A Fresh Perspective, A Regency Romance (16 page)

“Well?” she said when the moment seemed to have stretched interminably long with nothing to relieve the silence but the creak of the mill wheel and the pelting of rain against the roof.

“What do I see?” He seemed willing to look at any part of her now as long as it did not involve looking her directly in the eyes. “I see my friend, Megan Breech, with hair the color of freshly ground nutmeg and skin the color of cream.

So unexpected was his poetic approach she burst out laughing. “Am I eggnog?”

He frowned and turned away. “Do you wish to hear me out, or not?”

“I do. Silly of me to laugh. Please forgive me. I shall refrain from any more judgmental noises or commentary.”

Uneasily he faced her again and cleared his throat. “I see a female with pleasing looks, symmetrically arranged. The landscape of her, uh. . .your body, changed. More hills and valleys.”

She snorted a laugh.

He stopped and threw up his hands. “I am no good at this.”

She stifled all amusement. He was trying so very hard. “Go on. You are doing fine.”

He took a deep, determined breath and faced her again, gaze firmly engaging hers. “The little girl I grew up beside has disappeared almost entirely.” He sounded as if it saddened him. “I see her peeping through on occasion, but for the most part, in the place of that child stands a young woman whose mind, motives and movements I can no longer predict--as much as I would like to. The young woman I see is beautiful, creative and intelligent. I adore her sense of fun, her keen perceptiveness. While she is well-mannered and ladylike, her finesse is tempered by an unaffected naturalness that is sure to win her many friends in London. I see an openness of mind, spirit and heart that I would myself lay claim to if it were in my nature. I see you, Megan, and every time I do, of late, I find myself awed by Nature’s hand.”

Enchanted into an almost breathless state while he spoke, she inhaled sharply the clean, pungent smell of wet wood. She would have said something had their magical moment of rain-draped solitude not been cut short by the appearance of three lads, hair silted with sawdust. They came pelting into the coppice barn to fetch wood, stopping short when they realized there were strangers in the barn.

The tallest of the four called out, “Who are you, then?”

“Time for our tour.” Reed said softly as he stepped forward to address the lads.

Megan stood dumbstruck, ears deaf to all but the memory of his words. She did not regain the use of either ears or tongue, until Reed indicated that they were to follow the lads into the mill.

“Reed,” she said softly, and when he turned to her, eyebrows raised inquisitively, she said softly, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“What you said was beautiful.”

He nodded, smiled and said lightly, “Come on then. We’ve the workings of a mill to examine.”

The rain had stopped by the time they emerged from the sawdust infested, noise driven world of Horrax’s bobbin mill. The tour had been fascinating, and deafening. The still, rain-pearled beauty of birch trees, ferns, and wild cress as they headed back along the dripping, moss-scented pathway was almost overwhelming by comparison. The absence of noise other than the twittering of a willow warbler seemed huge to Megan. She had to fill it.

“You willingly kissed Miss Frost the other night, didn’t you?”

Her question took him by surprise.

“I have turned the thing over and over in my mind. To my way of thinking, that is the only way she could have gotten hold of your tongue the way she did.”

He cleared his throat. “You are the inquisitive one today.”

“I am right, am I not?”

“Well,” he broke off a reddish stalk of Ragged Robin and plucked the individual flower heads one by one, so that a trail of tiny blossoms drifted in their wake. “It started out as willing. She fairly threw herself at me, you see, and no graceful way to avoid her advances. She has been throwing herself in my way quite a bit of late. I thought it would be a bit of rudeness to turn her off yet again.

“Rudeness. Hmm. Have you kissed many girls, Reed?”

“That would be telling.”

“More than one?”

“Why do you ask? You should not ask me such things!”

“If not you, Reed, who am I to ask?”

“You should not ask at all. Why the sudden interest in kissing? Has Giovanni dared to kiss you, pet? Has Burnham?”

“No, but I have been talking to Gussie about my coming out and about marriage and the duties of being a wife. She mentioned kissing among other things. She said there will be those among my suitors who will try to steal them off me.”

“I hope she told you, too, that you must discourage such liberties.”

