Chapter 8
Harriet had been at Costille House for about one hour, directing the men where to place objects in the main hall, when Lord Berkley strode in looking like a man who was not having a pleasant day. All morning, Harriet had been fighting the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again. The day she’d been away from Costille House—from him—had seemed inordinately long. No matter how many times she chastised herself for falling into daydreams of him sweeping her into his arms, she could not stop herself.
It simply was not in her nature to halt such fantastical thoughts. She wondered if he had even spared her a second thought, had noted her absence the day before. Had relived their kisses over and over until his skin felt too hot, too tight. Probably not. It had, after all, not been the first time Lord Berkley had experienced such passion. It was nothing to him to kiss a willing woman. Try though she did to make certain she did not make those kisses everything, Harriet found she could not. She’d gone twenty-two years of her life never having come close to kissing a man, never mind participating in such a carnal embrace. It was quite likely she would spend her entire life never again experiencing such passion.
Unless, of course, Lord Berkley decided he wanted to kiss her again.
“Mr. Billings,” Lord Berkley said, not sparing her even a single glance. “When do you think this room will be completed? This is where I shall hold my ball and it is imperative that this room have priority over all other projects. Other than the entrance, of course, which I believe is near to completion.”
Harriet stood in the very center of the room. Above her was the new roof, heavy, dark beams criss-crossing the room. Scaffolding lined each side, and men were whitewashing the walls, the slap of their brushes sounding overly loud in the large room. Sunlight streamed into the east bank of windows, and she stood precisely in one of the squares where the light shone through. He could hardly have missed her standing there. Yet he would not even look in her direction.
In that moment, Harriet felt her foolishness like a heavy, wet cloak of humiliation. Hardly a minute had gone by since she’d left two days ago when she did not think of his kiss, did not wonder if it would happen again. Did not feel his hands on her breasts, his tongue in her mouth. Sleeping had been nearly impossible, with all those delicious feelings swirling inside her. It was as if she were sick with some fever.
“It’ll be done, my lord,” Mr. Billings said gruffly. “As I’ve said.”
Harriet looked at Mr. Billings a bit curiously, for his tone had been slightly disrespectful.
“Yes, you have,” Lord Berkley said levelly.
“We’re very nearly done here,” Mr. Billings said, sounding more like himself. “The men have been working hard, they have, and I expect this room to be completed before the end of the week. Do you agree, Miss Anderson?”
Harriet kept her eyes carefully on Mr. Billings, not trusting herself to look at Lord Berkley lest her feelings might show. “I agree, Mr. Billings.”
“Very good,” the earl said, then spun on his heel and moved toward the door.
Harriet swallowed, hating the burning heaviness in her throat. Suddenly, she felt cheap, like some doxy and not a country girl with dreams that would not die no matter how hard she tried to do away with them. She cleared her throat. “The suit of arms goes directly beneath the west windows, precisely in the center,” she said, glad that her voice sounded normal and not like a woman who was on the verge of tears.
“Miss Anderson.”
And just like that, her heart sped up and those dreams that lay like ashes at her feet sprang to life. She turned to face Lord Berkley, trying desperately to remain cool and indifferent. “Yes, my lord?”
“I wonder if you could come to my study. I would like a private word with you.”
“Of course,” she said, and could feel her cheeks flush just a bit. She could not meet his eyes as he turned sideways and indicated that she should precede him out of the great hall. They spoke not a word as they made their way down the narrow hall that led to his study. This room was on the opposite side of the house, lovely when the sun was setting, but this time of day it was rather dark.
The perfect place for a rendezvous, she thought nervously.
“Please, sit down.”
Why did this suddenly feel as if she were a child about to be giving a talking to by a parent? Part of her wished he had closed the door behind them and pulled her into his arms. A too large part, much to her shame. Instead, he’d left the door open and she found herself sitting in an uncomfortable chair (the springs needed replacing) watching as Lord Berkley, looking every inch the earl he was, sat behind his desk and steepled his hands. He looked exceedingly stern, and Harriet wondered if she was about to get a set down for her terrible behavior two days ago.
“We missed you yesterday,” he said.
If he had said “I” instead of “we,” Harriet’s heart would have melted on the spot. As it was, this seemed more the words of an annoyed employer requesting information about an unexcused absence. “Oh, I do apologize. I did not realize I was supposed to request permission to take a day off. I was visiting with my dearest friend, Alice Southwell. I believe you know her husband? At any rate, she is in the family way and as I am so busy, that was the only day I could take to see her with my other friends. I felt confident that Mr. Billings—”
He held up one hand so that she would stop speaking. “You are under no obligation to tell me what days you can and cannot work. That is not why I brought it up. I thought that perhaps the reason you were not here yesterday was because of what transpired the previous day.”
“Oh,” Harriet said, and this time her cheeks went to full blush in a matter of seconds. “No, not at all. At least not entirely,” she finished miserably.
Lord Berkley tapped his fingers together and stared at her over his hands. “What I did was unconscionable. What I said was worse. I want to apologize in the most sincere way possible and to promise you that nothing of the sort will ever happen again. You should feel safe when in my company and it is unacceptable that I betrayed your trust. When you did not appear yesterday, I believed that you had perhaps quit the project, nothing less than what I deserved.”
The first emotion Harriet felt was deep disappointment, as shocking and inappropriate as that was. He was never to kiss her again? Ever? This was quickly followed by a rush of shame tinged with humiliation that feeling disappointment had been her first emotion.
“I told you then that I would continue to assist you and I will. As for the apology, I wish you would not.”
Lord Berkley had been staring at his hands, seemingly lost in thought and self-loathing, and when she said those last words, his head snapped up. “What are you saying, Miss Anderson?”
