The Muse (7 page)

Imogene closed her eyes when his hands grabbed hold, and opened them again when her feet touched the ground.  She breathed heavily from the exertion of the ride, and a great smile broke out on her face.  “That was the best ride I have had in ages.  I’ll never forget this day.”

Me either. 
Graham was mesmerized again.  Even soaked, she was exquisite.  “Are you cold?” he managed to ask.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Your clothes are soaked.” 
And in all the right places… 
He tried not to stare at her damp bodice showing every delicious curve of her most perfect, lovely, and noticeably chilled breasts.  What he wouldn’t give to have his mouth on that part of her right now.  He did try valiantly, but was not completely successful. 
Saints help me!

Imogene shook her head slightly. “It does not matter, this experience was worth it,” she gulped, her breath still coming out strong and steady.

Graham could not stop what he did next.  Reaching out to touch her face, he pushed a wet tendril of hair away from her eyebrow.  Nothing could have prevented him.  His fingers kept moving, with a will of their own, tracing down the side of her face, along her cheek, under her jaw line and finally ending at her chin.  Imogene closed her eyes again at his touch.

“You amaze me, so unique, not like any other,” he breathed, thrilling at her response to his touching.  She felt something, he was sure.

“I
thank you for that, my lord.  It is meaningful to me that you think so.”

“Would you like to go again?  When the weather permits?”

“Oh, yes I would,” she answered, nodding.

“I go to London today.”  He watched her carefully.

“You are leaving?”  She frowned before she could school her response—he hoped that was the reason, at least.  And that she didn’t want him to leave.

“Just for a day or two.  I have pressing business and must go.”  He’d caught her frown and was glad for it.  “I’ll be back before you know it, and when I am, I want to see you.  To call upon you, formally.”  She did not react right away, but her eyes held.  “Do you understand what I am proposing?”  She nodded, her focus never leaving his eyes.  “And do you wish it, Miss Imogene?”  She nodded again.  “Tell me, please.  I need to hear you say it.”  His true demeanour was being revealed.  The real him.  The dominant part of him.  He could not help it, and if she was to be truly his then she would have to accept him in this way.

“I wish for you to call upon me, Lord Rothvale.”  Her brown eyes glittered at him and he wanted to record this moment.  How she looked at him right now, the beauty of her, how very fine she was.

“Well, then….”  He nodded back, never breaking eye contact with her, taking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed it on the side, where he pulled her skin into his mouth a little.  There was just the tiniest brush of his tongue and he held it much too long for propriety’s sake.  He was dying to touch her but he also wanted to see how she would react to him.  Imogene allowed him to have his way for a moment then she drew in her breath sharply.  The sound pushed Graham out of his trance, and he released her hand quickly.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but that was a lie.  He wasn’t a bit sorry he’d gotten to taste her skin.

Shaking her head the slightest little bit, she said, “Do not be,” and then backed up slowly. “Good day, sir, and Godspeed on your journey.” She stood before him, her expression unreadable.

He bowed first, and then watched as she turned and fled the stable. 
What the bloody hell?  You’re supposed to court her, not devour her.

But sweet Christ, she’d tasted good.

Graham knew he was in for a tortured dream sequence that night.  To be relentlessly tormented by the blonde beauty he had yet to claim was indeed a sweet kind of torture.  Soon, he would claim her. Soon, but not yet.  He allowed himself indulgence in the thought.

The three-hour ride to London, in patchy rain, gave him plenty of time to reflect upon her reactions at what he’d done in the stables.  He went over and over it again in his mind, knowing he had taken a liberty to be sure, but felt certain she had been affected, in a good way.  Her little gasp had been one of passion, not fear.  She was passionate.  From her delight in riding freely in the rain, to her reaction to his kiss, he knew she was passionate. And he would be the one to discover the depths of it.  He hoped he hadn’t scared her off him.  He would know soon enough, wouldn’t he?

