“This is too easy,” Silas said disgustedly.
“Shh!” came from the opposing team.
She continued fanning her face as her fingers traced a trail from her neck to her breasts. She let out a low moan. In front of me, I saw Ned shift in his chair and cross his legs.
“The dog days of summer,” Mr. Markham called out.
The charade abruptly stopped and Molly grinned. “A tally for us, I think. And Silas, we don’t all have minds as depraved as yours.”
“You’ve never complained about my depravity before, Mary Margaret, and I know you won’t be complaining tonight.”
There were laughs, but there were also knowing looks, and Silas’s was the most knowing of all. Once again, I felt at sea, out of my depth with these sophisticated people. In a way, I wanted to be like them—familiar with pleasure to the point of dismissiveness. But in another, much stronger way, I still wanted to be outside, away from their sidelong looks and veiled references that I only barely understood.
The game continued in the same vein for another hour—each charade, though perfectly innocent on paper, inevitably turned into something with sexual overtones. As the game wore on, the suggestion of sex became less of a suggestion. Ned pulled Hugh up and kissed him long on the lips to demonstrate the story of Jonathan and David. Mercy unlaced her dress to give herself the bedraggled appearance of a shipwreck survivor. On and on it went, my face flushing warmer and warmer, and not from embarrassment, until Molly and Silas claimed exhaustion and stopped the game while it was tied. Laughter and conversation bubbled up and drinks were called for; I used the friendly chaos as a screen to escape quietly from the room.
The hallway was much cooler than the parlor, and I continued down it until I reached the low door that led out to the gardens, grateful to feel the open air on my face and to be on my own once again.
“Am I interrupting you?” Mr. Markham asked from behind me.
“Not at all.” I slowed my steps so that he could catch up, and together we walked in the moonlight, the light breeze and chirruping of insects the only noise aside from our footsteps on the path.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” he asked.
“Your friends are more worldly than me. I’m afraid I’m a social liability.” I meant it lightly, but he stopped and gazed at me with fierceness that surprised me.
“You are not at all a liability. Quite the opposite. They are all very taken with you.”
“I hope I’ve made a good impression. Silas is very friendly.”
This, apparently, was not at all what Mr. Markham wanted to hear. “Silas is dangerous.”
“He seems the very spirit of good humor.”
“I meant dangerous to young women and their virtue.”
“As dangerous as you?” I asked.
His eyes glittered in the dark—more silver than green in the moonlight. “I am much, much more dangerous.” He stepped closer, so that the rustling silk of my gown brushed against his legs. “And now that I’ve felt what it’s like inside you, now that I’ve tasted you,” he said quietly, “I’m hungrier for you now more than ever.”
Our faces were very close now, and I vividly recalled the warmth of his lips, the soft dancing of his tongue. On impulse, I pressed the palm of my hand against the front of his breeches, feeling the thick hardness underneath.
He sucked in a breath.
I moved my hand up and down, rubbing him through the expensive fabric, and his eyes slowly closed.
“The others called me your pet,” I whispered to him. “Would you like me to be?”
He gently pulled my hand away. “That’s what I’m trying to save you from.”
And then he bowed and walked away, the gravel crunching under his boots as he went.
I didn’t return to the others. Instead—new dress be damned—I left the grounds and entered the forest, luminously lit by the full moon and the glut of stars overhead. I paced and walked and fretted, imagining conversations and kisses, creating scenarios that ended in passionate embraces. It wasn’t until I found myself at the pool where Mr. Markham had so unexpectedly claimed my breasts that I came to a decision, a decision that had been brewing the entire week but that I hadn’t yet articulated to myself.
I wanted Mr. Markham. I wanted him in all the carnal ways that he wanted me, and I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I had no money and no connections and my claim to the title of gentleman’s daughter was now completely laughable. I would never make a good marriage, if I ever made one at all. Perhaps being a mistress was the best I could hope for. Certainly, being one to Mr. Markham would be no hardship. He was handsome and darkly unpredictable, intelligent and generous with his pleasure. He haunted my thoughts day and night, every hour, every minute, and I thirsted for his company like a forest for rain. I was obsessed, I knew, obsessed in a way that spoke almost more of love than of lust.
Mr. Markham had told me that he was a man of needs. But wasn’t I also a woman of needs? Roaming wildly, drinking whenever I liked, swimming and running and reading late into the night? For the last seven years, I’d followed my impulses wherever they led me, and it was too late to stop now.
No, I wanted him and I wanted him tonight. I would find him and tell him, and if he insisted on restraining himself, well, then I would do everything in my power to shatter that restraint.
