A Midsummer's Sin (6 page)

The horses were slowing to a stop in the little courtyard in front of the house. Mrs Shorter approached, her arms held out. “Goodman Hopton, Goodman Marlowe,” she said by way of greeting.

Thomas handed Hannah down, carefully.

Her compressed lips and wrinkled forehead spoke of her disapproval to have Hannah out so late. But she said nothing and took the child to the house.

Thomas followed Samuel to the barn. They put away the cart and tended the horses.

“Well…”

Thomas frowned, smoothing a blanket over one of the horses. “Well, what?”

“It’s still that, is it?”

“Still what?”

“You are afraid.” Samuel leant back and sighed. “You are afraid of life. And yourself.”

“Father, I am not afraid.”

“You were always afraid. In your youth you ran from your fears in all those sensual excesses. Now you think to hide in strict, legalistic denial. But, Thomas, that is not the way God intended. He intended us to enjoy the pleasures of this world while keeping balance with his will. He intended for a man to have a wife and to share a sensual, earthly love with her and to make children. You have no living sons. You must think of what you will do with the rest of your life. You must not let fear cause you to deny yourself happiness.”

Thomas sighed. “I am too old, Father, too old for lectures.”

“A man is never too old to hear the concerns of those who care for him.”

“Aye, maybe so.” Thomas stood. “But a man has to walk his own path.”

“Well, it would be an absolute sin.”

“For a man to walk his own path?”

“No, if a man were to lay with a woman whom he had no intention to wed. Now that would be a grievous sin.”

From his seat on the wooden barrel by the door, Samuel stared up at him, steadily and unblinking. “You must court her. You must find a way to convince her.”

* * * *

Rosalind knelt and plunged her hands into the stream that made a boundary line on Goody Wilson’s farm. Her hands were sticky and purple from picking blackberries all afternoon. As she scrubbed herself, the cool water invited her to linger.

She unbuckled her shoes, hiked her skirts, shed her stockings, then immersed her feet. Her wiggling toes glowed white in water that glimmered like diamonds in the afternoon sun. The refreshment seemed to cleanse not only her flesh but her spirit.

She sighed, trying to release even more of her pent-up angst.

Her mind was so weary. She’d spent too many sleepless nights, torn inside with guilt. Guilt over the way she had dealt with Thomas. By seducing him into betraying his deeply held moral beliefs, hadn’t she proved herself to be wicked?

Just as wicked as he’d thought her to be all this time.

But I loved him, longed to know his touch. If only once.

It was no proper defence. She’d spent too long amidst people like Mr Boger and her gentlemen. She’d been accustomed to people abusing her and taking advantage.

She’d become just like them.

She’d taken advantage of Thomas in his weakest moment.

That wasn’t a loving act.

She could no longer deny the truth.

“Rose.” The word carried on the warm breeze, half sensual whisper, half prayer. An answering tingle spread like wildfire through her belly.

Maybe the whisper had been only her imagination. A trick of the wind.

“I was coming to see you.”

That had been no trick of the wind. She opened her eyes and looked up into Thomas’ face.

He looked hollow-eyed. Tired.

Had guilt kept him awake as well?

You could make things right. With one word.

No! She would not lock herself into a self-imposed gaol. She would not live out her days haunted by the likes of Patience Marlowe.

A better woman would fight for him. If you truly loved him, you wouldn’t leave him to suffer, alone with his ghost…

But fighting for him would mean being vulnerable. Telling him the whole truth of her past. Her heart gave a trill of fear at the very thought.

“Why would you come to see me, Goodman?”

“I thought you might like to take a walk with me.”

“A walk…with you?”

“Aye.” The wind blew his dark hair. Sunlight made the red and gold highlights blaze. He dropped to his knees beside her. “I think, if we were to spend some time to come to know each other as friends, I think you could accept a marriage with me.”

A little leaping sensation blossomed in her chest. Hope. Foolish, stupid hope.

Could he come to know her and see her differently?

Humour twinkled in his eyes. He smiled, showing his strong, white teeth.

Her heartbeat warbled briefly. A girlish nervousness heated her cheeks. She couldn’t help a small, tentative smile. “What?”

