Page 71 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“But I’m sorry for it all. The way they treat you, the way they try to make out as if you’re mad. You’re not, I know you’re not,” Rosalind exclaimed, as now she arched her neck, allowing his lips to trace a trail along the course of her neck, his hands pulling at the shoulders of her dress.
She had been astonished at the likeness of her breasts in the painting, breasts he had only imagined, but now they were exposed, cupped in his hands, his touch firm. Rosalind gasped, a shudder of delight running through her at the thought of what they were doing, of what they were sharing.
How often she had gazed upon the paintings in her father’s books, the elegant nudes, and later, the daring portraits she had seen, of star-crossed lovers, their bodies entwined, caught up in the pleasures of the flesh.
But no amount of imagination could have prepared her for what she was now experiencing, what they were experiencing together. Her dreams had so often led her into the frames of the portraits, picturing herself as the subject.
But now she was the subject, caught up in the passion of what the two of them now shared, a passion she had longed for, as now she let her dress fall to the floor, exposing herself to his touch, his own arousal clear, as he brought his lips to hers once again.
“It doesn’t matter as long as I have you, nothing matters,” he gasped, his hands running down the small of her back as he fell to his knees, his tongue searching her out, as Rosalind let out a cry at the intensity of his touch.
Never had she felt such pleasure overwhelming her, never had she imagined the touch of a man could feel like this. She knew Richard could never make her feel like this, nor did she ever wish him to. She wanted to give herself wholly and fully to Sebastian, to be his and his alone.
A further shudder ran through her, and she clasped her hands to Sebastian’s shoulders, willing herself to greater heights of ecstasy, and gazing at herself, reflected in the canvas beyond. There, her eyes were unflinching, her gaze held. But now, Rosalind looked down at Sebastian, her eyes half closed, caught up in the pleasure of this new and unexpected delight.
He looked back at her, breathless, it seemed, from the ecstasies of their exertion. She wondered what would happen now, a lull in their passions. As he rose to his feet, still visibly aroused, as he slipped his arm around her and kissed her gently on the lips.
“What… are we to go to your bed?” she asked, knowing she sounded naïve in her words, even as she knew nothing of carnal desires and pleasures.
To her surprise, he shook his head, stepping back, and averting his gaze.
“I… no… it’s not a good idea, Rosalind,” he said.
She looked at him in surprise, feeling suddenly embarrassed to be standing before him, as naked as her own image in the painting, more so, for there was no silk sheet to wrap herself in, and now she reached down, pulling her dress up over herself, still looking at him in confusion.
“But I… I don’t understand… I admit I’ve never… well, it’s all so new to me,” she said, fearing she had said something wrong, even as he shook his head.
“No… I can’t, it’s not right… the illness, Rosalind. My illness. If you… if there was a child,” he said, and Rosalind suddenly understood.
But she shook her head, not caring for the consequences, even as she knew she should. Their child. If there was a child, they would be loved, whatever expectation lay ahead. She knew she was risking everything, but the risk held no fear for her. It was what she wanted. He was what she wanted, and the consequences could come later.
“It doesn’t matter to me, Sebastian,” she said, pulling up the shoulders of her dress, but he shook his head.
“No, I’ve been a fool, Rosalind. I’m the one to blame. All of this, I’ve made you believe in possibilities. I’ve taken advantage of that belief. But it’s not right. None of it. Please, you should go. They’ll be wondering where you are, and if they realize I’m gone, too…” Sebastian said, his words trailing off.
Rosalind looked up at him with a sorrowful expression on her face. Was this a rejection? She wanted so desperately to be his, to know what it was like to be joined as one, just like the paintings they had seen together, the paintings she had imagined herself to be part of.
“Then I’ll go,” Rosalind said, for there seemed little point in arguing.
It would always be the same, a forbidden love, whispered, yet never spoken of. Tears welled up in her eyes, and now she looked up at him as he turned his gaze away.
“I’m sorry, Rosalind. We just can’t. I can’t let you,” he said, and with these words, Rosalind left the room, clattering down the spiral staircase, filled with sorrow, and the bitter taste of rejection.
“What did I tell you, Rosalind? You’ve been gone almost an hour,” Rosalind’s mother exclaimed, as she rejoined her and Richard a few moments later.
“I’m sorry, mother. I just… lost track of time,” Rosalind replied, knowing the moment she had shared with Sebastian would remain with her forever, even as time marched sadly on.
Chapter 30
As the sound of Rosalind’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs, Sebastian sighed. He felt terrible, torn between his desire and passion for Rosalind, and his sense of foreboding as to what might have happened, had the two of them succumbed to their desires.
“Another madman. I can’t risk an illegitimate heir, but mad, what was I thinking?” Sebastian exclaimed to himself, glancing at the portrait of Rosalind, and cursing himself for allowing his feelings to get the better of him.
He loved Rosalind; he loved her more than words could say, but because he loved her, he knew he could do what his heart desired. There was a naivety about her not of her own doing, of course. She was an innocent, and for him to have taken advantage of her innocence would have been wrong.
He had stopped himself, and while he knew he had upset her, it had been for the best. The scandal of what might have been did not bear thinking about, and Sebastian shook his head, glancing again at the portrait, from which Rosalind’s unflinching gaze stared back at him.
“I do love you, Rosalind. I love you enough to let you go,” he said, shaking his head.
