Manor of Pleasure: An Erotic Historical Romance

BOOK: Manor of Pleasure: An Erotic Historical Romance
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MANOR OF PLEASURE

Debra Sheridan

 

 

 

 

 

COPYRIGHT
© 2014 by Debra Sheridan

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events or locales is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

 

“Lady Rebecca!” called a most familiar voice, a distance away.

Rebecca's heart sputtered in her chest. She stopped abruptly, but did not turn.

His breathless voice came closer. “For how long are you going to continue to run?”

She stood still amidst the snow. Not turning. Not looking, but feeling everything.

“Lady Rebecca. Will you do me the courtesy of facing me?” he demanded.

He was very close now. She did not want to see his face again. She did not think she could bear it. She stood for several seconds in the cold without moving. Finally, taking a deep breath, she turned around.

Desmond Baines stood before her without a jacket or neckcloth. The snow sheeting down upon him. His face was a mixture of anger, concern and utter exhaustion. He was glorious.

He ran his hand through his blond hair to move it from his face, and his thin shirt was untucked and clung to him. He would have shocked anyone with this uncivilized appearance, but he was the most beautiful being Rebecca had ever beheld. The sharp pains that she fully expected from seeing him, jabbed at her chest and shot down through her limbs.

“This cannot continue, Lady Rebecca,” he managed while catching his breath.


What, sir?” she asked without thinking.

He laughed out loud at the
ridiculousness of it all. He threw his arms up. “This!” He took a step back and looked up at the dark sky for a second. “I am finished running after you! God knows I have done everything in my power to assure you of my affection. To tell you of my constancy. To prove to you, that you, and only you, have my heart. Yet, once again, you flee from my presence without so much as a glance my way!”

The pain was evident on his face. Streams of wet snow ran down the lines that formed around his eyes, and laterally along the deep creases the agony etched in his forehead.

“You torment me. You spear my very soul...Do you enjoy it?”

Rebecca looked at where they stood. They were near a great oak and no more than fifty feet from her home. She looked back at him, pleading.

“Please, sir...” She could not go on, and she did not know why. She wanted to look away, but his eyes would not let hers go.


Why will you not speak with me? Why will you not answer the letter that I gave you last March? Am I a stray dog that you just kick out of the way? Am I nothing to you, Lady Rebecca?”

She said nothing. She struggled with his words, with his confessions. They did not make sense. How could it when she was
considered damaged goods?

The snow continued to batter them both, and neither of them moved but to gain the breath they lost in their haste.

“This is utter madness! I must be mad! For how else can it explain my actions?” He laughed as he looked down at himself. “Look at me! I am running after a specter that teases me in the daylight and haunts my dreams at night. A mere ghost with no feeling, no soul, no compassion!”

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. Rebecca's handkerchief. The handkerchief that she used to gently wipe blood from his head a forever ago. She took in a sudden breath at the sight of it.

“Only a madman would carry around tokens that meant nothing.” He held it out to her. “Take it and be rid of me. I will have no more to do with this.”

She glared at him and the handkerchief. Emotions battled for voice in her head, but she knew not where to begin.

"Take it! Have you no heart?" he continued. He saw that she would not take it, so he threw it down to the frozen earth at her feet.

Rebecca looked down at the handkerchief and then snapped back up at him. Her voice started low and measured, but grew with the swell of her heart.

"You know nothing, Desmond. You do not know my heart, and you do not know me. You speak of feelings. Well, I have enough feelings to flood this valley and sweep all of us into the sea! Do not accuse when you have no foundation!"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn letter. His letter. Desmond recognized it immediately.

"Do not tell me that I have no feeling, no soul or comprehension! And do not think that you are the only one who has lain broken and bleeding. I have been in agony this entire year. My feelings assault me, they will not let me rest for one moment. My soul, Desmond, is wearied from this journey and cannot take one more moment of it."

Desmond stood still, taking in everything she said.

