She felt him lifting her body into the air. Frightening and liberating at the same time—that was the feeling of being no longer in control. Though they were of one mind, she surrendered to his greater resolve.
And his greater strength. It took a man of great vigor and might to carry a woman as substantial as she up the stairs. She stared into Marshall’s handsome face, gritty with willpower. He looked back at her, imparting what was about to happen. Not asking . . . telling. And she’d be damned if she’d put up a fight.
“Which one?” he growled. She liked the rumble in his voice.
“End of the hall,” she rasped back.
He pushed through her bedroom door, and laid her down on the needlepointed bedspread—a gift from the first-term students. Her heartbeat began to pound in her ears. In this vulnerable position, the colossal impact of what she was about to do slammed into her. All her life, she had dreamed of a Cinderella wedding and a prince’s nuptial bed. Life had dealt her a severe blow that crushed her fantasies and skewed the course of her life. Nevertheless, even at her age, there was the nebulous hope that she could still marry . . . some women of her years did. But if she allowed this man in her bed, it was final. To lose her virginity now would obliterate those chances. There would be no wedding, no husband, no children—forever a spinster. Was this man worth all that?
She looked up at him. He had one knee on the bed, and between his legs the fabric of his trousers stretched over the hard shape. Moonlight from her open window illuminated him from behind. His golden hair haloed his head, and his silhouette filled her senses. He stared down at her, his chest expanding raggedly. In the half dark of her room, his eyes were cast in shadow, but the jut of his chin revealed his resolute purpose.
“You’re a mistake,” she said, hating her own confession of stupidity almost as much as the imminent disappointment of interrupted pleasure.
“So are you,” he said, ripping off his coat.
His answer lit a flame of anger. “Then get out.”
“No. I’m going to make you mine tonight,” he said solemnly, tugging at his cravat. “But once you belong to me, you shall belong to no other.”
Her mind rebelled at the thought of belonging to somebody. But not her heart. Those words were music to her lonely soul, and it drank them in like a withered plant takes in life-giving water. His words were almost a profession of love. Almost, but not quite. And not enough.
She propped herself up on her elbows. “I’ll belong to no man.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He leaned over her body and melded his mouth to hers. Irritated that he would force a kiss upon her, she tried pushing him away. It had no effect. Her hands just slid across his silk waistcoat.
His hot mouth enveloped her frightened lips, coaxing them to open for him. A moan escaped her, letting loose a passion that had for too long been suppressed. Her lips parted, swallowing his mouth in hers. The shadow that had formed around his mouth scraped the softness of her moist lips, but the masculinity of it inflamed her feminine senses. Her womanhood ached within her, warming her body like hot breath on a frosted window.
His cheek scraped hers as his lips wended down her jaw. He took her earlobe in his mouth, and half her body blazed to life with that one sensation. All along her right side the tiny hairs on her skin stood on end. In that sensitive spot behind her ear, the breath from his nostrils fanned a new awareness of her body’s capacity for pleasure.
His hand circled round the base of her neck, making her gasp at its feel on her naked flesh. It trailed down the exposed part of her chest, coming to rest on her breast. His palm found her nipple, rising through the fabric of her dress. Slowly, the fleshy palm smoothed over her breast, intensifying her passion exponentially.
She heard herself moan, and instantly hated her own confession of desire. But before she could stop him from inciting her body’s betrayal, his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and rent it from her shoulder.
The sound tore a surprised shriek from her. She didn’t recognize the hot-blooded expression on his face, but somehow exulted in it. The turquoise muslin fell away, exposing her breast to him. Her mouth hung open as he took what he came after. The scorching mouth locked onto her breast, and laved fire onto the tender flesh.
His sunlight-colored hair whispered over her face. She eased her fingers through the glossy waves, losing them in the thickness. The intimate contact of his body at each point filled her with sensual bliss.
But a rogue thought splintered through her pleasure. Calvin.
How many times had she lain on this very bed, fantasizing this very scenario? A man’s body stretched over hers as she spread herself to his invisible manhood. Her fingers would give her the pleasure that the daydreamed lover could not. But sometimes, though she would never admit it to anyone, the imaginary face above her own would materialize into Calvin’s. And even though the thought of him hastened her body’s pleasure, it would almost always be followed by a stab of shame.
There was a real man over her now, and his hands traveled down her leg and balled the fabric of the skirt in his fist. Her rational mind, dulled by the haze of pleasure, now raised its scolding voice. There was a letter downstairs from Calvin, and it effectively asked her to save herself for him. And although Calvin’s proposal brought forth a host of turbulent thoughts, at least it would end her spinsterhood. The man in her bed, on the other hand, would seal it.
“No,” she breathed. The word sounded foreign, her body shouting its resentment. It was as if her body and her mind were at war with one another.
“Don’t fight me, Athena,” he said in a heavy whisper intensified by emotion. “If you become mine, I shall also become yours.”
