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As she turned to him, he stared at her with such intensity that all laughter deserted her. “A healthy childhood, no doubt,” he commented before his strong arms pulled her to sit between his stretched legs as he leaned on the tree trunk.
Her spine met his taut chest, and her head rested on his shoulder. A deep sense of belonging invaded her heart, inappropriate as it might sound. His biceps wrapped about her and she placed her hands on his, their fingers entwining. The scent of clove essence and soap entered her nostrils when his sculpted mouth grazed her temple in feathery touches.
“You spent your boyhood in town, did you not?” She did not have the slightest notion of his early years.
“Yes. I used to be a grave pupil at school, always concentrated on the tasks.” She could envision him like that, the small boy he had been, bent on his school work. “But sometimes the other classmates and I played the occasional prank.” No child passed through school clear of mischief. “When I became the heir apparent, your uncle sent me to Eton.”
Her aunt had commented on it. “Did you like it there?” It must have been a big change for him.
“I did. I enjoyed studying, and it offered me a great challenge.” His arms tightened around her.
He would not be a man to skip challenges. His self-confidence and arrogance did not allow for it. “How did you start your business?” Even being declared heir, he needed a source of income.
“My father was the head of an export office, and I started there as a clerk.” His lips traced the shell of her delicate ear. “I learned all I could and saved enough to start on my own.” His father had died not long after he left Oxford, followed closely by his mother, she remembered.
She lifted her head to him to be given the view of dark eyes and midnight hair bent to her. The single-mindedness in him would cause him to be a leader in his trade for sure. Admiration flooded her insides.
The warmness of him and the stillness of the lake lured her into reveries. His broad frame enveloped hers, inducing that sensation of a protected shelter. She tried to shake off the illusion, for illusion it certainly was, but found herself incapable of doing it. Her gaze flew into the distance wishing it real.
Otilia lost track of time as they remained in this warm, comfortable silence, until his syrupy voice said in her ear, “Come on, siren. It is getting cold.” The breeze had changed into a light cool wind swishing through the trees, the sun between the clouds. Unable to tell how long she rested on his taut shoulder, she jerked into alertness.
They collected the wares scattered on the blanket and returned them in the basket. He helped her up, folded the blanket and hung it on his arm.
Both ambled sedately through the trail, arm in arm as though it was the most trivial thing on the planet.
A
After dinner, the Earl disappeared into the study for his brandy, and Otilia decided to retire. Tomorrow would be a busy day.
She took her old bedchamber which contributed to increase the coming home impression. The expectation—and, well, the hope—that Edmund would come to her sat in the back of her mind. Last night, he did not do it. Pe
rhaps the long trip had gotten him weary. Even tired, she had wished for his company, the warmth of him. His arms and legs wrapped around her as they came back to earth from the delights they indulged in, shrouded in the dark.
He did not, which she could not help but deem lamentable. Sleep took her over so quickly, she had no time to miss him.
Tonight though, her yearning did not give any signs of waning. Her eyes darted to the entrance of her chamber as if willing it to bring in the Earl.
Their day had been most pleasant with the picnic luncheon and the cosy afternoon they spent by the lake. A sense of peace and belonging dominated her, despite her awareness it should not.
In his arms, and in the middle of a colourful, undisturbed nature, she was so at peace and content, a way she had not been for many months. Thornton Manor had always been her refuge, the place where she became safe, loved. Her aunt and uncle had been her real family and made her consider herself accepted, though the reality of society had proven much different.
With Edmund here, it served solely to reinforce these feelings. He had not hinted at that tenderness before, preferring to show his overbearing, forceful side. But with his arms around her body, deep contentment invaded that heart of hers, and the desire for it to forever repeat itself had been inevitable. Exactly what she was trying to avoid.
The sense of belonging became worse. Belonging listed as a dear concept to an orphaned child, even when provided with an adoptive home. An unknown father, a dead mother and the sneering of society all contributed to Otilia regarding herself as an outsider. For these reasons, the town did not attract her. The people there did not welcome her, the lords humiliated her, and society isolated her. She understood perfectly well that belonging would never be a part of her life. And she forced herself to accommodate. To believe in it would cause her extreme suffering, for it would never be real. She did not need one more burden to carry. The consequences would cause unbearable cost.
Cost was the main idea here. If she allowed herself to become lured into the impression of security that the luncheon provided, it would lead her towards endless pain. She had already endured enough, dreamed of the impossible enough, and had been shunned enough. Even by the Earl. Cruel lessons learned the hard way. There must be resources she could use to protect herself. This thing with Edmund had limits, and she had to abide by them. It was imperative that she blocked out anything beyond the passion they enjoyed. She must be determined and strong willed not to overstep these boundaries.
But their passion oh… It was consuming, ragged, fathomless. It burned everything in her, and it asked for more. She wanted more, the most she could get. The most of it before the Earl tired of her and turned his attention to someone else; or married a debutante. When it happened, it would be the end. The end of the scalding nights. The end of a time she would never forget. Not the end of her, she would not allow it; but would move on striving to keep the good memories.
Her eyes flew to the unmoving door again. The house had gone quiet, not a soul circulated in it.
This did not mean her body was resigned, however.
For right at that instant, she paced the carpet, restless and unsure of how the night would elapse. The want of him reached absurd levels. They had not come together at all in the last few days, and she already displayed withdrawal symptoms. This must be an addiction, something she would not be able to stop hungering for. The pleasure they achieved kept her coming for more.
The thought gave her pause. She should not fall in this trap. A modicum of distance and self-preservation needed to remain.
Resolute, she changed into her nightgown and tucked herself into bed. It had been a full day, and she intended to repeat it tomorrow. She had asked the Earl if she could get involved in the chores. He had given her carte blanche, saying she had much more experience with the land than he. He would go out in the fields with the steward to overlook the tenants’ houses.