"Why have you not answered my letter?"

She turned the letter over to let him see that the seal had never been broken.

"You have never read it?" he said, exasperated.

"You have a way of breaking my resolve, Desmond. Breaking the seal would be the same thing," she admitted quietly.

An irritated smile crossed his face. "You are the most stubborn creature I have ever come across."

"I do not see what you find so amusing, Desmond."

"You think that by not opening my letter, that everything would go away? Are you that simple?"

"I am not simple!"

"And I am not mad! Answer my letter, Rebecca! Give me an answer!"

"But I do not know what is says!"

"You certainly do! How many ways do I have to express myself to you? Should I have a long talk with our creator and have him write it in the stars? Answer me!"

Hot tears came to her eyes and mixed with the snowflakes that would not cease. How could he treat her so?

Desmond took a step closer, not releasing her from his gaze. Rebecca fought back tears that melded with the snow as he started to possess her with his deep piercing eyes. She could feel the warmth of his breath as she stood frozen, mesmerized by his words, by his face, by his very being.

He spoke in a low forceful voice, overrun with the feelings he had finally let loose. "Do you think it's fair that I have gone about like a fool for months on end declaring myself to you in every way conceivable? Do you require that I get on my knees and spill forth my insides?"

He took a deep breath and her scent filled his lungs. How he wanted to kiss her angrily right then. He stepped back, found his wits and raised his voice.

"You profess that you have feelings enough to carry us away, Rebecca, but why will you not let them speak? Do they have no voice of their own? Are they so tightly locked away or do they need more proof of my own? Should I fall on my sword? Tell me once and for—”

And that was it. The world and anyone else between them be damned to the deepest level of hell.

"I do love you! I have loved you! Can you not see? Can you not feel it when we are in the same room? Your very presence plagues me! How you afflict me! How you claim my every thought! How can you stand there and profess that I have no heart? I understand everything you related to me. I comprehend you fully. I feel it acutely. It goes to the center of my being and devours everything else that I am. I see you, yet I can not touch you. I hear you, yet cannot be comforted by your voice…" Rebecca's faltering voice dropped as she tried desperately to breathe and not collapse in a heap in front of him.

Desmond stood stunned and amazed at her confession. He heard everything he had wished for and more. His chest could not take one more confession, and he looked at the woman before him who loved him, who has loved him.

"Rebecca…" he whispered as he closed the gap between them.

His lips found hers, and he met no resistance as Rebecca sighed and grabbed his strong shoulders with all her might.

Desmond finally pulled away for a breath, but did not let go of her face. He looked at her with exhilaration as she smiled at him amazed and tried to breathe through the cold.

"I told you that I would never compromise you, Rebecca. Marry me. Say you will be my wife and never run from me again…"

Something unpleasant flashed across Rebecca's face and she broke the gaze. He pulled her face up to his again, refusing to be without those eyes if he could help it.

"What is it, my love?" he entreated.

"It is just that I need to tell you something that I am afraid will make you angry. That will make you think very ill of me," she whispered.

Desmond looked down at her concerned. He released her face, but moved his hand down to hold her cold wet hand. He knitted his brow together.


Answer me first, Rebecca,” he breathed.


But Des...” she whispered.

He buried his face against the side of her head and neck, pulling her side into him, and spoke quietly yet
fervently into her ear.


Say whatever you want. I fell in love with you years ago and I'll never regret it. Rebecca Garway, tell me that you will marry me right away.”

He released her from his grasp, and she turned to face him. Rebecca looked up at him in awe, and brushed a few stray strands of hair away from his face with her fingers.

“Yes, I'll marry you. Right away.” She smiled.

CHAPTER TWO

 

Rebecca opened her eyes. She knew by the chill in the room that it was only seconds before dawn. A new fire had just been lit and its warm glow danced against the walls of her bed chamber.

Lying on her back amid her rumpled bed linens, Rebecca savored her memory of yesterday's transactions with Desmond, beginning with his proposal.

