Manor of Pleasure: An Erotic Historical Romance (10 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The surface of his desk was a muddle of books, documents and scribbles on tablets of paper. Frustrated, Desmond leaned back in his chair and tossed his quill on to his desk.

He had been struggling with his work for the past week. It didn't help that the air in his office was stale and static, and his ability to concentrate was all but completely dissipated.

Except, of course, when he thought of her. Right or wrong, he believed that she was at the root of his scattered mind.

Desmond rose from behind his desk and walked to the window. Every night, he sat beside Rebecca at dinner amid the food, the wine and the banter. Every night for the past two weeks, he could see but not touch; he could smell but not taste. Then, after hours under Lady Garway's imperious surveillance, he would trudge home to another sleepless night. The pendulum had swung from the sublime to the idiotic. It was maddening.

Lady Garway's intentions had been clear from the first evening since the lovers were caught. Somehow she had ensured that Rebecca would never be alone with him.

Abbott was practically omnipresent, and if it was not Abbott, it was one of the
menservants.

The evening before last, he thought that Rebecca might have slipped through the net. He had arrived early for dinner and stole a glimpse into the library. She was sitting near the window, looking more beautiful than ever.

He strode quickly to meet her, but Lady Garway materialized behind him as if conjured from the air. She ushered them to the drawing room, herding them like a couple of stray sheep.

He wondered if Rebecca suffered through it as he did. It was hard to tell. Rebecca's defining characteristic was her cool sophistication.

In the company of others, she was unlikely to let down her guard, and if she had weakened, he had not seen it.

He alone knew how hot-blooded she could be. In fact, her intensity transported him. Something in the way she moved, in the sounds that she made, steeped his blood in desire for her.

Standing in his office, he lost himself dwelling on it. He became aroused beyond all reasonable measure, considering there was little he could do to gratify himself.

Enough. Desmond grabbed his coat and hat. He walked out of his office, single-minded of purpose.

When he arrived at the house, he did not announce his entry. He opened the heavy wooden doors that led into the hall. His heart was in his throat. It was too much to hope that she would be here alone and without a chaperone.

Abbott arrived. "Mr. Baines, forgive me. I did not hear the bell," he said to him.

Desmond smiled at him transiently. "I hadn't rung the bell, Abbott," Desmond told him. "I was hoping that I could call on Lady Rebecca. Is she in?"

"I'm sorry, but no, she is not, sir," Abbott replied with regret. "She is out riding. But Lord Garway is in the library, if you care to wait for her."

Desmond paused to assess his next play. "Thank you, but no. Please let Lady Rebecca know that I was here," he replied. "I will see her at dinner, Abbott. Good day."

"Of course. Good day, sir."

Desmond exited the front door and immediately made his way around the house to the stables. His gait was steady and purposeful. The yard was empty but for a young stable hand.

Relieved of any need to explain his motives, he looked for the mare that he
favored as he entered the stables. His heart raced. It made no sense, but he felt certain that Rebecca was waiting for him. He meant to find her.

After gearing his horse, he mounted and headed onto the same path that he and Rebecca had followed at least twice before. The cool breeze was a welcome change to the stagnant air of his office. He felt alive, invigorated.

The horse seemed to catch onto his enthusiasm and she responded with liveliness to his signals. They galloped through the long grasses of the meadow and slowed as they entered the thicker brush.

When Desmond finally came upon the cottage, he looked about, hoping to see some sign of her. Finding none, he hesitated.

His mare snorted impatiently as he brought her to a solid halt. He needed some respite from his ride.

He dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby tree. He looked at the cottage and made his way down the path to the entrance. He tried the door. It opened more easily than it had in the past. He pushed on it and stepped across the threshold, ducking his head under the shallow doorway.

There she was. "Desmond," she uttered. She stood up from her seat at the small oak table across from the mattress.

"Rebecca," he answered softly. All of his muscles weakened in concert. He walked to her quickly and they embraced. He pressed her against him, his hands on her hips. "What are you doing here?" he whispered in her ear.

She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "I came here to find you. I imagined that I might meet you here sooner or later." Smiling, she reached up and took off his hat. "And, you see, I was right." She placed his hat on the table behind her. She ran her fingers through his hair as she stared into his eyes.

Desmond would not relinquish his hold on her. "Why did you not tell me?" he asked her. His eyes took in her hair, her lips and the length of her neck.

