A Sense of Sin (10 page)
Color streaked across her face and she shot a furtive glance at her mother. “I must go, Viscount Darling.” She bobbed a wobbly curtsy, her arms coming out to rest on the gate to steady herself. The sudden lack of grace looked out of place on her.
“Miss Burke, I have upset you. I apologize. Are you quite all right?” He put out his hand as if to steady her by the elbow, but it stayed in the middle of the space between them, waiting at the end of his arm, doing nothing.
She stared at his hand. At the fingers of the gray glove encasing his hand as if it had magically turned into an exotic lizard before her eyes.
“We may not touch. I must remember we may never touch,” he said quietly.
She stepped back abruptly. “I must go.”
“Of course. I will not detain you from your family. But might I ask one small question?”
“Yes?”
“What does a lovely young woman do for pleasure and exercise during the day here in Dartmouth?”
Miss Burke looked at him warily. She darted a glance at her mother, who was beginning to disapprove of the length of their conversation, but was not at a convenient distance to put an end to it.
“Shall you need to consult with your mother on your pastimes, Miss Burke?” he teased. “I thought you more daring than that. I confess, I am not as interested in her answer as I am in yours.”
Again, the beautiful blush spread across her cheeks. The sort of blush the poets would have called artless. But she wasn’t artless. She had betrayed Emily. He would do best to remember that and take no notice of her flushed flesh.
“No. I apologize. I do not need to seek my mother’s opinion in order to give my own. Young people in Dartmouth engage in the usual country pursuits: walking, shooting, hunting, riding. I imagine our pursuits are very much like any other set of country people’s. Any number of quaint, unexciting things.”
“Tell me what you prefer. For instance, do you ride, Miss Burke?”
“I do, occasionally.”
“I see. I was out riding myself, yesterday. But then you know that. You saw me. Just as I saw you.”
She did not say anything, just pressed her teeth into her lip so hard, he feared she might draw blood. His overwhelming impulse was to ease her pain.
“Why did you run away?” he asked gently. “Why did you hide from me? You can’t, you know. I told you I could find you in a room full of other people by your scent alone. How could you think I wouldn’t find you when you were in the same room with me?”
She looked confused. Her forehead, under the upswept brim of her bonnet, pleated into tiny rows. And she was worrying away at her lower lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from kissing her. Her answer was just above a whisper. “I thought you would disapprove.”
He felt his face twist into a scowl. “Disapprove? Of your botanical studies? Why should I disapprove?
I
bought Emily that microscope, Miss Burke. Did you not know that? Cost me a fortune on a Marine colonel’s wages. I hope it has proved to be everything Mr. Culmer promised it would.”
I
bought Emily that microscope, Miss Burke. Did you not know that? Cost me a fortune on a Marine colonel’s wages. I hope it has proved to be everything Mr. Culmer promised it would.”
“Oh!” She covered her astonished mouth with her hand. “Yes”—she nodded in answer—“it is a beautiful instrument. It has been an honor and a privilege to have its use. If you want it back, I’ll be happy—”
“Good God, no. Your pardon, Miss Burke. No, I’d have no bloody use for it. But I should have liked for you to show me your work. Emily wrote at great lengths about it.”
“You don’t disapprove?” She watched him closely with those solemn, dark eyes. The answer seemed vitally important to her, though he could not tell why.
“No, Miss Burke.”
“And you won’t tell”—she skated a glance at her mother—“anyone ?”
“No, Miss Burke,” he repeated. “But as to riding? I was rather hoping you might care to go riding with me. Say this afternoon?”
She drew an audible breath. “Viscount Darling, I am sensible of the honor of your invitation, but I—”
“Of course. You can’t be seen out riding with a man your parents have forbidden you to talk to, but I am working assiduously to change their opinion of me. I was thinking, if I should just happen to come across an acquaintance while out riding the fields to the west, I would be bound by the very narrow dictates of gentlemanly behavior to share my protection with that acquaintance for the duration of the time our paths lay in the same direction.”
“I see.” Another artless flush of color swept across her pale cheeks. “I do sometimes like to ride in the morning, before anyone else is up and about. Around seven in the morning, actually. I ride most often toward the village of Stoke Fleming, which lies a ways to the west.”
“Ah. Perhaps I might see you out and about, though rumor has it we rakes never wake before the noon bell rings.”
