What a Woman Desires (11 page)

“It will be for one night only.” Despite his unwillingness to see her in Bath, he could not let her forget for a moment where he belonged. “I belong here with my family.” He inhaled and drew his hands from her face to her shoulders and upper arms. He held her. “But I’ll come and see your life as you are willing to see mine. Then together—”

“We’ll see what can be done.” She smiled. “That’s all I ask.” She lifted onto her toes and pressed her lips to his—before immediately pulling back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .”

Time stood still.

Every beat of his heart echoed her name in his head, and his common sense fled on a wind of change. “Yes, you should.”

He gripped her waist and brought her body roughly against his. He looked deep into her eyes, asking the question and seeking permission. The desire in her eyes, the soft pant of her breath was all he needed. They were alone and unattended. Alone and unobserved. He wanted to steal this moment to feel her lips against his a second time. To kiss her how she’d never been kissed before and have her remember it.

“You are a woman in your own right. Do you know how powerful that is? You have managed all alone and you will do what is good and right here too. I believe in you. Now you need to believe in yourself.”

He covered her mouth with his and, after a moment’s resistance, she leaned against him, her hands smoothing up his arms to grip his shoulders. Heat and need swam between them on a powerful wave, crashing and flowing, taking them deeper and deeper into each other. Thomas growled into her mouth as he surrendered to the inevitable arousal that shot on a flame through his body.

She tasted of strength and fortitude, edged with the soft scent of woman and feminine wisdom. Fear for his family’s future seemed futile when her tongue claimed his and the spark was lit. He took and he possessed—fell deeper, knowing he had little chance of climbing out of the unending well of feelings he had for her. His brain told him to stop, to pull back and halt such a monumental mistake as kissing a woman so very far out of his reach. He tried and good God how he failed....

His kiss was as powerful and intensely sexual as Thomas himself. Monica gripped his biceps and held on as her knees weakened and her heart thundered. Every cell in her body screamed for his ministrations, to have him take her right there in the open air and to hell with everyone she wanted to avoid at the house. She needed this man. Had admired him for too long to stop this moment. The sweet, sweet joy of being kissed by him—not as before, not as if she were created in porcelain, but as a whole, feeling, and sexual woman.

Her nipples tingled and her center throbbed. She pulled her mouth from his to catch her breath and wantonly tipped her head back, exposing her neck as an open invitation. He tensed beneath her fingers and she sensed his hesitation.

She needed to feel she wasn’t wrong and useless in coming to Marksville, but she was real and capable. She needed to feel like the person she had become through her trials in Bath, and not the naïve, trusting girl she’d left behind five years before.

As though reading her thoughts, he emitted a low, guttural moan before pressing his warm lips firmly against her throat and along the exposed breadth of her neck. Her arousal soared and she sighed his name. If she didn’t fear his disgust, she would demand he rip open the buttons hiding her skin and feast lower until he took one of her aching nipples into his hot mouth....

As abruptly as he kissed her, he stepped back.

Their breaths joined in sync and Monica didn’t doubt her eyes were as equally wild with desire as his. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath between pursed lips as though calming a fire deep within. “We have to stop. Your mother, the master’s funeral . . .” He opened his eyes. “You’re needed at the house.”

Monica stepped back, her heart racing. “How can you think of the house at a time like this?”

He snapped his eyes open. “We have to. Don’t you see that?” His voice stormed with anger and resentment. “God knows I could kiss you for the rest of my days, but we have to stop anything from beginning between us.”

“Why?” Frustration burned like a ball of fire in her chest. “Do you not ever want the chance to discover what pleasures there are throughout the rest of the world?”

He glared and stepped back farther, his cheeks darkening. “All I want is to keep hunger and poverty from me and my family. Something you and yours will never understand.”

Monica narrowed her eyes, his insult slashing deep across her heart. “How dare you? I have told you of my struggles and still you stand in front of me as though I were born in a royal palace rather than in a home with parents colder than ice during a cruel, hard winter.” She clutched at her skirts, her face hot and her body trembling. “You will come with me to Bath, Thomas, and by God, I will ensure you see what is possible beyond this village.”

