Authors: Diane Farr
He seemed to sense it when she quickened in his arms. Cleverly, however, he did not increase the urgency of his kisses. He continued to coax her, kissing her with amazing softness even though she had turned from pliant to eager. But his hands began to move. Slowly, slowly. His fingers lightly traced her waist, then moved languidly up her rib cage. He must have felt, with his hand against her ribs, how rapid and shallow her breathing had become. He must
know
what he was doing to her. But he was giving
her time
... for what?
Through the confusion that swirled in her brain, drugged with his kisses, she realized what he was waiting for. He was waiting for her to acknowledge what she wanted. But what did she want? She didn
’
t know. She only knew that she wanted. Wanted desperately.
“T
ouch me,
”
she heard herself whisper. The words had risen from some deep, primitive part of her. This unacknowledged corner of her nature evidently knew, despite her inexperience, what she wanted. She wasn
’
t even sure she had said the words aloud, but she must have. He instantly complied.
He broke their kiss when his hand covered her breast, as if he could not concentrate on two such overwhelming tasks at once. A tiny sound emitted from his throat, a soft groan of tortured excitement that magnified her own. He stared at his hand on her, watching his fingers stroke and outline and pet, finding the contours of her body beneath the clothes that confined her. The sight of his hand touching her so brazenly seemed to arouse him, and the look of arousal on Derek
’
s face enhanced the sensation for
Cynthia
. She arched her back, wantonly inviting more.
His eyes lifted to hers, drowsy and heavy-lidded with the opiate of their intimacy. And then he lightly raked his nails across her bodice. A softer touch would not have penetrated her stays; this, however, sent a jolt of pure pleasure from the tips of her breasts all the way through her.
Cynthia
gasped, nearly crying out with startled delight.
“D
o you like that, sweetheart?
”
he muttered thickly.
“Y
es,
”
she replied, nearly sobbing with reaction.
“O
h, yes.
”
He used his nails, then, to scratch rhythmically across the
taut fabric that pressed the
tips of her breasts. She was soon writhing mindlessly beneath his hands. It was the sharpest, keenest pleasure she had ever felt
—
it was almost unbearable, it was so intense
—
and yet it left her wanting more.
Amid the haze of sensation, she became aware that Derek was pulling her up to a sitting posture. She felt his mouth against her neck, kissing her throat, and then he whispered, close to her ear,
“L
et
’
s get you out of these stays, my love.
”
An hour ago, such a suggestion would have embarrassed her. Now, however, it seemed such an excellent idea that she wondered why she hadn
’
t thought of it herself.
* * *
Derek taught
Cynthia
many powerful things that night. She learned that skin against skin, hers against
his, was indescribably lovely—
as sweetly drugging as the fragrance of the orange blossoms. And soon after that, she learned that the gift of touch required a mutual trust, a shared vulnerability, that bound the two of them with ties that were every bit as spiritual as they were carnal. And, eventually, she learned that there were so many ways to express love that it was possible to keep her virginity while st
ill sharing
intimate knowledge of each other.
She also learned that men are different from women in more ways than she had guessed. Derek
’
s response to her touch was subtly different from her response to his. Hers was emotional, diffuse, and seemed to intensify at a gradual, ever-increasing pace. His response to her touch was swift, physical, and shattering in its intensity. She found his inability to resist her
—
the way his control broke under the weight of what she made him feel
—
completely thrilling.
But the most important thing she learned was that emotion and sensation could not be disentangled. One enhanced the other and, eventually,
emotion and sensation
joined, becoming one. In the crucible of passion, their love for each other and their desire for each other melded into a single, all-encompassing force.
It was only later that she learned how much of what she experienced this night had been new to Derek, too. She was deeply glad when he confessed, in an awestruck whisper, that none of his previous encounters had prepared him for this. The totality of making love to someone he actually loved, was nearly as startling a revelation to him as it had been to her.
And thus Derek and
Cynthia
discovered, together, the a
wesome paradox of love: that at
the point where humanity
surrenders to
its animal nature
, it
most closely approach
es
the divine.
Chapter
19
Lady Ballymere slipped nervously out of bed and wrapped her dressing gown around her. She probably should lie abed and wait for Lucy to arrive with her morning tray
—
it was nearly her usual time to rise now
—
but she could not bear the suspense another instant.
She had lain awake during most of the night, nerves stretched nearly to the breaking point, and was, therefore, almost certain that
Cynthia
had never come in. But
‘
almost
’
was not certain enough. What if
Cynthia
had somehow returned without her hearing it? She had to know. She shoved her feet impatiently into the mules placed ready for her on the carpet, and hastened to the door that connected her room to her daughter
’
s.