As they were approaching Stock Ghyll Force Megan was compelled to raise her voice. “She did, but then she admitted that kissing the right fellow is quite pleasant. She said I must be sure that my first kiss was carefully allotted. She said it could be most unpleasant if one was not discriminating. Her own first experience was quite dreadful.”

“Dear, dear. I am surprised she tells you so much.” Reed shouted at the top of his lungs.

“But of course she tells me everything of importance when she thinks I am ready for the hearing of it. We are sisters. Anyway, Gussie said she would much rather her first kiss had been with someone she knew, cared for and trusted. So great and negative an impression did it leave on her memory, that I am determined my first kiss shall be with someone I care for dearly. Someone who will, with gentle patience, show these inexperienced lips just how the thing is done.”

“Lucky fellow!” he cried. The increasing din of the water threatened to overwhelm their conversation.

She grabbed his arm and shouted, though it felt odd to be shouting such a remark. “There is only one gentleman I trust for such a task.”

“Who?” he shouted back.

She said nothing, merely looked at him, hoping he would understand. She had to know what lay between them. She had to know in order to move on. It was time to move on--to foster affections for some other man, but she had no desire to carry with her regrets of what might have been. She said nothing, therefore, hoping he would comprehend.

His head reared back like that of a startled horse. “Are you saying you wish me to kiss you?” he roared above the water’s roar.

“Who else?” she shouted, and it struck her that this was not the sort of conversation one should be conducting at the top of one’s lungs.

“I was sure you must be referring to Giovanni.”

“Should I ask him instead?”

Reed shook his head, his expression one of alarm.

“By no means,” he bellowed.

In as dispassionate a shout as she could muster, she asked, “Do you refuse me, then? Or will you oblige?”

“You are serious?”

She could not let him see just how serious. Her gaze dropped away from his. “Is it too much to ask?”

He licked his lips, a sign of uneasiness, but rather than continue to shout at her he leaned in close to her ear to say, “I am afraid my kisses may disappoint.”

She drew back from the breathy caress of his voice to look him in the eye. “How so? Are you an inferior kisser?”

“No!” He was shouting again. She had offended him. She could hear how offended he was in his tone. She could see it in his frown. “It’s just that I am afraid a kiss between us might prove passionless.”

Passionless? That he should assume them passionless, stung. Had he expected passion of Miss Frost, she wondered, before she bit into him?

She beckoned him closer with a crook of her finger. Standing on tip-toe, one hand to steady her on the flat of his chest, she lifted her lips to speak directly into his ear. “Would you mind pretending?”

He was frowning again when she pulled back to examine his reaction.

“And you?” he asked, his face troublingly close. “Could you pretend?”

She laughed, sure her face must be a telling scarlet color, and shouted, “You need not worry about my feelings.”

“But I do worry,” he said, and as he did not bother to shout she almost did not hear the words.

Did he know? She wondered. Had he known all along how foolishly she doted on him? Had he simply ignored her feelings, hoping she would grow out of them, hoping she would mature enough to realize the futility of plain Miss Breech falling in love with the heir to Talcott Keep? The idea was humiliating. Her face blazed with heat. She ducked her chin, hoping against hope he would not notice her discomfort.

“Never mind, then,” she said. “I’ve no desire to twist your arm.”

“Pardon?” he asked, leaning closer, so that his cheek grazed hers. “What was that last thing you said? I did not hear.” His nose was practically in her ear, his every word tickling its inner recesses.

Her eyes closed, the better to savor the smooth touch of his cheek against hers and the rain drenched smell of the cologne that hung about his person. Her breath faster than usual, she gathered herself together to repeat the horrible words--”Never mind, then. I’ve no desire. . .” The rest of her words were stopped in her mouth, stopped by the brush of first his cheek, then his lips against hers.

“Are you sure you’ve no desire?” he whispered, the hot silk of his breath tingling along the sensitive flesh of her lips. Without waiting for her answer, he turned his head, that his mouth might more perfectly match hers.

She tensed, stiffened further when one of his hands made its way around her waist to the small of her back while the other braced her shoulders, drawing her deeper into the warm haven of his arms.