“Nothing will ever become of us, so why kiss each other? Why touch and look as though there is any possibility we will be lovers. You know as well as I the prospect of you marrying for anything less than elevation is a concept too far.”

His words opened the wound of his rejection wider and deeper. “You think I left with Malcolm for elevation? I don’t care for class division or money, but I do care for a life away from ancestral obligation. Something you, Thomas Ashby, hold in the highest regard above all other. It is not I who is afraid of us, it is you. You choose to cool the passion between us purely because of my family name.” She shook her head and laughed, the sound high-pitched and laced with hysteria. “From now on I will not think of anything or anyone past my family, either. Since I came back, I have started to believe they might love me, moreover, they might need me . . . something you clearly find insufferable to utter aloud.”

His jaw was a hardened line and his eyes stormed with dangerous fury. “You know nor care nothing of my feelings toward you. This is about you just as it was when you left the first time.”

She flinched. He still thought her leaving as the most selfish course of action she could’ve taken. Monica glared, her breasts rising and falling as her anger became rage and her hurt became strength. “Maybe I didn’t think about anything or anyone except fleeing Marksville, but your judgment will never taint the best decision I ever made.” She lifted her chin and looked past him toward the house. “But that is in the past, and now I think only of what happens to Jane and the tenants, including you. Every single one of you haunts my mind constantly. My responsibility to you all is paramount, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

A flash of shame or apology flitted in his gaze before he blinked and it was gone. “Good, because our kiss is evidence emotions are running high. We were seeking comfort. Nothing more.”

The knife blade struck cold and hard in her heart, but Monica stayed perfectly still. He swiped his hand over his face, before staring directly at her. His eyes were a storm of blazing passion she could neither decipher nor understand.
We’re seeking comfort . . . nothing more. Is that what I’m doing? What he’s doing?

Unable to bear looking into his beautiful blue-green eyes a moment longer, Monica smoothed her hair with trembling fingers. “I should go back. Lord only knows how angry Jane will be with me for leaving her alone.”

“You go ahead and I will follow on behind as soon as I feel it is safe to do so.”

“Safe to do so?” She huffed out a laugh. “There is no reason anyone should suspect—”

“Even so, I won’t risk anyone thinking less of you.” He stared into the distance. “You will be fighting a war in which neither of us knows its strategies or battle cry.” He faced her, his expression somber. “I want to be your knight, not slayer. We must be a joined unit, working for the people here and in the village. We cannot be seen as—”

“Lovers? Close friends?” She glared. “It is you who thinks less of me. It is you who finds the prospect of
us
unacceptable in this narrow-minded place, just as you always did. I thought it was only Mama with such archaic views, but clearly you share the same opinion of what is right and who should belong to whom.” Her body shook with frustration and a horrible sense of disappointment. “I actually feel sorry for you, sorry you feel honor bound to stay in a place that clips the wings of a man like you.”

His face darkened to a dangerous shade of red. “And what do you perceive as a man like me? A man willing to fight for his family’s future? Who will not stand by and let a woman he cares for be taken down like a lamb to the slaughter? Do you not want restitution for what is yours? Marksville belongs to you. It’s yours. Yet that means nothing to you.”

She stared as the truth of just how far apart she and Thomas stood became as clear as cut glass. “I’ve told you before, it is not your job to protect me. I can do that well enough myself. If you feel incapable of helping me without protecting me, then I will face whatever comes alone. I am my own woman and have every intention of staying that way.”

With his kisses still cruelly tender on her lips, Monica bent down and snatched her discarded hat from the ground. She straightened, tossing him a final glare before running back to the house. With each yard she covered, her anger and repulsion against everything in Biddestone spread like poison through her veins.

Instead of hurting her, it made her more determined to find the antidote to her survival sooner rather than later. Thomas had been right when he said she was strong. She was a survivor, and now with his cowardice and compliance revealed, Monica was more certain than ever she needed no one but those she loved in Bath.

