Page 44

I t was almost dark when the distant clatter of shoes on the dry lane and happy voices sing-songing along the hedgerows penetrated the cosy nest of Silas’s room.

Ophelia’s back went stiff against him and she straightened up, her hair a wild nest, tendrils and curls escaping in every direction.

Silas couldn’t help but notice the way her breasts moved when she leaned forward, their satiny curves tipped by now-soft, pink-tinged nipples.

He loved this glimpse of her, sated and rumpled, as though they were waking for the day, as though she were his.

His . The word made him feel both possessive and infantile.

Ophelia was a person, not something to be owned, but he had to admit he liked the feeling of it, of being the one the who could stoke her pleasure and hold her in the night, of being the one she turned to and in whose arms she woke.

The noises of the others returning grew closer.

“Sounds like they’re almost at the bottom of the lane,” Silas said, running a finger down Ophelia’s spine, coming to rest in the soft crease of her back and hip.

It was warm, and he let his fingers push toward the front of her pelvis and the pliant skin of her stomach.

“Hmm,” he growled appreciatively and sat up behind her, his chest curving around her back.

“I should go,” she said, distractedly turning to kiss his cheek, then hurriedly rummaging around the bed for her clothes.

Silas pushed thoughts of possession and waking together aside and handed Ophelia her corset and chemise, reaching under the bed to retrieve her drawers. She blushed prettily and stepped into them. Bringing her corset up around her waist, she hooked the busk closed and turned her back to Silas.

“Will you help me with the laces? They don’t have to be tight, just tidy,” she said, already reaching for her dress, which hung on the foot of the bed.

Silas grasped the laces and wound them once around each hand, tugging the corset closed.

The cotton cording pulled tight across his palms and he found he liked the bite of it.

He wished he and Ophelia had more time .

.. no, that wasn’t it. He hoped they had more time, hoped there might be more days like this.

Wishing felt passive, while the hope he felt was muscular, active, willing him to make what he hoped for real.

Ophelia reached around, her fingers tangling with his.

“Si? Is the knot tied? I need to get my dress back on before they are all here.”

“Right, sorry, distracted for moment. Yes, knotted for you,” he said, patting down the laces so they lay flat on Ophelia’s back.

Her shoulder blades rose above the line of her corset, sharp and delicate, working like the most beautiful hinges he had ever seen when she leant forward to step into her dress.

“God, Fee,” he whispered, his hand hovering over the skin and bone of her. “How am I to go on as usual now that I’ve seen you like this?” He stroked a hand across one shoulder blade, her skin instantly pebbling under his touch. “You’ve ruined me, love.”

He could see her breathing was short and sharp, her shoulders and ribs moving jerkily, but she didn’t turn, only stood, her back to him, the unbuttoned top of her dress gathered in her hands at her waist.

“Say it again ... please, Silas?”

“Which part? That you’ve ruined me?”

“No, the last part.”

“Love?”

“Yes, that part,” she said, swaying backward into him.

His arms were around her in an instant, his mouth on her neck, behind her ear.

She sighed, turning in his arms, her mouth finding his, already open and soft.

He let Ophelia lick into him, the scent of sex and her warm skin blending with the lavender water from his sheets to fill his senses.

She pulled back, her eyes blue and stormy, lips kiss-swollen.

“How will I see you again? Like this, I mean ...”

“As soon as possible,” he huffed. “Could you find a moment to slip away tonight, perhaps? Later?”

She nodded, humming a dreamy assent and indicated her dress. “Buttons?”

He turned her away from him, and kneeling, began the task.

Silas was on his knees behind her, and Ophelia could practically feel his breath on her backside as he worked the buttons into place along the opening of her dress.

Her mind and body were careening around in opposite directions, the one urging her to get dressed and out as quickly as possible, the other demanding she linger, perhaps find another reason for Silas’s nimble fingers to touch her, and most definitely find a way to recreate today.

At the moment, her body was winning, and it took all of her willpower not to politely request he begin working the buttons in the opposite direction and take her immediately back to bed.

