“Huh.”
“You will like it.” His voice had become hoarse. He lengthened his strides.
“Mmhm.” Amy hurried to keep up.
“There’s also a little bench inside.”
“How”—she caught her breath—“fortunate.”
They hastened across the whole park, and almost ran the last part of the way, gasping and laughing as they reached the Temple of the Muses. Amy had only a glimpse of unadorned, classical pillars before Fox drew her inside a miniscule room, the walls decorated with faded pictures of the Muses—all naked, with rounded limbs and pink skin.
“Oh, Lord!” Laughter bubbled up in Amy’s throat.
“I know, I know.” Fox spread fervent kisses on her cheeks, nose, eyelids. “It’s decadent.”
“And freezing,” she murmured, just before their lips met and clung. And a short time later: “Fox, you can’t really mean to—it’s colder than in an icehouse!”
He groaned. “Yes, yes, I know.” He drew the edges of her dress apart and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. “Blasted Muses.”
Goosebumps broke out on her skin, and she wasn’t able to tell whether it was from the cold or from Fox’s attentions.
“I have to say scandalizing my family seems like a minor inconvenience right now.” His breath felt hot against her flesh.
“Hmhm.” Nodding eagerly, Amy tunneled her fingers through his hair.
All too soon he drew back to shrug out of his coat and spread it over the stone bench in the corner. Then he urged her to sit down, so he could ruin another pair of stockings and breeches by kneeling in the dirt in front of her. No doubt Hobbes, his valet, would have his head. Again.
But for now they kissed…
…and kissed…
…and kissed…
After a few minutes Amy had forgotten all about the coldness and the hard bench, and if only the dratted thing had been a bit larger, she would have laid back on it and invited Fox to move over her. Would have
forced
him to move over her, common sense be hanged.
Her whole body trembled as one of his hands caressed the inside of her thigh. Skin slid smoothly over skin-dear heavens, when had he shed his gloves? His other hand spanned the back of her head and held her still while he kissed her. As if she would want to evade him!
His hand moved upwards. She moaned.
“Fox…”
“Just one touch,” he muttered against her skin, and his hand underneath her skirts inched further up her thigh. His lips trailed a fiery path down the side of her neck to her shoulder.
Amy’s back arched, her legs fell open.
“Yes.” Fox sucked a bit of her skin between his teeth. “Mmmm.” And then his thumb brushed lightly over the curls at the apex of her thighs.
Amy drew in a whimpering breath.
If his weight hadn’t anchored her to the bench, she would have flown out of her body, she was sure of it. She turned her head to press a kiss into his hair. “Fox…” She lifted her hips, wriggled against him.
Fox groaned. “Amy.” His forehead bumped against hers.
Hazily, she gazed into his eyes. “Oh Fox, this is…”
“We can’t!” His voiced sounded strained. “We can’t possibly, Amy. Not here. I’m not that far gone that I would take you here and now.” He shook his head. Sweat dripped from his temples, ran down the sides of his face. Yet as if he couldn’t help himself, he brushed his thumb over those curls once more. Her hips bucked.
With a tormented sound that might have been a half-smothered curse, he hastily drew his hand from underneath her skirts and rubbed it against his breeches before he cupped her face in both of his hands. “We can’t,” he muttered. “Really, we can’t, sweetheart.”
They couldn’t? Very slowly the passionate haze cleared from Amy’s brain.
His thumbs rubbed over her cheekbones. “I don’t know what is the matter with me. I’ve never wanted to let things go this far, you must believe me.”
It was an effort to make her thoughts work properly. “But didn’t you promise to ravish me?” she asked, perplexed.
“Don’t use that word, I beg you!” he moaned, as if she had just ripped his heart out. “When I said… I meant
kissing
. I swear I meant…” He leaned closer to nuzzle her cheek and temple. “Ahhh, I can’t get enough of you. Kissing you has a worse effect on me than the strongest rum.” A shudder tore through his body.
Instinctively, Amy put her hand over the back of his neck. “Fox…”
“We have to stop!” he cut in, his voice almost desperate. Yet at the same time, his gaze lowered and he stared at the rise and fall of her flushed breasts like a man hypnotized. With a tortured groan he closed his eyes. “We have to stop,” he repeated as if to convince himself.
