Under the Twilight
Catherine traced the contours of his face in her mind. She imagined his strong lips and how they would feel on the base of her neck, her collarbone, the secret place beneath her ear. But never her lips. It was forbidden and if she were to lose herself in such a fancy, she’d never be able to meet those dark impenetrable eyes without having roses bloom on her cheeks. Her heart began to dance. Stepping in tune to the symphony of thoughts in her head.
She stared out the window, admiring the coming twilight. The stars bowed down to the moon, twinkling like diamonds in the torrent of purplish-black sky. Amongst the cackle of the flames licking the wood in the fireplace, Catherine could hear footsteps. They were hushed and yet they were heavy and slightly refined, as if the person approaching the drawing room had a confident gait. Eyes widened, she retreated farther back into the shadows, hoping that for once, she’d be invisible. Her heart was beating so loud, she did not hear the door open.
He walked into the room, his shoulders slumped over and the bronze hair atop his hair strewn across his face in an in-orderly fashion.
“That blasted Thomas…” he muttered.
Removing his frock-coat, Lord Crawford sat his large form behind his desk and placed his head in his hands. Catherine could hear his soft agonies, and wondered absently what was plaguing him. She had heard him say the name Thomas and knew that he could only mean his flamboyant little brother. He was a rake of sorts and made it his business to bring any lady of good income down whilst spending his brother’s sanity.
“I’ll be damned if I were to let him…”
Then he was silent. The room was now filled with the slow hum of the crickets and the dying embers.
“Miss Smith,” he whispered.
Her heart jumped. Did he know that she was watching him? She was about to advance towards him but she was stopped by the next words he spoke.
“…my brother shall not have her, when it is I who wants her more than anything. She will be mine…mine.”
His words echoed in her head. Though it should alarm her that Thomas was after her heart, Catherine could care less and was delighted to know that the man she had loved from afar, returned her affections.
“I will give her the moon and the stars and the Earth, if she should ask for it.” he continued.
She watched as he leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. He looked handsome even when those angelic eyes were hidden behind heavy eyelids. His scarlet colored lips pulled up into a peaceful smile, as her name was kissed by them, over and over again.
She couldn’t contain herself: “Oh your grace!”
He opened his eyes once more. They were wide and bright with surprise. As he assessed her presence, color rose to his cheeks.
“Catherine…Miss Catherine…”
He stood.
“Your grace,” she said, curtsying.
It was as if he were in a trance as he advanced towards her. His gaze held hers and not once did she dear breath or move.
“You must be an apparition or a ghost or maybe you are a demon from my own personal Hell.”
“No, your grace, I do not mean you harm. I have heard your words and …”
“Please, hold your words. I do not wish to hear them,” There was an ancient pain in his eyes that made
tears burn in Catherine’s.
“Yes, Lord…” her words were captured by his lips. They were everything she had dreamed they would be and more. Warmth surged through her body, kissing her in places she did not know existed.
Soon, she was in his chamber, her fingers tentatively working at the ribbons on her dress. Lord Crawford’s own hands ceased hers, sending a new feeling through her veins. Reality. Here she was being undressed by her employer, a man who was married, a man who was forbidden.
She felt the muslin slipping over her head. But before she could utter the word ’stop’ he was kissing her and this time his lips were more swift and urgent, as if they had not the time in the world to make love. Or was this love?
Catherine could feel his mouth moving across her collarbone. She closed her eyes, relishing the feel, for she had wanted to know it for so long.
“Elizabeth…” he breathed and then she opened her eyes. She c0uld smell the sweet scent of wine on his lips. He had not been intoxicated by her but by her body, for it was her neck, her arms, her fingertips he ravished but never her eyes or lips. Catherine tried to catch his gaze, to see if passion or lust lie there. But when he whispered his wife’s name again, she knew in her heart that he could never hold any affection for her. Breaking from his kiss, she gave him a quick curtsy, and exited the room, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her tears.
