Chapter 15
The theater was alive with music and laughter as the orchestra readied the bustling audience for the play’s beginning with snippets from its score. Monica inhaled and released her breath on a shaky exhalation.
The air was heavy with the scent of rose water and cigar smoke, oranges, and chocolate as Tess and Kitty swayed amongst the people selling their wares. Monica smiled. The smiles on their faces were so wide and welcoming, one might be fooled into thinking orange selling was their most prized vocation. She remembered only too well Laura doing the exact same thing and the day Adam first laid eyes on her.
He was smitten and entirely lost in his mission to woo her within moments.
And now her dearest friends were married and happy, blessed with a perfect baby girl. Ignoring the pang of envy that stabbed at her heart, Monica sighed and turned to Thomas standing beside her. She tipped her head back to meet his eyes and he frowned. “Are you all right?”
The question to end all questions.
She swallowed as words scorched her tongue and the need to touch him pulled at her senses. “I’m fine.” She pushed her hand into the crook of his arm before sensibility took over. “In fact, I’m more than fine. I’m happy to be home.”
His jaw tightened. “Of course you are.”
Monica’s smile dissolved. “Please don’t let us argue. Not tonight. I want to be happy until I have to face the inevitable.”
“The inevitable?”
Her chest rose and she tore her gaze from the beauty of his to stare out at the sea of spectators as they moved toward their seats. “I need to tell you what happened at the solicitors. I can’t do this on my own. I said I would, but I can’t. I need you, Thomas.” She faced him. “I feel as though I’m about to step into the dangerous unknown. I’m afraid, yet determined. Challenged, yet prepared to fight.”
She frowned. “Does that make sense? I’m so angry and confused right now, I can’t think past wanting to vent this horrible, gnawing anxiety and fly unhindered and free.” She shook her head, praying he understood her nonsensical rambling. “I just have no idea how to even start to get off the ground.”
He stared, his gaze turning fiery under the glow of the lanterns behind them. The longer he stared, the more Monica responded to his heated study. His gaze belied his gratification to her confession and as his chest expanded, his gaze moved to her mouth. Her skin tingled and she wet her lips as desire for his kiss grew. She’d lied. She knew exactly how to vent her anxiety.
“Then we’ll work out the solution together.” His voice was a slow, rough rumble from deep within his chest.
She looked into his eyes and the lust she saw there couldn’t be denied. She was no maid, and in that moment the anger at her father’s puppeteer-like manipulation, and the cheer and tension emanating from the impatient audience, built like a crescendo in Monica’s soul. Why fight their attraction? Why refute what was impossible to ignore? Yet, if she permanently returned to Marksville, would she and Thomas be able to live and work side by side and never act on their desire?
No, so they needed to lay it to rest once and for all.
She would take him now, show him she was a woman who lived and treasured her liberty; who did what she wanted to do and answered to no one but herself. She’d earned that right the moment her father demanded she give her entire being to Malcolm Baxter regardless of his abuse.
Her cheeks grew warm and her center ached. She wanted Thomas. For one blessed moment, she wanted to be free to be with this man. She snatched her gaze from his to look at Jane and Laura as they took their seats farther along the aisle. “Do you want to join them?”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
She turned. His eyes were full of fire and need, masculinity and possession. Excitement shivered through her body. Her heart beat fast as she thought of the scars he would see upon her body if she were to stand naked in front of him. Would he turn away? Or would the sight ignite the protective violence she sometimes sensed in him whenever something or someone he cared for might be threatened.
She inhaled. It was a risk she had to take. She loved him and for this time in Bath, she would fly free. “Then I’ll show you my dressing room.”
With her heart beating out of control, Monica slipped her hand from his arm and approached Jane and Laura. When she touched Jane’s arm, Monica’s fingers trembled. Her sister turned, her eyes alight with awe. “I am so excited to be here, Monica. Thank you for bringing me.” She laughed. “This feels so naughty when I should be concerned about the will and Mama and—”
“Enjoy yourself, please.” Monica smiled. “All too soon we’ll return to Marksville and that will be soon enough to start worrying about the future.”