Thomas had just made her decision about the future incredibly easy. All she needed to do was wait for the reading of the will and that would provide the next decision she had to make. As far as she knew, Jane could’ve been mistaken about to whom their father had left the estate. If he had done the right thing, the entirety of Marksville would be her sister’s.

If it was, Monica’s future could remain in Bath . . . and it would only be Jane’s decisions that Monica would do everything in her power to support.

Monica burst into the house and made for the parlor, heedless of the clusters of people in the hallway. She walked into the room and relief washed over her that the mass of guests had thinned since her disappearance. Only a few remained, which meant there was smaller a number for her to disperse as quickly as politeness would allow. She found the fortitude to pull on a gracious expression and glanced toward her mother where she was seated upon the chaise. Monica smiled softly and relaxed further to see Mrs. Seton and a few female friends of her mother’s helping her to tea and cake.

Scanning the room, she spotted Jane at the window talking to a young, smartly dressed man; his black suit and hat were pristine, and his hand hovered at her sister’s elbow. Monica frowned. Was this one of the gentlemen whose attention Jane had said she either welcomed or rejected?

Monica strode confidently across the room, her cross words with Thomas adding fuel to an already burning need to vent some of her authority and show she was not the same woman who had lived at Marksville before.

As she drew closer, she studied the gentleman’s profile. This was not a man she remembered as being a family friend or associate of her father’s. She moved beside Jane and cleared her throat. “Jane? Has anything needed my attention in my absence? I got caught up in conversation with—”

“I am perfectly able to handle things alone, Monica. I have done so for many years.”

Monica didn’t flinch under the sting of her sister’s words because, not only were they deserved, she knew Jane well enough to surmise from her body language that indeed, the gentleman smiling so sweetly at her could well be an unwelcome presence.

She turned to face him and offered her hand. “Thank you so much for coming today. I’m Miss Monica Danes, Mr. Danes’s eldest daughter and Jane’s sister.”

“Ah, I have heard much about you.” The stranger took her gloved hand and bowed. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Dr. Nathanial O’Connor. I have attended your mother for the past year or so.”

“Ah, yes. Jane mentioned you to me. It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor.”

He bowed. “And you, too, Miss Danes.”

She stared for a moment longer before smiling widely and relaxing her shoulders. “I’m sorry, you just seem so young.”

His brown eyes glinted with amusement. “Not so young, Miss Danes. Let’s just say I owe any youthfulness to my parents’ genes rather than any special care on my part.”

Monica laughed, warming to the young doctor. “Well, I’m glad to meet you. I would be grateful if you could come back to the house sometime tomorrow so I can hear your prognosis of Mama’s condition. She is—” Monica glanced in her mother’s direction, sadness weighing on her heart. “She is in a worse state of mind than I could’ve possibly feared when Jane wrote to me asking me to return home.”

Jane touched her elbow. “You do not need to bother Dr. O’Connor unnecessarily. He comes to see Mama once a week unless we have need to call for him.”

Monica frowned at her sister. “But surely the doctor won’t mind—”

“I won’t mind at all.” The doctor turned to Jane and ran his gaze gently over her face. “I am more than willing to serve your family at any time, Miss Danes. You know that.”

Monica noted the admiration in his gaze and a smile played at her lips. The doctor clearly had an interest in coming to Marksville past Mama. She covered Jane’s hand with her own. “I need to be clear about things, Jane. How can we make decisions together if I only know half the story? Bath is not far away, but even in the short time I have been here I already feel like a ship bobbing around in the ocean. If Dr. O’Connor can bring me up to date with Mama’s sufferings—”

“That’s right.” The doctor touched his forehead in a gesture of forgotten memory. “You are quite the stage success in Bath, are you not, Miss Danes?”

Monica turned to Dr. O’Connor and dipped her head. “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but I’m thrilled you think so.”

He smiled, his eyes shining kindly. “I often have need to go into the city and I could not fail to be apprehended by the notices around the theater. I’m ashamed I didn’t recognize you the minute you spoke to me.”

Monica laughed. “I’m not quite the success to be recognized everywhere I go.” She grinned. “At least . . . not yet.”

The doctor smiled. “Did you leave a play to come home for your father’s funeral?”