THE yelling, the arguments, the crying.  The child was crying, and so was her mother, somewhere.  The monster laughed at him again, at everyone.  His mother, dressed in riding clothes, wept at his feet.  His father lay cold in the coffin.  He felt so alone, helpless, weak.  “Don’t ever turn your back on them, my son,” his mother implored.  “She is of your blood!  If for no other reason, do it for me!”

He faced the monster.  “Why do you torment me?  Am I never to have any peace?”

The monster laughed at his pleas.

“Don’t bring shame on the family, son!” his father shouted at him from the coffin.  “Do your duty, nothing more.  No more need be done.  Let it go.”

“I hate you!” he screamed at the monster.

The monster cackled with glee...

Graham crashed awake from his nightmare, bolting up in his bed.  His eyes travelled down his body and got a gander at the cockstand he was sporting as he panted against the headboard.  Not exactly the type of dreams he’d hoped for tonight.

He brought the image of Imogene into his mind—her beautiful face and body—and focused on them.  He did this until his racing heart calmed and his head stopped spinning.  His hand moved down to between his legs and found his rigid cock.  It wouldn’t take long and by God, he needed the release.  He couldn’t go out and take care of himself at a bordello, and he wouldn’t want to anyway.  Didn’t think he would be capable.  The days of bordellos and whores were over.  He just wanted one woman now.  His hand stroked a little faster.  He imagined Imogene’s mouth, with her beautiful lips kissing down his body, lower and lower.  He sheathed his cock a little tighter in his palm until the tip wept.  He saw her flicking out her lovely tongue to taste the droplet—and that was all it took.  His bollocks tightened as the climax mastered him, and he spilled over his hand, the musky scent of spunk filling his head along with the images of her that he’d put there.  The release was something, but it wasn’t nearly enough.  He wanted the real thing with her.  He wanted to come buried deep between her sweet thighs, pleasuring her right along with him.  He wanted it all with Imogene.

As he got up to wash his hands, he took a good look into the mirror above the washbasin.  He saw the straight dark hair and the big body he’d been born with, the green eyes, and the decent teeth he could thank his mother for, and wished he could change the past.  He wished it with all his heart, but again, that question of ‘want’ and ‘reality’ resurfaced to remind him life rarely gave up what you really desired.  He prayed Imogene would be the exception.

When Graham got back into his bed, it took some time for him to find sleep again.  But when he finally succumbed, it was of her that he dreamed.

We do earnestly repent,

And are heartily sorry for these our misdoings;

The remembrance of them is grievous unto us;

The burden of them is intolerable.

The Book of Common Prayer   ~ Holy Communion,
1662

THE
hours Imogene spent reflecting on his kiss in the barn were extensive.  Less concerning to her was the lack of propriety than her physical reaction to Lord Rothvale.  Graham.  His name was Graham.  She wanted to be able to call him by his given name but wouldn’t dare to do it until he asked it of her.  When he touched his lips to her hand it was like nothing she had ever experienced.  She found herself forgetting everything about the requirements of proper decorum.  He simply took control of her body.  While the feelings were exciting and wonderful, she still found them confusing.  Even through it all, something deep inside told her he was not a dishonorable man or trying to prey upon her.  How she knew it, she couldn’t say, but she knew it all the same.

As he came into view, her heart beat faster.  They were to ride again.  This time, her cousins, Timothy and Cariss, were included.  Would he treat her differently now, she wondered.  Especially after he’d made her repeat to him that she wished for him to call upon her formally.  She had a very good understanding what that meant.

But Lord Rothvale appeared to be his same steady self when he came into view, riding upon Triton.  Calm, intense, kind, steady—he seemed all of those things.  She braced herself for his hands when he hoisted her up onto Terra’s back. 
Yes.
  His firm touch, still divine, affected her just as much as the other times.

He leaned toward her neck and whispered, “Are you well, Miss Imogene?”

“I
am
, Lord Rothvale.  And you?”

Very deliberately, he said, “I am
now
.”  She couldn’t help the beam she gave him back, and she couldn’t wait to talk to him again, but the riding would have to come first.

