Lion's lean fingers slid up her satiny leg and Meagan's breath caught in a gasp as a throbbing heat spread where her thighs joined. Strong hands caught her waist and then she was against him, drinking in the feel of his firm, brown skin pressed to her cheek and the scent of tobacco and maleness that was so much a part of him. Long fingers laced through her hair, lifting her face, and Meagan's temples pulsed against his palms as their mouths came together. She was suffused with a terrible yearning as his tongue touched hers with fire; her arms twined about his sturdy neck while she felt his own like steel across her back.
It's like drowning, she thought fuzzily, her will and strength sucked under in the tide of their passion. Lion's warm, hard mouth traveled over her face and neck, tracing her fragile bone structure, while his fingers removed her open pelisse and unfastened her gown with skillful ease.
Somehow, her dress and chemise came away from her shoulders and his blond head bent, inhaling the lilac fragrance of her silky hair, then scorching her petal-smooth skin with his lips. When they touched her breasts, Meagan cried out softly. His tongue and lips and teeth lingered there until she flushed hot and cold, tingling with the sensations he aroused in her. Lion shifted, leaning her across the muscles of his arm, and she felt the hard, bold manliness that strained against his buckskin breeches.
Suddenly the velvet cushions were uncovered and strewn across the floor; strong arms laid her lightly down, and through a haze, Meagan saw Lion strip away his clothes. Spun sunlight poured through the windows, silhouetting him in a golden luster that added to her dreamlike state of mind. His body was more magnificent than she could have ever dreamed —bronzed, with taut muscles that flexed and rippled with every movement. His broad shoulders and chest tapered down into lean hips and long, powerful legs. Silently, with the grace of a jungle cat, he knelt beside her and slipped her own garments over her hips and down her legs. Meagan's violet eyes were liquid with desire and her loins ached with a need she could not name. She flinched as their bodies first came together, then shivered in his arms, poignantly conscious of the difference between them. His manhood pressed against her belly and she arched her hips by instinct while melting under the heat of his kiss. His mouth devoured her fragrant, soft body, lingering over her newly aroused breasts until they strained against his Hps and Meagan gripped his shining blond hair, moaning aloud. He slid back up to find the secret places on her neck and throat, kissing her nape where baby-down curls grew along the hairline and teasing her pink ears with his tongue. Then their mouths came together again, passion building until kiss followed kiss, each one sweeter and deeper than the one before. Meagan's hands ran along his ribs, then down to the lean, narrow hips. She could feel the muscles contract when she touched the firm surface of his buttocks and, beneath him, she burned against his hardness.
Neither of them could have formed one lucid thought at that moment, for fate would win out, as it was meant to. The last kiss ended slowly, Meagan clinging to him as her need washed over her in hot waves of nearly unbearable sensation.
"Oh, Lion, please..." she whispered brokenly, opening her thighs to welcome him. Gently, he went into her, probing deeply until he felt her respond. His strong hands turned her hips so that she panted with mixed pain and pleasure, finding his rhythm and meeting him at each thrust. He groaned then, white teeth clenched, and as he drove far up inside her, Meagan's own frustrating ache gave way to a flood of pleasurable relief that swept up her belly and down her legs.
Corded veins stood out on Lion's forearms as he braced himself above Meagan, slowly lowering his head to taste her moist lips. After moving to lie beside her, he drew her against him and she pressed her cheek against the light matting of golden hair covering his broad, dark chest. The dramming of his heart slowed as she listened until at last it was regular. For herself, mindless passion and hunger had been replaced by a creeping glow of contentment. His arms about her felt right and she sensed that they had communicated more in those minutes of prelude and union than they could have in hours of honest verbal conversation.
"Meagan?"
She drew her face away from his warm, well-muscled chest with reluctance and looked up to find him staring at her intently, his eyes full of wonderment, questions, and contradictions. Her own were calm and guileless as she gave him a blissful smile.
"Yes?"