Finally her smile came back, somewhat subdued, but she was clearly happier and much more at ease. “Of course, you don’t. How practical you are, Viscount Darling. Dartmouth society would be vastly disappointed if you did not live up to your scandalous reputation, at least a little.”
“Ah.” He made a self-deprecating little bow. “I had hoped to pass myself off with a degree of credit amongst strangers, but especially with you. For Emily’s sake.”
“For Emily’s sake,” she echoed.
“Then I will see you?”
The smile still hovered over those pitifully bitten lips. “Perhaps.”
“Good enough. I give you good morning, Miss Burke.”
“Good morning, Viscount Darling.”
He touched his hat and left her staring at him in the sunshine.
C
HAPTER
10
HAPTER
10
T
he invitation came early the next morning before Celia could even decide on the ride. A card from the Viscount Darling saying he and Commander McAlden had the pleasure of inviting the family for an afternoon picnic in the beautiful gardens at Glass Cottage. Lady Harriet Renning had been generous enough to consent to act as hostess, assuring the preparations would be all they ought to be.
he invitation came early the next morning before Celia could even decide on the ride. A card from the Viscount Darling saying he and Commander McAlden had the pleasure of inviting the family for an afternoon picnic in the beautiful gardens at Glass Cottage. Lady Harriet Renning had been generous enough to consent to act as hostess, assuring the preparations would be all they ought to be.
Lady Caroline read the invitation with something between disapproval and admiration at their audacity. “Very clever, almost cunning, asking Harriet. She is a great friend of his mother, Countess of Cleeve, you know. Harriet does say Viscount Darling has pledged to reform himself for her sake. The Countess’s not Harriet’s. And he has behaved with perfect manners whilst he has been amongst us in Dartmouth.”
Celia fought not to choke on her tea, but she was sure she had scalded the roof of her mouth.
Taking no notice, her mama tapped her teacup while she contemplated the invitation anew. “The whole family, and all your cousins from Widcombe have been invited. It is to be a family day. Informal. Harriet is no fool, so perhaps it will be conducted suitably, as it ought. I think I may safely rely upon her to make it so. And I admit, I am curious to see what your Mrs. Marlowe has made of the place. Of course, her mother has exquisite taste. It was a famous place for parties in my grandmother’s day. I know you have nothing but praises for Mrs. Marlowe, Celia, but she is your particular friend, so you see things with a friend’s kindly eye—which is a lovely testament to your good nature, I’m sure. We do not want to be seen slighting Harriet, do we?”
“Well,” was all Celia thought it prudent to say.
“We will go.”
And so they did. Celia was a tangled skein of tension and loose ends. She knew Viscount Darling had done it for her and her alone. But had he done it in the hopes of being alone, of continuing their conversations? He had done it to give her the dark pleasure that blossomed within her like ripe fruit.
Fragaria vesca
. English strawberry.
Fragaria vesca
. English strawberry.
Or had something else begun to happen? Had his reawakened better self begun to make inroads against the callous, blackmailing rake? It was too soon to know, but not too late to hope.
The carriage ride in the open barouche, with all the squirmings, muttering, and shrieks that younger brothers and sisters let out upon society for the day—like puppies spilled from a kennel—could make, only made the anticipation worse.
Their mother shushed and cuffed and lectured as they went. “This will not be a great day for you, I realize, Celia, as there will be only cousins present, but I would caution you, this occasion does not call for any deepening of acquaintance with our hosts. Particularly not with Commander McAlden. Sit still, Joseph. Don’t look so at me, Celia. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way his eyes follow you. There is no reason for this alfresco party but to bring you into their sphere. He is not the kind of man who will make an acceptable husband. You must guard yourself.”
Yes, from unworthy men.
How ironic it had been Commander McAlden who had already given her the caution. But as her mother was unlikely to find any humor in the discovery, Celia kept the thought safely to herself.
How ironic it had been Commander McAlden who had already given her the caution. But as her mother was unlikely to find any humor in the discovery, Celia kept the thought safely to herself.
As soon as they arrived, Lady Caroline commandeered the Commander for a tour of the house, and Celia was swept across the lawns with the children, who were more than ready for the gambol. Viscount Darling was there, along with Cousin Harriet and her family, and the Widcombe cousins, as well as the Glass Cottage staff, who already had the refreshments laid out on white, cloth-covered tables.