The bed was empty. It was better than empty; it was untouched. A sigh of relief escaped her. The plan had worked! She had been so afraid during the night. A thousand things might have gone wrong, and in the wee hours of the morning she had been tortured by visions of disaster. But nothing had gone wrong.
The biggest gamble had been deceiving
Cynthia
. She had toyed with the notion of consulting her, but had decided against it in the end.
Cynthia
seemed to feel some silly scruples about attaching John Ellsworth, and heaven alone knew what game
Cynthia
was playing with Mr. Whittaker. So she had resolved that it was safer to deceive
Cynthia
as well as Mr. Ells
worth. Nevertheless, last night... after the die was cast and it was too late to turn back
... she had suffered great anxiety regarding
Cynthia
’
s reaction to the deception. She had wondered whether
Cynthia
would play along once she realized what her mother was trying to accomplish, or whether she would be angry. Evidently, she had played along. It would have been a fairly simple matter to escape the trap. All they need do was to break either the lock or one of the windows. Sinc
e they had evidently done neither
, all must be well.
On the other hand, it would be a mistake to triumph too soon. There might be another reason why they had not broken out of the orangery; they might simply have felt squeamish about damaging His Grace
’
s property. The young couple might have decided that it was better to stay where they were until they were discovered, claim innocence, and brazen it out. Matters could yet go awry
.
Cynthia
might yet prove defiant. There was still work to do, to bring this marriage about.
At any moment,
Cynthia
and Mr. Ellsworth mus
t be discovered and freed. The kitchen maid would go out at some point to gather the breakfast oranges. She might, even now, be at the orangery. Lady Ballymere must act immediately to ensure that her careful scheme did not dwindle into mere kitchen gossip. It would take more than kitchen gossip to seal this contract. The entire household must be set abuzz.
With a determined stride, Lady Ballymere went to the bell rope and tugged vigorously on it. Lucy was probably already on her way, but no matter. She must send a signal of agitation and uproar to everyone in the servants
’
wing. She tugged and tugged and tugged. And then, after a pause, she tugged again.
A grim little smile flitted across her features as she pictured the racket she must be causing belowstairs. The servants would doubtless begin by cursing her impatience. Then, as they recognized the urgency of her repeated summons, curiosity would stir. They would exclaim and wonder and speculate. And when the kitchen maid returned from the orangery, big with news, they would be primed to expect something scandalous. They would gather, eager to hear her tale. And then the gossip would
spread like wildfire through
the house.
When Lucy appeared, Lady Ballymere was pacing like a tigress, her dressing gown swirling dramatically. She pounced on the startled servant the instant she saw her.
“L
ucy, thank heaven you
’
ve arrived! You will never believe it. Oh, I am distracted! I am
prostrate
with nerves! I hardly know what I am saying.
”
She wrung her hands to emphasize how distraught she was, and lowered her voice to a shocked whisper.
“L
ady
Cynthia
is not here. She did not sleep in her bed last night. Oh! What could have happened to her? Where is my darling child?
”
Lucy was a highly satisfactory audience. She nearly dropped the tray in her excitement, but managed, in the end, to deposit it without incident on Lady Ballymere
’
s vanity. She then peeped through the connecting door into
Cynthia
’
s immaculate bed chamber and clasped her hands to her bosom, gasping with fright.
“L
awks!
”
“I
s it not terrible? Oh, what am I to do?
”
Lady Ballymere sank gracefully down upon the sofa, her hand to her head.
“W
here could she be? I am at my wits
’
end.
”
Lucy turned to her mistress, her eyes wide as saucers.
“S
he
’
s been kidnaped, my lady. Mark my words, she
’
s bein
’
held to ransom.
”
Lady Ballymere quelled a stab of irritation.
“I
sincerely hope not,
”
she exclaimed.
“B
ut she may have suffered some accident. We must send out a search party. Pray run out into the passage and find one of the footmen or housemaids. Cummings must be told at once. And then, for heaven
’
s sake, child, come back and help me dress.
”
Lucy pelted out of the room as if pursued by hounds. It occurred to Lady Ballymere that she ought to be pale with fear. And, of course, she was not. While Lucy was away, rousing the staff, she carefully powdered her face with pure white talc. The effect was quite good, she thought.