“Your lips…they are purple…” His voice trailed off. He reached out.

 She tried to move away but trembling excitement made her too weak. The scents of blackberries, sun and sky intensified yet, in her vision, everything else in the world closed off except for him.

He touched her lip with a fingertip, tracing softly. “Your lips are purple.”

He retracted his finger. She licked her lips to erase the damning stain.

“How do they taste, my Rose?”

“Like berries,” she said stupidly, transfixed as he came closer.

He cupped her face with both hands. His expression sobered. His eyes, gone dark as pine needles, blazed with such emotion that her heart clambered into a thudding beat.

“I can’t put you from my mind. Do you not realise this?” His voice was husky, hungry.

He leant forward. His mouth brushed hers.

She reached up and grasped his broad shoulders, pressing into the leather doublet, feeling his well-defined muscles.

He swept his tongue over her lips. “Yes, just like berries—only far sweeter.” He groaned, a sound of defeat. “You are more than mortal man can resist.”

He kissed her properly. Gentle, insistent pressure. She couldn’t deny him. Never wanted to deny him. On a moan, she opened. He tasted of maleness, musk and sin. She thrust her tongue against his. Boldly. Hungrily.

He slid a hand over her bodice, cupping her breast, and his kiss grew harsher.

Her breath came very fast. Her nipples beaded.

This time he was the seducer.

She knew what he would do. She knew she wouldn’t stop him. He was already pulling and tugging at her back, loosening her laces. The bodice fell away from her breasts and, with two hasty jerks, he pulled her kerchief away.

He stared at her bared bosom, his pupils so enlarged his eyes looked almost black. Her tips grew more tightened beneath such intense perusal. With a low groan, he bent and put his lips to the flesh near her left nipple. As his velvet, wet tongue traced ever smaller circles around it, delight followed.

He drew her straining peak into his mouth, sucking on it, softly at first then growing stronger. She moaned and pressed her face as close to his head as she could. He moved his mouth to her other breast whilst cupping and lightly squeezing the one he’d just abandoned. Fierce pleasure overcame her. She plunged her fingers into his hair and threaded them into the silken strands.

He pressed her down.

In the midst of day.

Out of doors.

How shocking… Yet the bright sun rays warmed her. Made her weaker to his will. He swept her skirts up. All the way up.

She didn’t resist.

The heat of the sun radiated on her most intimate flesh, making her feel vulnerable but in the most delicious way. The risk of discovery only added to the excitement pounding through her. “My God, Rose.” His voice was a worshipful whisper.

She kept her eyes closed and didn’t respond. If she opened her eyes, if she spoke, she might think, and she didn’t want to think. She wanted only to feel. He was here with her. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her. This was right. This was good.

He stroked slowly up her limbs. “You have the most beautiful legs I have ever seen.”

He spoke with authority, as if he’d seen many. That wasn’t possible. She laughed, bemused by his relative inexperience. He probably hadn’t seen any woman naked. Patience hadn’t seemed inclined to be sky-clad. Pious Goodman that he was, he likely had saved himself for the marriage bed.

He rested his knee between her legs, gently nudging. She opened immediately. He touched her inner thigh with lips that were warm and seeking.

She clutched at his head. “Don’t…”

“Why not? It pleased you that night.”

“I… Please don’t.”

“Oh, Rose.” He sounded pained, tracing his fingertips over her cleft. “I’ve thought of nothing else since I last tasted you.”

How seductively his voice caressed the last words. Heat spiralled through her lower belly. She couldn’t deny him. She loosened her grip on his head and arched her hips. An invitation.

Still, she braced herself, preparing for the onslaught of vigorous sucking, the rough coercing men seemed to think would bring a woman’s pleasure as quickly as possible and satisfy their need to feel all powerful.

He blew air over her flesh, warm and tantalising. She drew in her breath, holding it. His tongue traced along her folds, lightly, teasing her, taking his time and making her ache for more. He flicked that most sensitive part of her. She clutched at his head. Oh God! She was dying for him to take it into his mouth and—

He sucked on it gently, rhythmically.

“Don’t stop…oh, don’t ever stop!” She could feel her nails sinking into his scalp but, consumed with shivers of pure hunger, she couldn’t stop pressing him closer.

