confess that I miss being able to stride along the clifftops, see the expanse of the ocean and Lundy Island in the distance with the ships sailing by.’
If they could spare the money she would have the track up to the village made into a proper lane, with a surface levelled and graded by Mr McAdam’s new method, but it would cost more than they could spare and Aunt Rosie would no doubt protest at the idea of spending so much on something intended for her pleasure alone.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Cris had stopped beside her at the foot of the stairs and was regarding her with a quizzical smile. Tamsyn realised she must have been standing there, staring blankly at the front door.
‘I was speculating on road building,’ she admitted. ‘An expensive investment.’
‘You, Mrs Perowne, are a constant source of surprise to me,’ he murmured. ‘You will allow me to stay for a few more days, despite my pretence of feebleness being exposed?’
‘I suppose so.’ Her dark mood lifted as rapidly as it had descended. ‘I can hardly cut short your seaside holiday, now can I?’
‘Holiday?’ Cris’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘It was hardly that.’ He turned to climb the stairs.
‘What was it, then?’ She reached out and touched his hand as it gripped the carved ball on top of the newel post.
For a moment she thought he would not answer. Then he twisted his hand to catch hers within it and lifted them, joined, to his lips. ‘A journey from reality, from the loss of a dream, from the acceptance of what is inevitable,’ he murmured against her fingers. ‘Perhaps that is the definition of a holiday.’ His breath was warm, the touch of his lips no more than the brush of a feather. His fingertips were against the pulse of her wrist and he must have felt the thunder of the blood, the surging response, the desire.
It was madness, a dangerous madness if it could be so powerful when ignited by such a light touch, such a gentle caress. I want him and he would not say no if I came to his bed. But how did one carry on an affaire , however brief, under the same small roof as two doting and observant aunts? And how could she risk it—her reputation... my heart... for a few moments of pleasure with a man who would be gone within days?
Behind her, from the window embrasure out of sight of where they stood in the hallway, she could hear her aunts discussing their latest order to be sent to the circulating library in Barnstaple. Innocent, safe pleasures. This was not innocent and not safe and suddenly she had no desire for either. Tamsyn reached up and slid her fingers into Cris’s hair, just above his nape, pulled down his head and lifted her face to his. One kiss, surely she could risk that?
Chapter Eight
H is kiss was not tentative, nor respectful. Certainly it took no account of where they were. Cris turned from the stair, took her in his arms and swept her back against the front door, the length of his body pressed against hers, the thrust of his arousal blatant, thrilling. Tamsyn twisted and got her hands free so she could lock them around his head, the shape of his skull imprinted on her palms, the heavy silk of his hair caressing across her fingers.
Her mouth was open to him, his tongue forceful, demanding that she open more, let him taste her, explore her. She pulled back so she could nip at his lower lip, making him growl, low and thrilling, the sound reverberating from his chest to her breast, before she drove her own tongue into his mouth, refusing to allow him mastery. If this was to be nothing else, there would be equal desire, equal responsibility.
They broke apart, panting. Tamsyn wondered if she looked as stunned and wild as he did, with his hair tousled, his eyes dark. She reached behind her, turned the doorknob and staggered back on to the porch, pulling him with her. ‘Summer house.’
Without waiting to see if he was following her she ran across the lawn, round the corner of the dense
If they could spare the money she would have the track up to the village made into a proper lane, with a surface levelled and graded by Mr McAdam’s new method, but it would cost more than they could spare and Aunt Rosie would no doubt protest at the idea of spending so much on something intended for her pleasure alone.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Cris had stopped beside her at the foot of the stairs and was regarding her with a quizzical smile. Tamsyn realised she must have been standing there, staring blankly at the front door.
‘I was speculating on road building,’ she admitted. ‘An expensive investment.’
‘You, Mrs Perowne, are a constant source of surprise to me,’ he murmured. ‘You will allow me to stay for a few more days, despite my pretence of feebleness being exposed?’
‘I suppose so.’ Her dark mood lifted as rapidly as it had descended. ‘I can hardly cut short your seaside holiday, now can I?’
‘Holiday?’ Cris’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘It was hardly that.’ He turned to climb the stairs.
‘What was it, then?’ She reached out and touched his hand as it gripped the carved ball on top of the newel post.
For a moment she thought he would not answer. Then he twisted his hand to catch hers within it and lifted them, joined, to his lips. ‘A journey from reality, from the loss of a dream, from the acceptance of what is inevitable,’ he murmured against her fingers. ‘Perhaps that is the definition of a holiday.’ His breath was warm, the touch of his lips no more than the brush of a feather. His fingertips were against the pulse of her wrist and he must have felt the thunder of the blood, the surging response, the desire.
It was madness, a dangerous madness if it could be so powerful when ignited by such a light touch, such a gentle caress. I want him and he would not say no if I came to his bed. But how did one carry on an affaire , however brief, under the same small roof as two doting and observant aunts? And how could she risk it—her reputation... my heart... for a few moments of pleasure with a man who would be gone within days?
Behind her, from the window embrasure out of sight of where they stood in the hallway, she could hear her aunts discussing their latest order to be sent to the circulating library in Barnstaple. Innocent, safe pleasures. This was not innocent and not safe and suddenly she had no desire for either. Tamsyn reached up and slid her fingers into Cris’s hair, just above his nape, pulled down his head and lifted her face to his. One kiss, surely she could risk that?
Chapter Eight
H is kiss was not tentative, nor respectful. Certainly it took no account of where they were. Cris turned from the stair, took her in his arms and swept her back against the front door, the length of his body pressed against hers, the thrust of his arousal blatant, thrilling. Tamsyn twisted and got her hands free so she could lock them around his head, the shape of his skull imprinted on her palms, the heavy silk of his hair caressing across her fingers.
Her mouth was open to him, his tongue forceful, demanding that she open more, let him taste her, explore her. She pulled back so she could nip at his lower lip, making him growl, low and thrilling, the sound reverberating from his chest to her breast, before she drove her own tongue into his mouth, refusing to allow him mastery. If this was to be nothing else, there would be equal desire, equal responsibility.
They broke apart, panting. Tamsyn wondered if she looked as stunned and wild as he did, with his hair tousled, his eyes dark. She reached behind her, turned the doorknob and staggered back on to the porch, pulling him with her. ‘Summer house.’
Without waiting to see if he was following her she ran across the lawn, round the corner of the dense
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