Twenty minutes later, Lady Ballymere, suitably pale, swept into the breakfast room. Breakfast was a fairly informal affair at Oldham Park, and one never knew how many members of the household would be present or at what time they would wander in. But Lady Ballymere
’
s luck held—t
here was a sizable group in the room when she entered. The duke and duchess were present, as well as Lord and Lady Grafton and their youngest daughters, Jane and Elizabeth.
Lord Grafton rose from the table, approached, and took her hand in both of his, an expression of deep concern on his face.
“L
ady Ballymere, we have heard the most alarming rumor this morning. I hope you will put our anxieties to rest.
”
She did her best to look pathetic.
“A
las, my lord, I fear it is true. My daughter is missing. Her whereabouts are utterly unknown to me.
”
Above the low murmur of sympathetic exclamations that greeted her statement, Lady Elizabeth
’
s young voice piped.
“P’
raps she
’
s
eloped
!
”
Lady Jane hissed,
“B
etsy, hush!
”
in a mortified whisper, but Lady Ballymere was secretly grateful for the girl
’
s impertinence. It gave her an opportunity to clutch her throat, widen her eyes, and exclaim,
“S
urely not! Impossible! Lady
Cynthia
has been very strictly reared.
”
She flung out her hand in a gesture of appeal.
“Y
ou all know her. My daughter is a model of circumspect behavior, is she not? She would never do
anything
so lost to propriety.
”
She shuddered and added, darkly,
“N
ot willingly.
”
The duchess gestured to her son, indicating that Lord Grafton should guide Lady Ballymere toward the table.
“L
ady Ballymere, pray sit down,
”
said Her Grace courteously. Her calm demeanor threw cold water on the burgeoning sense of drama in the air.
“I
beg you will not distress yourself. Doubtless some innocent explanation for your daughter
’
s absence will arise. These things happen, you know; people go for early walks and lose track of time. I hope she has not echoed my unfortunate granddaughter and taken a spill of some kind, but if she has, one of the servants will speedily rescue her. Two footmen, the groom, the stableboy and my entire gardening staff are searching for her as we speak.
”
The gardening staff!
Cynthia
would, indeed, be speedily found. Lady Ballymere was running out of time to set the scene.
She murmured her thanks and sank onto the chair Lord Grafton held for her, her expression tragic.
“I
cannot eat until I know my
Cynthia
is safe. I have come here to beg your assistance,
”
she announced.
“I
hope you will understand, Your Grace, that I mean no disparagement of your staff. But I do not care to leave this matter in the hands of servants. The explanation you have suggested is, alas, not possible. Lady
Cynthia
took no morning stroll. Her bed was not slept in.
”
This caused another minor sensation around the table.
“D
ear me,
”
said Her Grace, her forehead puckering slightly.
“H
ow alarming.
”
Lady Grafton, usually self-effacing, leaned across the table to gave Lady Ballymere
’
s hand a timid pat. Her eyes were dark with sympathetic worry.
“I
am the mother of daughters, myself,
”
she said softly.
“I
can easily imagine the state you must be in. My heart goes out to you, Lady Ballymere.
”
“T
hank you, Lady Grafton. You are most kind.
”
Her Grace touched her napkin lightly to each corner of her mouth, then bent a gaze of mild enquiry on her guest.
“B
ut
—
forgive me
—
how was it that you did not notice Lady
Cynthia
’
s absence, if she did not go to bed last night? Did she not go up to her room when you did?
”
“I
ndeed she did, Your Grace,
”
said Lady Ballymere quickly.
“B
ut I was feeling a bit down-pin last night, and took my headache drops before I retired.
”
She gave a sad little shrug, looking helplessly around the table.
“S
o unfortunate! When I take my drops, I
’
m afraid I sleep like a stone.
Anything
might have happened.
”
She gave an eloquent shiver.
“I
f my child has been harmed in any way, I shall never forgive myself.
”
The duke placed his fingertips together as if pondering the mystery.
“M
ay I ask, Lady Ballymere, whether your daughter knew you were taking the drops?
”
She opened her eyes in feigned surprise.
“C
ertainly she did, Your Grace. I mentioned it to her before I
—
oh!
”
She pressed her hand to her cheek.
“W
hat are you suggesting, Your Grace? Do you think
—
do you think she may have planned a
tryst
with someone? Indeed, indeed, I cannot think it possible!
”
Lord Grafton glanced ironically at Jane and Betsy.
“W
e parents never think our daughters capable of bad behavior,
”
he remarked.
“I
t has often astonished me, however, how much mischief girls will get into.
”
His wife looked distressed.
“A
rthur, dearest, really,
”
she murmured,
sotto voce.
“W
e are speaking of Lady
Cynthia
.
”