Patience had taught him this?

It didn’t seem likely…

The thought floated away as her cunt contracted. Hard. Over and over. “Thomas!”

She lay there, feeling the ticking, tingling aftermath. Yet hot blood still pounded in her ears.

She couldn’t wait to feel him inside her.

Needed it so desperately. “Thomas, please…”

He knelt between her legs and she wrapped her limbs about him tightly. Her hands fell to either side of her and took fists of grass, crushing the blades. The lush scent of green filled the air, mingling with his male scent. “Please, please…”

“I must get my breeches open,” he whispered hoarsely.

Velvet, wet flesh slid over her nub in circles of ever-increasing joy that spiralled higher and higher. The grass broke and she pulled her hands free as spasms consumed her. They barely ebbed as he covered her and thrust inside. He filled her, stretched her.

She cried out. A high-pitched, feline sound of pure pleasure.

He moved back and forth, plunging within her hard for what seemed a long, ecstatic eternity. Her heart pounded. Sweat poured from her body. She couldn’t catch her breath. God. Such intensity would surely kill her. She didn’t care.

He stopped and groaned deeply, breathing harshly. She hugged him with her inner walls and rolled her head. “Thomas…Thomas.”

He grasped her legs, pulled them up, wrapping them about his body.

“Here, here…” Urgency rumbled in his tone.

She let her limbs rise up as high as they would go. His cock drove deeper, touching the mouth of her womb. He took her wrists and pulled her arms over her head, pinning her hands to the ground.

Then he began fucking her again.

So ardently. So savagely. So…so…

He shifted their bodies, his thrusts coming at a different angle. Piercing delight.

She heard herself shrieking. He put his mouth to hers. His sweat washed onto her. Their bodies slid in slick madness.

The sounds of her wetness increased with each fierce, fiery thrust. She rolled her hips against his, gripping his waist with her legs. Higher and higher she soared, crying out each time his crown hit the mouth of her womb. She reached the very wide, blue sky above them. Her cunt contracted and her whole world exploded into white shards of bliss.

With his grip tight on Rosalind’s wrists, kissing her with his eyes open, Thomas watched the expression of ecstasy play over her face. The pulling and sucking of her greedy cunt drawing on his cock sent exquisite shocks of sensation through him. He’d forgotten how utterly consuming it was to know a woman’s pleasure. His own climax threatened. He didn’t want this unity with her to end and he exerted all his will to resist.

She said something. He heard her words but in his focused state of mind they made no sense.

“What?” He struggled to concentrate.

“Don’t come in me!” she panted, trying to twist away.

Her motion made the ridges of her channel twist and slide on his shaft like hot, wet ripples of satin. His heart beat within his erection with an urgency to come that made him dizzy. A pre-cursory pulse of intense pleasure sparked at the base of his spine, shooting through his sex like fire.

“Be still!” He spoke the words harshly, holding her hands tightly, pressing his hips to hers, trying to immobilise her.

She writhed wildly beneath him, as if suddenly possessed by a demon.

Inextricable surging began in his balls, deep within his loins, fierce spasms that he couldn’t defy. He could only groan in the grips of pleasure that made him shudder as if he were freezing cold.

He jerked himself from her. Warm wetness spurted everywhere as he withdrew.

But it was too late. He’d spilt some inside.

“Dear God… I am sorry.” He panted the words out, unable to catch his breath.

He looked down at her.

She glared back. “I’ll never forgive you. If your seed takes root, I swear I shall never forgive you.”

Her eyes grew wild with the look of a trapped animal. His heart panged with the notion. Didn’t she know he’d never allow her to come to harm?

He laid his hand on her stomach. “Don’t worry. It will be all right. It’s nature’s way that we should lust for each other and be drawn together to make a child. It’s no great sin so long as we marry.”

“You did this, on purpose, hoping I might be compelled to wed you!”

“I did not, I swear it.”

“No man shall force me to do aught!”

“I was not thinking of force. Listen to reason, Rose—”

Her eyes turned cold. “Why won’t you believe me? I shall never marry you, Goodman Marlowe. I shall never marry a man who will not let his late wife go.”