Kary, Elizabeth (22 page)

"Don't
you think we should get up and take you home?" he murmured, against her
lips.

"Not
yet, Hayes. Oh, don't make me go yet," Leigh whispered almost desperately.
"Let me stay a few more minutes, please?"

Whether
she wanted to remain in his arms to avoid acknowledging Lucas Hale's death, or
because of the delight swelling between them, Hayes did not know. But before he
could consider her reasons more carefully, Leigh's half-opened mouth moved over
his once more, and any reservations he might have had were obliterated in a
rush of devastating sensation. Their tongues swirled in the depths of each
other's mouths, and their bodies strained ever closer.

Hayes
gave himself over to satisfying her needs and kissed Leigh as if he would never
stop, totally consuming her consciousness, driving thought, regrets, and grief
from her mind. Even through the despair of losing Lucas, her body responded to
his, and Leigh willingly surrendered to the physical side of her nature.
Nothing existed now but Hayes: no death, no loss, no responsibility. She wanted
him to go on holding her, pleasing her, bringing forgetfulness. And she selflessly
sought the same for him.

Hayes's
heartbeat tripped erratically as Leigh's hands slipped over him, sliding up
inside his untucked shirt, moving in a caress that was innocent and gentle, but
tantalizing as well. Her fingers were cool against his flesh, but their touch
was like flame to kindling, and he was consumed by a yearning he was helpless
to deny.

The
other times desire had flared between them, he had been the one in control. The
night on the porch and that afternoon on the riverboat he had been the one to
press on or hold back. Now it was Leigh who had seized the dominant role, and
he wondered if she understood her power or the ruthless strength of the thing
she was unleashing upon them. The feel of her hands moving on his body, the
abandon in her kisses were pushing him toward a point where he would be
incapable of restraint, and he tried one last time to turn away.

But
Leigh had already made her decision. In the name of oblivion, she welcomed his
passion and met it with her own. Her hands moved steadily upward over his ribs,
brushing the smooth nipples hidden in the tangle of curly hair on his chest.
When he groaned mindlessly at the contact, she returned to touch them again,
smiling to herself, both curious and strangely delighted by the thing she had
discovered. With deliberate provocation she continued her exploration, then
touched the lobe of his ear with her tongue and felt his body quicken beneath
her. There was an exalting power in being able to garner a response from him,
and while she reveled in the sweet forgetfulness he offered, the seeds of some
deeper understanding were sown within her.

His
body had stirred erotically as they kissed and hardened at Leigh's untutored
touch, so that now Hayes was a man aggressively ready to take his pleasures.
With a single motion, he rolled over, pressing Leigh back onto the bed,
claiming her as his. For the briefest instant he hesitated, and when he saw
only welcome in her eyes, he willfully lost himself in her. Once before he had
refused to show her the wonders of physical love, but now he wanted nothing
more than to initiate her to the world of delight. Then he had not wanted to
admit what the last days had proved: that he loved Leigh, that the idea of a
commitment no longer frightened him. He wanted to be her first man, her last
man, the only man Leigh Pennington would ever know.

Hayes
opened the bodice of her gown with trembling hands, and her breasts seemed to
billow above the lacy top of her chemise, a fetching display of her abundant
charms.

Murmuring
words Leigh could not hear, he buried his mouth against her throat, then traced
scalding designs downward toward the apex of her breasts. Through the sheer
chemise he teased her nipples, moistening the fabric until it was translucent,
circling and sucking the rosy buds beneath until they blossomed with sensation.
Tremors flowed along her spine and down her limbs as Hayes moved over her, and
she hugged his dark head closer, urging him on. Her world contracted as they
twined together until nothing and no one but Hayes existed.

His
hands sought the strings of her whalebone corset, finding the tie at the waist
and spreading her stays. As the constriction eased, Leigh drew a breath and
felt all at once abandoned and free. She arched her back, filling her lungs with
air, letting a feeling of wanton liberation flood through her body. Twining her
arms around Hayes, she sought his mouth for another lingering kiss and reveled
in the eagerness of his response. Then the tapes at her waist were loosened
too, and Hayes was impatiently pushing her heavy skirts, petticoats and corset
aside.