The party of six ended up at the same location as last time.  Today they breeched the broken wall and entered the castle ruins.  It was a magical place.  One could not help but think on the inhabitants of centuries past and wonder of the people who had come and gone from this spot.  After a time, they decided to dismount, exploring the stones on foot.  He offered his arm and she took it, feeling his strength as he tucked her arm into his.  They walked together away from the others and she was glad for the chance to be alone.

“There is something I wish to tell you.  Will you hear me?” he asked.

Imogene’s stomach did a little flip.  “Yes, of course.”

“I have not been completely honest with you.  I have kept something—information—from you.”

“Why would you do that?”  She felt suddenly sick.  Was he going to tell her he was a cad, a rogue, that he had a wife, something terrible that would shatter her trust in him?

He held her arm close in to his side, firmly like he would be reluctant to let her go.  “I did not wish to burden you or to push you too far, or overwhelm you.”

“But you have never made me feel like that.  In fact, upon reflection, you are very comfortable to be with.  Your manner is easy, and I feel safe when I am with you.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening in relief.  “You have no idea how happy that makes me feel.  I always want you to feel safe when you’re with me.”  He squeezed her hand a little.  “I know your sister’s husband.  We are well acquainted.”

Imogene was confused.  Was this the dark secret?  “John?  You know my brother-in-law, Dr. Brancroft?  So why did you not say so before?”

He sighed.  “There’s so much more to it and most of it is a painfully, sad business.  I wished to avoid it, to spare you any connection to the ugliness of it, or for it to spark sad remembrances of your own.”

“I appreciate your honesty and consideration, my lord, but I wish to hear your story.  Please tell me.  I want to know.”

He nodded solemnly.  “In my family I was not born the heir.  I am a second son.”

“I know that already.  Mr. Hargreave told me, the night of the ball.”  She could tell that her knowledge surprised him.

“He did?  What did he tell you?”

“Only that.  He said you had become the heir after the sad loss of your older brother, giving no details, just indicating that you had borne some burdens.  He said it in the way of a friend, truly, and was almost—he seemed protective of you, concerned.  That is all, there is nothing more,” she told him honestly.

“Hargreave and I must ‘chat’ later I am afraid,” he said tersely.  “My brother, Jasper, was the great family tragedy.  He destroyed himself and my parents along with him.  Weak and selfish, he was unwilling to accept his duty.  The simple explanation is that he dissipated himself to death, falling in and keeping company with dishonorable people who used him.  He was an opium addict, drank too much, gambled away tremendous sums of money, holding no respect for himself or for his family.  Shame is what he brought to us.  That is the gist of it; you do not need to hear every disgusting detail.”  She looked at him calmly and stayed quiet, waiting for him to finish.  “Near the end of it, Jasper grew very ill and was brought home to Gavandon.  Dr. Brancroft became known to us then.  He attended my brother, but the damage was too severe to bring Jasper back, most of it being the damage to his mind.  The body cannot heal if the mind is unwilling.”

“Was John able to do anything for your brother?”

“Not really.  Brancroft is a good doctor and a fine man.  He tried his best, but nothing more could be done for Jasper and he was lost despite Brancroft’s best efforts.  A shade of gloom fell over my family.  The shame crushed my good father.  Bad blood.  Within a year his own body gave out in apoplexy.  My father’s passing was sudden, but he lingered long enough to discharge the duty on to me, to take up the responsibility for everything, and for my mother and Colin, of course.  Dr. Brancroft also attended my father.  He made him as comfortable as possible in those dark times, and he was very kind to my mother who suffered terribly in her grief.  John Brancroft is an honorable man.  I do not know your sister of course, as these events happened some years ago, before he had met her, but if she is anything like you, I suspect he is blessed to have found her.”  A smile was attempted, but sadness reined in his eyes.

Imogene looked into them compassionately.  “What a tragic waste.  I am so sorry.”

“I agree.  One gigantic waste, and—”  He stopped and shook his head.

“What?  Please tell me.”  Imogene waited.  “Surely you realize that his actions do not stain you.”

