14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

B ased upon the first three days of their travel, an outside observer might have concluded that English weather was known for scorching afternoons with brilliant, clear-blue skies. On their fourth day together, the heavens apparently realized their error and gifted Adelaide and Will with a stubborn drizzle, one that pestered them with a pervasive, creeping dampness instead of an outright and definitive soaking.

When Adelaide entered the courtyard of the inn, Will was already there, attaching a reluctant Phyllis to her harness. He’d fixed a sort of tent over the back of the cart from his wax-coated bedroll and placed blankets underneath. Her heart gave a cutting jolt at knowing he wanted to keep her at a distance, but would ensure she was protected.

She regretted what she did at dinner, but once again she hadn’t thought, hadn’t considered the impact of her words. More accurately, she hadn’t even realized how she felt until that moment, when she met his grass-green eyes over a soup tureen and a bevy of felines. Somehow this man complemented her in all the ways she’d craved but never managed to articulate, didn’t seek to smooth her jagged edges, but gave them a soft space to fit without cutting. Settled her in a way no governess or deportment class ever could.

But she wouldn’t see Will again after today, and the thought of saying farewell made something deep in her soul rebel. Mrs. Ludgate had shoved an overstuffed basket of provisions in her arms as they departed, noting that they’d reach their destination before nightfall if they kept a good pace. Remember what Jane Austen said , she’d whispered, squeezing Adelaide’s hands as she shot a glance towards Will, we are all fools in love.

She’d been the fool, planning to enter a passionless marriage without no regrets. Worse still, she dragged Will along, thinking whatever spark burned between them would be snuffed out and forgotten when they reached Barrington. The flame had only grown into a conflagration that was consuming her, leaving nothing of the Adelaide she’d been when she started this ill-fated voyage.

The inside of Adelaide’s mind was a dangerous place to dwell for too long, and, as the journey wore on without an outlet for her thoughts or energy, she soon vibrated with emotions too unwieldy for her to manage. In the late afternoon, when the drizzle transformed into a deluge and the donkey slowed to a crawl, she reached her breaking point.

The sludge sucked at her half-boots the moment she hopped down from the cart, but she would not stop.

“What are you doing?”

She could barely hear Will’s shout over the rush in her ears. “Phyllis can’t go on like this,” she called in return. “She’ll hurt herself in this mud.”

Will jumped down from the bench and planted his hands on his hips. He didn’t meet her gaze, instead scanned over their surroundings. How he expected to see anything through the rain was a mystery to her. “We have to keep going. We’re almost there.”

She forced a huff of laughter that was altogether lacking mirth. “So eager to be rid of me.”

“That’s not—” He grunted and turned to face her. His green eyes flashed under the soaked brim of his hat, raindrops glistening on the tips of his lashes and the delightful scruff covering his chin. “You begged me to get you to your wedding. I’m doing what you asked me to do.”

Christ, but the gulf beneath her sternum grew deeper with every word until it threatened to devour her from within. “I know, but that was before I—”

She stopped herself before she said too much—in any other circumstances she would commend herself for the restraint, but she regretted it now. For all her talk of wanting to change the world, she wasn’t brave enough to admit that he’d changed her in such a short time, molded her heart around his solid form. And yet, she was too frightened to give up the future she’d planned with Lord Clements.

Because Will understood her, probably better than she understood herself, he heard the words she hadn’t said, and his expression softened. “Adelaide—”

A violent streak of lightning and accompanying boom rent the sky, sending them both staggering. Will gathered her close, surrounded her as a tree some distance ahead burst into flame and the ground shuddered beneath them. Phyllis brayed, bucked, and tugged at the cart in her effort to escape, but before Adelaide could move to reach the donkey, he held her back.

“She’s frightened and might hurt you,” he shouted over the driving rain and wind. Thunder rumbled high above them, and the smell of oxidized air and smoke burned her nostrils.

“I want to help, please!”

He caught her cheek in his massive hand, and the touch soothed her, siphoned the fear away. “I can’t let you get hurt,” he begged. “Please, I—I have to take care of you.”

The ache in her chest eased momentarily before it came back even stronger, but she pushed it aside to return to the cart and grab the bedroll and the provisions from the inn. By the time she returned to Will’s side, he’d released Phyllis from her harness and was guiding her away from the road, in the direction they’d come from.

“There was a barn across the field.” He had to yell to be audible over the wind. “We’ll be safe there.”

Together they pulled the reluctant beast over the mud-soaked, seemingly endless field, their destination unclear until she made out the edges of a whitewashed building through the driving rain. They were drenched, panting from exertion with muck up to their knees when Will slid the heavy door aside, guiding Adelaide and the donkey through before closing it behind them.

