The Libertine (9 page)

Then the pressure he applied met with a response—a pang of
bliss melted her center, and she could not pull away. Instead she let him rest
his hand there, overawed at the immense pleasure that point of contact gave
her.

“There is a pleasurable way to alleviate this tension, I’m sure
you know what it is.” His smile was wicked, but he kept massaging her in that
place and her head dropped back, tears dampening her cheeks.

He was going to make love to her, and she wanted him to. Needed
it, badly. Never before had she felt this way. “I do not wish to be unfaithful
to my husband.”

“I would not invade your husband’s territory, not unless you
requested I do so.” There was a level of gentle sarcasm in his voice that she
could not fail to notice, despite the state she was in. “I would not take a
woman, married or otherwise, unless she was determined to be mounted and begged
for it.”

Chloris was so close to doing that very thing, but the fact
he’d said it astonished her.

“You are shocked that one such as I has a code of honor?” Humor
danced through his eyes.

Chloris was entranced. Every time she thought she gained an
understanding of his motives he surprised her anew. His eyelids were
half-lowered, but that did not shade the vital spark in his vivid blue eyes. The
dark of his lashes seemed only to emphasize the fire she saw there. Could she
trust his words? Everything he said seemed to contradict his actions—actions
that had put her in such a state of stimulation that she was ready to beg him in
the very manner he had suggested.

Again he kneaded her mound in the cup of his hand. “I am merely
suggesting a little light relief.”

The bulky layers of fabric did nothing to protect her. Her
emotions were adrift in a haze of pleasure, the weight of his hand there making
ripples spread through her loins. What would it feel like if she were naked? A
fresh wave of heat covered her skin as the thought flitted through her mind.

“I will take your silence as agreement.” Lifting her skirts he
pushed them to her waist and covered her bare mons with his warm palm.

Chloris was about to disagree when his finger moved into her
hot folds and stroked. Stroked again. Back and forth, sliding easily against her
swollen nub because of her copious juices. It felt so good. Chloris half sat,
wrapping her arms around his neck, working her body against his hard fingers as
they plied her open.

She was already close to spilling.

Then he eased a finger inside her. “Oh, yes, this is what you
needed.”

Chloris flashed him a warning glance, and then he pushed deeper
and rested his thumb against her nub. Her head went back, and when the release
came she rocked her hips and moaned, long and loud.

Lennox kissed her exposed throat, and when her thoughts finally
ordered themselves, she pulled away, rolling onto her side and facing away from
him, embarrassment swamping her. And still she craved more—craved him. Even
though she had come undone, the tension was building again.

“What ails you, mistress? Have I not brought you relief?” He
lowered his head to kiss her shoulder, encouraging her to be open to him.

“Yes, but apparently I have grown ever more needful in its
wake.” She tugged her skirts down over her legs.

“Don’t hide yourself, you are beautiful.” He lay alongside her
back, molding his frame to hers.

“Please, I cannot bear this. I am mortified by my own
lusts.”

“It was not meant to shame you, I would never do that.”

She glanced back at him.

“But now that I have seen you like this...” His eyes darkened.
“I think it becomes you, and it rouses me immensely.” He bent to kiss the side
of her face.

Why did that arouse her again? Her body responded to his words
as if they were invitations to more pleasure.

When she glanced back, Lennox was looking at her with hungry
eyes and she could feel his erection against her behind. He was ready. It made
her weak with lust.

“You are making it worse.” Her voice faltered.

“Perhaps, but I know I can make you enjoy it.”

“I don’t doubt that, you are a master seducer.” Chloris pursed
her lips. She had not meant it to sound like a compliment. Meanwhile, her
traitorous body responded to him eagerly. She was a married woman. What was
happening to her? She had lost all sense of reason.

Lennox laughed softly, his fingers brushing languorously over
her bodice above her nipples. She wriggled and attempted to roll farther away,
but found herself hampered. Lennox sighed and ran his hand over the surface of
her bodice, down around the outside of one breast, slowly cupping it through her
clothing.

He bent to rasp his tongue over her earlobe, where it set
alight a wild flickering flame. She couldn’t voice the objections that ran
through her thoughts, because her body wouldn’t allow it. With Lennox toying
with her—his large male body pressing so determinedly against hers, his mouth
brushing over her skin—she was speechless, helpless, a victim of her own
desire.

Pressing close against her back, he stroked his hand under her
skirt again, pushing it up. “You are ready to have a man inside you.”

“Please do not say that.”
Because it’s
true
.

“I want you, Chloris,” he coaxed. “You’re so hot, damp.” His
hand was between her thighs. “I feel your need in the palm of my hand.”

