Chapter 16 #4
Gently, he removed the remaining fabric of her nightgown and then his own attire; slowly his mouth left hers and travelled down on a wonderful discovery of her beauty.
The perfect roundness of her breasts made his fingers and his lips rest upon them, to caress them in a maddening play that made them both moan and their bodies quiver.
She whispered his name, and he looked up at her for a moment only to see her face flushed with passion.
The next moment, his mouth followed his hands as he continued to explore her burning skin: her belly, her ribs, her arms entwined around his neck, her hips, and then down to her legs.
Each of his touches made her shiver and turned his desire into a wilder urge that he refused to satisfy with the urgency he felt.
It was not the mere submission to his lust, the desire of reaching the moment of absolute pleasure that he was looking for.
It was much more than that. It was the simple, absolute need of having her all in every sense for as long as possible—to discover every part of her body, which might help him discover her soul, and to learn how to make her his and assure her happiness.
His hand slid between her closed thighs, and he heard her crying softly.
He lifted his head to look at her and covered her face with light kisses, never taking his eyes from her, while his hand moved up slowly until it reached the hidden spot of her desire.
She cried again, and he leaned to capture her lips and her cries as his fingers began a dance against her burning flesh, gentle at first and then more daring.
Her body shuddered violently, and her legs parted in complete abandon.
A small cry and her body suddenly tensing caused him to stop; his brow knit in worry as he saw her obviously pained expression.
She smiled, tearfully, at his reaction and, in a gesture of reassurance and further invitation, pulled his head toward her and kissed him gently as her legs encircled his waist. Struggling to maintain his control, his senses alive, he allowed his body to slide deeper inside her.
She moaned against his mouth, but his long-denied desire forbade him to stop again.
Their bodies began a dance of passion in the most perfect harmony—a dance in which he was the absolute leader and she wanted only to follow his lead, a dance he would not allow to end for a very long time.
His thrusts alternated between slow, gentle tenderness and wild, unleashed passion as his lips and hands, restless and tireless, never ceased their hungry exploration of her skin.
With unconcealed satisfaction, he watched her shudder with waves of pleasure, her lips crying his name again and again—but his passion seemed inexhaustible, unable to reach completion.
His lips lowered to her ear, and despite the vow of silence he had made earlier, he whispered countless times, “I love you,” his words barely audible between broken kisses.
After some time, she captured his mouth in another kiss, and for a moment, he wondered if she did it only to silence him.
An instant later, the sweetness of her kiss made any concern vanish.
As daylight appeared shyly through the windows, their exhausted bodies demanded their final reward. For some minutes, neither moved nor said a single word.
He gently rolled from atop her as his arms embraced her gently. She turned her back to him as she did not want to face him, but she remained close, her arms covering his. Their bare bodies still seemed to seek the warmth of each other while her long hair caressed his face and chest.
His happiness was greater than he had ever experienced—not only because of the dreamlike, blissful passion they had shared but also because she seemed to allow him to remain with her in her bed despite the fact that morning had come and they were in danger of being discovered.
He could not be wrong in his judgment. Her wishes had wholly changed since he had proposed to her.
He was exhausted—the most wonderful lethargy he had ever experienced—and her delicate presence in his arms made him want to prolong their intimacy, so he allowed sleep to envelop him, holding her as near to him as he could.
He was not certain whether his lips actually whispered, “I love you,” in her ear before his eyes blissfully closed.
∞∞∞
David awoke with an odd perception of coldness; in fact, he felt he was freezing.
He needed a moment to remember everything that happened, and only then did he realise Cassandra was no longer there.
He rose and saw her in the armchair near the fireplace, wrapped in a robe, her knees lifted to her chin, the long hair falling to her shoulders almost hiding her face.
He covered himself with the sheet and walked toward her.
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, smiling at her.
“I already missed you,” he said. The smile she returned to him bore nothing but sadness.
“David, we must talk…”
“Yes, I know.” He felt lighthearted and wanted only to hold her in his arms again.
“Cassandra, is there anybody whom I will have to ask for your hand? Except Darcy, of course, who will have the shock of his life, poor man,” he laughed, sitting near her, his arms encircling her shoulders.
She disengaged herself and rose from her seat.
“David, there is nobody you will have to ask for my hand, because there will be no marriage; nothing has changed since we last talked.”
Instantly all the blood drained from his face, and he turned livid; a sudden lump in his throat barely allowed him to speak or even breathe.
“Of course, everything has changed; you know that! Surely you knew that last night when you asked me to remain in your room.”
Cassandra struggled to fight back her tears without much success; she wished nothing but to be able to take upon herself his obvious pain, the grief that was darkening his handsome face, his most profound disappointment, everything that saddened him so deeply.
“David, please forgive me…I understand how angry you are, and I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression—
“The wrong impression?” He was almost yelling, unable to control himself. “You asked me to stay with you, Cassandra! You almost begged me to make love to you! And I know you enjoyed it as much as I did; you cannot deny that!” Her face became pale, and she turned her back to him.
“You are right; I was the one asking you to stay! It was unwise and selfish of me to ask you that; it was a mistake, but it will not change anything,” she repeated as her words angered him further.
“No, no, no! You cannot say that; you are not allowed to say that! We talked about this last night! You promised me you knew your wishes and would know them this morning, too. How dare you tell me now that it was a mistake? Are you trying to make a fool of me? Do you delight in mocking me, Lady Cassandra?” His voice was harsh—even rude and offensive—and for a moment she was tempted to release her own anger and answer him in the same manner.
Then his grieved countenance, the nervous pacing around the room as he looked so vulnerable covered only in the sheet, and the pain she had provoked in him broke her heart, and she could do nothing but bear the burden of his reproaches.
Tearfully, she moved near him and gently touched his arm as she tried to make him look at her.
“David, you have done everything in your power to respect my wishes; you are beyond reproach. Everything that happened was my own will and at my insistence. And last night, that moment, I wanted nothing but to be with you. I do not regret anything except the fact that I have caused you pain now.” She paused a moment, her cheeks flushed but her eyes facing him boldly.
“And you were right in another way too. What I felt last night was much more than enjoyment. I never thought that…I…” She hid her face and fought to sweep her tears away before continuing.
“But that cannot change what I told you a few weeks ago. I cannot marry you; I shall not marry you.”
“Oh, what a relief to know I was right,” he replied sarcastically.
“And what a relief to know you enjoyed our time together so much. So perhaps…may I dare to hope that, though you have no intention of ever marrying me, you might ask for my services again some time? And if a child should happen, what harm can that be, as long as your ladyship has her enjoyment?”
Her small hand slapped him so violently that his head snapped back. His eyes challenged her, but she could hardly keep her countenance enough to speak; she was trembling, and she stretched her hand to reach for a chair. He made no attempt to support her.
“I truly hope you are feeling better now, madam. If you wish to slap me again, please do so. I shall not stop you nor shall I apologise for what I said. You are right; you are selfish and inconsiderate, and I wonder why I am punished to love you. Because no matter how much you ask me to remain silent or try to keep my words unsaid, I do love you, madam. I love you as I never thought it possible to love a woman. Until this day, I never believed the notion of being heartbroken to be true, but now I have experienced it most precisely. You managed to make me feel grieved and ridiculous at the same time. Congratulations, madam. I hope you rejoice in your success.”
At that, he grabbed his clothes and exited the chamber. Sometime later, in the solitude of his room, Colonel Fitzwilliam, though at the advanced age of thirty-three, actually cried. He had not cried since he was an infant. Now he was crying with anger at her and at himself—and also with hatred.