Nicola Cornick - One Night Of Scandal

Deb hesitated, holding on to him when he would have turned away. ‘Must we?’

The breeze blew chill against her skin. Now that the sun was going down the air seemed much cooler. In an hour, it would be dark.

Richard looked at her. ‘You should change out of those damp clothes.’ His tone was completely neutral.

Deb knew what he was doing. He was giving her one last chance to change her mind and run away. After this, the die would be cast.

She tugged on his hand. ‘I do not wish to go back. We could send a message with the servants to tell Clarrie that I will return later this evening. I want to listen to the sea at sunset and watch the stars come out.’

Richard gave her a long, hard look and Deb trembled inside. All day there had been an edge of dangerous attraction between them. It had lain buried when they had been speaking of their past and when they had sat together in the bright sunlight. It had mingled with the pleasures of riding together and eating and drinking, and playing in the sea. It had deepened with the intimacy that had sprung up between them as they shared some of their secrets. It had flared into life when Richard had kissed her. But when the darkness came and she was out here with him in this wild and empty place, then…then that dangerous attraction would come to the fore and she would have no will to resist it, no desire but to have one night in heaven to end this perfect day.

T he servants had packed the remains of the picnic away and had received, blank-faced, Richard’s instructions to return to Mallow House and inform Clarissa Aintree that he would be escorting Mrs Stratton home later that evening. Richard had brought the horses across to where Deb was sitting by the sandy track that led away from the beach towards Kestrel Forest. He looked at her as he approached. She was watching the sun, bright red and round as a dinner plate, sink behind the pine trees and cast the last of its light across the rippling sea. Her hair was loose about her shoulders in a golden cascade. As Richard came up she turned to look at him.

‘I thought that we were to stay here for a while and watch the moon come up?’

Richard bent to adjust the Merlin’s girth, then straightened up.

‘I had a better idea,’ he said slowly, watching her face. He wanted to see her reaction to his words. ‘As you know, Justin has an old hunting lodge in the forest, barely more than a cottage. None of us has been there for an age and it is very probably damp, but there is a splendid view across the terrace to the sea.’

Deb’s face lit up and the tense feeling inside Richard eased slightly. He wanted her to be very certain of what she was doing. In the past, the women he had trysted with had been skilled seducers in their own right, bored wives looking for a little entertainment, professional courtesans whose amatory expertise was at least the equal of his own.

Deborah Stratton was different. Vivid, passionate, spontaneous, she was nevertheless an untried innocent in the ways of love and her vulnerability called up every protective instinct he had ever possessed.

It also sharpened his desire to a very fine edge and his possessive instincts to an almost intolerable level. He wanted to make her forget Neil Stratton forever. He wanted her experience of love to be with him and him only, he wanted to imprint himself on her in the most deep and masculine and primitive way possible.

He knew he had to keep a grip on his self-control or he would be completely lost.

He helped Deb up into the saddle, then swung up on to Merlin’s back and drew ahead along the track. The pine trees mingled with old oak and beech here and grew close to the sandy path. The forest was shadowed and still in the twilight. There was no sound now except for the soft clop of the horses’ hooves and the cawing of the rooks as they returned to roost.

The path wound slowly around the headland and the trees drew closer and the darkness deeper. There was a silence between them now, but it was not easy. Richard wondered if Deborah was about to turn tail and flee. He held Merlin back to fall in with her, dropping a hand over hers on the reins.

‘The house is up ahead, around this bend.’ He felt the tremor that went through her and stilled, holding his breath against the thought that she might take flight. He reminded himself that if she did so, that would be perfectly acceptable. The hunger within him would have to remain unslaked. It was imperative that he did nothing to frighten Deb away now or she would never trust him again.

‘Do you wish to continue?’ He kept his voice light and felt in response a very slight nod from her. Releasing her hand, he kept the horses close together, reassuring her with his presence beside her as they rounded the corner and came out from under the trees into a clearing on the edge of the forest.