What was she saying? “Only that you did not force yourself on me. It shames me to say I was a willing participant. Yes, asking me to become your mistress was rather…”
“Terrible?” he supplied.
She nodded, quick jerks of her head, and for a moment it seemed he was distracted by the curls bouncing against her forehead. “And really, I’m not certain what I feel is shame. What I feel is something I’ve never felt before in my life.” She shook her head, trying to find a name for what had been muddling her brain since those kisses, since his hand found her breast and she realized how lovely it was to be touched by a man. Looking him straight in the eyes, she said, “It’s something very much like rebellion.”
That seemed to baffle him, and he sat back, a puzzled look on his face. “Rebellion?”
“Yes,” she said with a small shrug. “All my life, I have been overlooked. By my parents, by boys, and now that I’m older, by men. I am painfully shy around most people; I haven’t any idea why I am not so around you. I’ve been told over and over that good girls never allow men to take liberties, should never allow themselves to be alone with a man, never put themselves in a position where one might be taken advantage of.”
“This is not your doing,” Lord Berkley said.
“You do not understand, my lord. These past few weeks, I have been doing everything I’ve been told I should not do. I’ve taken a position, agreed to take an exorbitant wage, I’ve lied to my parents, I’ve been the only female in the midst of a small army of men.” She shook her head in amazement at what she’d done. Stated all at once, it seemed miraculous. “I’ve been alone with a man. I’ve been kissed.” His eyes darkened and Harriet could not bring herself to look away. “I’ve been touched,” she whispered. “All these things I ought not to do. They are wrong and a sin and if my mother knew, God only knows what would happen to me. And would you like to know how all this makes me feel?”
He nodded, slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
“It makes me feel more alive than I ever have in my life. More alive than I ever thought I’d feel. You say you will not kiss me again. Is that what you want?”
“No.” A low growl.
“It is not what I want either,” she said, feeling bold and rash and, beyond anything else, exhilarated.
“What are you saying, Catalina?”
“I do not want to be your mistress. I want to be your lover.” He breathed in harshly. “For now. Until the ball is over. Then you can find your wife and I can find my little cottage and I shall have wonderful memories.”
* * * *
Augustus became very still, almost as though if he moved, everything she’d just said would be wiped away. He had a sudden and erotic image of himself over her, her thick curls spilling over a white pillow, sinking inside her, her head thrown back in ecstasy. He became instantly and painfully aroused. Rational thought did finally prevail. “Absolutely not.”
She looked for a moment completely nonplussed. “Why ever not? It’s what you wanted, but without any obligation whatsoever.”
Could she not see that he was trying to do the right thing, be honorable and all that rot? “There are dangers.”
An adorable crease formed between her lovely eyes. “Dangers?”
“You could become impregnated.” She blushed, and he wondered at that moment if she even knew what she was asking for. “But I could take precautions,” he added quickly, lest she change her mind. It had become imperative that she not change her mind and just as imperative that he relay all his concerns. My God, was he truly contemplating such an arrangement? “We could get caught and if we do, I want you to know I will not marry you.” There, that ought to do it.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said boldly. “I have no desire to become a laughingstock.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I do not believe I could bear the gossip, the shame of being forced to marry a man.”
He smiled grimly. “You could fall in love with me and be left with a broken heart.”
“As could you,” she said jauntily.
He let out a laugh. “It is an emotion I have never felt, and as lovely as you are, my Catalina, I do not believe you have the charms to lead me down that path.” He paused, because he thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt? “Have I insulted you?”
“Not at all, my lord.”
“You shall call me Gus when we are alone. And I shall call you Catalina.”
She pressed her lips together as if annoyed by this last, but she did not argue.
“Do you know what becoming lovers entails?” Again, he found himself tensing, fearful that if she truly thought about it, she would run screaming from the room. And just as fearful that she would continue on this insane scheme. Truly, she had bewitched him if he was even contemplating such a thing. She was an innocent young woman, his employee. It would be so wrong.
Yet, his body throbbed for her.
“Not in the least,” she said with such confidence, he laughed again. He sat back, well pleased by this day, realizing vaguely that no woman had ever made him laugh as much as this one did.
“Shall I explain matters to you?”
Her eyes, looking preternaturally bright in the gloomy room, crinkled in amusement. “I think if you do, I will lose my courage. No, my lord—”
“Gus.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I truly do not think that name suits you at all. Augustus is much finer. What did your father call you?”
“Greenwich.”
She raised her brows. “He called you by your title?”
“He did. Call me Gus. Please.”
“Very well. Gus.” She wrinkled her nose again and he fought the urge to leap over his desk and kiss her. “Shall we begin?”
He shook his head, still not quite believing what she was suggesting. “What has gotten into you?”
Letting out a small bit of hysterical laughter, she said, “I think a bit of madness. Yet this is not a spontaneous request; it is something I’ve been thinking of ever since you kissed me. I couldn’t help but think that your kiss might be the very last one I ever experience. It seemed unacceptable to me. Am I a terrible person?”
“Not at all,” he said, feeling a sudden urge to prove to her how beautiful she was, how desirable. It had, he realized with a start, nothing to do with his own desire for her. “I admire your courage.”
“Something that suddenly I find very lacking.”
“You may stop this at any time, Catalina. I do not want you to feel you have forged a path that cannot be unforged. A woman’s virtue is all she has, you know. If I am to take it, you would have nothing of yourself to give to the man who will become your husband.” He forced himself to say the words, even while rejecting the notion that any man would have her but him. An illogical thought if there ever was one, given the temporary arrangement they had just settled upon.
“I have thought of that. And I am aware that it is in the realm of possibility that a man will want to marry me someday. I shall have to cross that bridge when I come to it, I suppose.” She pressed her lips together, then said forcefully, “I will not regret this.”
