Lady of the Rose (5 page)

She jumped out of the chair, “What
do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

He looked startled and moved away
from her.
“Letting you warm yourself.”

“By allowing your own self to freeze
half to death.
Sit down.” Her tone was sharp and commanding, and he
sat without comment.
By rooting around in the chest near the bed,
she found another quilt, and though it smelled slightly of
mothballs and dust, it was dry.
She put it over his shoulders and
began rubbing his cold fingers.

At her touch, he looked up.
She
found herself staring into those strange gray eyes, and she felt
suddenly breathless.
Then she noticed that she was no longer
rubbing his hands, but he was softly stroking the back of hers.
Hastily, she dropped his hand and stood up.
She cleared her throat,
“I'll just see if there are any tea things, shall I?
I think you
could use something hot.”

She spent several minutes rummaging
through the cupboards without really seeing anything.
A warmth was
spreading itself throughout her body, starting low and moving
steadily lower.
She closed her eyes to steady herself and saw grey
eyes behind her closed lids.
She heard a cough behind and whipped
around, knocking a tin cup to floor with a loud clang.

“You startled me,” she said, putting
a hand to her fast-beating heart.

“I want to show you why I brought
you here.” He was looking at her intently and holding out his
hand.

She nodded her consent but tactfully
pretended not to see his hand.

“This way.” He led her to the door
she had noticed on first arriving in the cottage.
He opened it to
reveal another room, slightly larger than the living quarters and
smelling strongly of woods shavings and varnish.
She stepped into
the room and waited while George brought a light.

He walked through the work space,
past benches and tools towards the back of the room.
Following,
Harriet suddenly realized that they must be in Mr.
Hudson's cabin,
the carpenter.
But where is Mr.
Hudson?
she wondered.
George had
stopped next to some kind of chair, but Harriet could not make it
out right away in the dim light.

It was definitely a chair of some
kind, made of a deep, rich-colored wood Harriet could not identify.
The workmanship was incredible; she could tell even in the dimness
that it was of impeccable quality.
It had slender, curving arms and
a foot rest in the front, but what held Harriet's attention were
the two large wheels affixed to the sides.

“It's for your father,” George was
saying.

Stunned, Harriet turned to him.
“I
don't understand.”

George looked down, and Harriet had
the horrifying thought that he was embarrassed, but she did not
know what to say.

“You mentioned that he has some
trouble moving about,” he began.
This was a vast understatement,
since he knew that her father could not move at all, but she
ignored it and let him continue his explanation.
“I thought that
this way he could be moved more easily, perhaps someone could even
push him around outside on occasion.
I'm sorry, it is quite heavy,
but I'm going to try again to make a lighter one that you could
easily push.
I hope this will work in the meantime.”

Harriet was speechless.
The chair
was beautiful, and from what he had been saying, George seemed to
have made it himself.
“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say
anything.”

Harriet placed a hand on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said softly.

Her hand lingered on his forearm,
and without quite knowing it was happening, she found herself
moving her hand down and linking her fingers into his.
He turned to
her in surprise, and they ended up facing each other.
The space
where they stood was small and cramped, and their bodies were
almost touching, a narrow, highly charged space all that remained
between them.

In the dim light, she saw him
hesitate, then tentatively, he placed his hand on the small of her
back and pulled her towards him, closing the space and holding her
softly against him.
He leaned down and lightly touched her lips
with his.
He tasted of smoke and something sweet she thought must
be wine, and he was delicious.
She parted her lips, encouraging him
to give her more.

The kiss deepened, becoming
increasingly passionate as he pulled her against him.
His tongue
slid into her mouth, and her eyes opened wide.
He seemed to sense
her shock because his tongue receded and the pressure on her back
lessened slightly, but she did not pull back, and after a few
moments, she cautiously slid her own tongue forward.
George
responded with a low moan in the back of his throat.
He grabbed her
hard, nearly crushing her against his body.
He lifted her up,
carrying her out of the workroom and back into the light of the
living room without once breaking their kiss.

Slowly, he brought her onto the cot
in front of the fire, lowering himself on top of her.
She could
feel his stiffness pressing against her, and suddenly she was
overcome with the need of him.
Almost frantically, she began pawing
at his shirt, trying to get his clothes off of him and pull him
closer to her at the same time.

He caught her hands and chuckled
softly.
“We have time, Harriet.
There is no need to rush,” he
whispered.
He began kissing her neck and whispering to her while
undoing the buttons of her dress.
“You are so beautiful.
From the
moment you stormed into my house, all wildness and life, I wanted
you.”

Harriet was barely listening; George
had slid her dress off and was kissing her breasts.
She writhed
under him, moaning in pleasure.
His hand moved down to her legs,
gently moving them apart.
Then he came down on top of her, and
moving slowly, he pushed himself against her.
She gasped and nearly
screamed, at the first shock of pain, but he gently pushed again,
and a quiver of pleasure ran through her, leaving her desperate for
more.
She thrust her hips up, trying to take more of him in.
He
shuddered at her excitement, and taking hold of her, he let himself
enter her completely.
He moved on top of her, penetrating her
deeper each time, enjoying each of her little gasps and moans.
Finally she did scream, clutching his back, as she reached her
climax.
When she came to herself, he still lay on top of her,
panting and exerted, their bodies intertwined.

