Laura Kinsale (10 page)

“Mr. Eliot has been very attentive,” she commented, a nonchalant twist of the knife.

Gryf said nothing.

She played with her horse’s reins as they walked down the shade-dappled path. “I really think he will offer for me soon.”

She thought a sound came from the man beside her; she looked toward him quickly, but his face was a set mask.

“I wish I knew why you object to him,” she said.

“I wouldn’t like to see you hurt.”

Tess stopped, tilting her head in puzzlement. Gryf
turned toward her. Without their riders, the horses went immediately for grass, their bodies blocking the path and enclosing Tess and Gryf in the narrow space between them.

“How can he hurt me? He doesn’t gamble—you’ve told me that yourself. He’s been very kind to me, and he certainly can’t stand in need of money.”

He hesitated a long moment, his mouth compressed. “There are other faults a man can have.”

Tess stared into his eyes, closer than she had ever been. They were light-gray, like smoke, with a darker rim. She wished very much to reach out and touch the hard plane of his cheek, to soften the set of his jaw.

He looked away.

“What are these awful faults?” she asked.

His frowning gaze swung back to her, startling in its intensity. His hands came up in a quick motion, as if he would shake her. “I don’t want him to hurt you,” he repeated roughly.

“Would you care?” she murmured.

He stopped in midmove, dropping his arms awkwardly. “Of course.” There was an edge in his voice that thrilled her. “Of course I care.”

The words made her brave. She met his eyes. “Why?”

He seemed to have no answer for that.

Tess touched her upper lip with her tongue, excited and a little afraid of the peculiar intimacy of the moment. She saw his eyes flicker to her mouth at the movement and linger there. It came to her suddenly that he wanted to kiss her; he was very close, so close that she could see the pulse at his throat. Her own heart fluttered painfully. A bird in the wood behind her took up loud song, filling the air around them. After a moment, the wild melody ceased. Tess hesitated; it was all her imagination: the way he looked at her, the tension, the
desire that seemed to vibrate in the air between them as loudly as the birdsong. It seemed to Tess to be another girl, in some different world, who lifted her face with a timid smile and offered her lips to be kissed.

“Oh, God,” he said woodenly.

He stared down at her upturned face. She waited. The silence was tangible around them, like the dappled shade, the horses, broken only by the occasional jingle of a bridle and the swish of her gelding’s tail. Then slowly, so slowly that her knees weakened with anticipation, he raised his hand to touch her cheek. He still held the rein of his grazing horse; she felt the warm, supple leather brush against her skin as his fingers slid downward and cupped her chin.

He bent his head. With a sudden motion, he sought her mouth, dropping the rein as his palms spread across her cheeks, pressing her face upward. It wasn’t what she had anticipated; it wasn’t gentle or soft or tentative. There was a fierceness to his kiss, the taste of him, the heat. He wrapped his fingers behind her neck; his mouth moved hard against hers, forcing her lips open under the assault. It hurt her, a sweeter pain than any she had ever imagined. She felt his firm male shape all down her body through the thick folds of her riding habit. It was what she had never known, and yet always known; what she had wanted—this fire in her limbs, this wild rush of joy. Her arms came up to twine around his neck. He tasted of salt and horse and the lemony tang of shaving lather; his palms were hot against the flushed skin of her throat. She leaned into him and clung with a faint whimper of excitement as his tongue touched hers and his hold on her tightened convulsively.

Her eager response rocked through Gryf like a cannonade. He caught her waist and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss greedily. He could not breathe and
didn’t care. If he died like this, he wouldn’t care. The last remnant of control gave way, hopelessly vanquished by the yielding curve of her back and waist and hips as his hands slid downward. His fingers worked beneath the heavy hem of her jacket with their own will. Somehow they found buttons and velvety clasps and flicked them open, until nothing but the thin, white crispness of finely woven silk lay between his palms and her skin.

The touch made Tess’s eyes fly open. She could not see his face as he pressed a hungry kiss to the tender place below her ear, but his breath came hot and uneven against her skin, and he made a sound low in his throat as his fingers drifted upward. He cupped her breasts. His thumbs passed over her tautened nipples, setting off sparks that made her body twitch and arch toward him in answer. She buried her face against his shoulder, embarrassed, delighted, trying to stem the little sobs of pleasure that rose unbidden to her lips.

