The Diary of Cozette (20 page)

I took my time, hands clasped at my back, as I explored the living area of his quarters, pausing briefly to look down upon the top of Mr. Coven’s head, as he stood steadfast at the bottom of the ladder. I smiled at his indecision, I suspected, as to whether to follow me up the ladder, or wait patiently until my curiosity was satisfied.

Another rug lay sprawled over the well-swept wood floor and rising from floorboard to ceiling stood a magnificent bookcase. In the corner near the window sat a comfortable-looking high-back chair with its sides jutting forward giving the appearance of wings and at its feet a small matching footstool. Dark green brocade fabric stretched over both pieces and despite a few worn spots they still held a rich and eloquent charm. Perhaps he’d brought these few pieces with him from his previous employer or they were cast-offs of Master Archibald. However, to me the most impressive sight was the volumes of books that filled the numerous shelves of his personal library.

As I attempted to study the bindings to see his preference in reading material, I realized that most of the bindings were void of titles and my curiosity edged my hand forward to pull out one of the volumes just as I heard his footsteps ascend the ladder.

I moved quickly behind the chair, feigning that I was but enjoying the view below. The warmth of the sun gave credence to the warmth infused on my cheeks at nearly being caught rummaging through his books.

“You have a most fortunate view, Mr. Coven, never very far from your beloved horses.”

“You do realize, of course, that my stable boy will be arriving soon for his duties. Should he discover you in my quarters, tongues will surely wag.”

He stood behind me now, his presence stirring awareness inside of me. The heat of the day had already sufficiently begun to stifle the air in the loft.

“Shall I open the windows for some air?” I leaned forward to unlatch the lock and Mr. Coven moved forward, immediately at my side.

“Be careful, Miss Cozette, there are no panes on these windows and a fall from this height would be most unfortunate.”

He wrestled with the latch, at last freeing the lock, and pulled back the windows. A rush of cool, country air blew over my face and I closed my eyes, breathing in deep its cleansing properties. “What a magical place, Mr. Coven, it conjures images that I find decadent to be sure.” I gave him a glance as I turned back again to study his books. “You enjoy reading, then?” I asked, brushing my fingers over the nameless bindings, curious to know their content.

A breeze fluttered my skirts and when he did not respond, I glanced over at him, still standing near the window, arms folded across his broad chest. His jaw was noticeably set as he regarded me with a look of ill-bridled control. No doubt, there was a great deal of passion kept hidden in this man. I returned his steady gaze, not daring to dwell too long on my thoughts, my determination faltering as my gaze lowered to where his shirt parted and his sun-kissed torso, smooth and hard, glistened from the sweltering heat.

“Miss Cozette, forgive my boldness, but that look just now would set the strongest man to flame.” His resilient gaze held mine captive.

I found my tongue after a moment, though my admission was clearly weak. “I have no idea what you speak of, Mr. Coven.” Indeed it was a flat-out lie.

“I doubt that, Miss Cozette.” The corner of his wicked mouth lifted.

My teeth worried my bottom lip and my heart began to pound against my chest. I could blame it on the weather certainly, for in retrospect I do not remember how I wound up in his arms with his sublime mouth crushing mine. Would anyone be the wiser were we to succumb to this animal-like instinct? A familiar dampness formed between my legs as his mouth entertained mine most joyfully.

The very idea of the young stable boy discovering our secret lent an element of delicious danger to the moment. His mouth slanted hungrily over mine, controlling my mind with his kiss arduous and sensual, and his tongue coaxing me to release my desire and succumb to his.

I turned my head aside to clear my senses, giving advantage to his avid attention to my neck, sighing as he placed his hot mouth over the rapid pulse at the base of my throat. The vision of our bodies entwined, tangled on the sheets of his bed, with the breezes from the open window blowing over our fevered bodies, formed in my mind. The sweet, heady scent of hay warmed by the sun wafted through the room. My imagination took flight with my desire sensing his rough, callused hands skimming over my flesh, even as I would boldly explore every inch of him. Our bodies spent from hours of pleasure would find refreshment in nibbling cheese and bread and sipping wine, offering one another cool sponge baths to remedy the sultry afternoon heat.

