Page 22 of Hastings (Brothers in Arms #15)
CHAPTER 22
S tephen couldn’t believe he’d given in to the desire to kiss Madelyn that had been simmering below the surface for the last few weeks since her arrival. He’d been thinking about what he should do about her and Hastings for days, and then, just now, he’d stopped thinking and just let instinct take over. He wanted to kiss her, so he kissed her.
And it was glorious.
She was lean and yet so soft in his arms, yielding to him as she let him bend her slightly backward, her balance dependent on him. Her hands were clutched at his waist in the rough-spun jacket he wore for gardening, and after a moment she slid them around his body. Her surrender made him gentle the kiss, and he slanted his mouth across hers with a mere brush of his lips.
Her arms crept higher, tucked under his, her hands now on his back as she tentatively touched her tongue to his lower lip. He felt it like a brand, full of heat and shock. He wasn’t very good at this kissing business, having only the two experiences with Hastings. He hadn’t kissed the woman he’d been with during the war. It had seemed too intimate, and she did not want it. He followed Madelyn’s lead, tasting her lips with a gentle glide of the tip of his tongue against the soft, damp, heat of her mouth. She opened her mouth then with an almost imperceptible, breathy moan, and Stephen slid his tongue inside, the act feeling far more decadent and invasive than it was, making him think of rougher, deeper, sinful intimacies. Intimacies that he very much wanted to enjoy with her.
She touched her tongue to his tentatively, and he kept the kiss soft and gentle. Even so, his breathing quickened, and he nipped her lip lightly in an effort to control his desire. She pulled her arms from around him and he ended the kiss, but she placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled him back down to her mouth, never opening her eyes. As their tongues met again, surer of themselves this time, forceful with desire, she plunged her hands into his damp hair and cupped his head, holding him in place as if she feared he might try to get away.
Stephen didn’t want to get away. He wanted to lay her down and feel her soft and warm and willing beneath him. He wanted to slide his cock inside her and finally, at last, feel what everyone else felt in that moment—desire, passion, connection, love. He ran his hands down her back and cupped her backside, pulling her against him, wanting her to feel how much he wanted her, the physical evidence of what kind of man he was, and what she did to him. She moaned deeply, roughly into his mouth and tried to get even closer, climbing onto his lap, straddling his legs, riding him. She wrapped both arms around his neck and held him so tightly he could barely breathe. He loved every moment of it.
She rubbed against him like a cat begging for attention and he pulled one hand from her derriere and cupped her breast. It fit perfectly in his palm, and he could feel her nipple through her clothes, hard and demanding. She reached down and pressed his hand tighter around her breast, until they were squeezing it. She broke the kiss with a gasp.
“God, yes,” she moaned. “You feel so good.”
She took his hand and awkwardly shoved it down the front of her dress, and he knew what she wanted, the same thing he did. Flesh to flesh, palm to breast, Stephen to Madelyn. He crammed his hand under her shift and cupped her breast roughly, just as she’d taught him moments ago, and this time they both moaned. She was soft, her skin smooth, her nipple like a hard pebble hot against his palm, and he suddenly, desperately, wanted to feel it against his tongue. But she was there at his mouth, taking him in a desperate, rough, wet kiss and Stephen fell into the sensations of her.
“Anyone coming down the lane can see you.”
It took a moment for Essie’s voice to penetrate the haze in his head. He yanked his mouth off Madelyn’s, but the sight of her full, red lips looking so thoroughly kissed, and the slightly dizzy look on her face as if she was drunk on their passion, almost made him ignore the warning. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down on the blanket and cover her with his body.
Madelyn was panting in his arms. Stephen had never had a woman panting in his arms before. It was exhilarating and he could finally understand the addictive nature of it that he’d heard other men speak of. His own blood was singing in response. Madelyn glanced around and noticed Essie, which made her frown.