He said her name, a harsh whisper, and raised a hand to plunge his fingers into the rich coil of her hair. Her plumed hat fell free, and hairpins strained and prickled as he forced her head back to seek her mouth again. She felt fragile and small, as helpless as a doll pressed against his heated strength. His lips raked like fire across her cheek and he took her mouth again urgently, holding her hard against him.

In some back corner of her mind, Tess knew that she should stop him. Dear God, the park—right here in the public park—and he was fumbling with the buttons of her blouse and sliding his hand into the recess, and her body seemed to react of its own will, pushing upward to give him more freedom to touch her. The brush of his fingers across the tender swell of her breast sapped all modesty and reason. No one had ever told her…she had never guessed it would be like
this,
all hurtling
flame and exhilaration as his lips slanted across hers and his tongue delved for the warmth within. Her head sagged back, exposing her throat to his kisses; her legs felt so quivery that she thought she could not even stand alone. She did not want him to stop. She wanted it to go on forever. It was too soon, far too soon, that she felt his withdrawal in the stiffening of his back and shoulders.

“Damn,” he groaned against her skin. “Ah, damn, damn…I can’t…”

His hold on her loosened. With a little whimper, Tess sought to renew the kiss, unwilling to have it end so soon. But he turned his head, breathing hard and unsteadily. Slowly, as if he had to will each tiny move, he let her go.

Tess looked up into his face. The raw disgust that hardened his features brought reality back with a jolt. She took a deep breath, realizing suddenly just how far she had compromised herself.

With a bitter curse, he turned away. Tess stood still, clasping and unclasping her hands in an agitated rhythm. There was nothing she wanted more than to forget all scruples and cast herself into his arms again. But the moment was gone, and all magic with it. He yanked his horse’s head up from grazing with unnecessary force, then stood with his back to her, staring rigidly at the horse’s shoulder.

Tess bit her lips in mortification. What had been exhilarating became suddenly something else, something wicked and depraved. But, oh, God, it had felt so good—could anything that wonderful be wrong? She clutched at her gaping blouse and did the buttons with quick, shaking fingers. She could hardly command her trembling knees to support her as she bent to catch up her fallen hat.

She straightened, and watched in distraught silence as he led her chestnut forward. The expression on his face was set. He did not meet her eyes as he mutely offered his cupped hands and boosted her into the sidesaddle. When she turned to thank him, he was already mounting his own horse. They rode out of the thin woods together, heading by unspoken consent to the park gate.

“Will I see you on Thursday?” she asked, a ritual question at the end of each ride.

“I think not,” he said.

She gave him a stricken look. He added without emotion, “You’ll be tired from your visit to Tonbridge.”

“No,” she said in a small voice. “I won’t be. I’m not going to go.”

It was meant as a peace offering, a truce. She saw him hesitate, and her heart rose. The hope lasted only a moment. He said coolly, “I’m sorry. I have another engagement.”

If he had slapped her face, it could not have stung more. “Of course,” she whispered. “Perhaps some other day.”

“Some other day.” He gave her a nod, obviously meant for parting. “Good morning to you.”

“Good morning,” Tess said dully as he turned his horse away, back into the park. She could not help watching as he trotted off. He kept up a steady post until he was almost out of sight, and then the rawboned black broke into a hard gallop and disappeared from view.

Aunt Katherine was “at home” that afternoon, and Tess was obliged to sit with Larice and Judith and Anne in the drawing room to help entertain visitors. It was understood that the younger ladies all talked together, so that Tess was spared the need to make conversation
with the Mayfair matrons themselves. She had only to deal with their daughters.

The girls were grouped around the fireplace, where coldblooded Anne always insisted on keeping a small pile of coals glowing, even in the spring and summer. Tess was glad of that, for the chilly mists of England often seemed to reach all the way to her tropical bones. She held a sketchbook in her lap, idly tracing the outline of a violet and listening to Louisa Grant-Hastings talk about Princess Alexandra’s couturiere.

The older women were deep in conversation on the far side of the room when Larice said, in an excited undertone, “Louisa, you must tell us what happened last night at the Gosfords’!”

