Bared to the Viscount (The Rites of May Book 1) (15 page)

Following the direction of his gaze, she spotted Rosamund Lawton. Rosamund held herself aloof, unaware of Thomas’s approach. Or perhaps
pretending
to be unaware of it—given that she stared fixedly at the wooden sign of the Fox & Crow, an unlikely focus for a young lady’s rapt attention.

Rosamund’s beautiful profile was etched against the sunset sky, and her golden hair gleamed. Thomas made a sound in his throat that suggested a sudden blockage in his lungs.

Oh, Lord
. If a Lawton girl had ensnared her brother’s heart, he’d do well to break the attachment as soon as humanly possible. Lord Lawton would never give one of his daughters to a poor clergyman.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Mary,” Thomas whispered, leaning close. His voice sounded tense, but determined. “I think it high time for both of us to be looking for some sort of happiness in this life.
Appropriate
happiness. We will both dance with as many partners tonight as we possibly can. And keep our minds open. What do you say to that?”

She felt a rush of tenderness for her brother. Look at the two of them—all duty and responsibility on the surface, but underneath, as human as anyone. She might be doomed to misery, but if Thomas could find a way to be happy….

“All right,” she said. “And whoever dances least must wash all the dishes for the next month!”

Thomas laughed. “You’re on.”

A little orchestra of sorts had formed at one end of the Green, made up of local people who regularly practiced together at the church. They were in the midst of a sprightly tune, and before long, she and Thomas were both standing up with a throng of their neighbors, dancing and whirling beneath a glowing full moon.

Thomas was good as his word, going down the lines of clapping villagers, first twirling pretty Betsy Pike, whose father owned a fine dairy, then all three of the high-spirited Marston girls, one after another, and then their giggling mother for good measure. And, goodness, at one point he was capering arm-in-arm with the beautiful and scandalous Lady Ellerby, who threw back her head and laughed at something he said.

He didn’t dance with Rosamund Lawton, she noticed, though Rosamund stood conspicuously close and turned down two other men who worked up the nerve to ask her.

For her own part, Mary danced vigorously as well, standing up with the blacksmith, the baker, and several broad-shouldered young farmers. Silver-haired Mrs. Simpkins, the apothecary’s wife, squeezed both her hands and told her warmly, “So nice to see you dancing, Miss Wilkins! It’s about time!” And Mary realized that her usual habit at such events was to focus on ensuring that fresh platters of food came out regularly to the tables, and that elderly ladies had conversational partners and something cool to drink.

Well, she felt different tonight, with curls bouncing on the back of her neck, and the pretty cameo and pearls brushing the very top of her breasts. Men seemed to be looking at her in a new way, too. She rather liked the look of surprise she’d get when each caught sight of her, and more than one told her he didn’t recognize her at first glance. Old Mr. Dockett, the diviner, smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling, and said, “Good for you, Mary Wilkins. I knew you had it in you, my girl!”

Her cheeks were flushed and her heart beat strong, and she didn’t think once about Lord Parkhurst. Well, maybe just once. Or twice. But she didn’t see him anywhere amongst the revelers, so the terrible lonely ache in her chest scarcely bothered her at all.

Sam Brickley, a tall, dark-haired young farmer, asked her to dance three different times. He was strongly built, and handsome in a rough sort of way. Not educated, but intelligent, and he had a good sense of fun. “You’ve got roses in your cheeks tonight, Miss Wilkins,” he told her in his rumbling, deep, country-accented voice, and gave her a wink. “It suits you.”

His hands were warm and strong in hers, and as he spun her and led her down the line, the pressure of his palm at the small of her back felt thrillingly masculine. For such a big man, he moved with surprising grace and great confidence. His eyes were dark brown and long-lashed, and really rather lovely—and they sparkled at her whenever his gaze met hers, as though he had some delicious secret he couldn’t wait to share.

Goodness
.

“I’d never imagined you were such a good dancer,” he said while they waited for the couples at the top of the line to take their turn. “You usually keep to the sidelines. Making sure everybody else’s glass of punch is full.” The words were perfectly innocent, but Sam managed to say them in a teasing, playful tone that made them seem vaguely suggestive.

Mary couldn’t help laughing, which Sam didn’t seem to mind at all.

He gave her a beaming grin. “I’m glad you’ve mended your ways tonight,” he said. “The rest of us poor sinners need the company.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “And such bonny company, too!”

The hanging lanterns burned brightly now, and their flickering orange glow against the planes of his cheeks and the length of his arms made her wonder what it would be like to share a home with such a man—sitting by the firelight in the evenings, just the two of them. Eating their evening meal and talking.

And then preparing to go to bed together.

Goodness, indeed
. Such a possibility would have felt out of her reach just a week or so ago, but now the look in Sam’s eye suggested it might be something she could make real, if she wished it.

Well, she owed that to John. He’d brought something out in her, something she’d kept locked down and hidden without realizing she was doing it.

The thought of John brought a pang to her chest, and a painful, ferocious longing.

No
. She couldn’t think of him. What had happened with John had been...an
illusion
. The perfume of a moment, nothing more. Entirely out of her reach. She had to do just as Thomas was doing—forget what was impossible, and focus on happiness that could be within her reach.

Focus on...
Sam
.

With deliberate force of will, she brought all her attention to the pleasant, attractive man in front of her.

What might Sam look like in his shirtsleeves, or out of his shirt altogether? What would it be like to let him kiss her? Let him touch her?

Her heart began to skip in a rougher rhythm.