He gave her a half smile. “Oh, my dear, I fear you will.” He stood and she stiffened, as if she thought he would pounce on her then and there. “To the right of the barn, there is an empty cottage that is used by the under gardener. Costille House does not have an under gardener.”
“This is where we will…meet?”
“It is.”
“When?”
He took out his pocket watch. “After luncheon. Two o’clock. Will that suffice?”
Another furrow formed between her eyes. “Yes, it will.”
“Why are you frowning?”
“It suddenly feels like some sort of transaction.”
He walked over to her, took up her hands and pulled her up from her seat. Kissing her gently, he said, “I am as inexperienced as you when it comes to such a thing. I can honestly say I have never agreed to meet an innocent young woman in an under gardener’s cottage at two o’clock in the afternoon.” He brushed the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip, then bent down for another kiss. “I want to please you, Catalina, and I very much am looking forward to being with you.”
Giving him a tremulous smile, she nodded, then tucked her head beneath his chin, a movement that caused a strange feeling in his chest, an indefinable ache.
“Until two, then,” she said, sounding brave as she lifted her chin and bussed his lips with her own.
* * * *
A hundred times between that morning meeting and two o’clock, Harriet had to fight the urge to run from the estate and return home. Truly, she had gone mad.
Yet, the thought of experiencing what she was about to was enough to keep her there. She tried to focus on the renovations, and succeeded for much of the time. It wasn’t until Mr. Billings, with a gentle smile on his face, noted her lack of attention that she realized just how distracted she had become.
“I do apologize, Mr. Billings. My thoughts have been elsewhere all morning.”
“A beau?” he said with a teasing note.
Harriet let out a nervous laugh, for he had struck far too close to the truth. “I haven’t a beau,” she said, more for herself than for him. Already, her heart was far too engaged in this matter. She knew, if Lord Berkley did not, that she was treading in dangerous waters. To think she had boldly stated he might fall in love with her when she was already half in love with him. Stupid, silly girl. She said a silent prayer to a God who was likely looking down at her with clear disappointment that she wouldn’t regret this decision. Would she be a scorned woman now? Was this a sin that could sentence her to hell? No, it was not a mortal sin.
No one would know but the two of them. And God. Harriet would ask forgiveness later.
At quarter ’til two, Harriet told the workmen good-bye and headed to the cottage, her stomach a jumble of nerves. She was heady with the knowledge that before the day was out, she would have been with Lord Berkley, held him against her and…done something miraculous. She hoped.
Lord Berkley, Augustus, had been correct. She knew the basics of what making love entailed; one could not live in the country and not be aware of how animals procreated. But that was all she knew. Alice, other than to blush prettily whenever Mr. Southwell entered a room, had remained frustratingly mum on the whole marriage bed experience. It was simply a topic she had never discussed with anyone.
The day was cold and overcast, and Harriet pulled her scarf closer around her neck, looking about the estate to see if she could spy Augustus heading in the same direction. The cottage was a few hundred yards from the barn, a tiny one-room building with a door and a single window. A bit of smoke streamed from the stone chimney, and Harriet smiled. It appeared Augustus was there already, making it cozy and welcoming.
Taking a deep breath, Harriet went up the small stone step and knocked softly on the door, as if some observer might hear had she knocked louder. A quick look behind her showed that the cottage was well away from the estate and no one was about who might see her. When the door opened, she stepped back, laughing—laughter that quickly stopped when she saw Augustus standing on the other side of the door.
Wearing only a shirt and trousers, his hair ruffled, he no longer looked the part of an earl. Rather, he looked like an ordinary, extraordinarily handsome young man. She looked down and realized he was barefoot. For some reason, seeing him thus made what was about to happen even more frightening. This, she thought, was Gus, and Gus was someone who could steal her heart.
“Hello.”
He smiled and raised one eyebrow as if to say, “Is this truly what you want?” What he actually said was, “You’ve changed your mind.”
Harriet gathered her courage, walked into the cottage, and looked around. A fire was burning merrily in the fireplace, and the room smelled a bit smoky; likely no one had cleaned the chimney in some time. The honey-colored wooden floor beneath her feet was well worn, and partially covered with a rag rug, the sort she remembered from her childhood before her mother replaced them with expensive ones.
“I have not changed my mind yet,” she said, and let out a tremulous laugh. “I keep thinking I’ve gone a bit mad and that this will either be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made or the best decision.” She turned to look at him. “Which will it be, do you think?”
“I would never wish to hurt you,” he said solemnly. “But I also have been imagining what it would be like to take you as a lover for quite some time now.” He gave her a self-effacing grin. “I am a man, after all.”
“Yes, a man. You don’t look like an earl at the moment,” she said, saying aloud what she’d thought when she first entered the cottage. “It’s a bit disconcerting.”
“When I was in America, I was an ordinary man. No one knew I was an earl and if they did, they did not care. It meant nothing to the men I lived and worked with. When we are within these walls, I wish to be Gus, not the Earl of Berkley.”
Letting out another burst of nervous laughter, she said, “I only have known you as an earl, so I am finding it difficult to call you Gus, never mind think of you that way.”
He walked over to her and Harriet tensed. Instead of embracing her, however, he walked around her and began undoing her hair.
“If this is all I do today, it will have been worth it,” he said.
He began removing the pins that held her hair in a simple chignon. Piece by piece it fell down her back and over her shoulders, until she could feel the blessed relief of having all the pins removed. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her against him and buried his face in her curls. “It is glorious,” he whispered, and Harriet closed her eyes at the wonder of how he was making her feel. He was doing nothing out of the ordinary, simply resting his large, warm hands gently on her shoulders, but the heat that was coursing through her made her decision far easier. This was what she wanted, to feel cherished, to feel pleasure, when all her life she had been told over and over again that she should feel nothing.
