Bared to the Viscount (The Rites of May Book 1) (16 page)

“Mary, please,” he said. “You
must
hear me out. And you can’t run off now—everyone is watching us. If you go tearing off with that look on your face, it’s sure to start a scandal.”

“What look on my face?”

He mimed a quick grimace.

“Oh, for pity’s sake. I look nothing like that. And no one’s paying attention, anyway.” But she stole quick glances out of the corners of her eyes, and the tightening of her expression told him she could see they did indeed have an audience.

A very intrigued audience.

Including Annabel Lawton, whose gaze was speculative and suspicious.

Mary quickly schooled her face to blank calm, as she was so remarkably good at doing. “Of course, Lord Parkhurst,” she said in a louder voice. “I should be glad to dance and discuss the digging of the new well. I’m sure we can solve the problem of the...the sliding shale.”

“Clever girl,” he said, trying not to laugh, and pulled her into the dance.

It was a country dance—fast-paced and rowdy. Some of the dancers formed rings and spun about in giddy groups, but other couples dared to dance in pairs, hands on each other’s waists and shoulders, galloping and whirling about. John wisely chose the latter approach.

“So we can talk,” he said.

And, ah, it was glorious. Mary fit so neatly into his arms. Her small swell of her breasts bumped against his chest now and again, and her skirts brushed his legs. His heart was pounding, and he could see the pulse jump at the base of her throat.

The darkness was a blessing—he could scarcely disguise the intensity in his eyes when he looked at her. This close, though, the delightful little cinnamon-colored freckles on her nose were visible in the lamplight, and he wanted to kiss each one.

She was clearly trying not to look at him, but he felt the response of her body—felt her begin to soften against him. Her spine arched where he put his hand to her back; her lungs drew air more deeply.

He whirled her around and around, one of his hands clasping hers, the other at her waist, and as they sped up, she had no choice but to clutch at his shoulder with her free hand. It felt marvelous. They belonged together. He knew it, and somewhere deep down inside, he was sure she did, too.

Though she certainly seemed determined to fight against it with all her will.

“Where have you been all evening, my lord?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and polite despite their exertion.

“Where were you this morning?” he countered, spinning her around once more. “When the rest of us danced about the May Pole?”

“I was at home, avoiding you.”

Now he grimaced for real. “Well, there’s an honest response. I was afraid that was your motive.”

“And what was yours, for coming so late to the dancing this evening? Hopefully you were at least
trying
to avoid me.”

“Quite the contrary.
I
was trying to figure out how I could get you to talk to me. I knew if I showed myself openly that you’d flee in the other direction. So I decided an ambush would be the best strategy.”

She was showing him only the top of her head, her gaze fixed on their feet as they looped their way across the Green. “Ambushes are dishonorable. And we have nothing to talk about. I said what I had to say this morning.”

“Ah, but I have something I must tell you. Something new. Something important. Come for a walk with me.”

She stiffened suddenly, and jerked in his arms. “No, John. There’s no point. We are both who we are, and nothing will change that.” She pulled her hands away and stepped back so quickly, he stumbled. “I’m sorry,” she said, loud enough for onlookers to overhear. “I’ve overdone the dancing. I must sit down awhile. Pardon me, Lord Parkhurst. We’ll have to discuss the well some other time.”

* * *

Mary lurched over to one of the wooden benches and dropped like a sackload of spoiled onions.

All her powers of self-control could barely stop her from bursting out weeping. Why couldn’t John just leave her alone? And why couldn’t she stop feeling as if her whole body began to melt the moment he touched her?

She wished the dark night would just swallow her up.

A whiff of perfume wafted towards her, with a rustle of silks and a shimmer of golden hair. Oh, Lord—Annabel Lawton plumped down on the bench right beside her.

Perfect
.

“A lady can be exhausted by these affairs, can’t she?” said Annabel, fanning herself. “This is the first I’ve sat down all evening. Gentlemen are so very demanding.”

Blast
. Discussing
gentlemen
with Annabel Lawton was the last thing Mary wanted to do right now. Well, the last thing other than go back to dancing in John’s arms.

Annabel leaned in with a conspiratorial giggle. “But you must forgive Lord Parkhurst, at least,” she said. “He may have reason to be in especially high spirits just now.”

Mary’s shoulders tensed. Why was Annabel Lawton speaking for the viscount?

Annabel chattered on. “I should not really complain about being tired tonight. I do enjoy dancing. And after a lady is married, she can hardly dance so much as she is free to now.”

A slow cold prickle went up Mary’s spine at those words.

After a lady is
married
…?

She swallowed, and it was as if a rock were stuck in her throat. Oh, dear Lord—John had told her he had
something important
to tell her about. “Do you have...news to share, Miss Lawton?”

“Oh, well. I can’t really say.” Annabel’s fingers fluttered prettily about her throat. “Not news precisely, but I suppose I can tell
you
, Miss Wilkins, since I know you are no gossip, that I expect I shall have some very significant news before very long.”

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh
.

That
was what John had been about to tell her.

Annabel Lawton was about to be married.

About to be married to...
him
.

He’d wanted Mary to learn of their engagement before the general public did, in an attempt to spare her feelings.

Her stomach dropped towards her shoes.

“I tell you in confidence,” said Annabel, her blue eyes darting meaningfully in the viscount’s direction, “a certain gentleman of our mutual acquaintance ensconced himself with my father in the study for quite a long time this afternoon. Of course, men feel they have so many details to iron out before the ladies can be consulted. As if their thoughts on the matter were really so much more important than ours. Men are silly creatures, after all, but I suppose we must indulge them.”

