The Prince of Eden (42 page)

She laughed and reached a hand up and tenderly pushed back a strand of his hair. "Dearest Edward," she murmured, "I may be many things, but I am not an apparition."

The face, the eyes, the smile, the manner, all were irresistible and again he drew her forward into his arms and clasped her to him with such force that momentarily she lost her balance. In the process of supporting her, his hand brushed across her breast.

For a moment, she looked at him with brief timidity. Then as though making a conscious effort of will, she lifted his hand, kissed it lightly, and placed it over her breast and held it there.

The exploration was brief but powerful. As she stepped away, he saw her face turn deeper crimson and knew that his suspicions were true, that she'd never known a man. "We've only this one day," she announced, that peculiar rigidity in her voice as though she was still clinging to her concept of a perfect now.

As his arm encircled her waist and they again proceeded into the strong westerly winds of the headland, he felt a menacing dip in his spirits. Surely she'd abandoned such nonsense by now. The thought of separating from her was intolerable. In their few days together he'd found in her sheltering beauty a strength he'd never dreamed possible. The past and all its potent nightmares had simply receded, sorrows certainly never forgotten, but now made bearable in her unique and precious love.

He had laid a few plans, had instructed old John Murrey to have his carriage ready at nightfall. It was his intention that they slip away while the others were at dinner, flee north to Scotland. They would be

married in Edinburgh and would remain there until the scandal had subsided, the bruised feelings had been assuaged. Then after a period of time, they would return and be forgiven, of that he was certain. How could anyone, even James, hold him responsible for such happiness? And to further ease whatever ill-feelings still were at large, he would equitably divide the estates, half in James's name, half in his. And Eden would once again live up to her name. Unified with his brother, with Harriet at his side, he would at last face the future as whole, as healed as he'd ever been in his life.

For a moment, such illusions of happiness almost overwhelmed him. "Not far," he whispered in her ear, guiding her down the narrow path which led to a forest glade and then to the hidden glen cut square and obscured by thick foliage, the same impenetrable spot where he and Daniel had played Robin Hood as boys. The childhood spot had satisfied abundantly all his childhood fantasies. Now, he thought, it would satisfy him as an adult as well, though there were no fantasies this time. His dream was moving beside him, a thing of substance.

He scooped up an armful of trailing vines to permit her easy passage. "It was the only place where Daniel and I were totally safe from the Cranfords."

"Daniel Spade," she said, as though confirming in her mind the identity of the man about whom Edward had spoken so often and so lovingly. "How fortunate you are to have so constant,a friend."

There it was again, that painful longing in her voice, as though a good and trusted friend was a wealth beyond her wildest imaginings. He thought that perhaps here was the basis of his love for her. How had she survived on the Shropshire estate? Had there been no one to soothe her, to dream with her? Had she literally passed all her days in splendid and annihilating isolation?

Then he took the lead for the last assault, angled his body into the thick vines, and there it was, as isolated and as emerald green as he remembered it, a natural chamber, its walls formed on four sides by a thick hedge of willow and elder and low-growing wild rose bushes, its floor a solid carpet of mossy green.

Without a word, he motioned her through, then let the weight of the vines fall back into place, a unique chamber door. The passing years had enhanced the magical place, had made it doubly secure.

He noticed her now stepping around the edge of the glen, her head turning at all angles as though she were assessing chambers at a public inn. From the far side, she lifted her hair as though to cool her neck and asked, "No one comes here?"

He smiled. "No one but birds and a squirrel now and then and perhaps a rabbit."

"No hunters?"

"Nothing to hunt. The larger game is in the opposite direction, toward the moors."

She seemed to be Hstening carefully, one hand still suspended at the back of her neck, supporting her hair. Then all at once she let it drop and simultaneously lifted her face heavenward as though the weight of hair had dragged her head backward. He saw her eyes close, saw a look of peace on her face, as though she'd doubted the existence of such a place.

