The Beautiful One (21 page)

He spread his legs and pulled her so she nestled against his bare chest. His arousal pressed hard against her through his wet breeches, and he took hold of the bottom half of her chemise and drew it back.

“You…certainly know what you're doing,” she whispered as the cloth bunched above her hips.

His mouth was just behind her ear. “I've been with a woman before, many times as you must guess. But none of that has to do with now, and us, and how we are together. And I've certainly never sat by this pond with a nearly naked woman. I never had this fantasy, darling Anna, until I met you.”

He hadn't? Her mind was hazy, but part of her claimed the power of having Will spinning fantasies about her. She pressed her backside against the hard ridge nestled behind her and wiggled.

“Minx.” It came out half chuckle, half groan, and she smiled. She was a wanton, and she hadn't even known it until she'd met him.

His hands moved over her waist slowly while he kissed down her neck and along her shoulders, taking his time in a way that was exquisite torture. His fingers slid lower and nudged her legs apart to stroke her inner thighs. He circled lazily around, coming closer but not quite touching where she needed him, while his other hand teased her nipples. Yearning coiled through her, making her feel like a pool of warm honey.

But she needed more of him, and she pushed up to kneel in the soft grass and turned around. Her chemise slid all the way to the ground at her knees and she kicked it away. He came up to a kneeling position too, and their mouths met in a drugging kiss. She pushed her hands through his thick hair and clutched his shoulders.

“I like you like this,” he said against her lips in a raspy voice. “Naked and mine to pleasure.” His chest warmed her bare nipples and his soaked trousers dampened her belly, the hard ridge they restrained a pressure she wanted there.

He kissed a hot, moist trail down her neck.

“I don't think I've ever spent this much time in your company, Anna,” he said, moving, by a path of kisses, toward the other nipple, “and not heard a peep from you. Should it worry me? Maybe I should ask if you like this.” He captured her nipple, and the gentle suction made her moan.

“Can't talk,” she murmured. “Am melting.”

“Don't melt just yet.” He reached behind her to squeeze her bottom and pulled her snugly against his erection. “I still haven't touched you where I need to,” he murmured against her ear. “Open for me.”

He nudged her legs apart and slid his fingers between her folds.

Heaven
.

She was beyond speech as he stroked her with his fingers, a sensual drag that turned her insides to pure flame.

“Anna.”

She tipped her head back. His eyes were hazy, and she saw that some of the moisture on his face was perspiration and not pond water. He held her gaze as he bent down and kissed her. And then he pushed a finger into her. His stroking sent her over the edge, into the purest, sweetest bliss.

He caught her as she slid against him, everything in her loose and unlocked, and lowered them both to the ground. He settled her on his lap and held her snugly, her cheek pressed to his heart. And God help her, she felt so happy.

* * *

Will thought Anna's head felt extremely sweet settled just where it was against his chest, and he supposed if they sat very still like this for long enough, his raging arousal would subside on its own. He hadn't exactly had a plan for how things would work out when he'd seduced her—he'd just needed so much to touch her again, and to start making her see how good it would be if they married.

But now that things had progressed to a certain stage… Ah well, what did passionate but innocent governesses know about securing male release? Though he'd dearly love to know….

He let his hand fall away from her breast, and she stirred against his chest and sat forward. Her passion-drugged eyes and pink lips, plump with kissing, made his already rigid cock tighten painfully.

He caught a glint of mischief in her eyes as she lowered her lashes demurely and placed a small hand against the hard ridge in his trousers.

“Anna,” he ground out in warning. She ignored him and rubbed slowly and with a sweet tentativeness that just about undid him. He whipped out a hand and covered her fingers.

“Best not,” he grunted.

“I don't see why not,” she said. “You had your chance to explore. Now it's my turn.” She squirmed away from his hand and patted him with a curiosity that had him clenching his teeth.

“Now, as the daughter of a doctor, of course I've seen medical illustrations. But quite honestly, I don't
exactly
know how this works,” she said, sounding like a young lady who'd just been handed a newfangled fan. Her petite, bare breasts teased him, creamy and sweetly rounded, and he wanted to bury his face in them and nuzzle them endlessly, but after his year of monastic denial, he was dangerously close to exploding.

“We should get dressed,” he said hoarsely.

“I think I'll start here,” she said, and he felt every bit of friction as she worked on the buttons near his waist. He sprang free and she gasped.

“Oh. Um,” she said.