The kiss lasted for no more than a fraction of a moment and yet, so much was she swept away by their bonding heat that when Reed began to pull away, body and mouth, she seemed bent on following him.

Embarrassed, she regained her equilibrium and dared to slide a sideways look at Reed. “Oh!” she said softly. “Oh my!”

Gussie had been wrong. Her first kiss had not diminished in any way her feelings for Reed. It had, in fact, enhanced them. It was going to be harder than ever to turn away from her love for Reed.

His gaze held a softness, an openness she was unused to seeing. “Your first kiss, Megan. Did you find it in any way disappointing?”

Solemnly she nodded.

His eyes widened. His hand fell away from the small of her back. “How so?”

“It was over far too quickly,” she said softly, horribly disappointed that what she had so long yearned for was so soon finished.

“What?” He pointed to his ears, indicating he had not been able to hear her. Standing on tiptoe, she grasped his shirtpoints, pulling him toward her. She had a fleeting image of his look of surprise--of raised eyebrows, wide eyes and parted lips. She directed her mouth toward his and closed her eyes, her hands sliding up and around his neck to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck.

Her touch bound them in a way they had never been bound before. With an unexpected groan, Reed grabbed at her waist once more while the humid warmth of his mouth sought hers hungrily, stealing her breath away. Deliriously, she tightened her clasp around his neck, intoxicated by the warm friction of his lips against hers.

The kiss she demanded of him, tender and gently insistent, was perfect--all that she had expected and more. Every iota of her being focused in its awareness of the moment--a shining, breathless, heartbreaking mountain of a moment--a high point from which she could look down on the amazing potential of the landscape of her love for Reed. She would cherish its brief, pulse racing perfection.

She sighed, swept up in purely hedonistic pleasure, mouth dewed with kisses, head filled with the sound of water purling over stone.

He surprised her again. His tongue darted out, a surprising wet warmth, teasing her lips apart.

She drew back in alarm. “What are you doing?

His face was crimson. “Uhm. . .the French.  . .uhm, kiss differently.”

“Is this what you were doing with Miss Frost?”

He nodded. “You are not revolted are you?”

“No. Merely surprised.”

“Shall we try again?” He leaned forward.

She leaned back. “We need not, if you find this tiresome.”

He laughed, lips hovering scant inches from hers, eyes shining like clear blue lakes, so close she could see herself reflected there. She had never felt such a connection between them as was bridged by their gaze.

“Tiresome?” he said with a smile, breath hot and sweet against the sensitized surface of her mouth. “Not at all.”

An uncontrollable shiver swept over her. She made no response other than to lift her chin, lips slightly parted.

His mouth met hers, like old friends, no hesitation now, no holding back. His tongue, given permission, damply plumbed the depths of her mouth, the feeling wild, wet and out of control. She drank him in, as if she meant to swallow the force of him, her lips demanding the pressure, the damp warmth, the erotic taste. Her hands found their way around his neck. His bound her closer to him at the waist. Knees going weak, her head seemed to fill with the rushing sound of falling water. As if she stood poised at the top of the waterfall, with the meeting of their flesh she dove over the precipice, tumbling, falling, sliding into liquid warmth. The rush of Stock Ghyll Force matched the wild rush of emotion that swept her, head to toe. Megan abandoned herself to the raging of the Force and long suppressed emotions.

Some dimly suffused part of her brain registered the thought that she must not grow too attached to this incredible, all-consuming sensation. She knew it would not last. Reed meant to go to the Americas. She never expected to be wrenched from Reed’s arms!

It was Giovanni who rudely tore them apart. He stood glowering at Reed, wet from the recent rain, looking more the river god than ever, but for his heightened color and the vein that pulsed purple in his temple. He bellowed, “At it again, are you? You really must learn to display better manners where the young ladies are concerned.”

As he shouted the recommendation, Giovanni swung Reed by his lapels, in a half-circle, mercilessly directing his footsteps. Into the pool at the bottom of Stock Ghyll Force Reed plunged.

He came up spluttering. “Good God, man! That was entirely uncalled for.”