Jane grinned and waved toward the empty seat beside her. “Won’t you sit down?”
Monica swallowed. “I’m just taking Thomas . . .” Over my dressing table? On the floor? “. . . to get a glass of something. We won’t be long.”
“Well, hurry. I would hate for you to miss the start of the play even though you know the entire thing by heart.” Jane returned her excited gaze to the stage. “I can’t believe I will see Adam perform and can even go so far as to call him an acquaintance.”
Laura shook her head on Jane’s other side and laughed. “He does not need another woman’s adoration. He has enough female desire drowning him as it is. It’s my job to keep the man grounded now he’s a father.” Laura met Monica’s gaze and winked. She nodded to a spot behind Monica’s shoulder. “I think Thomas is getting thirstier by the second.”
Monica inwardly cursed at the knowing look in Laura’s gaze and glared. “Then I’d better see to him, hadn’t I?”
Laura laughed and shifted back into her seat. “Take all the time you need.”
Jane frowned and twisted her head from Monica to Laura and back again. “Is something going on?”
Monica forced a smile. “Nothing. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ignoring Laura’s lewd eyebrow wiggling, Monica rejoined Thomas where he stood waiting at the end of the aisle. Monica stepped ahead of him and into the corridor. Her heart pounded and her body burned with awareness. She sensed Thomas’s gaze gliding over her from head to heel as he walked behind her, their silence adding to the tension that crackled and stretched between them.
The corridors were devoid of people, and the only sound was the boom and crash of the orchestra as the opening bars announced the start of the play. They would soon be alone and uninterrupted. They would be unobserved and entirely free of propriety behind her locked dressing room door.
Anticipation rushed through Monica’s blood—she waited for the trepidation, the fear, but nothing came. She wanted this. She wanted Thomas’s lips and hands on her skin with every fiber of her being.
She stopped outside her dressing room door and fumbled in her purse for the key. Her hand shook as she drew it out and slid it into the lock. She pushed the door open and finally turned to face him. He stared down at her, his jaw set. “You want me beside you from now on? We work together?”
Her mouth drained dry to see such fiery determination in his gaze. What could she really promise him? The house might now be hers but still she wasn’t sure she wanted any part of it. She briefly closed her eyes. “The more time I spend with Jane, Mama . . . you, the less the idea of staying at Marksville fills me with terror, but still, I can’t make you any promises. I’m so unsure of everything I want and feel.”
A muscle leaped in his jaw. “Then what is it you want from me?”
She tilted her chin, her heart racing. “I want you. Here. Now.”
The fire in his eyes flared and he dropped his gaze to her mouth, lower to her concealed breasts. “Then we’ll make this time count.”
She took his hand and led him into the room. He kicked the door shut behind them and Monica dropped her purse to the floor. She reached for him and he gripped her waist, pulling her so close her breasts pushed up against the hardened plate of his chest. His mouth covered hers and their tongues met without preamble or care. Frenzied and wanting, Monica whimpered into his mouth and kissed the man who had meant so much to her throughout her life at Marksville.
Without whom she would never have survived long enough to flee and forge a life of her own making. This hot-blooded, loyal man had stood beside her when she’d left that day, had helped her onto Wilson, and waved her off as she rode into the unknown. He spoke no words of changing her mind or begging she stay. He’d known she had to go . . . yet the look in his eyes haunted her so badly, she’d shut it from her mind for her heart’s protection.
They could never be. Yet here, now, in the theater where she belonged, Thomas would make love to her for the very first time.
She pushed his jacket from his shoulders and he pulled at the buttons on her dress. Yearning stole through Monica’s body on a heady wave of desire, and their breaths turned harried in the silence of the room as they fought and tussled to undress one another. Locked gazes and stolen kisses, moans and cries ensued until Monica stood before him, and him before her, naked and free.