Watching her, Edward wondered bleakly if he'd ever find the courage or the will to move. His eyes continued to feed on her. He realized now what it was that was so entrancing. In the past, he'd always seen her groomed, hair up and pulled smoothly back, corseted and bejeweled, a "picture" for appreciation, but never touching. Now in the soft abandon of that plain gown, the loosened hair, all aspects of that same picture seemed to invite touching.

As though summoning himself out of a trance, he pulled off his jacket and placed it on the ground near the trunk of a tree. She saw the considerate gesture and seemed touched by it, though she laughed softly, "Edward, this dress needs no protection."

"I was thinking of comfort."

"And I need no comfort," she replied, her eyes meeting his. "I suffer from a lifetime of comfort and foresee no discernible change in the future." She held her ground about six feet from where he stood, her eyes pleading. "No comfort, Edward, please."

In addition to the pleading, he saw something else, a determination which seemed to flag now and then, and new pleading as though she were begging him not to let her lose her nerve.

Now both stood and stared wordlessly at the spread coat. He found her mixture of tentativeness and determination moving and decided to let her take the lead, move at whatever pace she wished. He would follow, at least for the time being.

Then softly, she asked a strange, unsettling question. Never lifting her eyes, she asked, "Will you forgive me?"

He looked at her, certain he'd not heard correctly. "Will I—"

Although he tried to speak again, she interrupted him with just a step in his direction. "How skillful are you at pretending?" she inquired.

He smiled. "Very skillful. I've done it all my life."

This seemed to please her. "Then all I have to do is simply tell you that you are no longer Edward Eden?" she asked, the earnest entreaty still on her face.

"Agreed," he laughed. "Only too willingly. But who am I to be?"

"Be anyone you like/' she said, her mood brightening, as though she were a child, plotting a game.

"I shall be a gypsy," she announced. "A band camps occasionally in the far corner of Hadley Park. As a child, I used to see their wagons and the smoke from their fires. I always wanted to go and see them, but I was—forbidden."

The manner in which she said this led Edward to confirm the suspicions in his heart. He wondered sadly how often that harsh word, "forbidden," had been applied to her instincts. He was silent for a moment, then he said quietly, "Don't be afraid."

Slowly she looked up at him. "I won't be afraid, she whispered, "if I can be someone else."

In that instant the charade became clear to him. He knew what he must do, the role he would have to play. And he resented neither. Assuming his new role, his tone grew suddenly harsh. "And who do you fancy yourself, gypsy?" he demanded, stepping toward her, encircling her. "A lady? Is that what you think you are, a fine lady? If so, then you give yourself airs."

Behind her, he waited to be absolutely certain that he had not misread her. With her back to him, he was unable to see her face.

Then slowly she turned, "I am not a lady," she whispered fiercely. "I am a whore, a gypsy whore," and suddenly she reached out for his arm.

He was amazed at the strength in her hand as she led him to the center of the glen, arranged him in a manner which apparently suited her. Then she stepped back and commanded full-voice, "Take off your shirt."

He looked at her, saw the sudden hardness in her face, then obliged. As his fingers moved down the buttons, he never once lifted his eyes from her changed face, the flush increasing as he shrugged the garment off' his shoulders.

She seemed to be studying him then, her hands, he noticed, kneading the fabric of her skirt. Slowly she encircled him once, then twice, her fingers reaching out for his flesh, brushing lightly across the hair on his chest, then lower across his belly. "How many whores have you known?" she asked casually, disappearing from his view as again she passed behind him.

The game was on. "Hundreds," he lied, without hesitation.

"Did you undress before them?"

"Always."

"Did it-please them?"

"It must have."

Silence. He continued to stand, wondering how long the charade would last, fearful that her new and totally foreign role would slip from her grasp and leave her even more vulnerable than ever. He felt her fingertips lightly tracing the path of his spine and felt the hair on his arms stiffen, a knot form in his groin. Again he sternly counseled himself patience. It was her game, her rules.

Then softly behind him, he heard her voice again, the breathlessness increasing. "Take off—your trousers."

