Chapter Fourteen

“Tell me about Needham,” Oliver said, looking in the direction of her shadow. In a way he liked not being able to see her face; it made the exchange more intimate.

“Oliver, please,” Ellen warned. “You don’t want to know about him.”

“I want to know everything about you.”

She turned her head away. He could tell because the moon’s rays lit her cheekbone. “No, you don’t.”

He slid closer to her. She didn’t notice until she turned back to him. They were within touching distance. He wanted to remember what it was like to touch her, the feel of her skin on his.

He leaned forward until his lips were near her ear. They weren’t touching, but he could feel her trembling. She had stopped breathing. He could feel it suspended inside of her as if she were waiting.

“You were my first,” he whispered.

Her breath whooshed out of her, and he turned his head slightly until his lips brushed against hers.

“And you were the best. A memory I’ve always cherished.”

She drew in a breath, no doubt to set him straight, but he kissed her instead. Her lips were like heaven, warm and pliant and smooth, and that night came rushing back, every fumbling touch, every moan, every thrust, every kiss, every I love you.

To his immense surprise she responded to him, clinging to him as she kissed him back. He drew her closer then stepped into the corner where he thought the balustrade met the edge of the house, but the balustrade ended and a set of stone steps descended into the complete darkness of the garden below.

He swooped her up in his arms, fighting with her voluminous skirts, and descended the steps, praying he wouldn’t trip and break both of their necks. He wanted her. His entire body was throbbing for her, and she was pliant in his arms, clinging as if she would drown without him and kissing him as if tomorrow did not exist.

And for him, nothing existed except Ellen and this moment in time.

The sound of the ball faded, the music a lovely backdrop as he leaned her against the side of the house and pressed against her while kissing her with the full force of his passion.

She moaned, driving his need higher as he fumbled with her skirts, raising them until he felt the smoothness of her inner thigh.

“Oliver,” she whispered.

He froze, thinking she would tell him to stop. He wanted her so badly that he thought he would expire from the need. But she didn’t tell him to stop. She cupped his cheeks and drew his head toward her to kiss him again as she raised a knee to wrap a leg around his waist.

“God,” he said between kisses. “My God.”

He’d imagined this only in his wildest dreams and had never thought he would have Ellen again.

He pulled back, his senses returning. “Let me take you home,” he said. “Let’s do this properly.”

She shook her head and cupped his cheeks with her hands. “I want this here and now. If we stop… I’m afraid to stop now.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want to make love to you in a bed.”

She grinned and he was so reminded of the seventeen-year-old Ellen that his heart surged with the old love he had for her.

“For old time’s sake,” she said. “For the memories.”

She undid his breeches and released his throbbing manhood, and there was nothing Oliver could say after that. He wanted her so badly that he didn’t think he could wait until they reached her house.

“Come inside of me,” she whispered in his ear and he shuddered, testing her entrance, nearly weeping at how slick she was. He slid inside her, closing his eyes in ecstasy, biting back a moan. She was so tight, so wet, so ready for him.

She wrapped her other leg around him and he cupped her buttocks, sliding out, then thrusting back in. His only regret was that he wouldn’t last. He’d wanted this for far too long. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted Ellen until he’d started kissing her.

She moved with him, her moans low as he pumped harder and harder. He was racing toward his completion but refused to end this without her. He stroked her clitoris, and she gasped loudly. Mindful that there was a ball just feet from them, he kissed her as her body jerked and arched and her passageway clamped around his cock. He swallowed her screams as he came inside her, pumping all his seed until he was wrung dry.

…

Ellen bore the full weight of Oliver’s heaving body as he tried to catch his breath. He was still inside her, still pulsating, and she was reeling from the emotions and sensations that had just ripped through her body.

She wanted to weep with both joy and mortification. She wanted to hold on to him and never let go. So many times she’d relived their first time lovemaking in the gazebo. So many times she’d cried remembering it, wanting Oliver back, wanting a life with him. Until she’d realized that she needed to put it behind her and move on with Arthur and Philip. But always the memories were there, just barely buried, haunting her.