He was panting and laughing at the same time, but when she took hold of him, he groaned.

“What do I do?” she asked in a tentative voice so unlike her usual confident tone. He couldn't see her face because her dark head was bent over him, giving her a charmingly studious air. Sections of her long curls fell across his lap, and her small, capable hand encircled him. He couldn't have imagined a more sweetly erotic sight.

“Stroke,” he bit off.

She moved her hand up and down exploratorily, each inch she traveled making his head spin with pleasure.

“Am I doing this right?” she said in a half-teasing, half-curious tone. “Should I use both hands?”

Oh, sweet heaven.

“Please.”

She might be innocent, but she wasn't afraid or shocked about what bodies could do. Dear God, she was
inventive
.

She took hold of him with one hand and stroked with the other, and he was almost thrashing, on fire with need.

“Can't stop,” he rasped, meaning to contain himself. But she kept stroking and he lost control, everything within him shattering—fences, walls, limits blowing apart, leaving nothing but a mind-altering chaos he hadn't expected.

He grabbed his shirttail and wrapped it around himself as his release poured out of him, flooding him with pleasure and a wordless unity, the sweetest feelings he'd known in so long.

He leaned backward, taking her with him, and they adjusted themselves so she was lying in his arms, next to him. They lay quietly in the grass as their breathing slowed. He'd forgotten how uncomplicated happiness could feel.

She was lying on top of his out-flung arm and gazing up at the cloudless blue sky. “You look ridiculously pleased with yourself,” he said.

She laughed and rolled onto his chest and propped her chin up on her fist. Her eyes glittered mischievously at him. “That was…fascinating.”

He brought a hand to his eyes and groaned. “I'm so glad you've been entertained. I'll have you know that kind of loss of control hasn't happened to me since I was a lad.”

“Then I've made you feel young again. As you are already well past thirty, you should be grateful.”

He laughed and swatted her perfect little naked bottom.

She rolled off him, much to his dismay, and, sitting up, began shaking out her rumpled chemise. She put it on and reached for her corset, which looked as though it was still damp.

“You're not getting dressed already?”

She glanced at him. “We can't stay here. I, for one, am supposed to be searching for daisies.” She stood up and looked in the direction of her gown.

He stood and stepped close to her.

“What about a little lingering?” He gave her a rogue's grin that he hoped would do something to melt her anti-marriage resolve. “What about giving me a chance to say that I quite like you, Anna?”

Her feisty, luminous brown eyes gave nothing away. “I like you too, Will,” she said lightly, “despite your many bad qualities.”

He didn't think he'd ever met a woman with such a capacity to mask her true emotions, something he suspected she'd forced herself to learn growing up. She was very good at disciplining herself not to want what she didn't expect to get.

“Can you be serious?” he said.

Something flickered in her eyes, a slip of the shield.

“I am being serious.
Obviously
I like you,” she said. “And you have…talents. But what just happened here was nothing more than a lapse.”

“A
lapse
? I'd say it was more in the nature of an interlude. A fantasy made real.” He arched an eyebrow at her devilishly. “I, for one, have a busy imagination. Who knows what we might do next time?”

She frowned. “We can't do this again. This afternoon was just a sort of whimsical accident.”

Her gaze returned to her clothes, and he knew she was thinking of escape. She'd joked about him being some sort of evil fairy-tale creature. He
had
felt very much like a monster when he'd first met her weeks ago, but that had all changed. Anna had opened the door of his cage, even as she had her own places that she hid from light, and he suspected those places had something to do with her bizarre dislike of marriage.

Clearly, he would have to do more persuading.

But what if he couldn't convince her to marry him soon? They couldn't go on like this indefinitely, and considering all they'd already done, he would feel like a scoundrel if he failed.

No. He wasn't going to fail. She'd loved what they'd just done—of that he was certain. All he had to do was to get her to see that she needed him, and then all would be well.

“I wasn't thinking of repeating the pond,” he said, lifting a finger to run it along her pink bottom lip. He loved her mouth, which was as often set in determination as it was pronouncing some saucy remark. Right now it was pushed slightly outward in leeriness. “I was thinking of how much I'd like to show you my folly.”

“I'm sure I've already seen that on any number of occasions.”

Her black curls were lying loose over her shoulders, giving her a young, artless look that was at odds with the way her eyes were crinkling with suspicion. She was adorable.

“Ha,” he said. “In fact I was referring to a small, faux medieval tower that's been on the estate grounds for some time. It's quite charming by night. You might even say magical.”

