A Sisterly Regard (34 page)

She licked lips suddenly dry. "Mr. Far--"

He shook his head. "Reggie. Say it."

Phaedra jerked her chin aside. "Oh, very well. Reggie. There.
Are you happy?"

"Not until you promise never again to call me 'Mr. Farwell' in
that uppity tone. I vow, it hurts my ears like someone scraping fingernails
across glass."

A giggle threatened, but she caught it before it could emerge. "I
will try, as long as Mama does not forbid it."

"She will not." He took her hand again and turned her back
toward the path. They had walked a little ways when he said, "Do you
detest me so much, Phaedra?"

"I have never detested you. I will admit you did not at first seem
to be the sort of man I admire. Once I came to know you better, I began
to count you among my friends."

He pulled her to face him, so close she could feel his warmth.
Before she could step back, he had his arms around her and was pulling her
even closer.

"Mr. Farw--, Reggie, this is not proper. Oh, please, release
me." She tried to push him away, without success.

"Look at me, Phaedra," he commanded.

She hesitated, then lifted her chin. Her breath caught, so intense
was the fire in his eyes.

"My love, I keep telling myself to be patient, to go cautiously
with you. But I cannot. Phaedra, I love you and I want you."

Aware of a strange feeling in her midriff, Phaedra stood very still
as she attempted to sort her feelings. She was giddy and warm, despite the
clement weather. Her thoughts seemed unable to settle, but kept spinning
in her mind. The one that spun to the top most often was
He is going to
kiss me
.

Right behind it was
I want him to kiss me
.

Reggie's left hand lifted to stroke her cheek, then moved to the
back of her neck, his fingers spearing into her neatly coiled hair. One by
one he removed the pins holding it. Before she could protest--if she had
wanted to do so--her hair went spilling down her back.

"Lovely." His hoarse whisper seemed forced from his mouth.
Again his fingers sifted through her hair, and this time they caught and
held. He tipped her head up and held it immovable. And then he bent to
touch his lips to hers, softly at first, then with more pressure.

As his mouth moved softly against hers, she relaxed against him
and opened her lips. His tongue against her own caused the giddiness to
flare into a blaze that threatened to consume the last dregs of her doubts.
She lifted her arms to encircle his neck.

The kiss was endless. Phaedra lost all sensation save those of his
hard body against hers and his tongue seeking all the secrets of her mouth.
When he finally lifted his head, she went on tiptoe, wanting to protest the
deprivation. Her lips were hot and swollen. Her body tingled. Her eyelids
were so heavy that only with great effort could she raise them to look into
his face.

"Say yes, Phaedra," he said, husky-voiced. "Say you will marry
me."

Yes.
The word hovered on the tip of her tongue.
Quivered there, ready to fall off. Until common sense once again
reasserted itself. "I cannot, Reggie. Not until I have had time to think
about the feelings I have just experienced. I cannot be sure they constitute
love," she said, with enormous regret.

His arms loosened and he stepped back, smiling. "From your
response, my darling Phaedra, I imagine your feelings would more
properly be called desire. It is a good beginning to love, you know."

"I do know it, Reggie. Desire is not enough, though, to base a
marriage upon," she said, each word painful to speak.

"No, it is not. How wise you are. And how foolish I am. If you
are not sure yet of your own feelings, it is unfair in me to force you to a
decision."

With the taste of him still on her lips and her hands
remembering the feel of him, Phaedra could not resist saying, "You will, I
hope, keep reminding me of what desire feels like, will you not, Reggie?"
She had to smile at the astonishment in his face. "I should not like to
forget, and who knows? Constant reminders might speed my
decision."

She dodged away as he reached for her again. "Oh, no sir! Not
that constant. But at least once a day, I should think. I have a very short
memory, you see."

"Baggage! Perhaps I should withdraw my offer. You are,
madam, quite without morals, I see." His smile belied his words, and he
again tried to catch her in his arms. She skipped out of his reach and
started walking up the path.