His lips grazed the sensitive skin on her neck and Harriet let out a small gasp. How could such a simple kiss create such complex sensations? Turning in his arms, she looked up at him and smiled, a surge of joy rushing through her. “I want you to be my lover,” she said softly.
Augustus let out a shaky breath. “Your wish, Princess Catalina, is my command.”
Harriet giggled, a sound unfamiliar to her ears. She was not the sort of woman who giggled. Still gazing at him, Harriet lifted her hands to the buttons of her simple dress, and started undoing them. His eyes dropped to watch her progress, his face taut, his lids lowered so that she could see the thick length of his lashes, something she’d never noticed before. It made him seem even more beautiful.
Beneath the dress was only a chemise and pantaloons. Harriet was thin and only required a corset when she wore one of her more formal dresses to achieve the desired shape. When she went on her walks or worked at Costille House, she always opted for comfort—and now it was terribly convenient, she thought, and let out another giggle.
“What is so amusing?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.
Harriet shook her head, suddenly embarrassed by her thoughts. “I confess I am nervous.”
“Ah,” he said, then dipped his head and kissed her softly.
* * * *
Augustus meant only to soothe her, a kiss to calm her nerves. But the moment he pressed his mouth against hers, he was lost, a sensation completely foreign to him. Kissing a woman had never nearly driven him to his knees, but for some reason kissing this woman did. Something about her soft, full lips, the small contented noises she made whenever he touched her, the way she melted so willingly against him. It was damned unmanning, that’s what it was, to be so completely in the control of a slip of a woman.
He was past insisting to himself that he was not attracted to her. God above only knew how much he desired her, how difficult it was to go slowly with her when he throbbed with need. His mind was gone, centered only on her small gasps, soft mewling sounds that she probably was unaware she was making. He, though, was aware that each time he swept his tongue against hers, each time he skimmed his hand down her side or against her breast, a delighted hum would come out of her. His cock pressed against his trousers, and knowing he would soon, finally, be buried inside her, it was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder and toss her onto the soft feather mattress that dominated this small place.
He’d spent the morning preparing the cottage, cleaning it, making up the bed with his softest linens. Living in America without servants had forced him to learn how to live self-sufficiently, and those simple skills had come in quite handy when he’d been fixing up the old place.
Bringing up one hand to cup a breast and the other to cup her tight bum, he closed his eyes and listened for the sounds he knew would come from her. He was not disappointed, but he was surprised by how just those soft sounds could drive him nearly mad with desire. She hadn’t even touched him yet, for her hands were caught between, and he could hardly maintain his control.
One thumb, moving back and force across her peak, produced the desired effect, as a hard bud formed. Dipping his head, he captured her nipple beneath her chemise, and gently bit, then chuckled with satisfaction when she let out a low moan of pleasure.
His need to see her unclothed grew tenfold, and he moved back so that he could continue what she’d started. But when he did, he made the mistake of looking at her desire-filled eyes, drowsy with passion, and he had to bring her against him again and kiss her. He was acting like a man who had never been with a woman, whose very touch was very nearly like sustenance. Never in his life had he felt the need to kiss and touch; his experiences with other women were very nearly perfunctory. Expert touches that created the desired effect, yes, but nothing even remotely as consuming as what he was feeling with this innocent girl.
“You have bewitched me,” he muttered, pushing down the odd panic he felt in his breast.
“Good.” He could feel her smile against his lips. Sweeping his hands down her back and to her pretty bum, he pulled her against his arousal, closing his eyes and letting out a primal sound that he was certain had never before come from his lips.
“I need to have you, my Catalina,” he said, pressing light kisses against her slim neck, feeling her curls tickle his cheek.
“Yes,” she said, dropping her head back, as if she no longer had the strength to keep it upright.
Stepping back, he pushed her dress down past her slim hips, then pulled on the ribbon that held the top garment closed, and at the same time, her shaking fingers pulled on the ribbon that held her pantaloons in place. In a matter of seconds, she stood before him completely nude, her perfect breasts, round and firm, exposed to him.
“You are so lovely,” he said, his eyes sweeping down her frame. She was thin, yes, but not too much so. Her waist dipped in only slightly, her hips were rounded, giving her a woman’s curves. Had he thought he liked women with more of everything? She was perfect in his eyes, skin pale and smooth, cream with a hint of rose. He noticed then that her hands were fisted by her sides, and he picked them up and kissed the knuckles until she relaxed. “Come,” he said, and led her to the bed.
She hesitated, and his heart nearly stopped. If she wanted to stop, he would, but he might drop dead on the spot from the effort. Then she climbed in and he couldn’t help but give her bum a light pat. She let out a small, delighted scream, and scurried to get beneath the covers.
“Have you ever seen a man?” he asked, smiling down at her. He could only see the tip of her nose and her lovely eyes gazing at him with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
“No. At least not in the flesh.”
“Ah, you’ve seen statuary, then?”
She nodded and blushed. “I imagine we’re all much the same, though…” He stopped, realizing the man parts on a stature were never erect, as he was now, painfully so. “Though because I am aroused, that part down there will look a bit different. Larger, I suppose.”
“It feels rather large,” she said shyly.
He hesitated a moment, suddenly feeling a bit shy himself, which was ridiculous. Quite a few women had seen him naked and all had expressed pleasure at his body—at least the ones who had seen him in daylight. Which come to think of it, were fewer than he would have thought.
