Chapter 6 #2
Despite the ache in my ankle, I give him my brightest smile, and I’m rewarded with an answering grin of such joy that my stomach flips. He follows up the grin by tracing his tongue over his lips in a darkly lascivious way, still holding my gaze.
“Sybil.” Anne whispers. “If you’re done eye-fucking our host, we should take our seats.”
I shoot her a shocked, reproachful look. “Hush, you.”
“What? It’s obvious.”
I stick out my tongue at her, and she makes a face at me in return before leading the way to the chair Beresford indicated.
A servant helps me get settled, then directs my mother and sister to seats on my right.
A stool is brought forward so I can prop up my ankle, and the servant who seated us reassures me that she will remain close by throughout the evening and bring me anything I want.
Sitting in such an obvious place of honor is awkward, but Mama and Anne chatter to me so incessantly that I don’t have time to feel shy.
I know they’re doing it on purpose, keeping me occupied, prompting me to laugh, and preventing any awkward silences in which I might suffer under the gazes of the other guests.
I love them for it. And I love that Beresford works his way toward me with inexorable purpose, despite all the people demanding his attention.
He greets each of them, but he keeps the conversations brief, excusing himself as soon as possible and moving closer, closer, until he’s finally here, taking the chair on my left.
He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t so much as take my hand. But he looks at me with ferocity that sets me on fire. His gaze is deeply affectionate and wantonly lustful at the same time, so intense that a hot blush floods my face and I have to swallow a nervous, girlish giggle.
The sudden influx of emotion is terrifying, because what if a demon appears? One could crash right into the middle of the table or pop out of the huge roasted boar that two servants are setting down. Something could appear amid the chandeliers, catch its wings on fire, and burn the place down.
“Sybil.” Beresford’s deep voice pulls my focus back to him. His warm hand descends on top of mine. “Is it happening right now?”
“What?” I say faintly.
“Whatever you look so worried about. Is it happening right now?”
“No.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
“But I have to, or—”
“Or what? Will thinking and fretting prevent your fears from coming true?”
“No,” I admit. “But knowing that I can’t prevent something doesn’t stop me from worrying about it.”
“I understand. Trust me, I have countless anxieties of my own. But if I let myself dwell on them, I will go mad. So I have taught myself to ask one question when I begin to lose my sanity in the darkness of fear: Is it happening right now?”
“And that helps?”
“Yes. It doesn’t banish the worries entirely, and it doesn’t work every time, but yes, it helps.”
I inhale deeply and release the breath. Am I summoning a demon right now? No. Which means I am still all right. I can be at peace and enjoy this moment.
The place settings for this meal are more casual than those at the last dinner party.
There are mugs instead of glasses, and the food is simpler.
It’s all very proper in a charmingly rustic sort of way, and the guests seem to be enjoying themselves even more than they did when we dined in the greenhouse.
I can’t help thinking about the last time I was here, just a few days ago.
I recognize some of the youthful faces from the orgy among the dinner guests.
I saw some of them naked, and some of them probably heard my moans as I came on Beresford’s cock.
It’s an odd juxtaposition, having those images in my mind while I watch people enjoying their food and drink with perfect civility.
When the meal is over, footmen move the tables back against the walls, opening the center of the floor for dancing.
The chair Beresford assigned to me has wheels that can be locked or released, so I am rolled to one side as well, and a servant brings my footstool along so I can prop my ankle again.
Musicians take their places in a corner of the room, and merry music begins.
The guests are slower to pair off and dance this time, since they are full of delicious food.
Beresford leans on the back of my chair for a while, but eventually he pushes himself upright, drawling, “I must stir the crowd to action. Sybil, since you cannot join me, perhaps I could ask your sister to help me motivate the guests?”
“Of course,” I reply.
“Shall we?” He holds out his hand to her, a courteous warmth in his expression. Anne gives me a quick look, and when I nod, she accompanies him onto the dance floor.
I watch them closely, pleased by the respectful way he touches her waist and hand, the distance he maintains, and the brotherly care with which he guides her through the steps.
It’s a dance she’s not familiar with, and when she makes mistakes, he covers for them quickly, making it look as if they were intentional variations.
“He says and does all the right things, doesn’t he?” Mama comments from beside me.