With his fingers stroking over her folds she was as weak as a
rag doll in his hands. Her heart raced, her body clamoring for him.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I will desist.”

She wanted him, wanted him badly. “Lennox, please...”

“This?” He shifted at her back and she felt the hard rod of his
erection pressing against her bare thigh.

How good it would feel to writhe on it, to work off her
frustration on such a fine weapon. Tipping her head back she invited him closer,
relinquishing herself to him, offering no resistance.

Holding her, he reached over to kiss her mouth. But he kept her
in that position, on her side. A moment later, his hand returned to the
underside of her thigh and he lifted it, parting her legs. The blunt head of his
erection pressed into her from behind. It was lewd and shocking, and when he
pushed into her, stretching her open, it drew a harsh gasp from her open
mouth.

“This is what you needed?” He paused.

“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Then you shall have it.” Thrusting deep and hard, he claimed
her.

Chloris panted, her breath caught on the extreme rush of
pleasure being filled by him brought about. Then he lifted her upper thigh,
drawing it up and toward her chest, grinding deeper still. Her body flamed.

He rode her hard, and her body welcomed it. Dizzy with
sensation her emotions soared, her entire body carried on it.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed, “your body clutches me in welcome. You
could not deny this and I did not want you to.”

She pressed her lips together.

He thrust harder and faster, working his way in and out. Her
hips moved of their own accord, taking every thrust, meeting him.

Then she felt the head of his cock brushing her center, loosing
hot tides of pleasure that reached her womb and beyond. Cries of ecstasy escaped
her, and she gulped them back. Her core rippled around his length. It was as if
she lifted from the ground, so intense was her pleasure. Hot fluid sluiced the
tops of her thighs.

His rod grew harder still and she squirmed, for she was so
sensitive it was almost too much. He whispered her name in a tormented tone,
pulling free as he spilled his seed.

The power of the shared moment stunned her and Chloris
trembled, inside and out.
What have I done?
Once
again, she asked herself that question. It was as if she was spinning out of
control, as if his spell had led her to the brink of madness and beyond.

But even though she knew the consequences were many, Chloris
could not bring herself to regret it—not then, not when his arm stole around her
and he held her close, whispering words of affection and praise to her as he
caressed her—for it was the closest thing to love that she had ever known.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chloris had never known such intense pleasure.

Or such overwhelming guilt.

She sat at breakfast the following day, barely aware of the
voices around her until the children came in. Tam and Rab scuffled amongst
themselves, until their father lifted his head and peered at them. Chloris
watched the two young lads, and their innocent young faces confused her all the
more. Remorse filled her. She’d been weak. She had succumbed, even though she
had promised herself she wouldn’t.

Not only that, but she had agreed to meet Lennox again that
very morning. Torn between desire and remorse, she could not go to him. Why not?
Wasn’t it what her closest friends had suggested she do, take a lover? She had
nothing to lose. Chloris Keavey was nothing but a burden to all around her, and
that had been the situation since her family was taken by the cough. It weighed
heavily upon her, and providing her husband with an heir was the only thing that
would make any difference to her life.

Worthless and wretched, she had gone to Lennox in a desperate
effort to find her meaning in life. The truth of it was that she was only in
Gavin’s way, she was stopping him getting what he wanted—someone else. If this
magic of Lennox’s didn’t work she might as well be dead. However, if it did work
and she bore Gavin’s child, her life would be little better than death. Now she
saw that—now she admitted it to herself. Only because she’d been offered a taste
of something illicit—passion, unbridled passion, a few precious moments of
pleasure—something that she could savor forever to carry her through the bad
times.

Perhaps enough ritual had been undertaken, and she would be
fertile for Gavin.

Meanwhile, she could not risk succumbing to Master Lennox’s
charms again.

Resolving to put an end to it and never see him again, she felt
more clearheaded. Until a sense of loss quickly assaulted her. Steeling herself,
she made plans to send a message with Maura Dunbar, informing Master Lennox that
she would no longer be pursuing the matter they had discussed.

Once the boys had been taken away by their nursemaid, Jean
cleared her throat. “Husband, cousin, I have some news to share.”

Both Chloris and Tamhas looked her way.

“The midwife has confirmed it. I am with child once more. A
girl, I hope.”

Tamhas patted her hand. “Another son would be better.”

“Oh, Tamhas, have pity on me. I need a daughter. Otherwise I
will be an old woman alone in a house full of men.”

Tamhas mumbled incoherently.

Chloris watched the exchange as if from above or beyond, and
for a moment forgot her place. When Jean looked her way expectantly, smiling as
she did, Chloris nodded. “That is wonderful news, you are much blessed.”

Shortly afterward Tamhas went to his study to receive the
tenants who were due to call on him that day. Once he had gone, Jean pushed back
her chair.

