him. He unnerved her and left her feeling completely defenceless. “You have made sport enough of me today; I declare I quite hate you for your teasing ways.”
There was no space left between them. Lydia could feel the damp of the wall penetrating the thin fabric of her gown.
He clutched and held her hand. “Forgive me?” he asked. “I cannot bear to think of you hating me.”
“I think we should go back, Mr Wickham,” she said, shaking her hand free. She still felt cross at the manner in which he and Miss Westlake had snubbed her, laughed at her, and there was something in his soft voice which made her feel uneasy. She felt helpless and unable to think as she should.
“Let us not be enemies, Miss Bennet,” he implored. “I so dislike being at odds with you, my little friend. I much prefer to see you when you are happy with me, and I can recall many occasions when you have been more than delighted with my behaviour. To name but one instance, I can never forget the expression on your face when you accepted my gift of gloves in town the other afternoon. I avow it was not one of reproof.”
He pulled her towards him, grasping her upper arms tight, kneading his fingers into her tender skin. Goose pimples tingled at his touch.
“Whatever do you mean?” she demanded, hating him for having seen the truth of her feelings. “I was very grateful for your kindness to me on that day.”
“I am sure I cannot describe it,” he said, “but it is my dearest wish to see that look on your countenance again one day.”
He slipped his hands under her arms, his thumbs brushing the flesh liberated by a wanton fichu that had fallen to the floor. She caught her breath. He leaned in towards her, forcing her hard against the damp wall before he caressed her cheek with his lips. She gasped; he was pressed so close she could feel the ivory buttons on his waistcoat and the fob within the pocket of his buckskin breeches leaving their rigid impression. His lips sought hers, and she allowed him to kiss her with greater urgency.
“There!” he declared as he pulled away. “I am sure that must be something like it. If only there was light enough to see your beautiful eyes with their knowing expression.”
Her feelings were in such confusion she could not breathe and did not know what to do. “How dare you,” she cried at last, with as much feeling as she could, and tried to push him away.
Wickham laughed and pressed himself against her. “How I love a challenge; are you taunting me, Miss Bennet? Do you dare me to kiss you again?”
The truth was that a part of her longed for him to kiss her again. She did not think she could refuse him. “I am not . . .” were the only words she managed to utter before he had his mouth enclosed on hers again. She could not resist and found that, not only was she letting him embrace her, but she was kissing him back; that is, she kissed him until the recollection that he was there with Miss Westlake floated across her mind’s eye and she pushed him away with some force. Lydia was so vexed with him for making her feel so completely in his power that she could not find the words to express her emotions. She did not know what to say; she just knew she should leave.
“I think we should go back,” she said. “I suddenly feel very cold.”
“If that is what you want,” he said catching hold of her hand again and suppressing a laugh, “but you are not cold, Miss Bennet; you are a flaming arrow, my sweet little girl, burning a way through my heart. Please tell me that you are my friend before we return and that you forgive me for stealing a kiss. I could not help myself; your eyes have been begging it of me since we came to Brighton.”
“I will forgive you, Mr Wickham, but I beg you will not take such liberties again,” she cried. “We must go back or they will send out a search party.”
“You are quite right, come along, Miss Bennet. Everyone will think we have got lost or that you have seduced
There was no space left between them. Lydia could feel the damp of the wall penetrating the thin fabric of her gown.
He clutched and held her hand. “Forgive me?” he asked. “I cannot bear to think of you hating me.”
“I think we should go back, Mr Wickham,” she said, shaking her hand free. She still felt cross at the manner in which he and Miss Westlake had snubbed her, laughed at her, and there was something in his soft voice which made her feel uneasy. She felt helpless and unable to think as she should.
“Let us not be enemies, Miss Bennet,” he implored. “I so dislike being at odds with you, my little friend. I much prefer to see you when you are happy with me, and I can recall many occasions when you have been more than delighted with my behaviour. To name but one instance, I can never forget the expression on your face when you accepted my gift of gloves in town the other afternoon. I avow it was not one of reproof.”
He pulled her towards him, grasping her upper arms tight, kneading his fingers into her tender skin. Goose pimples tingled at his touch.
“Whatever do you mean?” she demanded, hating him for having seen the truth of her feelings. “I was very grateful for your kindness to me on that day.”
“I am sure I cannot describe it,” he said, “but it is my dearest wish to see that look on your countenance again one day.”
He slipped his hands under her arms, his thumbs brushing the flesh liberated by a wanton fichu that had fallen to the floor. She caught her breath. He leaned in towards her, forcing her hard against the damp wall before he caressed her cheek with his lips. She gasped; he was pressed so close she could feel the ivory buttons on his waistcoat and the fob within the pocket of his buckskin breeches leaving their rigid impression. His lips sought hers, and she allowed him to kiss her with greater urgency.
“There!” he declared as he pulled away. “I am sure that must be something like it. If only there was light enough to see your beautiful eyes with their knowing expression.”
Her feelings were in such confusion she could not breathe and did not know what to do. “How dare you,” she cried at last, with as much feeling as she could, and tried to push him away.
Wickham laughed and pressed himself against her. “How I love a challenge; are you taunting me, Miss Bennet? Do you dare me to kiss you again?”
The truth was that a part of her longed for him to kiss her again. She did not think she could refuse him. “I am not . . .” were the only words she managed to utter before he had his mouth enclosed on hers again. She could not resist and found that, not only was she letting him embrace her, but she was kissing him back; that is, she kissed him until the recollection that he was there with Miss Westlake floated across her mind’s eye and she pushed him away with some force. Lydia was so vexed with him for making her feel so completely in his power that she could not find the words to express her emotions. She did not know what to say; she just knew she should leave.
“I think we should go back,” she said. “I suddenly feel very cold.”
“If that is what you want,” he said catching hold of her hand again and suppressing a laugh, “but you are not cold, Miss Bennet; you are a flaming arrow, my sweet little girl, burning a way through my heart. Please tell me that you are my friend before we return and that you forgive me for stealing a kiss. I could not help myself; your eyes have been begging it of me since we came to Brighton.”
“I will forgive you, Mr Wickham, but I beg you will not take such liberties again,” she cried. “We must go back or they will send out a search party.”
“You are quite right, come along, Miss Bennet. Everyone will think we have got lost or that you have seduced
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