He moved as if he would overwhelm her with his body, his breathing savage and quick in her ear, his movements raising waves of a teasing, extraordinary stimulation from the mortifying spot where he pressed her. The electrifying feeling flushed through her: a rising, thickening pleasure, drawing her muscles taut, making her body arch toward him instead of away.
He lifted himself on his hands. For an instant she looked up at him, her lips parted in hot chagrin—and what he did then amazed her. The peculiar pleasure of his pushing contact began to hurt—she shrank downward with instinctive avoidance, but he seemed not to realize it; his eyes were closed; he came fully against her—inside her!—with a powerful move, an aggressive thrust in a place she could not even name.
And it hurt. It hurt them both, for as she let out a sharp gasp, he arched his head back and his whole body wrenched and shuddered. A sound like an anguished groan vibrated in his throat. He held above her, forced into her, the muscles in his shoulders and arms and chest taut with strain.
Leda realized that she was making little sounds of distress with each breath, frightened whimpers, choking back astonishment and panic. The moment of frozen violence seemed an infinity.
He let go of an explosive breath. His body eased its rigid tension. He sucked in air as if he had been sprinting hard, lowering himself onto her with shivers she could feel running through his arms, with rhythmic shudders that pressed him into her in smaller convulsions.
It hurt still. It was very uncomfortable, burning in that secret place, joined with him. He did not look into her face, nor relieve her of his weight. But he rested his head in the pillow next to her ear, stroking her hair, over and over. “Leda,” he whispered. “Oh, God—Leda.”
And she thought hysterically: How stupid I have been.
This was it. This.
Now…now I am a fallen woman.
He knew she was crying. Through the pounding of his own heartbeat, he felt rather than heard the little twitch of each sobbing breath.
Shame and passion consumed him. In his mind, he rose and left her, ending the offense—ending it, at least, if he could not change it. But his body only closed around her, his arms enfolding her; already he wanted to move in her again.
Instead he kissed her and spoke to her, trying to comfort her when he didn’t even know what he was saying. He kissed her eyes and the tears on her cheeks; he kissed her bared shoulder where the gown was pulled down tight against her arm. He said her name, and tried to say that he was sorry, to explain, when there was no explanation but himself. He could not control himself; he could not.
She felt…delicious. Lush and erotic beneath him. He knew from her tears that he’d hurt her, and it unnerved him that he felt such exquisite pleasure.
“Oh!” she murmured, as if it surprised her when he pressed into her again.
He rose onto his elbows, nuzzling her cheek with his lips, drying her salt tears with his tongue. She closed her eyes as he kissed her lashes and brows.
The sight of her with her throat bared: pale skin and her hair thrown loose all around on the pillows…luscious, erotic, exciting…renewed fire washed through his veins. He tried to console her, but the consolation became sensual, his kisses harder and deeper, in places that he longed to taste.
He put his hand beneath her breast, lifting it, bending his head down to savor the soft roundness beneath her gown. A vivid recollection of how she had felt beneath his tongue last night made him open his mouth again, licking flannel against her skin.
She made a small sound, a faint half-protest, shifting beneath him. And then—he felt some of the rigidity flow out of her, and a new, lithe tension take its place.
His tongue found the tip of her breast, circling it, dampening the flannel. She made a sharper move, a quick sob and a shiver beneath him. The gown fell fully open, exposing her nipple to him: round and gorgeous it was, deep pink against white.
The smoldering fire in him flamed. He pressed his lips against her breast as he pressed himself harder into her. His mouth opened and he drew his tongue ardently across the plump nub. He pulled it between his teeth, and she made the sweetest sound he had ever known in his life—a gasp that was not pain at all.
His hand came up to cradle her other breast, to caress and taste them both, while she kept her eyes closed and made those small, constricted noises.
He knew what caused her pain; it was his invasion of her—and in some deep and corrupt part of him, he understood that this other caressing could assuage the hurt. Old lessons, half-forgotten, from a place in himself that he hated.