I frown up at her. “Why don’t you like him?”
“I do like him. He seems too good to be true, is all.” She sips from her mug, watching Beresford.
“You’re protective of us,” I concede. “But Mama, he’s been nothing but good to me.”
“He bought this estate a few years ago,” she murmurs. “He was a recluse for most of that time. It was even rumored that he had a wife somewhere in his mansion, that they were both invalids. Why would he suddenly decide to become part of the community and begin hosting these events? What changed?”
“Maybe he recovered from whatever sickness kept him inside.”
“Look at him, Sybil. That man doesn’t look as if he has been sick a day in his life, much less for years.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. Illness can be a hidden thing. Sometimes a sickness ebbs and flows.”
“True, and yet I don’t believe that is the case with him.”
“Do you really think he’s married?” I ask. “He doesn’t seem like he is.”
“Have you asked him outright?”
I wince, looking away from her. “No.”
“I think you should ask him tonight.”
“He doesn’t want me prying into his past.”
Mama sighs. “Tell me that isn’t suspicious, Sybil.”
“Do I want him looking into my past?” I counter. “Trust works both ways. What if I want to keep my secrets? I should let him keep his, too.”
“Except when it comes to marriage, my girl. You need a straight answer from him on the wife question. If he’s married, he’s off limits… unless you’re prepared to throw away every moral principle I ever taught you for a fine piece of manly ass.”
I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right. “I’ll ask him that one question, but nothing more. If he has other things that he needs to tell me, he will reveal them when the time is right.”
“I hope so. Ah, there is my dance partner from the other night, the Honorable Justice Iserac Oellin. He’s quite handsome, isn’t he? His particular shade of gray is so distinguished. Here, darling, finish that for me, won’t you?”
She hands me her mug and swirls away to greet Iserac Oellin.
I sip from the mug and find a pleasant orange drink inside, strongly laced with honeyed rum. It’s delicious, and it warms my body in a delightful way as I watch Beresford’s gorgeous body and long limbs move through the steps of the waltz.
Once more couples have joined the dancing, Beresford passes my sister along to Henry Partridge and returns to my chair.
He unlocks the wheels, pushes me deeper into the shadows of a corner, then lifts me in his arms and shoulders his way out a side door of the barn.
He does it all with such silent determination, such latent intensity, that I don’t protest or inquire what he’s going to do with me.
The black, star-flecked night is so cold that Beresford’s breath and mine create wisps of white cloud in the air, fleeting puffs of visible heat.
“I didn’t realize how cold it had gotten,” he mutters. “Are you all right?”
“As long as we’re not going far.”
“Not far at all.” He strides down a path toward a small shed. When we reach it, he says, “Put your arms around my neck, love,” and holds me easily with one arm while he opens the door.
I would expect a shed near a barn to be filled with tools like rakes, shovels, rope, old bits of harness, and various other practical and unattractive items. But whatever used to be in the shed has been cleared out, replaced with a mattress and a couple of pillows.
In the corner stands a lantern with star-shaped cutouts, casting fractured golden light onto the walls.
It’s a simple space, hastily arranged for one purpose.
“It’s naughty of you to bring me here, Beresford,” I tell him. “You’re going to utterly ruin my reputation.”
“Do you mind it?” He smiles, blue eyes twinkling with lascivious humor. “Being utterly ruined?”
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
“In a moment, once you’re settled and I’ve shut out the night.”
He lays me on the mattress, taking care to place a pillow under my injured foot. Then he closes the door of the shed and crawls onto the mattress with me. He gives a low hum in his throat as he kisses me, like it’s the one thing he’s been longing to do since we parted.
“You taste like the forest,” I murmur against his lips.
“Do I? You taste like hope.”
I draw back a little, sweet pain twinging through my heart. “That’s a beautiful thing to say.”
“It’s true.” He runs one big hand under my dress, up my thigh. “You’re wearing the garters again. I love them.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to spread your legs for me?”
Tingles run through my clit at the request. “Yes.”
“That’s my naughty girl.”
I keep my injured leg still, but I move the other one aside and bend it at the knee. I draw my skirts up to my waist, showing him my slender legs, decorated with the stockings and garters.