Walks through the gardens—which were still undergoing refurbishment, they were told—were the first order of the day. Celia found herself constantly called to by various relations who would ask after the identification of one plant or another. She gave her answers as loosely and commonly as possible—conscious of the Viscount, who always seemed to be standing at the periphery of the group—not quite ready to commit to the knowledge of the Latin species names.
No Latin, he had said that night. Even though he had since said he wanted to know more of her study, she was not quite ready to trust him with that. To trust him with her one true passion.
He made no attempt to speak to her, but walked with the group and, at turns, looked happy, then grave and concerned. To her, he did not seem himself, but then, neither did she in such a public place.
The afternoon wore on with predictability: polite, if stilted conversation at luncheon. Lady Caroline asked pointed questions about the Viscount’s estranged relationship with his father. The Viscount parried her thrusts easily, with a lazy charm and a skilled ability to deflect the question. He politely abstained from making ripostes. Celia tried diligently to abstain from thinking he did so for her benefit. She wanted to dive under the table, or scream and stop it all, but she hadn’t the courage.
At last, luncheon was done and Commander McAlden suggested a walk down the cliffs to the beach below, whereupon he delighted the boys by uncovering a smartly kept sailing dory and taking them out for a short sail about the bay. The more dignified of the adults remained above the cliffs, not braving the mildly treacherous walk down.
While the Commander and the Viscount were engaged in stepping the mast in the dory, Celia followed her sister, Julia, and a younger cousin, Hazel, over the rocks into the tide pools between them. Unobserved by the others, especially her mama, she peeled off her gloves and delighted in fishing bits of seaweed, winkles and whelks, empty shells and hermit crabs out of the shallow pools. She longed to tuck a piece of kelp into her pocket for later examination, but she knew from experience it would start to smell and dry out long before she had gotten it into a bowl.
“Miss Burke.” Suddenly, Viscount Darling was beside her. Or at least he was close enough to speak to her directly.
“My lord?”
“Would you care to join me on the beach, Miss Burke?”
Julia and Hazel didn’t notice. Without Celia to capture and pick up the slimy, moving, pinching bits, they soon lost interest and moved back to the sand near the water’s edge to build a sand castle.
Celia followed him across the beach until they were a convenient distance from the children. He set his face to the sea, and the afternoon sunshine bounced off the water and gilded his skin with golden light. He was very much the lion, dressed in a tawny, golden brown coat and blazingly white linen. He had left off his hat in such an informal setting and his short hair ruffled in the breeze.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Burke?”
“Yes, I thank you, my lord.”
“Would you care to sit?”
She chose not to repeat her thanks, but simply spread her India patterned shawl on the warm sand and sat. But the Viscount didn’t sit. He squatted down, easily balancing in a graceful crouch. “I’ve been waiting all afternoon to be able to speak to you. Finally, we are alone.”
They were not, strictly speaking, alone. The children were ranged on the beach in front of them, but what he meant was that they were at a safe remove from all others. Their conversation, out in the open and still in sight of anyone who cared to look, could nevertheless be private.
Celia felt the sudden, hot singeing of her blood in anticipation. But the conversation began mundanely enough.
“How are you today?”
“Quite well, my lord,” she lied. Her voice squeaked with tension. “And you?”
He nearly leveled her with the sudden blast of heat in his icy blue glance before he answered. “I am in hell, Miss Burke. I arranged an entire day just so I might be able to see you and I find that is all that I have been able to do—see you from a distance. I must accept it without complaint, knowing all the while, all I wanted was you. Knowing, even after you arrived, I must wait. I must play the host and bide my time. Knowing I would have to be a gentleman and keep my distance.
“Yes,” was all she could say. It was enough to know she was not alone in her feelings, that he shared this yearning she could neither control nor govern. The only thing that could satisfy the yearning need was him—his smile, his charm, his presence, and his words.
“Lie down.”
“I beg your—” She hesitated for a long moment, looking around at the others on the beach before she glanced back at him.
“They are well out of earshot,” he assured her. His voice was full of a terse, tense energy that had been absent from their earlier . . . talks. “And I am six feet away from you.”
She did as he asked. Her large brimmed straw bergère hat was crushed awkwardly at the back, so she unpinned the crown and tipped it forward to shade her face from the direct sun, and to keep her florid blushes hidden.