"I—" He dropped his gaze from hers, already feeling the prick of guilt, wondering what to say. He was well-versed in the art of casual love, skilled in the subtleties of conquest, bedding, and adroit elusion of the inevitable marital trap. None of his rules fit Meagan, and what had passed between them had been something unknown to him. Was such—such magic possible, or could it have been the sun...? Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks. Eyes fixed on the curve of her hip, he sought words to ease his predicament, already wishing he had avoided this situation, for some instinct warned him that unheard-of complexities would arise and weave themselves about him in the future. The first one showed itself as he noticed the smear of crimson on her thigh. Blood. Lion groaned as softly as possible.
"Oh, Meagan," he implored, meeting her eyes again, "tell me you weren't a virgin!"
"I could say it... but it would be a lie," she replied frankly, seemingly undisturbed by her plight.
Lion pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, displaying thick tawny lashes. "Oh, Meagan... How could you let me?"
She giggled lightly in spite of herself. "Must the responsibility lie with me?" Reassuringly, she ran a finger along the lean line of his jaw. "I do not blame you, though, for I cannot think that a crime has been committed. Rather I would give you credit for bringing me as near to heaven as a mortal could come."
Abruptly he let her go, turning away and sitting up. A long arm stretched out to hook his fawn jacket, while Meagan felt a corner of her dream crumble to dust as she sensed reality's invasion. His hand sought a handkerchief in the pocket of his coat, but she was distracted, looking past him as a movement outside caught her attention. A slender blond figure was just disappearing into the trees and Meagan's heart froze with instinctive recognition.
"Lion?" she asked as he turned back, holding out the snowy linen for her to use.
"Hmm?" His eyes avoided hers. "Are you—that is, you aren't in any pain?"
"No, no. Lion, what did Mr. Markwood look like?"
His mind spun. "Markwood? Why, he was quite tall, I believe. Heavy-set, brown hair. What a question at such a moment! Don't tell me you've seen him too?"
He was clearly amused, relieved by the distraction, but Meagan's worried eyes were fixed on the clearing outside. The alarm and perplexity she felt chilled the last of her radiance.
"No—I'm afraid I haven't."
Chapter Thirteen
Meagan forgot all about the figure in the garden during their ride back to Philadelphia as her preoccupation with Lion's behavior grew. She had waited while they dressed for him to tell her that he loved her—that he would break his engagement to Priscilla immediately. Deep inside she knew it wouldn't happen. Hadn't he told her that his goal of a career in Congress must override every other facet of his life? Still, she pushed their past conversations from her mind and continued to hope. As they cantered along the country road in the deepening twilight chill, Meagan tried to keep her voice light, her face smiling, but in truth, a sick feeling was spreading through her body. Now that the spell was broken, she wondered if it had ever been at all. Her ears rang when she thought of what she had done—of what she had become to Lion. How many girls had gone before her?
He, however, seemed relaxed; his manner toward her was affectionate, if slightly bemused. Meagan cast him sidelong glances out of the corners of her eyes as they rode along. His profile was dark against the flame-colored sky, perfectly drawn and completely inscrutable.
After they passed the Pennsylvania Hospital, Lion drew his roan off to the side of the road and Meagan followed.
"I think we should part here," he said gently. "After the othe
r day, it wouldn't do either of us any good to be seen together."
Meagan could see the harsh truth of the matter and the feeling of vague nausea gave way to a flood of shame and humiliation. When she tried to meet his gaze with cool, unfeeling eyes, they filled up with hot tears. She longed to disappear, but it was impossible. Instead, she turned her head away and wiped her eyes with the edge of her pelisse.
"Meagan," he said quietly.
"What?" Her own voice was husky, yet defiant. She despised him.
"Don't do this. Don't disappoint me."
Her eyes sparkled with tears, lilac against the magenta sky. "How dare you speak of your disappointment?"