"No, but I am cold. Come Reggie, take me back to the house
and find me a fireplace." She held out her hand to him and he took it and
tucked it under his arm. As they walked up the path, she asked him,
"When am I to receive the next installment in the story of the real Reggie
Farwell? I can hardly wait."

"When you receive your next reminder in the delights of desire,
love, and not until. I should not wish to hand you too many surprises in
one day. Will you ride with me in the morning?"

"I should love to, but Mary is to take me to the village school. I
would not wish to disappoint her. I think it is wonderful that she and the
Duchess care so much about educating the children of the estate."

"Another time, then." He sounded...disappointed?

Surely not.

The rest of the short walk back to the house passed in
conversation about the school the present Duchess had founded to educate
the children of the estate's tenants. Originally confined to male students, it
had been recently expanded to include girls.

"Mary has quite a social conscience," Reggie said. "She insists
upon teaching at the school whenever she is in residence. The Duchess
resisted allowing girls to be taught the same curriculum as the boys, but
Mary insisted. She said that the girls' minds were as worthy of
improvement as any boy's and that if she could not teach them the same
subjects, she would not teach at all.

"Some of the mothers objected, for they wished their daughters
to be trained exclusively in the housewifely arts, but she convinced them
otherwise. Her latest campaign is to convince the parents to allow the
children to stay in school longer. Most of them quit when they are ten or
eleven and old enough to be of significant help at home."

"That is too bad. Can the parents not see how much better off
they would be with a better education?" Phaedra said. "I am glad to know,
Reggie, that you do not believe the lower classes are unworthy of
education. Papa has always made sure his dependents have a chance to
learn to read and write. Should the opportunity arise, I intend to do the
same."

"I hereby offer it to you, Phaedra. Come to Oakhurst and
educate my tenants."

Again she was forced to dredge up her rapidly weakening
common sense. "One proposal a day is all that you are allowed. Ask me
again tomorrow."

The rain continued. Phaedra visited the village school in the
morning of the second day and was duly impressed. Someday she hoped to
have the opportunity to follow Lady Mary's example. That afternoon she
had just settled in the library with a novel she had been longing to read
when Reggie entered.

"Do you play billiards?" he said, without pausing to greet
her.

"Why...why, no, I do not." She stuck one finger between pages
to mark her place. "I am not even sure what the game entails."

"I'll teach you, then. Come."

She followed him to the ground floor and along a corridor to a
large room at the back of the house. In its center stood an enormous table,
a wide lip forming its edge, its heavy legs ornately carved. The strangest
thing about it was the woven leather bags hanging below the lip, at each
corner table and in the middle of each long side.

Reggie motioned her inside and pushed the door almost shut.
She raised her eyebrow and he smiled. "It's not quite closed. Your
reputation is safe."

"Barely. I gather that is a billiard table?"

"It is. And this--" He picked a long, tapered stick out of a rack
against the wall. "This is a cue." He demonstrated its use by tapping one of
the colored balls scattered on the green felt tabletop. The ball rolled a few
inches, and stopped.

"How interesting," Phaedra said, letting her tone show her real
opinion.

Reggie chuckled. "The game is a bit more exciting than that.
The object is to send the balls into the pockets." He went on to
demonstrate, showing no little skill. Almost every ball he struck dropped
into a pocket, sometimes after careening across the table and back several
times.

"Would you like to learn?" he said as he sank the last ball.

"Yes, although I doubt that I would ever attain your skill."

"I am an excellent instructor." He handed her another cue and
showed her how to hold it.

The next two hours tried her patience, her strength, and her
resolve. Phaedra discovered that using a cue required strong fingers, that
leaning over the table to stroke the ball required long legs and a limber
back. She also discovered that pretending she could not understand
Reggie's instructions meant he would wrap his long arms around her, lay
his warm, hard hands over hers, and show her with a delicious intimacy
exactly how she was supposed to move.

