With her gaze still locked with his, she came to a halt beside his chair. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and sank to her knees. With trembling fingers, she reached out and placed her hands on his chest.
He drew in a sharp breath and leaned back. Her fingers, awkward in their gloves, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. But he gave her no help, and by the time she reached the third button, she knew this wasn’t going to work. She yanked hard and his shirt button went flying. She heard it skitter across the floor, and she knew she was making a mess of things. Her fingers faltered, her lip trembled. With an anguished cry, she wrenched back and jumped to her feet, ready to flee, her courage gone.
"Mara, don't! It's all right." He leaned forward and caught her by the waist, pulling her onto his lap. "It's all right. Don't go."
"I'm no good at this," she cried, turning her face into his shoulder. "I knew I couldn't do it."
"Of course you couldn't do it. Not alone." He entwined his fingers in the knot of her hair. He pulled out the pins to free her hair, and tossed them aside. Tangling his fingers in the long dark waves at her temples, he brushed his thumbs back and forth across her cheeks. "But I wanted you to take that first step alone. I had to see if you truly wanted this."
She lowered her head and hunched her shoulders, trying to hide in his embrace, wanting to die of embarrassment. "I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to..." A slight pause. "...seduce you."
Her choked words made him smile. Mara, always seeking perfection in an imperfect world. He leaned closer. "If you insist."
She shook her head, missing the teasing caress in his voice. "It's no good."
"It could be." He tilted her chin upward and bent his head until his lips brushed hers. "It could be, Mara," he said against her mouth, "but it has to be both of us. Together, don't you see?"
She shivered at the feel of his mouth on hers. Her hand flattened against his chest, and she ached with the longing to feel his bare skin beneath her fingers. "Love me, Nathaniel," she whispered.
"I do." He slipped one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, then rose to his feet, cradling her against him.
He carried her into the bedroom and set her down on her feet beside the bed. He lit the lamp on the bedside table, and she had to resist that temptation to run, to hide before all her inadequacies were revealed.
His gaze locked with hers for only a moment, then lowered as he lifted one of her hands in both of his. He turned her palm upward and his fingers moved to her wrist, to the row of buttons on her glove. The top button slid free, and she jerked her hand back, realizing what he intended to do. But his hands tightened, refusing to release her, and a sound escaped her, a tiny protest. She stretched her free hand toward the lamp on the bedside table, but it was just out of her reach. "Nathaniel, the light."
He shook his head and freed another button. "Only lies need the dark, Mara. Leave it on."
"No, Nathaniel, I can't," she whispered. "Please put it out."
He unfastened the last button, then his fingers slid to the tips of hers. One by one, he tugged at the ends of her glove, then pulled it off of her trembling hand and let it fall to the floor. She tried again to pull away, but his other hand closed over her wrist, capturing her naked hand, refusing to let her hide it from him.
"I don't want you to see," she mumbled, hating her scars.
"I already did. Remember?" He opened his hands, exposing her deepest vulnerability to his gaze, cradling her hand in both of his as he might hold a trembling bird, waiting to see if it would fly away. She remained perfectly still, too anguished to move.
He slowly lowered his head. He pressed his lips to her palm where burning timber had seared her skin and left its mark, his kiss a balm to heal wounds that lay much deeper. The sweet, piercing beauty of that kiss shattered her hard and brittle heart, tearing a sob from her throat.
His arms came around her instantly, held her tightly. "Lovely," he murmured, kissing her cheeks, her mouth, her throat, anywhere his lips could reach. "My lovely Mara."
She reached up, entwining her arms around his neck, wanting to explain what his gesture meant to her, but there were no words that could explain. She buried her face against his chest, loving him so much, unable to say it.
He pulled her arms down and stripped away her other glove, letting it fall to the floor beside its mate, then unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirtwaist. He unhooked the clasp of her pendant watch and laid the heavy, silver-backed timepiece on the bedside table. Then he grasped the ribbon at her throat and pulled it away from her collar. His intent expression made it seem as if undressing her were the most important thing in the world, and she scarcely noticed the ribbon flutter to the floor.