“But they do.”  He looked grim.  “Jasper ruined everything.  I hold anger and resentment against my brother.  I do not forgive him for what he has done to my parents, to me, or to Colin.  My brother was a selfish bastard—” Graham gave her an apologetic look.  “He took and took and did nothing but take some more.  I feel wrath for him, but that is my weight to bear.”

“Did you resent the duty thrust upon you?”

“I suppose, but I was really just desperate at first to find my way and to be worthy.  I had not been raised for it you see, and was ill prepared when it happened, believing I would live the life of a painter.  But it was not to be and the years have resolved it now.  I will carry on the responsibility to my family and continue to do it to the best of my ability, for as long as I am able.”  His green eyes had a cold look to them now.

“But I believe you
are
an honorable man.  His actions don’t mark you.  You shouldn’t fear the telling of your situation would alter my opinion of you.  It is the same as before.”

“Truly?”

She nodded.  “Truly.”

“Miss Imogene, I’ve been plagued with a bad conscience and I—I thank you for hearing all of this…repulsiveness.  I am so sorry to have it touch you, I really am, but I could see no other way around it.”

Imogene drew up, making him stop in their walking.  “Well, I can only offer my support and the willingness to hear anything you wish to tell me.  I assure you, nothing you have said today revises that status.  I am your friend.”

GRAHAM let go of her arm and took both her hands in his.  He turned them palm up and stared at them.  He caressed them for a moment before lifting his eyes to her beautiful brown ones, and relished her words.  She would accept him, bad blood, and family skeletons and all.  He knew in this moment that nothing would get in his way of having her.  Not his shameful secret, and not the legacy his brother had left for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.  “I hope it’s more than a friend though.  Tell me it is more than friendship.”  Imogene’s breathing picked up.  He saw the colour on her neck and her breasts moving underneath her clothes.  “Tell me it is,” he repeated the command.

She was so lovely.  The flush of her skin in the clean cold air, strands of golden hair lifting in the breeze, her burgundy riding dress, the horses tethered and grazing nearby, ancient ruins crumbling behind, all coalesced into one gorgeous scene; a scene worthy of capturing.  He tried to get it crammed into his head, willing the details to stick so he could remember how beautiful she looked when she told him she did not care about the ugliness of his past or the bad blood of his family.  “It is more,” she whispered and he wanted to kiss her lips right then and there but knew he couldn’t.  He drew her palm up to his mouth and kissed that instead, wanting her to know she was already precious to him.

Observing propriety is a hellish existence when I want you so badly.

They continued on with their walk.  As they went along, Graham felt relieved but he sensed Imogene was troubled.  She grew stiff and quiet.

He felt, and then saw the transition in her, dread filling him.  Pulling her to an abrupt stop, he demanded, “What is wrong?  You look like you have seen a ghost.”  Moving his hand up to her shoulders, he held her firmly, lowering his head to meet hers, his mind racing.  “Do you regret your words of feeling toward me?  Whatever it is I need you to tell me,” he finished gently.

With anguish in her eyes, Imogene shook her head and said, “I have secrets to tell as well, bad ones, worse than yours.  I have done something very wrong and no one knows.”

He did not like this feeling at all—Imogene terribly upset and distraught.  Seeing her in so much pain actually hurt him.  Calmly, he led her to a ledge of rock that afforded a place for them to sit, providing some privacy and blocking the cool wind.  Once they were seated, he gathered her hands in his and dipped his head so he could meet her eyes.  “I can see you are distressed.  It pains
me
to see you thus.  Let me help.  I am here for you.  I will listen if you wish to speak.  And if you don’t wish to tell me then I will just be here.”  He reached up and stroked over a tendril of hair that had escaped her pins.  He couldn’t imagine she had done anything that was
very
bad.  How was it even possible?  Seeing her tears killed him but he forced himself not to press.  She needed to tell whatever it was on her own terms.

After what seemed like an age, she looked down at her hands still held in one of his and began to talk.  “Do you wonder how John Brancroft became known to my family?”

“Was it because of your mother?”