He searched her eyes. “All that you’ve said is true.”
A sharp pang of pain sliced through her heart. She spun on her heel, unable to face him for a moment longer. Did he not understand how much this killed her inside? She felt as if she were a delicate flower that had just been crushed beneath an unforgiving boot. “Please be kind enough to carry on your affair elsewhere. I cannot live beneath the same roof knowing you’re making love to her.” She pressed a hand to her lips as she stopped before the window, staring without seeing into the gardens below. Humiliating tears pricked her eyes and she furiously blinked, refusing to allow them to fall.
Simon had followed her. He settled a hand upon her waist, branding her even through the layers of her linen and silk. “Look at me.”
“No,” she denied, afraid she would embarrass herself further. It was bad enough that he didn’t care for her, but she feared she’d been falling in love with him. Her heart couldn’t withstand much more hurt.
“Maggie, please.” He gripped her with both hands then, forcibly turning her. “Look at me.”
She bit her lip and stared at the floor. “Get out of this chamber. I’m begging you. Leave me what little pride I have.”
He caught her chin and tipped it up so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “I promised you a month, and I intend to keep that promise.”
If he sought to reassure her, he was failing miserably. She was confused by him. He touched her as if he cared and yet he had touched Lady Billingsley in the same manner. What did he want? She couldn’t tell. Perhaps it would be best to give him his freedom. After all, when had promises ever truly mattered between the two of them?
She knew as well as he that they had not. He would never have touched her if he’d known who she was that evening at Lady Needham’s. He’d never intended to make her his wife. After all, he had always loved another.
Maggie was numb. “I release you. You only have a fortnight remaining. I won’t hold you to it.”
“Damn you, I don’t want to be released. Why are you pushing me away?” His voice was a low, velvety growl.
She stared. “I can’t watch you with her. It hurts too much.”
“I don’t want her,” he said, cupping her face in his palm. “I want you.”
She was too afraid to believe him. “For how long? The next few days? The next few hours? Wanting is not enough any longer.”
“I don’t know.” He sounded as frustrated and lost as she felt. “I never desired a wife, damn you.”
His words stung. “Then you should never have married me.”
“That’s not what I meant to say.” He paused, running a hand through his hair yet again. “I had to marry you to save the estates from ruin. My father left me with quite a burden of debt when he died and finally I was forced to act. I married you because I had no other choice.”
This was not particularly news to her. She crossed her arms in a defensive posture. “I knew that, Simon. I’m no fool. I may have initially thought differently, but it became apparent. People do talk, after all. I understand that you hated me because of that, but what I don’t understand is why I must be punished for something over which I had no control.”
“I’m not punishing you. I’m trying to explain that I’m giving you as bloody much of myself as I can.” He dragged her against his hard chest. “A mere month ago, you never entered my thoughts, and now you’re all I can damn well think about.”
His admission moved her despite herself. She could clearly see that he was wrestling with his attraction to her. Very likely, had they never crossed paths behind the safety of anonymity as Lady Needham’s, she never would have broken down the wall he kept around himself. But they had, and she liked to think that the passion they’d shared since that fateful night meant as much to him as it did to her.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he murmured, his gaze lowering to her lips.
“Then don’t.” If only their lives were that unencumbered. But they were helplessly mired in a world more interested in money than love. A world more interested in the cut of a coat than the contents of a heart.
But Simon didn’t seem about to allow her to wallow in her heavy thoughts. He was looking at her as if he wanted to consume her. Suddenly, thoughts of their unwanted visitor flitted from her mind, paling in comparison to the raw hunger she saw reflected on his face. A swift stab of heat coursed through her. There was only one thing she could do. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his sculpted mouth.
He growled and angled his lips over hers, deepening the kiss with his tongue. His hands went to her bodice, tearing open the tiny line of fabric-covered buttons down the front. She didn’t care if they tore the entire dress into shreds. She was as desperate as he, every bit as ravenous for him. She fumbled to help him pull it open to her corset cover.
He broke the kiss. “Damn it, you’ve got to stop wearing so many bloody undergarments,” he grumbled. “Getting you naked shouldn’t take longer than completing an eight-course meal.”
She grinned at him, swatting his hands away to undo the fastenings on her corset cover as well. She managed to undo the first few hooks and eyes before he lost patience once more, pulling it apart to reveal her chemise. He pulled that thin scrap of linen down and bowed his head to suck a nipple into his hot, wet mouth.
Her fingers sank into his hair as she arched into him. Oh dear sweet heavens. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the delicious sight of his sultry mouth on her breast. He glanced up at her, his glittering emerald eyes melting her as his tongue flicked out to tease her sensitive skin. She loved him when he was at his most sinful, torturing her with pleasure until she feared she’d splinter into a million shards of blissful woman. He sucked again, creating a tug of heady desire in her sex. She was already wet, ready for him.
“I want you to take me,” she said, needing him more than she ever had. She wanted him to make her his in the most elemental sense, make her forget the awful reemergence of Lady Billingsley in their lives.
“Naughty darling,” he said, grinning against the pale curve of her breast. He raked his teeth over her nipple, then blew upon it. “How much do you want me?”