"When would I have the chance, Desmond?" She smiled at him. "You know as well as I do that Mother has been reigning over us like the Queen of England." She brought her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. He lowered his face to hers, grazing her lips with his.

"She's not here now," Desmond reminded her softly.

"No," Rebecca whispered, breathing him in. "She's not."

She went to kiss him but he pulled away slightly, keeping his lips just out of her reach.

He smiled. "You mustn't, Rebecca," he warned her gently. "Do you know where it will lead?" He brought his hand to her lips and traced them with his fingers.

Rebecca swallowed. "Where, Desmond?" she murmured.

He brought his lips close to hers again and whispered, "Shall I show you?"

He came closer and licked her lips slowly. Her taste was distinct: fruity and minty, like a candy.

He wanted to freeze time. He picked her up by her waist and placed her on the table. Standing between her knees, he kissed her fully on the lips, plunging his tongue into her mouth.

His hands pulled up on her skirt until the edge of it lay across her thighs and he felt Rebecca catch her breath.

His fingertips crept beneath the fabric to her skirts. When he came upon the flesh of her upper thighs, he sighed long and low.

"Rebecca, I have waited so long for you. These days and nights have been torturous," he said softly. "Do you know that?"

"Yes, Desmond," she whispered. "Absolutely torturous." She breathed in quickly as his hands slipped underneath her petticoat. "I have longed for your touch so much, Desmond."

She bent her head down and raised her skirt to her waist.

Desmond watched as she undid the ribbons of each slipper in turn with the silk material gliding through her delicate, soft fingers. He leaned over and took off each of her slippers.

She watched Desmond run his hands up and down the front of her bare legs and thighs. They kissed again, their tongues hungry for each other.

Desmond caressed her legs one last time before he grabbed the stray chair and pulled it towards him. He sat down facing her, her legs on either side of him. Rebecca stared down at him; her eyes were bottomless black pools.

He slid his hands upwards along the silkiness of her inner thighs. Fingers sliding beneath her petticoat again, he sought her heat. Despite his hunger for her, he was determined to take his time. He looked to Rebecca.

"Yes, Desmond," she whispered.

She leaned back. He began to finger her gently with his right hand. Rebecca whimpered softly, very softly. He probed her until he found what he was looking for. He looked into her eyes again. They were wide and wanting him.

"Don't stop," she whispered desperately. With his left hand, he rubbed her mound gently. The fingers of his right hand were wet and hot within her. Time had stopped, and he was caught up in her course to rapture.

Rebecca was breathing rapidly. My God, this is delicious, she thought. If he continued to handle her like this, she would not be able to hold back. She bit on her bottom lip with the effort of her restraint.

She moaned, "Oh no, Desmond, not yet."

He kept at her. "Oh, please..." she cried out.

Desmond felt the shudders of her climax with his fingers. He pulled back her petticoat with his left hand and bent forward for a taste.

Rebecca wrapped her legs around his neck. She pressed herself against his open mouth. She quivered again suddenly in a second round of bliss.

She gasped. "Oh, my," she breathed.

Desmond kissed the inside of her thighs and gently extricated himself from her tender trap. He rose and pulled her to him. He held her gently as she recovered her senses. She rested her head against his chest, breathing heavily.

"Desmond, how do you know how to please me so well?" she asked him softly.

She raised her head to look at him and he lowered his lips to hers. She opened her mouth for him. He wanted to drink her in; his tongue licked the edges of her lips, her teeth, and her tongue.

With his hand at the back of her head, he pressed her mouth even more firmly against his. Her lips were trembling. Rebecca was amazed at the depth of her craving for him.

Minutes after her last release, she wanted him yet again. But this time, she wanted his quintessence, the core of him. They had not yet broken their embrace when Rebecca lowered her hands to his waist. She felt for the buttons of his jacket and began to undo it.

It was Desmond that broke away first. His haste betrayed his waning ability to hold himself in check. He completed the undoing and threw his jacket on the floor. Picked Rebecca up in his arms, so her skirted legs were locked around his waist. He then dropped her softly on to the mattress below.

Rebecca's fingers began to work on the buttons at the front of his pants as Desmond watched.

She released his suspenders, reached into his briefs, and grabbed him forcefully. The two of them gasped in quick succession.

"Rebecca, you are so perfect. Do you know how perfect you are?" he murmured.

"Take me, Desmond," she urged him breathlessly. She leaned back on her arms and moved her hips forward, her mouth open.

