It was pouring heavily, the rain soaking her wet. She hurried, turning around from time to time to make sure no one had seen her. Martha Blandford held a lantern in one hand and clutched a letter tightly in her other hand, seeking some comfort from it.
"My beloved, Meet me behind the stable house at 7pm. I'll eagerly await you."
Martha read the letter again, smiling. She was going to elope with her beloved Matthew Griffith today. She had run away with no time to pack. All she had was a small bag containing an evening dress and a day dress, simple and white—that was what she was going to be married in.
Martha recalled her stepmother's sinister plan to marry her off to a lecherous old man, just two weeks after her father's death. Her stepmother and stepsister Grace had always sought to eliminate her and claim her father's wealth. After enduring brutal punishments for past escape attempts, including being locked in a dark, rat-infested room, Today, Martha had finally broken free by prying open the window.
"There she is!" a young maid screamed, frantically waving her arms, after spotting the runaway lady. "Quickly, stop her!"
Panicked, Martha hiked up her skirts, running as fast as she could as the search party of three chased after her. She spotted an old deserted building; she hadn't seen before close to the Manor. She quickly dashed into it to hide, closing the door behind her.
~~~~
Meanwhile, a man dressed working clothes, in a thin white shirt that had been tucked loosely into the waist of his close-fitting trousers, had come to inspect an old building near the Blandfords' manor. When suddenly a young woman ran in, looking deranged and out of breath and somewhat funny with her skirts hiked up; he could literally see her underskirts and garments.
Closing the door behind her to hide, she hadn't noticed him, so he quietly slipped into a hidden corner, particularly interested in what was happening, and this was a scene that didn't happen often.
"For fuck's sake," the woman cursed, breathless, her words causing his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise; he had never seen a lady curse before. Then his expression darkened as he watched her. In the dimlight, the rustle of fabrics was unmistakable; she was disrobing.
As she shed her gown, underskirts, petticoat, and corset, she was left standing in only her chemise. The thin fabric clung to her body. She looked in all simplicity a woman, without the bogus attire women were accustomed to. Her hair came undone as she struggled to remove the hairpins that held her hair in place in her bonnet.
He strained to make out her facial features, but the dim light prevented him from unraveling that mystery.
As she reached for the hem of her chemise, a huge part of him yearned to see her complete the act, but he was sinfully watching her like a rotten school boy playing pepping Tom without her knowing.
Before she could proceed further, he announced his presence, his low voice husky with restraint.
"If you wish to strip for me, I'd prefer it under better lighting," he murmured, the darkness of his tone a stark contrast to the lightness of his words.
Martha shrieked, stumbling backward, landing on her bottom as she frantically gathered her discarded clothes to cover herself. "Who's there?! What are you doing here?"
"Working," he replied nonchalantly, emerging from the shadows to lean against a wall with his arms crossed. "What are you doing here, half-naked?" he asked, his face stern.
"I was hiding from... someone," Martha explained defensively. "My clothes were soaking wet, and I was terribly cold. I decided to change. I don't want to get pneumonia. Apparently, I thought I was alone," she snapped.
"You thought wrong," he said, his expression unreadable. "By all means, take your time."
Martha face flushed and reddened with frustration as she fumbled to put on her complicated layers of clothing, trying to appear calm and collected.
"Do you need help? I have perfect expertise in the workings of women's clothing," he offered, his expression neutral and unreadable, which only made her more uncomfortable.
"No, I have the whole situation under perfect control." she muttered, her fingers desperately trying to fasten the hooks and laces on the last piece of her clothing while also attempting to pry the door open, but she found it jammed.
He cocked his head to the side, observing her like an exotic animal as she struggled. "It doesn't appear that way to me; you look rather helpless and clueless," he said calmly, as if toying with a defenseless prey.
She blinked at him, her eyes widened in indignation. "You should apologize; you watched me undress. Why didn't you announce yourself when I began to undress, you pervert!"
She was sharp-tongued, and it began to prick him.
Instantly, his expression turned menacing as he stalked toward her, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"A pervert? Am I? Careful, you shouldn't say things like that when you're alone with someone like me."
His threat sending chills down her spine and making her instantly scared.
"Am I supposed to be scared?" She stuttered, taking few steps back until her back hit the wall and he was now looming over her.
"Very," he said in an icy cold voice that made her throat constrict, leaving it dry and itchy.
Her body felt frozen, unable to move or try to pry open the door to escape him. Every instinct screamed at her to stop provoking him and flee. She could sense he was dangerous force.
He would very much like to put her in her place and teach her a lesson for trying to provoke his ego. Clearly, her parents hadn't taught her any manners, or she was just too spoiled.
But instead, in a swift move, he turned her around, holding her still as she struggled.
"What are you doing?!" she yelled.
He ignored her protests and began fastening the laces at the back of her dress with swift, practiced movements, his cold fingers brushing slightly against her skin as he pulled the hooks into place until her gown was completely fixed. Once done, he pried open the jammed door.
"The door is bad; it often jams if slammed," he murmured, opening the door. "Your freedom." he said, gesturing to the open door, the rain having subsided into a light drizzle.
"Thank you," She murmured, her voice barely audible as she tried to step aside. However, he remained firmly in place, blocking her path.
"Excuse me, please," she said again, attempting to move past him, but he didn't budge.
As he closed the remaining distance between them, trapping her. Martha's body stiffened. She sucked in a breath, her eyes locking onto his. Up close, she noticed the the scent of leather, amber, and bergamot that clung to him.
"You can't leave without showing a little appreciation," he said, his voice low and husky.
Her face paled as she stuttered, "What do you mean?"
"I helped you with your garment and pried opened the door for you. It's only fair you repay me," he replied, his gaze never wavering.
Martha's mind raced as she considered his words. "Do you want money?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "You will reward you handsomely if you let me go."
He shook his head. "No."
"A favor, then?" She suggested, desperation creeping into her voice.
"No, I don't need favors."
Martha's anxiety spiked as she asked, "What do you want, then?"
"A kiss will suffice."
The request hung in the air, and Martha felt her body tremble in response. She was frozen in place, unsure of how to react.
"Nothing to say again, smart mouth? I'm waiting." he taunted her.
Martha was frightened, her heart racing; she had hoped to share her first kiss with Mathew, her beloved. She had dreamed of how perfect it would be, getting married in a beautiful small cottage under a beautiful sunset as they shared their first kiss. But now, a random scoundrel wanted to steal her first kiss; she never imagined giving it up like this, in a dark, rundown building with a complete stranger.
Summoning the courage, she stood on her tippy toes and placed a tight kiss on his cheek, almost hastily, before stepping back nervously.
"There, now let me go," she said, her face burning red with embarrassment as she stared at the ground, trying to avoid his gaze.
He was eerily quiet for a moment before he finally spoke.
"Not good enough," he murmured, his voice low and husky.
"What—"
Before she could finish the question, he had pulled her in by the neck. His grasp was firm but gentle, as his lips crashed into hers. Martha was caught off guard, shocked into stillness. But as she regained her composure, she tried to pull away, only to be held tightly in place by his unyielding grip.
He cradled her face, pulling her closer as his lips explored hers with a fierce intensity. Unconsciously, she eased into his arms, her lips parting to allow him deeper access. Her body melted into his, her limbs going limp as she held onto him for support. He held her firmly in place, deepening the kiss as her body melted into his.
As they broke apart, he gazed down at her. "Much better," he murmured, his voice thick with exertion. His chest heaved, and his eyes lingered on her lips, greedy for more.
Martha's face burned with humiliation and shame as she leaned against the wall for support.
"There, will you let me go now?" she whispered, her eyes cast downward.
"It's only fair," he murmured, still looming over her, before reluctantly allowing her passage.
Seizing the opportunity with her head bowed in shame, she ran out as fast as her legs could carry her into the drizzle, leaving her bonnet, lantern and letter behind, feeling the hot, burning stares from the stranger who had just stolen her first kiss.