But she was arching beneath him, so beautiful in her rosy warmth that the shame and anger burned away, fell into dust beside the reality of her in the silver light. He held her and pushed deep again, with that rush of pleasure and lust surging through him, drawing him upward to the flash point.
He began to move more forcefully, closing his eyes, caught in the intensifying sensation. It took longer this time, grew stronger; each thrust added height and exquisite heat, until he forgot to breathe…forgot to see or hear or think…forgot anything but the passion that engulfed him and burst into her like the shock of black powder set alight.
When it was over, the scents and sensations seemed to settle on him in a strange lethargy. He found her looking up at him with those lovely, dusky-green eyes, as if words failed her.
A confusion of emotion rotated inside him, relief and pleasure and kinship and things beyond describing. Clear thought eluded him. He wanted nothing more than to sleep in her arms.
Not long. He could not stay long. A brief thought of Kai swam through his head, but he could not even hold on to that. He felt drugged with happiness, with completion.
“Are you all right?” The words seemed to come out sluggishly as he bent his head over her, his lips almost brushing hers.
“I don’t know.” She sounded plaintive, like a child.
He tried to think of what he could do to console her, and knew he should surrender this enchantment. He lifted himself free. She made a little grimace as his still firm body slipped from hers.
He kissed her, gently, tilting from joy to remorse and back again. He felt the most pressing need for sleep, and to hold her close to him. The counterpane she’d cuddled to herself earlier had tangled around their legs; as he moved aside, he pulled it over her and half over himself against the crisp dawn chill.
He turned on his side, hugging her, one arm around her waist, his hand between her breasts, the other arm beneath her pillow. She was quiet in his embrace for a moment,and then she caught his hand. “Dear sir,” she said, and paused.
That was all. The drugged feeling slowly overcame him. He sank into the velvet darkness without answering, without knowing if it was an endearment or an accusation.
He dreamed that there was someone knocking on the door.
His eyes came open.
Full daylight flooded the room, illuminating everything: the bed, Miss Etoile, her mass of rich, ruddy brown hair and the dark slash of his sleeve across the cream-colored counterpane, like a strip of the night left behind.
Beyond her tumbled hair, he saw the door. He saw Lady Tess standing in it. She held a present wrapped in white-and-green striped paper, tied with a red bow.
And he knew that for all of his life he would remember that bow. That particular red, that shade of green, the precise size and shape of the box in her hand.
A belated jolt went through him, from his belly to his fingertips, a silent, motionless shock curbed by sixteen years of discipline. He didn’t move. Above Miss Etoile’s sleeping form, his eyes met hers.
She stood still for an instant, her hand on the knob of the half-open door. From somewhere a distance away in the hall outside, the sound of male voices rose and fell in a cordial dispute.
Lady Tess looked down at the present, as if she didn’t know what to do with it, and up at him.
She bit her lip, flushing like a green girl, and backed out of the room silently, drawing the
door shut with her.
Twenty-six
Leda bit back panicked tears, sitting up abruptly in bed when the maid scratched on the door. She dragged the bedclothes and counterpane over herself, up to her chin. Only a few minutes before, she’d pushed off the sheets and discovered the darkened crimson that seemed to have stained everything: herself, her gown and the linens, even the counterpane was spotted with it.
So much! She didn’t feel that badly injured. The stinging pain had subsided as soon as he—as he…
She could not even think of it coherently. Miss Myrtle’s sensibilities would have been offended by the mere verbal offering of a thigh or leg or breast of chicken at table—for a person of delicacy, it was to be called simply white meat or dark. Leda had been brought up as a lady of refinement. She did not have words for what he had done.
He was gone, disappeared while she’d slept. Except for the stains, the mysterious scents and moistness, it might have been a mad dream. She had looked quickly for the glowing stone he’d dropped, but that, too, was vanished.
The maid entered without an invitation, only the usual warning scratch. The girl didn’t even glance up at Leda, but only bobbed a quick curtsy and brought a tray to the bedside. “M’lady said as miss wasn’t feeling well and slept late, you might wish to breakfast in bed.”
