Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)

She could not back down now. “I’m saying I cannot do this. Not now. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.” She was close to tears, thoughts of Stephen’s wickedly loving smile warming her from the depths of her being. “I want you to go. Please. Leave me.”

She felt the mattress relinquish his weight, heard the outrage in his tone as he said, “I’ll need an explanation in the morning, Sybil.”

“You’ll get one, Humphry. You’ll hear everything you need to hear, and more. Just know that tonight I cannot bring myself to do what you would have me do. I’m sorry I’m not Lizzy and I’m sorry you made the mistake of listening to your parents twenty years ago, but that is not my fault and I do not believe I should spend my entire life suffering for your lack of forcefulness.”

Chapter Fourteen

He went. Without another word he retied his banyan, slipped his feet back into his slippers and departed.

The click of the door as it closed was the most welcome sound she’d ever heard.

But then followed the agonizing aftermath. How could she explain without compromising Stephen? How could she make her feelings known in a way that Humphry would respect so she’d not be subjected to a repeat of this ghastly episode?

Or was she so addle-headed she didn’t understand that the moment Stephen left the Grange, she’d soon revert to her obedient, long-suffering persona and pliantly, albeit with heavy heart, submit to the fate of all women of her station whose marriages were based solely on their requirement to procreate?

Anguished, she rose to tug close the curtain, which emitted the blinding moonlight, knowing she’d never sleep, even in complete darkness.

Her fingers gripped the fabric and she closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. Could Humphry cast her off for this? If not for her adultery then for her refusal to submit to his desire for conjugal rights?

What did it matter? Her heart ached for Stephen. Oh, to revel in the beat of his bold, youthful heart against her cheek. To be the recipient of his energy, enthusiasm, humor and kindness. He made her feel loved. Respected. Appreciated.

When she opened her eyes her world was still a haze of misery before her adjusting gaze but then she realized she was staring straight at a tall, youthful form striding out across the lawns. Her body jerked to attention, suddenly alive.

Stephen was heading toward the lake. She could see its glistening waters just beyond the beech forest.

Excitement tugged at her. She’d never behaved rashly. She knew she shouldn’t go after him. Not because she feared his response to a foolish old woman flaunting her heart on her sleeve as she chased at his heels.

There was no doubt in her mind, now, about Stephen’s feelings. He certainly didn’t think that about her.

It was the vague fear that Humphry, glancing from his bedroom window, might happen to observe Sybil in her nightgown, trailing her lover across the gardens, and so implicate Stephen.

But Humphry was drink-addled. She could afford to risk it. Snatching her shawl and nearly bursting from excitement and fear, not even bothering to find her slippers, Sybil left the sanctuary of her bedroom and embraced the frightening unknown of the lovers’ dark night.

She found him when he was deep within the beech forest. He could have taken several paths and Sybil was lucky she chose the right one. For otherwise she might never again have felt his sweet breath upon her cheek followed by the passion of his kiss after he pulled her against him.

Wordlessly, he cupped the back of her head as he plundered her mouth, his ferocity leaving Sybil in no doubt as to the depth of his desire for her.

She’d wanted to go to him and seek the comfort of his arms, but the force of his passion quickly elevated her beyond the need for simple comfort.

“Humphry came. I couldn’t do it. The boathouse is just through the trees,” she gasped between kisses; and still clinging to one another with the passion swirling between them, they stumbled the final few yards, knocking against the beams and posts before tumbling into the curved bow of the boat.

Bergamot and horses. Essence to imbue her with strength and feed her courage to defy what duty demanded of her in the long years ahead—the sublimation of her soul.

The scrape of his soft cheek against hers represented his heady combination of youth and power. A young man thrusting defiantly from his cocoon into dangerous realms to claim his prize and to hell with the consequences.

For Stephen must know, as Sybil knew, that their actions threatened their existence. Humphry had the power to destroy his wife’s reputation in casting her off and to hobble Stephen’s advancement. Stephen’s future depended upon him.

On soft cushions, with limbs exposed to the hard wood and splinters of oars, benches and crossbeams, they thrashed in each other’s arms, each seeking the very last drop of sustenance from the other. It would be the last time. The last time they would make love and know that in one another’s embrace they could expose everything and be the richer for it.

There was no time for gentle seduction. Preliminaries were cast aside in their need to take, to give. And for instant gratification. The piercing light of the moon gleamed on exposed flanks and breasts laid bare beneath fabric torn away in haste. A fine lawn garment was shredded so a heated, eager mouth could suckle at Sybil’s breast. Two pairs of hands fumbled to release Stephen from his breeches. In the still night, an owl hooted and the lovers breathed sighs of rapture as they were carried away by their passion.

Nearby, the gentle waters lapped the side of the boathouse while the wind sighed in the trees, just as Sybil sighed in Stephen’s arms as he found her entrance, slick with wanting, and sheathed himself in her.

Sighed with the heavenly rapture of being wanted.

And with the painful, inescapable knowledge that reaching the pinnacle of her desires signaled the very end of them.

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