Bed. What a revelation that had been. She couldn’t stop thinking about how Silas had looked, looming over her, his face tense with pleasure, neck corded with exertion.

Nor could she forget how he had looked , taking note of every part of her body he uncovered, noticing each sigh and shiver and responding to it with more pressure, a softer touch, a faster rhythm.

The sensation of him inside her lingered; she felt tender everywhere, each ache a reminder of his body inside hers.

She wished they could stall the world a little longer, that she could curl back into Silas’s warm bulk and rest, but the noises of the returning group were getting closer, and she wanted to keep this private, their own, for a while longer.

Silas was at her neck now, his breath ghosting past her ear and ruffling her hair.

His hands stilled, and then she felt his lips at the nape of her neck.

It was a soft and gentle kiss, not seeking, but leaving a scorching sense of possession.

She imagined his lips making a mark and found she liked the idea more than she was comfortable with.

Possession was a slippery thing, she thought.

Too much in one direction and a woman was chattel, but with the right man, in just the right amount, perhaps it was an entirely different proposition?

Perhaps a woman could possess a man in turn?

The imprint of Silas’s lips on her neck felt like the latter, but perhaps that was only her body talking?

She didn’t yet know if she could trust her reaction to his touch, it all felt so incendiary and volatile.

Their lust for each other was combustible, but was it enough to find their way to an agreement about what they could be to each other?

She wasn’t even sure if what she longed for was possible.

Ophelia straightened, putting more distance between her skin and Silas’s fingers on the last of her buttons.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about his lips and all the marvellous things she had discovered he was willing to do with them.

She stepped away from him, reaching for the boots she had hastily unlaced and tossed next to the trunk.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” she said, pulling the boots on and wrapping the laces untidily around the ankles.

“Will I see you later? Perhaps this evening?”

His eyes were serious and hopeful and Ophelia felt her resolve falter a little.

“I just need to figure out what this ... I mean how to—” She stumbled over the words. Her body still sang from Silas’s touch. She imagined the blood in her veins, sweet and heavy with sated lust, and knew she needed to collect herself before she lost sight of everything she had set out to do.

“I’ll try to come,” she said to Silas, almost avoiding the disappointment in his eyes by turning quickly for the door.

She heard him say her name quietly as she left, but didn’t let herself turn around.

It had been long past dinner when the others had arrived home, so there was no need for food, but Mrs. Darling had made a pot of tea.

Their conversation flowed around the kitchen table now—the identity of the Green Man, the state of the other farms according to their owners, and the relative merits of everyone’s contributions to the picnic. There came a lull and then Silas spoke.

“I’m thinking of visiting my mother. I’ve actually been speaking with Mr. Bone about her tenancy, and he’s agreed to look over some papers for us.

I’m hopeful he might be able to help us.

And, I have to admit that a very wise woman recently told me that I should let the women in my life tell me how they are feeling, instead of assuming I know. ”

Ophelia felt herself colour.

Hannah rapped her knuckles on the table, grinning. “Here, here.”

Silas smiled across the table at Ophelia.

“So ... that is what I’m going to do. See my mother and find out what she would like to do about her future.

Find out if she would like my help with these tenancy issues.

I hope she will ask me about my future as well, so that I may share some hopes I am harbouring.

” Quiet sincerity filled his face now, all golden shadows in the light of the candles at the table’s center.

Ophelia couldn’t stop herself from smiling, could feel the upward movement of her mouth loosening her shoulders and the tension in her neck.

He was putting things to right, doing the work they had talked about.

The thought of it made her want to kiss him again, but she just smiled again and said, “I can’t imagine how glad your mother will be to see you, Silas. ”

“Grand news, Silas,” said Bess. “Your mother’ll be so happy to see you well and recovered.”

“Thank you, Bess. I hope so,” said Silas. “I was thinking of catching the train next week, if that suits, Mrs. D.?”

Mrs. Darling agreed, and the conversation moved on to the rest of the week’s work, the weather, and the fast approaching first cut of hay.

Ophelia let herself be held in the eddy of everyone’s conversations and basked in the warmth of Silas’s heated glances, her mind drifting back to their afternoon in his bed.