Desmond guided himself to her and penetrated her gently. He slipped inside her so easily, as if he was the missing piece, like he belonged there. The heat and the creaminess of her drove him mad.

Impossibly, he found his footing and began to slide himself back and forth ever so slowly. He watched himself enter her and draw back. He would not last long.

He closed his eyes. He wanted to hold onto it and endure, to marinate in her sublimely wet and hot canal. He swallowed and took in the sight again. He thrust himself into her.

Rebecca exclaimed softly, "Yes, Desmond, oh, yes..." With slow deliberation, he drew back and thrust again. "Oh...Desmond," she whispered blissfully.

Her head was back, her skirt raised wantonly about her waist. He was holding onto her thighs when he arrived at the point of no return.

"Oh, Rebecca...you are so beautiful," he gasped. His hips moved faster. "I can't stop it," he whispered to her passionately. It was his turn.

He let out a soft low groan as he went off inside of her, his hands in a firm grip around each of her thighs.

"My God, Rebecca," he breathed as his rapture subsided in waves.

He stayed inside of her. He was panting. He pulled her towards him and she draped her arms about his neck. They held onto each other tightly.

Only seconds had slipped by when Rebecca spoke, "I can't go back there, Desmond." She drew back from him and looked into his eyes. "We belong together.”

He touched his forehead to hers. He pulled out of her.

Desmond agreed. 'Things cannot go on as they have," he said definitively. He bent down, grabbed his pant waist and started to dress himself.

Rebecca gestured to him, "My boots, Desmond, please."

He picked them up from the floor and handed them to her. He watched her as she replaced them, sheathing each slender long limb in turn. Her head was bent down as she fastened them.

At once, he wanted to unfasten them and start again. He leaned over to her and kissed her, fully and fervidly. She kissed him back with equal vigor.

Their plans could wait.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The mattress was small but serviceable. Atop it, their bodies were melded in a slow, impassioned rhythm and their eyes were locked onto each other's gaze.

Leaning on his left side, Desmond measured the movement of his hips as he immersed himself in her again and again with indulgent deliberation.

This blissful oneness was almost too perfect. They were no longer conscious of time or their surroundings. It was a suspended state of rapture that neither of them had ever experienced or even knew existed.

"Now, Desmond," she said in a whisper so soft, she could barely be heard. Desmond shifted his weight until he was directly above her and he deepened his advances.

Rebecca opened her mouth, her eyes fixed on his face. Vibrant waves of pleasure washed over her with increasing intensity.

Desmond's eyes were pleading with her. "Come with me," he said, his voice low, "I'll wait for you." Rebecca closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She felt his lips against her throat. He knew her so well. She felt herself cresting; in the next instant, she was awash in a heaving hot and sensuous sea. Her body quaked and her mouth was open in a silent expression of complete ravishment.

Desmond was overwhelmed by his desire. He plunged forward, reaching into her. His release was fierce and long and his entire body shook with it.

Rebecca's hands grasped at the sheet on either side of her. She gasped as she came a second time.

Desmond covered her open mouth with his. He savored the last bits of his subsiding climax with the taste of her in his mouth.

They sustained this last kiss, both of them unwilling to end their intense union. Desmond pulled back slowly. His breathing was still apace as he lowered himself beside her.

"How are you, my darling?" he whispered to her. He gathered her in his arms, placing her head on his chest.

Rebecca smiled and said softly, "That was lovely."

"You're lovely," he replied, stroking her hair. A minute passed. He raised his head, saying, "We should dress. It seems certain now we'll be late for dinner."

Rebecca smiled at him lazily, her eyes half-closed. "I'm not hungry," she replied.

"Come now," he said softly. "You must have worked up something of an appetite." He sensed her reluctance to return to the house.

"If I do have an appetite, I am sure to lose it once I'm confronted by Mother," she said with regret. "Really, Desmond, it's completely absurd. She treats us like a couple of unruly children."

With a sigh of resignation, she raised herself from the bed and began to gather her clothes.

Desmond watched Rebecca as she dressed. He could not disagree with her assessment. He thought back to his stagnation at the office, and to the prolonged misery of days and nights without her. He would not revisit that place. The death of his father showed him what really mattered in life; convention and propriety were not among them.

He stood up and began to dress. "Rebecca," he said, "come home with me." She turned to him, her eyes as wide as the meadows they had crossed. "Come and dine with me at Clayton House tonight. I'll send a message up to the house. Please, Rebecca." He pulled her gently to him. "Just you and I."

