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Rose shivered with nervous excitement as she slipped out into the night, pulling her woolen shawl tightly about herself. The clock had just struck eleven, and she had waited until she heard the sound of the other girls’ snoring and slumbering before she had dared to make her escape.
Checking her surroundings, she raced across the shadowed lawns, heading for the lakeshore, as per Lord Langston’s instructions, which had come to her by way of Lord Bentley that afternoon. Although, Lord Langston had signed the note “Dorian” and had urged her to call him by his name when they met again. She did not know if she was brave enough to do so, but she had tried out his name upon her tongue and found it to be thoroughly tantalizing.
Overhead, swollen purple clouds filled the sky, blocking out the moonlight, and she could smell the scent of rain on the air. But none of that would stop her from going to meet Dorian. Even if a storm broke and the cold rain pelted her, she would continue on until she saw him again.
She squealed against the cold and picked up the pace, holding her skirts as she sprinted through the gap between the trees that would lead her to the lake. As she reached the expanse of water, the surface bouncing with the raindrops that hammered against it, she tried to look for Dorian, who was supposed to meet her here. However, she could not see him anywhere in the rainy darkness, and she knew of only one place where she would be able to wait out the storm, for she could not return to the house like this.
Running against the driving rain that lashed down, blinding her eyes with relentless water, and flinching at the roll of thunder that roared in the distance, she pounded the path that ran alongside the lake and did not stop until she reached the small, abandoned boathouse that stood beside the fateful coal store.
“Come on, come on!” She fumbled with the rusted lock on the boathouse door until it came away in her hand. Her teeth chattered as she ducked into the relative shelter of the wooden structure and closed the door behind her.
Rubbing her arms for warmth, she sat down on the wooden boards and listened to the percussion of the rain against the roof. Her gaze turned outward to the lake, visible ahead of her, where leisure vessels would have pushed out from the two parallel docks that ran down either side of the boathouse, had there been any to use. Evidently, Dorian did not favor boating as a pastime.
She would have taken cover in the coal store itself, but that would not have given her a view of the lake, where she would hopefully be able to spot Dorian.
He’ll think I’m not coming,she panicked.He’ll think I want nothing to do with him. But what can I do?The girls she shared a bed-chamber with would know she had snuck out if they saw her, drenched to the bone and looking like a bedraggled rat. That would do nothing but intensify the rumors that continued to spread, even a few days after her moonlit walk with Dorian.
Agitated and too cold to stay sitting, she got to her feet and paced back and forth along the horizontal pontoon that gave her the best vantage point of the lakeshore. But the rain was much too heavy, and she could not make out anything but the blur of it slanting down and hitting the water. If her father was out there, hiding in the woods, she would not have been able to see him, any more than she would be able to see Dorian waiting for her.
“This is hopeless,” she muttered.
She was about to turn around and brave the rain again when the boathouse door swung open, and a figure stood, silhouetted on the threshold. Rose gasped in alarm, which quickly turned to delight. Soaked to the skin, water dripping from his wet hair, panting as though he had been running, Dorian had found her.
* * *
Unbeknownst to Rose, Dorian had seen her fleeing along the lakeshore when the storm hit, having just emerged from the path to the meadow, where he had hidden away for the better part of the last hour to gather his nerve. He had not wanted anyone from the house to see him walking in the same direction as Rose, either, if someone happened to be spying from a window. And he had recently re-learned that the gossip of his staff could be an unruly, untamable beast.
Indeed, Dorian had spent his time in the meadow repeating the same irked sentiment about his staff and their love of rumors, for he had a horrible feeling that it might prevent Rose from coming to meet with him. All of those fears had melted away when he had spotted her shadow amidst the driving rain and witnessed her race toward the shelter of the abandoned boathouse.
As such, there had been no choice in his mind but to run after her. If only to ensure that she did not catch a terrible cold, or worse, which is how he came to stand in the doorway, breathing roughly, his eyes seeking her out in the dim light.
