Down the Rabbit Hole

He hurried to the bathing chamber that was designed for his use and freshened up. He could not imagine sleeping in his clothes, so he stripped out of them and donned a robe that was hanging on a hook at the back of the door.

The salon was empty, and he walked over to the countess’s side of the room and looked into the bedroom. The bed was untouched. With a mix of irritation, amusement and curiosity he headed for the earl’s bedchamber. He opened the door and saw a distinct little mound under the covers, and discovered the most amazing thing about the love of his life.

She snored.

Weston could not resist slipping into bed beside her. Maybe it was not what a true gentleman would do, but he was not perfect. She had not taken her half from the middle so he considered that as good as an invitation. They would only sleep together, if that was what she wanted.

He tried to ignore the sweet little snores and instead remembered that amazing summer afternoon in the Lake District at a house party where they had met after her not very successful London Season. It was the first and, he thought with regret, the only time they had made love.

The boathouse was not meant for boats at all but was designed for seduction. Never had it been more clear than the day they had raced there to escape from a storm. The weather had threatened all day, but the rain had held off until they were just far enough from the main house to make the little one-room boathouse a safer place in a storm.

“Even nature is on our side,” Alice had whispered between kisses that convinced them that they needed to lie on the lounge to fully enjoy them. Their bodies pressed together in imitation of their lips.

It seemed as natural as the rain to undress each other in between kisses. Eventually the urgency of their caresses compelled them to rush removing the last bits of clothing. They paused for no more than a breath and came together in a heated coupling that had him forgetting she was a virgin.

Apparently she forgot too, as she made no sound of pain but rather surrendered to him with a moan of pleasure that escalated to a crying gasp as she crushed him to her and welcomed his seed.

There was never a moment of regret, for either of them. In a few weeks they learned there was no need to marry, which he regretted, though Alice swore that would never have been an option.

It was the beginning of the end for them. The first argument that could not be resolved. He could not recall the exact words, but could still recount them closely enough for it to act like cold water on his lust. “You would rather have a bastard child than marry me?”

“Not really. An ill-born child does not have an easy life if they wish any entrée to society, even country society.”

“Then why?”

“I will not ruin your place among the ton, and in Parliament where you have such great responsibilities, by leg-shackling you to someone so far beneath you, the daughter of a divorced couple.”

“That is not a burden you should have to bear.”

“This is an absurd argument, my lord. I am not carrying your child, so it is a moot point.”

Absurd it might have been, but on it went until it became clear that neither one of them would give their ground.

So that hour in the boathouse was the one and only time they had made love. No, neither of them regretted the act, but it had brought too dangerous a subject to the fore, and had crushed his hopes of marrying her. It was better to avoid the action.

In the end the frustration of love unfulfilled had made living near each other too much to bear. He had gone off to London and she had left for Yorkshire and her first position preparing young ladies for their come out.

Now they were beside each other, but miles apart in all that mattered.

As he had the thought she turned toward him, her eyes open but still half asleep. “I did not mean to sleep in your bed.” She made to rise but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.