“Yes. Please.” Leda’s voice was low and cracked, as if she hadn’t spoken for days. Lady Tess’ innocent solicitude made her want to weep.
There was an extra cup and saucer on the tray. The maid said nothing about that, only settled the tray over Leda’s lap, and then went to make up the fire. Usually that was done much earlier; the quiet scrape of the coal scuttle was what woke Leda on any normal morning. It was unthinkably fortuitous that there had apparently been some delay in the morning routine today.
She had a horrible thought.
What if there had not been a delay? What if the girl had looked in and seen…
The smell of toast and butter seemed abruptly nauseating. Surely, surely, the sound of the door opening would have awakened her as it usually did. She had thought she would never sleep again, this morning, after…
She closed her eyes, still unable to find expression for what had happened.
The chambermaid swept the hearth, gave another swift curtsy, and withdrew. Leda tried to remember if the girl had been more pleasant and friendly yesterday. The maid had never been loquacious, and Leda was content to deal with servants at whatever level of distance they wished to keep, but didn’t this one usually smile shyly and say, “Good morning, miss” as she entered and left?
Leda set the tray aside. She felt desperate. She felt as if she must have a bath, but she was too mortified to ring for one. What about the stains everywhere? What could she say? She thought of excusing them as her monthly illness, but that had been only a week ago, and the laundry staff must know it quite perfectly well. She shoved back the counterpane and ran barefoot across the room, yanking open the drawer of the vanity, searching wildly through the neat contents for scissors to cut herself.
A light knock sounded at the door. Leda froze.
Lady Tess slipped in, closing the door behind her. Leda’s body jerked with the beginning of a motion to fling herself toward the bed and concealment, but as the older woman lifted her eyes, she saw that it was useless.
Lady Tess knew.
Leda stood frozen in the middle of the floor in her stained gown, clutching it closed at her throat.
She knew, she knew, she knew.
The kindest, best, most generous of ladies; the mother of the girl he intended to marry; the family that had given Leda shelter—more than that—unreserved friendship, even a kind of affection…
Leda’s unsteady breath began to come in gasps. She closed her eyes, pressed her hands together, holding them to her mouth. Her knees gave beneath her. The tears broke free as she sank to the floor, tears of bewilderment and shame and terror of what would happen to her now.
“Shhh. Shhh.” Lady Tess’ arms came around her as she huddled there on the carpet, shaking with frenzied sobs. She drew Leda’s head against her breast, stroking her hair, rocking her. “Hush. It will be all right. Everything will be all right.”
“I’m so—” Leda lost her voice in another tearing sob. “Oh, ma’am!”
“Hush, love.” Lady Tess pressed her cheek against the top of Leda’s head. “Don’t try to tell me now.”
Leda could not seem to lift her face, nor contain the tumult of weeping. She turned into Lady Tess’ pretty, lacy blouse and cried. The quiet support, the gentle hand brushing back her damp hair only made it worse; she could not understand how Lady Tess could bear to touch her.
At last she fell into hiccoughs and sniffs, wiping her face with the handkerchief Lady Tess gave her.
“I’m so sorry!” She managed to say it, and then her face wrinkled up and she sobbed again. “I never meant—I never would have—I didn’t understand!” Her voice ended in a squeak.
“Come into the dressing room.” Lady Tess drew her to her feet. “I’ve had them heat water and leave the slipper bath there. Let us have this thing off of you.”
Leda looked down at her gown, and could not help fresh tears. “The bed. Everyone will know belowstairs, won’t they?”
“It doesn’t matter. I will take care of that.”
Something in her tone made Leda look up in fright. “They already know?”
Lady Tess took her hand and squeezed it.
Leda felt the awful tears push into her eyes again. “The maid! The chambermaid came early,”
“We’ll talk about this when you’ve dressed.” Lady Tess’s voice was soothing, as if she were speaking to an agitated child.
