming?”

“With the suggestion of past mayhem to be unearthed, do you think you can keep me out?”

“Be careful,” she warned. “The floor is uneven. This is a tidal cave and fills up at high tide. The waves have carved out the floor in very strange patterns in several places.”

Offering her his arm, he motioned with his cane for her to enter. The sound of the waves was magnified as they stood within the cool dankness. Troughs of briny water filled the lowest spots on the floor, but they had hours to explore before the tide resurged through this opening to fill it dangerously.

Mariel stumbled suddenly. Ian caught her before she could fall. When he teased her that she should listen to her own advice, she smiled. He turned to examine the striations of rock in the walls, and she rubbed her eyes. She felt strange. Her head was as light as a child's helium balloon floating away into the sky.

Not wanting to worry Ian, she said nothing. She was glad when her eyes refocused and she felt normal again.
Too much sun
, she surmised. It had been a long time since she had come to the beach to spend a day in quiet happiness.

“This is fabulous,” said Ian, his voice echoing grotesquely between the walls. He held up the candle. The light gave up the attempt to reach the ceiling. “Does the cave lead anywhere?”

“This is just the entrance. What I want to show you is farther on.”

He offered her the candle. She took his hand again as they walked along the slowly rising, cracked floor. Beneath them they could feel the steady pulse of the waves reverberating through the rock, but the rest of the world ceased to exist in the silence of the cave.

When she warned him to go more slowly, he glanced at her smiling face, distorted by the flickering light. They stopped before a gap in the floor of more than seven feet wide.

“This is where my great-great grandfather saved his wife from a man who wanted to kill them both,” announced Mariel with pride. “Way back in the eighteenth century. The man abducted my greatgreat grandmother and imprisoned her on the far side of this crack. Grandfather saved her. Her kidnapper ended up dead at the bottom of that.” She pointed to the shadowed slit. “I'm sure his bones are still there if they haven't rotted in the dankness.”