He filled her in a way she had never imagined, as though there had been an empty ache inside her that she had never known existed. Yet there was something more, something eluding her, beckoning her, and she felt as if she were running, reaching for it, just beyond her fingertips.
Suddenly the elusive feeling exploded within her, and Mary tightened all over, arching up against Royce, waves of pleasure washing through her. Royce cried out, muffling the noise against her neck, and thrust into her hard and fast. For an instant they were joined completely, lost in some mindless dark realm of utter pleasure, their souls seemingly as entwined as their bodies.
Mary floated in a seemingly timeless moment, gradually becoming aware of the heavy weight of Royce’s body across her and the scratchy blanket beneath her back, the hardness of the wood floor beneath that. Her heart slowed its trip-hammer beat, and she smiled, luxuriating in the tingling pleasure that hummed all through her body. She thought dreamily of lying here in Royce’s arms for the remainder of the afternoon. He would kiss her neck and caress her arms, whisper sweet words in her ear—
Royce rolled from her and let out a groan. “Bloody hell. What have I done?”
Mary’s mind cleared sharply. She was suddenly very aware of her nakedness, and not in the pleasant way she had been a moment before. She glanced over at Royce, who had sat up and was bent away from her, hands plunged into his hair. She gazed at the smooth expanse of his back, the broad shoulders and knobby line of his curved spine. She would like, she thought, to trace that outcropping with her tongue all the way up to his neck, to taste the salty warmth, feel the satiny texture of his skin over the stony hardness of bone beneath. But the chill starting in the pit of her stomach as the silence grew quickly vanquished that urge.
Instead, she sat up and groped for her clothes. How had they managed to get so scattered?
“God, Mary, I’m sorry. I don’t—I should never—”
“Please,” Mary broke in, her voice tight as a coiled spring. She should have known; it had been foolish to think that Royce would react any other way. “Spare me your regrets.”
She had already pulled on her chemise, leaving the ribbons untied, and now she stood up, stepping into her panta-lets, then her petticoat. Her stockings she balled up and thrust into the pocket of her dress, thinking with some bitterness that she always seemed to be stuffing away articles of her clothing around Royce.
“Mary, no. Wait.” He turned to see her dropping her dress over her head.
She put it on backward, knowing it would take too long to fasten the buttons behind her. She had to get out of here now, before the tears that were threatening at the back of her eyes overflowed.
“We have to talk.” He came to his feet.
“No. We do not.” Mary thrust her feet into her half boots, not taking the time to button the sides, and rushed out the door, fastening the remainder of her dress as she went.
“No, wait!” He started after her, then stopped in the open doorway, remembering that he was utterly naked. He turned back, cursing.#p#分页标题#e#
Mary flew across the ground, taking the route Royce had come through the gardens. Misery lent speed to her feet and she tore down the path, desperate to reach the safety of her room before Royce, with his longer legs and greater speed, could catch up. Tears streamed down her face. She refused, absolutely refused to let the man see her cry over him.
She had had the most beautiful, thrilling experience of her life, and all Royce could offer was apologies and regrets!
Luck was with her, and she met no one on her way. Opening the back door, she slipped inside and up the back staircase. There was no one in the hall, and she ran along it to her room. Closing the door softly behind her, she turned the key and sank onto the floor, gasping for breath. And, finally, she let the sobs come.
Mary was not sure how long she sat there, knees pulled up to her chin and her head resting on her arms. She heard footsteps in the hall and a soft knock on her door, then Royce saying her name in a low, urgent whisper; he even rattled the doorknob. She set her jaw and said nothing. After a moment, he strode away, and she heard a door down the hall close with a sharp crack.
She leaned her head back with a sigh and rested it against the door. She would have liked to crawl into bed and not come out for the rest of the day—but Mary Bascombe did not give up or give in. And she certainly did not hide in her room feeling sorry for herself. She also would have liked to pour out her heart to someone, but she could not tell Rose, her usual confidant. It would shock Rose—who had been too shy to mention the kiss Sam Treadwell had given her!—down to her toes. Even worse, Rose would probably go running straight to Royce and give him a piece of her mind, even demand that he marry her sister now that he had committed the sin of deflowering her.