her ribs. Waltzing with him did not cause her knees to weaken or her mind to wander toward forbidden thoughts of unclothed bodies writhing on satin sheets alternately cooled by the night and heated by passion.
Tightly wrapping her arms around herself, she fought to stem the trembling that she’d somehow managed to keep contained throughout the evening until she’d returned home, until she’d prepared for bed, until she’d dismissed her maid. And then she’d been engulfed by violent tremors that threatened to loosen her teeth.
Her gentleman from the sea. She’d thought, hoped,prayed that she’d never set eyes on him again. He tempted her with the forbidden, and it took all her strength of character not to give in to the temptation. She knew at the center of her being lurked a dark core lured by sin, a part of her that craved a man’s touch, that enjoyed the sight of the bared human form. Primal. Uncivilized. Uncultured.
A part of her that she’d inherited from the woman who’d given birth to her. A woman who had dared to fornicate without the benefit of marriage. A woman who had been alone when she’d given birth to Kitty, alone with no family standing beside her, no husband worrying over her. Without benefit of funds or a husband, she’d given her daughter up for adoption only hours after she was born rather than suffer the shame and humiliation associated with her own unacceptable behavior.
Kitty had been forced on several occasions to tolerate the woman’s presence. Jessye Bainbridge. Now married. With three daughters who did not have to endure the embarrassment of having been born out of wedlock. Illegitimate, ill-conceived, suspicious origins. Bastard. Kitty had spent years scouring the dictionary, trying to find a word that didn’t hurt like a knife being stabbed through her heart, a term that could give a favorable slant to a terribly unfavorable start in life.
No such word existed, and nothing had the power to alter her perception of her beginnings. Not even Madeline Robertson—Kitty’s true mother, the woman who had nurtured her and sheltered her and taught her right from wrong. A woman who Kitty was certain had gone to her marital bed on her wedding night untouched.
Kitty had always been determined to follow Madeline’s example. To be purer of heart, purer of body, purer of soul.
The warmth of a heated memory embraced her, shattering what little peace remained to her. How close she’d come to sharing her flesh with a man without the sanctity of marriage vows. On the coast, without shelter, without locked doors. With nothing except the sun, the wind, and a man, and she’d barely been aware of the sun and the wind.
Always believing Jessye to be weak, without morals, Kitty suddenly felt her foundation shaken to its core and in danger of crumbling. She’d thought herself superior, stronger of will, capable of resisting temptations of the flesh. Now she feared she might have inherited Jessye’s propensity toward wanton behavior. Kitty’s training and preparations to become an exemplary wife would all be for nothing if she slipped into the quagmire of lust as the woman who’d given birth to her had.
Thank God for Farthingham. Farthingham whom she loved. Farthingham who never stirred to life such unwanted passions. Farthingham with whom she was always comfortable.
He would make an excellent, upstanding husband, ensuring that she made an excellent, upstanding wife.
She would share his bed, his kisses, his body, while burying the baser instincts that yearned for what she might have experienced that morning by the sea. She would lie beneath him, welcome his body into hers—without gasps, writhing, and moans. With him, she wouldn’t lose her way, she wouldn’t journey toward forbidden desires.
So buried within her thoughts had she become that she barely stirred when she heard the knock. “Come in.”
Her bedroom door opened slightly, and her lady’s maid peeked into the room. “Are you
Tightly wrapping her arms around herself, she fought to stem the trembling that she’d somehow managed to keep contained throughout the evening until she’d returned home, until she’d prepared for bed, until she’d dismissed her maid. And then she’d been engulfed by violent tremors that threatened to loosen her teeth.
Her gentleman from the sea. She’d thought, hoped,prayed that she’d never set eyes on him again. He tempted her with the forbidden, and it took all her strength of character not to give in to the temptation. She knew at the center of her being lurked a dark core lured by sin, a part of her that craved a man’s touch, that enjoyed the sight of the bared human form. Primal. Uncivilized. Uncultured.
A part of her that she’d inherited from the woman who’d given birth to her. A woman who had dared to fornicate without the benefit of marriage. A woman who had been alone when she’d given birth to Kitty, alone with no family standing beside her, no husband worrying over her. Without benefit of funds or a husband, she’d given her daughter up for adoption only hours after she was born rather than suffer the shame and humiliation associated with her own unacceptable behavior.
Kitty had been forced on several occasions to tolerate the woman’s presence. Jessye Bainbridge. Now married. With three daughters who did not have to endure the embarrassment of having been born out of wedlock. Illegitimate, ill-conceived, suspicious origins. Bastard. Kitty had spent years scouring the dictionary, trying to find a word that didn’t hurt like a knife being stabbed through her heart, a term that could give a favorable slant to a terribly unfavorable start in life.
No such word existed, and nothing had the power to alter her perception of her beginnings. Not even Madeline Robertson—Kitty’s true mother, the woman who had nurtured her and sheltered her and taught her right from wrong. A woman who Kitty was certain had gone to her marital bed on her wedding night untouched.
Kitty had always been determined to follow Madeline’s example. To be purer of heart, purer of body, purer of soul.
The warmth of a heated memory embraced her, shattering what little peace remained to her. How close she’d come to sharing her flesh with a man without the sanctity of marriage vows. On the coast, without shelter, without locked doors. With nothing except the sun, the wind, and a man, and she’d barely been aware of the sun and the wind.
Always believing Jessye to be weak, without morals, Kitty suddenly felt her foundation shaken to its core and in danger of crumbling. She’d thought herself superior, stronger of will, capable of resisting temptations of the flesh. Now she feared she might have inherited Jessye’s propensity toward wanton behavior. Kitty’s training and preparations to become an exemplary wife would all be for nothing if she slipped into the quagmire of lust as the woman who’d given birth to her had.
Thank God for Farthingham. Farthingham whom she loved. Farthingham who never stirred to life such unwanted passions. Farthingham with whom she was always comfortable.
He would make an excellent, upstanding husband, ensuring that she made an excellent, upstanding wife.
She would share his bed, his kisses, his body, while burying the baser instincts that yearned for what she might have experienced that morning by the sea. She would lie beneath him, welcome his body into hers—without gasps, writhing, and moans. With him, she wouldn’t lose her way, she wouldn’t journey toward forbidden desires.
So buried within her thoughts had she become that she barely stirred when she heard the knock. “Come in.”
Her bedroom door opened slightly, and her lady’s maid peeked into the room. “Are you
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