Page 59 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
His voice cracked, and the initial anger gave way to pain. He drew in a shuddering breath.
“Andrew—” she began.
“No!” he cried. “Donot. I…” He shuddered then lowered his gaze to her neckline and drew in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. “Dear God—why must I be tempted so? What have I done to deserve such torment?”
Then he let out a groan and pulled her close.
Etty glanced down and let out a cry. Her undergarments clung to her body, revealing every curve, every outline. The water had rendered the material transparent, to reveal the pink swell of her breasts, and two peaks pressing against the material.
“Oh, Etty…” he rasped, lifting his hand to her breast. A fizz of need rushed through her as he brushed his knuckles against her nipple, which beaded against his hand. “Sweet Lord…” He flicked his tongue out, running it along his lower lip.
Like a starving man ready to feast.
“Andrew,” Etty said, “your breeches—you’ll ruin them.”
She lowered her gaze, and her breath caught at the bulge in his breeches, his manhood straining for release.
“No…” he groaned, his voice laced with pain. “I cannot endure it—such torture…”
He closed his eyes, his body shaking. When he opened them again, they glistened with moisture, and Etty’s heart ached at the agony in their depths.
He tilted his head to the sky. “What punishment is this?” he cried. “What have I done to deserve such torment? I have served you well, have I not? You cannot ask more of me!”
A tear splashed onto his cheek, and she reached toward him, but he slapped her hand away.
“No! Do not touch me!” He retreated, the waves crashing about his feet, and she followed, but he raised his hand. “Don’t come any closer!”
“Andrew, I—”
“Donot!”
She froze at the fury in his voice. Then he glanced toward Frances, who stood by the water line, Gabriel clutching her hand. He let out another cry, then turned and fled.
“Vicar!” Frances said, but he ignored her, sprinting toward the cliff path before ascending. Halfway up, he stumbled, and his cry echoed across the air, but he struggled to his feet and toiled on until he disappeared over the top of the cliff.
“Oh ma’am!” Frances wailed. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault—it’salwaysmy fault! What must he think of us?”
Etty approached the quivering girl and drew her into her embrace. “It’snotyour fault, Frances, sweetheart,” she said. “You are not to blame. Not for this or anything else. And it matters not what he—or any other man—thinks of us.”
“Ma will be ever so angry when she finds out.”
“She won’t find out, Frances. Besides, there’s nothing to tell. I went for a swim and the vicar suffered some sort of fit of hysterics.”
“But Ma said I can be a bad child sometimes. She said—”
“Then she’swrong,” Etty said, gritting her teeth, “and if your mother, or anyone else in the village, says anything bad about you again, they’ll havemeto answer to.”
She clung to the young girl and her son. Three outsiders in a village filled with secrets—dark secrets and injustices that it preferred to bury.
And she would always be an outsider, unwelcome and unwanted. Why else would he have uttered those words that pierced her heart?
I was content in my life before you arrived. Of all the places in the world, why did you have to comehere?
Chapter Sixteen
“Imust say,vicar, that was a most…unusualsermon.”
Lady Fulford stopped in the doorway and fixed Andrew with a stare, oblivious to, or most likely not caring one jot for, the rest of the congregation waiting behind her to exit the church.