Rebecca was uncertain but not unwilling. "You cannot be serious, Desmond. Mother would already have us drawn and quartered because we spent the afternoon together."

"But you're right, Rebecca. Your mother goes too far. We must draw our line in the sand." He buttoned his shirt. "Besides," he added, "I have no inclination to leave you just yet." Desmond looked at her with hopeful eyes. "Please don't make me," he said. All of her caution melted away in the depth of his gaze.

Rebecca stayed silent while they continued to dress. Finally, she spoke, "What is for dinner then?" she asked him, smiling. She gathered her hair in a knot. Desmond buttoned his pants. He looked up at her.

"You are," he answered as he grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her close to him and kissed her. Rebecca smiled broadly at him, as she draped her arms about his neck.

"But what am I having?" she whispered in his ear.

"Whatever you desire," he replied softly. He nibbled lightly on her ear. Rebecca laughed. "Desmond, you are so impetuous," she chided him lightly. "We are both going to starve."

"On the contrary," Desmond countered. "You will feast like a queen tonight, Rebecca. I promise you."

The mood had lifted and they hurried to finish dressing. They left the cottage in much the same way they had found it. No one looking upon that barren room would have guessed at its secrets.

When they arrived at Clayton House, the sun was almost settled. They tied their horses at the gate. Jackson greeted them both by name at the front door. He appeared slightly flustered, but gracious all the same, not normally having the privilege of Lady Rebecca's attendance.

"Lady Evelyn Garway waited for you, sir. She left not fifteen minutes ago." Jackson relieved them of their coats and hats.

"I hope she wasn't put out. Did she wait for long?" asked Desmond.

"Not at all, sir," the manservant replied. "She was in fine humor when she left, sir."

"Good," Desmond said. "Jackson, would you be good enough to fetch Hannah? Lady Rebecca and I will be dining here tonight and I believe Lady Rebecca will want to freshen up, won't you, darling?"

"Dining here, sir?" Jackson was startled.

"Yes, Jackson, I've assured Lady Rebecca that Clayton House has as fine a table as any in the village. Is Mrs. Pike still here?"

"Yes, of course, sir," Jackson replied. "I will let her know at once."

He turned to hasten to his tasks. It had been awhile since they had had a guest for dinner and never one as splendid as Lady Rebecca. He supposed he would have to get used to it.

"Oh, Jackson, I almost forgot." Jackson stopped and turned. "We will have to send word to the manor," Desmond added.

"Yes, straightaway, sir." Jackson was off again.

Rebecca felt liberated. Being here alone with Desmond exhilarated her. It was a vision of things to come, what their life might be like. Desmond reached out to her and she took his hand. He pulled her close.

"You smell like fresh air and moonlight," he whispered. "I think I was foolish to bring you here after all. It's rather counter-productive."

Desmond didn't feel like eating at all. He wanted to gather her in his arms and carry her to his room. Rebecca kissed him slowly on the lips.

"I do have to freshen up, darling," she told him.

Just then, Hannah arrived, slightly short of breath. "Ma'am," she said demurely, not daring to look up. She curtsied briefly.

"Hannah, please show Lady Rebecca up to the guest room and bring her whatever she needs," Desmond directed. "I'll wait for you in the dining room, Rebecca."

He watched the two women ascend the stairs. He then descended into the servants' passage to the kitchen to meet with Mrs. Pike. She was tending to the fires and already had pots steaming on the stove.

"Mrs. Pike, you are a miracle worker," said Desmond as he surveyed her preparations.

"I'm happy to do it, sir. I had a chicken roasting for tomorrow. It'll do for tonight, I imagine. There will be a dinner service in twenty minutes, sir." The older woman was so preoccupied; she might have looked up to him for one second during her entire address.

Desmond smiled. "I could kiss you, Mrs. Pike. I gave Lady Rebecca very high expectations for dinner, I'm afraid."

"I won't disappoint, sir," she stated flatly. "You can save the kiss for your sweetheart." Desmond grinned at her.

Desmond hurried down the passage and up to his room where he hoped Jackson was waiting for him. "Quickly, Jackson, I don't want to keep her waiting." His fingers ran down the front of his jacket, undoing buttons.

