Midnight Secrets (34 page)

“I would love to learn,” I said.

The work would have made any tapestry take so much longer to complete, and Prudence had finished so many. I had more respect for Prudence, a cropper’s daughter who’d had a child out of wedlock, than I did for a number of women I’d met in respectable society.
 

I could never go back to “Cassiopeia’s Corner”, and perhaps writing important articles wasn’t what I was meant to do, for I suddenly felt that there was another story I would want to tell. A story of love, in which a mother had loved her blind child enough to figure out a way for her child to see.
 

The high spot of the day was seeing Bridget sit down to tea. After serving Prudence and Rebecca, I passed Bridget a plate of scones and sugared tea in a cup with a saucer. She sat completely still for a moment then looked at me, her blue eyes filling with tears. “Cassie. You have to help me write this down. Tonight I want to write every minute of today so I can go back and read it over and over again no matter what happens.”

“I promise.” Tears stung my eyes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Prudence smile, and I realized that she’d reached down and brought Bridget and me out of the servants’ realm on purpose. Not to ease her life, as most women in her position would, but to bring ease to ours, to thank us for helping to save her daughter.

“Miss Prudence?” Her maid came in. “You said to let you know when the doctor was leaving. He’s doing so now.”

“What doctor?” Was Sean more injured than he led me to believe?

“For the Killdaren. I’ll be just a moment.” She set her cup aside and hurried from the room. I stood to follow her, but the door shut and I realized I couldn’t. I’d not the right, and it would always be that way should I stay on at the castle. The only time I could go to him, the only time I could let my heart be free, would be in the dark of the night, when the world lay silent as the grave. Not much different from the vampire story of Armand and the maid. The choice I could not understand before, I was almost ready to commit myself to now.

I went back to the tea table, carried the conversation, told Rebecca more about Alice at the tea party in
Through the Looking Glass
, and had to fight hard to keep my sentences coherent. Ten minutes into my story, Rebecca fell asleep in her chair, and I fell silent. Bridget was still agog at the treats.

Prudence returned with tears in her eyes.

My heart skipped then pounded. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “His headache is worse than this morning. The doctor thinks the Killdaren’s injury last night has caused a relapse of the swelling in his head. It took him years to recover enough to be able to stand the sunlight again. I just don’t know what he will do now.” She started to cry. I handed her a napkin, trying and failing to stem my tears. Prudence didn’t notice them. Bridget did. She gave me an odd look, telling me an explanation was due.

“What can be done?” I bit my lip to keep from crying aloud. I’d sent the rocks crashing down on him. It was my fault.

“Nothing. He won’t let anyone near when he’s in such pain. I’m sorry to do this, but I think I’ll retire with Rebecca. She’s so exhausted from last night. From now on, I don’t care how improper anyone thinks it is for a mother to care for her child; she’ll not leave my sight. I’m not a real lady anyway.”

Reaching out, I touched Prudence’s arm. “You’re more of a lady than a number of ladies I’ve met.”

She gave me a sad smile. “Only in my own little world here. Nowhere else.” With her maid’s help, she collected a sleepy Rebecca and left.

Bridget set her cup down. “Cassie? Tell me what has you so upset? I mean, it is sad, but he’ll recover.”

“It’s my fault. I made the rocks fall and I…I…I love him.”

“You were saving him and the wee one, Cassie. But blimey. In love with the Killdaren? How? Ah, love at first sight. Sorta happened the first time I saw Stuart when I was just fifteen. Mary often read a proper lady’s column called ‘Casopia’, she did. I remember Mary telling us the advice for love at first sight, is to wait a year before letting the gentleman know, gives him time to prove himself worthy and makes him know she’ll be a right proper wife. And I decided that was exactly what I wanted to be.”

I laughed and cried harder at the same time. “Bridget, you’re going to be the best proper wife ever, but don’t follow that advice. Follow your heart.”
 

“Do you think so?”

I nodded, and knew I would.

After Bridget and I bathed, I kept the door to our room slightly ajar, hoping by some miracle Sean would recover and pass by, or I’d hear news of him. The corridor remained empty and I knew I had to go to him tonight. I had to know what his condition was.

