Page 33 of Twelve Drummers Drumming

It was so different, being here with him in the darkness of night. Their conversation felt more secret, their privacy for once assured rather than hoped for. Hugh’s gaze was transfixed on her face. The moonlight fell softly onto his features as if it caressed him.

“I do not think,” she said in a whisper, “you will have to bear them as you do now, even if their complete healing is something to long for but not to expect. With time, you will grow to carry them as badges of honor. As proof that you have done something courageous.”

Her eyes found Hugh’s. Jemima saw to her surprise that she could see the stars reflected in them, their depth given new character and meaning as she sank into them.

Impulse, pure and simple impulse, was the only thing driving Jemima now.

Reaching up her free hand, she placed her arm around him, and bringing her body close to his, she hugged Hugh in a deep embrace.

Her wish to comfort him, however, soon transformed into something much more primal. Her desire for him could be hidden no longer, and it was no secret that he wanted her, too.

His hand released his crutch, which fell to the ground with a clatter—a clatter that sounded a long way off. Jemima’s face was buried in Captain Rotherham’s shoulder, and at first glance, anyone who ventured out onto the garden terrace would have assumed that their embrace was nothing more than that.

But Hugh seemed to have no intention of keeping their embrace chaste and pure. He wanted more, and so did Jemima.

She could feel his heat, feel the longing in his arms now that they were both wrapped around her. There was a slight movement, and Jemima gasped as Hugh turned his head just enough to kiss her neck.

Jemima whimpered audibly as the rush of pleasure spread from that hot warm part of her neck where his kisses were falling, and it spurred him on. Hugh lavished his affection on her skin, hands tightly fixed on her waist, drawing her as close as possible. Jemima could feel her breasts starting to ache for his touch, and she closed her eyes, abandoning herself to the pleasure completely.

Pleasure that intensified when Hugh raised his head and transferred his lips’ attention to her own.

Hugh teased her mouth open almost instantly, ravishing her mouth. He tasted of honey and strength, and Jemima could do nothing but raise her arms and entangle them in the jet-black hair that was as dark as the night around them.

Heady with emotion, Jemima was being swept away on a tide that was at once new to her and, at the same time, something that felt incredibly natural.

There was nothing like this, nothing like the soaring of passion with a man that felt so incredibly right as he held her in his arms. She wanted nothing more.

Hugh lifted his head, breaking the kiss for a moment, and Jemima tried to capture his lips once more. His breathing was ragged, and he smiled at her with longing.

“I want—” Jemima said breathlessly, her hands starting to move frantically, moving around to the front of his shirt and trying to quickly untie his cravat so she could once again see more of him, perhaps touch more of him. “I want—I don’t know what I want, Hugh, but I want you.”

It appeared that was not going to help Hugh control himself. He let out a deep groan, and in an instant, he had lowered his hands to her bottom, lifted her up, and placed her on the balcony railing.

“I know what you want,” he said in a fervent tone, standing before her and cradling her head in his hands, “and I will never make you do anything that you do not want to, you hear me, Jemima?”

She nodded, unable to speak, unable to understand exactly what he meant but hoping that it was exactly what she suspected.

Hugh seemed to hesitate, seemed to think for a moment whether or not what he was about to do was appropriate—but Jemima reached out a hand and pulled his jacket close to her.

She kissed him, her tongue venturing timidly at first into his mouth, and then boldly as she felt him melt into her and moan.

His hands moved down from her mouth and onto her knees, startling her slightly but not breaking their kiss. Jemima could feel her knees moving slightly apart, as one of Hugh’s hands moved to her neck and caressed it to the point where Jemima could not focus any longer.

Now her legs were open, Hugh moved closer to her, standing within her knees, and Jemima instinctively wrapped her legs around him.

“Jemima,” he moaned darkly, “you have no idea what you are doing to me.”

But Jemima knew. She could feel the strong hard length of him, now they were so close, feel how the power of their ardor had a physical effect on him.

She laughed quietly. “I think it is you driving me wild, Hugh—I want more of you, I must have more.”

At her words, he cast reserve to the wind, and Jemima gasped. One of his hands was on her breast, and she could feel every inch of his warmth. His thumb had found her nipple, budding through the thin silk, and he gently teased it back and forth, causing shooting sparks to fly through her body. His other hand had pushed up her long skirt and was stroking the softness of her thigh, making her quiver all over.

All this while his mouth had captured her lips once again, and Hugh was kissing her as if she was his last hope on the planet, as if letting her go would mean losing his own life.

Jemima was almost overcome. She could feel her center growing warm, and there was a wetness in that secret place that was starting to ache. Shivers of pleasure and bliss were rocketing round her, and it was all she could do to maintain her balance on the railing.

Hugh was seemingly suffering from the same feelings, as he moaned in her mouth each time his fingers brushed up against the soft curls that hid her secret place. Jemima gasped, almost a scream, as his fingertips brushed against her. His hands, so gentle and yet so strong, were drawing feelings out of her body she never thought could be possible.

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