Whispers of Heaven (35 page)

She came up behind him, close enough that she could have touched him, although she did not. "Tomorrow, I want to go for a ride. Up to the rainforest."

He spun about, his eyes flaring dark and wide with comprehension. "Lass..."

She pressed the tips of her fingers against his soft, warm lips. "No. Don't say I shouldn't do this. Not this time."

He captured her hand in his, pressed a kiss to her palm. Over their joined hands, pale held fast by dark, his gaze met hers. "Some things are true, even if we don't say them."

Late the next morning, they followed the track that wound through the foothills and up into the rainforest-clad mountains, the midday sun warm and bright as it filtered through the overhanging canopy of myrtles, wattles, and stringybarks. Lucas tilted back his head, his gaze on the antics of a colorful honeyeater, his thoughts a lifetime away. He would never get used to the pattern of the days here, to the cycle of the year in Tasmania.

Across the seas, in Ireland, October was a time of golden leaves scuttling before a cold wind, of pewter skies hanging low over dark, bare-limbed trees and waterlogged fields. But here, in Tasmania, October was a time of vivid color and fresh life, of tulips and lilacs and bright green growth, of clear blue skies and balmy spring breezes. It disconcerted him, this reversal of the seasons, underscoring his exile, his alienation from all that was familiar in a way that was both subtle and profound.

He glanced at the woman who rode beside him, her back straight but relaxed, the fine black skirts of her expensive habit spread out around her, a faint flush high on her pale cheeks as she kept her gaze fixed on the path ahead. For Miss Jesmond Corbett, October meant spring. If she left here, he thought, if she went someplace like America, she would suffer there the same sense of dislocation he knew here. She would never feel quite at ease, never feel as if she entirely belonged. And then he wondered at himself for the thought, for she belonged to this place. She loved it; it was her home, and she would live out the rest of her days here. When he did finally manage to escape from Tasmania, he would be leaving her behind. The pain of it, the pain of his leaving her, was like a raw wound that bled every time he touched on it.

She had spoken little since they left the castle. She was also having a hard time looking directly at him. Yet he knew from the tilt of her head that she was still determined on this thing she had decided to do. He thought, for her sake, that he shouldn't be letting this happen. But the need in him, the wanting, was deep and powerful, an all-consuming drive that overrode common sense, self-preservation even. He might know, on some esoteric plateau, that they were making a potentially deadly mistake. But he didn't think he had the will to stop it.

In the weeks since they had visited the limestone caves, the stream had slowed, the boom of the low falls lessening to a melodic trickle. He watered the horses and tethered them where they could graze, while she walked through the forest of thick straight trunks and feathery ferns to a place where a windfall had let in the sun, and grass grew thick and deep. He watched her sit on the grass, her skirts spread around her, her gloved hands clasped together in her lap, her head bowed. He had always yearned to touch her there, where the delicate bones at the nape of her neck showed distinct and vulnerable against her smooth white skin. And so he allowed himself to do it now, a caress-soft brushing of his fingers as he came up beside her.

He heard her draw in a quick breath, then let it out slowly before she looked up at him, her eyes a dusky blue and solemn. She said, "I have decided that when Mr. Tate returns from Hobart, I shall tell him I cannot marry him."

He dropped to sit facing her, his legs crossed, his knees not quite touching hers. He didn't say anything, and made no further attempt to touch her.

She glanced down again at her hands, laced so tightly together in her lap. "I do love Harrison, but it is as a friend only. I see that now. I honestly thought that would be enough. Perhaps if I'd never met you, it would have been enough. But I doubt it. I think I would always have been aware that there was something missing. Its absence would have made me miserable, and in time I would have made him miserable, too."

"What will you do, then?"

She looked up quickly. The smile spilling across her face was so natural and spontaneous that it took his breath. "What I've secretly always wanted to do: conduct a geological survey of the entire island. Most unladylike, don't you think? The majority of my inheritance is in land that is tied to my marriage. But I do have a small legacy that will be mine when I come of age next year. Perhaps I'll apply to the governor for a land grant of my own. Some women have done it. Perhaps I could get you assigned to me."