He looked up at her then, looked at her with all that open tenderness as his fingers undid the first button of her shirtwaist, then the second, then the third.
His knuckles brushed against her breasts and then her ribs as he worked his way slowly down to her waist. Through layers of fabric, she felt the heat of his touch. A tiny gasp escaped her with each button he unfastened.
He pulled the shirtwaist away, and the cool air hit her bare arms. She shivered with the chill and the heat, like a fever, and she slid her trembling arms around his waist as he moved even closer and lowered his head. He kissed her shoulder just beyond the lace edge of her corset cover, then turned his head to trail kisses along her throat to her ear as his hands slid around to the small of her back and undid the hooks of her skirt.
She felt the light scrape of his teeth, and she realized he was actually nibbling on her earlobe. She gave a little cry and clutched at his shirt, bunching fabric in her fists as she felt her knees buckle. His hands caught her waist to steady her, and she heard his soft laughter in her ear.
Dazed by what he was doing to her, lost in the sensation of his warm breath in her ear, she hardly noticed as he continued to unfasten more buttons, more hooks, and more ribbons, until her corset cover, corset, skirt, and petticoat were lying in a careless tangle at their feet.
His hands slid up her bare arms to her shoulders and he gently pushed her down until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then he knelt down in front of her, pushing aside the discarded garments. He lifted one of her feet in his hands and let it rest on his thigh.
"I don't suppose you happened to bring that handy little buttonhook of yours?" he asked in a voice that was not quite steady as he looked up at her.
She opened her mouth to speak, found she could not, and wordlessly shook her head, staring down at the seam of his trousers, at his arousal which was obvious beneath the gray fabric.
"Damn." He bent his head and began to unbutton her shoe by hand. She stared down at him, and reached out toward his bent head, curling one hand in his tawny hair that felt like threads of silk between her fingers.
He pulled off her shoe and tossed it aside, then took her other foot and repeated the process. He lifted one of her stocking-clad feet in his hands and lifted his head to look up at her.
"Do you remember the other day when we went kite flying?"
Startled by the unexpected question, she let her hand fall to his shoulder. She nodded.
"You hiked up your skirt so you could run faster," he said softly. "And I was looking at you, and you asked me why I was looking at you like that." His lids lowered a fraction, and he stared at her through half-closed eyes as his fingers caressed her instep in a slow, circular motion. "I was looking at you and thinking of this."
He slid his hands up her legs to her knees to unfasten her garters. "And this," he added, rolling down her stockings, his palms burning her skin through the silky fabric.
Stunned by his confession, she watched him remove her stockings and toss them aside. His hands, brown against her skin, slid back up her legs.
"And this." His fingertips caressed the back of each knee just beneath the lace edge of her drawers. She could only stare at him, mindless little gasps of pleasure escaping her at the feel of his hands strok
ing her and the knowledge that he'd been thinking about doing this to her long before now.
He straightened up on his knees and grasped her hands, pulling them to the front of his shirt, silently telling her he wanted her to try again what she had begun in the other room.
Her hands shook as she pulled the braces off his shoulders, then yanked the tails of his shirt out of his trousers. She pulled the shirt off his wide shoulders and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.
Freed from the shirt, his arms came up. His fingers raked through her hair as she pressed her lips against his skin. She could feel his heart hammering against her mouth. Tentatively, she touched him with her tongue.
"Oh, God." His voice was a low, agonized rasp in the silence. His hands tightened into fists in her hair as she pressed butterfly kisses across his chest. His breathing grew labored, but his body stayed motionless, his muscles tense and hard beneath her lips. When her tongue tasted him again, he let out a sharp exclamation, and pulled her head back to stop her.
