Page 19

She abandoned herself to sensation, reaching her arms up above her head and arching her back like a cat that had found a sunbeam to roll around in. She had chosen this, and she had never felt so free and so delightfully wicked. He’d pulled up her skirts – she knew without being told that he wanted to see her nakedness – and the sun’s heat caressed her too, in places it had never touched before. ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured raggedly, as his fingers stroked her thighs, then tangled in her curls. She spread her legs wider to him; she was utterly shameless. Then he was touching her there.

She jolted, and then made herself relax under his touch, blessing him for making no comment of any kind. And then she blessed him further as he began to stroke her. She’d done this before, herself, and clearly so had he. He seemed to need no direction, so she gave him none. Let him work it out for himself.

He had another hand, and he was using it to unbutton the bodice of her gown. She’d left off her prim habit shirt deliberately today, so all that was under the dark muslin were her stays and thinnest chemise. And her. He made a sound deep in his throat, a sort of growl, and then his lips were on her breast, his hand was there too, as his other hand still wrought her destruction.

It was wonderful, it was all she had hoped for, and in a moment all rational thought fled and she was only sensation. The sun on her skin, Xan’s lips and hands and weight on her, his very breath on her sensitised flesh, the instinctive, primal reaction of her body to his touch and to the incoherent words he was murmuring against her – it all combined into a heady mix that soon had her shuddering and crying aloud. She gasped his name and he held her as she spasmed. But he did not stop, and the powerful convulsions lasted longer than she would have believed possible. Her eyes were closed and she saw stars.

When some time had passed and she came back to herself, she whispered, ‘You…’

His laugh in response to her half-question was shaky. ‘You have seen the effect you have on me before this, and that when I was not even touching you, nor being privileged to see your beauty unconcealed. It can hardly be surprising that with my hands and my mouth on you, I should have found release at last. You do not need to worry about me. Your pleasure is my drug. And there are so many things that I still have not done, and dream of doing. But are you hungry? I should think you must be hungry.’

She realised she was ravenous. But when her hands went automatically to button her gown, he said, ‘Please do that if you feel uncomfortable. But if you don’t, would you leave it for a while? I love to look on you. I love to see the contrast between your respectable clothing and the glory of your nakedness.’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But then you must take off your shirt – it’s only fair. I should see you too.’

It was a good long while before they turned their attentions to the contents of the picnic basket, despite the hunger they had declared. But neither of them thought to complain of it.

30

LONDON

The last thing Bianca was expecting was another note from Lord Fairmount. They were entirely done with each other, she’d thought, and it was time for her to go. Leave Sabrina’s house, which now seemed a most dangerous place to be. Leave London. Go anywhere but here – abroad again, perhaps, though that wasn’t really what she thought she wanted just now. But in her hand was a most puzzling missive, and it could not be denied that its tone was different from the previous one.

Meet me in the square garden tomorrow, by the statue, at eight in the forenoon, when it will be quiet. We must speak. I’m not summoning you merely to abuse you more, I promise; that would be entirely pointless. Fairmount.

She should tear it up and ignore it, she knew, but she did not. She rose early, dressed in a serviceable old gown – she would not be so weak as to try to impress him with fine clothes, which would be a wasted effort in any case – and slipped out of the house before breakfast to meet him and see what he had to say. He could not be any danger to her in such a public place, even if he was lying about his intentions in his letter. If he distressed or threatened her, she would merely turn and walk away like the free woman she was. He could not pick her up and carry her off, or anything of that nature; the idea was preposterous.

It wasn’t as quiet as he’d predicted – there were servants bustling about on morning errands, maids were cleaning steps and windows, produce was being delivered by cart, basket and waggon to many of the houses, but none of the noble inhabitants or their children were up and about yet as far as she could see, which she supposed was what he’d meant. A man of his exalted family background wouldn’t concern himself with servants or what they might think of his behaviour. And it was true that everyone she could see seemed occupied with their own affairs; she had no sensation of being watched, though she was on the alert for it.

She made her way casually into the garden, which was indeed empty at this hour, though the gate was unlocked, and found him waiting for her in the place he’d chosen, a tall, dark, restless figure among all the trees and flowers and birdsong. ‘Lord Fairmount,’ she greeted him, and nothing more. Let him say what he wanted from her.

‘Miss Constantine,’ he replied soberly. And then with suppressed feeling he burst out, ‘It’s ridiculous to call you that! You and I have been as intimate as two people can be – physically, at least.’

‘That’s far behind us now.’ Oh, she should not have come.

‘I question whether it should be.’ Bianca’s heart started beating fast at this cryptic comment – could he possibly be going to suggest an arrangement such as Viola had mentioned, a resumption of their clandestine liaison? And what would she say if he did?

But he was still speaking. ‘My mind has been unclear these past days – the shock of seeing you was so great… I still do not know why you lied to me and then left me. I do not ask that; what can it signify at this late date? But now I know that you were not a widow. And with that realisation comes others. Tell me plainly – I think I have earned the right to ask such a question of you if anyone ever has – was I your first lover?’

She looked him straight in the face. She could have spun some tale, made Pierpaolo in Rome into far more than he had really been to her… but she was sick of lying, and too much had passed between them for that. To invent some man who had been there before him would be ridiculous; life was complicated enough already. ‘Yes.’

He rubbed his hand over his face, as if his worst suspicions were being confirmed. ‘I did not realise. After what you had said about your life, your husband, I had no reason to suspect…’

She tried for a casual shrug, and failed badly. ‘I did not mean you to. I had already taken up the identity of Signora Rossi, so that I could travel unfettered by chaperons and social obligations. I did not make up the foolish story for you. But when you made it so plain that you wanted me, I knew a man of your kind would never lay so much as a finger on me if you knew that I was unmarried, had never been married, had never known a man. You are not a libertine, careless of such matters. So I did not tell you.’

‘That was astonishingly irresponsible of you. You let me take your virginity and said nothing.’

‘It was what I wanted. You know there was no coercion involved. Women feel desire too, Xan.’

‘Of course I know that, I have every reason to. But it’s not the point at all. I have dishonoured a young lady of birth and breeding. I’m just as bad as all the rest of my dissolute family, just like my brother. Jesus Christ, no wonder your sister Viola glared at me so pointedly when I met her. There is only one thing to be done – you must marry me as soon as possible.’

Bianca was silent for a moment, horror-struck. This was the last thing she had been expecting. ‘No,’ she said flatly at last. ‘Oh, no, certainly not. Have you run quite mad?’

‘I ruined you. I have to marry you.’

She shook her head decisively. ‘Nobody knows, and it wouldn’t matter if they did. I’m only ruined if I care about people’s opinions of me, if I want to participate in the marriage mart, and I don’t, so it’s irrelevant. I don’t want to marry you and I’m not going to. You hate me. It would be insane for us to tie ourselves together for the rest of our lives.’ Was he even listening to her? ‘I know you wouldn’t be saying this to me, or thinking it, if I happened to be of a different background – a shopkeeper’s daughter, say. Which makes it obvious how ridiculous and offensive the whole idea is. I’m an independent person, I can’t be ruined like a piece of fruit. I’m not a thing.’

He didn’t argue with her, just ploughed on. ‘I’m not saying you are. I have never made love to a thing. Only to a woman. You. Miss Constantine, you don’t have to live with me. You can marry me and live your own life as you please, where you please. I’ll give you a generous allowance.’