She dropped the bedroll and basket of food, then bent in half to recover—either from the escape from the storm or the pain of leaving Will. Both seemed determined to dig out her insides and leave them exposed to the elements. He turned to her, caught her shoulders in his hands and brought her to standing. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she breathed, her lungs tight. “Merely winded, I think.”

His eyes passed over her, flared with heat, but he released her, threw his soaked hat and jacket to the ground before bending to tug off his mud-slicked boots.

Her throat clenched. “Will, what’s wrong?”

A silly question, as everything seemed wrong, and his low laugh suggested he agreed. When he stood up, his brows were drawn. “Do you believe in fate?”

Her lips parted at his non sequitur. “I—I don’t know. Do you?”

He shook his head and scoffed. “I didn’t, but since meeting you, since I signed on to this bloody trip, I’m starting to believe fate is out to get me.”

Indignation flared in her belly. “You think you’re destined to be stuck with me and a donkey during a rainstorm in Somerset? I would expect the fates to have more important things to do.”

Her retort lost its heat as he approached her, examined her as though she were some vexing mystery he could not solve. “Everything has gone wrong since we met. One disaster after another, dragging me away from what I wanted and towards you .”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you—”

“You didn’t make them difficult, you made them impossible .” His large hands cupped her cheeks and forced her to meet his fiery gaze. “It’s impossible for me to want anything but you. I’ve stolen, lied—Christ, I ate dinner with cats , and all those things should make me want to run, as far and fast as I can.” His expression broke, and his chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. “But I don’t want that, not at all. I want to stay with you, by your side, as long as my heart is beating.”

The ache in her chest burst open into something intensely luminous, debilitating, and liberating at once. “Will, I—”

“But you’re marrying someone else.”

The words fell like the charred limbs of the tree by the roadside, lifeless but still capable of burning.

He swallowed hard before speaking again. “I can’t fight fate, Adelaide, but I also can’t keep you—keep both of us—from our futures. You need to write and change the world.”

Her voice shuddered as she spoke. “And you need to create something beautiful.”

He bent to press his forehead to hers, and their breath mingled in the preternatural silence of the barn. “Fate is cruel sometimes.”

She put her hands to his chest, the steady thrum of his pulse palpable against her palms. “But what if this is all random, just the universe in chaos? And our meeting was nothing but chance?”

His lips brushed her forehead, then her cheek. “I suspect nothing in the universe could have kept me away from you, even if I can’t keep you.”

When had tears started streaking down her cheeks like the rain outside? “You would have found me, somehow. I believe that.”

He kissed the tears away, and she tasted the salt on his lips when he brought them back to hers. “I would have found you anywhere.”

As hunger and desperation seeped into every kiss, the barn became their wedding chapel, the vows they exchanged with touches and mingled breath more absolute than what she’d recite to the vicar tomorrow. Their love—for what else could it be—was holy in its own right, blessed and sanctified. All she knew was gratitude, even for the pain their inevitable separation would cause, because the pain meant she was alive, that her heart was bleeding because it still beat strong in her chest. As long as her pulse thrummed on, she could have Will, and he could have her.

He removed her soaked garments in restrained movements, worshiping each inch of exposed skin with the reverence of a pilgrim before divesting himself of his clothing. By the time he’d stripped every layer between them, she was shivering, desperate and hungry for his touch, the adoration that singed her flesh with each caress.

“You’re too beautiful,” he breathed against her lips, the hollow of her throat, “too perfect for me.”

For once, she didn’t need words. She told him how she loved him with her gasps and moans, the skim of her fingers over his belly and in the silky hair at the nape of his neck. He responded in kind, loving her with kisses and nips to her breasts, the slick of his tongue along her collarbone. What was too monumental to say aloud permeated every touch, every breath, every moment, until time lost meaning, stretched and bent and disintegrated. They had forever, every second until the end of the universe and no time at all.

But she never said the words. She simply prayed he heard them.

Will guided her to where he’d spread out the bedroll, sprawled on his back, and tucked one fist behind his head. Adelaide bit her lower lip, but it did nothing to hold back her groan. The man was strength incarnate, undeniably powerful, but he held himself reserved, altogether controlled. She dragged her attention down his torso to his—

“Seen enough, love?”

She chuckled. “Not nearly.” Approaching him in cautious steps, she hesitated and brought her arms around her middle as her confidence faltered. For all they’d shared, he had never looked at her body in its entirety, and intrinsic vulnerabilities flashed.