With a muttered curse over his wayward thoughts, he pushed his braces from his shoulders, then pulled his shirt over his head. Her eyes widened and he hoped that was a good sign. Augustus wasn’t the hairiest of men, but he did have a good bit of dark hair on his chest. With a few deft movements, he unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them, revealing himself in all his glory to his soon-to-be lover.
“Oh,” she said, darting a quick look at his cock before pulling the blanket entirely over her head. This struck Augustus as exceedingly funny, and he let out a burst of laughter.
“Do not laugh at me,” she said, her voice muffled by the blanket.
Placing one knee upon the bed and still chuckling, he pulled the blanket slowly down to reveal her smiling face. God, she was lovely. “You are the most adorable woman,” he said, before kissing her deeply. It wasn’t long before she was sighing and letting out those lovely little noises that drove him mad.
Drawing down the blanket, he got in bed beside her and drew her fully against him, relishing the gasp of pleasure she let out upon feeling for the first time flesh against flesh. In his mind, there was little in the world that was better than the sensation of a soft naked woman against one’s body.
“I’m going to touch you places where no one has ever touched you before. Like here,” he said, slowly circling one nipple with his index finger. “And every place I touch you, I will likely kiss you.” He dipped his head and drew her hard nipple into his mouth, suckling her.
“Oh, God,” she screamed, and her hips rose.
Teasing one nipple with his mouth, he pleasured the other with his fingers, gently twisting, back and forth, until she was gasping. Her hands, which had been by her sides, came up to grasp his head against her. He moved from one breast to the other, amazed at how easy it was to arouse her. Though she was likely unaware of what she was doing, her hips began moving ever so slightly and Augustus took a deep breath, forcing himself to go slow with her. Indeed, he had never produced such a reaction in a woman before and he was damned pleased with himself.
* * * *
Harriet thought she must be in the grasp of some sort of spell or fever. She could not have known what it felt like when a man touched her the way Augustus was touching her. It was as if she had lost control of her body, as if some other being had taken over where simple, plain Harriet had lived. Never could she have imagined that a man would suck on her nipple and that such an action would produce inconceivable sensations that speared from her breasts directly to between her legs.
She could feel herself growing moist, hot, needy, and she never, ever wanted him to stop. His man part, hot and hard against her leg, felt foreign but strangely right, as if her body understood what was happening to her even if her mind did not.
When he moved his hand lower, to that growing ache between her legs, Harriet cried out and he stilled. “I’m going to touch you,” he said, his voice unusually gruff. “And I’m going to kiss you.”
“Oh.” It was all she could utter; it was all her mind could conjure. Then he touched her, lightly, between her legs, and he let out a low moan as if the caress that made her want to scream out in pleasure had somehow pleasured him too.
“Catalina,” he said, and buried his head beside her, pressing his forehead against the pillow. “You are impossibly ready for me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do all I had planned to do. This time.”
She could feel his fingers exploring her, and then, a touch, a caress, had her lifting her hips off of the bed. She could do nothing to stop it, the sensation was that astonishing.
“There you are,” he said, letting out a small laugh. He began moving his finger in that particular place, back and forth, creating a growing tension inside her that was completely unfamiliar. It was like that small pleasure she’d felt when he kissed her, growing a hundred times more intense, more wonderful. More everything.
“I can’t…” she said, not even knowing what she couldn’t do. Something wonderful was building, something she couldn’t control, but it felt so good. Then he dipped one finger inside her, and kept his thumb on that one single spot, and created a carnal rhythm that Harriet could not resist. She began moving her hips, trying to reach something, something. And then, her entire body was enveloped in the most delicious sensation she had ever experienced in her entire life. She wasn’t even aware she was screaming out in pleasure until Augustus kissed her deeply, silencing her.
Slowly, she came back to earth, having left to go to heaven and back. When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her with the oddest expression. Then he blinked, and it was gone, and he was back, grinning down at her.
“Hello,” he said, and she laughed.
“I did feel as though I’d left for a time.” She wrapped her arms around him lazily, feeling as if all her energy had been drained away. It was, she realized, a lovely feeling.
His expression tensed. “I have a male shield. For prevention.”
“Mmm.” It was all she could bring herself to say; she felt as if she were a human puddle. A warm and satisfied human puddle.
Closing her eyes, she could feel him rummaging around for something in the side table, then slight movements. She opened her eyes to small slits and saw he was busy putting something on his manhood. When he was finished, he looked back to her and smiled, a smile that quickly faded.
“I’ve heard this hurts,” he said. “I shouldn’t want to hurt you, but I also do not want to die for not having you.” He let out a small laugh, then shifted so that he was atop her, his groin pressing slightly against hers. His elbows were braced on either side of her, and he bent his head to kiss her, a long, lovely kiss that had Harriet sighing all over again.
He touched her then, between her legs, and she jerked, for she was quite sensitive now. “My God, you are so wet,” he said on a groan, and then pushed his manhood slightly into her, his entire body trembling like a stallion after a long run. Drawing one nipple into his mouth, he pushed his manhood further inside her, until Harriet felt an unpleasant burning. Not quite pain, but…
“Ow!”
“Sorry, love. That’s it, though.” He sounded as if he’d just run up a long flight of stairs.
“That’s it?”
Augustus found that particularly amusing. “No, love. No.” And then he began moving, and Harriet watched his face harden, his eyes become drowsy. Harriet raised her hands so that they rested on his shoulders, not knowing what she should be doing. It wasn’t long, though, before that delicious feeling began to seep into her once again, the one that made her want to move, to reach that place where she could find her release. Moving her hips, she discovered, increased the sensation, and so she closed her eyes and simply felt.
Suddenly, Augustus’ movements quickened, his breathing became harsh, and his body turned to velvet steel, as he thrust again and again inside her. He let out a guttural sound and stilled for a long second, breathing stopped. Then he began laughing, and Harriet wasn’t certain why or if she should join in.
