The Major's Lady

by Mia Easton

  She bit the inside of her lip and struggled against the tears that threatened again. She would have thanked him, but there was a painful tightening of her throat that prevented speaking. He was so dispassionate. What she really wanted to do was to grab his shirtfront and yell 'Bastard! I hate you, hate you, hate you!' even if the very opposite was heart-wrenchingly true. He was looking at her expectantly, so she had to say something. "How kind of you to say."

  "What's the matter? You've been crying."

  Suddenly, his voice was full of concern? She hated him for that. She'd braced herself for his cold manner and emotional distance. She was totally unprepared for tenderness. She loved him so much it physically hurt. It didn't matter if it was chemistry, logic or physical attraction, it was true, and all she could do was to shake her head. Speaking was impossible.

  "Tell me," he insisted.

  She made a move to shut the door between them before she totally fell apart, but he pushed inside.

  "Elizabeth, tell me what's wrong!" He took hold of her arms. "Did Lloyd—"

  "You! All right? It's not him. It's you!" She yanked away from him and turned her back on him, and this time, he let her go. With a tinge of dark humor, she realized the poor guy couldn't win. She hadn't wanted him holding onto her and forcing the truth from her, only now, she didn't want him to let her go. She heard him shut the door and come toward her and she closed her eyes, relieved beyond measure that he was still there. God, she loved him. Somehow, she'd loved him from the first moment she'd seen him.

  He came up directly behind her. "Here, take this," he said, reaching around to hand her a handkerchief. "And please explain what you're talking about."

  She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her face and nose. Okay, he wanted calm and rational, she'd be calm and rational. She turned but kept her eyes on the cloth in her hands until she could get started. "You know and I know that I don't have many friends here, so even if that's all you want to be, you've kind of been AWOL lately."

  "I—"

  She shook her head and rushed on before he could ask what AWOL was. "AWOL means absent without leave," she replied, looking at him in all his damned perfect glory. "It's a military term, so I thought you might appreciate that."

  His eyes narrowed for a moment. "I thought that's what you wanted."

  She huffed. "What I wanted? Bullshit!" She blushed fiercely. "And, yes, I know that's not proper eighteenth-century language." Now that she'd started, she was going to have out with all of it, everything she'd kept bottled up inside. "But it is really, really hard to learn to do everything all over again. It's a hell of a lot harder than you might think, Major Hale."

  His eyebrows rose. "It's Major Hale now?"

  "Why not? You want to be distant from me. You want to be all proper."

  He drew back with an incredulous expression. "Who said I wanted to be distant from you? And, for that matter, who said I wanted you to be all proper?"

  Her crossed her arms very deliberately. "You're going to stand there and say to my face that you haven't been completely cold and distant?"

  He seemed stymied by the accusation.

  "Uh-huh," Liz muttered.

  "If there's anyone who acted as though they wanted distance, it is you, Miss Gordon!" For the first time in the conversation, anger and hurt edged into his voice.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Ever since meeting you, I've been thinking of returning home. That's why I mentioned it that afternoon we were playing cards. To get your reaction." He was watching her carefully for her reaction, for a flash of guilt or remorse, but her green eyes were wide and fully on his, waiting for him to go on. "I realize, of course, Pinegrove is removed from town and that perhaps you want more of a social existence than I could offer—"

  "Than you could offer? What offer? You only talked of depositing me at your home. 'The staff can take care of you.'"

  He cocked his head sharply, wondering why those words sounded familiar. Had he said that? "That's absurd."

  She tried to get a breath, but it seemed impossible. Her corset was too tight. "It is not absurd!"

  "Elizabeth?"

  She had taken a step back without meaning to and the room had begun to spin. "Fucking corset," she wheezed, pressing a hand to her middle.

  "What?"

  "The stays! I can't breathe in it."

  "Well, take the damn thing off," he snapped, waving to the screen in the corner.

  She tried to get a breath but he'd upset her and she couldn't breathe. "I can't, idiot!"

  "Oh, turn around!" He didn't wait for her to do it. He took hold of her and turned her. He pushed her hair to one side and went to work on the buttons.

  "What doesn't make sense—" she bit out.

  "Be quiet," he ordered. "You can barely breathe."

  His nearness, the feeling of his hands at her back, his breath on her neck, was only making the situation worse. She closed her eyes, concentrating on not passing out. She experienced a tiny bit of relief as the dress was unbuttoned and pulled apart.

  "Damnation," he murmured, looking at the complex ties of the stays. He untied the bow and then began taking the loosed ends through their elaborate crisscross path. She moaned softly. "I'm almost there, darling," he uttered.

  Her eyes shot open at the word and her heart began pounding even harder than before.

  He, too, felt a shock reverberate through him. He hadn't meant to say it. It had just slipped out. His hands kept moving until the stays were fully unlaced.

  Freedom! She gasped greedily, gulping deep breaths, thinking of nothing but the sweet relief, but it didn't come. Instead, she was overwhelmed by dizziness. Black dots danced in front of her eyes and she felt herself crumple.