His hands left her hair and reached for the hem of her chemise, yanking it upward. She raised her arms toward the ceiling, allowing him to pull it over her head.
"You're so beautiful." He reached out, cupping her breasts in his palms, teasing her nipples to hardness with his thumbs. She heard herself, heard her own soft sounds of agitation. Her hands reached for him, grasped his arms, felt his skin and the hard smoothness of muscles beneath. Her hands worked, opening, closing, involuntarily pulling him closer.
He moved at her command, using his body to part her legs as he pushed her gently. With her feet still on the floor, she fell backward into the soft mattress, felt herself yielding to the sweetness of it.
Leaning forward, he slid his hands up into her hair, and he bent his head. He kissed her breast, his tongue grazing the tip in slow, coaxing circles. She was acutely aware of every place his body touched hers: his hands in her hair, his arms pinning hers to the mattress, his mouth at her breast, his waist between her thighs. She arched upward against him, her hips pressing closer, wanting him with a sudden desperation, but he was just out of reach.
He lifted his head and she cried out, her arms straining against his, wanting to hold him, keep him there. But when he turned his head and opened his mouth over her other breast, she felt his hands slide out of her hair, moving downward to her hips, and her wish was granted. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers raking upward to clutch at his hair, pulling him closer, but it still wasn't enough.
His hands paused at her waist and untied the string of her drawers. He pulled away from her again, moving backward on his knees, tugging at the garment, and she realized what he wanted. She closed her legs and lifted her hips, enabling him to remove her drawers. Then he rose to his feet and lifted her fully onto the bed. Without the heat of his body close to hers and the magical feel of his hands on her, she became aware that she was lying naked before him and the light was on. She closed her eyes, turning her face away, embarrassed and completely vulnerable.
She heard his boots hit the floor, a sound that was very familiar. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, feeling again all her inadequacies, feeling herself withdraw, feeling the rigidity coming over her by degrees. She wasn't any good at this. He would realize it. She would disappoint him.
Standing beside her, he ran his hand over her body from thigh to chin. She stiffened under that long caress, knowing full well his observant eyes missed nothing. Grasping her chin in his hand, he turned her face toward him. She reluctantly opened her eyes.
He was leaning over her, naked and unashamed, not looking at all embarrassed or disappointed. "Mara, sweetheart, you have to move over," he said, his breathing uneven, his voice unsteady. "Unless, of course, you want me to climb over you, which could be fun, I admit..."
Hastily, she slid toward the wall, the cotton sheets cool and smooth beneath her. He joined her on the bed, stretching out full length beside her. She could feel his arousal against her hip, and she knew what would come next.
But again, he surprised her. Lying on his side, he reached out and spread his fingers across her stomach. She lifted her head and stared at his hand, a hand large enough to touch both her hipbones at once. Her stomach quivered inside at his touch.
He looked up at her, and their gazes met as his hand slid lower, parting her thighs. She gasped, her eyes widening in astonishment as he touched her most secret place, where not even her husband had dared to touch. She closed her eyes again and fell back, shocked by the scorching intimacy, thinking wildly that she ought to stop him from doing that. But the caress of his fingers was so exquisite and delightful that she found herself arching toward his hand instead of away, and she forgot all about feeling inadequate.
She'd been a married woman, she'd thought she had some experience, but not this. Not like this. That had been a brief look exchanged at the dinner table, and later a fumbling in the dark, a lifted hem and a quick, furtive coupling, followed by a longing only slightly relieved and a vague disappointment. But, oh, God, never like this.
She felt that she must be burning alive. He stoked the fire within her even hotter, and she began to move with his hand, unable to stop herself, unable to stop the whimpers that escaped her. He bent his head and kissed her, capturing the tiny sounds in his mouth, until the caress of his fingers turned them to soft, shuddering moans. The pleasure of it washed over her in waves, higher and higher.
