The meal, she suddenly realized, was over. “Take Aurora for a stroll through the gardens, St. John,” the dowager said, encouraging her young relative to action. She sent a fierce look toward her grandson.
“It has surely grown chill,” the duke replied, ignoring his grand-mama's silent warning. “Perhaps Aurora does not want to stroll in the evening air.”
“I like the evening air,” Aurora spoke up. “I will take a shawl and be quite cozy.” She arose from her seat.
“And I am quite capable of keeping Aurora warm should she grow cold,” St. John remarked, his amber eyes dancing with devilment.
“Behave yourself, boy!” The dowager playfully rapped his knuckles with her ivory fan. “I'll have no naughtiness!” But she chuckled as she spoke. “If your intentions are honorable, however, my dear St. John, that is an entirely different matter,” she finished. Then she watched with a smile as St. John escorted a blushed Aurora from the dining room. Her look was one of satisfaction.
“Hellfire and damnation, Grandmama,” the duke swore irritably. “You would do well peddling maidenheads on the London bridge. Aurora is far too good for my cousin. Why do you encourage him?”
“Control yourself, sir,” she said sternly. “Your interest in your sister-in-law becomes too obvious. You cannot have her, Valerian. You have a wife, and I know you would not disgrace the Hawkesworth name or dishonor Aurora by offering her a lesser position in your life than Calandra now holds.”
“I love her,”
he said low, his face agonized.
“I know,” his grandmother responded. “That is the tragedy, dear boy. You love her, and she would have made you a better wife than her sister, but fate had other plans for you both. Calandra, for all her faults, is expecting your heir, and Aurora must be married off as soon as is possible to prevent you from yourself, Valerian. St. John is an ideal candidate for her. He may not be titled, but he is a member of this family and a wealthy man. Aurora's dowry, while a good one, is not good enough for a title, I fear. If she weds St. John, she will be near her sister, and that, I believe, is to the good.”
“Calandra will leave Hawkes Hill as soon as she is recovered from the birth of our child,” he reminded the old lady. “You know that is our bargain, and I will keep to it.”
“Perhaps she will not want to go if Aurora is near,” the dowager said hopefully. “In any event, Aurora must be married whether her sister remains here or departs back to London.”
“I do not think I can bear to see her married to another man,” the duke admitted. “What a weakling I am, Grandmama!”
“Then Aurora must return to St. Timothy with her brother and his bride when they leave in early November,” the dowager said firmly.
“No!”
He shook his head vehemently. “I would rather she be wed to St. John and here, where I could at least see her, than send her back to St. Timothy, where I would never see her again.”
“You will have your child, Valerian, my boy,” the dowager said softly. “He will need you, for he will, I believe, have no mother. Let the child become your world. You will be happy, I promise you.”
Valerian Hawkesworth sighed sadly, a sound so filled with pain that it almost broke his grandmother's heart, particularly that she knew the truth, thanks to the portrait in the family gallery and Martha's forced honesty. I will forget I ever knew about this deception, she decided silently. Then she turned her head to gaze out through the dining room windows onto the garden, where Aurora walked with Justin St. John. They were merely shadows in the twilight, and she hoped that St. John would press Aurora to marry him. She wished she could hear what they were saying, and then she smiled at herself for being a nosy old lady.
“Do you sense we are being watched?” Aurora said, her voice tinged with amusement. “I can almost feel the dowager's eyes on the back of my neck.” She chuckled. “I do like her so much!”
“She has come to love you,” St. John said, “as have I.”
“Are you about to propose to me again?” she teased him. “How many times will this make, St. John? Five? Six?”
“This will be the seventh time, Aurora, and seven has always been a fortunate number for me.” He stopped walking and drew her into the circle of his arms. “This time I will not take no for an answer, my dear.” He ran a finger down the side of her face, and then caught her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. “I want you, Aurora. Do you understand what I mean?
I want you!”
The amber eyes blazed at her.
This suddenly forceful St. John intrigued her. What had happened to the slightly bored sophisticate he had been until a moment before? This man had a dangerous edge to him, and she was fascinated. “You want me? Do you mean you want to make love to me, St. John? What a naughty suggestion to make to a respectable maiden such as myself,” she answered him, her tone slightly mocking.
He laughed softly. “You do not fool me, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. Beneath that elegant and respectable missishness lies a fierce passion that has never been stoked, but when it is, it will threaten to consume us both. I want to make love to you, Aurora, and you want me to make love to you.” His arms tightened about her. “Don't you?”
Her heart was suddenly racing, and her knees were threatening to give way beneath her. His words. The intensity in his voice. It was very exciting. She had always been careful of her reputation, never allowing a gentleman to kiss her or hold her hand, and now she wondered why not. Were not women supposed to have feelings of sensuality? She certainly did. Raising her aquamarine eyes to his, she answered breathlessly,
“Yes!
I do want you to make to love to me, St. John. Are you shocked?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can recognize a passionate virgin when I see one, Aurora.”
Instantly she was enraged. How dare he insult her in such a fashion. Pulling away from St. John, she slapped him. “Cad!”
“Bitch!” he replied, yanking her roughly back into his arms. Then he kissed her, pinioning her arms back behind her so that her struggles were virtually useless.
Her first kiss.
And she would remember it the rest of her life. It was not the soft and gentle thing she had always imagined. It was hard, and fierce, and demanding. For a moment she reveled in its savagery. Then she kicked him as hard as she could.
“Ouch!” he yelped, but he did not let her go. Instead, he kicked her feet out from beneath her so that they fell to the grassy path below. Restraining her, he grinned into her face. “You really are a vixen, Aurora.” He bent to kiss her again, but she turned her head away from him angrily.
