the fall of his breeches nor say a word when she took him in hand and drew back his foreskin. “You once liked me very well on my knees.”
“Yes.” He sat up, then stood and stared into her eyes and understood that this was to be their very last time. “Please.”
He buried his fingers in her hair when she took him in her mouth, and he let her bring him that way and all the while he told himself that if she could walk away from this, then by God, so could he.
Afterward, they tidied up as best they could, at last feeling the cold and damp, and they headed for the Grange. The sky hadn’t cleared, though it wasn’t raining, and the ground was thoroughly soaked. Dozens of tiny puddles lurked in the thick grass and made the footing uncertain. At the stone fence, he lifted her over again and did not put her down as quickly as he should have. He leaned in and kissed her, hard and fast before he released her.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do this.”
Since she knew the way, he followed her through the fields. The path was muddier than when he’d tromped through here heading the other way, and the clouds were getting that heavy look while the air turned colder and thicker. They gave up trying to keep themselves out of the muck and just trudged through the field.
He kept a hand around her waist because that was what a gentleman did when he was escorting a lady across treacherous terrain. Before he was quite prepared to return to reality, they were at the Grange. Fat drops of water hit them as they dashed for the front of the house, running now and laughing for no reason other than it seemed right. The very moment they reached the path to the door, the rain became another torrent.
At the door, Portia turned, face to the sky and thrust a fist into the air. “Curse you, god of rain, curse you!”
He fumbled with the door, and when he got the thing open he grabbed Portia’s other hand and pulled her inside, they were still laughing.
Until he turned around and saw Mrs. Temple standing in the foyer, a look of utter betrayal on her face.
Chapter Six
W ITH FINGERS CLUMSY FROM the cold, Portia worked at the buttons of Crispin’s greatcoat, so heavy on her shoulders. She didn’t dare meet Eleanor’s eyes. She couldn’t bear to see that wide-eyed hurt again. She wasn’t Eleanor’s equal, not fit to be in the same room as her.
This time, she’d betrayed more than Crispin and her brother’s trust. She’d hurt Eleanor, who did not deserve that, and she’d betrayed Jeremy, the man she was supposed to marry. Again. She wanted to weep with the horror of how badly she’d failed.
Hob appeared at the top of the servant’s staircase. He came to a full stop, eyes wide when he saw the condition the two of them were in. Both of them soaked to the skin, her in Crispin’s hat and greatcoat, muddy shoes, and water dripping everywhere.
“Hob,” Eleanor said in a light voice. God, what a brilliant performance. You’d never guess now, that her sister-in-law thought there was anything the least untoward about this. “Do help Lord Northword with his wet coat.”
Hob bowed and said, as he went to Crispin, “I was about to walk out to find thee, Miss.”
“As well you didn’t. You’d have got drenched, too.” She meant to match Eleanor’s aplomb and failed miserably at that, too. A shiver cut short her attempt to wipe water out of her face. She’d hardly minded her wet clothes and hair before, but now she was miserable inside and out. She managed to get the greatcoat unbuttoned and off her shoulders. Hob took it from her without a word.
“What on earth possessed you to go outside in weather such as this?” Eleanor’s smile was sweet, so sweet.
It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything. Every horrible impulse, every awful, unworthy thought, and beg for forgiveness. She ought to confess all the ways in which she’d traded a few moments of bliss for her very soul, but Crispin plucked his hat off her
“Yes.” He sat up, then stood and stared into her eyes and understood that this was to be their very last time. “Please.”
He buried his fingers in her hair when she took him in her mouth, and he let her bring him that way and all the while he told himself that if she could walk away from this, then by God, so could he.
Afterward, they tidied up as best they could, at last feeling the cold and damp, and they headed for the Grange. The sky hadn’t cleared, though it wasn’t raining, and the ground was thoroughly soaked. Dozens of tiny puddles lurked in the thick grass and made the footing uncertain. At the stone fence, he lifted her over again and did not put her down as quickly as he should have. He leaned in and kissed her, hard and fast before he released her.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do this.”
Since she knew the way, he followed her through the fields. The path was muddier than when he’d tromped through here heading the other way, and the clouds were getting that heavy look while the air turned colder and thicker. They gave up trying to keep themselves out of the muck and just trudged through the field.
He kept a hand around her waist because that was what a gentleman did when he was escorting a lady across treacherous terrain. Before he was quite prepared to return to reality, they were at the Grange. Fat drops of water hit them as they dashed for the front of the house, running now and laughing for no reason other than it seemed right. The very moment they reached the path to the door, the rain became another torrent.
At the door, Portia turned, face to the sky and thrust a fist into the air. “Curse you, god of rain, curse you!”
He fumbled with the door, and when he got the thing open he grabbed Portia’s other hand and pulled her inside, they were still laughing.
Until he turned around and saw Mrs. Temple standing in the foyer, a look of utter betrayal on her face.
Chapter Six
W ITH FINGERS CLUMSY FROM the cold, Portia worked at the buttons of Crispin’s greatcoat, so heavy on her shoulders. She didn’t dare meet Eleanor’s eyes. She couldn’t bear to see that wide-eyed hurt again. She wasn’t Eleanor’s equal, not fit to be in the same room as her.
This time, she’d betrayed more than Crispin and her brother’s trust. She’d hurt Eleanor, who did not deserve that, and she’d betrayed Jeremy, the man she was supposed to marry. Again. She wanted to weep with the horror of how badly she’d failed.
Hob appeared at the top of the servant’s staircase. He came to a full stop, eyes wide when he saw the condition the two of them were in. Both of them soaked to the skin, her in Crispin’s hat and greatcoat, muddy shoes, and water dripping everywhere.
“Hob,” Eleanor said in a light voice. God, what a brilliant performance. You’d never guess now, that her sister-in-law thought there was anything the least untoward about this. “Do help Lord Northword with his wet coat.”
Hob bowed and said, as he went to Crispin, “I was about to walk out to find thee, Miss.”
“As well you didn’t. You’d have got drenched, too.” She meant to match Eleanor’s aplomb and failed miserably at that, too. A shiver cut short her attempt to wipe water out of her face. She’d hardly minded her wet clothes and hair before, but now she was miserable inside and out. She managed to get the greatcoat unbuttoned and off her shoulders. Hob took it from her without a word.
“What on earth possessed you to go outside in weather such as this?” Eleanor’s smile was sweet, so sweet.
It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything. Every horrible impulse, every awful, unworthy thought, and beg for forgiveness. She ought to confess all the ways in which she’d traded a few moments of bliss for her very soul, but Crispin plucked his hat off her
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