“Lord Langston… You’re here,” Rose whispered breathlessly. “I didn’t know if you’d be able to find me. I worried you might think I wasn’t coming.”
He stepped in out of the rain and closed the door behind him. Wordlessly, he moved toward an old, dusty box in the corner of the boathouse where his family used to keep lanterns and candles and matches when there used to be boating and leisure upon this lake. Now, it was mostly for show, or the occasional attempt at fishing, for the carp had grown fat and lazy with the lack of attention from the estate.
Taking out a lantern and shaking it gently to listen for the telltale slosh of oil still within the bottom chamber, he struck a match to the ancient wick and prayed it would spark into life. To his delight, it did, the soft, buttery glow spreading across the small space. The flame flickered, reflecting in the dark water that stretched away a few wide paces ahead of him.
“Lord Langston?” Rose prompted, her voice tight with nerves. “Are you cross with me, because of everything people are saying? I told them they were wrong. I’ve done all I can to stop them gossiping. I even said that the gifts you sent me were… from London and that they already belonged to me. I felt terrible, taking credit for them because they were so lovely and so thoughtful, and I just wanted to…” She trailed off as he turned slowly to face her.
The warm light bathed her in a golden halo, adding an otherworldly, almost metallic sheen to her slick skin. Her hazel eyes looked bronze in the lantern glow, her dark hair in a state of tantalizing wildness, a few sodden tendrils sweeping down over the rise of her breasts, drawing his eye to the rest of her body. He could not help but look, for the rain had made the thin, pale fabric cling to her every curve and contour, and had grown sheer with the soaking.
My goodness… she is exquisite.His throat constricted, and he felt a stirring within him, hot and fierce and pulsing with life, in stark contrast to the icy chill from the downpour. She wore none of the usual trappings of undergarments beneath the dress, and he could see the faintly blue-veined plumpness of each breast and the tempting blush of her nipples straining through the wet material. He did not dare to look below the visible hollow of her navel, lest he be overcome with desire.
“Call me by my name,” he murmured thickly. All he had to do was toss the lantern into the water or blow out the flame, and he would not have to suffer the torment of seeing her figure in all its bare glory beneath the insufficient covering of her dress. But he could not do it.
She hesitated. “D-Dorian… I just wanted to say thank you for the gifts you sent. That’s what I meant to say before, but I… lost my trail of thoughts.” He noticed her eyes making good measure of him and hoped that she, too, would not dare a glance below his navel. He had no way of hiding his visible desire for her, not without turning his back and waiting for it to pass. But he could no more do that than sputter out the lantern.
Dorian. Dorian. She said my name, and I have never heard it spoken more sweetly…It was as heavenly music to his overwhelmed ears, his heart thumping louder in his chest to add percussion to her delicate tune.
“Please,” she said quietly, “say you aren’t cross with me, Dorian. I’ve tried to dispel any whisperings, and I think people are starting to—”
He did not let her finish. Setting the lantern down on an upturned crate, he closed the gap between them and gathered her in his arms, dipping his head so that he could savor a taste of her lips, as he had wanted to in the meadow the other night. The moment their mouths touched, a bombardment of pleasurable explosion burst through his veins and his mind and his heart, making his body tremble as he moved his lips against hers.
For a moment, she stood there in his embrace, frozen like a startled doe in the snare of a hunter. It made him stop abruptly, his hands upon the slope of her hips, and wonder what on Earth he had done.
“Dorian,” she whispered. Before he understood what was happening, she raised up on tiptoe and slid her arms around his neck for purchase, her lips seeking out his with a hunger that thrilled him.
“Rose,” he breathed in reply, as he let his mouth and his fervor lead him. He pulled her closer, until her soaked body was flush to his, his hand on the base of her spine urging her closer still, so she could feel the firmness that swelled behind the constraint of his trousers. His other hand sought to cradle the back of her neck as his lips danced a slow, forbidden waltz against hers, her mouth moving in perfect synchronization with his.