He could see she was tempted. He was counting on her not being able to resist.

“No,” she said, but weakly.

“Come, Anna,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Let's just enjoy for a bit what is between us. I like sharing things with you, and”—he slid one corner of his mouth seductively upward—“I love to pleasure you. We might play with no harm done as we did today, and enjoy each other's company while we may. Come with me tonight.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away from him. He didn't allow himself to think about how much he needed her to agree.

When she spoke, she didn't turn toward him, but her voice was light. “Very well,” she said, “let us play.”

“Excellent. Meet me at midnight under the weeping willow on the terrace.” He leaned in to brush her ear with his lips. “And you might want to fix your hair before you return to the manor,” he said with a chuckle. “It looks as though you've been thoroughly tumbled.”

“Scoundrel,” she said, pushing him away. She gathered up her hair and twisted it firmly into a knot, making her way toward her gown as she did. He followed her and reached for his shirt, feeling more lighthearted than he had in so long.

* * *

“The Rosewood School is next, my lord,” Jasper Rawlins said, barely keeping a check on his fury as they rode away from Saint Agatha's in the gathering dusk. It was the second school they'd visited that day, and there was still no sign of Anna Bristol.

“Very good, man,” Henshaw said, sounding, predictably, not as disappointed as he should be with this giant waste of time. “As it's getting dark, Rawlins, we shall stop at Lord Minton's for the night before proceeding to the Rosewood place tomorrow. Or possibly the next day—he may wish to invite some friends over to see the book.”

Though Jasper was ready to curse with frustration at how long this fruitless search was taking, Henshaw was evidently having the time of his life. Everywhere they went, gentlemen welcomed the marquess heartily, and it was obvious why.
The
Beautiful
One
and its mysterious model had given the man something he'd never had before, for all that he had a title and wealth: popularity.

Well, damn it all, Jasper had had just about enough. If they didn't find her soon, he was going to give the marquess the slip and make his way to London, where he'd sell Anna's name to the highest bidder.

Anna had intended to spend some time working with Lizzie on her studies that afternoon, but when she knocked on Lizzie's bedchamber door, Lizzie asked to be excused. She seemed more serious than usual, and Anna asked if all was well, but Lizzie assured her that she was just a bit tired.

Considering all that had happened in the last few days, Anna supposed this was hardly remarkable.

Judith had apparently left with Tommy to visit some neighbors, and Will had gone back to the cottages. With a free afternoon, Anna decided to use the paints Will had ordered for her and work on the unfinished mural.

She tugged the vanity that stood below it aside and got up on a chair. First she sketched in the unfinished parts of the drawing. Then she spread a tatty old blanket on the floor and took up her paintbrush. She'd never worked on anything so large before, and it felt good to be applying color where it was so needed.

After she finished the shepherd's head, she moved on to add a soft glow to the sheep's eyes. She painted varying shades of green in the field and dotted its grass with violets and cornflowers.

As so often happened when she was painting, the hours flew by, and she took only a short break to eat the meat pie and apple that Cook sent up. Around dusk the sounds of Judith and Tommy returning from their visit drifted up from downstairs, but no one seemed to need anything from her, and she continued working contentedly, lighting candles when darkness fell and turning her attention to smaller sections.

As she was putting the finishing touches on the robins she had added to the field, she realized that her arms had grown sore and that the manor was totally silent. She'd been painting for hours and hardly noticed the time passing.

She put her brushes in a cup and folded up the cloth and put away the paints. Then she flopped tiredly on her bed and stared at the painted wall.

In the golden candlelight, only parts of the picture appeared, like secret things emerging from their hiding places, as if the robins and the cornflowers were enchanted. It had been a strange feeling to fill in someone else's partially completed work, but the joint effort had produced something fresh and cheerful. She felt grateful that she'd been able to contribute to it—and that she'd be leaving something behind at Stillwell. She didn't want to think about why she'd felt so compelled to do so.

The grandfather clock on the floor below chimed ten in the quiet house, and she closed her eyes, thinking to rest for only a moment. It had been foolish to agree to meet Will at midnight but she hadn't been able to make herself refuse his invitation. She was going to pay for all these indulgent moments with him…
Just
not
yet, please
, she thought as she curled her hands under her cheek and fell asleep.

A tinkling sound awoke her sometime later—pebbles against glass. She got out of bed and went to the window. In the midnight darkness below, she saw a glimpse of light cloth and the white flash of a grin.