She could not have said no to tonight, to this moment. She’d wanted it more than she’d wanted almost anything else, but it did not make her feel complete. It did not give her a sense of closure. It made her want only what she couldn’t have—what she never could have. And that was Oliver.

But she would not regret this. She would not allow herself to regret this moment. She would store it away with her other memories of him.

Oliver pushed himself away from her and regretfully she felt him slide out of her and the warm gush of his seed run down her leg. She continued to use the side of the house for support, because she was certain her legs would not hold her weight. Not now. Not for a long time.

“Are you all right?” A white handkerchief appeared in front of her, and she looked up at him blankly.

“I’m fine.” She whispered the lie. Not the biggest lie she’d ever told. No, that was reserved for Oliver as well, but a lie nonetheless. Had she really thought that making love to Oliver would banish her feelings for him once and for all? Had she hoped that making love would not be as wonderful as she had remembered? Even against a wall, in the middle of a ball, it had been magnificent. She could only imagine what it would be like if they were in a proper bed with more time to devote to each other.

But, no. That would never happen. She could not allow Oliver in her life like that.

She took the handkerchief and balled it up in her fist, fighting tears for all that she wanted that could not be.

“Ellen—”

She held up her hand to stop whatever he was going to say.

“Please, don’t,” she said, so close to tears.

He stepped forward and pulled her to him, and she was so weak when it came to Oliver that she fell against him.

“Next time it will be in a proper bed and we will take our time and we will wake up together in the morning.”

He pulled away to look down on her, but she couldn’t make herself look him in the eye and tell him that there couldn’t be a next time or a morning together. For just one small moment she wanted to believe everything he said. She wanted to believe in a possible future.

“Things were different back then,” he said. “I understand now that there were obligations you felt you couldn’t get out of, but those are no longer relevant. We can do this. There is nothing standing in our way.”

Ellen buried her head in his chest and inhaled his scent. Tell him no. Tell him that could never happen. Tell him that there are more obstacles than he could possibly imagine.

But she stayed silent and dreamed of a future without obstacles, of a future with Oliver.

He kissed her on the forehead and then each cheek. “We should go back before we are missed. You go in first and I will follow in a few minutes.”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes. “You go ahead. I’d like a few minutes alone.”

He took her shoulders, and she looked up at him. The moonlight shone in his hair, making it white. His eyes glistened. “From now on things will be right. I will make them right between us.”

She nodded, her gaze sliding away.

“I’ll wait for you in the ballroom. Don’t take too long out here by yourself.”

He hesitated then disappeared into the darkness.

She stifled a sob, pressing her fist against her mouth. She couldn’t cry now. Her nose would be red and her cheeks blotchy and everyone would know she’d been crying.

Hold it together, Ellen. At least until you’re home.

Her body shook from suppressed sobs, from anger that things couldn’t be the way Oliver wanted them and sadness that there were so many lies between them and so many other emotions that she couldn’t name.

She wanted it. All of it. All the memories and the sensations and the mind-numbing release that only Oliver had ever been able to pull out of her. She wanted to kiss him again and feel his skin against hers. She wanted to feel him sliding inside her.

And now that she’d had all of that, she felt empty, hollowed, a shell of herself. Like she’d been stripped bare and had nothing left to give.

Having Oliver again reminded her only of how alone she really was.

She straightened and fluffed her skirts, then touched her hair to make sure that all the pins were in place.

Shaking her shoulders, she adjusted her bodice and cupped her still swollen breasts to make sure they were firmly in place.

She took a tentative step, testing the resilience of her legs, and headed toward the stairs before she realized she still had his handkerchief balled up in her hands. She tossed it in the nearest bush and marched up the steps, head held high, and all emotion locked away.

Just like she’d done seventeen years ago.