Oh he was a devil, her husband. But a devil she was increasingly fearing that she loved. Dear God. It hit her then, with the blast of a pail of cold water over her head. Somehow, he was winning her heart. She froze, looking down at him, unable to recall what he’d asked her.
“Have I rendered you incapable of speech once more, love?” He winked at her, a knowing smile on his mouth.
He had called her love. She was sure he didn’t mean it in the way she wanted him to mean it. Heavens, she hoped her feelings weren’t painted all over her foolish face. Surely there could have been a better time for her to realize her feelings for him. Of course, it would have been preferable for her to have not developed feelings at all. How she wished she was as wise and flippant as Lady Needham, who could flirt and throw wild parties as if she were doing nothing more natural than sneezing. But she was, in her heart, plain old Margaret. And she was losing her heart to a cad.
But was he a cad? She didn’t want to think it.
She framed his face, running her fingers over the delightful abrasion of his whiskers. “Take me now,” she urged him lest she embarrass herself by confessing her love to him. “I need you, Simon.”
He stood, towering over her once more, and pulled her to a settee in the middle of the room. “Christ, what you do to me, woman.” He placed her hands on the gilt back and positioned himself behind her. “I have to be inside you.”
“Yes.” She needed him to make love to her so badly that she didn’t bother to wonder how they would accomplish the coupling while standing. It didn’t matter.
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck and raised the back of her skirts, draping them over her arm. His nimble fingers untied her bustle pad and unhooked her drawers. They dropped to the floor with her petticoats and a whisper of sound. He conti
nued kissing her neck, passionate caresses that made her knees threaten to give way. Cool air kissed her bare bottom, replaced in a moment by his knowing touch.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked, his fingers dipping into her sex from behind, toying with her before sliding inside.
She moaned, bucking into him for more. “Yes,” she scarcely managed to say. She turned, capturing his mouth with hers. The kiss was plundering, devastating. Their tongues tangled. Suddenly, he replaced his fingers with his cock.
His hands went to her waist, holding her at the angle he needed as he plunged inside her again and again. A new wave of desire hit her, making her weak. She gripped the settee so hard her knuckles turned white as she struggled not to crumple into a puddle of lust at his feet. Dear heavens, what he did to her.
He pumped into her deeply, increasing his pace, and she came undone, reaching her pinnacle and crying out. She couldn’t keep herself from half slumping over as the extreme sensation washed over her. He held her still, just where he wanted her, thrusting with a frantic need that soon had him filling her with his seed. She came again as he found his release, reveling in the completion of their joining, the incredible feeling of him losing himself in her.
He collapsed against her, his breathing ragged, their bodies still joined. She could feel his heart’s frantic pace against her back. In the silence of their passion’s aftermath, she silently prayed that she’d been wrong. That wanting would be enough to keep him by her side. She couldn’t bear to lose him.
* * * * *
He woke from his dreams that night to a hand running down his chest, straight to his cock. Fingers curled expertly around his shaft, working him up and down. He moaned and arched into the capable touch, thinking that Maggie had tiptoed into his chamber through the darkness. He was hard and ready.
“Maggie,” he muttered, “you want me again, do you?”
His hands went into her hair, but the texture was different, all smooth silk rather than soft curls. And then there was the scent. Lavender. The breasts pressed against his chest were all wrong. Too small. Her hips were narrow as well, her mouth on his neck all too familiar yet still somehow foreign.
“Eleanor,” he said, startled by the realization. He pushed lightly at her shoulders as wakefulness returned to him. “What the hell are you doing in my chamber?”
“I’ve missed you, Sandy,” she purred, writhing against him.
Once, the mere press of her naked body against his would have incited him to madness. But now there was something that kept him from rolling her onto her back and fucking her as he had so many times before. He knew, after all, that she would be wet and willing as ever. They had been a perfect fit, the two of them. Lovemaking had been easy, passionate, remarkable.
He thought again of Maggie and removed Eleanor’s teasing hand from his cock. “We cannot. Maggie is in the chamber next door.”
“I shall be very quiet,” Eleanor promised, her lips very near to his.
No. He could not. He flipped her to her back and rolled away from her, pulling the bedclothes round himself as a shield. “You must return to your bed at once. I will not disrespect Maggie while she sleeps so near.”
The truth was that he was very confounded, as much by her presence in his chamber as by her presence in his household. Hadn’t he been happy with Maggie? She had pleased him, certainly. Her willingness to learn and bring him pleasure in the bed chamber had been unparalleled. They had forged a bond in the last month, albeit not one as long or as strong as the one he had forged with Eleanor over the years. But it was different. He had come to respect his wife, much as it galled him to admit it. Yes, Maggie was an incomparable, from her poetry to her flaming curls to her willingness to open herself to him. She was special.
But was Maggie the woman he loved?
“Disrespect her?” Eleanor’s words were all but an incredulous growl. “What of me? Who is she to you, other than the funds you so desperately needed?”
