Rachel slipped out the back door of the cottage. Her father was sleeping soundly; had, in fact, napped in the afternoon and had gone to bed early. He hadn’t said much about their visitor or what he’d come for, and Rachel was grateful. She wasn’t sure she could make him believe that she was not the least bit interested in Lord Challoner, that he was just another routine Guest who didn’t make her heart and eyelashes flutter.
She knew she was being foolish. She wasn’t a silly schoolgirl anymore, but a twenty-three year old woman who should know that handsome is as handsome does. Rachel had seen good-looking men before—well, all right, not so very many—and she’d never been susceptible. Vincent Walker had been right here this afternoon to report on the school day and he was certainly handsome enough, but she didn’t feel a hint of breathlessness. She made total sense when she talked to him. Spoke in complete sentences. Her wits didn’t ramble and she didn’t wonder how he looked without his trousers on. Vincent was a friend of sorts, and destined to stay one.
Rachel was not going to become Mrs. Walker, no matter how many times interfering Puddlingites threw the two of them together.
It wasn’t as if Rachel objected to being a clergyman’s wife. She was as charitably inclined as the next person, and took the Commandments seriously. She felt God’s encompassing love every time she stepped out her door and gazed at the green hills beyond the village, or comforted a crying child. There was beauty and innocence all around her, and she worked to combat the ugly and venal when she came across them.
But to marry without love, even if there was some affection, would not be in her future if she could help it. She would go to her grave a virgin, as wasteful as that seemed.
Perhaps not. What if…
She shook her head in the cool night air. She was missing sleep, that was all. Her mind was wandering where it really shouldn’t go, and she needed to circle it back. Where was her inner border collie? Fast asleep under a tree, letting the sheep frolic and trample his paws with no consequences.
Rachel could see why a woman would like to dally with Captain Lord Henry Challoner. He was beautiful, if that could be said for a man. He had a wicked, mischievous streak, but some vulnerability too. He certainly wouldn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, but would he turn down some comfort?
He would. He must, if he was ever to leave this place. His father would be furious if he didn’t, and probably try to ruin Puddling’s reputation. If Guests were not safe from their follies here, why would anyone ever be sent here again? Rachel’s rash desire could ruin seventy-five years of success, not to mention bankrupt the village, if she was discovered in Lord Challoner’s arms.
Rufus jumped into her lap after she sat down on the bench. Just a few hours ago, Lord Challoner’s elegant bottom was right here, encased in fine tweed cloth, a bolt of which probably equaled her yearly salary. Rachel closed her eyes to the stars overhead and imagined she was sitting on his warm lap. Cozy. He might whisper something she didn’t quite catch into her ear, then pepper her throat with kisses. His hand would cup her aching breast, skim a nipple—
Oh, really. She was writing her own salacious mental novel and must stop at once. But her traitorous body was tingling and her mind turning to mush, thinking how an experienced man like Henry Challoner could bring her to ecstasy with one finger smoothing over her clavicle.
Well, that was probably impossible. The clavicle was not a sensual spot, was it? Yet Rachel imagined his manicured finger tracing the bones of her jaw and chest until she begged him to go lower. Much lower.
She dumped Rufus off her lap and he gave a startled yip. “Go in your doghouse,” Rachel ordered, her voice sounding far from commanding.
Rufus looked ungainly, but he was a very smart dog. With a snort, he frisked away and she soon heard him attack the bone he’d hidden inside in a private dark corner. The gnawing sound was the only thing audible in the night—there was a palpable hush over Puddling, just as it should be, all good people abed. Scattered stars above winked but couldn’t see, and Rachel shifted and lifted her nightgown.
She had touched herself a very few times before, but always with a faceless fantasy. Tonight, she had Henry Challoner, who loomed over her, his fair hair begging to be swept back over his noble brow.
It was noble, too, although a little dinged at the moment. Rachel removed the bandage and healed him with one blink. Her fingers became lost in his soft curls. His lips quirked and came closer.
They were full but not feminine. Designed to smile and tease. They touched hers with the slightest pressure, and she opened to him.
Opened everywhere. Her legs parted and he found the sweet secret swelling of flesh. She was wet just from thinking of him, and his smile widened over hers. His stroke was sure, and not gentle. His thumb circled and spun her to the brink in hardly any time at all, his tongue doing the same inside her mouth. Round and round, until every inch of her body felt loose but poised to knot up any second. She leaned back against the bench, gasping, whispering forbidden words, words she shouldn’t even know and would never say aloud to any man. Fever shot through her. The climb began as she arched up, her muscles taut, releasing to liquid heat, flaming and dying, then flickering up again. Higher and higher still. Rachel mustn’t make a sound, but oh how she wanted to, grateful for this moment of pure joy.
