Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

in our society, it is hard for a married woman to be independent. I am certain I can determine something. That is why I mentioned a solicitor. The two of us, together, are greater than the individual.’

‘Sam, it is not just about independence. You live in London. I am not the type of woman that someone like you should marry. You need someone witty and beautiful.’ She stood, needing to distance herself from him, hoping the physical space would provide clarity.

He stood also. ‘But that is what I love about you. You are not a “type”. You are a person. You are a strong, caring, obstinate, brave, funny person. And you are also witty and beautiful. That’s why I love you.’

‘You...love...me?’ she whispered.

‘Yes, I have been afraid of loving. I have been afraid of being vulnerable. But with you, I do not feel alone, I do not feel as though I am in this world alone and I love that feeling.’ He stepped towards her. ‘I love you.’

Joy and hope tangled with doubt and fear in a confused mush. She reached up to him, cupping his face with both hands, and staring into the dark grey-green of his eyes. ‘I love you, too, but we cannot pretend that our differences do not matter. I do not want to be in London society. That isn’t me.’

‘It isn’t me either.’

‘It isn’t?’

He shook his head. ‘I am still discovering who I am and I want to keep discovering that with you.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes.’ He kissed her, tentatively at first and then with a growing passion as one hand reached up into her hair and the other caressed her back, pressing her tight to him.

‘But,’ she said, breaking free of his drugging kiss, ‘I have to write my own story.’

‘You can write anything you want,’ he muttered, feathering kisses across her nose and her cheeks, his hands stroking her backbone in a way that made her arch into him. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?’

‘Frequently. But I cannot live in London all the time.’

‘Fine. What about Cornwall?’ he asked.

‘You’d live in Cornwall? I did not think you liked it.’

‘It is growing on me. Besides, I want to open a school.’

‘A what?’ She stepped back from him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Likely it is a foolish notion,’ he said, looking chagrined, colour flushing into his cheeks, making him appear younger and less certain.

‘Tell me,’ she said, eager to reassure.

‘I wanted to explain my idea in an organised way.’

‘Do not worry about organised.’

‘You have changed me. You have made me think about so many things. Sometimes the world feels too huge to change. And it is absolutely too huge to change all at once. But maybe we can take small steps, like opening a school in Fowey.’

She went to him. She wound her arms around him, pressing herself tight to him.

He claimed her mouth. Her hands slipped from his shoulders, as she caressed the muscles in his chest, moving under the cloth of his shirt. She heard the wild drumming of her own pulse. She felt him respond to her touch. She thrilled to his soft, needful groan.

‘The answer is yes,’ she whispered.

She felt an exaltation, an awareness of her body and a cessation of thought and reason with a singularity of focus on this one moment. It seemed that her body became molten, no longer bone and muscle, but sensuous and fluid. She knew a wild freedom, moving without thought, instinctively responding to the driving heat which started at her core, pulsing and expanding throughout her body.

‘Where is everyone?’ he muttered.

‘Out. Or deaf,’ she said.

They shifted backwards in an intimate dance, moving into her adjoining bedchamber until she felt the mattress at the back of her legs. Half-stumbling, they fell to the bed. The mattress sank under their weight.

Cupping her face, he caressed her slowly, gently, tenderly.

‘You’re sure?’ he whispered.

‘Yes. Yes,’ she said. ‘Occasional risk-taking may be necessary.’

He kissed her; long drugging kisses. He stroked her neck, pressing his lips to her collarbone and the skin at the neckline of her dress.

She heard him remove his shirt. Through half-closed eyes, she watched the way his muscles moved, highlighted by the low amber glow of the fire. He pulled back the blankets and he lay beside her. He felt warm and strong. He kissed her slowly, gently, moving against her. Darts of feeling pulsed through her. She clung to him, her body demanding something which was foreign to her, but in a heady, wonderful way.

Sam groaned as he undid her buttons, pulling away her gown and chemise. He kissed her chin, her neck, her collarbone, cupping each breast. He pulled off her skirts, her chemise and pantaloons, peeling them off her body. She felt the whisper of air against her nakedness, but knew no hesitation or embarrassment.

Instead, she felt only a needful joy as he lowered himself so that his body covered her own.

The glow of the firelight flickered against the white walls. He leaned against a pillow with Millie curled against his chest, her dark hair soft and silky. They should get up. It was shifting into late afternoon and someone would be home soon. Yet he felt a heady content as he looked at her. Her long lashes lay like fans against her cheeks, her soft pink lips twisted into a half-smile while her cheeks were flushed and rosy. With one finger, she lazily drew circles across his chest.

‘You smell good, much better than in the cabin,’ she said drowsily.

‘You, too.’

‘I will have to teach you to love the moors. And the sea.’

‘I’ll learn,’ he muttered into her hair. ‘I will teach you some things, too.’

‘And fishing.’

‘I was not thinking of fishing. And not in a storm.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘And if you’re going to live on the coast, I’ll have to teach you to swim.’

‘Sounds cold.’

‘I’ll keep you warm.’ She raised herself on her elbow, looking at him with her serious, dark gaze. ‘Tell me about this school?’

He smiled a