The tips of Amy’s breasts ached as they rubbed against the material of her stays, while the rest of her body tingled in the most uncomfortable fashion. She was certain her condition would not improve if they stopped. “Why can’t we—” But before she could finish the sentence, Fox’s hand closed over her mouth, hard.
“Don’t tempt me, I beg you!” He jumped up and drew her to her feet. “Your… your dress. You had better fasten it.” His fingers trembled as he touched the fine material. The next moment, though, he snatched his hand back as if he had been scorched.
With her body still in turmoil, Amy felt more helpless and vulnerable than ever before in her life. Love and passion gnawed at her like wild beasts and threatened to tear her apart. She wanted to be angry with him; however, she knew he was merely behaving honorably, as became a gentleman. “Fox—”
He rubbed his forehead. “We should go. If we stay… I don’t know what I’ll do if we stay. And I can’t dishonor you in such a way.” He gave a self-demeaning laugh. “Lord, if my brother knew what I’ve
already
done to you, he would throw a fit! Responsible Richard. Heck, he would
kill
me!”
Amy wanted to remind him that she had promised to tell nothing to the earl. But she bit her lip and remained silent, because he was right, of course: to indulge in such pleasures not sanctified by wedding vows was madness.
Think of the consequences
, flickered through her mind.
Nothing is certain in this world. And if you let him ravish you now, it might spell your ruin later on.
Yet what she felt for him was ever more spiraling out of control, until it seemed to devour her alive.
A shiver coursed through her. “What is this between us?” she whispered.
Their eyes met. In his she saw the same confusion and alarm she felt herself.
After a moment or two, Fox shook his head. “I don’t know.” He gestured toward the door. “We should go.” His eyes pleaded with her to be strong, to resist the lure of passion.
Finally, she nodded and, with unsteady hands, started to fasten her dress and pelisse, while Fox slipped into his coat.
They left the Temple of the Muses in subdued silence. On their way back to the house, they walked apart as if afraid of the merest touch. Amy’s body still burned with the sensations his caresses had invoked until she thought she would go mad with them. They tortured her even as they stepped through the entrance door, and when she went back to her room and rang for her maid to help her change into a tea dress. Her nails digging into her palms, Amy tried to stand still while Rosie arranged the folds of the dress to perfection.
Your nerves are simply over-sensitized. If you look at it in the clear light of the day…
She sank down on the stool so the maid could do her hair.
You burn because he has touched you; that is all. When he doesn’t—
Her heart clenched. How could she bear to be bereft of his touch? She twisted and kneaded her fingers in her lap.
Full of apprehension, she went to the South Drawing Room, where the dowager countess sat and played cards with Admiral Pickering, where Isabella was busy with some embroidery and Lady Rawdon was immersed in a conversation with Fox, who had changed into biscuit-colored trousers and a blue frock coat over a gray-and-blue striped waistcoat.
Amy’s breath caught.
Fox looked magnificent.
In a daze, she sank down on one of the sofas. No, not next to him, even though she wanted to. But he had been right: it was madness. For she didn’t only burn when he touched her. Even now, every inch of her body was on fire for him.
The admiral looked up and gave her a kind smile. “Did you enjoy your turn around the park, Miss Bourne?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Exceedingly.”
The dowager countess gave her a sharp look. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Bourne?”
“She has probably caught the flu with all that running around in the vaporous air.” Isabella didn’t bother to spare her a glance, but concentrated on her thread and needle instead to form those tiny, tiny stitches of which her mother was so proud.
“Perhaps we ought to send for the apothecary,” Lady Rawdon suggested, her voice worried.
Amy’s eyes met Fox’s and their gazes held. For a moment it was as if they were both transported back to the Temple of Muses, as if she could still feel his hands on her body, his mouth on her lips.
His eyes darkened and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “I can assure you, Bella, that Miss Bourne is perfectly fine,” he said, without breaking eye contact with Amy. “Are you not, Miss Bourne?”
She swallowed hard. “Oh, perfectly,” she finally managed, and looked away. If only she had brought her book with her! Then she could have pretended to engross herself in
The Horrible Histories
. Her hands twisted in the material of her skirt.