Desire quickened inside me, urging his mouth to my breast, where his teeth teasingly nipped at my turgid tip beneath the cloth. Overcome with ecstasy, my fingers slid over his temples and I felt the strap of his eye patch move beneath my thumb.

“No!” he barked, shooting upright and stumbling away from me. He leaned against the wall, his back turned to me.

“Leave,” he uttered the command with an icy tone that belittled the heated passion seconds before. “Now.”

I was every bit as confused as he, uncertain now how deep my feelings for François could be if I was so willing to part my legs for a man I had admitted on occasion fearing and detesting at the same time.

I brushed the back of my hand over my mouth, bruised I was quite certain by the intensity of his mouth on mine. I was sure of his passion, yet unsure why he would turn me away in haste.

“I will find my own way out,” I whispered as I urged my feet to the edge of the opening, my mind still in a lusty haze.

“Mr. Coven, it’s Charlie, I’m here for our morning ride.”

He glanced at me briefly, but kept his distance as he yelled to the lad below.

“I’ll be down momentarily, go ahead and saddle up the horses, Cricket.”

“Straight away, sir,” the boy replied. I saw him from my vantage point scurry away from view.

“I would beg you to understand, Mr. Coven. I had no intention of what happened a moment ago to occur. My heart, and I will not lie to you, belongs to another. Most assuredly—”

“Please, no harm was done. Let’s not speak of it again. It was regrettably, a most unfortunate mistake, nothing more. My deepest apologies for taking advantage of the situation.”

He faced me then as he raked his hands through his thick hair, as though to brush away the incident from his mind.

“Yes, a most unfortunate mistake. One we would do well to keep between us for the sake of our employment. Are we agreed, then?” I pulled my skirts around my legs to manage the ladder and hesitated glancing up at him to be certain he heard me.

There was anguish etched on his face, more than a simple eye patch could hide. He nodded and returned his gaze to the floor.

“Good day, sir,” I replied. My ego was admittedly tarnished some by his dismissal of my passion.

“Good day, Miss Cozette.”

~A.C.B.

Sleep is not an easy commodity this night. It has been a most unusual time. First Mr. Coven’s attentions, François’s lack thereof, and now Mrs. Farrington has received news that her husband is due home on a surprise leave. She was giddy when she told me that Lady Archibald had given her leave from her duties this evening if I didn’t mind filling in.

“I daresay Miss Cozette, I feel like a new bride on my wedding night. It has been a long time between—” She held her hand to her mouth and chuckled.

I knew I should not be jealous and in fact, I am truly very happy for her.

“You are a dear to see to matters for me this evening.” She gave me a quick hug and scurried off to bathe. He arrived not long after and they shared a meal alone in the servants’ kitchen. I was not blind, though perhaps a bit envious, to Mrs. Farrington’s fidgety manner and the lust shimmering in her husband’s eyes.

“I think we shall dispense with dessert tonight,” she whispered in my ear as she carried their dinner plates to the tub of suds.

“Go on then, I’ll see to this and leave your shoes, so I can give them a good polish for tomorrow.” I pointed at her feet with my hand towel.

She giggled and unlaced the ties, slipping the shoes off in haste. She kissed my cheek (unheard of!) and grabbed Patrick’s hand, dragging him down the stairs to her bedroom. Given the look of utter joy on his face, I am confident she need not worry of his faithfulness.

For the remainder of the evening, I busied myself in the servants’ dining hall, seated near the fire and read, trying to turn a deaf ear to the sounds coming from below the stairs.

It was well after midnight when the sounds subsided and I took haste to tiptoe to my room and close the door, hurrying to change into my bedclothes and crawl beneath the covers.

After a fitful time of getting to sleep, I awoke a few hours later to the muffled sound of Mrs. Farrington’s scream of rapture followed by their joined quiet laughter. Unable to sleep I chose to pen my entry.

Their playful romp creates a lonely ache for François. I wonder if it is prudent to set my eyes on a prize such as Lord Deavereux, knowing I will never attain acceptance from his peers, given my social rank. Though it is apparent his rebellious nature is very much like one of the studs in the meadow and he no doubt is accustomed to challenges. He has surely smitten my heart and stolen not only my virginity, but also my desire for any other man. Which leads me to be exceedingly puzzled by the incident with Mr. Coven, as surely I cannot deny to some measure my attraction, if only carnal, and at least for that moment. Am I too blind to see that the woman to capture Lord Deavereux must possess not only passion, but substantial dowry as well?

