Whispers of Heaven (30 page)

She returned his smile. "What makes the difference?"

"The way you feel about the person you're with, of course."

"You mean, whether or not you love them?"

He shrugged. "Or at least, whether or not you desire them. I've been told there's a difference between love and desire, but
I
'm not sure I understand what it is." He came around the table to stand in front of her, his gaze hard on her face. "And you've come to realize you neither love nor desire Harrison, haven't you?"

She nodded, not quite able to meet his eyes. She felt the touch of his hand against her cheek. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly.

She leaned forward, her face pressed against the solid comfort of her brother's chest. He smelled of brandy and cigar smoke, and the wildness that was consuming him. "I don't know. I wish I did."

He cupped his hand beneath her chin, lifting her head so that she was looking at him. "I'll come to your picnic," he said, and smiled when she laughed.

The next day, Lucas was on the south lawn, a hammer in his hand, the sun warm on his back as he worked banging apart the frames he'd built for the Corbetts' garden party, when a shadow fell across him.

He looked up, his eyes squinting against the morning sun as he turned. "Miss Corbett," he said, his voice coming out rough, double-edged. "You stand this close, and you're liable to get hurt."

She didn't move. She was wearing a dark blue muslin dress with a tapering white collar and large sleeves gathered at her thin wrists by a matching white band. He let his gaze travel along the length of her, from the jaunty straw bonnet set at a rakish angle on her head, to the tips of her expensive dark blue kid ankle boots, then back again to her face. "I want to go for a ride," she said, her chin coming up as she met his gaze steadily.

"You don't look dressed for riding."

"It won't take me long to change."

Deliberately, he turned his back on her, his hammer slamming against the rough lumber with a loud clatter. "I'm doing this," he said, not looking at her.

She came around to stand in front of him, her dark blue skirts swaying about her ankles with a gentle swish that filled the air with the sweet scent of lavender and starch and her. "I've already told Warrick to arrange to have someone else do this."

He looked up again, his throat swelling with an emotion he didn't want and couldn't afford. "And where would you be wanting to ride to, then?"

She tilted her head, the brim of her hat framing her face with a striking effect that took his breath. "There's something I want to show you."

He made his voice cold, curt. "And here I'd taken the im- pression you'd decided to heed my advice, and stay away from me."

"I had. I've changed my mind."

He stared at her, at the silken curve of her cheek, and the fullness of her lower lip, and the gentle rise of her breasts as she breathed. "It's dangerous, what you're about. You know that, don't you?"

He waited, knowing he was a fool, yet still unable to stop the heavy beating of his heart as he watched a smile spread across her face, a saucy smile that was like a siren call, beckoning him on to destruction. "I know."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Seagulls dipped and wheeled, their white wings catching the brilliance of the sun, their harsh cries barely audible above the roar of the waterfall that shot over the stark face of the granite cliff to tumble white and frothy and quick to the sea, three hundred feet or more below.

Lucas reined in his horse near the grassy edge of the bluff, his gaze narrowing against the sea- and sand-intensified glare as he stared at the small inlet far below. The surf was gentle today, a lazy, light-sparkled turquoise swell that rolled onto the distant narrow crescent of shingled beach with a softly rhythmic swish and drag.

Mounted on her dainty black mare beside him, Jesmond Corbett turned her face to the sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, one leather-gauntleted hand coming up to grasp the brim of her jauntily masculine top hat as the breeze caught its long cream gauze veil and floated it gracefully out behind her. She had a new riding habit, of black worsted, with wide military-style cuffs and twin rows of brass buttons marching down the front, and a creamy lace jabot at her throat. She looked haughty and expensive and so vibrantly full of life, it made his throat ache, just to look at her.

"Aye," he said, his voice rough, and swung out of his saddle to go help her dismount. "Is this what we've come to see, then?"

She twisted her head to look down at him, the brim of her hat tilting, her crooked elbow pointing to the sky as she tightened her grip against the wind. A wash of golden sunlight fell across her face to glaze the elegantly high bones of her cheeks as she shook her head. "Not yet. What I want to show you is at the base of the cliffs."

"So there's a way down, is there?" He held out his arm to her. Only, instead of taking it, as was proper, she put her hands on his shoulders and smiled down at him with her eyes.

He went utterly still beneath her touch and watched her smile turn teasing, naughty. "Think you can manage the climb, Mr. Gallagher?"

Reaching up, he grasped her slim waist, felt the strength of her young body, full of life and promise, beneath his hands. "I think you're asking for trouble, lass."

She kicked her foot out of the stirrup. "Perhaps I am."

She slid from the saddle in a rush of fine cloth and feminine softness. For one stolen, dangerous moment, he let his arms close around her, held the warmth of her body close to his, breathed in the scent of her sun-kissed hair and skin. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her head coming back, her mouth parting as she stared up at him. The wind gusted around them, rustling the long grass at their feet and bringing with it the briny scent of the sea and the quiet rush of the gentle surf. Her eyes were dark and wide, her body soft and yielding, and anyone, anyone could come along at any moment and see them.

