Read Online Immortal With a Kiss by Jacqueline Lepore - Free Book Online
Authors: Jacqueline Lepore
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cast from an unseen fire, and masculine arms reached for me, locked me in an embrace, and held me against warm flesh as hard as Italian marble. Living flame behind alabaster, bringing me both pain and pleasure.
I tossed restlessly, trying to fend off these images, these feelings. My vision leaned in, pressing heavily down upon me. I saw him more clearly, his dusky skin, smooth, hairless, molded by the muscle and sinew that lay underneath. I lifted my mouth for a kiss and in my dream, my eyes slitted open to see the fair head that bent to me, seducing my mouth with lips red and lush and dark eyes as soft as lakes of mist.
With a muffled cry, I ripped myself from his arms and came awake. A thin sheen of perspiration dampened my night rail. For a moment, I thought someone had really been in bed with me. I crawled out of the bed like one heaving herself out of a sucking tide. The wooden floor was cold, my toes curling in protest, but the slight shock helped awaken me.
I held my arms tightly clasped about my chest. My head ached brutally and a burning lump lodged so tightly in my throat I could not swallow.
The man in my dream had been Suddington. This confused me, even sickened me a little, for I felt disgusted with myself. Was I so fickle that I had already forgotten the feelings Valerian Fox had evoked only months earlier? I had thought I loved him, even told myself I understood why he had abandoned me.
While I did not love Lord Suddington, I realized his effect on me was heady and exciting. I did not want his laughter nor his strength, did not want to know the depths of thought and feeling that hid deep in his heart. These were things I had once yearned for from Mr. Fox. But with Suddington, my attraction was physical. With a shock—for I had never before been subject to such carnal yearnings—I realized that I had a very disturbing desire for him to touch me.
I wanted, I admitted to myself, for my dream to come true.
Chapter Five
I arrived at the Blackbriar School for Young Ladies the following morning in time for breakfast. The meal proved informal, as the girls came and went from the dining room, which this morning was flooded with a moody purple light. There would be rain later; it was good I had set out as early as I had.
My belongings were being taken to the modest rooms I was to use, and though I was not hungry—Mrs. Danby having risen early to serve me a hearty breakfast of deviled kidneys, bacon, and eggs before I left the inn—I took a seat at the table by the corner with several members of the staff. I recognized the dance instructor, who beamed a welcoming smile as I headed her way.
“Are you not eating?” Mrs. Boniface asked as I sat next to her. “You must try the shaved potatoes. They are excellent this morning. Very crisp.” She speared one and placed it in her mouth, savoring it. Her round face beamed.
She was once again dressed in black. It somehow suited her, made her dignified, not somber. I saw she had once been quite fetching in her youth, and her face still wore the kind of prettiness that remained pink and fresh as she aged. “Did you meet the sketching teacher, Miss Grisholm?” she inquired as she ate more of the potatoes. She turned to the woman on her left. “Trudy, this is Emma Andrews, who is to teach literature.”
The other teacher sniffed and twisted her mouth in a smile that did not reach her lips. “You mean try. Victoria had the worst time of it. These girls are ignorant.”
“Oh, I do not know about that. The third-form girls are coming along beautifully with the Viennese waltz.”
The deflection was agile, and made without so much as a blink from Mrs. Boniface. I had a sense it was a longtime habit of hers to contend with the sour-faced Trudy. The other woman sitting at the table with us was shy, nodding and smiling sweetly when Mrs. Boniface introduced her as Susannah Graves, the first and second form grammar instructor.
We were joined by Miss Thompson, who I saw
I tossed restlessly, trying to fend off these images, these feelings. My vision leaned in, pressing heavily down upon me. I saw him more clearly, his dusky skin, smooth, hairless, molded by the muscle and sinew that lay underneath. I lifted my mouth for a kiss and in my dream, my eyes slitted open to see the fair head that bent to me, seducing my mouth with lips red and lush and dark eyes as soft as lakes of mist.
With a muffled cry, I ripped myself from his arms and came awake. A thin sheen of perspiration dampened my night rail. For a moment, I thought someone had really been in bed with me. I crawled out of the bed like one heaving herself out of a sucking tide. The wooden floor was cold, my toes curling in protest, but the slight shock helped awaken me.
I held my arms tightly clasped about my chest. My head ached brutally and a burning lump lodged so tightly in my throat I could not swallow.
The man in my dream had been Suddington. This confused me, even sickened me a little, for I felt disgusted with myself. Was I so fickle that I had already forgotten the feelings Valerian Fox had evoked only months earlier? I had thought I loved him, even told myself I understood why he had abandoned me.
While I did not love Lord Suddington, I realized his effect on me was heady and exciting. I did not want his laughter nor his strength, did not want to know the depths of thought and feeling that hid deep in his heart. These were things I had once yearned for from Mr. Fox. But with Suddington, my attraction was physical. With a shock—for I had never before been subject to such carnal yearnings—I realized that I had a very disturbing desire for him to touch me.
I wanted, I admitted to myself, for my dream to come true.
Chapter Five
I arrived at the Blackbriar School for Young Ladies the following morning in time for breakfast. The meal proved informal, as the girls came and went from the dining room, which this morning was flooded with a moody purple light. There would be rain later; it was good I had set out as early as I had.
My belongings were being taken to the modest rooms I was to use, and though I was not hungry—Mrs. Danby having risen early to serve me a hearty breakfast of deviled kidneys, bacon, and eggs before I left the inn—I took a seat at the table by the corner with several members of the staff. I recognized the dance instructor, who beamed a welcoming smile as I headed her way.
“Are you not eating?” Mrs. Boniface asked as I sat next to her. “You must try the shaved potatoes. They are excellent this morning. Very crisp.” She speared one and placed it in her mouth, savoring it. Her round face beamed.
She was once again dressed in black. It somehow suited her, made her dignified, not somber. I saw she had once been quite fetching in her youth, and her face still wore the kind of prettiness that remained pink and fresh as she aged. “Did you meet the sketching teacher, Miss Grisholm?” she inquired as she ate more of the potatoes. She turned to the woman on her left. “Trudy, this is Emma Andrews, who is to teach literature.”
The other teacher sniffed and twisted her mouth in a smile that did not reach her lips. “You mean try. Victoria had the worst time of it. These girls are ignorant.”
“Oh, I do not know about that. The third-form girls are coming along beautifully with the Viennese waltz.”
The deflection was agile, and made without so much as a blink from Mrs. Boniface. I had a sense it was a longtime habit of hers to contend with the sour-faced Trudy. The other woman sitting at the table with us was shy, nodding and smiling sweetly when Mrs. Boniface introduced her as Susannah Graves, the first and second form grammar instructor.
We were joined by Miss Thompson, who I saw
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