“Let me go,” she snarled. “Let me up this instant, St. John, or I shall scream so loud, they will think there is a murder being committed!”
He forced her head back to his and found her mouth again. This time, however, his kiss was deep and intoxicatingly sweet. He knew she wanted to resist him, but she would not be able to avoid her own fiery nature. She was a virgin. A most curious virgin with an ardent bent. He gave her just enough room to breathe before pressing his lips back down upon hers, working against the pink flesh until it began to soften beneath his. A tiny sound of pleasure caught his ear. Her body moved slightly against his. He ran his tongue along her lips, pushing between the twin delights and into the warm, moist grotto of her mouth, finding her tongue and stroking it hungrily with his own.
She was going to explode with the longing now sweeping over her body, Aurora thought muzzily. How could the conjunction of two mouths engender such incredible pleasure? Why had she avoided kissing until now? And why hadn't Cally told her how wonderful it was? Surely her sister could not object to
this.
It was pure heaven! Daringly, she entwined her tongue with his in some primitive mating, and to her surprise he shuddered almost violently, then pulled away from her, gasping for air with a groan.
“More!”
she commanded him.
He brushed his mouth over her teasingly, next kissing her eyelids. Turning her head aside with his palm, he nibbled a ribbon of kisses down the side of her face and neck. She felt the heat of him in the hollow between her neck and her shoulder. She arched her head and throat to give him greater access to her perfumed flesh.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!”
she murmured breathlessly as he moved to her chest and the swell of her small breasts. His hand slipped beneath her back to fumble with the laces of her gown, which he quickly undid in a most expert fashion. She was wearing no corset.
He repositioned them so he might draw her into his arms as they lay upon the grass. His hand pulled gently at her loosened bodice, and her breasts almost fell out of her chemise. For a moment he gazed in rapt awe at the two lovely orbs, and then he kissed the plump flesh passionately, his hand unable to keep from fondling her. “God, you are so lovely,” he groaned.
Mesmerized, she watched him as he caressed her, cupping a breast in the warm hollow of the palm of his hand, squeezing it tenderly, leaning over to kiss a nipple. She struggled to keep herself from crying out, but a small “Oh” escaped from between her lips. Somehow she knew that he should not be being quite so intimate with her, and she felt bound to protest. “St. John,” she gasped, “I don't think you should be doing this. Oh! Oh! Ohhhh, St. John, do cease this torture!” His mouth had closed over the nipple, and was now drawing upon it. She was afire, and that place between her thighs was beginning to tingle. “St. John, in God's name, stop! It's marvelous, but I don't want to lose my virginity in the Hawkesworths' garden!
Stop!”
She struggled to break away from his embrace.
With a genuinely constrained groan and a deep sigh he released her. “Damnation, wench, you are too exciting for a mere mortal! I ache to possess you, Aurora. Say you will marry me!”
“I will consider it, St. John,” she told him softly, for the first time seriously contemplating marriage to him. If this love play were a sample of the delights marriage had to offer, then perhaps she should take him up on his proposal. He did have the right qualifications for a husband. She enjoyed his company, and if he could stir up her passions so quickly, then obviously she must be falling in love with him. After all, what was love anyway? Certainly no one had ever given her a rational explanation of the emotion. She seemed to be on her own.
He groaned again, rolling on his back. There was a genuinely pained look upon his face.
“Do you hurt?” she asked him innocently.
“Yes,” he told her.
“Where?” she queried him. “Will it help if I rub it? I rub Cally's shoulders and feet when they ache.”
A wicked grin creased St. John's face. “I'm not certain you would want to rub my injured part, Aurora, should you see the state it's in; nor am I certain you should unless we are betrothed.”
“Oh, St. John, don't be such a fool!” she scolded him. “Show me what hurts this instant, and I will make it better.”
In response, his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his pantaloons, opening them to release his male member. “Ahhhh!” he exhaled as it burst forth from its painful confinement.
Amazed, Aurora stared, her gaze transfixed upon the thick, long peg of flesh that thrust up from the opening in his garment. She remembered seeing George's member when they were children swimming naked in the sea. It had looked nothing like this intimidating object. Fearless, however, she reached out to touch it, but he caught her wrist and held it.
“No,” St. John told her. “If you touch me, I'll lose all control, Aurora. Turn about and avert your eyes while I lace you up. I was too constricted, which caused my discomfort. I will be all right now as long as you don't touch me. When we are married I will be delighted if you choose to caress my fine fellow, but not at this moment.”
It wasn't easy, but she tore her stare away from him, pulling herself about so that her back faced him. She sat silently as he skillfully laced up her bodice. A thousand questions filled her mind. “Is it normal?” she finally said, breaking the stillness between them.
“In size?” he returned.
She nodded.
“I think so. Hawkesworth's is a wee bit bigger than mine, I believe, but it's how a man wields his member that's more important.” He slipped his arms about her and kissed the nape of her neck.
“Will it hurt me?” Aurora couldn't help but lean her head back against his shoulder. I think I will marry him, she thought, but I do not think I shall tell him now. Not quite yet.
“When I relieve you of your virginity, you will feel it,” he told her. “For some girls it's a sharp, brief flash of pain. For others no more than a sting of discomfort. It really depends how tightly your maidenhead is lodged, and how thick it is.”
“You have obviously done this before,” she remarked dryly.
“Yes,” he told her, “I have, but never with a wife, Aurora.”
“I have not said I would marry you, St. John.” She removed his embracing arms and struggled to her feet, brushing her gown off as she did so, and patting her hair back into some semblance of order.