His body was sculpted. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest wide and wholly masculine. She reached out and ran her fingertips over his skin, over his nipples, and lower to the defined ridges of his muscled torso. Their eyes met as he cupped one of her breasts in his calloused hand.
Over and over his thumb circled her nipple, bringing her entire body alive with wanton greed. Her center was moist and aching for his touch. “Thomas.”
He dipped his head and moved his lips over her face in a shower of the most exquisite, possessive chain of kisses. With each touch of his lips over her jaw and neck, her heart melted a little more. This was it. This was being with a man who admired you, who respected and cared for you like no other.
Tears burned and she squeezed her eyes shut. When he saw her back . . .
He stepped away and . . . oh, sweet love . . . gently drew her nipple into his mouth. She scored her hands into his hair, urging his feeding as her center throbbed with want for this wonderful man who could never be hers now she owned Marksville. If their match had been cursed with problems before, now it seemed impossible.
She owned the house, the land, and effectively Thomas. He would never, ever concede to be with her . . . even as a forbidden lover once they returned to Biddestone. The shame he would harbor for laying with his mistress would be too great if anyone should ever discover it. But here, now, Marksville and all its respectability felt a long way away.
His mouth left her breast and when her hands slipped to his shoulders, she sensed his tension in the knotted muscle. She snapped her eyes open. “What is it?”
“You’re crying.”
She snatched her hands from his shoulders and swiped at her cheeks. “I was . . . I was thinking—”
“Monica, if you do not want this—”
“I do.” She urgently cupped her hands to his jaw. “I do so much. You have to believe me. I want you.”
His gaze bored into hers—blue, beautiful, and full of passion. He groaned and lifted her into his arms. She locked her ankles at the base of his spine as he carried her across the room to her chaise. He lay her down; his mouth locked on hers and he slid his hand over her body until his fingers were in her pubic hair.
“At last.” She exhaled a shaky breath as his fingers rubbed and caressed her. Their eyes met and she reached for his penis.
Together they stroked and enjoyed, explored and pleasured until he grew as hard as steel in her hand and her need slipped over his fingers. “Thomas, please.”
He raised his body and, leaning on one elbow, hovered his weight above her as though afraid she might break if he lay on her. “Lie on me, Thomas. I want to feel your body pressed against mine. I have to live for now. Please.”
“You’re my lady, Monica. You’re my woman.”
He entered her as a woman longs to be taken. His thrust was deep, unyielding, and entirely possessive. Her mouth dropped open and her breath burst from her lungs in a rush of pleasure. He was thick and wide. When he drew back and reentered her with the ferocity she craved, Monica lifted her hips to meet him.
She gripped his biceps as he took her harder and deeper; she raised her knees and he slipped against a spot she never knew existed. Her blood pumped and her body perspired as the momentum grew. He gritted his teeth, his eyes full of custody and lust as he took her higher . . .
Her pleasure when it came took her breath away, and Monica cried out loud for the sensation she’d heard talk of but never knew existed. Joyous sensations shook her from deep inside and rolled through her body from her toes to her scalp. She laughed at the pure power of it. Thomas thrust deep a final time before his body stilled and he shuddered, finishing with a curse to high heaven.
His face contorted and Monica’s heart filled with love at the beautiful, wonderful sight of what she had made him feel and what he reciprocated. Gently, softly, he pressed his weight upon her and she wrapped her arms about his gloriously muscular body and pretended she’d never have to let him go.
Thomas stared at Monica’s dressing room ceiling, his heart finally slowing to a regular beat after their lovemaking. She lay naked in his arms and he trailed his fingers back and forth over the silky skin of her shoulder, counting the seconds until she came to her senses and realized the danger of what had just happened.
She turned in his arms and rested her chin on his chest, carelessly throwing her leg over his thigh, causing her pubic hair to tantalizingly tease his sensitized skin. She smiled. “Are you happy?”
He closed his eyes, unable to bear the look of love in her eyes. How could she look at him as though the possibility of what they were doing could be prolonged or repeated? “I don’t know what you mean.”