"Lass..." Reaching out, he entwined his hand with one of hers. "I might not have escaped last night, but I will do it. I will be leaving, one day. It's only a matter of time. I'll not be spending the next fifty years of my life as a convict in a British penal colony."

He watched the light fade from her face, her throat working as she swallowed and looked away, toward the white froth of the falls. "No. I should have known that. It's just... so very hard. I feel as if I've been searching for you my entire life without even knowing it. Now that I've found you, the thought of losing you is ..." She wrapped her free hand around their entwined fingers, holding him tightly. "Beyond enduring."

"Yet you will have to endure it."

"I know. But not yet." She raised his hand, still clasped between both of hers, to her breasts, her gaze hard on his face. "I want you to make love to me, Lucas."

"Ah, muire ..."
His hand trembled in her grip, his voice dry, scratchy. "You don't know what you're asking."

She lifted her head in that haughty way she had, although her smile was pure mischief. He thought he liked this smile of hers the best, for it hinted at all the parts of herself she normally worked so hard to keep hidden. "On the contrary, I know precisely what I am asking. I have received an excellent scientific education, and Genevieve has never believed that young girls should be sheltered from the realities of life and love." The smile faded, her eyes becoming wide and serious as she searched his face. "You think that because I am a virgin it would be wrong of you to lie with me."

He tried to smile, but couldn't. His whole body was trembling now, with the need to touch her face, her body, to take her in his arms, to lay her down in this sweet, sun- warmed grass. "There are few who wouldn't see it that way."

Her nostrils flared with a quick intake of air. "Don't treat me as a child, as someone who doesn't know her own mind or isn't responsible for her own choices, simply because she's a woman."

He couldn't not touch her anymore. Reaching out, he brushed the back of his fingers against her soft cheek. "I have nothing but respect for you, lass. It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

He let his hand fall back to his lap. "You don't know me."

"I know you."

He shook his head. "You don't. There's too much I haven't told you."

"Don't you see? It doesn't matter. Not the whip scars on your back, or the man you killed, or any other dark terrible secret you can't bring yourself to tell me. None of it matters." She leaned forward, her features pinched in earnestness. "I love you, Lucas Gallagher." She put her splayed hand on his chest, just above where his heart beat. "The man in here."

He felt his throat tighten with an upswell of emotion he didn't want and couldn't afford. He'd known she desired him, but he'd never allowed himself to imagine that she actually cared for him, that what he saw shining in her eyes went beyond a deep wanting, to love. It humbled him, this knowledge of her love, and troubled him. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, his eyes squeezing shut as he pressed his open mouth against her palm. "If I could have met you four years ago, in Dublin, when I was still a man with a future ahead of me, and a heart to give..."

She eased her hand from his grasp to raise her arms and remove her hat, the movement lifting her breasts against the bodice of her riding habit in a way that made him ache. "What do you think?" she said, setting the hat aside. "That you would have been worthy of me then? That you're not worthy of me now?" She leaned forward to rest her hands on his knees, her beautiful eyes wide and earnest. "Don't you understand?
I love you.
You. The person you are now, today."

He made one last, half-hearted attempt to stave off what was about to happen. "There can never be anything between us. Nothing except danger and heartache; you know that."

"I know." She pulled off her gauntlet-style gloves and set them aside with her hat, like a lady come for tea. A shy smile curled her lips in a way that made him want to kiss them, to feel that smile. "Will you say my name?" she asked, her head tilting.

"Jessie," he said, and smiled at the delight that spread across her face. "Now will you make love to me?"
"Dia."
He reached for her, his hands coming up to bracket her face. "I don't know how I could not."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jessie held herself still, barely even able to breathe as, with exquisite gentleness, he tilted his head and brought his mouth to hers. She knew how badly he wanted her, knew the fire within him burned hot and bright. Yet he was doing his best to control it, deliberately making his kiss sweet and tender, because for all her talk of knowledge and understanding, she was still a virgin, with all of a virgin's uncertainty and fears. They had kissed and touched in the past, but she had only the vaguest idea of what lay beyond that, and he knew it.

