At the Highwayman's Pleasure(34)

Shivering with anticipation, she held him and began to press eager if  inexpert kisses upon his smooth, taut skin. He continued to caress her  and when his gently questing hand slid to the join of her thighs she  fell back with a gasp. His fingers moved into the satin softness and he  stroked her slowly while his lips trailed over her face, across her  throat then around to the delicate soft curl of her ear, and she almost  swooned with the pleasure of the double onslaught upon her senses.  Restlessly she moved beneath his touch, her body awakening to sensations  she had never known existed. She began to run her own hands over the  muscled contours of his body, revelling in the leashed power beneath her  fingers. He shifted his position and began to kiss her mouth again,  tangling his tongue with hers in a slow, sensuous dance that combined  with his gentle, insistent caresses to carry her to new heights. She  tensed, gasping as her muscles clenched around his fingers. She had no  experience of such sensations, but her instinct was that there was  something more, she wanted him joined with her, one flesh. She was  burning, her body pliant and melting as he moved over her. She wrapped  her legs around him and raised her hips. She wanted him to take her, to  possess her completely. He slid into her, smooth and hard. She was so  hot and slick that there was no pain and she cried out from the sheer  joy of their union    . He was moving inside her and she could feel the  ripples of delight building. Without conscious thought she began to move  with him as the wave of passion engulfed her. She was almost swooning  when she heard his cry of triumph and delight and felt that final, hard  thrust that sent her over the edge and falling, falling into oblivion.                       
       
           



       

* * *

Everything was quiet. From the lack of sound outside the dressing room  Charity guessed that everyone had retired to the green room to celebrate  the end of another successful run. Would they miss her? Perhaps, but  she knew Betty would have noticed the locked door and hoped she would  make her excuses. How long she had lain there in Ross's arms she did not  know and did not care, but it must have been some time, because she  felt the first chill of the air against her naked skin.

She shifted her position slightly and Ross stirred. His arms tightened  around her again and he began to cover her face with kisses.

‘It was madness to come here,' he muttered. ‘I should have steered  clear of Allingford, but I wanted to see you, just one more time.'

She held him close and nibbled his ear.

‘If you had not come here, then I would have driven out to Wheelston. I had to see you.'

‘No!' He raised himself on his elbows and frowned down at her. ‘You must stay away. If anyone should suspect-'

‘My father already does. Oh, he can prove nothing,' she added quickly, seeing his frown.

‘Phineas Weston is a very dangerous man, Charity. You would be much safer if you went far away from here.'

‘That is exactly what he said-'

‘He's been here?'

‘He came to my dressing room yesterday with his wife-'

‘Hannah!' He rolled away and sat up. The chill suddenly seemed to enter Charity's bones.

‘I beg your pardon, if it hurts you to hear of her-'

‘No.' He turned back to her, cupping her face and gazing deep into her  eyes. ‘She has proven herself too scheming and devious for me to regard  her with anything but contempt. She and your father are well suited, but  I would not have her come within a mile of you!'

His concern warmed her and she thought for a moment he was going to  kiss her again, but after a moment he moved away and began to dress.  Stifling a sigh, she got up and reached for her wrap.

‘I think she only wants me to leave Allingford. Phineas cannot control  the rumours-even people in Beringham are saying that I am his daughter,  and he wants me out of the way....'

Ross swung around, his black look alarming her. She recalled her  father's words as he was leaving, remembered belatedly that this was the  reason she had asked to see him. She went to him.

‘Ross, he said you had rejected his plan. What plan? What did he say to you, at that last meeting?'

He was not listening, his gaze fixed upon the daybed.

‘Is that...?' He tore his eyes away from the dark, telltale stain on  the couch and back to her face. ‘Charity, sweet heaven, don't tell me  that you are-were... That this was your first time.'

She frowned at him.

‘Does it matter?'

‘Does it-?' He closed his eyes, his lips moving but whether it was a  silent prayer or a curse she could not tell. He snatched up the rest of  his clothes and began to throw them on. ‘You told me you were not  profligate, but I never thought- Never dreamed-'

‘Ross.'

He took her arms, his fingers digging into the skin, the look in his eyes almost savage.

‘Deflowering virgins is not something to be taken lightly.'

‘No, of course not-'

He flung himself away and she watched, bewildered as he stood with his  back to her, his shoulders heaving, as if in the throws of some deep  emotion.

‘Don't you realise I should marry you for this?'

She blinked at the repugnance in his voice. It sliced into her like a  knife and she clasped her hands together tightly in an effort to stop  herself from shaking. He ran a hand across his eyes.

‘Do you not see how impossible this is? I cannot marry you, Charity.'

She rubbed her temples. After the euphoria of their lovemaking, how had they come to this?

‘I have not asked it of you,' she said quietly.

He was almost dressed now and shrugging himself into his coat.

‘I must go-'

She stepped in front of him and clutched his sleeves.

‘No. What are you thinking? How can you leave me, after...after what we have just done?'

‘Do not read too much into one tumble, my dear.'

She flinched at his cold drawl, but would not release her hold.

‘No, I will not believe it meant so little to you.' The closed,  shuttered look came over his face and she gave him a little shake.  ‘There is something you are not telling me, Ross. Have I not proven that  you can trust me?'                       
       
           



       

‘And have I not proven that you cannot trust me?' Gently but firmly he  released himself from her grip. ‘I am an outcast, Charity. I am  tolerated here, but nothing more. I am welcomed by one or two of the  most charitable families, but if they knew of my unlawful activities-! I  cannot ask any woman to share such a life. Believe me, you should  remove yourself from Allingford, away from your father. Away from me.'

‘No!'

‘Goodbye, Charity.'

‘Ross-' She had to make one final attempt. She took a deep breath. ‘Ross, don't go, please. I-I think I am in love with you.'

Something blazed in his eyes: delight, triumph, wonder. If he said he  did not care for her now she would not believe him. She waited, hoping  he would take her in his arms again. Instead he gave her a look of such  tender sadness that she knew he was going to walk away.

‘It will pass, my dear, believe me.'

‘But why should it pass? Why should we not-?'

He put a finger on her lips.

‘Charity, I am not for you. I have nothing-less than nothing, for if  Phineas discovers I am the Dark Rider I shall certainly hang and any  connection between us would leave you in a most perilous position.'

‘Then give it up now! I have enough money for both of us-'

‘Do you think your father would rest if you married me? Hannah would  make sure he did not! I cannot protect you from them, Charity. You need  to find yourself a rich, powerful lover to keep you safe.' He cupped her  cheek, saying with a wry smile, ‘With your beauty it should not be  difficult.'

She wanted to tell him she did not want anyone else, but she knew he  would not listen. She cursed that stubborn streak, even while she loved  him for it.

‘Ross-'

‘No. I must go.' He pulled her close and kissed her, hard, and while  she was still recovering from the swooning power of that last embrace he  left her.





      Chapter Nine

Charity tossed and turned in her bed, going over and over that last  meeting with Ross. After he had left the dressing room she had struggled  not to cry. Betty had come in, her face and manner stiff with censure,  but she had taken one look at her stricken mistress and held her peace.  She had fussed around Charity like a mother hen, asking no questions and  keeping up a flow of inconsequential chatter as she helped her mistress  to dress and escorted her to the little house in North Street. Charity  had retired immediately, pleading a headache, but her bed had not been  the sanctuary she had hoped and now she lay, dry-eyed, staring into the  darkness.