She should end it all now. She should say that she didn’t feel the same, but what if, what if he could ignore her past? A small bud of hope unfurled within her. If he could love her, other things may be possible…
His face was so close she could taste the whisky on his breath and so opened her eyes. She could not lie.
“I…I…” The words caught and stumbled.
A glass of whisky was pressed into her palm “’Tis easier with this. A drop always gives courage before…battle.” And she sipped the ashy liquid, shuddering.
“I love you, Lucas. I think I have loved you for a long time.”
The tension eased from his face, but he didn’t smile. Instead, his lips covered hers in a kiss that was gentle and soft.
“But Lucas, there are things…things I cannot tell you. You will come to hate–”
“Do you love me, Rosalind?” His gaze was so close she could see that the ends of his eyelashes were tipped with gold.
“Yes, and I mean that but–”
“Then there are no buts. That is all there is. That is all that matters. And if you think I am going to let anything – the past, secrets, anything – stand in our way, then you are mistaken. Nothing matters but our love.”
His gaze willed her to believe him, so intense, so true. The whisky glass was placed on the mantle, and he picked up her hands, kissing the fingers.
“We suit,” he said, then sighed. “No, that sounds wrong…cold even, but we balance and complement each other. You make me laugh; you make me feel alive; you make me want. I can only hope I do the same for you. The past, it is not important to what we have now.”
He was right. Why should the past interfere with their happiness? ’Twas true she had some strange habits, but he need never find out about the asylum. Why should he? And Lucas himself was not without his demons.
As for her dreams, they may go away with time, with his love. One day, she may even be able to tell him – the thought made her shiver, but no longer was it in dread…but hope.
“You make me feel cherished, Lucas. Cherished and whole. You make me happy and you…understand me. I was content before but always felt something was missing. When I am with you, nothing else matters.”
And indeed, when she had been with him, she did forget. That was why her thoughts this afternoon of leaving him alone had all been too late. She had already allowed herself to fall deeply in love.
When with him, she felt safe – protected from the past, the asylum and from her dreams.
“You make me want as well,” she said.
His smile broke wide and open, and a hand dropped to her waist, pulling her close. She could feel every inch of him, hot and hard against her soft frame. Another hand came to her nape and delicately brought her hair forward. She’d not plaited it and was now glad, seeing the gleam of appreciation in Lucas’s eye as the silky auburn mane whispered over her nightdress-clad breast.
He bent his head and his lips hovered over hers, the smallest of spaces between them.
“I love you, Rosalind.”
This kiss was different. It wasn’t soft or gentle. Their open mouths met and without preamble, his tongue swept in, tasting, searching. The rugged fingers at her waist clenched and then released in barely restrained yearning. She pushed closer and with a groan, Lucas ripped his mouth away.
“Rosalind, I want you so,” he muttered as his lips feathered their way across her cheek. He didn’t have to speak for her to know that. She could feel it: in the tense muscles of his arms, the rough edge to his breathing, the hard, potent heat she could feel pressing insistently against her belly as he seared a path of kisses down her neck. But she liked his words: blunt and gruff – he wanted her.
She hoped he could also feel her want. Every time her skin was touched, a burning sweetness flamed throughout, and her breaths were mere short, strangled gasps, hands twisting in the softness of his shirt.
A hot, eager mouth returned to hers with hard presses that left her reeling, neck and back arching tightly in order to receive his kiss. She didn’t care that her body strained to reach but Lucas obviously did as he swept an arm under her derrière and raised her tight against his body, lifting her to the oak chest of drawers.
The set of towels for morning were swept away by a powerful hand as he sat her gently upon it. He was still higher, but no longer did he have to bend quite so low, and Rosalind was able to easily touch his broad shoulders and torso. She felt his heavy exhalations and erratic heartbeat, heard his shuddering groan as she pushed the tailcoat from his shoulders. It fell unheeded to the floor, and she started on the neckcloth, which only required a few sharp tugs to unravel and join with the coat.
For a moment, she marvelled at him. The billowing shirt had laces, emphasising the tanned column of his neck. She wanted to kiss it, nuzzle and bite it. This man made her feel wanton and free, but his lack of movement now made her hesitate. By the soft light, she noticed his eyes had darkened to a deep, smoky grey.
“Lucas?”
“You’re so beautiful, Rosalind. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You hurt me by not touching me, by not kissing me, by not–”