If her rational thought could take physical form, it would be standing in front of her with its hands on its hips saying, “I told you so.” This man was so skilled at manipulating her into giving him what he wanted. And even though at that moment she wanted it too—more than anything—her pride would not let her stand for the presumption.
“Get off my bed.”
He raised himself up, his hair rumpled from her hands. “Don’t be absurd.”
She knew her will could only stand so much before breaking, and if she didn’t stop this now, she’d be lost. She drew back her hand and slapped him.
He remained frozen in that position, face turned in the direction she hit him. His eyes closed tightly, his slack jaw absorbing the shock of her strike.
His eyes slowly refocused on her face. “That is enough, Athena.”
She slapped him again, this time on the other cheek.
“That is more than enough.” He placed one foot on the floor and brought himself to a kneeling position. He jerked her up and wrapped an arm around her waist. Effortlessly, he tossed her over onto her knees facing the headboard. And knelt behind her.
“All right, my little cat,” he said, jerking her back into place as she tried to escape, “your claws will do you no good in this position.” He bunched her gown and her shift in his hands and tossed them over her waist.
“Let me go! I don’t want you! I love Calvin!” In spite of the humiliating position, a familiar stab of shame skewered her heart.
He held her like that as he unfastened the buttons of his trousers with one hand. “You can lie to others and you can even lie to yourself, but you won’t lie to me.”
“Don’t,” she said halfheartedly.
From above her, she heard him growl. “I won’t force myself on you. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop. But admit that I’m the one for you, Athena, and I’ll be yours.”
She remained there panting, reason shattered by the tide of her urges. His thighs between her thighs provoked a resurgence of passion. She couldn’t see his face, and maybe that was a blessing. She shut her eyes, trying to imagine Calvin as the man behind her, but the fantasy failed her utterly. The truth was that she wanted the lovemaking not from Calvin, but from Marshall.
“Yes.”
There was no turning back now. Athena, sandwiched between the soft bed and his hard body, found herself imprisoned between the comfortable and the dangerous. She braced herself for the pain.
He shifted behind her. He brought the tip of his manhood to her glistening curls. There was a gentle pressure at her opening, as though she had leaned upon a bedknob. But the roundness pushed farther, making her wince and cry out. As it advanced slowly, the pain grew until he was sheathed entirely inside her.
She had not expected such pain. She didn’t know if it was because she was too old or he was too big, but she didn’t care. Before she had a chance to demand it, he began to pull out, relieving her discomfort a little.
“Breathe,” he said, and she did so. But instead of coming out of her, he pushed himself back in.
She whimpered, feeling the tightness all over again.
Again he slid out and thrust back in. There was a different feeling now, not so much of stretching but of fullness. The pain took on a different dimension, transforming into perverse pleasure.
His hands caressed her arching back as she accepted his movements easier. Slowly, she started to enjoy the thrusts, as they began to fuel the fire between her legs. Her fists balled the sweaty sheets as his pushing sped up. Her breasts rocked back and forth by the force of his body. Against her naked thighs, she felt the soft fabric of his fawn breeches, and she derived a corrupt pleasure from the wantonness of their position. It was so animal, so dirty, so different from her youthful fantasies. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and yet, right now, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Above him, she heard him groan. As his pleasure began to mount, so did hers. But suddenly he stopped, and she moaned in protest.
“Not like this,” she heard him say, and he slid out of her. She felt him easing her onto her side. “Lie back.”
She lay down, and he descended onto her. He kissed her fervently, inciting her forgotten lips to passion once more. He drew himself onto one forearm. Instinctively, she raised her legs on either side of him, and he entered her from the front. It had been torture to have him absent from her body, and joining to him somehow made her feel complete. The warm, solid body rocking above her, and the smooth silk of his waistcoat rubbing against her bare breasts, acquainted her with an unknown height of eroticism. In no time, his movements on top and inside her accelerated the onset of her quickening.
He moaned, and the sound felt glorious to her ears. She had not been the only one subjugated by the pleasure of the night. It pleased her to be the object of his desire as much as he’d become hers. Though she enjoyed seeing the raw expression on his face, her orgasm approached and she closed her eyes to receive it. Her mouth fell open, her breathing grew more ragged, and her body exploded in a flash of erotic delight.
Her tight womanhood clamped onto his muscle, her legs folded over his hips like wings. As the spasms subsided, she realized he was no longer thrusting. She opened her eyes, and found him looking intently at her.
“I’d love to spend a lifetime bringing that look to your face.”
She smiled through the fog of her private pleasure. Once more, he began to move inside her, at his own rhythm. Her lust dispelled, she now regarded him through dreamy eyelids. He was a kind man, a noble man, a handsome man. How could she have been so blind? And as he allowed himself the luxury of enjoying his own explosive orgasm, she fell in love with him all over again.
When he opened his eyes, the expression on his face was completely different from anything she had seen before. His eyes held a serene joy as they looked down at her, and that became the single, greatest moment of her life. He lowered his head, and their foreheads touched. During that silent, intimate time, as he caressed her face, she burgeoned into something beyond herself, like an oasis in full flower.