The moment Bridget fell asleep, I stole from the bed and dressed in the worn cotton dress of my own I’d brought with me. Dusk had fallen only a short while ago, and as I made my way to his doors, just a few steps away, my heart hammered as if I’d run all the way from Oxford.

I had my hand on the door handle when a man’s hand settled over mine from behind me. It wasn’t Sean’s. I nearly screamed as I swung around to face Stuart.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Odd. I was just about to ask you the same thing. I’m guarding the fortress as requested. Your turn.”

“I must see him. I must know how badly he’s hurt.”

“Going to take the thorn from the lion’s paw, little mouse?”

“If I can.”

“I don’t know what you expect the outcome of your venture will be, but I wouldn’t go in there unless you’re prepared to accept whatever it is.”

“I don’t have a choice. Not anymore.”

“I don’t think any of us have a choice anymore. You’ve set things into motion that will unravel this world. My biggest question is who is going to be around to knit it back together.” Stuart left.

I felt odd entering Sean’s room with Stuart knowing I was there, but I pushed that and Stuart’s words to the back of my mind as I slipped inside. I’d run out of time and patience for propriety. All I had room for in my thoughts at that moment was Sean. I saw him the instant my eyes adjusted to the dark. He lay on his bed, his arm flung over his eyes, his fists clenched. I thought I heard a low moan coming from him. I ached for him.

I didn’t want to frighten him, but I didn’t want to give him the choice to send me away either. Moving as silently as possible, I went to the wash basin and poured some cool water into it. Then using a clean, rose-scented handkerchief from my pocket, I dipped it in the water and approached Sean.

“I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed. Leave now.”

“I can’t. Let me set this cloth over your eyes. It will ease the pain some.”

He stilled and sighed deeply. “Leave, Cassie. I don’t want you here now. Never should have let myself want you at all.”

“I can’t leave.” More daring than I’d ever been, I sat gently on his bed, near his head and slid the cloth against his forehead. “Please. Just a few moments, let me help.”

He moved his arm and my cloth aside and glared at me from pain-narrowed eyes. “Anything you do will only cause more pain, believe me.”

“Maybe not.” I leaned down and I pressed my lips to his forehead, his bandaged temple, and then to his lips. He responded as if he were a dying man offered one last hope of reprieve. His tongue thrust against mine, seeking succor in the passion. His unshaven cheeks were rough beneath my palms, his hair soft and silky to my fingertips. I breathed deeply, drawing the essence of his unique scent deep inside of me.

Be it right or wrong, the barriers that had stood between us had fallen away in a blink of an eye on the roof last night, and all that stood between us now were my jumbled emotions, emotions that could only be eased by knowing him this way. I met his seeking tongue with mine and pressed the edges of his robe aside to feel the supple heat and strength of his muscled chest, the silk of his hair, the beat of his heart beneath my palm. I reveled in the contact of his hardness to my softness.

“Cassie,” he whispered, pulling me closer until I half lay upon him. Reaching down, he eased my knees up until I found myself sitting on his stomach, looking down at his dark handsomeness, and intense gaze. The position made me feel heady, almost powerful, and nowhere near as vulnerable as I thought I would be in coming to him with my heart.

“I’ll hurt you,” I said.

“No. Let me look at you.” He ran his finger through my hair, loosening it from the combs I’d put in. He slid his fingers beneath the collar of my dress, caressing the nape of my neck, then along my collarbone, and moving to the buttons of my dress. I bit my lip as he slipped the buttons free and stripped down my dress and chemise. I’d always thought that passion would have to completely sweep me away before I’d ever be so bold as to respond to a man’s caress with such pleasure. I was wrong. Passion was sweeping me in a tide, but I wasn’t drowning in it like last time. I was thoroughly enjoying its sea. Taking my time to taste his salty skin, feel his rippling strength, and to lose myself in the pleasure and the power of his touch.

He made me feel more alive than anything had ever made me feel. Arching my back, I pressed my breasts deeper into the cups of his hands, reveling in the sensations his fingers burned into me as he deftly rolled his thumbs over the sensitive tips until my hips matched the rhythm he stroked. He shifted his hips, bringing my feminine flesh intimately against his rigid male flesh, then he pressed harder, more insistently. Though separated by cotton and silk, nothing could mask the raw and urgent hunger of his need or my responding desire.