Nausea rose in a choking billow, and Mary found herself once more on her feet.

John was going to be
married
. Married to Annabel Lawton.

Which was, of course, precisely what she herself had repeatedly advised him he must do.

It was no comfort that this marriage had always been inevitable, or that it was in every way the right one for her friend to make. A terrible dark hole seemed to be opening inside her, turning everything cold and black.

In a sort of daze, she excused herself to Miss Lawton.

She stumbled her way across the Green, the world blurring around her, until she found Sam Brickley. He was standing with his younger brothers Geordie and Ben, downing a mug of hard cider. He grinned when he saw her.

“I think I’d like to take that walk now, after all, Sam,” she said.

Sam looked surprised, but damned pleased. The mug of cider thumped down on a table, he took her arm, and before she was even sure what was happening, she found herself alone with him in the shadows behind the schoolhouse.

With no more preamble, she pressed herself back against the bricks and pulled Sam towards her by the thick lapels of his coat.

He gave a throaty chuckle. “Well, this is a surprise, Miss Wilkins.” They were both breathing hard, in and out, their rhythms falling slowly into sync. His breath had the tart sweet smell of cider.

His big, rough hand came up to where her necklace rested, and he ran his finger just beneath the line of pearls, from the upper curve of her breast to the tender skin of her throat. Her pulse kicked.

Yes
. This was just what she needed. John was going to marry Annabel, and it was time to move on with her own life as well.

Sam’s fingers continued to stroke, the heavy pad of his thumb playing in the space between her collarbones. “I most definitely like this change in you,” he murmured.

“Do you?” she said stupidly.

“Mm. I do. And I like touching you as well—your skin’s so soft.”

“Is it?”

“Very.” Now his whole hand swept along her neck, the palm warm, and his fingers teased their way into the curls that tumbled loose by her ear. “I always thought you had fine eyes,” he said, “but who’d have thought you had such soft skin? And such lovely hair?”

Nobody
, she thought.
Nobody but John
.

No
—she was most certainly
not
going to be thinking about John right now.

She put her hands very deliberately on Sam’s broad chest, feeling the hardness of him through the rough wool of his waistcoat, sliding her palms up towards his shoulders.

“That feels good,” he said, and his other hand slipped around her waist and brought her closer. His body had a nice smell, of fresh air and clean earth. He wasn’t…he wasn’t John, but he was an attractive man. A good-hearted man. A man she could be an appropriate wife for, if they both wished it.

“Kiss me, Sam, will you?”

“Gladly,” he said, and he did. His lips felt firm and pleasant, and his big body was a satisfying weight as he leaned against her.

His tongue pressed against hers, tart from the cider.

She had to fight down the sense, though, that he wasn’t quite right, that her body didn’t fit to hers quite as it should, that he wasn’t really what she wanted….

He pulled back. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head frantically. “No, kiss me again. Touch me.”

He chuckled, and pulled her against him again. “You surprise me again and again, Mary Wilkins. I should call you Mary now, I’m thinking.” And his mouth pressed into hers again, and his hands began to move, sliding first over the curve of her hips, then around to cup and squeeze her bottom, then up along her bodice, sliding over her breasts. A rougher, less subtle touch than John’s—but arousing enough, in its own way.

Don’t think. Don’t think too much.

Just let it happen. Just go through with this, and put the memory of John behind you.

Sam’s lips were at her throat now. His hips pressed against her, and she felt him hardening. “How far do you mean for me to take this?” he whispered huskily against her skin. “I don’t mean to push you, but I do want you, Mary.”

“Far. Not far. I don’t know.” She felt the prickle of tears, and blinked to banish them. “Put your hand under my skirt, Sam.”

He pulled back again, and she could see his eyebrows raise. “Well, you’re in a fine mood tonight. I’d enjoy that, Mary, but not if you don’t truly want me to.”

“Do it. Truly, I want you to. I need you to.”

He shrugged. “Never say I refused a lady an honest request.”

And his hand went right where she’d asked him, lifting her hem and sweeping up over her knee, up along her thigh. His hand was strong and calloused, not a gentleman’s hand. It was a working man’s hand—confident, no-nonsense, accustomed to getting things done as efficiently as possible. His other hand reached behind her and gripped her buttocks, kneading and squeezing as he pressed his hips against hers. She felt his arousal…and his dark eyes studying her.

“I’ll do whatever you like,” he said, panting slightly. “I think you’re a fine woman, and I’d be proud to call you mine. But you have to tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t want to think….” She’d known for a long time that people did such things, without benefit of marriage. What she’d told John in the vicarage kitchen about the misbehavior of the local people was true: in the parish register, nearly half the time, wedding dates and dates of baptism for couples’ first children were well less than nine months apart, and she knew Thomas had more than once risked his career by hurrying the banns to keep a bride from showing shamefully at the altar.

Why should she be so different from everybody else?

She just had to let Sam do what other men did to other women. And then she’d be free. She’d have her heart back.

So she touched him. Wriggled a hand between them and cupped her palm to the thick bulge at the front of his trousers, running it up along the fullness of him.

He groaned in a most gratifying way. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gone hoarse. “I don’t generally doubt a woman’s enjoying herself with me, but in this case….”

“I’m sure.” Feeling for his buttons, she worked open the top of the fall of his trousers and slipped her hand inside. His shaft was hot and hard and swelling bigger every moment, and she gripped it boldly. That seemed to stop his questions.