“Come down, you,” Will said in a loud whisper.

“Shh.” She closed the window and pulled on her blue slippers, then crept quietly out of her room and through the silent manor. She eased out of the library doors onto the terrace but didn't see him, so she made for the large weeping willow.

As she neared the haven formed by the tree's drooping branches, she was abruptly pulled into a warm, strong embrace.

“You're late,” he whispered near her ear.

“I fell asleep. It's not as if I'm accustomed to midnight meetings.”

He took her hand and led her away, keeping to the shadows of the tall hedges and trees.

They walked for some time in companionable silence. The night air was pleasantly cool, and the shapes of the trees and hillocks looked new and different in their cloak of darkness.

As they were passing a small wood, a patient-sounding “woo” issued from within. Anna stopped, catching Will's arm.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“A long-eared owl, I believe.”

“Oh,” he said, starting forward again.

“Wait,” she said, and tugged him toward a clump of overgrown forsythia bushes. She stopped behind the bush and crouched low, and he followed.

“What are we doing?” he whispered.

“Owl-watching.”

A pause. “How long does this take, owl-watching?”

She smiled in the darkness. “Sometimes hours.”

“Anna…”

She laughed softly. A few moments later a rustling sounded in the treetops, and she poked him and pointed upward. An owl flew out from the trees and across the path of the moon, which picked out its long ear tufts and orange eyes.

“
Asio
otus
,” she said, and experienced anew the wonder for the beauty of nature that she'd so often known when the patience of careful seeking and watching bore fruit. It was a wonder her father had nurtured in her, even if it had been done simply by mere proximity.

“Ah,” he said with genuine appreciation. “Well worth the cramping of my legs.” They watched its flight until it disappeared in the distance. “The next time we do that, we'll bring stools.”

Oh, how she wished there could be a next time, and that she could have a lifetime of quiet moments like this with him, and sensual moments, and all the rest. What she'd come to feel for him went deep, and it scared her. If it was a small tragedy that when she finally did come to care deeply about a man, he was an out-of-reach viscount who'd vowed never to love again, she was also grateful, because knowing he couldn't truly care for her would make leaving easier.

The folly stood perhaps a half mile from the manor, beyond several rolling hills. Walking in companionable silence, they came over the last rise and stopped to look at the small tower below them. It stood solitary in the moonlight, petite yet noble with its walls made of neat stone blocks and its turret, as proudly defensible as any such structure fifty feet higher than its own twenty feet.

“I love it,” she said. The little tower had a funny dignity, as if ready to defend itself against invaders who might crest the hill at any moment.

“Don't worry, I came this afternoon to tidy away all the cobwebs.”

She was touched that he'd done so himself.

He produced a key and opened the door to a cozy, round room that constituted the entire ground floor. Moonlight from a small, arched window near the low ceiling bathed a table and two chairs in a silvery glow, and when he lit a candle on the table, it illuminated a narrow spiral staircase by the wall. Everything seemed to be sized smallish, and it felt wonderfully cozy.

“Up the stairs,” he said, taking the candle and tugging her toward the step.

The top room had two arched windows, a bed with a table next to it, and a small desk with a chair. In one of the windows was the moon, perfectly framed, and she moved closer and looked out on the darkened valley below on which it shone.

“Your domain, my lady,” he said, lighting the candle on the desk. He came to stand next to her.

“Thank you, Sir Will,” she said. “Though I suppose it would be a step down for you, to be only a knight and not a viscount.”

“Even the son of a viscount dreams of being a knight errant, free to wander with nothing to concern himself but the next adventure.”

“I can see you as a boy, with a small wooden sword and a plan for slaying the dragon and saving the damsel.”

He laughed. “It
was
a bit like that, especially when my cousin Louie was here, as he often was—he's only a bit younger than me, and of course Tommy wasn't born until I was twelve, and my other Halifax cousins are younger as well. But Louie and I were constantly embarking on missions to rescue people from things we imagined were about to threaten them. Wizards, wild boars, floods, that sort of thing.”

She smiled. “I suppose you had more of a blissful childhood than most people, didn't you?” she said.

“I suppose I did.”

“And then your mother died just as you were becoming a man, and Judith and your father married, and that must have been in a sense the end of an era.”

“Yes.”

She paused. “I know she was perhaps not the best stepmother, and really, considering that she was nearly your own age, it would have been hard for her to be any sort of mother to you. But can't you see how she's changed? How she looks out for Lizzie, getting you to hold the ball for her?”