He heard Deb catch her breath. Whilst they had been riding the sun had sunk below the horizon and the sky overhead had deepened to a sapphire blue, paling to turquoise where it met the sea. The first white pinpricks of the stars pierced the dark and down on the beach the sand gleamed and the drag of the surf was a muted roar, soothing in its repetition.

Deb rode forward slowly to the edge of the terrace. The house was behind them, closed and silent, waiting. It was tiny-one room and a scullery and closet below, and a tower room upstairs with huge windows facing east across the sea.

‘It is very beautiful.’ Deb’s voice was soft. She half-turned in the saddle to look at him. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Richard.’

Richard dismounted and helped her down, holding her body close to his. Apart from one tiny tremor that he felt go through her, she made no move either towards him or away, but held herself steady as though barely breathing. He knew that she was trembling inside and it lit a passionate flame in him even as he felt a new wash of gentleness go through him. In the gathering darkness he could no longer see her features clearly, but her hair brushed his cheek and he caught the faint scent of honey and roses, the perfume that he always associated with Deborah. It was enough to turn his bones to water. He almost kissed her there and then, forgetting his vow to treat her gently and make love to her sweetly and slowly. He cleared his throat.

‘Sometimes the moon rises directly above the sea and lays a trail clear across the waters,’ he said. ‘On summer nights when we were boys we would sit here on the terrace, telling tales of pirate ships and sea monsters. I did not know then that I would come to love the sea so well-’

He broke off as he saw her smile. ‘You speak like a poet,’ she teased. Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘Love by the light of the moon…’

Richard caught a sharp breath, took her hand, and drew her across the terrace to the door of the house. The sand crunched beneath their feet. The door swung open beneath Richard’s touch and then they were across the threshold with not a word spoken between them.

There were practical matters that needed attention. Richard remembered where to find candles and there were the makings of a fire in the grate, but once he had seen to Deborah’s immediate comfort he had to go out to attend to the horses and stable them at the back. He hesitated in the doorway, looking back at her. In the candlelight she looked so pale he thought that she might faint. Her face was all eyes and she watched him with the apprehensive intensity of a mouse watching the cat. Richard’s heart smote him. All the casual confidence with which he normally approached his conquests died away and he felt as untried as a green boy.

‘I will fetch some water from the well,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry or thirsty? I do not suppose that there is any food, but there may be a bottle of brandy hidden away somewhere. Are you cold? There are blankets upstairs and the closet is by the scullery.’

The paucity of what he was offering her suddenly struck him. Oh, hell, what a stupid idea this had been! A mouldering house hidden away in the forest with no fine sheets nor champagne, no food, nor the soft scent of flowers, or warmth, nor comfort…He clenched his fists in an agony of self-reproach, within an inch of taking her hand and dragging her back to civilisation and handing her over to Mrs Aintree, never to touch her again.

And then she smiled at him, very sweetly. ‘Richard,’ she said, ‘go and stable the horses.’

He was as quick as he could be, to the general disgust of Beauty and Merlin who objected to the cavalier manner in which he thrust them into the stalls and removed their tack without rubbing them down. Fortunately Justin had kept a small supply of hay at the lodge for those occasions on which he and his brothers chose to ride into the forest. Richard left the horses munching crossly and hastened back to the house, closing the door and, after a moment’s hesitation, shooting the bolt home.

The room was empty and Deborah was nowhere to be seen. The door to the scullery was closed. Panic clutched at him. Surely she could not have run away when his back was turned? Had she locked herself in the latrine? What a damnable thought. Was she so nervous that she could not face him, let alone go through with this one night of passion, the idea of which was even now turning to ashes in his mouth? Had she run away into the forest alone and in the dark? It was the sort of impulsive act that he could quite easily imagine Deborah doing, only to regret her actions later. His hand hovered over the latch and then he heard a sound from above. He let his breath out on a huge, shaky sigh of relief. Thank God she was safe. Much more of this and he would be incapable of blowing out a candle, never mind making love to Deborah. He felt exhausted.