“Yes.” She glanced at Jane. “And I won’t be able to stay in Biddestone indefinitely. There are many difficult choices Jane and I will have to make over the coming weeks, I’m afraid.”

The doctor’s smile faded to a frown. “But surely one of you will continue at Marksville? The house and land are so stunning, it would be a travesty for the estate to be taken on by someone outside of your family.”

Monica stiffened. Yet another person who held no qualms about telling her what should happen with the estate. “Be that as it may, nothing has been decided and nor will it be for a while yet. I intend to travel the estate and village tomorrow to get the lay of the land. I’m sure with that done, and your advice regarding Mama, I will have a much better idea of the best way forward.”

Jane cleared her throat. “Are you intending to take this trip about town alone tomorrow?”

“No, I—”

“She’ll be accompanied by me, Miss Jane.”

Monica stilled as Thomas came to her side, the scent of fresh air and man enveloping her senses. She tried and failed not to inhale. Breathing deep, she fought to keep her stiff smile in place and concentrated her gaze on the safer face of Dr. O’Connor. “I’m sure you know Thomas, Doctor? He was Papa’s groom, valet . . . everything, really.”

The doctor smiled and turned to Thomas. “Indeed, I do. How are you, Thomas?”

“Well, thank you, sir.”

Monica snapped her head around. Thomas stared at the doctor, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Unease lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. Sometimes the man’s brooding bypassed that stomach-clenching, toe-curling intensity she couldn’t resist, to something far more dangerous and infuriating. She glared. “Thomas? The doctor—”

“Mrs. Danes is looking more strained than ever, is she not, Dr. O’Connor?” Thomas bowed slightly. “Of course, we are at the master’s funeral, so most likely it is her grief adding depth to her already fragile state, rather than escalation of her declining health.”

The accusatory tone of Thomas’s musings sent a frisson of hostility and awkwardness through the previously civil atmosphere. Monica glanced around the trio of faces. Jane studied the rug at her feet while Thomas and the doctor held each other’s gazes, their smiles identically frozen. Monica slowly released Jane’s hand. “Well, I really must check on Mama. If you would be so kind as to come to the house whenever possible tomorrow, Doctor, I will look forward to seeing you.”

Dr. O’Connor turned to face her. “Of course. I am free of patient appointments after three o’clock. How would half past suit you?”

Monica smiled. “That would be perfect.”

“Then I shall see you then. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Danes . . .” He nodded to Jane and Thomas in turn. “Miss Danes . . . Thomas.”

He left the group and Monica stared at Thomas’s profile as he watched the doctor bid his farewell to Mama. He clearly neither liked nor respected the young doctor.
Well, I won’t tolerate such rudeness toward someone looking after Mama.
She opened her mouth to tell Thomas just that when Jane gripped her elbow. “Would you excuse us a moment, Thomas? I think Jeannie would appreciate your help seeing to the departing guests.”

Thomas slowly turned to face Jane, his hardened gaze evolving into fondness. “Of course.” He glanced at Monica and lifted an eyebrow. “Miss Danes.”

Trembling with suppressed frustration, Monica merely nodded and faced Jane in a gesture of clear dismissal toward Thomas. Whatever game he played, he was the assured loser. She waited until the man’s damn lingering masculinity cleared the vicinity and she could breathe easy again. She shook her head. “Whatever blasé rule Thomas has been under these past years, it has clearly given him airs. Did you see the way he looked and spoke to the quite lovely Dr. O’Connor? What in God’s name has gotten into him?”

Jane sighed. “Ignore him. You know Thomas.”

“Yes, I do, and from now on—”

“Monica, listen to me.” Jane tightened her grip. “Dr. O’Connor’s interest . . . his interest is becoming . . .”

Monica frowned, all thoughts of Thomas’s reprimand vanishing from her mind. “His interest is what . . . ? Oh, I see.”

Jane glared. “Do not look so amused. The man has begun to show more and more interest in me. It makes me decidedly uncomfortable.”

“You do not return his affection?”

“No, I do not.” Jane’s eyes widened. “Short of being rude to him—”

“I see.” Monica stared toward the open parlor door through which the doctor had disappeared. “And why is that? I thought him quite amicable. He is clearly an intelligent and studious man to be in such a position at his age.”

“That may be so, but he is most certainly not the man for me.”

“And is there a man I should be aware of? Someone’s whose attention you’d prefer?”

Jane blushed and as much as she tried to scowl, her eyes belied her feelings. “That’s neither here nor there. If Mama were to suspect for one minute I might have affections for anyone other than for someone of her choosing—”

“She’d put an immediate stop to it.” Monica’s smile dissolved. “I understand.” She glanced around the room. “We will talk of this later, but I promise you I will never try to change your mind or influence you about any beau. As long as he’s a nice and caring man, that’s more important to me than anything else as far as a suitor of yours is concerned.”

Jane’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I couldn’t bear dealing with your anger or opinions about my life on top of Mama’s.”

Monica smiled. “Your happiness is all that matters to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you to already know that.”

A returning smile lit Jane’s face. “Well, you’re here now and you haven’t completely dismissed the idea of me finding someone to love by my own means. That’s means so much to me. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Monica covered Jane’s hand at her elbow and squeezed. “I’m not Mama. The sooner you understand that, the better.”

Jane smile widened. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Before she could correct her sister’s naming of “home,” Jane hurried away, leaving Monica standing alone and reeling under the realization that her determination to leave Biddestone twenty minutes before had been weakened once again.

She sighed. One step forward, two steps back was the cruelest of games.

 

Thomas sat in the front seat of Monica’s phaeton and scowled. When she’d told him to tack up
her
horse and the phaeton, he’d received her message loud and clear. From now on, he was her employee to do with as she pleased, and she would clearly have no restraint at showing him the trappings her independent earnings had bought her.

He clenched his jaw. She’d kept Wilson in fine condition and along the way purchased her own means of transportation. He wished for resentment, but instead nothing but pesky pride pulsed in his blood. He smiled softly. His girl had done good.

“Good morning, Thomas. I must say it’s a relief to see you smiling on such a sunny morning.”

His smile vanished. He stood and leaped from the phaeton without looking at Monica. When he landed on the gravel and met her eyes, his breath caught in his throat as it did every time they were reunited after separation. How could a woman look so stunning in mourning? He swallowed and touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “Good morning.”

Her gaze lingered on his mouth for a moment before she swept past him and approached Wilson. “Good morning, my darling.”

Thomas curled his hands into fists and battled the ridiculous envy of watching her smooth her hands over the animal’s flanks. She moved to his nose and gently tugged on his forelock, finishing her greeting with a kiss to the horse’s nose. Thomas scowled. The woman held more affection for her damn horse than for any human.

His gaze roamed over her from head to boot. Her black riding habit fit her like a second skin. Tightly nipped in at the waist and wide at hips that would, no doubt, one day bear the children of another man. Her dark, glossy hair was pinned up, revealing the white column of her neck. On her head, she wore a black high hat, circled with a thick length of black lace that fell beyond her shoulders.

She’d turn the head of every man in the village.

He purposely kept his gaze on her as she left Wilson and returned to the front of the phaeton. She stopped in front of him and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “Shall we set off?”

He nodded, his body tense with the need to touch her. “Where would you like to go first?”

“I think we’ll visit a few of the tenants and then ride into the village for lunch.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do any of the tenants know you’re coming?”

She frowned. “No, but does it matter? I would often drop by unannounced when I was here before and always felt welcome.”

The look of surprised vulnerability on her face pressed guilt onto Thomas’s conscience. “You’re probably right . . . .”

“But?”

He glanced toward the house before facing her. “You’re not a young girl growing up around the place anymore. You’re the mistress. Or that’s at least how the tenants will see you. When they see you at their doorstep, they’ll have no idea if you bring elevation or eviction.”

She stared at him for a long moment, before turning and gripping the sidebar of the phaeton. “Well, then, the sooner I speak to them, the better.” She levered herself into the seat, quashing his chance to help her. “And once we’ve seen some of the other tenants, we’ll take that visit to your parents that never materialized the other day.”