  Chapter 19

  Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to make sense of where she was. She was lying in bed, covered—and she wasn't alone. She looked over to where Wes was lying beside her. She realized she was wearing her shift and stockings and nothing else, while he was on top of the covers, fully dressed. Only his shoes had been removed. He had undressed her. He was lying on his side facing her, toying with her hair, which was the most intimate thing he'd ever done.

  "I think you have to take it off slowly," he said. "The stays."

  She looked up at the ceiling trying to clear her head. The man had undressed her and gotten her into bed and then politely reclined beside her. Still, it was strangely familiar and downright wonderful having him lying next to her. The only thing better would be to have him crawl beneath the covers and hold her. What all had they said earlier? She remembered one of the last things she said and sighed. "I'm sorry I called you an idiot."

  "It's all right. Apparently, I am."

  The reaction surprised her, so she turned her head to look at him and then rolled onto her side to face him. "Did you really think I didn't want to go home with you?" she asked, needing to be sure of their previous conversation. "With you?"

  "Yes, that is what I thought."

  She shook her head. "It's not true."

  "We don't live in this sort of opulence at Pinegrove. It is a good home, but not a mansion. Plus, we're removed from town. From society. Here, you're but a short distance from the city—the shops and the symphony," he enunciated the last word with exaggeration.

  "I don't care about that."

  "No?"

  "No."

  He pulled himself up against the backboard. Needing to keep his distance from her?

  She scooted up and did the same, keeping the covers clutched against her. "Our being here like this is somewhat inappropriate, is it not?"

  "I won't tell if you won't."

  She grinned. "Deal. It will be our secret."

  He looked at her. "I so often wished I knew what you were thinking. You're a mystery to me."

  She turned toward him. "Me? You are the mysterious one. I've never known anybody so self-contained."

  He considered the statement. "I suppose I am. I sometimes wish I had your c
andor."

  "And you sometimes wish I could better control my candor."

  "I don't want to change you, Elizabeth."

  "We both need for me to conform," she said without rancor. "I know that. And I am trying."

  "I know that. And you did perfectly tonight. You were wonderful."

  "Thank you. I'm very relieved it went well."

  Seconds of silence passed and then he said, "I should go."

  She heard the regret in his voice, and she felt it, too. She didn't want him to go, but she couldn't say so. Not and be the lady she was supposed to be.

  "I feel the same," he said with a half-smile. He got up and walked around the bed to her side. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Goodnight."

  As he turned to go, she felt almost panicked. They'd never shared this kind of intimacy and they might not again. What if this was it? "Wes—"

  He turned back. "Yes?"

  What could she say? "If you could be completely candid, just for now, for this minute, what would you want to say?"

  "What would I want to say?" he repeated thoughtfully.

  "Or ask. Anything. I promise not to be offended. Or shocked."

  "You can't really know that," he said wryly.

  "Try me."

  He smiled quizzically. "You and your strange expressions."

  She bit on her bottom lip and waited, hoping he wouldn't make some light quip and then leave.

  "I think I would tell you—"

  Say it, she thought. Whatever it is, say it. Say what you're feeling.

  "How much I wish—"

  "What?"

  He sat facing her. He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Pressing it to his cheek and avoiding her gaze, he said, "I wish," and then he looked into her eyes with such intensity, her breath caught. "I could claim you for my own. Now. Tonight. And for all time."

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and her heart soared.

  He watched her searchingly. "What would you say if you were allowed to be candid with no repercussions?"

  "Yes."

  He looked like he'd stopped breathing.

  "Yes, you can. You can claim me for your own." He released a pent-up breath as if shocked, but she'd committed herself now. "I've wanted that from the first moment I saw you."

  Unable to hold back, he took her into his arms and kissed her. She met him halfway. Wrapping her hands around his back and pressing herself to him, she kissed him back with a need and hunger she didn't know was possible. It had been held back for so long. She moaned as his hand slipped over her shift and closed in on a jutting nipple.

  "I thought I'd go mad from longing," he breathed.

  The words were music to her ears. She clutched him closer as he kissed her neck and shoulder and jawline. She lifted her mouth back to his and kissed him. She would show him what mad from longing felt like.

  When he pulled back, it was to take off his shirt. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

  She shook her head. Stopping was the last thing she wanted. She pulled off her shift and watched his gaze lower to her breasts. He stood and fumbled to get off the rest of his clothing. She noticed a scar on his shoulder and then her breath caught at the size of his cock. She'd never been with anyone that big. There was another scar on his right thigh.

  He got on top of her, bracing himself on his arms, and kissed her again. Deeper, slower. She ran her fingers through his hair, overcome by the feelings and sensations surging within. He rose on his haunches to cup her breasts, to savor the look and feel of them, and then lowered his head to take one into his mouth. She sighed with pleasure as he sucked. He moved to the other breast and paid it homage. He began lowering his body over hers, his face hovering inches above except when he pressed soft, warm kisses to her skin. Heat mingling, taking his time, he reveled in what he was now to possess. When he reached her scar, she cringed. It was raised and ugly.

  "What happened?" he asked as he traced the scar with his finger.

  "I fell on something." The feeling of his lips on her scar made her jump. "Don't," she begged, looking down at him. "I hate my scar."