Somehow
in their tussling his shirt had come undone, leaving studs pooled beneath them
on the coverlet and with a murmured promise, he slid the fine linen garment
down his arms. Pausing now and then to fondle her, he wriggled out of his other
clothes until he lay beside Leigh with her batiste-covered curves pressed to
his hard, bared torso. Hayes had expected a retreat now that the protection of
their clothes had been swept away, and he steeled himself to accept her recoil
gracefully if she turned from him, but instead of making a retreat, Leigh's
hands moved over his body, touching, exploring, making him ache with longing.

Then,
all at once, Hayes began to understand the scope of what Leigh wanted. In the
dark face of death she was flaunting man's only chance for immortality,
savoring the very essence of life instead of acknowledging death. She had run
from her grief to the depths of their passion, seeking deliverance in their
intimacies, forgetfulness in their mutual desire. And, as he lowered his mouth
to hers, Hayes recognized the inexorable trap in his own emotions. For whatever
her motives were in abandoning herself to him, he was seeking only Leigh.

Then
they were both lost to thought, caught up in the most intense and mindless of
all man's endeavors. Her underclothes were drawn from her body, and her skin
bathed in a wave of worshipful kisses. Leigh reveled in the touch of his mouth
and hands upon her flesh, delighted in the feel of his muscles stretching and
flexing beneath her fingers. As he skillfully made love to her, Leigh became
aware of many things: of the gentle murmur of his muffled endearments, of the
vitality of his tousled hair, of the rugged strength of his chest and shoulders,
of the masculine tang of his skin. Every impression was engraved upon her
memory, every bit of her awareness consumed by the act of making love. Then the
peripheral sensations drifted away, and she knew only his stroking hand between
her thighs, the spiral of excitement as he drew upon her breasts. Her eyes
closed, and her body stilled its movement as she savored the wondrous pleasure
that was dissolving her very being. She held her breath, poised and waiting,
every gram of concentration on the delight that Hayes had wrought. Then came
the need for something more, something that was not hers alone to enjoy, and
when she moved her hips against his in mute evidence of her need, Hayes came to
her joyously, eagerly joining his body with hers.

The
pain that came with the first thrust was unexpected and sharp, and she
stiffened, twisting helplessly against him.

"Easy,
easy, Leigh," he whispered in a voice raw and grainy with desire.
"I'm sorry I hurt you; I thought you knew I would." There was a
momentary pause, and she could feel his breath fan against her throat before he
continued in that same husky whisper. "It will be better next time, I
promise you, my sweet."

Then,
as if he had no choice, he began to move within her, stroking gently but
pressing deep. She was shocked by the intimacy of his penetration, the abandon
in his movements, but from some primitive well of understanding came the urge
to open herself to him. What was happening between them was something that went
beyond the physical union of their bodies, and Leigh strove to understand the
mystical bond being forged between them. Then Hayes was moving more quickly,
his breathing harsh and ragged, until he shuddered to straining stillness and
spilled his essence into her.

For
a moment he hung above her on trembling arms, a morass of emotions in the
depths of his eyes, and finally, with a sigh that seemed to come from his very
soul, he withdrew to lie beside her. Curving protectively, he splayed the
fingers of one hand across her waist in a gesture of ultimate possession.

As
they lay side by side in the stillness, she could hear the harshness of his
breathing, feel the jarring of his heart. Overwhelming tenderness for this man
who had come to her in passion and consolation welled through her. His gentleness,
his patience, and his understanding of her loss were so evident in his actions
that she was stunned by the extent of his concern.

Fresh
tears singed her lowered lashes and slid slowly into her hair to mingle with
the ones she had cried for Lucas. Today she had shed tears for the two men who
held claim to her emotions, and as she wept for Hayes's warmth and compassion,
she became agonizingly aware of the other half of what she'd done. In seeking
solace from her grief in Hayes's ardor, Leigh had sullied and betrayed the
memory of Lucas Hale.