“Don’t cover yourself.” His gaze may as well have been his mouth for how it heated her, and she dropped her hands to her sides. Will hummed his approval. “I want to see all of you.” The bob of his Adam’s apple was the only proof of how she was affecting him. Well, that and—

She gestured towards the evidence of his arousal. “May I repeat my concern about that being…”

“Ridiculous?” His lips pulled into a smirk that somehow only made him more irresistible. He motioned her closer.

His smile reassured her, and she kneeled, straddling his hips. “Precisely.” She rocked her cleft against his erection, and sparks shot up her spine. “I—I want to pretend I’m strong for you,” she gasped as his hands dug into the flesh at her hips. “But I’m lost. I’m falling apart, Will.”

He bent at the waist, tugged her against his chest, and she pressed her eyes shut to fight the tears. “You’re not lost.” His lips buzzed against her neck. “You’re exactly where you should be.”

Her thoughts scattered as he ground against her clit, and a whimper fell from her throat. “I want to see you come again.” There was something desperate in his voice, a broken thread that undermined the confidence in his tone.

“You do?” she gasped.

“Yes.” He slid his hands from the swell of her hips over the curve of her belly to briefly cup her breasts before stroking down the back of her thighs. “Get up here,” he growled, urging her from behind her knees until she straddled his neck.

“No, Will…” She attempted to move away as she realized his intent, but he stilled her. “I’m too much. I’ll hurt you.”

He nipped at her inner thigh and she gasped, pleasure rushing in behind the shock of pain. “What did I tell you about saying you’re too much?”

She moaned as he laved his tongue over the spot, her nerves singing. “I can’t remember my own name when you do things like that.”

“I need you to remember.” His breath caught. “For when I’m not there to remind you.”

Rational thought disintegrated when he pulled her fully atop him, her thighs pressed against his ears so she engulfed him, and the man sent up a moan that rattled through her core and into her chest. He held her tight until she bore down on him, unable to resist the pleasure he was making her take, take, take again and again. Her climax roared towards her, the power of it awing and terrifying her.

The tension building low in her belly burst free, and she scrambled her hands over his shoulders, dug her fingers into his hair and ground against him, taking every drop of pleasure he offered her, willing herself to remember the sensation, to keep it close.

Before the last ripples of her crisis left her body, he’d moved her until she sat on his lap with her thighs wrapped around his waist. He devoured her mouth like he had her quim, the taste of her release salty and sweet on his lips. His erection pressed against her throbbing flesh, notching at her entrance, and they both gasped.

“Please, Adelaide, love.” His voice was broken, desperate as he spoke against her neck, his chest heaving with the effort of control. “I need you—I need… you.”

I need you .

Not her mind, not her body, not her wealth or position, but her . Every part of her, everything that the rest of the world had rejected, he found beautiful. He loved her , even if he didn’t say the words. She heard them.

They moved together, her chest pressed to his as he helped her find the rhythm, to rise and fall on him until she chased another peak, her ears rushing with her thrashing pulse and his praise. She wanted this to last forever, but she felt him straining and his tempo faltering.

When she came, her climax tore at her, throbbed like its own heart, pulsing and loving and pushing tears from her eyes. Christ, she was crying , but nothing could feel better than this while hurting so much. Because she couldn’t have it, not forever. If she’d known they would be this good together, she’d never have set out to find her book that first night. Because no force of nature, no insurmountable circumstances, would tear her away from Will’s arms. It was her choice , her decision to marry to further a cause, that was to blame for their parting.

Will bellowed a shuddering groan and lifted her, his release pulsing in the fold between her thigh and stomach. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her, took the tears from her lashes, shared her breath as they both strained for equilibrium again.

After a long moment, he laid back on the bedroll, bringing her with him until she draped across his chest. The night air retained so much of the day’s warmth that even as her skin cooled, she wanted nothing to cover her.

A week ago, she’d thought happiness was within her grasp. That she would be content in a passionless marriage, able to have an impact on the world and feel useful for a change.

But how could she find happiness in that life, knowing that Will existed but wasn't hers?

Quite some time passed before she found the strength to speak. “What will happen tomorrow?”

He shifted beneath her, pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. When he spoke, his voice was small, weaker than she thought it could be. “Assuming nothing has happened to the cart, we can’t be more than an hour’s ride away.”

Damn, but she wished she were brave. She possessed the fortitude to argue with peers of the realm to advance women’s causes, to travel across the countryside with a man she barely knew, but she lacked the strength to ask him for what she wanted.

Perhaps she wasn’t so formidable after all.