He dropped his hands and stepped back, his breath coming hard and fast, his body humming with a swift onslaught of desire. It was madness, what she was doing, what she was allowing to happen between them. What he was doing. A madness that could lead only to destruction and despair. Yet he could no more stop it than he could stop the wind from blowing, or the sea from surging deep and wide and endless.

They followed a heart-stoppingly narrow, steep path that ended in the jumble of dark rocks crowding the small, pebbly beach. The roar of the waterfall was louder here, by the sea. He stood on the shingle, his feet braced apart, his hands resting on his hips as he studied the soaring cliffs they'd just descended. This was a strange place, this rocky inlet she'd brought him to. The very air seemed to vibrate with an unearthly energy that left him feeling both intensely alive and oddly humbled.

"Is the path natural, do you think?" He glanced over to where she leaned against a sun-warmed boulder, and found her watching him. The wind had loosed bits of her hair, so that it blew around her face in soft silken wisps as she shook her head.

"Partially, perhaps. But not all of it. It's said this was once a special place to the local Aborigines, although most people don't know why."

"You do?"

She pushed away from the rock, her movements strong and assured in that way she had, the smile on her lips promising something that both lured him and scared the hell out of him. "Follow me," she said.

He followed her. There was a narrow ledge of sorts that curved toward the waterfall, along the base of the cliff just above the tumbled rocks at the water's edge. But it wasn't very wide, and the wind was blowing stronger now, kicking up white crests on the waves and swirling the water into foam around the dark, jagged rocks beside them. "How in the name of all that's holy did you come to know about this?" he asked, watching her leap a small gap in the crude path, the trailing skirt of her riding habit thrown over one arm, the other braced against the cliff for balance. He wouldn't want to be trying to keep his feet on this path rigged out in the kind of getup she was wearing.

"My brother Reid and I found it one day, when we were climbing about the rocks, looking for starfish. I don't think anyone else knows about it."

One of his boots shot off the wet rock, and he swore. "About this bloody ledge?"

"About this."

They were close enough to the waterfall now that he could feel the mist cool against his face. Her cheeks were pink with exertion and fresh air, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breathing, the smile on her face so open and natural he had to look away. "You're trying to convince me there's something I'm missing, are you?" he said tilting back his head to scan the rocks above.

She laughed again, a husky, breathy rush of air that was like a warm evening breeze, skimming across exotic oceans. "Watch."

He watched, bemused, as she pivoted away from the cliff, her outstretched arms hugging the rocky wall. Slowly, she inched her way forward, the roar of the falling water loud in their ears, the waves crashing into the rocks below to throw up a fine silver spray that caught the sunlight and dissolved it into a kaleidoscope of colors. He thought for a moment she meant to walk right through the tumbling white fall of water. Then he realized she must have gone
behind
it, because she disappeared.

"Faith and glory," he said, opening his eyes wide, and went after her.

Flattening his back against the sheer stone wall, he squeezed between the cliff face and the tumbling sheet of water, the rock beneath his grasping hands and hobnailed boots growing dangerously slippery and wet. In high summer, he thought, swearing beneath his breath, the stream that fed the falls was probably thin and weak, but not now. Now it was torrid and swollen with the spring runoff, narrowing the gap he had to pass through. He ducked his head as water splashed in his face, sluiced down his shirtfront, drenched the legs of his trousers.

And then he was through.

He lifted his head and blinked. It was neither deep nor grand, this cave, but hushed and intimate and filled with soft darkness lightened by the glow of the sun glimmering through the cascading water, the refracted light dancing aquamarine and golden and pearlescent over black stone and cool white sand. The sounds of water filled the air, the roaring rush of the falls and the pounding of the waves against the rocks below. The sounds, and the scent of water: the salt of the sea and the clean fresh tang of the falling stream that whispered of alpine meadows and shadowy rainforests and fern-filled gullies. Taking off his hat, he swiped a crooked elbow across his dripping face and heard her laughter ring out, warm and delicious.

"You're all wet."

He lowered his arm to find her watching him with sparkling eyes, her cheeks wet and shining. Water darkened the bodice of her riding habit and weighed down the sodden hem of her skirt. The fancy lace jabot hung limp and ill-used against her wet throat. She looked bedraggled and adorable. He grinned. "So are you."

She shook her head, damp golden tendrils of loose hair plastered beguilingly against her gleaming white neck. "Not as wet as you."

"Huh." He sluiced his hand down one leg, then the other. "That's because I'm bigger than you."

Straightening, he grinned as she tugged off her gauntlets to wipe her face with her bare hand. "I'm afraid it's the waterfall that is a bit bigger than I expected it to be," she said, her words muffled by her hand.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "A bit?"

