We drive up and over hillsides, along gravel and dirt roads so deeply furrowed I worry we might bust a tire, trees hanging low overhead. Beckett pulls off the road, the Duesenberg’s headlamps lighting up a wall of rock covered with moss and lichen. Trickling rivulets of water flow down its face, like black tears. “There’s a hot spring behind that bluff. We’ll have to squeeze through a cleft in the rock, but no one will see us there.”
He cuts off the engine and leads me through the underbrush, with only the full moon’s light as our guide. We find the narrow cleft of rock, and Beckett eases through sideways, reaching out a hand to help me through. “Watch your step. The rocks are slippery.”
Once through, my eyes widen in wonder. The night sky stretches above us, twinkling with stars, above a steaming pond edged all around with limestone. It’s like being at the bottom of a marvelous natural bowl, carved by the gods.
“I’ve come here to bathe since I was a child. My brother and I discovered this spring when we were little. The warm water soothes my back.” Beckett lets go of my hand and removes his sport coat, laying it on a low, flat rock. “You can sit here, if you’d like.”
I remove my shoes and roll my stockings off, letting my feet dangle in the deliciously warm water as Beckett shucks his clothes until he’s down to his drawers. My eyes trace his muscled chest, the line of tawny hair leading to his waistband. With a sly grin, he turns and strips all the way, giving me a full-on view of his chiseled backside.
“And here I thought you were shy, Mr. Hill,” I tease, leaning back on my hands and watching him.
He walks forward, hands trailing through the water, sending starlight shimmering in waves across the surface. “You should join me.”
“I should, shouldn’t I?”
I stand and undress slowly as he watches, taking my time, letting moonlight bathe every inch of me. Even though he’s likely seen all of me before, when I was sleepwalking, tonight I’m under no delusion. Tonight, my body is a gift meant only for him. A shiver of anticipation trembles through my body as I descend into the steaming water, clad only in the pearl-and-garnet lavalier. I walk carefully along the silty bottom until I reach him in the middle of the spring, where the water laps at my waist. Heat rolls through me, uncoiling my muscles, quickening my pulse. Beckett’s eyes darken with desire as he takes me in.
I kiss him, wrapping a leg around his thigh, feeling the bloom of want at my core as I press myself against him. He’s ready, his body well primed to claim mine, but I’m determined to take my time. I don’t want either one of us to forget this. We have this night, this luxurious, beautiful span of time alone beneath the stars, without responsibility or care. I don’t intend to take a moment of it for granted.
I take his hand, show him how to touch me, how to please me. After falling apart with eager abandon, I lead him to the shallows and show him all I’m capable of, what I’ve learned about a man’s body. When I look up at him, drunk on my own power over his pleasure, he cups my face in his hands, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Sadie ... I can’t ... much longer.”
I claim his lips with my own, pushing him back onto the rocky shore and rising over him like a siren emerging from the water. He arches up to meet me, to fill me, and I cry out, triumphant as we move together, our rhythm as ancient as the land around us. Afterward, we lie still, breathing, holding one another in silence, until our skin dries in the soft breeze. When the air grows too brisk, we dress quickly, throwing bashful smiles at one another, and make our way back to the car.
On the way home, he twines his fingers with mine on the leather seat, raising my hand to his lips as he drives. “I never knew it could be like ... that,” he says. “I’ve been to peep shows, of course. Looked at pictures. But you’re like something from a beautiful dream.”
“And to think we’re only getting started,” I say, biting my lip. “To think you were worried about pleasing me.”
“Did I? Please you?”
“Oh yes.” I laugh. “More than once. Couldn’t you tell?”
He squeezes my hand. “On the nights Harriet stays over, you should come to the cottage. There’s a double bed.”
“Already thinking about an encore, I see.”
“How could I not?”
“Mmm. I’m happy. Aren’t you?”
“Very.”
I scoot closer to him, my head resting on his shoulder as the darkened countryside rolls by, the lights of town peeking through the trees. The closer we get to Blackberry Grange, the more dread fills me at the thought of returning to the house. Of what might happen.
“What’s the matter?” Beckett asks, his voice rumbling below the wind.
“I’m worried. About what might happen when we get back.”
“With Marguerite?”
“No. With him.” I can’t bear to speak his name aloud.
Beckett’s hands tense on the steering wheel. “I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
“The other day when he pushed me to the floor, I was completely helpless, Beckett. I couldn’t even scream. It was terrifying.” I shudder. “I’ve been thinking about Sybil a lot. Imagining how horrific it must have been for her. And my grandmother as well.” Looking back, my grandmother’s insistence on leaving the lights on all through the night makes much more sense. While she’d hidden her fear well, she’d been kept in thrall by Weston for decades, a servant to his demented attentions.
He grows silent. “I don’t think you should sleep in the attic anymore. It’ll be too cold up there in the winter, anyway. Take the room next to mine. If anything happens, I’ll hear.”
“There’s a door between those rooms, you know.”