Letting out a curse beneath his breath, he slowly removed himself from her, then collapsed on the bed, one arm slung over his forehead as he stared at the ceiling. To Harriet, he did not look at all happy.
“Did I do it incorrectly?” she asked, her voice small.
He turned his head and studied her for a long moment. “No, love. It was quite nice. Here.” He dipped his free hand beneath her and dragged her up against his side. Having never lain with a man, Harriet was not certain what she should do, so she followed his lead and snuggled up against him. For several long moments, she listened to him breathe and studied the way his hair grew from his muscular chest. Though she was tempted to run her hands through it, for his chest hair was far softer than she would have imagined, she did not. It seemed somehow too intimate to do so.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Only a little.”
“Then I am sorry for that little hurt.” He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “I don’t believe this should be repeated,” he said after a time.
A wash of humiliation filled Harriet, who suddenly felt the press of tears against her eyes. He must have been terribly disappointed in her. She was too thin, almost boy-like, with her small breasts and narrow hips. She looked nothing like the big-bosomed, curvy women who seemed to garner so much male attention.
“Very well,” she said, trying to keep her tone cheerful. “I thought it was lovely, at any rate.”
His silence told her everything she needed to know. He had been disappointed. And now she had thrown away her virtue for a single encounter with a man who cared nothing for her. She was nothing more than a trollop, a fallen woman, she thought miserably.
“You deserve better than I can give you.”
What a lot of rot, she thought. “You make it sound as if I have expectations. I assure you, my lord, I do not.”
In one sudden, almost violent motion, he turned and loomed over her. “When we are together you will not call me ‘my lord.’”
“But you are my lord, are you not? Telling me to call you Gus, walking about barefoot, does not make you less of an earl. And calling me Catalina does not make me some exotic princess. I am Harriet Anderson, and that is all I shall ever be.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I am so stupid. I actually thought I could pretend to be something I am not. I am not Princess Catalina, the type of woman who can lie with a man and then go on as if it never happened. I wish I were that woman, I truly do. So you are much wiser than I, my lord, for you know the difference. You never fell into this silly dream of mine.”
He pushed himself away so that he sat at the edge of the bed. “Do not presume to know what dreams I have, Miss Anderson. And do not presume to know why it is impossible for us to ever make love again.”
“How can I help but presume if you do not tell me,” Harriet said, thoroughly frustrated.
He stood and walked to a basin and dipped in a cloth, wringing it out before bringing it to her. “For your…” He dropped his eyes to the juncture of her thighs.
Harriet took the cloth, vaguely realizing the water was warm and that he must have planned ahead, thinking of her comfort. He watched her and Harriet, though deeply embarrassed to have her ablutions witnessed by a man, forged ahead as if it did not bother her. Each time she sneaked a look at him, he was scowling down at her as if he were angry.
When she was finished, she laid the cloth aside and was about to get out of the bed when he placed his hand on the back of her head and brought her to him for a searing, hard kiss. Pressing his forehead against hers, he said, “I want you to know that I have never experienced with any woman what I experienced with you. And that, my darling Miss Anderson, is why this can never happen again.”
He let go and she flopped, stunned, back onto the pillow. With efficient movements, he got dressed and in a matter of minutes, he was standing fully clothed at the end of the bed. “Do you require assistance getting dressed?” Harriet, still stunned, could only shake her head. “We shall carry on as if this never happened. You will continue to do your job here, I pray.”
Harriet lifted her chin. “I will.”
He dipped his head briefly before raising it again. “You do not have to attend the ball if you’d rather not.”
“Very well.”
Pressing his lips together, displeased with her answer, he nodded, then walked toward the door.
“Wait,” she said, panic filling her. He stopped but did not turn around. “Did you mean that it was terrible or lovely?”
He hesitated only the briefest moment. “Yes.”
For several long minutes, Harriet sat on the bed and stared at the door, not knowing what to think or to feel. Moments later, she was sobbing into the blanket. What had she done?
* * * *
My God, what have I done.
Making love to Miss Anderson—and he must force himself to think of her only as Miss Anderson—had been transcendent. And frightening. And lovely.
Augustus had never been one of those poor chaps who fell in love with every woman he slept with. His carnal urges were manageable, and he pitied any man who was a slave to his cock. Now, walking away from that cottage, where Miss Anderson was likely still naked and flushed from their love-making, he could feel himself harden. What would it be like to be with her day after day and not touch her?
What would be the harm?
Augustus stopped still and hung his head. He’d known men who visited opium dens, who made such excuses to their loved ones. What’s the harm in one more visit? They were the words of weakness, and Augustus had never been a weak man when it came to the fairer sex. To find himself in this position, warring with himself to return to her, was unacceptable.
She was just a skinny, plain commoner. He would not allow her into his heart, nor into his bed. Harriet Anderson was nothing to him and that’s how it would remain. Damn her and her curling hair and her lovely eyes the color of St. Ives Bay. Damn her ability to make him laugh, to make him hard with need. What sort of a man was he if he couldn’t walk away from a woman who had never attracted a single other man?
“Bah,” he said, kicking at a bit of sod. He had been laid low by a tin miner’s daughter, a girl who knew better than he, apparently, that they had no future unless it was with her as his mistress. Now that would be lovely. If she were his mistress, he wouldn’t have to resist her or feel guilty leaving her.
But as a lover, all he felt was guilt. That and a large and growing dose of lust. What had she done to him? She had no skill. She was skinny and pale and…the loveliest woman he’d ever known. And she had sounded hurt when he left. Already he had wounded her, and they had only been together once. What would it be like if they continued with their secret trysts and finally said good-bye after the ball? Yet the thought of not having her again when he’d been lying with her not minutes ago was getting more and more difficult to accept.
