‘Trust is a precious thing too,’ he almost whispered. ‘And love. What could be more precious?’
She reached out in the darkness and took his hand in hers. ‘Nothing. Nothing in the world.’
He raised it to his lips and kissed it, then held it against his face, against his scar. If she could tell that he was weeping, which he thought she must as the hot tears trickled unchecked down his face, she made no mention of it. Perhaps she was weeping too; perhaps that was why.
‘What would such people do?’ he said gruffly after a moment, not letting go of her. ‘How would they go on, if they could not engage themselves, formally or informally, for as long as a year?’
‘Well, it’s more like eleven months now, in point of fact. I think they would meet in secret,’ she told him softly. ‘Because Mrs Albery, as you must have noticed, said nothing at all in her will – not a word – about any sort of irregular, even scandalous connection. That is not forbidden, when respectable marriage is. One might almost say, therefore, that bad behaviour is encouraged. What do you think, sir? You knew her where I did not – was she a wicked old woman who might have thought of such a thing, or am I being fanciful in thinking so, just because the tendency of my mind is shockingly wanton and impure?’
‘Not fanciful at all,’ he said, and took her in his arms at last. ‘She was an outspoken, mischievous creature and I’m sure our dilemma – the dilemma of the persons who love each other, that is, but through her contrivance may not marry just yet – would have amused her excessively. And as for wanton and impure, I like the sound of that excessively.’
‘Good, because in my wantonness, I demand to see you naked. You have seen me so, felt me so, and yet barely taken your coat off in my presence. That has to change. It’s only fair, I think.’
‘I have other scars under my clothes,’ he said. ‘Extensive ones.’ It was a mere statement of fact, where a few weeks ago, it would have been a howl of pain and self-hatred.
‘I knew you must have. Andyouknow I don’t care. Strip, Major.’
Alistair undid his cravat with unsteady hands, and cast it aside. He shrugged himself out of his overcoat and jacket, and then his waistcoat, and pulled his shirt clumsily over his head.
‘Do you need help with your boots?’ she asked, and knelt at his feet to assist him to remove them. Then she unbuttoned his breeches at the knee, and pulled down his stockings. It was true, he had not felt her fingers on his bare skin before, apart from on his face and hands. Her touch was almost unbearably arousing, on smooth flesh and puckered scar tissue alike, and did not make struggling out of his breeches and drawers any easier.
‘I am naked and yours entirely,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Now what do you mean to do with me?’
51
Cecilia thought that Alistair was beautiful in the moonlight that came in fitfully through the summerhouse’s small windows. She might have wished it stronger, brighter, but knew he did not. And after all, she had other senses than sight.
‘It’s my turn to touch you,’ she told him. ‘Lie down.’
‘Not all of me will, I fear,’ he said raggedly, and she could see that this was true. She stripped off her dressing gown and night-rail, and moved to lie beside him, running her hands slowly across his strongly muscled arms and down his chest, tangling her fingers in the soft hair that grew there. She’d never seen a naked man before, nor touched one, and statues, she was coming to realise, weren’t at all the same. He was warm and real, and her touch made him gasp delightfully, especially when her exploring fingers found his taut little nipples. Pleased with his reaction, she lowered her mouth to them, and licked and kissed them just as he had done so unforgettably to her. His skin was salty, delicious. He moaned, then, and his whole body jolted when she nipped at them with her teeth, and sucked on them in turn.
She shifted down the bench and began kissing her way down his chest, down his flat belly.
‘Are you sure…?’ he whispered raggedly.
‘I have not the least idea what I’m doing,’ she murmured against him, and even the light caress of her breath placed on his sensitive skin made him shiver. She smiled. ‘I am relying on you to tell me if you don’t like it. When you do like it, I can feel that for myself, I’ve found. I remember your lips on my most secret places, and the glorious destruction you wrought in me. That shall be my guide.’
He made no coherent answer to that, because she was continuing in her exploration. He was hard, and jolted when she put her fingers on him, but his skin was silky-smooth under her lips and tongue. It seemed obvious, now that she was here, that she should take him in her mouth, and so she did.
‘Oh God, Cecilia, yes!’ he moaned, and she smiled around him, taking him deeper in, moving up and down upon him, enjoying the feel and taste of him under her sensitive lips and hot mouth. She knew enough already from their previous encounters to guess what the result of this must be, and when he began to jolt and spasm, she pulled back a little and devoured him, her whole world having narrowed only to this. As long as he moved convulsively at her touch, she continued to lick and suck and taste him greedily, and when he stopped, she buried her face in his belly, inhaling his scent, and he held her, stroking her hair with hands that shook.
‘Good God,’ he murmured. ‘Good God, Miss Constantine.’
After a little while, she moved up into his embrace, and lay with her head on his shoulder, and his hands were on her, exploring in his turn. She was aroused by what she’d so scandalously done to him and by his wonderful reaction to it, her breasts and nipples aching for his touch, her core liquid fire.
‘I liked what you did to me before,’ she said, moving to straddle him. ‘In fact, I loved it, and I need you to do it again, and quickly.’
His voice was a little muffled, understandably, but he was perfectly audible when he said, his breath tickling her deliciously, ‘It’s definitely what Mrs Albery would have wanted for you.’ And then he was in no situation to speak, and nor was she.
52
The next day, all the Constantines felt liberated, now that it seemed things had returned to normal and they were no longer under any sort of guard. They had not forgotten what had happened, the shock and horror of it, but… life went on, for them, at least, and it was precious.
During the short while she had been with them, Leontina had had time to take stock of the manifold inadequacies of her daughters’ domestic arrangements, and now demanded an urgent shopping trip to Debenbridge to rectify them. Miss Macintyre was happy to accompany her old employer if it meant that she could visit the bookshop at last, Cecilia was perfectly willing to drive, and Bianca to sit at her side, perhaps to take the reins a little herself and begin her own education as a whip. Bea said that the cart would be quite full enough with the four of them, and that she preferred to remain at home and enjoy a little time alone. If either of her sisters had any particular reason to disbelieve her, they were considerate enough not to say so aloud. So she was free to do as she pleased for a few hours, without anyone questioning her.
As soon as the horse and cart were out of sight, she set off for Pallant Manor, feeling both queasy and determined. She’d never been there before, but she knew the direction, and knew too that Miss Pallant was still in residence, though it was rumoured that the new Lord Pallant had gone away on business of some kind, perhaps connected with the necessary sale of his and his brother’s expensive horses.
There had been a very quiet funeral, a few days since, and though she had fretted over whether Vivienne might need her support at that ceremony, she hadn’t in the end felt able to go. She did not know what their relationship was going to be – she didn’t even know if they were going to have a relationship of any kind – but she could not let Vivienne think even for a moment that she would stand at her side from now on without further discussion. If her former lover cherished any such hopes – and after all, she might not, since the connection between them had been very brief and carried out almost entirely under false pretences on Miss Pallant’s part – it would be cruel to raise them and then later dash them. They should meet alone, when next they met, not in front of others. Vivienne had not replied to her letter of condolence, but this, she thought, was perfectly understandable, and she bore her no ill will for it.