The tremors of her heart rippled down to her sex as she recalled the tenderness they shared. She reached up to touch her lips, still not quite able to believe the loveliness of it all. That they had been able to leave each other last night was the work of his better judgment, not hers.

After she had accepted him, they had spent time making plans, putting off Desmond's reluctant departure. The late hour soon demanded that he return home to Clayton House.

They stood at the front door, both of them sorry to part company, holding hands like schoolchildren. She felt like such a girl when she was with him. That had never changed. His attention had always made her self-conscious, less composed.

Just before he was to set out, Desmond drew her to him for one final kiss. She sensed his longing in the force of his arms as he held her. She yearned to give way to him.

"My darling..." he whispered into her ear, his lips gently caressing her lobe. Her appetite for him overwhelmed her. She pressed her hips against his. It was a signal that could not be misread.

Ever so slowly, Desmond lowered his lips to hers. "I have loved you for so long, Rebecca," he whispered. He lightly caressed her lips with his own and Rebecca held back a gasp in her throat.

His lips were moist and his breath smelled of peaches. How delicious it all was. Her lips parted. Her heart was pounding. When she felt the lightness of his tongue between her lips, her knees grew weak.

She draped her arms around his neck. She pressed her open mouth against his. They kissed with the passion of young lovers reunited after years of desertion.

Rebecca hungered for more.

She broke their embrace and grabbed his hand. There seemed a sense of heated urgency that left no place for words. She led him quickly and quietly to the closest refuge, the east library.

They sat down on the settee nearest to the entrance. Rebecca looked into his eyes. She could see his desire in the depth of his gaze. She placed her gloved hand on his thigh and raised her lips to his. He held her head in his hands.

"Kiss me, Desmond," she whispered. Her lips caressed his, tempting him, teasing him. She saw him smile. She smiled then too, and pressed her hot open mouth against his.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth, licking her tongue, her teeth, and the silken underside of her lips. She was astonished at their lust for each other.

Desmond's tongue reached into the back of her open mouth. It seemed impossible for him to curb himself. He pressed himself against her until she lay against the cushions of the settee.

His kiss was impassioned, lustful. His hand wandered over her throat and down to her chest. He reached into the crest of her bodice.

The fabric gave way easily. He grabbed at her breast. He felt the stiffness of her nipple and she gasped. He began kneading her breast firmly, with purpose. His other hand grabbed at her skirt and began to pull it up and up. His hand found the narrow gap between her legs and her petticoat. He grabbed at the flesh of her thigh, spreading her legs apart.

Desmond raised his head in a temporary reprieve from his gentle assault. His voice was deep and breathless as he whispered desperately, "My God, Rebecca, you must stop me."

Rebecca had no such intention. She wanted him to have her. She reached out with her right hand and grabbed the back of his neck, drawing him slowly back to her.

Desmond had never known such craving. His entire body ached for her and he laid his head against her breast, trying to still himself. He felt as if every point of his being was aflame and quivering. It wasn't human, this feeling. He was a god. She was his sacrifice.

He knew she would be his but not now, not here. He sat up and reached for her. He pulled her to a seated position and held her close.

"No more spells, my sweet Rebecca. You must let me leave you,” Desmond chided softly into her hair. His breathing was rapid and low.

Rebecca reached up and brushed a blond forelock from his eyes. She rose and then smoothed her frock. She drew her hair back in one neat motion. His gallantry only made her want him more but she knew he was right.

"Your wish is my command," she whispered, smiling.

They walked quietly towards the
entrance way. Desmond touched her cheek quickly and with a soft-spoken "Goodnight, darling," he was out the door. Another kiss from her and he would never leave.

Rebecca
envied his cold walk home. As she padded quietly up the stairs of Penhope Manor, she knew she would sleep little that night.

 

BOOK: Manor of Pleasure: An Erotic Historical Romance
13.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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