Hecate rose from her bench on the gallery balcony and for once made a choice without weighing particulars and considering risks. Phillip had offered her tonight, and for the next span of hours, she could have her heart’s desire.
She found him lying on a spread cloak in the same place where they’d made love before, his shirtsleeve pale against the night shadows.
He was on his feet, hand out before Hecate had left the darkness of the hedgerow. “You came.”
“I tried not to.” She kept walking until she was bundled against him. “Tried to be sensible and logical. I failed.”
“But you couldn’t leave me here alone in the dark. That means something, Hecate.”
It meant she was a fool doomed to a miserable marriage. For herself, she could accept that choice—she’d been practicing self-denial and sacrifice for years—but the decision wrought misery on Phillip, too, and that broke her heart. He’d lost so much and borne his lot not simply with stoicism, but with a determination that had turned banishment from Town into victory in the shires.
Victory over anger, sorrow, and loneliness.
“Please, love me,” she said. “Make love with me.”
“I do and I shall.” He led her to the cloak spread over the scythed grass. The meadow still bore the sweet, verdant scent of haying, an echo of their previous night under the stars.
The progression was the same—shoes, stockings, and dress set aside. Phillip’s waistcoat and shirt followed—he’d already pulled off his boots and stockings—and then Hecate was on her back, wearing only her chemise.
She reached for Phillip, torn between a desperate yearning for haste and an equal determination to memorize each moment.
“Don’t think,” Phillip said, rising over her on all fours. “Be with me.”
Good advice. Hecate mentally banished Johnny—that felt marvelous—and filled her senses with the man in her arms. Phillip’s kisses ran the gamut from tender to carnal to reverent. By the time his breeches were off and Hecate’s chemise had been tossed she knew not where, she was mad for him.
Mad, without any thoughts other than to join with him and to visit upon him as much pleasure as she humanly could. Phillip was apparently willing to comply with that scheme, because he made no protest when Hecate pushed him onto his back and straddled him.
He stroked her hips, his smile mischievous. “In this, I am yours to do with as you will.”
Hecate traced a nail around his nipple. “Not in all things?”
“Not in all things. If you commanded me to stop loving you, I would be powerless to obey.”
His reply, too honest, too mindful of larger realities, inspired Hecate to begin the joining. She had never made love in this position—perhaps none of her previous partners had been confident enough to allow her this degree of control—and she liked it.
Phillip was by no means passive, and at any moment, he could have taken command of the situation, but he didn’t. He remained beneath her, the two as one heart, following her lead and taking indecent advantage of an arrangement that left both of his hands free.
His caresses to her back, breasts, hips, and arms were diabolically sweet, his counterpoint to the undulations of her hips relentless. She fought to prolong the pleasure, to give it back to him twice over, to climb yet higher before she fell.
“Let go, Hecate.”
“I want to hold on.”
“Hold on to me. Let go of everything else.”
As pleasure welled, the poignance of his words—she must let him go if she was to preserve everything else—gave her passion desperation. For this eternal moment, she would yield all she had to him and cleave only to him. She soared for a progression of instants—into ecstasy, freedom, and oneness with Phillip—and then she was drifting down into peace.
Thank heavens she’d accepted Phillip’s invitation to return to this meadow. Thank heavens he’d been generous enough to offer it. But for Phillip, she’d have gone her whole life without the sumptuous experience of truly making love.
Such glory, such vast, magnificent…
He withdrew and spent in the seam of their bodies, and Hecate’s peace suffered a hairline crack. If she was to be blessed with children, she wanted them to be Phillip’s children. She tucked close to him, unnerved by the thought.
Phillip dragged his coat over her and wrapped her close. “Rest now. I have you.”
What calmed her heart when she would have gone a-sorrowing for what could never be was the warmth of that coat, which bore the lavender fragrance she associated with Phillip, and the consideration of the gesture.
One man loved her and loved her well. One man saw exactly who she was and yet regarded her with tenderness and care. That was wealth. That was good fortune.
“I love you, Phillip Vincent.”
“Then I am content. My love will always be yours.”
Phillip had spent a lifetime inuring himself to mere contentment. The subtle reminder of loss was plain to Hecate.
“You’ll leave in the morning?” She could not have asked the question looking him in the eye. But she was sprawled on his chest, secure in his embrace, her eyes closed.
“If I leave tomorrow, I will return in time for the grand ball, Hecate. I want Brompton to know when he steals your happiness that I see his larceny for the heinous dishonor it is. Promise him nothing further until then, or he will use your new promises to more easily wreak the havoc that he could previously attempt only on the strength of old, dubious documents.”
More sound advice. Phillip was right—if Hecate accepted a proposal from Johnny, his breach-of-promise suit would no longer have to rely on those old settlement agreements Hecate supposedly signed.
“Don’t stay for me,” she said. “Look after your own interests, Phillip.”
He kissed her crown. “I have been looking after my own interests since I was breached. I’m not about to abandon that office at this late date. Sleep now and know that I love you.”
She slept, and when she awoke to a lone robin twittering in a misty gray light, Phillip yet slumbered beside her. At some point, they’d pulled on enough clothing to be decent. Hecate rose and toed into her heeled slippers, then gathered up her stockings and stays. Her hair was a loose braid down her back, a sensation she hadn’t known since childhood.
Phillip remained asleep when she kissed his cheek and didn’t stir as she made for the hedgerow. When she reached the path, she broke into a jog. She ran all the way to the bridge, lest she lose her nerve and instead run away with Phillip.
Chapter Sixteen
Phillip kept his eyes closed while Hecate slipped away. He watched, unmoving, as she ran up the path and disappeared into the darkened shelter of the trees. Only when he was certain she would not return did he sit up and finish dressing.
The woman he loved was holding on by a thread, and her parting words to him had been to look out for himself. Hecate believed Phillip was intent on securing Society’s good opinion, and she’d had grounds for that conclusion.
Rings, lace, French perfume, chassé jetté et assemblé, en avant en arrière…
Those gestures had been not for the sake of Society’s esteem, but rather, attempts to be worthy of Hecate Brompton’s hand. Cousin Johnny doubtless had a jetté worthy of Almack’s.