She laughed at him with her eyes, her hand drifting back to her side. "A bit." Still smiling, she turned, her head tipping back as she scanned the light-sparkled walls. "It's magic, though, isn't it?"

He watched, mesmerized, as she unconsciously seduced him with the enthusiastic purity of her delight. He'd forgotten— no, he'd never known what it was like, to take such pleasure in the world around him. Slowly, she swung about, the unearthly beauty of the light dancing over her wet cheeks, her eyes shining with interest and pleasure, her lips parted in wonder.

He looked at her, and his determination to harden himself against her ebbed away. What he felt for this woman was all wrong, wrong and dangerous and doomed to heartache. Yet he couldn't seem to control it, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. "Magic it is," he said softly.

He watched, a strange tightness gripping his chest, as her head came about, her gaze fastening on his face. He saw the flush that rode high on her cheekbones, the downward sweep of her lashes, the rapid breathing that lifted her breasts against the wet revealing cloth of her bodice, and knew what it meant. Knew what she wanted.

She took a step toward him, and he reached for her. His hand cupped the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the loose hair that tumbled from beneath the curly brim of her hat. With an impatient gesture, she swept the hat off, the creamy veil fluttering about them as it drifted to the soft sand lining the cave floor. Then her hands were clutching at his shoulders and her gaze was locked with his, her lips trembling into a smile that he caught with his kiss.

The kiss was sweet and good, a soft giving of unquestioning acceptance and joy that comforted and warmed his aching soul. He thought, for one deluded moment, that he could control it, control himself. But while there was much that was pure and spiritual in his feelings for this woman, he was still a man, with a man's needs, and his body yearned for her—burned for her. He was breathless, trembling with the need to touch the softness of her cheeks with his fingertips, to bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe in the scent of her, the essence of her. He wanted to know the swell of her bare breast beneath his hand, the shivering tautness of her naked belly as he slid his palm down to the warm juncture between her thighs. He wanted to watch her face flood with pleasure as he touched her there. He wanted to feel her body soft and open beneath his as he stretched himself along the length of her and eased himself inside her.

He wanted her.

He groaned, deep in his throat, his head tilting as he slanted his lips across hers. Her lips parted beneath the urgent pressure, and the kiss deepened, became something erotic, all- consuming. Became a thing of fire and want, of open mouths and seeking tongues and hoarse breathing. He heard her whimper, felt her hands tugging at his shirt, freeing it from the waistband of his trousers so that she could run her soft lady's hands across the scarred flesh of his bare back.

At her touch, his head came up, his breath hissing out between his teeth in startled delight. Their gazes met, caught, held fast by desire and the hush of anticipation. Reaching up, he began, slowly, to flick open the brass buttons of her habit's bodice, his gaze never leaving hers. "Tell me," he said, his voice a ragged whisper. He pushed the heavy cloth apart, his fingers hovering at the heaving swell of her breasts above the edge of her corset. "Tell me if this is what you want."

She swallowed, the cords of her slim white throat standing out against the delicate eggshell of her flesh as she looked at him through eyes as dark and stormy as the deepest sea. "I want you to touch me."

He drew in a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against hers, his hands trembling with the need to be gentle as he pushed down the top of her corset and opened the tucked and embroidered neck of her chemise, the filmy white batiste so fine he snagged it with the roughness of his fingertips. Slowly, he peeled back the cloth to bare her breasts, bare her to his gaze, to his touch, to his kiss.

Her breasts were full and ripe and beautiful, the flesh translucent and delicate. He brushed the back of one hand against the dark tip of her nipple and watched it quiver, become erect, heard her make an incoherent sound of wonder, her breath a warm rush against his face as she held herself still, waiting. Together, they watched his hands, his fingers dark and hard as he curved them around the pale softness of her breasts. And at his touch, she gasped.

Her head fell back, her eyelids closing. He bent to rub his open mouth against the exposed white arch of her throat, one arm catching her around the waist, holding her hard against him. Time lost meaning, became suspended in the roar of water and the magic of dancing light and raw whispers. His hands learned the shape of her breasts, his lips the softness of her skin, the wonder that was her. He kissed her neck, the beguiling hollows between her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. And all the while he touched her, she touched him, her hands roaming his body in bold, hungry strokes that set him on fire.

He groaned again, his breath washing hot against her skin. With swift urgency, he pressed her back against the smooth stone of the cave wall, his mouth reclaiming hers in a hot, demanding kiss of conquest and seduction, his hands sweeping down her thighs to catch at the fullness of her skirt, bunch it up. It was a movement almost without thought, driven by instinct and the hot insistent flare of desire.

"Lucas
..
."
she said, her head falling back, her voice a husky expulsion of air that echoed softly about the cavern.

He went suddenly still, his cheek pressed to hers, his eyes squeezing shut, his hands fisting against her thighs. Slowly, he lifted his head, his chest heaving, the cloth of her skirt slipping from his grasp as he brought up his arms to brace his hands against the rock on either side of her and look down at her.