He pulled back slightly, his breath warm on her cheek, and the movement of his hand changed, until only one finger touched her, tracing a tiny little circle with the tip of his finger. Everything seemed to explode inside her, fragmenting, and she cried out, an ecstatic, wordless sound.
She heard his reply, a low, masculine sound of urgency, just before he moved to lie on top of her. She felt his weight, his long, lean body heavy and hard against her. He trailed kisses across her skin, tiny kisses along her exposed throat, across her collarbone, to her breasts and back again, murmuring incoherent phrases between each one as if uttering complete sentences were beyond him now. "Soft...Mara...beautiful...love you."
His arms slid beneath her back, he settled his weight between her thighs, and he entered her with a sudden, hard push that sent the air rushing from her lungs. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, and she felt the heavy fullness of him inside her, felt the luscious slow slide and thrust as her body yielded, accepted, embraced.
She tangled a handful of his hair in her fist and caressed his back with her other hand, feeling the muscles of his back flex beneath her touch. She pressed her face into his shoulder, kissing his hot skin as she matched his rhythm, a slow deliberate cadence that made her ache.
"Nathaniel." The desperate, impatient whisper escaped her, a plea for release, for surcease, for completion.
When it came, her head fell back and she said his name again, not a whisper this time, but a startled, strangled cry of exultation.
His breathing came harshly now, and he quickened the pace. His body pressed hers into the mattress with the rough, frantic motion of passion finally unleashed.
"Love you always," he groaned and the thrust came again, the final one. His body jerked in an explosive tremor, lingered into tiny shudders, then stilled. He sucked in great gulps of air and fell against her, burying his face in her hair. "Promise."
Mara heard that whispered word, and her arms tightened around him. She savored the feel of his body, the lovely heaviness of him, but she wished he had made her no promises, because she was still very much afraid that he would never keep them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nathaniel didn't realize that he had drifted off to sleep until he awakened. But all vestiges of sleep disappeared instantly at the feel of Mara lying beside him.
He felt alive, in every part of himself, intensely aware of everything, the counterpane across his hip, the softness of Mara's long hair in a tangle across his throat and her cheek in his shoulder, the sound of her deep, even breathing. The room wa
s pitch-dark, but he could feel her small hand splayed across his chest in an involuntary gesture of trust.
Despite the warmth of her legs tangled with his beneath the bedcovers, he felt the chill in the air around them. He grasped an edge of the counterpane, pulling it over both of them, smiling as he felt her snuggle closer to him with a little sigh, still fast asleep.
His arm tightened beneath her head and his hand moved to caress her shoulder in aimless circles as his lips pressed against her hair.
She stirred again, rubbing her thigh against his. Lust rocked through him, and he slowly rolled on top of her, pushing her hand out of the way.
She awoke instantly, her body stiffening at the feel of his weight. He moved against her, savoring the way she felt. Lush, warm, and so enticing.
She shifted beneath him and said his name, a little squeak of protest that held a hint of panic. But when he rose on his elbows and opened one hand over her breast, her head fell back and she made the sweet sound of acquiescence. He kissed her lips, he nuzzled her throat, he caressed her until he felt the yielding of her form, the willing arch that beckoned him with irresistible, feminine force and sent him to the place beyond all reason.
Then he entered her, felt the quick convulsions deep within her as she closed around him. A visceral sound escaped his throat; he felt the unbearable tension rise and peak, hurling him over the edge. He climaxed in a rush that left him falling into a languorous aftermath, like sinking into a bed of feathers. He gave her a long, lingering kiss, then rolled to one side, taking her with him.
His arms tightened around her, then slowly relaxed, and he settled into lethargy. He felt drugged by the warmth and softness of her, wrapped in a sated peace. Just as he drifted off to sleep, he whispered in her ear, "We can be married before Christmas."
When he woke again, the first thing he felt was the emptiness, and he knew before he opened his eyes that he was alone in the bed. The feeble light of a typical English dawn filtered in around the closed shutter, casting an anemic glow over the room.
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