He felt a great wash of shame then, and it made his cock wither more assuredly than a pail of cold water. She was only repeating words he had oft said to her. He recalled them now, a shower of shame pouring over his head. The woman I’ve wed means nothing to me. She was a necessary sin. I love you, Eleanor. Only you.
Disgust slammed into him. He stood from the bed, stalking through the darkness in search of his dressing gown. “I made a promise to her that I would be true to her for an entire month, and at the very least I intend to keep that promise. You must go, Eleanor. I demand it.”
“Very well.” Her voice was drawn with hurt. “I shall go. But you will beg for me to be in your bed again, Sandy. This much I know.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice hoarse. Christ, he didn’t know what to believe any longer. Part of him wanted Eleanor and the love they’d once shared. But a part of him wanted Maggie and the life he’d known with her, filled with poetry and laughter and sensuality. Filled with freedom. He was hopelessly torn. “You’re wrong, Eleanor,” he repeated, as much for her benefit as for his, and, throwing the sash about his waist, he strode from the room.
* * * * *
Maggie couldn’t sleep. The ugly ramifications of the day taunted her so that even when she closed her eyes, she could see Lady Billingsley’s fine-boned face, her tiny waist, the halo of blonde hair that marked her a true English beauty. Her head ached. Her heart hurt. She was alternately hot, then cold, uncomfortable trapped beneath too many coverings and then not enough.
With a sigh, she attempted to plump her pillow with perhaps more force than required of the task. Simon had come to her earlier in the evening, and their lovemaking had been slow and sweet, but she’d been almost too gripped with the sudden reappearance of the woman he loved to enjoy the simple mating of their bodies.
Dinner earlier had been an unbearably stilted affair. Lady Billingsley joined them, and while Maggie had yearned for nothing more than to hide herself in the private comfort of her chamber for the duration of the meal, she knew she could not allow the awful woman to see her weakness. Maggie was born from the stock of warriors, and she wasn’t about to be beaten by a sylph who had broken her husband’s heart only to return as if she could once again draw him back into her web.
She hoped she had retained her dignity. Twice, she had lost her head and had almost allowed her true feelings to billow forth. She had privately longed for Lady Billingsley to choke upon the soup course, much to her inner shame. But through it all, she had somehow managed to act the part of hostess, as if she weren’t about to engage in battle with the woman seated opposite her at table.
Battle.
Maggie grimaced and turned to her left side, desperate to thrash the misgivings from her mind, at least for the night. Did she want to do battle? A few weeks before, the answer would have been a sure and steady “no”. She had been disillusioned with life, with a husband who hadn’t wanted her, with a life of solitude and longing for something more. And then Lady Needham’s house party. Meeting Simon free of the encumbrances between them had been exhilarating. Her body had been awakened to desires she’d never even imagined existed. Their bargain of one month in each other’s arms had seemed fortuitous for the both of them. She yearned for passion, he for a woman to take the place of his heartache.
But now it was all so hopelessly, painfully complicated. Her heart had somehow become involved. She cared for Simon, the man who she’d once thought cold and distant but who she’d discovered still wore the scars of his past beneath his elegant façade. Dear heavens, she had not meant to allow him to make her feel so much.
A soft noise filtered through her troubled musings just then, putting a halt to her runaway mind for the moment. She held her breath and listened. It seemed to be coming from Simon’s adjoining chamber. Filled with misgiving, she rose from her bed and padded across the carpet to listen at the door. A low rumble reached her ears, unmistakably Simon’s voice. Then there was the softer voice of a woman.
Maggie pressed her ear t
o the door, not caring that it was an act better suited to a schoolroom girl than to a woman of her years. She was desperate to know what was being said, yet terrified to know at the same time. Unfortunately, she couldn’t decipher their words no matter how hard she tried, but perhaps it was because of the blood rushing to her head. Anger took her over first. How dare the woman be so bold as to go to Simon’s chamber? How dare Simon give her entrance?
Beneath the anger, an awful tide of hurt rose through her. How could he betray her in their home, and so soon after he had made love to her? How could he show her such passion only to give the same to another woman? A mere month ago, you never entered my thoughts, and now you’re all I can damn well think about, he had told her, the rotten liar. Perhaps she had been wrong and he did not possess a heart after all.
Part of her wanted to throw open the door and confront them both, but the other part of her feared very much what awaited her on the other side. She couldn’t bear to see him holding Lady Billingsley, kissing her, touching her. Feeling ill, she paced back to her bed and sank into it. She had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to, and for the first time in her largely unhappy stay in England, she felt completely and utterly alone.
Tears stung her eyes, and try though she might, she couldn’t keep them from falling. After all this time, all the wisdom she had sworn she’d gained, he still had the power to hurt her, to crush her as if she were a paper doll beneath his boot heel. It was a horrible realization. She wanted so much to be impervious to him, to have been as worldly as Lady Needham. But she supposed that in the end, she was still the same dreamer with a poet’s soul she had always been, a girl who naively believed in the promise of passion. A girl who felt too much, who saw the best in others even when it was not present, and who allowed a cad to strike too close to her heart. It had not been the first time Simon had hurt her, but as she lay in the darkness planning what she ought to do, she decided that it would have to be the very last.
Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands) Page 15