Outside the window, the moon drifted higher into the night sky. She lay curled against his side, unable to take her eyes off him.
“Did I ever tell you what a beautiful man you are?”
He chuckled. “Just the opposite. When we first met, you questioned the species of my parents.”
“Did I? That was a peculiar thing to do.”
“You are a peculiar person.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
He kissed her temple. “Oddly enough, your sharp manner is part of your charm.”
“I take umbrage at ‘sharp.’ Determined, perhaps, but not sharp.”
“What on earth is someone like you teaching females how to be ladies? You’re the least ladylike woman here.”
“Why, you miserable, fetid—”
His body rocked with laughter. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that you don’t have much to offer them in the way of drawing room decorum, that’s all.”
She glanced sidewise at him. “I shall ignore that remark.”
“I was always taught that ladies don’t go into trades.”
“Why not? I’ve a mind for it. If I were to marry, I’d probably end up squandering my intelligence.”
“I see. Better to be the head of a mouse than the tail of a lion, is that it?”
“Precisely.”
“Do you still want to?”
“Want to what?”
“Marry.”
She exhaled. “It’s not a question of wanting to. I know I’m a bit ancient to be a debutante. Put in my place, how would you feel?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a debutante.”
She punched him on the shoulder playfully. “I meant old.”
“You’re not old. Of course, you’re not exactly an adolescent.”
She stiffened. “You’re not an adolescent either. Why aren’t you married?”
“I don’t know. Never found the right girl, I expect.”
“You make it sound like a scavenger hunt.”
“I suppose it is, of a sort. All the women I seem to meet are more concerned with the condition of their hair than the condition of their character. I can’t bear to spend more than twenty minutes with any of them. I seem to have gone right off brainless women.”
“Oh? Too smart for you?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you a better use for that sassy mouth of yours.” He began to stroke her hair tenderly. “The kind of woman I’m drawn to is intelligent, humorous, kindhearted, brave. Redheaded . . .”
Athena blushed, her eyelashes pressing against her cheek.
“Oh!” she cried, and drove her fist into his abdomen.
“Oof! You won’t get a proposal out of me by pummeling me.”
“Ha! As if you had many other bridal prospects. For one thing, she would have to be receptive to marrying into gentlemanly penury. For another, she would have to be a fairly forgiving woman to allow her husband to model nude and kiss women on a regular basis.”
Marshall’s expression sobered. “Ah. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” He stood up and walked to the window, silently staring into the blackness for a long time. “Athena, I want you to close down the school.”
She sat up in bed. “What?”
He turned around to face her. “The school, Athena. It needs to be shut down.”
He said it with such solemn gravity that the blood drained from her face. “Why?”
Marshall had considered various ways to confess to Athena who he was and what he knew about the potential for scandal. But the question of when he would do it was more of a mystery—and now was certainly not the right time. “Athena, do you trust me?”
Her eyebrows drew together as she absorbed all his words. “No. I can’t say I do.”
Now it was Marshall’s turn to be surprised. “After all we’ve just done together? You’ve just given yourself to me . . . how can you say you don’t trust me?”
Athena’s breathing quickened. “Why would you want me to close down my school?”
“For your own good. For the good of your students. For their families. And for me.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I know. I’ll explain everything, I promise. But not tonight, Athena. Tonight is our special night.” He sat upon her bed. “Tomorrow, though, I must ask that you send your pupils home.”
She backed away from his outstretched hand. “You’ve got a bloody cheek. First you storm in here and send my lecturer home with a flea in his ear. Then you ravage me like I’m some sort of street harlot. And now you tell me in no uncertain terms that I’m to give up my school just because you say so. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Athena, I—”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you trying to do . . . take over my school? Did you seduce me just to get me to give up my business? Is that your game?”
He held his hands up. “Steady on.”
She bolted out of bed, clutching the coverlet to her chest. “No, you steady on! I would no more give up my school than I would my left arm. And certainly not in deference to a subordinate.”
He rose, bristling at the way she spat out the word. “What I’m trying to tell you, or rather keep from telling you, is that there is a newspaperman who is making inquiries into this place. And I don’t want him to discover what truly goes on here.”
“That is none of your concern, Mr. Marshall. In this place, I am in charge, not you. I will determine the course of this school. I don’t give a damn what some newspaperman writes about. And don’t think you can use blackmail over using Countess Cavendish’s name to get me to do your bidding. I answer to no man, least of all you. Get out!”
He knew he had smashed into that brick wall of hers. He was going to get nowhere tonight, not in her present imperial mood. He leaned over and picked up his coat from the floor. “I will go. For now. But remember this in the coming days: duty does not always lie in our best interest.” He threw his coat over his shoulder and walked out of her room.
SEVENTEEN
The street was dead.
Recent rain had made the cobblestones sleek, and an unopposed blanket of fog had begun to nestle between the buildings. At that hour, not even a dog could be heard. Even the perfume of London, far different to the one created during the bustling day, seemed colorless and still.