A giggle arose from Judith and the two other young visitors. Anne said quellingly, “Hush, now. Mama—”

“Oh, don’t be a gooseberry, Anne,” Larice whispered loudly. “They won’t hear us.”

“It was Zoe Mayland.” One of the visiting girls swept them all with a knowing look. “And Colonel Perry.”

“What happened?” Larice demanded. “Lady Mary said that for certain he would be going this morning to speak to Mr. Mayland.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad match,” Judith said. “Even if the colonel is a younger son. Mama says he has over forty thousand pounds.”

“But what
happened?
” Larice’s voice was a pleading whisper. “Oh, if only Judith and I hadn’t been home with the headache last night. We can’t get a thing out of Mama or Anne or Cousin Tess about it!”

Since Tess hadn’t had any idea that anything unusual had happened at the Gosfords’ dinner party the night before, she returned Larice’s scathing look with an apologetic shrug.

“Lady Gosford found them after dinner,” Louisa said
portentously. All eyes in the group went to her. “Upstairs in her boudoir.”

There were gasps of horror, quickly squelched by Anne.

Louisa smiled ironically, looking suddenly much older than her nineteen years. “He was kissing—”

“Oh, my heavens!” Larice’s mouth had fallen open, and Louisa narrowed her eyes at her friend.

“—her hand, Larice dear.”

“Well,” said Larice, “that is shocking enough! And of course now he must offer for her—poor Zoe, do you think she really wants him?”

“She let him take her upstairs,” Louisa said calmly. “I suppose she likes him well enough, or she is quite a little ninny.”

“Can you imagine?” Judith sighed. “He kissed her hand in the boudoir. How romantic.”

“Romantic!” Larice squealed. “The boudoir? I think it most disgusting. Sir Walter would never be so bold!”

Her sentiment was echoed vigorously by the others. Tess stared down at her sketchbook, hoping no one noticed the heat that had risen to her cheeks.

“That is because you are still a child, Larice,” Judith said stiffly, taking on the tone of the experienced widow. “You don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

“Well,” Larice bridled, “I never thought you liked old Quince’s embraces so much!”

“Please!” Anne said sharply. “Watch your tongue, miss. Judith is quite right. You’re not of an age to discuss such things.”

Larice turned on Anne with a pointed smile. “And have you ever been kissed by a man, Anne dear?”

“Of course not.”

“Has anyone?” Larice looked around the tittering group with an avid eye.

Amid the general denial, Tess found herself blushing furiously. She pretended to drop her pencil and bent down to pick it up, but Larice, though shortsighted, could see color well enough. “Cousin Tess,” she said wickedly, “you’ve turned quite pink!”

Tess took a deep breath and straightened her blue and white muslin morning dress. “I dropped my lead,” she said hastily.

“Has anyone ever kissed you, Cousin?” Larice persisted. “You mustn’t fib to us, you know! Look at her blushing, I believe she
has
been kissed!”

“No—” Tess said helplessly. “No, never.”

“Perhaps the very thought makes her color,” Louisa said in a cool tone.

Tess forced herself to smile. “I assure you, I’ve never yet been invited to anyone’s boudoir.”

“That’s true,” Larice said. “Mama has kept a special eye on Cousin Tess, so that she won’t embarrass us all with some nonsense about monkeys. I don’t believe she is ever out of Mama’s sight.”

“Only in the morning,” Judith said matter-of-factly. “She rides in the mornings, you know, Larice.”

“At nine o’clock!” Larice scoffed. “There wouldn’t be anyone in the park to kiss her at that hour!” Her eyes grew very round. “Was it Mr. Bottomshaw, Cousin Tess? Did he try to kiss you?”

Tess shook her head, and pretended to concentrate on her drawing. “No. He read me a poem by Lord Byron.”

“How romantic!” Judith said.

Larice giggled. “I think she’s fibbing. I think it was Mr. Bottomshaw who kissed her! Now you
must
marry him, Cousin, for the truth is out.”

“No,” Tess said, growing desperate. “He didn’t!”

Strangely, it was Louisa who came to Tess’s aid. “Nonsense, Larice. I can tell you for certain that Bot
tomshaw would dare no such thing. Do you ride often in the park in the morning, Lady Tess?”

“Every Tuesday and Thursday without fail,” Anne said wearily. “We must always hold luncheon for her.”