"I never thought I would see you cry. You knew how I felt! Did you think I would give it all up? You knew, Meagan, so don't look at me that way! You wanted it as much as I did." His eyes darkened meaningfully, yet there was an undercurrent of defensiveness in his voice as though he sought to convince himself. "If the truth were known, your need may well have been greater than mine."
Angrily she turned away, intending to leave him, but he caught her hand before Victoria could start toward the road.
"Listen to me, little one. You mustn't hate me, but at the same time, I wouldn't want to mislead you. And I do not feel that I have so far. Why don't you take my view? I believe that we must reach out for happiness when and where we can find it." He cupped her delicate chin in his now familiar way, tipping it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes. "I found a great deal of happiness today with you. I know you felt the same way. Don't make the mistake of losing those good memories under a heavy load of guilt. Because —make no mistake—the woman in you has no regrets."
With that he leaned over and kissed her with bittersweet tenderness, and when he drew away from her, Meagan was certain that she saw pain in the cerulean-blue eyes.
"Rest easy, my lady," he whispered, then gave a sharp tug on the reins and cantered off down the street.
Meagan was numb. She watched until his broad shoulders and golden hair were blocked by a phaeton, then, somehow she remembered Mansion House: Teatime! Only a thin tangerine crescent of sun crowned the chimney-topped roofs of the city, while behind it, the sky was layered in deepening shades of orange and pink. Certain that she was late, Meagan jerked at the reins with uncommon force and Victoria trotted out onto Spruce Street.
The air had the cold edge of evening in it now. Meagan could feel tears rolling down her cheeks, chilling and drying there as Victoria twisted through the crush of horses and carriages. Men returning home from their businesses, home to cozy parlors, hot meals, and loving families. As Meagan turned Victoria off onto Bingham Court, she felt more disconsolate than at any other moment in her life.
***
At that moment, Anne and Priscilla were seated in the landau, its top up to protect them from the chilly evening air. The day's dress fittings had taken far longer than Anne had anticipated, and now they were caught in the mass of vehicles making their way home along High Street.
"I am exhausted!" Priscilla exclaimed, yawning with elaborate delicacy.
"Well, there are tedious days like this, but the evenings will make up for them. Especially when you receive the finished gowns and are able to enjoy them!"
"I suppose..." She was watching the other carriages and pedestrians with languid green eyes. "Didn't you say that Clarissa Claussen lived on High Street?"
"Yes!" Anne leaned forward to look outside. "There is the house—the third one!"
"It looks as though it needs paint" was Priscilla's acid observation.
"Probably. Edgar Claussen was once one of Philadelphia's most prominent citizens, one of the early leaders in sea trade. He had five daughters older than Clarissa and his wife died giving birth to her. He is seventy or more now and has had a hard time of it, what with the war, raising his daughters and finding husbands for them, and then losing two ships when the China trade opened up. He has little money left and I think he is just waiting to die... Clarissa is the only child left at home and is poorly supervised, as one might guess."
Anne's voice trailed off as they both caught sight of a familiar dark head descending from the perch of a black and green phaeton.
"Driver!" called Anne. "Stop!"
Marcus Reems had just started up the Claussens' front steps when he heard Anne's greeting. Momentarily, he considered ignoring it, but then Priscilla joined in. He turned back reluctantly. In the heavy, rose-hued twilight, the two faces in the landau looked nearly identical and utterly lovely.
"Ladies! What a pleasure it is to see you both; it is just the refreshment I needed after a tiring day."
At that moment, the front door flew open to reveal Clarissa, oddly flushed and agitated. "Marcus! I thought you would never get here! Wait until you hear—"
"Miss Claussen, I am equally anxious to learn what your father has to say to me. Please tell him that I shall be in as soon as I bid these lovely ladies good evening."
Her huge, sky-blue eyes shifted in confusion to follow Marcus's gesturing hand. From the covered landau, Priscilla and Anne met her gaze with raised eyebrows.
