Chapter 31
Cecilia was naked, in the summerhouse, and she was…
Best not to put into words what she was doing.
Her hands were flat upon the wooden wall, for stability, and the Major was…
beneath her. Between her thighs. Trapped there, a most willing prisoner.
His hands were tight upon her buttocks, which seemed to be something that they both liked excessively, and his mouth, his tongue, were everywhere, as promised.
He had told her, with a blush that she could see even in the shadows, a blush that aroused her even more, what he proposed that they should do, and she had instantly stripped off her nightgown and positioned herself as he suggested.
At first, she had felt awkward, even ridiculous, but that embarrassment had quickly vanished.
He had begun kissing her, she supposed it might be possible to call it that, his lips gentle at first as they explored her most secret places, and she had moved with him, so that she was, in a wickedly perverse sense, kissing him back.
And then his tongue found its way inside her, and she was clutching the wall and moaning, turning her head and sucking on the soft flesh of her arm to stop herself from crying aloud.
She was trying, she wasn’t quite sure why, to cling to some shreds of rational thought, but her usually busy mind was slipping away from her fast. Melting.
Soon there was only sensation, a depth of pleasure she had never dreamed of before.
She was riding him, and he was devouring her, holding her tight and feasting on her, as she gripped him with her thighs and pressed herself to him.
Stars exploded behind her closed eyes, but he did not stop; she was vaguely aware of him bucking violently beneath her.
Eventually – she could not have said after how long – the waves of pleasure receded, and as conscious thought came creeping back, she realised she’d better check if she had killed him. It seemed possible, even likely. She moved aside clumsily, found room to wriggle down and lie beside him.
‘Are you alive, Alistair?’ she whispered raggedly. If he didn’t answer, she’d have to prod him. Shaking would be next.
His voice was a mere whisper. ‘I’m not sure. I might be. I don’t think I care, though, either way.’
‘I was just wondering what I’d do, if I’d killed you.’ He did seem to be living, and had full use of his faculties; his arm had come to wrap around her and pull her close.
He chuckled feebly. ‘That would certainly take some explaining. Especially if the people who found my body removed my breeches. To lay me out, you know.’
After last night, she understood this statement quickly enough. ‘I suppose I should take that as a compliment.’
‘Another one. The feel of your thighs about me as you moved, the taste of you, my mouth and my tongue and your delicious shudders, my hands squeezing your soft flesh… It was too much for me. You utterly intoxicate me, Cecilia Constantine.’
She smiled against the pleasantly rough fabric of his coat. ‘I don’t think I want to talk about what just happened to me. It would only give you a great conceit of yourself. But if I understand you correctly, sir, I am still in a pleasure deficit. That can’t be right.’
‘It’s true, you know.’ His hand was not still on her back, but was moving, stroking lightly over her naked skin, making her shiver.
‘And one of the many ways in which women are superior to me, of course, is that we need a little time to recover ourselves – just a little, you understand – whereas you do not. Unless you wish it, of course.’
‘I think that is a most fortunate circumstance. No, I don’t wish it. It seems I am a sadly wanton creature.’ It must be true, and what was worse, she did not care.
The Major could move fast on occasion, she discovered.
In a split second, she found herself on her back, and he was lying at her side, his hands and his lips hot on her breasts.
Her nipples were hard already, and he murmured broken endearments against her heated skin as he worshipped them.
She buried her hands in his hair and held him fiercely to her, thrusting her almost unbearably sensitised flesh up into his eager mouth.
Soon she was squirming under him, and his large, agreeably roughened fingers had found her pearl of Venus, and were tormenting it with delicious purpose.
When she began to spasm once more, he slipped one finger inside her, and she clenched and writhed on him, arching her back.
His other hand was at her mouth, and she bit on it in her passion.
‘Now we are even,’ he said at last. She’d been drowsing in his strong arms, drugged with pleasure; he had taken off his coat to cover her and keep her warm. ‘But can I ask you something, Cecilia, before I go, as you know I must?’
‘That sounds ominous.’ She hoped he wasn’t going to say anything to ruin this precious time they’d been sharing. Of course it must be fleeting, and of course he must soon go; she didn’t need to be reminded of any of that, and certainly not by him.
‘Well, I wish it might not be. I was just wondering… I know you’re all going out for a picnic with the Pallants tomorrow. It’s not idle village gossip; your Miss Macintyre told me. It’s none of my affair what you do, and I’m not saying it is, but do you trust him? Lord Pallant, I mean.’
‘Miss Macintyre doesn’t, certainly. No, I don’t. I could find no polite way of saying no, and I don’t like being manipulated in such a manner. I thought he was extraordinarily false. But it’s just a picnic. If we all stay together, I don’t see what harm can come to us.’
‘No. The harm of greater intimacy, I suppose. I’m not saying this because I’m jealous.
I honestly don’t think it’s that. He might easily be interested in any one of you for yourselves, and I could not blame him.
But there’s no denying that he stands in great need of your fortune.
Anyone’s fortune, but heiresses do not grow in the Suffolk hedgerows like rosehips, you know. Beautiful heiresses, even less so.’
‘You don’t like him.’
‘I never have. He is three or four years older than me, and was a dreadful bully as a child. If he has changed, I haven’t seen it.
And… this is village gossip, but I will not forgive myself if I do not repeat it to you: respectable folk around Debenbridge and beyond do not care to send their daughters to be maids in his household.
Respectable girls do not wish to go. Unfortunately, there will always be people who are so poor that they have no option, or families who don’t love their daughters as they should, and just see them as extra mouths to feed. ’
‘That’s horrible. Are you saying that he forces himself on them?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure that words like force or consent have much meaning when a man has a title, social standing and an insinuating way with him, and a girl has none, and she’s living in his house and in his power besides.
If she cried for help, who would dare to come?
Not his cockscomb of a brother, you can be sure of that. ’
She was silent, depressed by the grim reality of this, and he said quickly, ‘I’m positive he would never go so far as to lay hands on you, or on one of your sisters.
Why would he risk incurring your anger and suspicion so early in the game, when what he wants is to marry you?
But seduction is a slippery sort of concept, is it not?
Be careful, please, Cecilia, that’s all I wanted to say.
I hope you don’t resent my interference; I would say the same to any woman in your delicate situation, you know. ’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t resent it, not in the least. We could cry off.’
‘That’s up to you, of course. I confess I’d feel happier if you did. But if you make some excuse, he’ll just persist, I make no doubt. I think you may have no option but to go. At least you have been warned, and may be on your guard. You’ll tell your sisters?’
‘Of course. I will say I’ve heard disturbing rumours.
I don’t know what I’ll say if they ask me from whom.
’ Matters were more complicated than the Major could know; Cecilia had absolutely no intention of telling him how close Bea and Miss Pallant had already grown, and she wasn’t confident she understood all the implications of that herself yet – or that Bea did, for that matter.
‘Ask Ellen Pritty first. She knows everything and everybody. If she is honest with you, and I’m sure she would be, nobody will remember any more how you came to enquire.
But be careful of your maid, Lucy. Her sister works for him, you know, and that could mean any number of things, none of them good. ’
‘I’ve been told she eavesdrops – Lucy, I mean.’
She felt him shrug. ‘It must be a great temptation for a servant, and she owes your family no particular loyalty. The question is, assuming it’s true, what does she do with the information she gains?’
‘She tells her young man Tom, the carter – he’s the one who delivered our sofas the other day – and he tells all the world, as I understand.’
‘Even that is better than confidences going direct to Oliver Pallant’s ears, don’t you think? If everyone knows your business, nobody can threaten you with it as a disreputable secret.’
Cecilia sat up, not without regret. It must be dreadfully late, and she should be sending Major Bartrum on his way, even though she really didn’t want to.
‘A week or so ago, I’d have said we had no secrets.
Now… that doesn’t seem to be true, does it?
You are right in everything you say, Alistair, and I will be careful, and tell my sisters the same. ’