She was wicked, doing such a thing outdoors beneath heaven. But God must see into her heart, take pity on her, know she just needed—
The gate creaked. Rufus came running from the doghouse growling like a dog three times his size.
“Down.”
There was no mistaking the voice, rough though it sounded. Rachel removed her hand and frantically pulled down her nightgown.
How long had he been standing there? What had he heard?
He must have seen.
She felt hot and cold all over. Nauseous. She wanted to die, although dying seemed too easy an out. The shovel was just right over there by the shed. Perhaps he could help her bury herself alive and end her mortification.
“I couldn’t sleep. I’m not sure why I came this way and up the alley. Tempting fate, I suppose, and Rufus. I’m glad I did.”
His voice was pitched low, the words thick. He was truly looming over her now. Rachel licked her lips, opened her mouth and croaked. Rufus was gathered up in the crook of his arm, his belly being rubbed, tongue lolling sideways. Could she be jealous of the dog?
Yes.
“That was…beautiful. You were beautiful. I wish there was more than a half-moon.”
Rachel hadn’t even noticed the moon rising. It sat low and bright, and she felt naked under his hot gaze.
“I—you should go,” she whispered. She was mortified. Horrified. Embarrassed. There needed to be a stronger word for her current emotions.
“Not yet. I’m not sure I can walk.” Henry—Lord Challoner—gestured towards his trousers. Even in the dark, Rachel could see the tenting evidence of his arousal.
“This isn’t right, you sneaking about,” she hissed.
“I know,” he said simply. He put the dog down and sat on the bench uninvited. “I can smell you. Oh, God.” He drew a hand over his face. “I don’t think I can last.”
“This is completely improper. Go away!” Rufus scurried off to the doghouse. If only Lord Challoner would do the same.
“Don’t want to. Rachel Everett, you are ruining me.” He sounded as if he were in pain.
“That’s exactly right! What if you are discovered here? We’d both be in disgrace. You can’t be cured if you’re engaged in…whatever it’s called.”
“Voyeurism. I must say nothing I’ve ever seen before tops the last ten minutes. I’ve never been so hard in my life.”
He’d watched people?
“Shut up!” The neighbors would wake, and know what she’d set in motion. She’d be punished, and so would the village in the end.
“You’re the one making all the noise. I had no idea a prim schoolteacher could have such a colorful vocabulary.”
Rachel was going to expire of shame or apoplexy, whatever came first. “You are a scoundrel! In fact, you are absolutely horrible!”
“Guilty as charged. But you’re not precisely innocent, are you?”
Rachel’s face grew hotter. He was right. She’d committed some sort of sin tonight, and a few other nights, too. Her vivid desires had been mostly suppressed until Lord Henry Challoner jumped over the wall and into her head. There he’d been with his cocky smile. That adorable dimple. His rumpled curls and aristocratic nose. Whatever tragedies he’d suffered were absent as imaginary Henry had brought her to completion.
But her own hand was responsible, and she couldn’t really blame him for being so insidiously attractive.
“I’ll have you know I am a virgin!”
Henry clucked. “That’s too bad. I could use some help here.”
Rachel shut her eyes, willing him away.
She could feel him lean nearer. “That won’t work, you know. I’m not going to disappear just because you can’t see me.”
Her eyes flew open, and she pushed him away. “Please, please go. We’re both in dreadful danger. I’ll lose my job, and you’ll be stuck here another month.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad if I had your company.” Such gallant words, even if he didn’t mean them.
“But you wouldn’t have my company. They’ll send me away and dose you with saltpeter.”
Lord Challoner shook his head. “Not if we were married.”
She had never met such an exasperating man. “Not that again! Are you never serious?”
“Rachel, I am serious. I heard you call my name when you came. You want me, and I want you. Marriages have begun on shakier footings.”
“But your father—”
“To hell with my father!” He was angry now, no trace of that crease in his cheek. “The man doesn’t control my purse strings. I’m of age, and I have some money of my own. I only came because he was so sure Puddling would help my—my condition. I’d gotten quite desperate, you know. Sometimes I felt like I was on a spinning merry-go-round that picked up speed and was impossible to get off. But I see things more clearly now.”
She opened her mouth, but he set a finger across her lips. “I do, Rachel. After a little more than a week, Puddling has worked its miracle. I even have an idea to help other poor fools like me. You could help. You’re very soothing to be around when you’re not frigging yourself.”
She was truly speechless now. He was mad.
“I’d better go. It’s late, and the last thing I want to do is get you in trouble. If I can smuggle a letter out, I’ll see about getting a special license. We can be married in a few days. Walker can do the honors.”
He would destroy everything that Puddling stood for—his father the marquess would see to that.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen.