The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (31 page)

"Sleep now," he said and she drew a breath,
feeling the firmness of him behind her. Yes, she could sleep now.
She was warm and safe, and he would watch over her.

It felt as though barely a second had
passed and she woke to sunlight streaming through the window. She
sat up and looked around. There was no sign of him. Was he lying
there next to her but she couldn't feel him? Was he lost to her
during the daylight hours?

Getting up, she dressed, noting the soreness
in her body. Not exactly sore, more a reminder of the time they'd
shared.

She didn't know how to feel. Should
she feel guilty? Had she done something unnatural? It had been the
most beautiful thing she'd ever experienced and when she closed her
eyes, she could still imagine his lips on her neck, along her
shoulder. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

Looking down, she saw her bandaged
hands—his bandages. She felt a rush of heat through her body and
she had to inhale to calm the want that still ached in her. Most of
all perhaps, her heart. Her lips bit together. Her life would be
infinitely richer with such exploration in her life. She even felt
different, as if she'd discovered a secret she knew had been there,
but denied her. Some things made more sense now, and that felt
calming.

But he was not like her. They did not belong
together. Would nature not try to force them apart? Or perhaps she
was reading too much into this. Did he even know the comfort she'd
found in him, and could she live without it now? It would very well
be that it had meant a great deal less to him. He had pushed her
away so many times; perhaps he meant to do so again. These were
questions she couldn't answer and couldn't escape.

Taking a deep breath, she readied herself.
There was work to distract her. Her hands were going to suffer, but
she didn't care. The evening would come and she would see him
again. A frowned crossed her brow. What if he was not pleased with
this, with what they'd done? What then? That would perhaps be a new
form of torture the world could smite her with, because she would
ache for those kisses and the feel of his arms around her.

They got less done with the field that day,
but it was still progress. Anne's dress was covered in mud and it
would take quite a bit of effort to get in clean again, but that
could wait until they were through with the plowing. Her head had
ached when she'd woken that morning, but it had started to
dissipate.

Anne lingered outside once they had
stabled the cow and provided it with hay. Shortly after the midday
meal, Mr. Turner had come by and given them a bacon hock, which
Lisle was now excitedly preparing for their supper. He'd assured
Anne that there was a good chance they would have a calf running
around the fields by summer. Then for a few minutes, he'd stood
with crossed arms and shaking his head as he considered her plowing
efforts. "Done a champion's job there. Looks like the arse end of a
donkey."

"Well, thank you for your kind words of
encouragement."

He looked at her as if she were insane. "You
might be better off doing the pulling and let the cow do the
driving."

Anne smiled tightly, remembering that
he had been kind and brought them a bacon hock. Manners were
obviously pointless in Mr. Turner's book.

The kitchen smelled delicious as Anne walked
in, the fragrant smell of the bacon making her mouth water.

"It was nice of Mr. Turner to bring
it," Anne said. "Nice in deed, but rarely in words."

"Not the only one. Funny that, isn't
it? Although people seem unable to stop their true nature once
dead."

Anne stopped cleaning her hands and
looked up. "I suppose they have little incentive to hide what they
are." She wondered if Lisle was speaking of Alfie, who seemed to
have shown a much darker personality since his death. But Anne was
glad to observe that it seemed to discourage Lisle from being with
him. "You don't think he would try to harm you by keeping you there
with them?" Staying with them for any time did their bodies harm,
which might explain the way Anne had felt that morning.

"Elizabeth will always see me right."

"Of course," Anne said. She hadn't
even thought of that. All those threats that she wouldn't be
returned, when she could always find someone else to do it. Anne
couldn't see Elizabeth refusing; she'd also seen her stand up to
her father when he'd been bent on vengeance.

They discussed how they were running low on
flour and decided Lisle would make her way to the village the next
day, then they ate in silence and Anne turned her thoughts to the
man upstairs. How would he be tonight? Would he stay clear of
her?

She felt nervous as she stood in front of
the door to the master's bedroom. The dark wood looked firm and
solid, almost forbidding. She was scared to go inside—not scared of
him exactly, more scared of how he'd react. Did he think less of
her? All she needed now was a disdainful ghost.

Taking a breath, she opened the door. It was
his world on the other side and she saw him sitting by the fire.
"Were you waiting for me?"

He looked over but didn't say
anything. Anne bit her lip and closed the door behind her, walking
to take the seat opposite. "It hurts me to be here."