A sensation of utter numbness came over Leda. If the servants knew…a sign across her back could not proclaim her shame any more loudly in the house.
In a daze, she allowed Lady Tess to lead her into the adjoining dressing room, let the gown be lifted over her head, stood completely unclothed for the first time in her memory in front of someone else. The proof of what had happened marked her thighs in dark ugly smears, but Lady Tess seemed to think nothing of it: she only poured hot water as if she were a common maid, and gave Leda a washcloth and sweet soap after she stepped in.
Leda wished she could sink into the steamy bath and stay there forever. She wished she could drown herself.
She could not. Lady Tess had a robe and fresh linen for her, with a pad to prevent further stains. “You’ve no need to wear a corset and bustle today. Would you like to wear this skirt, or the stripe?” she asked Leda composedly.
Her quiet consideration started Leda crying once again. She could not stop herself; she just stood in the robe, weeping. Lady Tess put her arms around her while Leda sobbed into her shoulder. When the tears subsided, she coaxed Leda to the chair before the fire in her bedroom.
“Oh, ma’am—I don’t know how…How can you be so good to me?”
Lady Tess smiled wryly. “I think—because I’d like to do this for Samuel. But I can’t. So I’ll do it for you.”
There was no censure in her voice. Leda wiped her eyes. “You don’t hate me?”
She smiled more openly and held out the blouse for Leda. “No, I don’t hate you. I like you. And I expect Samuel feels much the same as you do this morning.”
Leda gave a half-sobbing laugh. “He must be hysterical, then.”
“Perhaps. But you won’t know it to look at him.”
“You’ve seen him?”
Lady Tess paused in her buttoning down Leda’s back. She did not answer.
“Ma’am?” Leda asked with a tremble. “Was it…did…was it the maid who told you?”
The fingers at her back resumed their work. “I brought a present to hide under your bed this morning. I’m afraid I didn’t wait for you to answer my knock.”
Leda’s heart dropped. “Oh, ma’am. Oh, ma’am.”
“It was a bit of a shock.”
For a long moment, Leda
said nothing. She felt ill. When Lady Tess proffered the skirt, Leda stepped into it stiffly, moving like an automaton. Lady Tess began to take up the long row of buttons on the high waist.
Even in her mortification, she couldn’t keep the rise pf hope from her voice. “Does that mean…that only you know, ma’am?”
“Come and sit down.”
Leda closed her eyes, understanding that answer for what it was. She took a deep breath and went to sit in the chair by the fire. Lady Tess poured a cup of tea off the tray, brought it to her; poured one for herself and sat down at the vanity.
“I’m afraid this won’t be easy for you, Leda. You have to know—the chambermaid came this morning at her regular time. An hour before I did, at least. It’s nearly noon now.”
The cup rattled a little in Leda’s hand. She put it down and folded her hands in her lap. “Everyone knows.”
“Gryf told me that at breakfast, the rumor was that Tommy is yours and Samuel’s, conceived when Samuel was here on business last year.”
She came to her feet. “Ma’am!”
“Leda—people have remarked it as strange already—I didn’t realize how much until now—that Samuel brought you to us. And Tommy…”
“He isn’t mine! I swear to you! It isn’t true; you can ask Inspector Ruby or Sergeant MacDonald!”
Lady Tess gave a twisted little smile toward the stained gown that lay over the bed. “No. I’m very sure that last night was your first time to be with a man.”
Leda looked at her with wide, embarrassed eyes, then turned sharply away. “You’ll wish me to go. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking of—I should have been packing my things already.”
“I don’t wish you to go.”
“Oh, ma’am! There is Lady Kai, and Mrs. Goldborough and her daughters—you cannot suffer my presence here. Not—as I am now.”
“Ah…because you might tarnish their girlish innocence? I suppose then I must send Samuel away, too—and probably Robert and Lord Haye as well, although Mr. Curzon may still be a lily-white virgin.” She toyed with a hat pin from the vanity. “One would have difficulty with that call.”