Other couples were wandering away from the dancing here and there, slipping quietly into the shadows. With a bit of encouragement, would Sam go off with her? Walk through the fields, perhaps, or find a hayloft?

Rather shocking to even consider it. She
wouldn’t
have considered it, just a week ago, but she saw things differently now.

Sam could kiss her. Sam could slip his big, calloused hand under her chemise, and cup her breast, and surely it would feel good. His mouth had a nice shape, good for smiling…and for
other things
.

A hot blush stole over her.

What if she let him? That would be a way to break the spell she was under. To drive Viscount Parkhurst forever from her mind.

As the music came to a close, Sam took her arm in his and guided her towards the refreshment tables. As he handed her a glass of lemonade, he scanned her face speculatively, as if reading her mind. He leaned in close, and the subtle scent of his body came to her—warm and dark and manly.
Tempting
. “It’s hot and noisy here,” he said. “Mayhap we could take a bit of a walk.”

She tensed. It would be so easy.

It would probably be very...pleasurable. It was what she really should do, if she wanted to move on with her life. Part of her wanted to go with him, very much.

But another part of her felt an almost desperate panic, and thought of John.

John—whom she could never have.

Ah, well. She might need to move on, but she wasn’t ready yet. She disentangled herself gently from Sam’s arm and gave him a demurring smile.

He actually looked disappointed. “Perhaps another time, maybe, Miss Wilkins?” He gave her a rueful grin. “Perhaps a walk after Sunday services, if that’s more to your liking?”

“I would like that, Sam.”

“Good,” he said. And then he actually raised her hand to his lips in a courtly fashion, and kissed her fingers. “Then I’ll sit in the front pew and stay wide awake through your brother’s sermon. You have my solemn promise.”

“I’d like that, too. Your usual snoring tends to make the babies cry.”

He laughed, and the warmth in his eyes sent a little thrill through her chest. “Ah, well, I’m a hard working man all week long. I’ve got to catch up on my sleep sometime.”

And,
oh
, he made that sound somehow suggestive as well.

She felt herself blushing anew, and Sam’s grin implied he noticed. He still held her hand. “Will you make me a promise too, Miss Wilkins?” he whispered, putting his lips very close to her ear, so close she felt the warm vibration of his breath. “Wear your hair like that again on Sunday next. In fact, you should wear it that way always.”

Another wink, and he was gone.

And the inside of her chest was left fluttering.

Well
.

She really had changed from what she used to be. And she couldn’t regret it.

The moon had risen higher while she’d danced with Sam, the full white circle spreading its light over the Green. Perhaps its influence had affected the gathering, for as she looked around now, she realized that something in the mood of the townspeople had shifted from the light pleasantness with which the dancing had begun.

A different sort of energy crackled in the air. Something rougher, more fractious.

The sexton and Mrs. Trumbull broke off abruptly from the end of a line of dancers, squabbling about something. Mrs. Trumbull had her chin up and was marching off with an offended look. The sexton trailed after her, a stormy expression on his face.

Rosamund Lawton came hurrying from another direction, her hands balled into fists, her forehead creased and her mouth pursed as though she might be on the verge of bursting into tears.

And someone had evidently brought liquor, because a cluster of plowmen under one of the oak trees was laughing rather too raucously, and two of them were shoving one another in a way that seemed good-natured now, but might at any moment spark into a fight.

Donald Evans stood amidst them, looking shifty and irritable, and a bit unsteady on his feet.
Blast.
Most of the townspeople knew not to give him anything intoxicating to drink, but Donald always seem to find a way to pour something down his throat.

Oh, dear. And the evening had started out so sweetly.

Where had all the May Day magic gone?

She really ought to find Thomas and alert him to the possibility of trouble. She turned in the direction she’d last seen him dancing—and ran straight into what felt like a sun-warmed wall.

But it wasn’t a wall.

It was Viscount Parkhurst.

Oh, damnation
.

That little flutter Sam Brickley had created in her chest shifted instantly to an avalanche. Blood rushed from the top of her head straight to her belly, and the pulsing desire of their encounter beneath the hawthorn tree returned in a hard, hot, swelling wave.

So much for forgetting the viscount by flirting with another man.

John seized hold of the hand Sam had just kissed, and Mary felt the jolt of his touch clear to her toes.

“Dance with me,” he said.

Chapter Ten

John wasn’t surprised when Mary tugged her hand away.

“Are you quite mad?” she hissed in an accusing undertone. “We shouldn’t…we’re supposed to be staying away from one another.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he said, trying to keep his expression reasonably sober. Happiness at being near her—knowing he was now a free man, able to offer for her with an undivided heart—frothed through him, making a smile almost impossible to suppress. “In fact, I think staying away from each other is a terrible idea.”

She frowned. “Nothing has changed since this morning, Lord Parkhurst.”

“
Everything
has changed,” he said, and his breath hitched as he gazed at her. Lord, she looked pretty tonight—flushed from dancing, with curls shaken loose all about her face. Not quite the half-naked sylph he’d held in his arms in the woods that morning, but still, more of the
real
Mary than he’d ever seen in public before. “You absolutely must talk with me. I have news to tell you.”

“No. No, I absolutely mustn’t. And I’m—
busy
. I need to find Thomas.”

“Thomas can wait. I can’t.”

“Oh, stop! Leave me be!” Her eyebrows raised, and her eyes looked bright with a slick of tears. “This is...this is
cruel
of you.”

“
Cruel
?”

“To keep coming after me, my lord, when I’ve been quite clear about my wishes.”

My lord
. She made those words sound like some awful insult.