Chapter Ten #3
‘There will be no swimming together naked, alas. Though you look warm enough to enjoy a dip in the river. You could swim by yourself, if you like. While I sit on the bank and…admire.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve spoiled me for…swimming without you.
Well, the loss for me is a gain for Thornthwaite.
The former wood will support another field of grass for cattle and the one adjacent will increase our yields of bracken, once it has time to grow.
You’re no longer cutting the bracken alone, you know. ’
A shock of surprise and alarm zinged through her. Surely he couldn’t have guessed at the despair she’d once felt over knowing he would never love her?
Surely she’d done an adequate job of covering the emotions she still couldn’t quite suppress with a protective barrier of sensual distraction.
And surely, she thought with a pang of mingled hope and sadness, his comment couldn’t indicate that he might be developing stronger emotions for her, the fairy lord having won back his lover—could it?
‘I asked Old Mrs Morse about the tune when Sterling and I came to check her cottage,’ he continued, apparently interpreting the shock she hadn’t been able to hide as surprise that he knew the song.
‘I had her sing it for me. You’re right; it’s sad but lovely.
You’re not just my naiad, you’re my fairy sprite, and I intend never to lose you. ’
Might she really be touching his heart? Not daring to believe that, she forced the idea away as she dashed a glitter of foolish tears from her eyes. ‘I do promise never to drown—or blind—you.’
‘I am relieved,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Then I am safe, at least as long as I don’t go pining after another.’
By now they’d reached the clearing by the river.
The site was peaceful and lovely, gilded with afternoon sun and warmed with the soft green of newly emerging leaves and ferns.
Bird calls echoed by the lowing of cattle grazing in a recently cleared field beyond serenaded them as Juliana unpacked the blanket and supplies while Rafe set his fishing gear near the bank.
‘Will you fish with me?’ he asked as he helped her spread the blanket against the broad trunk of a tree near river’s edge, where they could watch the water swirling in eddies and listen to the soft rush of the stream.
She shook her head. ‘I brought Pope’s Iliad to entertain me while you pursue your hobby.
I hope fishing here will prove as tranquil as the sessions you remember from the Peninsula.
There should be wildflowers in the new meadow next spring, too, along with bracken.
Not the same as the ones in Portugal, but lovely.
Bluebells, like the ones that lined the path into the woods this spring. ’
‘There were daffodils, too, in the sunnier spots by the bank.’
‘How accurately Wordsworth captured the spell they cast! “For oft when on my couch I lie/In vacant or in pensive mood/They flash upon the inward eye/Which is the bliss of solitude/And then my heart with pleasure fills/And dances with the daffodils,”’ she quoted.
‘I may be sitting on a blanket rather than a couch, but my heart still dances, remembering them. What a graceful way with words the poet has, painting so vivid a picture with his verses.’
‘You have a way with your sketches, recreating scenes just as vividly. I’m pleased that you are enjoying your studies, but you must continue with your drawing, too.’
He touched a finger to the tip of her nose, his gaze unexpectedly tender.
She shrugged and looked away, warmed by but still uncomfortable at his praise.
She shouldn’t gaze too long into his ardent eyes, lest her guard slip and she began to delude herself that he cared for her more than he did.
‘I may have to content myself with reading; I’ve already filled just about every available space in my sketchbook. ’
‘We shall have to do something about that.’
‘First, we must do something about your victuals. After cutting branches all morning, you must be starving.’ She gestured to the blanket where the food had been set out.
‘With you, I’m always starving,’ he said, as he lowered himself to the ground.
She felt the always-simmering arousal intensify—and was grateful to move away from emotion onto safer ground. After glancing over at the field and noting its sole bovine occupants were paying them no heed, she dropped down beside him.
‘We shouldn’t swim, alas. But I might be able to satisfy that hunger…another way.’
Reaching up, she urged him to recline against the tree trunk, then kissed him. As they tangled tongues, the kiss becoming deeper and more urgent, she moved her hands down to his trouser flap, plucked open the buttons and reached within to fondle him.
He groaned, the warm flesh hardening under her fingers. ‘Ah, this could be wonderful. But…unfulfilling for you.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Lifting her skirts, she straddled him, and after settling the concealing fabric around them, guided him inside her.
As she leaned down to kiss him again, he tugged open the buttons of her riding jacket and slipped his hands in to caress her breasts.
As she wore beneath it only a fine muslin blouse and a thin chemise, having left off her stays, she felt his cock jerk within her as he realized how little barred them from his touch.
Urging her back, he leaned down to suckle her nipples through the fine barrier of cloth.
She gasped, feeling him fill her as sensation sparked from her breasts to her center. As the tension mounted, she pulled his chin up and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him urgently as they moved together, harder, faster, until they both reach a shattering climax.
After an intensity of bliss that robbed her of breath, she slumped against his chest, boneless. Breathing heavily, he clasped her against him. After long, languid motionless moments, he stirred, kissing her hair and her cheek.
He tilted up her chin and shook his head at her. ‘You never fail to amaze me.’
Emotion still suspended in the aftermath of completion, she said, ‘I continue to try. But now you truly are in need of sustenance.’
She eased away from him and after refreshing herself in the river, returned to see he had portioned out the food. Silent in the companionable aftermath of completion, they fed each other bites interspersed with little kisses. The food consumed, she sent him off to fish and took out her book.
Much as she was enjoying the Iliad, the words danced away from her on the page like those drifting daffodils. She turned to watch Rafe, admiring his skill and the economy of motion as he cast his line, pulled it in, cast it again.
For a few brief moments, she allowed a depth of emotion to well up. She would indulge herself this once, for liberation from forever keeping a guard over her emotions might be at hand. She wasn’t certain yet, but she suspected she might be with child.
She’d been so busy with estate matters and preoccupied by Rafe, she’d only just realized she’d not had her courses in two months. And her body had started to feel…strange.
Ah, that it might be so! To have a child, Rafe’s child, on whom she could redirect every bit of emotion her overfull heart kept trying to produce. Whether a hoped-for heir or a no-less-cherished daughter, a child would allow her to release all the pent-up love she’d hoarded for years.
Rafe would dote on his child, too. Love came in different forms; despite what he’d felt for the lady he’d lost years ago, there remained a deep well of emotion he could lavish on a son. She felt sure he would embrace fatherhood as passionately as she looked forward to being a mother.
Sharing a child would enrich and deepen the bond between them. Even if he never felt for her more than affection and friendship.