“Because you accused me of using Louisa to manipulate you.”
Winston snatched a linen napkin to dab at his soup-stained waistcoat.
“You are juvenile,” he said.
“You, sir, are no better.”
Winston suddenly fired his own soup-laden catapult, but Adeline dodged out of the way and the curtains bore the brunt of the assault. Food began to fly in earnest, their barbs mingling with laughter. A bread roll hit the mantel. A slice of meat slid gracelessly to the carpet. And then Adeline seized the pudding. It was beautifully yielding and luscious. Her aim was true and it struck Winston full in the face.
He stumbled back, tripped over the arm of the sofa, and fell in a most undignified heap. Adeline froze, both hands covering her open mouth. She fought to contain laughter as Winston blinked through treacle, cream, chocolate and sponge. The room held its breath. Winston wiped cream from his cheek, then brought the finger to his lips.
“An excellent pudding,” he said gravely.
Adeline stepped nearer, breathless with laughter, and dabbed at him with her own finger before putting it into her mouth.
“It certainly is,” she agreed, shoulders shaking with barely repressed mirth.
Winston did a fine job of watching her through a face-full of pudding and maintaining his dignity.
“Our cook, Mrs. Hardcastle, must never hear of this outrage,” he said.
Adeline collapsed onto the far end of the sofa, laughter bubbling. Their eyes met, and something shifted. The merriment quieted, leaving only the sound of their breaths. She leaned forward before her courage could fail, her tongue darting to taste a smear of cream from his jaw. The movement was bold, reckless, and set her pulse racing. Winston’s hand came up, cupping her face, and his mouth claimed hers with answering fire. The kiss deepened urgently, erasing anger and pride alike until nothing remained but desire. Adeline lowered herself to the floor beside him, not noticing the sponge concoction that transferred itself from Winston’s face to hers until she broke away from him, gasping for breath and tasting chocolate on her lips. She ran her tongue around her mouth then squealed in surprise as Winston rose onto his knees to kiss a smear of pudding from her nose. He ran his hand down his face, collecting pudding as it went. Then he smeared the result onto her neck.
He bore her down to the chaise, mouth fastened upon her throat but intent on cleaning her of pudding. Adeline felt ecstatic, her body settling against the chaise limply. She pulled at the laces of his shirt, then rubbed her hand across his chest. Winston obliged by seizing the opening of his shirt in both hands and ripping it asunder. It gave before his strength with a long tearing sound.
Adeline ran her tongue along the firm muscles of Winston’s chest, marveling at his physique. Her body was afire with this surreal game that they played. She had never heard of the like but found it intensely exciting. As Winston’s body pressed against hers it seemed that he did too. The evidence of it was there. Adeline impatiently opened his waistcoat, pushing it back from his shoulders and pulling it down his arms, then yanking the shirt from the waistband of his breeches.
She was hungry for his body now. For the feel of his flat stomach and the powerfully defined abdominal muscles. For the feel of his body atop hers, pinning her down, demanding satisfaction, and leaving her helpless to do anything but give it. It took a few minutes of frantic, uncoordinated movement to strip Winston to the waist.
He supported himself on one arm above her, letting her explore his body with trembling hands. He caressed her breasts through her dress, running his hands down to her waist, her hips, then her thighs. Adeline remembered the act he had committed upon her body previously. It made her heart thunder and her knees tremble. She vividly remembered the detonations it had triggered in her body. The glorious energy it had unleashed.
“Is this to be the last time?” she asked.
Winston frowned. “What do you mean?” he breathed.
“I resigned from the role of governess.”
“And that means you are leaving?” Winston said in confusion.
“No, there are other reasons.”
“What?”
“I will not be your mistress,” Adeline said simply.
I should not be doing this. I should not have given in. This is tying me to Winston and Louisa as surely as if they had chained me up.
Part of her wanted him to say that if she would not be his lover out of wedlock, then…But he remained silent and inscrutable, looking down at her. She stared back, unwilling to back down and screaming at herself to reverse course. She was challenging him to persuade her. To make her stay. But that was not what she wanted.
Isn’t it? You could have packed tonight. Instead, you destroyed evidence and spied on Winston.
“Do you still love your wife?” she asked, the memory of finding the cameo suddenly alive in her mind.
Why else keep her image somewhere private where it does not need to be shared with anyone else?
“I never did,” he whispered, kissing her neck with feather-light brushes of his lips.
Then why dig out her image when you are drunk? What hold can she have other than love?