“You've seen her for a few days. I lived in the same household with her for a year.”

“She was so young. I think she was afraid she wouldn't measure up to your mother and that made her behave badly. But I also think you're blaming her for things for which your father shares responsibility.”

He was silent for a moment, gazing out the tiny window.

“I remember coming into the library one night, when Mother had been sick for perhaps six months. She was wasting away, keeping to her bed. I had to force myself to visit her, because I hated seeing her sunken cheeks and dull hair, the weakness in her limbs. I went to her as little as possible, this woman who'd been such a good mother to me. My father stayed with her for hours every day, despite the burdens of his responsibilities.”

His cruel self-disgust stirred her compassion. “It's not so remarkable that a young man might be shocked to see his parent dying. Perhaps this was your first experience of death?”

“That's no excuse.”

“One of the things my father used to say was that death and dying do strange things to the living. It's natural for us to cling to life, and it's understandable if you weren't ready to watch your mother die.”

He shook his head, as if unwilling to allow that possibility. “I went into the library to get a book that night—the door was closed and I didn't realize my father was there. He was sitting at the desk, hunched over and sobbing. I had never in my life seen him shed so much as a tear. The sight of his shoulders shaking and the wracking sobs—I am ashamed to say that it disgusted me.”

“To see him so vulnerable must have been startling.”

He pulled his gaze from the window, his mouth hard with judgment. “I turned to go, but he called me over to him. Though I didn't want to, I went to him. And he told me what a privilege it was to care for Mother, what an inspiration she was to him. How he loved her more each day. No one who listened to him could have doubted the depth of his love for her.”

He paused. “My parents had a love match, but he was weak when she needed him most. He was vulnerable, and Judith took advantage.”

“Will,” she said, reading the emotion behind the tense set of his shoulders, “surely by now you see how a lonely, unhappy person might do things he never thought to do?”

Silence. She wanted to run her fingers over his stony jaw and smooth away his cares, but this was something he had to come to terms with on his own.

“What I did the night you came was not the same. I was motivated by pure lust.”

“Were you? I doubt that's all it was.”

He pressed his lips together. “My father was the most noble and considerate man I ever knew.”

“And so you can't allow him to have made a mistake by taking Judith as a mistress when your mother was dying. You wanted to color yourself as a villain when I arrived at Stillwell, and you look on Judith that way too. Maybe putting most of the blame on her for what happened makes it easier than blaming a man you so admired. You're an idealist, Will Halifax, and personal failings make you angry.”

“Isn't it right to strive to be the best we can?”

“Not if it allows you to believe that we are not, every one of us, capable of making terrible mistakes. Not if it keeps you from appreciating what is good.” She touched his shoulder, then let her hand fall. “Find the middle ground, Will. We're all human.”

He crossed his arms, as though the idea were unacceptable.

“Tommy doesn't have any idea, does he,” she said, “that Judith was your father's mistress?”

“No. And he needn't. He thinks our parents had a marriage for the ages. What they had will be a guide for him in choosing his own wife, and I won't destroy that.”

“You're so used to being the responsible one, the person who has to ensure that everyone is looked after. But should you really take on the responsibility for maintaining a fiction about your parents? Do any of us benefit from believing in a fairy-tale version of life?”

He looked down his aristocrat's nose at her. “I don't see any benefit to Tommy discovering his father's worst weakness. We all have a right to privacy. I surely wouldn't want my own sins to be made public.”

“But your father's gone, and this trouble is lingering.” She paused. “Have you never thought of forgiving her, of letting the past just float away, no longer tied to you?”

His only reply was the steady intensity of his midnight gaze. He reached out and pulled her to him. “I didn't entice you out here to talk about Judith, Anna. The night is slipping away.”

“You like to change the subject when you don't want to answer questions.”

“So do you.” But he'd allowed her to probe him about things he didn't want to discuss, and that felt like some kind of victory.

He led her closer to the circle of light cast by the candle. Then he sat down on the chair, crossed his arms, and gave her his haughtiest look.

“Now, off with your clothes.” The white of his teeth flashed as mischief curled his lips.

Oh
good
, she thought as something sizzled inside her,
the
imperious
viscount
. She clasped her hands in front of her and pressed her lips in the sort of prim line one might expect from a governess.

“Certainly not, my lord.” She licked her lips slowly and forced herself not to smile. “The very idea.”

He growled. “The top button of your gown. Now.”