My eyes flew open to find him watching me, his gaze darkened with desire. This was the beauty of man, the beauty of woman, that they were created to be together. I responded by pressing myself to him, rubbing myself against his hardness. He moaned.

“You’re like the wind to me,” he whispered. “Fierce and passionate, gentle and moving. Always swirling within my mind, bringing fresh warmth every time you pass by me.”

Emotion swelled inside me, squeezing my heart. I splayed my hands across his chest, recalling the protective heart that beat so surely inside him. I caressed his taut muscles, feeling his supple strength and the silk of his hair. His words, his touch, warmed me to the tips of my toes. “If I’m the wind then you’re the sun that moves me,” I told him.
 

He drew me down for a kiss that seemed to leisurely search the depths of my soul, and brought the sting of tender tears to my eyes. From our previous encounters, I expected wild, unthinking passion and found this gentle exploration so moving, so exquisitely touching, that my heart swelled and my soul sang.

Turning to his side, he nudged me off of him. Then slowly, deliberately, watching my every expression, he stripped away my clothing, leaving me naked, but strangely not vulnerable. He followed every exposure with the caress of his hand and the brush of his kiss, touching me intimately everywhere until I writhed from the fire burning in my loins. The pleasure in his gaze, the unspoken praise in his reverent touch, made me feel glorious, more woman than I’d ever known I could feel.

I pulled at his robe, needing, wanting, to see and touch all of him. He slid his robe off then his pants, standing before me as Adam had before Eve. The long jagged scar that I’d seen before cut across his left hip and down his thigh.

“I’m not a perfect man,” he said.

Meeting his gaze, I saw the haunting edge of pain in his eyes and in his voice, and realized that his struggle with pain was why this exploration into the senses had moved so much more slowly than before. Was I only adding to his pain? I wanted to cry no, to reach out to him and pull him comfortingly into my arms. “Nor am I a perfect woman.”

Though his jutting arousal, so Zeus-like to my mind, stood between us, I sat up and, leaning to the side, pressed a kiss to the scar.

Then, feeling bolder, I brought my mouth higher, kissing the ridges of his abdomen and then his chest, I reveled in the difference between us. I slid my hand over his scar, up his back, and down along the pattern of silky hair leading to his groin.

“You’re beautiful everywhere.” I brushed my fingers over his rigid arousal, feeling the burning heat of his need.

His breath hitched in a rasping, deep gasp. “Cassie.” He caught me up in his arms as he fell back onto the bed, me beneath, him above, pinning me between exquisite hardness and softness. Then he kissed me and touched me everywhere all over again, molding my breasts to the shape of his palms and the heat of his mouth. Claiming my heart and soul with every nuance of his desire, he slid his hands over my stomach, then lower, spreading my legs open and caressing my intimate places, suckling my breasts until all of me wept for him to ease the fire burning within.

“Sean, please. Show me everything.” I pulled his hips to mine, wanting the rigid heat of him intimately against me.
 

“Everything,” he answered and drove himself inside me.

“Heavens!” Discomfort and pleasure and an intrusive, but intimate feeling filled me as he joined himself to me. Man to woman.

“Hell.” He leaned back and glared fiercely at me. “
You
said there’d been a scandal! You’re a virgin.” He groaned deeply, roughly. “God help me. Were a virgin.”

I wrapped my arms and legs around him, assuring he couldn’t leave me. I couldn’t lie to him, not here, not now, but neither could I tell him about Mary. Not like this. “Trust me. I had to come here. And I want you. I want you to show me what lies beyond the stars. Don’t leave me in the dark, alone.”

He hesitated but a moment, then slowly started to ease himself in and out of me, filling me with the driving force of his passion. Over and over he thrust into me as he kissed my lips, and caressed my breasts until I was on fire with desire. Then slid his fingers to where he joined his body with mine and found that spot of white heat where I ached for him the most.

My back arched and my hips thrust to meet him. “Sean,” I cried, as he swept me into an indescribable realm of pleasure that left my body shuddering, and my mind exploding with bright stars.