  He met her gaze. "Do you know how many I have? Much worse than this."

  "That's different."

  "Why is it different? It's not. Scars are proof of what we've survived. We should think of them as unique to who we are and, therefore, beautiful." He kissed her scar again. "I love this scar because it's part of you. Part of who you are."

  Tears pricked at her eyes.

  He moved back up to kiss her again. As their tongues intertwined, he wedged a knee between her legs and she happily spread them. She'd never wanted anything the way she wanted him inside her.

  He turned his attention back to her breasts, appreciating the raised pink nipples. He licked and teased each before taking it into his mouth and sucking. It occurred to him that she'd been sent to give him life and he was happily claiming the gift. He sucked harder and she made a low sound in her throat and writhed against him. Feelings of triumph and power and control surged, making him feel more whole than he had in years, maybe ever.

  Life. She'd been sent to make him feel alive and whole again. To give him life. And he would recreate it in her. His tongue trailed down her stomach, her beautiful stomach, toward the soft brown tuft of hair that held the secrets he most wanted to know.

  "Wes," she moaned.

  He laid his cheek against her mound with a slow sigh. He bent and parted her legs and looked at his hidden treasure. He breathed in her scent, pulled her lips apart with two fingers and studied her before he moved in to taste her.

  She gasped as his tongue teased her clit, causing a deep flutter in her belly. He pulled her legs further apart and put his tongue further inside her. She moaned as it moved in deep thrusts. He pulled back and reached inside her with two fingers. She was tight, very tight. He made a deep, growling sound in his throat. This was his woman. She would be his wife and the mother of his children. The power surging through him was intoxicating. His cock was throbbing, demanding attention.

  His penis felt rock hard as it brushed against the inside of her leg and then against her wet and ready cunt. Ready, she thought. I'm ready. Fuck me!

  "I willed you here, you know," he said. "I saw you, and I've never wanted anything or anyone like I wanted you."

  "Maybe you willed it, but so did I," she replied shakily. "I knew you were about to disappear in the fog and I couldn't stand it."

  He positioned himself to enter her. "Nothing will come between us again."

  She felt the pressure at her opening. The pressure increased and she sucked in a breath. He shoved fully in and she cried out.

  He tried to keep the movement steady and slow. Her hands were on his chest, resisting him. "Don't resist me, my love."

  "I have a bad feeling you're too big for me."

  He kissed her ear. "It won't stay that way."

  She closed her eyes and tried to not resist. The sensations were overwhelming, pain and pressure combined with a need and a secret pleasure so deep, she didn't know where it originated. She began to move with him and thrust toward him. Wanting it, wanting the pain and the pleasure. Wanting him.

  He kept it up for as long as he could, but the urge for release was too strong. He squeezed his eyes shut and slammed into her hard a few last times, crying out as he came.

  Her jaw jutted out and she cried out in ecstasy, too.

  Breathing deeply, dizzy from the exertion, he collapsed to her side, watching her. She was breathing just as hard, flushed, one hand on her chest and one on her stomach. "You're so beautiful."

  She slowly turned her head to look at him and smiled. "You are."

  He smiled a slow, lazy smile back at her. "Our children will be very beautiful."

  "They will, won't they?"

  "Oh, yes."

  Neither of them spoke again for the time it took to recover their breath and strength. He was usually spent after sex and went directly to sleep, but now he felt full
of purpose and tenderness. He got up and went to the washstand and poured water in the basin. He dipped a washcloth in the cold water, wrung it out and went back to her. He sat and gently raised and separated her legs. She started to protest but he shushed her and placed the cool cloth to her vagina. It felt good. "Do you trust me, Elizabeth?"

  "Of course, I do."

  "Making love will hurt for a while and then it won't."

  She drew breath to explain she wasn't a virgin, but his expression stopped her. She watched as he turned the cloth over and gently pressed it to her again.

  "Tomorrow, you'll be sore."

  She started to laugh at the understatement.

  "—when we make love again," he finished with a sly grin.

  She felt giddy with happiness. "So you think this is to be a nightly thing."

  "Of course not," he replied instantly. He paused before adding, "There'll be some mornings, too. And afternoons. "

  She laughed.

  He turned the cloth over to the cool side. "I won't stay with you tonight."

  Her smile faded. "Why not?"

  "I won't allow anyone to think of you as compromised."

  "I've made love to the man I love. What's compromising about that?"

  "Nothing. You know that, and I know that, but I was talking about perception. I will always protect you, my love."

  "I know you will."

  "Making love to you was the best thing I ever felt. You'll feel that way, too, in time."

  "I already do feel that way."

  He smiled and got up and put the washcloth into the basin before dressing again, keeping his eyes on her as much as he could. She was so lovely and sensuous. Best of all, she was so his. If there hadn't still been a few guests in the house, he might have risked staying and holding her all night long. But he would not risk talk. He sat back down and kissed her. She wound her fingers through his hair and cupped the back of his neck. "I bid you a good night, Miss Gordon."

  "It's been a completely wonderful night, Major Hale."

  He grinned. "I'll see you in the morning, my love."