Augustus looked back at the cottage, where smoke still poured merrily from the fire he’d made, and pictured her there regretting with all her being what she had just done. If he was a cad for taking her innocence, he was more of a cad for leaving her there alone. With a violent curse, he began trudging back to the cottage. When he arrived, he opened the door without knocking and stood still.
My God, she was something to behold. Harriet was still in bed, her hair spilling about her, her eyes moist from tears, her nose a bit red, her lips swollen from his kisses, and he thought her the most glorious thing he had ever beheld. She covered her breasts and stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. The idea of never making love to her again flew from his mind.
“Are you sorry about what we’ve done?” he asked, knowing he sounded angry.
She shook her head slowly. “It was my idea, my lord.” A small smile. “Gus. I am not a child. I knew full well what I was asking. I do not want you to pity me or think for one moment that I am ashamed of what we’ve done. It may be a sin, but it is a sin I gladly committed.”
Augustus walked to the bed and sat down at the edge, noting with a bit of self-loathing that she moved slightly away from him. “You frightened me.”
One brow rose, a sign of her skepticism, but she said nothing.
“I have had lovers but I’ve never felt the things I felt when I was with you. I don’t want this to become complicated. I want to be able to walk away in three weeks and be happy that we shared something. I don’t want you hurt and I don’t want to regret my time with you. I want you to promise me that you will not expect more than what I can give. And I will promise the same.”
She held out his hand to shake, and he let out a small laugh. “I promise that I will not expect anything from you, Lord Berkley.”
“I promise I will not expect anything from you, Miss Anderson,” he said solemnly. “You pleased me greatly, you know.”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “I didn’t cry because of any tender feelings for you, by the way. I felt ill used, not hurt. They were angry tears. I wanted to bash your head in for acting so crassly. It was very good for your health that you returned here to apologize.”
He jerked back in mock bafflement. “I do not recall apologizing.”
“Not in so many words,” she said primly, as if she were not sitting naked in his bed with razor burns on her lovely cheeks. “But I definitely heard an apologetic tone in your voice. I forgive you.”
He gave her a small bow. “I am grateful. Here, let me help you dress and we can discuss how this arrangement shall work.”
They decided to meet in the cottage four days a week, at precisely two in the afternoon. If it was raining, Augustus would assume she would be unable to travel to his estate. They would continue their liaison until the day of the ball, and then they would part friends, grateful to each other and the memories they’d made together. When they said good-bye, there would be no tears, no angry words, no embarrassing emotion.
Though Harriet told herself it was a fine arrangement, she knew already that she would be left with a broken heart.
* * * *
Harriet arrived home to find the household full of activity in preparation for going to London. Her mother still had hopes of being swept up into the social entertainments that had become so commonplace in November. Though there was no official “little season,” the months of October and November were filled with so many entertainments, it often rivaled the true social season. The Andersons were arriving a bit late, something Harriet’s mother said would add mystique to Clara’s sudden appearance. The truth was, outfitting Clara and renting a townhouse in an exclusive neighborhood were extremely expensive. They planned to stay until after the first of the year, something Harriet hadn’t realized. Apparently, the estate manager of the townhouse said he would charge them for a full two months whether they lived in the house or not, and Harriet’s father said he’d be damned if he was going to pay for something and not use it. This meant Harriet, along with a handful of servants, would be alone in the St. Ives house for more than two months.
“I begged Mother to allow you to come,” Clara said as she watched Jeanine, their maid, finish up packing. “I shall be miserable without you. I fear Mother will only be disappointed. Again.” She lowered her voice so that Hedra would not overhear. “When will she end this?”
“When a duke begs to marry you.”
Clara laughed. “You and I both know that is not going to happen. Dressing a pig in a gown does not make the pig less of a pig.”
“You are not a pig, Clara. You are a lovely girl any man would be lucky to call his bride.”
Clara waved a hand at her. “You know very well what I mean. It doesn’t matter how many times you or I try to explain to her that no member of the peerage will marry the daughter of a tin miner—”
“Tin miner owner,” Harriet pointed out, as Mother so often did.
Clara stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her nose. “I just go along,” she said on a sigh. “Eventually, she’ll let me come home and just live, won’t she?”
Harriet frowned at her sister. “You do want to marry, don’t you?”
Clara suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Of course I do,” she said softly. “I want to marry and have a half dozen children running about. I just don’t want to marry any of the men Mother wants for me. They’re all so…”
“Priggish?”
“Yes! Except for Lord Berkley, and honestly, he seemed to have more interest in you than me. I think he was simply being ornery to annoy Mother. Even if he were interested in me, I have no interest in him. Live in that awful castle? Although it does have a lovely garden.”
“You should marry a gardener,” Harriet said, laughing. “To think you would consider marrying a man simply because he has a lovely garden.”
Clara shrugged. “Why else would I marry a man?”
The two sisters dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Why else, indeed?”
Clara’s window was open and a light breeze filtered in, causing her sister’s correspondence to flutter where it sat on her small desk.
“Shall I shut the window, miss?” Jeanine asked.
“It’s dreadfully hot, so no. Harriet, go get that ugly rock you use as a paperweight.”
Putting her hands on her hips, Harriet said with mock affront, “I’ll have you know it’s a lovely paperweight and quite useful.”
“It’s a rock.”
“A lovely blue rock and I shan’t let you use it, even if all your papers fly about the room.” She let out a laugh when she noted her sister’s expression. “Fine. It’s an ugly rock, but it serves its purpose. I relate to it.”
Clara instantly frowned and got up to give Harriet a quick hug. “That’s a terrible thing to say. You are not ugly. And neither is your rock. It’s the loveliest rock in all of Cornwall.”