“I hope my news does not upset you, cousin.” Jean rose from her
seat and skirted the table. She pulled Tamhas’s abandoned chair closer to
Chloris and sat down by her side. “I am aware it might be a sensitive matter,
given that you have no child of your own...as yet.”

Chloris shook her head. “It is joyous news, I am happy for
you.”

“Thank you, cousin.” Jean rested her hand briefly on Chloris’s
forearm.

Chloris was plagued by an altogether different question. While
Jean chattered on about when the baby might be due to arrive, Chloris studied
her. Had she succumbed to the Witch Master’s seductive ways? Is that why she was
so fertile? The question refused to go away.

“Listen to me rattling on,” Jean said, “when I am sure you have
more sensible things to occupy your time.”

Given Jean’s current loquaciousness, Chloris could not keep her
curiosity in check. “No, I am interested in every detail. I am also curious,
have you ever sought guidance on the subject of falling pregnant?”

Jean looked startled, then smiled. “Oh, I see why you might ask
that. No, I have been lucky. You will be lucky, too, soon. God willing.”

Chloris noticed that her smile was somewhat trite. The
curiosity still lingered. “Can I trust you with a delicate question?”

Jean nodded.

“The man who we saw in the market in Saint Andrews, the one who
you said dabbles in witchcraft...”

Without hesitation, Jean answered. “Lennox Fingal.”

“Do you know if they, the witches, can influence a woman’s
fertility?” It was not the question Chloris wanted to ask, but she was edging
closer to it.

Jean studied her for a short while before responding. “You must
not entertain such a notion. The man is dangerous.”

How curious.
Yet Chloris knew
Lennox had been in the house at Jean’s behest. Had he seduced her, too? “How can
you be sure that he is dangerous?”

Jean stiffened.

“I am most eager to please Gavin, you see,” Chloris added, in
explanation, “to provide him with an heir.”

Jean considered her comment then leaned closer as if she
suspected her servants might overhear the conversation. “That is not the way.
Lennox Fingal would prey upon your...womanly needs.”

A chill crept over Chloris. It was too close to what had
actually happened.

“He would use you and taint you forever if you sought his
help.”

For a moment Chloris was unable to speak, and then she forced
herself on. “Has he done this to you?” When Jean flinched, she added quickly,
“Or someone you know?”

Jeans lips tightened. “Thankfully not to me.” She sighed
deeply. “I confess I came close to falling under his spell a long time ago, but
his eyes were set on a much bigger prize.” There was bitterness in her response.
That alone answered one question—Jean had wanted him, would have given herself
to him, but it hadn’t happened.

“That woman, however,” Jean continued, “never regained her
reputation after she was bedded by him. Nor did her husband for letting her
stray.”

Never regained her reputation
. The
comment shouldn’t have bothered Chloris, because Lennox had gone to such lengths
to keep their meetings secret, but bother her it did.
I
must end it. Now.

Jean frowned. “Promise me you will not consider such a
desperate act.”

It was hard to force a smile, but force it she did.

Jean’s mouth twitched at one corner and for the briefest moment
Chloris sensed jealousy in her. Surely not? Jean had so much and seemed happy.
Could it be that she was so enamored with Lennox that she begrudged Chloris’s
ability to seek him out, if she chose to?

“Good. Now I must supervise the household or nothing will get
done.” Jean rose to her feet, then hesitated. “I hope it is not my own happy
news that has set you thinking such wild, desperate thoughts about that rogue
and his barbarian ways.”

Chloris felt strangely adrift. The conversation had enlightened
her, but Jean’s parting words were oddly barbed. Barbarian ways? He was wild
hearted, that was true, but she had never encountered a man who deserved that
slur less than he did.
Am I bewitched?
The wild urge
to laugh hit her. Even if he was bewitching her, she still knew charm when she
encountered it, and there was no denying the Witch Master’s charm. Rising to her
feet, she shook her head. “No, it is not your happy news, rest assured.”

When Jean left Chloris felt oddly wistful. Had her instincts
been in charge she would be running out to the stable to fetch a horse to ride
into the forest. Luckily she was keeping a check on those instincts—barely, but
she was. Instead she went to her room to fetch her mahogany inlaid writing box.
It was time to bring order to her life once more. She carried the box downstairs
to the drawing room.

The drawing room desk was conveniently positioned in a bay
window overlooking the terraced gardens. She set her writing box on the desk and
placed her reticule nearby. Taking up her seat she opened the box—a gift from a
dear friend and neighbor at home in Edinburgh—and arranged its contents
carefully, opening the ink well and readying the quill. She would write to him
immediately, calling an end to their clandestine meetings.