“Where’s Hastings?” she asked, her voice weak and breathy, and Stephen nearly moaned at the sound. Which wouldn’t do at all, of course, Essie still standing there. But hearing her say Hastings’s name in a voice breathless with their shared passion almost undid him.
“How should I know?” Essie asked, resting her arms on the garden wall as she watched them.
“He was here,” Madelyn said.
“’Course he was,” Essie said drily. “It’s the only way to kiss in the country.” She looked pointedly at Stephen. “I think you can take your hand out of her dress, parson. Her titty isn’t going to fall off.”
Stephen cleared his throat self-consciously and pulled his hand out, hating the cold, emptiness of his palm as he did so. He lowered Madelyn to the blanket. He thanked the heavens for his loose breeches, which would hopefully disguise his arousal from Essie, although considering the way she’d found them it was no secret.
At the thought of what Hastings must have seen, guilt ravaged Stephen. What was he doing, kissing Madelyn right in front of him? Deep inside Stephen recognized that he’d kissed Madelyn in front of Hastings for a reason. He wasn’t sure what that reason was yet. He just knew he’d wanted Hastings there, and he’d wanted him to see it. He hadn’t thought much further than that.
“That was wonderful,” Madelyn said. “I’ve never been kissed like that.” She looked up at him with wonder and delight on her face and he couldn’t help but smile at her, despite his new worries over Hastings and how this kiss had complicated matters.
“I have never kissed a woman like that,” he admitted. “It was spectacular.”
“Oh, Lord,” Essie mumbled. “Here we go.”
Stephen looked at her reproachfully. “If you haven’t anything constructive to say, then perhaps you might give us a moment of privacy.”
“I’ll be right over there,” Essie said, pointing to spot not too far away. “I can’t leave you two alone or you’ll be entertaining the whole parish here next to the road.”
“I think I can control myself,” Stephen assured her, his tone almost as dry as hers.
“I’m not,” Madelyn said, still looking at him as if he’d hung the moon and stars.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Essie said. She stomped off and stood in her designated spot, glaring at him.
“Madelyn,” he said, not sure what he was going to say. He was trying to keep up the momentum of not thinking too hard about this, but it simply wasn’t in his nature. There was an urgency in him to find Hastings, but at the same time he didn’t want to leave Madelyn’s side. This was the dilemma that had been keeping him awake at night lately.
“I want you to kiss me again,” she told him, having no problem articulating her desires. “Touch me like that again. Not here, of course. Essie is right. We can’t have your reputation ruined. Later. Tonight. Meet me in the parlor after midnight.”
“What?” he asked, not sure he’d heard correctly. Was she trying to plan an assignation with him? His arousal, which had begun to fade, flared to life again. Clearly his body liked the idea. He had no shame and certainly no conscience.
“Midnight in the parlor,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder at Essie. She held out her hand. “Now help me up.”
He did as she asked, pushing to his feet and then reaching down to pull her up. She kissed his cheek and with a smile turned and walked in Essie’s direction.
He had a midnight rendezvous. Staid, boring Stephen Matthews was going to make love to a woman at midnight in the parlor. He grinned as he watched her walk away. He ought to ignore his head and lead with his heart more often, it seemed. Neither his head nor his heart, however, knew what to do about having feelings for both Madelyn and Hastings. Had he not just had an illicit sexual encounter with Hastings just days ago? And yet, he wanted Madelyn as much as he wanted Hastings.
After he put his gardening tools away, he followed Madelyn inside, not sure how to behave with a woman you’d just kissed senseless and touched intimately. He needn’t have worried, because she had retreated to her room with Essie. He couldn’t find Hastings, either, which was worrisome, but he did find Mrs. Tulane. Which wasn’t hard what with all the banging of pots and pans in the kitchen. He followed the racket and stood in the doorway, prepared to listen to whatever was bothering her. She ignored him. That was never a good sign.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Tulane,” he ventured.
“Humph,” she grunted, still not looking at him.