The first time she knocked a ball into a pocket, she squealed
with glee.

"Keep going," he told her. "See how many you can sink before
you miss."

The next ball must have hit a bump in the felt, for it ran straight
for a few inches, then careened off to the right. "Pooh! I can see that I
need much more practice."

He took his turn then, and sank one ball after another until the
table was clear.

"You are showing off," she accused.

"But of course. Isn't that what a gentleman must do, when in the
company of a lovely lady whom he wishes to impress?"

She deliberately fluttered her eyelashes. "Are you flirting with
me, Mr. Farwell?"

"No more than you, Miss Phaedra." Catching her hand, he lifted
it to his mouth. Instead of kissing the air a small space above her knuckles,
he turned the hand and pressed his mouth to the soft skin just below her
palm. His lips opened and his tongue laved the skin, hot and wet.

Phaedra drew in a long, slow breath, feeling the thrill of his
touch clear to her toes. "Ohhh."

"You taste so sweet, like some exotic fruit." His words were
rough, as if dragged across a harsh surface. He turned his head, looking
directly into her eyes. "Marry me, Phaedra. Soon."

Unable to speak, she shook her head.

Slumberous eyelids hid his thoughts as his head dipped again.
This time his kiss filled her palm, sending alternating waves of heat and
cold up her arm. She fought to prevent her fingers pressing against his
face, clenched her other fist to keep from sliding her fingers through his
thick, wavy hair. When he straightened and set her hand free, she felt as if
he had stolen something precious from her.

"I think, my dear. That we had better join the others. The
atmosphere in this room has become somewhat...dangerous."

In full agreement, Phaedra let him usher her from the room. She
walked beside him along the corridor and up the stairs. Even with some
distance between them, she imagined she could feel the heat of his skin,
smell the faint spiciness she now associated with him.

The experience again left her shaken and thoughtful. Unable to
separate her emotions from her intellect, she found herself wondering if,
after all, mutual desire might not be sufficient grounds upon which to
build a marriage.

In her more rational moments, she knew it was not. She must be
satisfied in her own mind that there was more than their physical yearnings
for one another to carry them through a life together. She had to admit
that his company was always pleasing, even when they argued. Even worse
was the admission that she felt incomplete when he was not with
her.

The next day Reggie again sought her out in the library.
Although she had advanced only to the second chapter of the book she had
so desired to read, she willingly set it aside when he entered, looking as if
he had just come from outdoors.

"Good afternoon. Have you been riding?"

"Not today. I walked over to the village with Mary this
morning, and met a fellow I knew in India. We became lost in
reminiscence and the time slipped away from us." He handed her a slim
book bound in red leather. "As I was coming home, I remembered this
and wondered if you might like to read it."

Curious, Phaedra opened the book. "
Through the Eyes of a
Stranger
? What is it about?"

"I would rather you discovered for yourself. I must go."

Before she could object, he had departed. She stated after him,
wondering what had caused his shortness.
Men! Mama warned me that
sometimes they pass all understanding.
Curious, she turned to the first
page of text.

More than two hours later she closed the book, having read
straight through without a pause. It was an entertaining account of the
author's visits to several less populated parts of India, with amusing
anecdotes and colorful descriptions of places visited. The information
imparted to her a vivid picture of the way people in the far off land lived
from day to day. She had frequently found herself chuckling over the
humorously told tale of the author's misadventures in a strange land
populated by people who spoke unfamiliar tongues. Somehow he had
managed to make himself understood well enough to discover how they
lived their daily lives. Or had he made it all up? No, she could not believe
that, for there was a ring of truth in the well-written prose.

She turned to set the book on the table beside her chair and saw
Reggie seated across the room. He seemed to be watching her
closely.

"What a delightful book," she told him. "I thoroughly enjoyed
how amusingly the author relates his adventures. Do you suppose that he
really did go on the tiger hunt and manage to fall onto the beast's back as it
was caught in the net?"