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How was she supposed to stay here? How? But where else was she to go? It had taken every penny she had to get to America and with no income she was at the mercy of her cousin.
Why did Frederick Von Richter have to show up and ruin everything? She had been content to not think of romance these past weeks. She had felt herself healing, growing stronger.
Rising from her bed, she walked to the window and gazed out upon the inky blackness of night. Storm clouds filled the sky and the smell of rain was heavy in the air.
Rain. She welcomed it. Perhaps it would ease summer’s oppression. With the wind blowing against her face, she stood at the window savoring the feel of the breeze against her skin and she wished for more.
Dressed in nothing but her cotton nightgown, she moved away from the window and decided to sit in the garden until the rains came. Perhaps the wind would blow her cares away and she would be able to find sleep. Sleep, elusive, delicious sleep.
Last night the heat had kept her awake. This night it was her thoughts. They rampaged through her head leaving her ever more exhausted. Why did emotion have to take such a toll? Why couldn’t humans humbly enjoy a simpler existence. She was certain the first people never pondered why lost love and new infatuation were so bitterly uncomfortable. Indeed, they had far more pressing matters to deal with. Like where their next meal came from.
She growled. That wasn’t an existence she wanted either!
With great care, she left her bedroom and felt her way down the hallway and toward the staircase. The night called to her. The cooling weather pulled her forward.
Down the stairs she went, floorboards creaking in protest at her midnight escape.
Finally reaching the parlor, she cautiously moved toward the garden door. Slants of moonlight peeked through the clouds and when she opened the door, the burst of wind very nearly pulled the knob from her hand. Wind like on the moorland back home. Wind that would carry her breath away. Yes, indeed!
The giddiness that welled up within her had her very nearly giggling like a child. She stepped out into the weather. Small droplets of rain stung her cheeks as the gusts tugged at her gown and pushed her hair from her face.
It was exhilarating! She felt so alive, so free. Oh my but she loved the wind!
She raised her arms high, spinning around so that every bit of her body was touched by the gale’s stinging fingers. Her laughter welled up within her and unable to hold it back she let it go. The joy of the sound so foreign to her ears, yet so pleasant to her soul she didn’t stop.
No! She continued to enjoy her momentary liberty, for she knew, too soon it would be gone and she’d once again be suffering through the agonizing heat of August in Hampton, Virginia. And too soon be under the scrutiny not only of the Baron Von Richter, but her cousin Chloe.
But not now. Their games would not spoil this one pristine moment when she actually felt...well...marvelous!
A flash of lightning branched across the sky followed by a glorious rumble of thunder. She laughed as the raindrops grew in size, pounding at her and increasing her joy.
She ceased her spin and looked heavenward as she was pelted with the cooling torrents. The sound of the rain hitting the ground drown out all other sounds and the refreshing feel as the water cascaded over her body sent a delightful shiver across her flesh.
“You’ll catch your death!”
She swiped at the water that had pooled around her closed eyes before looking toward the voice of her intruder.
The baron stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, his eyes flashing with his interest.
Foolishness quickly overtook her momentary happiness, followed by outrage. “Your constant observations are not welcome!” she shouted over the deluge.
He marched through the puddles, his bare feet splashing as he made his way toward her. Water pelted him and streamed over his muscled chest. “I can’t help it,” he said, stopping but inches from her. “You fascinate me.”
“Me?” She wanted to laugh at his statement. She definitely did not deserve a man of his ranks infatuation. “Why? Because I am the only woman that you know in America that is unwed?”
“That is simply my fortune. For wed or no, I am not blind. You are a beautiful, free spirited woman. The fact that you are available only makes me that much more wanton.”
“Wanton?”
“Yes. I have had my head down since the day Chloe married. I walk into to her parlor expecting heartache and instead my heart soars.”
He leaned in. “You are the one, Martha Arden and I just pray to God that I have an opportunity to make you mine.”
When he took a step closer, her legs grew weak beneath her. She could feel the warmth that flowed from him against her chilled skin. When he cupped her face in his hands her jaw began to tremble and when he once again kissed her lips, she melted into him. Her body melded against his, the comfort of the fit making her unable to pull away.
He slipped his tongue between her lips and she set her hands atop his chest, his muscles were hard beneath her touch. And was that the rhythmic beat of the rain against her fingertips or the thundering of his heart?
When he pulled away, she missed the feel of him. Wanted more. Never wanted to let go. “You will be my bride,” he said against her lips. “And the sooner you accept it, the better for both of us.”
She stood there, dumbfound, her entire body alive with the idea of him. Waking up in his arms. Feeling his body next hers. Dear God, even the idea of his child growing inside her flitted through her mind. What magical spell had this man cast upon her?
Taking her by the hand, he escorted her into the house. He wrapped her in a blanket and led her up to her bedchamber. Once at her door, he again pressed his mouth to hers and again the fog of desire rendered her immobile. If he guided her to her bed, would she be able to stop him from taking her?
She knew the answer and it shamed her. For she was not this sort of woman and yet the need for him was growing stronger with each passing moment. The chill of realization sped across her and she finally pulled away.
“Don’t Frederick...”
His smile, although short-lived eased her worry. “I want you, Martha,” he said stepping back. “Make no mistake. And on our wedding night, I will give you everything that I am and you in turn will become completely mine.”
He left her standing in the hall, rainwater pooling at her feet and uncertainty slowly ebbing toward certainty. She clutched at the blanket, knowing that she would most certainly be his wife if he made a true and honest offer. Samuel Sexton was nothing now. In two days he had gone from the focal point of her life to nothing but a ghost from the past.