At present, I find myself challenged to concentrate given the escapades in the next room. Mrs. Farrington’s quiet gasps mock my prison of celibacy and my fingers clutch my pen, my breath still in my chest, as I listen once again to the rhythmic thud of the bedposts thumping against my wall. I cannot bear this solitude. I am but a human with needs of my own. Frustrated beyond comprehension, I hurry to my bed and crawl between the cold sheets, lying still, my gaze riveted to the dark ceiling. If I close my eyes, perhaps I can steel myself against their sounds of passion. Nevertheless, I am drawn in with each soft thump of the wall beside my shoulder.

Giving in to the muse of my passion, my hand moves slowly over my breast, touching me as I imagine François would, rolling my nipple between his finger and thumb. Sweet is the familiar sensation between my legs, as I draw my gown over my hips exposing my lonely quiver. I imagine what François would do, if he were here, how expertly he would stroke, teasing at first, and then with deeper insertion. He would taunt me, pushing me toward the edge of bliss, even as the rapid squeak of the bedsprings next door increase with urgency.

My imaginary lover would fondle my breasts, tormenting me with his thick member, his penetration deep, sliding full, and stretching my hood, moving with tantalizing ease as he draws me closer to the dark bliss of pleasure. In my haze of passion, the low-timbered sound of his male satisfaction sweetens my ears even as he thrusts hard into me, compelling his release.

There is no warmth of his body, no hint of his unique, masculine scent, yet the pleasure is for now, adequate. In my mind, my faceless lover urges me to completion. My hand leaves my breast and I grab the rail over my head as tension builds deep inside me. I am wet with delicious heat, sweat trickles over my breast, setting my body to flames. My heels brace against the mattress, dig in deep, moving my hips in unison to my ghost lover.

“Oh, Patrick!” Mrs. Farrington calls out in a broken whisper. The wall shook again twice more before her beloved husband’s groan gave indication he too, was spent.

So joined vicariously with my lover, my body climaxed hard, shattering in shards of exquisite pleasure releasing my tension and for the moment, easing my frustration. I drew in a gasping breath, even as I repositioned my bedclothes and for a moment lay still listening to their quiet whispering. No doubt endearments and promises for their future, I venture.

Though I am far from being one of religious persuasion, I lay my hand on the faded yellow, floral wallpaper and make a wish in my heart they will always have such passion between them. Moreover, as I am quite certain that my actions should require a long stay in a nunnery, I cannot deny a tinge of desire in wanting to possess the type of devotion of one man for all of my days.

I smiled at the silly nature of my sentimental thoughts. It is so unlike me to believe in anyone but myself, even in the cases of spiritual matters. Self-reliance is all I’ve known…or ever trusted. Yet since my stay, I’ve found acceptance, if only from the female members of the house. Perhaps I am softened by this in some manner and true to her mission and perhaps my mistress is indeed succeeding in molding me into a woman to be accepted by proper society.

However, in debate to that thought, I am not at all sure that I wish to comply, or to aspire to become a woman accepted by Britain’s proper society. With few exceptions, it has been my experience that a number of British women preoccupy themselves with pleasing a man’s whims, or competing with one another for them.

Certainly, I have no desire to compete with any woman, or man for that matter. Only to give and take on an equal plane, sharing hopes, dreams and passion with one who accepts and understands me for who I am.

It is in the Farringtons’ marriage that I see this aspect, as well as in their passion, to be honest and true. The pleasures of their bodies shared and not necessarily only for the purpose of procreation as our society encourages.

I have no way of knowing what lies in my future, but I shall endeavor to be true to myself and honest in my passions. Good heavens, the bedsprings are groaning again.

~A.C.B.

I have taken to assisting my mistress with rolling bandages to send to our British troops. Lady Archibald and the Ladies League feel it a noble and worthy cause to keep the British army’s medical needs well-supplied.

She made a brief comment that Lord Deavereux has at last returned from his travels! To celebrate my mistress is planning a picnic, scheduled for three weeks from now to allow our neighbor the chance to get resettled and make proper preparations. So much time has passed. I wonder if he yet still thinks of me?

~Lady C.