Don’t think of Fox. Don’t think of the searing heat of his mouth…
Amy gulped. What was the last episode she had read? Something about a Lady Sigrun who had been abducted by a Scottish monster. Yes, exactly. Lady Sigrun…
A footman entered the room and went to Lady Rawdon to whisper something into her ear. The countess visibly paled and abruptly stood. “If you will excuse me? It would seem that—” She swallowed. “It would seem that my son Richard had a nasty fall on the stairs.”
Amy blinked. Abruptly her mind cleared, and all torturous, improper thoughts vanished from her head as if they had never been. Young Dick, who liked climbing things? And a fall on the stairs, of all places? She shook her head.
The next hour they spent in agonized waiting. Fox went to fetch his brother from the estate, while Lady Rawdon and the dowager countess sat with little Richard. The admiral, Isabella, and Amy remained behind in the drawing room in uncomfortable silence.
When the apothecary finally arrived, he was able to calm all worries: except for a slight concussion and a sprained ankle, Baron Bradenell had suffered no serious harm.
Later in the day Fox and Amy visited the small patient and found him lounging grumpily in his bed. Amy stayed behind and watched how Fox took a box with battered tin soldiers from a wooden chest underneath the window. The shock about Dick’s accident had helped her passion abate. She still yearned for Fox, but her hunger was no longer a gnawing ache in her flesh and bones. She had tamed it. Content, Amy looked on as both man and boy were soon immersed in their play and formed battle lines on Dick’s blanket. Just when Amy wanted to go and join them, the door opened and Pip slipped inside the room.
Fox threw a look over his shoulder and flashed his nephew a grin. “Well, Pip. Have you run away from the nursery maid again?”
“Mmhm.”
“Then come and join us.” Fox winked. “We won’t betray you to the nursery maid, will we, Dickie?”
Young Richard shook his head. “You can have some of Uncle Stapleton’s soldiers.”
Yet Pip remained at the door, his back pressed against the wood. “Hm.”
Amy assumed it was because Fox’s attention was focused more on Dick and the tin soldiers than on Pip that he didn’t react to his nephew’s uncharacteristic hemming and hawing. She fully turned to the small boy. “What is it, Pip?” she asked quietly, while behind her the blanket was transformed into the grounds around Waterloo.
Pip threw a look at his uncle and brother, then looked back at her, indecision written plainly on his face.
“Won’t you come, Pip?” Dick asked, aligning his canons in order to smite a company of Fox’s soldiers.
“Hm.”
“Pip?” Amy prompted. His strange behavior caused a twinge of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Slowly, she went over to him. “What is it?”
He regarded her with earnest dark eyes. Then he took a deep breath and blurted, “I’ve found something.”
She raised her brows. “You did?”
“Where Dick slipped.” The muscles of his throat moved as he swallowed hard. “On the stairs.”
“Oh.”
He reached into his coat and drew forth a wrinkled brown object, only slightly smaller than Amy’s fist. He presented it to her on his flat hand. “This.”
She stared, then frowned. “It looks like a folk charm. The heart of some animal pierced with nails and thorns. How in the world has this got into Rawdon Park? It’s perfectly harmless, though.” She reached for it to examine it more closely. “See?”
Her fingers closed around it—and a wave of evil hit her.
Chapter Nine
Gasping, Amy staggered back. This was magic. Real magic.
“Is something the matter?” Fox asked from behind her.
She fought for control and managed to make her voice sound almost cheerful. “No, everything is all right.”
Pip had his head cocked to one side and eyed her curiously. She gripped his arm.
“Show me where you’ve found it,” she whispered fiercely. More loudly, she added, “Pip and I will step in front of the door for a moment. We will be right back.”
“Boom!” Dick crowed. “I got your left flank, Uncle Stapleton!”
“Come.” Amy opened the door and steered Pip outside. “Now, show me.”
He threw her another strange look before he finally trotted to the staircase in the tower that led to the schoolroom and the nursery. Halfway between the first and second floor he squatted down and pointed to a loose brick in the whitewashed wall. He glanced up. “It’s difficult to discern.”
Nearly impossible to discern, she would say, for the brick had been chosen well: near the bottom of one step, shadowed by the step above. Abruptly Amy sank down to sit on the stairs, her knees suddenly feeling as weak and wobbly as syllabub.