They slept for a time, George
molding himself to her back like a spoon, his arm tightly around
her.
When she woke, it was full dark.
George, sensing that she was
awake, pulled her on top of him, and they made love again in the
inky blackness of the night.
Harriet whispered things to the dark
while they drifted off to sleep, exhausted and fulfilled once more.
Just before sleep pulled her under, she thought she heard the dark
answer, “I love you, too.”

~~~

When she woke again, soft, pale
light was streaming in through cracks in the door and window, and
George was nowhere to be found.
She was covered by a blanket, and
her clothes, dried out by the fire, were neatly folded on the
single chair.
She got dressed and tried to make herself as
presentable as she could without the use of water or comb and using
the back of a spoon as a mirror.
She had just resigned herself to a
disgraceful ride back to the Hall when the door opened, flooding
the room with light.
George entered, carrying a kettle and looking
quizzically at her.
“Going somewhere?” he asked lightly.

Her relief at seeing him nearly
overwhelmed her.
“I thought you had left.”

He placed the kettle on the fire and
turned to her, frowning.
“Then you don't think very highly of
me.”

“That isn't what I meant.
What's
that?” she pointed to a small bag he placed on the
table.

He smiled then.
“Breakfast.” Opening
the bag, he pulled out a juicy red cherry by the stem and popped
the whole thing in his mouth.
He spit the pit into his hand and
offered her the bag.
Shrugging, she selected one of the fruit and
bit into it.
The delicate flesh burst in her mouth and a bit of
juice ran down her chin.
Before she could wipe it off, George was
holding her face in his hands and trying to kiss the cherry juice
off her face.
She laughed and tried to pull away, but he held her
tight, ignoring her squirming.
His eyes suddenly became serious,
and she stopped struggling.
He kissed her in earnest then, ignoring
the sticky sweetness of the juice.
She was just thinking that
perhaps she had been too hasty in getting dressed when a sudden
crash from the workroom made both of them freeze and swivel their
heads toward the back door.

“Mr.
Hudson must be home,” George
said.

Harriet felt panic rising in her
chest.
She could not be seen like this, sleep rumpled and sticky
with cherry juice, next to the bed where she had George had just
made love.

“Go.
Take your horse and ride back
to the Hall.
Tell them you rode home last night for a visit and
decided to stay because of the rain.
I'll deal with Mr.
Hudson.”
With one last quick kiss, he pushed her towards the door, at the
same time that he called out, “Hallloo, Mr.
Hudson!”

Harriet stopped only once on the
ride back to the Hall, at the river to wash her face and tame her
hair.
It was still early when she arrived but the servants were up.
She was hopeful that she could get inside and up to her room before
anyone of the household saw her in her state of dishevelment.
The
moment she set foot on the landing, however, she heard a voice call
out, “Well, well, it is good of you to join us, Harriet,
dear.”

Lady Whitney stood at the top of the
stairs, a sneer marring her perfect features.
“I must admit I did
not expect you to arrive in solo.
Though, I suppose you tired of
poor Sir George's company after the first time or two.
Women of
your sort need so much diversion.”

Harriet stood transfixed as the
other woman advanced on her, eyes flashing.
Lady Whitney was
deathly pale with only two spots of high color on her cheekbones.
When she came close enough, Harriet could smell the sharp scent of
alcohol emanating from her.
The woman was drunk and clearly ready
to make a scene.

“I'm afraid I don't know what you
are talking about, Janet.
I spent the night at Thornwood Park when
I got caught in the storm,” Harriet spoke as matter-of-factly as
she could considering her increasing fear that a servant or, God
forbid, the Dowager would come along any minute.

“Don't you lie to me!” Lady Whitney
shrieked.
She grabbed Harriet's arm and dug her nails into her
flesh, making Harriet cry out in pain.
“I know what you have been
doing, you little bitch!
I saw the two of you ride off together
last night, and neither of you came back last night.
If you think
you can oust me by spreading your legs for him, you are very wrong.
He and I are getting married as soon as my mourning is over.
He
didn't mention that when he had you on your back, did he?
I am Lady
Whitney, and I will not be set aside!”

Harriet could see the hysteria
mounting in her.
She looked positively wild with hair escaping from
her pins and the shine of madness in her eyes.
Harriet yanked her
arm out of Lady Whitney's grasp and ran past her up the stairs,
ignoring the shrieks following behind her.

She didn't breath again until she
was in her room with the door securely locked behind her.
She sat
heavily on the bed, her head sinking between her knees.
She didn't
cry; she felt empty, bereft of feeling.
The idea of George marrying
Janet left a heavy lead weight in her stomach.
She thought about
the time she had spent at the Hall, the way they interacted with
each other, the way the Dowager set them always together, and she
knew it was true.
She did not know how long she sat there,
immobile, but when she was able to move again, she stood up and
began throwing all her belongings into her valise.