She stiffened and the potency of her stare penetrated his closed lids, all the way to his damn, loyal heart. He had to do this. He had to make her understand whatever they might feel for one another, they would always be mistress and servant. How was he to risk her reputation and his family’s poverty? He would never leave Biddestone and live in Bath where she so clearly belonged. Their unity was impossible.
“Thomas, look at me.”
Slowly, he opened his eyes. She ran her gaze over his face as softly as a lover’s whisper before meeting his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything. I know this is a moment in time.” She smiled wryly. “Maybe an insane moment of madness, but please, for me, don’t regret it. We did what we did and I’ll hold our lovemaking in my memory forever.” She grinned and trailed her nails through the hair on his chest. “I’ll remember lying here with you like this until the day I die, I swear.”
His heart wrenched painfully and shameful tears burned. He blinked and the threat vanished. “We should get back to Miss Jane.” Carefully, he shifted her weight onto the chaise and stood, reaching down for his discarded clothes, his back purposely turned. “They’ll be wondering where we are. I don’t doubt Mrs. Lacey has a good idea already. She’s got a look of knowing about her that one.”
“Are you trying to protect me again?”
He clenched his jaw and jabbed his legs into his trousers, huffing out a laugh. “What happened just now was far from protecting you. I’m just concerned—”
“Good, because right now, you’re protecting nobody but yourself, and well you know it.”
He snatched up his shirt and put it on, his fingers trembling at the buttons. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a coward if you do not face me and admit how much you wanted our lovemaking. That you wish you could have me over and over until neither could live without the other.” Her voice cracked. “Damnation, Thomas, what is wrong with you to not accept this is as hard for me as it is for you? Why won’t you accept I left before because Marksville was killing me? I didn’t run from you, or Jane or anybody I loved; I ran in order to survive.”
He whirled around, his heart aching and his blood roaring. “And now this, me touching you, making love with you, feeling the power of your pleasure around my cock makes it easier?”
She flinched, and Thomas wished his soul to hell for so crudely lashing out at her, but not knowing any other way to vanquish the romantic notions that seemed to be running through her head.
“This is real, Monica. This isn’t about what you, Miss Jane, or I want. We don’t get to choose. Normal people do not get to choose what to do with their lives. They live by the rules and try their best to ensure no one they love and care for gets hurt along the way. Anything else is anarchy and selfishness.”
Her cheeks flushed and she pushed to her feet, her glorious breasts rising and falling in anger as she snatched up her drawers and tugged them on. “And that’s how you see me, I suppose? Anarchic and selfish.” She straightened and fisted her hands on her hips, heedless of what it did to him to see her breasts thrust forward, heaving under the force of her anger. “Well, the estate is mine, Thomas. All of it. Papa has left me Marksville, Mother his money, and Jane . . .” She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “Jane he has left his apartment here in Bath.” She dropped her chin and opened her eyes. “He’s played every single one of us just the way he always did. So your wish to have me back at Biddestone has come true.”
He stared, his body rigid with tension to see her brief happiness when they’d lain together quashed and instead, her body tense with anger and frustration. “I didn’t wish for you to make the decision to come home under duress. I wanted you to want Marksville. I wanted you to make it your own and take pleasure in it. This doesn’t satisfy me. I can see how unhappy you are.”
“I am unhappy. I’m unhappy and angry, and despising my father with every bone in my body. Bath is my home.” She threw her hands up in the air, the volume of her voice bouncing from the walls. “Bath is my home and he has taken it from me.”
She turned and snatched her chemise from the dressing table where it had landed when he drew it from her body and tossed it aside.
His heart leaped into his throat.
The scars on her back were white and silver against the darker hue of her skin. Crossed and straight; ridged or smooth.
Words failed him as tears of rage burned behind his eyes.
She fumbled and cursed, the material knotting in her hands the more she tried to straighten it. “For the love of God . . .”
The saliva drained from his mouth and he blinked to clear the red mist blooming at the edges of his vision. “What did he do to you?”