“Close your eyes. Go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”
She would have to trust him to keep her safe. It was a singularly daunting thought. Celia took one last look at his face, at his serious, tight-jawed expression, and closed her eyes. The moment she did, the sounds of the afternoon came alive in crystalline detail: the raucous cries of the gulls overhead, the gentle rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore, the chattering of the children and the distant low hum of the grown-ups on the cliff tops above.
“Everyone else is so far away. And yet, I am as close as I can ever come to you.” His voice had taken on the familiar low, seductive rumble.
Celia felt it vibrate through her, as if he had drawn a bow taut across her strings. She heard pain and regret in his voice, and knew it was the truth. No matter how attracted to him she was growing, he would never do. He was all she had ever wanted, but nothing she needed. And he had never talked of anything beyond these stolen, intoxicating moments of spoken intimacy.
Indeed, he had always indicated she was
not
for him. There was nothing for her, or for him, but what happened today, on this beach.
not
for him. There was nothing for her, or for him, but what happened today, on this beach.
“Your mother is above on the cliffs, looking down at us, disapproving that I am so near, and yet seeing that I am far enough apart from you, she cannot object. I keep my eyes on the children at the water’s edge, even though I would rather be looking at you. At the contours of your body as you are stretched out so beautifully in the sunlight.”
Celia took a deep breath to calm the tumult of feelings darting about within her. She felt strangely exposed, though she was fully clothed and the skirts of her muslin dress covered her ankles and the tops of her kid halfboots. The sun pressed her down into the sand, turning her limbs to liquid heat.
“Tell me, is your skin as soft to the touch as it looks, Miss Burke?”
“I hardly know.” She did not know if he could hear her whisper, but she could not bring herself to speak any louder without being able to see who heard.
He answered, “Then you must touch it, and feel it for me and let me know. You must put your hand along the skin of your cheek and tell me if it is softer than the silk of your gowns.”
“It is . . . like cotton, not like silk.”
“Ah, so soft. So warm and smooth. Familiar. I wish I could touch your cheek and feel your skin. I want to touch you everywhere and feel the soft warmth of your skin under my hands. Under my lips. And under my body.”
A pulse moved across her skin as if he had touched her, a skittering sensation that ran down her neck and across her peaking breasts.
“I can see you shiver and tremble. My body shakes as well. With need.”
His voice sounded closer and she felt the shifting of the sand as he moved nearer, but still stayed out of reach.
“Oh God, Celia.” His voice was a low howl of pain. “I want you so badly, it’s choking me.”
His use of her name shivered a tart, sweet thrill through her. Pleasure, delight, and satisfaction blossomed within her, unfurling their petals downward through her body and into her soul.
“Celia, I . . . I never intended—”
He broke off and she turned her face towards him, under the wide brim of the hat, straining for the sound of his voice. Looking for something, anything to give her an indication of what he was thinking. And what he was feeling.
“No, please. Don’t get up, don’t move. I couldn’t bear for this to end. For the day to be over and you to walk away, just when I have you to myself. Stay, a few moments longer, please. Stay.”
She subsided, closing her eyes back under her hat. She could hear a movement of fabric, a sound as if he were chafing his palms along the thigh of his breeches. Awareness danced under the skin of her own hands.
“Your hand lies atop your dress, just out of my reach, over your smooth belly. If you press down, through the layers of fabric and material, what will you feel? The fabric of your muslin gown. And under that? The ribbing of your stays? Are they long or short, your stays? Do they dip down between your hips?”
Without moving her hands, Celia could feel the line of her corset, cut high over her hips, but flowing lower, in an inverted vee on her belly. She could feel, could picture the line it drew across her skin, accentuating and pointing lower, just as he had guessed, between her thighs to the center of her sex.
Other books
Hotter Than Hell by Anthology
Aleister Crowley by Gary Lachman
Dark Doorways by Kristin Jones
Internal Affairs by Matthews, Alana
2006 - What is the What by Dave Eggers, Prefers to remain anonymous
The Book of Spies by Gayle Lynds
Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie
Snow Blind by Richard Blanchard
Running Hot by Helenkay Dimon
The Good Nurse: A True Story of Medicine, Madness, and Murder by Graeber, Charles