A brief smile crossed his face and within the moment, he leaned forward to do as he had been ordered, the boots first, each removed with a tug, then hurled a distance away, then the belt of his breeches, then two rows of buttons, easing the tightness down over his calves, wishing he could look upon her, but holding his position.

He hurled the breeches after his boots and shirt, then stood erect, thinking with humor of Eden Castle, a scant mile away, the stifling propriety, those good people not even aware of the "gypsies" in their glen.

Well, then, here he stood as God had made him. Would she be content forever with his spine and the backs of his legs? When after several long moments, she seemed disinclined to either speech or action, he called with mock gruffness over his shoulder, "Well, whore, what do you want of me now?"

Still it seemed as though all life, all movement within the glen had come to a standstill. He was tempted to glance over his shoulder in an attempt to see her face, but decided against it. "Are you there?" he asked. "Have I disappointed you? It's as God made me. If you have complaints, take them to Him. He's—"

Then as though to hush him, he felt her close behind him, felt her arms go about his waist, a backward embrace, only her hands visible and locked before him, clearly trembling.

"You do not disappoint me," she whispered. "I see no need for haste—'*

Again he was tempted to take the lead, to draw her boldly before him, let her see the visible proof of his need and desire which at that moment threatened to bring him to his knees.

"Oh God, gypsy, how you torture me," he murmured. "Does it bring you delight to do so?"

At the moment when he felt he could not endure a moment longer, he was forced to endure a double agony, not only the sweet sensation of her pressed against his back, but now he noticed those trembling hands begin to move downward in a slow descent over his lower abdomen.

The earth on which he was standing seemed to sway dangerously. Her fingers explored his body as though they had eyes, up, then back again, stopping now and then as though to assess the texture, a sensation as overwhelming as any Edward had ever experienced. She was using her hands like a trained mistress, encompassing him, lifting him, apparently content with limited sensate pleasure for her eyes had yet to see, her face still buried in the small of his back.

Under the duress of the moment, Edward broke out of the charade. "Sweet God, take pity," he whispered.

Then abruptly she released him and stood back a distance and issued the invitation that he longed to hear. "Turn, sir, and look upon me as God created me."

He had never experienced such a turbulence of emotion, had never set about the act with such deliberation. Before turning he felt childlike, felt that this was as Adam and Eve must have discovered each other, with deliberateness and innocence.

He turned. She received his eyes, then slowly her hands started the long, tortuous path down the front of her gown, buttons released, one after another, an endless row which in his anticipation seemed to grow longer. Before she reached the end, the top part of her gown fell loose from her shoulders, revealing her breasts, lovelier in reality than he had imagined.

It was while he was still concentrating on her breasts that the gown fell away into a soft brown circle about her feet. As she stooped to lift it, she removed her slippers, and as though mimicking him, tossed all to one side, a small heap now of abandoned garments, hers blending with his.

"Do I resemble your whores, sir?" she asked.

"Not in the least," he replied, unable to take his eyes off her, a lovely Grecian statue come miraculously to life, alabaster shoulders sloping from graceful neck to graceful arms, those breasts as perfectly molded as though sculptors had just formed them, tapered waist, the slight ridge of ribs visible on either side, the full hips curving in semicircles around the belly, that darker mound, then long shapely legs, one turned in as though innately aware of this new vulnerability.

Now it was her turn to endure his close scrutiny, and glancing back at her face, he observed that she was enduring admirably, the faint flush of embarrassment gone from her cheeks, though her eyes were still down, demurely fastened on her bare feet. With a soft laugh, she informed him, "I may not resemble your whores, sir, but I assure you I feel like them."

The terrible feelings of desire had returned. For a moment they'd grown subdued in the excess of beauty before him. But now, having looked and catalogued all aspects of her, he found his attention focused on that part which remained hidden. He doubted seriously his ability to merely stand and look much longer.

"May I take the lead?" he inquired softly. "Will you trust me?"