She stilled.
He waited, his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists at his side.
Slowly, she turned. Her eyes met his and they glowed bright with pride and determination. “They no longer hurt and they no longer bother me.”
“What did he do?”
“You know what he did. The scars . . .” She lifted her chin. “The ones you see are of no consequence. What he did to me, I carry in here. . . .” She pressed her hand to her breast. “My skin is nothing more than paper is to pen. It can be read and then the reader chooses whether to remember or ignore. Can you ignore the scars on the outside, Thomas? For me?”
Time stood still as he looked deep into her eyes, a pulse beating in his temple. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath through flared nostrils, fighting for control, fighting for the strength not to run from the room and smash his way through the prison walls and into Baxter’s cell so he could beat the man to death with his bare hands.
“Thomas? Look at me.” Her voice cracked. “Please tell me you see me as you did before.”
He snapped his eyes open and strode forward, snatching the garment from her hands. He cupped her jaw and brought his mouth to hers. He poured his entire being into the kiss, showing her, proving to her just how much he loved her and how beautiful she would always be.
Her nails dug into his biceps and she returned his kiss, their passion swirling and igniting to a dangerous and potent crescendo until Thomas feared his heart would burst from his chest.
He pulled back and with a final look over her face, he closed his eyes. “This is madness. My love for you is dangerous, Monica. It’s dangerous because no one in this entire world provokes such fear in me.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “If you make me ashamed of what happened between us . . . if you make me feel less than Malcolm and my father have managed, I will stay here in Bath and sell the entire estate to the first bidder.” She swiped at her cheeks, even though her tears continued to fall. “I will only come back, I will only try to make a life in Biddestone if you promise me you will accept our lovemaking and move on. I want to help you. I want to help all the tenants, and the only way for that to happen is for me to return to Marksville with my head held high and you by my side.”
He stared deep into her eyes before handing her the chemise and lifting his hands to her face. He brushed away her tears with his thumbs and looked deep into her eyes. “What do you want from me?” he whispered. “Don’t you understand? I have no choice but to think of my family who rely on me. I can’t do that if I follow my heart and give it all up for you. You have a huge house and lands, but I refuse to be dependent on you. No good can come of what we feel for one another. No good at all. God knows I’d die for you, but that won’t help my family retain their pride.”
She covered his hands with her own, her gaze on his mouth, and she released a defeated breath. “I understand, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take another moment like the one we just shared. It doesn’t mean we can’t love each other in stolen moments so I have something to live for. I’ll go home and I’ll do my best to do well by all of you, but without you to love I can’t stay there. I just can’t.”
Thomas shook his head, his heart breaking. “I cannot make love to you and then resume being your servant. Why would you even ask that of me? We’ll end up brokenhearted and resentful. Neither you nor I will be happy living that way. This stops now and we think only of our duty to our families.”
“Thomas—”
“We have to, Monica.” He gritted his teeth and dropped his forehead to hers. “But please, do not ever think I say these words because of the scars on your back or the sadness in your eyes. If things were different, if either of us were free . . .” He closed his eyes. “I have to look after everything my father has worked for, or so help me God, I will have abandoned everything that matters to me for something that might perish within a year or two.”
She lifted her head, her eyes full of pain. “You think what we feel will only last for a year or two?”
Thomas inhaled a long breath through flared nostrils. “How could a passion like ours last a lifetime?” He shook his head. “You know as well as I do such a thing is impossible.”
He released her and turned to dress, allowing her the privacy to do the same. For a long time, he heard no rustle of clothes or shifting of her body and sensed her despair and disappointment permeate the room, splitting the chasm between them wide open. Thomas fought the tears in his eyes and filled his soul with the knowledge he had done the right thing by letting her go . . . the gentlemanly thing.
To let her down now . . . to break her heart when it had barely known his was far better than to wait until she fell as deeply in love with him as he was with her. To do that would mean she endured the cruel pain of a million knives striking and twisting in her heart as they did in his.