She placed the blotting pad to one side and dusted off the
leather-covered writing slope before repositioning the sheet of parchment on it.
Turning away, she stared out at the gardens, admiring the luscious shades of
green within her field of vision. But as she gazed, she suddenly remembered that
it was that very place he had paced across to visit her in secret. Chloris
stared out at the gardens, picturing it again. What a striking figure he had
made, and how fast it made her blood pump, the sight of him on his way to
her.

But it was wrong, and she had to end it.

Write to him and be done with it,
she told herself, and forced her quill to the page.

Master Lennox

I write to you first with an apology that I
did not attend the meeting you kindly arranged for us this morning. I am
most grateful for your efforts regarding my malady. However, I feel I will
not be able to pursue the matter further. Therefore I am canceling the
ongoing arrangement forthwith.

That you have engendered change in me is
undeniable, and I am most grateful. I will remember your efforts to help me
most fondly.

Chloris

Chloris stared down at the page and gave a rueful smile.

She would indeed remember his efforts fondly, more than fondly.
She had the feeling they would keep her warm on many a cold night. She had
attempted to state her case plainly and politely in the brief note. Yet when she
read back over it, it sounded like some sort of jest, made so by its
understatement about the powerful, unforgettable encounters she’d had with
him.

Sighing deeply she put down her quill and reached for the
blotter. Pressing the wooden roller firmly over the parchment, she told herself
once again it was for the best. And she was grateful, she just could not trust
herself to let it go further, especially in the light of Jean’s comments. She
had already sinned, and now she must force herself back to the more honorable
path, no matter how hard it was to resist such an amorous lover who was so
readily available to her.

She folded the parchment, sealed it with wax and set it
aside.

Outside, a sound drew her attention. She caught sight of young
Rab racing down the terrace with Tam close behind. Their nursemaid was also in
tow, hitching up her skirts as she attempted to catch them. Chloris smiled then
stared down at the letter she had begun to write the day before.

Dearest Gavin.

It was so hard. Every time she tried, her thoughts drifted.
First into guilty admission of her infidelity, then further, into breathless
remembering of each and every forbidden touch, each kiss, each thrust.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the letter, she reminded
herself that this was a small task, one that she had undertaken many times
before. Usually she would tell him of her activities, but she could not tell him
or anybody of what she had done these past three days. Prior to that she had
written to Gavin twice a week since she had come to her cousin’s home in Saint
Andrews. At first it had been a reasonably pleasant task to reassure him of her
increasingly robust health and query after his trade in Edinburgh. Gavin did not
reply, but she felt it was part of her wifely duties to keep him informed of her
well-being, in order to reassure him of her health and, more specifically, her
ability to bear him a child.

It was never an easy task. Any manner of communication with
Gavin was fraught, painful and dangerous, but putting ink on the page was easier
than sitting through a dinner with him, knowing what would follow.

For some reason she found it harder than ever.

Was it the guilt?

She put down her quill and sat back in the chair. She had
allowed a man who was not her husband to be intimate with her, to touch her in
ways that would be considered shocking. Her motives had been genuine, and
although there had been pleasure in it—pleasure such as she had never known—she
had honestly pursued the endeavor for the sake of her marriage.

I do feel guilty, though, because I
enjoyed his touch.

Chloris never allowed herself to shy from the truth for long.
She did not consider herself brave, but she was honest with herself. She
believed her most reliable characteristic was the ability to endure. Her failure
as a woman made her more timid than she might have been otherwise. For that she
mourned. She saw women who managed their position so much better than she did,
but it was her failure to fulfill the basic duty of a wife that crippled her
will and her spirit.

Staring at the gardens with unseeing eyes, she considered her
position. She had come here to Saint Andrews for a reprieve. That was all it
was, in truth. A reprieve from Gavin’s torments, so that she could return and
face it with more tenacity, willing herself all the while to fulfill her
obligations to him. Gavin had suggested it, she was not sure why, but she had
grasped the chance for time to heal, to breathe. But distance had only made her
more aware of her pitiful existence.

When she’d gone to Somerled she’d hoped for help. The wildest
hope had been for some miracle, the more realistic hope had been for some sage
advice—perhaps a whispered method of holding her husband’s seed inside her long
enough that it would bed and flourish. Instead she’d been set on a different,
unknown path, and now Chloris felt as if a closed door had been flung open to
her, a door she had not even been aware of before.

It does not mean it is right.

No. She was at risk of being disloyal again, and she was
dabbling in matters that she did not fully understand, matters that most
God-fearing folk would turn away from in fear. Other women had been ruined by
him. She knew that now but still she could not force the desire away. Was it
hope, foolhardiness or sheer contrariness that pushed her to it?