CHAPTER 14
THE MOONLIGHT BATHEDher room in a silvery sheen, highlighting the subtle hues of the faded wallpaper adorned with floral motifs. The four-poster bed, draped in luxurious, if well-worn fabrics, was soft and comfortable, inviting rest and respite. A gentle breeze whispered through the open window, carrying with it the faint fragrance of blooming roses from the nearby gardens. Despite the serene ambiance, Abigail found sleep elusive, her mind filled with scattered thoughts and restless yearnings that danced in the moonlight.
The day had been fraught with too many emotions, and now they all swirled through her brain in a maelstrom. Danger, fear, passion, shame. And through it all, his kiss. Oh, how it agitated her, itching with desires too wild to contain.
Something had changed in their relationship. As if a veil had been peeled off and now the raw desire that simmered under the surface was exposed. Her lips still tingled with the memory of his lips on hers. For a crazy moment during that earth shattering kiss, the idea of allowing him to lower her to the blanket and make love to her had crossed her mind. That it had not appalled her, that in fact it had thrilled her, sent her mind into turmoil.
No, she couldn’t be feeling this way. She had suppressed and conquered these urges. She was not a harlot. Her lips twisted. Who was she trying to deceive? She had not conquered her base nature. Look how little it took to set her aflame today. Not even the danger of the shot had been enough to douse her ardor.
It didn’t matter that she had avoided him for the rest of the day. The fever in her flesh had not abated. Even now, her womanly place felt swollen, wet. Yearning for a touch. For his touch. She ran her hand down her torso. Her nightshirt had rucked up around her thighs during her tossing and turning. It was the work of a moment to push it aside and press her fingers into the place where she ached.
She had to bite her lip to smother a whimper at the flash of pleasure that coursed through her. Tears of shame, or relief, she wasn’t sure which, sprang to her eyes as she massaged her flesh, remembering how he had kissed her. The way his powerful arms had embraced her, pressing her to him.
She had felt the imprint of his desire against her stomach. He had been hard. A memory of his body as he emerged from the water that day in the stream came to mind. His member. It was so big. She wanted it. Wanted him to fill the empty space between her thighs.
She moaned at the image, her fingers moving faster over her flesh, while her other hand pinched a nipple, then the other. Her back arched off the bed at the pleasure. So close, she knew she was near. She sought it. Sought to lose herself in the oblivion offered by the release. It was momentary, she knew, but at this moment nothing else mattered.
Her fingers moved faster, driving her higher. At last, it broke over her, like the waves of the sea crashing at the shore, one after the other. Battering her, washing her. Her ears buzzed, the blood pumped through her body and for a few seconds; she was suspended in bliss.
Only to plummet.
Hard.
Of course she did. She knew it was coming. The ecstasy never lasted. And it always left her devastated in its wake.
Wrenching sobs racked her body, and she buried her face in the pillow, trying to smother them. Trying to forgive herself. At least nobody knew her true nature. She did this in the darkness. It was her private shame.
She had not succumbed to this urge in so long. When was the last time? She couldn’t even remember. Full of hubris, she had believed she had triumphed over it. But obviously, she had just lacked a proper temptation. Hidden away in the country, with only the countess for company, there were few opportunities to test her mettle.
But less than a month in the company of a virile man and she had caved in. There was no use lying to herself anymore. She was a wanton. She would never overcome it. She just had to try her damnedest to ensure nobody discovered it.
Her husband had seen it. In the intimacy of the marriage bed, where a person’s true nature was hard to disguise, he had witnessed her take pleasure in the marital act. And it had disgusted him. The memory brought fresh tears to her eyes. It didn’t matter that she knew his accusations were unfair. That he was a hypocritical bastard. She had never even looked at another man, while he often had come home smelling of alcohol and other women’s perfume.
But maybe all gentlemen were like that. They allowed their passions free rein with prostitutes while expecting absolute disinterest in sex from their wives. Maybe if she had been different. If she had behaved like a proper lady, her husband would have loved her, instead of reviling her.
No, she would not think about that. Edmund was dead, and good riddance. The loathsome bastard. She might be a wanton, but he had been a heartless brute. If he had not died, he might have killed her in one of his rages. And yet, his words, his actions, still had the power to shame her. To make her doubt herself and fear passion.
The clock in the hallway chimed two in the morning. She was so tired. And yet her mind refused to stop whirling long enough to sleep. Maybe she should read something. Something sedate. An edifying sermon or something like that might soothe her conscience and allow her to sleep.
She slid from the bed, threw on her wrapper and, taking a lamp, she set for the library. Her slippered feet padded through the silent hallways as the house slept.
The door to the library opened silently. The room appeared deserted, but her skin prickled with awareness. She turned and looked up. Her body registered his presence before her mind caught up. There he was, the object of her desire.
In nothing more than an open robe and loose trousers. He was sprawled on a chair by the fire, his legs open in masculine carelessness, reading a book and drinking brandy. Maybe he had not noticed her entrance. She turned to leave, but it was too late. His deep voice called out to her, sardonic and harder than she had ever heard it.
“No need to run, Abigail. I will not jump and ravish you.”
Acutely aware that they were both wearing their nightclothes, she pulled the wrapper tighter around herself.