“Is there ought amiss?” he asked, knowing from experience that she had to say her piece or she’d be impossible.
She slammed a heavy pan down on the stove and glared at him. “Kissing that strumpet in the garden for anyone to see,” she hissed. “What will people think? And Mr. Hastings right there?”
“You will kindly refrain from referring to Miss Hyde as ‘that strumpet’,” he said firmly. “And I suppose people will think that I’m kissing her in the garden. Where is Hastings?” He had a sinking feeling in his gut given Mrs. Tulane’s reaction.
“Well, he ran off, didn’t he?” she cried in distress, dabbing the corners of her eyes with her apron. “The poor boy’s heart! You’ve broken it, you have.”
“He hasn’t gone back to London, has he?” he asked, his chest heavy with dread.
“No,” Mrs. Tulane said. “He’s off riding that hunter of his.” Stephen immediately felt lightheaded with relief.
“Do you think he has feelings for Miss Hyde?” Stephen asked. He’d suspected as much, but Hastings hadn’t told Stephen that he was going to pursue her. Had he misread the situation?
“For her? Oh, what a fool you are,” she snapped. “Can’t you see the nose on your face?”
“Mrs. Tulane, are you advocating for Hastings’s…feelings for me ?” he asked incredulously.
“Here he was thinking he’d found himself a place, and then she waltzes in and steals it, pretty as you please.”
“No one has stolen anything,” Stephen argued. “Everyone has a place here who wants one.”
Mrs. Tulane threw her hands up in the air. “And it’s that way, now? And you the parson!”
“What does that mean?” Stephen was completely lost in this argument. He wasn’t even sure they were having an argument. He couldn’t follow Mrs. Tulane’s logic when he was worried about Hastings, and Madelyn, and about what he’d just done. His feelings were as tangled as this conversation.
“I can’t look away from the shambles you’re making of it all,” she lamented, crushing her apron in her fists.
“Shambles of what?” he begged, more confused than ever.
“Well, if you don’t know, I’ll not be the one telling you,” she told him, turning back around to bang the pot on the stove again.
“But you are telling me,” he said, quite logically, he thought. He pinched his nose. He could feel a headache coming on.
“No, I’m not,” she said, shaking her head. “Now get out of my kitchen. I’ve got to feed everyone and I’ve only an hour or so to get it done.”
“How is your sister?” he asked, retreating to solid ground.
“And isn’t she wearing herself down with all those children of hers?” She tutted in disapproval. “And that husband of hers as useless as they come.”
“Mr. Pickering seems rather industrious,” Stephen said, surprised to hear the good farmer maligned so. “His farm is quite prosperous, and I’ve heard nothing about any bad habits that might affect his marriage.”
She turned and pointed at him. “And that’s like a man, thinking if he’s working the farm he’s doing his share. Five children she’s got to look after, and the house and garden too! And not a soul there to help her.” She shook her head sadly. “She’ll be in an early grave if she doesn’t get some help.”
“Would you like more time to go and help her?” Stephen offered.
“Me?” she said, rearing back as she looked at him wide-eyed. “And who would take care of you and the parsonage? Her ?” She pointed to the ceiling. “Don’t be counting on that. I don’t think she knows the first thing about taking care of a house or a man, or anyone other than herself.” She sniffed.
Stephen did not want to return to their conversation about Madelyn. “Perhaps I should talk to Mr. Pickering about getting a girl in to help your sister.”
“Well, that would be most generous of you, Mr. Matthews,” she said politely, and Stephen knew he’d hit on the right solution. “I’m sure Doris would be very grateful if you gave him the idea.”
“I’ll go and see him before the end of the week,” he promised.
“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” she said with a smile, shuffling the pots around, the banging at an end.
Stephen retreated to his study. He still had to finish his sermon for next Sunday, and Mrs. Tulane, in her oblique and cantankerous way, had given him even more to think about.