Maybe the whisper had been only her imagination. A trick of the wind.
“I was coming to see you.”
That had been no trick of the wind. She opened her eyes and looked up into Thomas’ face.
He looked hollow-eyed. Tired.
Had guilt kept him awake as well?
You could make things right. With one word.
No! She would not lock herself into a self-imposed gaol. She would not live out her days haunted by the likes of Patience Marlowe.
A better woman would fight for him. If you truly loved him, you wouldn’t leave him to suffer, alone with his ghost…
But fighting for him would mean being vulnerable. Telling him the whole truth of her past. Her heart gave a trill of fear at the very thought.
“Why would you come to see me, Goodman?”
“I thought you might like to take a walk with me.”
“A walk…with you?”
“Aye.” The wind blew his dark hair. Sunlight made the red and gold highlights blaze. He dropped to his knees beside her. “I think, if we were to spend some time to come to know each other as friends, I think you could accept a marriage with me.”
A little leaping sensation blossomed in her chest. Hope. Foolish, stupid hope.
Could he come to know her and see her differently?
Humour twinkled in his eyes. He smiled, showing his strong, white teeth.
Her heartbeat warbled briefly. A girlish nervousness heated her cheeks. She couldn’t help a small, tentative smile. “What?”
“Your lips…they are purple…” His voice trailed off. He reached out.
She tried to move away but trembling excitement made her too weak. The scents of blackberries, sun and sky intensified yet, in her vision, everything else in the world closed off except for him.
He touched her lip with a fingertip, tracing softly. “Your lips are purple.”
He retracted his finger. She licked her lips to erase the damning stain.
“How do they taste, my Rose?”
“Like berries,” she said stupidly, transfixed as he came closer.
He cupped her face with both hands. His expression sobered. His eyes, gone dark as pine needles, blazed with such emotion that her heart clambered into a thudding beat.
“I can’t put you from my mind. Do you not realise this?” His voice was husky, hungry.
He leant forward. His mouth brushed hers.
She reached up and grasped his broad shoulders, pressing into the leather doublet, feeling his well-defined muscles.
He swept his tongue over her lips. “Yes, just like berries—only far sweeter.” He groaned, a sound of defeat. “You are more than mortal man can resist.”
He kissed her properly. Gentle, insistent pressure. She couldn’t deny him. Never wanted to deny him. On a moan, she opened. He tasted of maleness, musk and sin. She thrust her tongue against his. Boldly. Hungrily.
He slid a hand over her bodice, cupping her breast, and his kiss grew harsher.
Her breath came very fast. Her nipples beaded.
This time he was the seducer.
She knew what he would do. She knew she wouldn’t stop him. He was already pulling and tugging at her back, loosening her laces. The bodice fell away from her breasts and, with two hasty jerks, he pulled her kerchief away.
He stared at her bared bosom, his pupils so enlarged his eyes looked almost black. Her tips grew more tightened beneath such intense perusal. With a low groan, he bent and put his lips to the flesh near her left nipple. As his velvet, wet tongue traced ever smaller circles around it, delight followed.
He drew her straining peak into his mouth, sucking on it, softly at first then growing stronger. She moaned and pressed her face as close to his head as she could. He moved his mouth to her other breast whilst cupping and lightly squeezing the one he’d just abandoned. Fierce pleasure overcame her. She plunged her fingers into his hair and threaded them into the silken strands.
He pressed her down.
In the midst of day.
Out of doors.
How shocking… Yet the bright sun rays warmed her. Made her weaker to his will. He swept her skirts up. All the way up.
She didn’t resist.
The heat of the sun radiated on her most intimate flesh, making her feel vulnerable but in the most delicious way. The risk of discovery only added to the excitement pounding through her. “My God, Rose.” His voice was a worshipful whisper.
She kept her eyes closed and didn’t respond. If she opened her eyes, if she spoke, she might think, and she didn’t want to think. She wanted only to feel. He was here with her. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her. This was right. This was good.
He stroked slowly up her limbs. “You have the most beautiful legs I have ever seen.”
He spoke with authority, as if he’d seen many. That wasn’t possible. She laughed, bemused by his relative inexperience. He probably hadn’t seen any woman naked. Patience hadn’t seemed inclined to be sky-clad. Pious Goodman that he was, he likely had saved himself for the marriage bed.