His hps were so soft and warm, moving against hers. She let her tongue creep out to find his, her hands curling up around his neck to hold him close. He deepened the kiss, urging her mouth open beneath his, and the kiss slowly turned erotic, carnal, a hot wet symphony of tongues and teeth and soft, sensitive lips.

He tore his mouth from hers and lifted his head, his breath shuddering deep and fast in his chest. "Can 1 take off your clothes?" he asked, his gaze hard on her face.

"Yes." She gave him a deliberately saucy smile that wobbled a bit around the edges. "If I can take off yours."

Smiling with his eyes, he reached to flick open the top button of her bodice, then the next. "I get to go first," he said softly. He kept his gaze on her face as he worked his way down the line of gleaming brass. Then they both watched as he spread open the edges of her bodice to reveal the delicate white of the satin and lace and batiste she wore beneath, and the swell of her upper breasts, rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

"Ah, lass," he murmured, easing the stiff cloth off her shoulders, baring her arms to the warmth of the sun and the softness of his touch. "You're so beautiful."

She caught her breath as he ran his hands down her arms and up again, his thumbs sweeping beneath the fine batiste of her chemise to caress the flesh of her upper breasts. Her head fell back, her fingers spreading in his warm hair, her eyes half closing as a delicious languor spread over her. "You're only saying that because you want to get me out of my clothes. My mother warned me about men like you."

"Huh." He moved to the fastening of her skirt, jerked it loose. "I doubt your mother ever envisioned this." Hooking his fingers in the waistband of the heavy skirt, he pushed it down so that he could reach the riding trousers she wore beneath. "Besides, I don't need to flatter you to get under your skirts; 1 already have permission, remember?"

"That's what comes of inexperience." Her elbows on his shoulders for balance, she lifted her hips so that he could draw away skirt and trousers in one sweep. "I see now that I should have made you flatter me first, before I agreed to let you at my buttons."

"Buttons
and
ties
and
hooks," he said with a hoarse laugh. He rubbed his open mouth against her neck, kissed her ears, buried his face in her loosening mass of hair as he unhooked her corset, then went at the ties of her chemise. "All these layers. Most people think they're to give the English gentlewoman her rigid, properly molded silhouette. But the truth is, they're here to discourage a man's wandering fingers. And other body parts."

She gave a soft laugh that ended on a caught breath when he gently brushed her bared nipples with the backs of his hands, then quickly stripped away corset and chemise to leave her sitting bare-breasted before him. She felt shy and bold, frightened and excited all at once. She was a wonder to herself, this shy-bold Jessie, reaching for the woman she was meant to be.

"Lie down," he whispered and pressed her into the soft pile of her discarded clothing.

She lay on her back, naked from the waist up, one pantalet- clad leg bent at the knee, her hair coming loose to spill around her bare shoulders and breasts as she stared up at him. He loomed over her, a dark-haired man with heavy-lidded, brooding eyes and a taut, almost cruel look of desire sharpening his features.

Reaching up, she traced the jutting line of his cheekbone with one finger. "I like it when you look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked, easing off his coat so he could lay down on his side next to her, his rough canvas-clad leg settling in close beside her embroidery and lace.

"You look so fierce and frightening, and yet..."

"And yet?" Raising himself on one elbow, he laid his other arm possessively across her, a smooth, sun-darkened swath of hard male flesh and bone standing out in sensual contrast to her pale softness.

She turned into him, her hand coming to rest on his scarred forearm as she smiled up at him. "And yet, it makes me feel all warm and trembly inside."

He drew his hand in a feather-soft caress between her breasts, to her stomach. Her bare flesh quivered beneath his touch, her entire body shuddering beneath a wash of liquid fire. "Good. That's the way I want you—warm and trembling."

He reached for the ties of her drawers, then stilled when her hand closed convulsively over his fingers. He looked up at her, his dark, straight brows drawing together. "Do you want me to stop?"