The sisters laughed and after Clara had regained control, she grew serious. “I do feel awfully guilty leaving you behind. I want you to know I believe it is horrible of Mother and Father to do so. I cannot imagine how it must make you feel. No doubt like an ugly rock.”
Harriet gave her sister a hug. “Can I be honest with you? I’m glad, truly. The thought of going to balls or the opera or anywhere I am expected to talk to others is enough to make me cry. I will be perfectly content to stay here and visit with my friends and go for my walks. If Mother insisted I travel with you at this very moment, I fear I would beg to stay.”
“Even so, it is still wrong.”
“Yes, it is,” Harriet said evenly. “Just as it is wrong for our parents to drag you everywhere in hopes of attracting a high born husband. You can feel sorry for me if you’d like, but I feel sorry for you.”
Clara let out a light laugh. “I have thought many times that I would gladly switch places with you. You are so lucky to stay home. But I’ll muddle through it—I always do.”
“Who knows? Perhaps Mother’s persistence will pay off and some prince or duke will take one look at you and fall to your feet and beg you to marry him.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Fall to his feet because he’s too old and doddering to remain upright. Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“You remember Mother talking about Baron Longley. I know she fostered hopes that he would offer for me, and I cannot tell you how relieved I am that he has not. But, Harriet, what if he did? He is supposed to be in London to introduce me. What if he makes an offer for my hand? What would I do?”
“I don’t know,” Harriet said miserably.
“He was awful. He was thin, like Ichabod Crane in that American tale. And his breath would wilt my roses.” She let out a small laugh and Harriet squeezed her sister’s hand. “Worst of all, Mother had two glasses of wine the second night of our stay.”
“Oh, no.”
“I knew the moment the baron began having second thoughts. I believe it was about the time Mother said, ‘Your guts must be rattlin’, Baron, what with us not having anything to eat but a bit of crib since breakfast.’ I had to translate.” Clara looked slightly ill at the memory. “But after all this, the expense, the traveling, everything. How could I say no? I have gone along and gone along, hoping and praying that nothing would come of it. But what if it does? I’m twenty-four now and Mother is beginning to panic and wonder if she should have said yes to one of the other gentleman who proposed when I was younger.”
“How do you know that?”
“She has a list,” she whispered.
“A list of past suitors?”
“Yes. She had put lines through the ones she deemed initially unsuitable, but I saw the list the other day—I was in her room fetching her parasol—and I saw that some of the names she’d crossed off were re-written below.”
Harriet furrowed her brow. She’d had only the vaguest idea what her sister had been going through, for Clara had been so cheerfully accepting all along. “Did you fancy any of them?”
Shaking her head, Clara said, “Not a one. Not a single one. And what of you? Has any gentleman ever caught your eye?”
Harriet couldn’t have stopped the blush from burning her cheeks for all the gold in the world. “No,” she said, dipping her head, but not before her sister caught sight of her expression.
“Harriet!”
“It’s nothing like that, Clara. It’s…foolish and impossible. You know how I am. Remember how I acted around Mr. Southwell? I’m so embarrassed by my behavior looking back, but at the time I actually thought we would be well suited for one another. I do tend to set my sights on men who are either completely uninterested or completely unsuitable.”
Clara let out a gasp. “Lord Berkley.” It was not a question and Harriet could not school her features quickly enough to fool her sister. “Oh, Harriet.” This was said with a note of pity, and Harriet was tempted to tell her sister that Lord Berkley liked her rather well enough.
“You said yourself that of all the men you’ve met, he is the only one you would begin to consider.”
Clara gave her a look of exasperation. “He’s an earl, Harriet. An earl. He might as well be the king of England.”
“I know what he is,” Harriet said testily. “One cannot help what one’s heart feels.” She laughed and pointed to herself. “At least not this one. I have tried. I do know I am completely unsuitable and that he is far above me. Still, he is kind and…”
“And he said you have beautiful eyes.”
Harriet grinned. “Not in so many words, but he did, didn’t he? Even if he said it simply to vex Mother.”
Clara tilted her head back. “I don’t know, Clara, perhaps he is smitten with you.”
Harriet looked down and studied her fingers. “No, he is not. But it is nice to dream about, just as I dream about my cottage.”
“The cottage by the sea with the garden?”
“Yes.” Harriet was terribly tempted to tell Clara at least the secret about working for the earl to restore Costille House and being able to very soon afford a little cottage. But she realized to do so would only worry Clara, give her an additional burden.
The two girls looked at a noise at the door and saw their mother standing there frowning. “We leave in the morning, Clara.” Then, looking at Harriet, she said, “I wish we had ordered dresses for you, Harriet. Now that we are ready to depart, I am doubting my decision to have you remain here. Unchaperoned.”
“I am in a house full of servants.”
“That hardly counts. Mrs. Pittsfield said a family of quality would never leave an unmarried daughter home alone.”
Mrs. Pittsfield had once worked in a grand London house and so was an expert on the aristocracy her mother so highly respected. The Andersons might not be aristocracy, but her mother tried her best to emulate their behavior.
“I could stay with Granny, I suppose,” Harriet said, thinking that would only add one mile to her trek to Costille House.
“The farm? For two months? She’ll have you out there feeding the pigs and gathering up eggs for breakfast. And undoing years of finishing school. I hardly think that would be suitable.”
Harriet liked being on the farm and enjoyed doing the daily chores, but she remained silent.
Hedra let out a gusty sigh. “I suppose you may stay here. Even with a reduced staff, it is far better for you in town than with your grandmother. Your diction even now is hardly what it should be.”
When she left, the girls waited ten long seconds before bursting into laughter.