"No, sir," Jackson replied, as he brought out a well-pressed jacket from the armoire. Within ten minutes, Desmond was dressed and groomed for dinner. He took one last look in the mirror before heading down the stairs. "Will you bring out the best wine that we have, Jackson? The very best."

"Very good, sir."

"You're a good man, Jackson. Thank you for all your help this evening. It would have been quite impossible without you." Desmond smiled at him and left the room in haste.

When he arrived in the dining room, he was relieved; she had not yet come down. The table was set.

"Desmond, that's not fair."

He turned around to see her standing in the doorway. Her hair was down and gathered to one side, secured with a ribbon.

"I don't have a change of clothes," she said regretfully with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

She felt awkward without her usual dinner attire and he, standing there so handsome in his black tie and dinner jacket. She looked down at her skirt, and then looked at him, smiling.

He wondered whether he would ever become accustomed to her natural elegance and beauty. For now, he was rendered speechless.

He went to her, framed her face with his hands and raised her lips to his. Rebecca closed her eyes. His lips were soft and moist. He lowered his hands slowly, his fingers caressing the length of her throat.

Reluctantly, Desmond lifted his head, ending their embrace. "You are perfect just as you are," he said to her.

He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Jackson arrived to fill their wine glasses.

They sat in close proximity to one another at one corner of the table. Desmond had not given any direction to the manservant that way. Either Jackson had the sensibility of a romantic or had simply chosen the most expedient setting in the circumstances. In either case, Desmond was content. The manservant left the room briefly.

The candlelight made diamonds out of Rebecca's green eyes. Desmond slipped his hand over hers.

"This was a brilliant idea," he said. "Why have we not done this before?"

Jackson returned with the soup tureen and Desmond drew his hand back. After the servant had spooned out each serving, Desmond excused him.

"Thank you, Jackson, we'll ring for you."

"Very good, sir," Jackson replied before taking his leave.

Rebecca leaned over to Desmond. "You know we may never hear the last of this," she cautioned him. "They're probably still smelling their salts."

"It will no doubt make for some lively dinner conversation this evening," Desmond surmised. "The Countess and my mother will be sure to have an opinion."

Rebecca smiled as she thought of her grandmother's pragmatic wit and sharp tongue. "What would your mother say, Desmond?" Rebecca's interest was piqued. She dipped into her soup.

"My mother was born and raised in the city, Rebecca," answered Desmond. "Her views are not as provincial as one might expect. She may not like what we've done but she would respect my choices."

"All of your choices?" Rebecca asked coyly.

Desmond sipped on his wine. "I rather think so," he replied. "What are you getting at?"

"She can't have been too pleased with me after I slighted your first proposal," Rebecca said ruefully. "I'd be surprised if she'd forgiven me when I can hardly forgive myself." She paused and added, "When I reflect on that time, I wish so very much that I had had better counsel, or..." Her voice dropped off.

Desmond looked at her intently. "Or what?" he asked her.

"Or had simply been a better person," she concluded uneasily. She looked at him and smiled meagerly She placed her spoon in the bowl in front of her.

Desmond was moved. "Rebecca, you must not blame yourself for our falling out." He reached for her hand and held it gently. "I should have had more sympathy for your position. A woman's fate is entirely determined by the man she chooses to marry. After that, she wins or loses by his choices alone." He withdrew his hand. "Any one in your place would have acted with equal ambivalence."

Rebecca smiled at him regretfully. "You're very generous, Desmond. You're forgetting that I loved you. I look back on my actions now and cannot believe how shallow my thinking was then."

Desmond arched his eyebrows. "What about me?" he asked her. "I acted like a petulant child. I was angry with the fickleness of the entail so I broke your heart and mine along with it," he told her candidly. "What is worse is that I knew that you loved me. And I loved you. So who is to blame?" He looked at her pointedly, then rose from his chair and rang for Jackson. This discussion discomfited him, bringing him back to a time of insufferable loss and heartache. Jackson arrived to clear the table and left.

"I've upset you," Rebecca said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"No, you haven't, Rebecca," he assured her. "I upset myself." He returned to his seat.

Rebecca reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. He placed his hand on hers and caressed her fingers. Hearing Jackson's approach, they drew back from each other.

As the manservant served the various dishes in series, Desmond was amazed at the feast that Mrs. Pike had prepared on such short notice. Jackson finished his service by replenishing their glasses.

"Thank you, Jackson." The manservant retired at once, sensing that his presence was neither needed nor desired.