At
that moment Hayes was beyond guilt, but Leigh was not, and it devastated her.
The forgetfulness she had been seeking had proved transitory at best, and in
the aftermath of their lovemaking, Leigh was forced to acknowledge her own
weakness. Now, in addition to facing the loss of the man she loved, came the
burgeoning realization that she had sullied his memory by giving the honor she
had promised Lucas to another man. The sweetness and pleasure Hayes had
provided had defiled her feelings for Lucas far beyond any comfort this joining
might have given her. She had found shame, not consolation, pain, not peace in
Hayes's arms. Even now, Hayes was a threat to Lucas, an unwitting despoiler of
the sacred word Leigh had given her fiancé all those months and months before.
Her own appalling lack of temperance overwhelmed her in ways the news of
Lucas's death had not, and she knew she had disavowed Lucas in death as she had
refused to do in life. And worse, no matter what she did, she could never make
it up to him.

Leigh
turned on her side and curled in upon herself, huddling just beyond the arc of
Hayes's embrace, staring sightlessly across the room as waves of self-loathing
rushed over her. She had betrayed Lucas, betrayed him at a time when he and all
they had meant to each other should have been foremost in her mind. In turning
to Hayes for comfort, she had sullied Lucas Hale's memory, nullified the love
he had given so unstintingly. Instead of hoarding every memory of Lucas as
something impossible to replace, she had denied their value, cheapened the
respect and honor Lucas had always showed her.

With
the realization of what she'd done, of what she'd betrayed, of what she'd
become, Leigh was devastated. She was an empty, discarded husk of a woman,
devoid of pride and self-respect. She was a tramp, a harlot, a whore, bartering
her body for something as fleeting as a moment's oblivion. As she lay in the
thundering silence, her misery grew, and Hayes, lying so close beside her, could
not help but sense her feelings.

"Leigh,"
he whispered. "Leigh?" And when she gave him no reply, he continued.
"Leigh, do you hate me?" His voice was like the rustle of dead leaves
in the silence that filled the cabin.

She
stirred sluggishly and coiled closer, his quiet words adding a new dimension to
her guilt. Now she was hurting Hayes too, and she knew she could not let him
bear this burden in her stead. No matter what had happened or his part in it,
she owed Hayes the truth at least. "No, Hayes," she admitted as a
paralyzing lethargy seeped through her limbs. "I hate myself for letting
this happen, not you."

There
was a pause while Hayes measured the scope of his own remorse. "This
wasn't your fault, Leigh," he told her. "You were hardly thinking clearly.
I should have known; I should have held back." Regret and resignation
mingled in his leaden tone, and pain shredded the usually deep timber of his
voice.

More
tears pooled in her eyes as Leigh turned to look at him. "Oh, Hayes, no.
This is what I wanted. You did nothing more than what I asked." She knew
there must be something else she could do to spare him, but she could not bring
herself to talk more about what they had done or admit the depth of her shame.

"I
want to get dressed and go home now," she said finally, granting no
absolution, harshly condemning herself without any hope of mercy. "Surely
my parents are wondering where I am, and I still have to tell them about—about
Lucas."

In
brittle silence they dressed and found a carriage: Leigh wretched and dry-eyed,
Hayes guilty and grim. They sat for the duration of the ride as if they were at
opposite ends of the world instead of at opposite ends of the carriage seat.
Nor had they spoken or reached any resolution between them when the coach pulled
up before the Pennington town house on Locust Street.

"Leigh,
I'm sorry," Hayes began, feeling the need to apologize at least, but her
frozen expression cut him short.

"There
is nothing, nothing you can say that will change what just happened between us.
It was my doing, totally mine. You have nothing to be sorry for." She
spoke without even looking at him. "I just want to put this whole incident
behind me, put everything behind me. I just want to forget."