Read With This Curse: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense for Free Online
Authors: Amanda DeWees
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The fingers beneath my chin moved to my cheek. “I know, and I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You should scold me for that. But not… just… yet.”
Even as my lips parted to upbraid him, he was kissing me. But this too was new. Instead of the fierce, swift kisses that seemed to insist on ever more intimacy, this was slow, tantalizingly so, as if he relished every moment and every shade of sensation that passed between us. Coaxing, almost teasing, but as leisured as if we had our whole lives to do nothing but this.
The effect was captivating. Under the magic of his touch I too found the pleasure in slow, drawn-out kisses that savored the warmth of his breath and the dizzying sweetness of his lips on mine. I could not catch my breath, but that seemed unimportant; my limbs seemed to dissolve so that I could no longer sit upright and sank backward onto the springy turf, and he followed after.
A tiny part of my brain whispered of the danger of this reclining position. Richard would seize upon this as an invitation; it was a move in our eternal game that put me at too great a disadvantage. But to lie on the sun-warmed grass with the man I loved drinking deep from my lips was a heady bliss I had never known before. He had unfolded his heart to me; perhaps this new stage of our game would take us to a place more beautiful and precious than the endless advance and rebuff that had constituted it up to now.
I opened my eyes when his touch left my lips and found him gazing down at me with an expression almost serious. The sun behind his head made a nimbus like auburn flame. Then I felt his fingertips at my throat, unfastening the top button of my bodice. His eyes were looking a question at me, and I knew, without a word being spoken, that he would stop the moment I asked him to.
A finger slipped between the parted edges of my bodice, and my breath caught at the touch of his fingertip on the sensitive skin there. His eyes, though, were still fixed on mine, still silently questioning if he might proceed.
It was the first time I had permitted such a liberty, but somehow I felt that I could completely trust him. With a sigh I closed my eyes. I would stop him soon. Just a minute more and I would stop him.
I felt another button gently released, and the touch of his hand, still light and gentle, proceeded down past the base of my throat. Another button. Still another. Where the edges of my bodice parted I felt the touch of the breeze along my skin, and the warmth of his fingertips. Then, making my breath catch in my throat, the warmth of his lips. A soft, lingering kiss, followed by more and more, proceeding unhurried along the sliver of skin he had bared. My heart was beating so quickly that I felt sure he must feel it as he kissed his way ever closer to it.
And then I felt a touch lighter still, a coolness that was neither hand nor lips, and opened my eyes in confusion.
He had plucked a violet from a clump nearby, and it was the flower’s stem I felt as he slipped it beneath the top edge of my chemise to lie between my breasts. “To remember me by,” he said, with the roguish smile that was so familiar, and to my astonishment he then began fastening my buttons up again, from where the violet lay hidden all the way back up to my throat.
I was so moved that I could not speak for a time. Something had changed. Sometimes in the past I had harbored doubts about the earnestness of Richard’s feelings toward me; did he see as merely a flirtation the attachment that I felt so passionately? Today, for the first time, I knew. In words and deeds, Richard had shown me that he loved me. Let the world whisper about my foolishness, as I knew some of the other maids whispered. Let them giggle about how I was deceiving myself in mistaking his attentions for serious regard. Richard cherished me. I knew it now.
“You’re very quiet,” he observed, as the sun descended in the sky. He was once more sitting with his back against the
The fingers beneath my chin moved to my cheek. “I know, and I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You should scold me for that. But not… just… yet.”
Even as my lips parted to upbraid him, he was kissing me. But this too was new. Instead of the fierce, swift kisses that seemed to insist on ever more intimacy, this was slow, tantalizingly so, as if he relished every moment and every shade of sensation that passed between us. Coaxing, almost teasing, but as leisured as if we had our whole lives to do nothing but this.
The effect was captivating. Under the magic of his touch I too found the pleasure in slow, drawn-out kisses that savored the warmth of his breath and the dizzying sweetness of his lips on mine. I could not catch my breath, but that seemed unimportant; my limbs seemed to dissolve so that I could no longer sit upright and sank backward onto the springy turf, and he followed after.
A tiny part of my brain whispered of the danger of this reclining position. Richard would seize upon this as an invitation; it was a move in our eternal game that put me at too great a disadvantage. But to lie on the sun-warmed grass with the man I loved drinking deep from my lips was a heady bliss I had never known before. He had unfolded his heart to me; perhaps this new stage of our game would take us to a place more beautiful and precious than the endless advance and rebuff that had constituted it up to now.
I opened my eyes when his touch left my lips and found him gazing down at me with an expression almost serious. The sun behind his head made a nimbus like auburn flame. Then I felt his fingertips at my throat, unfastening the top button of my bodice. His eyes were looking a question at me, and I knew, without a word being spoken, that he would stop the moment I asked him to.
A finger slipped between the parted edges of my bodice, and my breath caught at the touch of his fingertip on the sensitive skin there. His eyes, though, were still fixed on mine, still silently questioning if he might proceed.
It was the first time I had permitted such a liberty, but somehow I felt that I could completely trust him. With a sigh I closed my eyes. I would stop him soon. Just a minute more and I would stop him.
I felt another button gently released, and the touch of his hand, still light and gentle, proceeded down past the base of my throat. Another button. Still another. Where the edges of my bodice parted I felt the touch of the breeze along my skin, and the warmth of his fingertips. Then, making my breath catch in my throat, the warmth of his lips. A soft, lingering kiss, followed by more and more, proceeding unhurried along the sliver of skin he had bared. My heart was beating so quickly that I felt sure he must feel it as he kissed his way ever closer to it.
And then I felt a touch lighter still, a coolness that was neither hand nor lips, and opened my eyes in confusion.
He had plucked a violet from a clump nearby, and it was the flower’s stem I felt as he slipped it beneath the top edge of my chemise to lie between my breasts. “To remember me by,” he said, with the roguish smile that was so familiar, and to my astonishment he then began fastening my buttons up again, from where the violet lay hidden all the way back up to my throat.
I was so moved that I could not speak for a time. Something had changed. Sometimes in the past I had harbored doubts about the earnestness of Richard’s feelings toward me; did he see as merely a flirtation the attachment that I felt so passionately? Today, for the first time, I knew. In words and deeds, Richard had shown me that he loved me. Let the world whisper about my foolishness, as I knew some of the other maids whispered. Let them giggle about how I was deceiving myself in mistaking his attentions for serious regard. Richard cherished me. I knew it now.
“You’re very quiet,” he observed, as the sun descended in the sky. He was once more sitting with his back against the