"Yes," he said. "You cannot live here and
thrive. You will sicken."

She nodded, confirming what she already
knew. "Men are always bad for you," she smiled.

His dark eyes glittered in the firelight.
There was challenge in them. "Yet, I feel as if it was I that was
ravaged last night."

Anne's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Then I
must apologize."

"I refuse to accept."

Biting her lip again, she couldn't stop her
eyes from wandering, down his torso, the firm hips and powerful
thighs covered in black cloth. Heat licked her insides, recalled
their illicit activities the previous night. "Will you keep me here
even if it harms me?"

He sobered slightly. "I want to."
Butterflies took off in her stomach, but it wasn't fear. Then he
softened again. "But I'm not sure you would forgive me if I
did."

The truth was that she didn't exactly want
to go, to be alone.

"I look dreadful," she said, looking down
her dress, which had splotches of mud along the hem.

"Yes, you are dragging mud all over the
carpet."

Looking at it, she saw dry mud crumbles
where she had walked. He had carpet; she didn't. In fact, his
version of the room was much more cozy, even warmer.

"You should take that off," he
suggested.

"I have no screen."

"Will it make you feel better if you don't
see me?"

"Yes." It was true; she was too nervous to
undress in front of him, but still, she wanted to be undressed.

"As you wish," he said and the room
shifted into darkness. Getting up, she walked behind the screen and
drew breath as she undid the first button. The air moved and she
knew he was there, standing behind her. Fingertips ran along the
top of her spine and her skin contracted in painful goose bumps.
Her nipples hardened impossibly and his body pressed to hers, his
hand snaking around her waist. She couldn't see him, but she could
feel every part of him. Her core pulsed with want as lips descended
on her shoulder and large hands cupped her breasts.

Anne lost track of what she was doing, could
only reach her hands back to touch him, wanting those lips on hers.
His hardness pressed into her backside, and she pressed back. She
ached to have him inside her.

Gently, he pushed the dress along her
shoulders and further until only her chemise was left. "No
impediments," he said, lifting it over her head. The feel of his
hands on her bare breasts was utterly divine. They were warm now,
which meant they were together again. She moaned as fingertips
gently teased the swollen nubs and her head lay back on his
shoulder. This was utterly divine and right now she didn't care if
her head would ache in the morning. "Please," she begged.

Spinning her around, he lifted her to him,
her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed. At
that point, she didn't exactly care if she never made it back; this
was all that mattered, the hard length against her aching entrance.
She was utterly wanton, needed this more than she needed air.

"Your passion humbles me," he whispered and
placed her down. As she watched, he undressed, and she loved every
second of it, watching more and more of him being revealed. He was
utterly beautiful.

The mattress shifted as his knee came
down on it, and his hand ran across her belly and across the mounds
of her breasts.

"I think I must let you ride me
tonight," he said, pulling her above him as he lay down. She
couldn't wait to have that firm length buried inside her and
shifted herself above him, sinking down slowly until she was
impaled. She rose and sunk as her need required, watching as every
part of his body tightened. His eyes were glassy with wonder and
pleasure. Pleasure radiated out to every part of her body and she
had to savor it so as to not rush through this too quickly. This
was too good to rush.

She kept rising and sinking, even as
consciousness of what she was doing had left her. The pleasure took
over entirely as his hands ground her to him. He arched into her
and her world convulsed around her, waves of exquisiteness flowing
through every part of her.

By the time some semblance of
consciousness returned, she lay on his chest and he was stroking
her hair. Exhaling deeply, she enjoyed the feeling of being
together, just the two of them.

"I might not let you leave," he said
through strained breath.

The idea didn't sound half bad at that
moment, she thought. Placing kisses on his shoulder, she reveled in
the taste of him. She loved the way he tasted. She loved that he
was still inside her and neither of them was rushing to part. "What
if I promise I'll be back?"

"Then grudgingly, I will let you sleep. I
might stare at you all night."

"I might dream of the things you do to
me."

"Then I would definitely wake you. I am not
letting you do this without me."

She smiled, feeling the exhaustion
steal all her strength. It would be so nice to slip away into sleep
right there on top of him, feel his arms around her, the firmness
of his body beneath her. But instead, he rolled her over and
withdrew from her. "Good night, sweet Anne," he said and
disappeared.

Anne let sleep claim her. Her body felt
sated and every niggling pain from sore muscles or sore hands had
lifted. She was safe and she would stay that way. There was nothing
to worry about.