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt, Mr. Reems." She smiled and nodded at the landau. "Mrs. Bingham, Miss Wade..."
Hastily the door was closed. Marcus looked back in some relief, giving Priscilla his best debonair smile. "Such an excitable girl. One would think her father ruled the world!"
"Are you certain your business is with Mr. Claussen and not his daughter?" Priscilla queried archly.
Marcus flinched imperceptibly, recovering his wits in the space of a deep breath. His sharp instincts told him that Priscilla was only jealous, and his first stab of panic was lost under a wave of euphoria. He moved toward the carriage, reaching in to take her hand. She colored prettily.
"Miss Wade, do I detect a possessive note in your voice?" He kept his own tone light and properly teasing. "You must know that no man with eyes and a heart could notice any woman but you."
"I wish that were true, Mr. Reems," Priscilla responded, faintly tragic.
"For me, it is." He kissed her fingertips, then carefully repeated the gesture with Anne Bingham's hand. "I fear I must bid you ladies adieu. Mr. Claussen must be most impatient."
"We must be going as well," said Anne. "William and Mr. Hampshire will be waiting for us."
"Oh?"
"We are having an early supper; then the men are taking us to Southwark Theater for the first performance of The Roman Father."
"More irony! I am planning to attend myself. Alone..." He turned sad gold eyes on Priscilla.
"Perhaps we shall see you there," she said reassuringly.
"I shall retain that hope. Until then..." Marcus closed the door and stood back as the landau rolled back onto High Street. The women waved, and as he watched the carriage turning right at Third Street, his expression changed from forlorn to slyly confident.
***
Some stray remnant of good fortune saw Meagan home before the return of Anne and Priscilla. Smith greeted her in the servants' hall with a gasp of relief, setting down the taper which she was using to light the house's candles.
"Meagan! I've been frantic! I couldn't imagine you purposely letting yourself be missed, so I was convinced that some harm had come to you. I should never have let you go off alone!"
In spite of herself, Meagan smiled. "I'm sorry if I worried you. Truly. I didn't mean to be late... I just went out too far and I suppose I misjudged the time."
Smith inclined her head, eyeing the disheveled girl quizzically. "Well, did you enjoy yourself? Where did you go?"
Ignoring the first question, Meagan answered simply, "Out to Markwood Villa. I must go now and tidy myself before Miss Wade returns. I can't imagine what has kept them out so long."
After she had gone, Smith continued along down the paneled hallway, lighting the candles and wondering how Meagan had learned the name of Markwood Villa.
In her room, Meagan poured tepid water into her basin and wo
odenly began to wash. When she slipped her gown off, she stood before the hazy mirror that hung over the washstand and stared at her bare arms and shoulders. It seemed impossible that only an hour before, Lion's mouth and skin had been touching hers. Slowly she pulled the pins from her tumbled hair and watched, hypnotized, as she brushed it, welcoming the painful pull of each tangle. Finally she began to twist the gleaming jet-colored stream of hair, fastening it atop her head. Then she saw it. A faint, rose colored bruise below the downy base of her hairline, a few inches from the nape of her neck. The color of a kiss, if such existed. Meagan's heart began to race, her chin trembled, and she closed her eyes against the scalding tears even as she put her fingers over the mark Lion had left. The memory of him engulfed her—the hard yet gentle touch of his hands, the intoxicating scent of his golden skin, the pressure of his lips that set her afire, and the remarkable, magical feeling of being held in his arms, of lying against, fusing with his lean, warm, muscular body...
Meagan let the tears come, and with them came an exquisite, agonizing pain that seemed to begin in her breast and spread to every corner of her body. She was conscious for the first time of a burning ache between her legs which reminded her of her plight more eloquently than any words.
Finally, her tears were spent and Meagan felt somewhat revived. The numbness had left her brain and she got up to look into the mirror again, searching her reflection. Slowly she felt her innate, headstrong determination infuse her being. When in my life have I ever allowed another person to hurt me? she thought almost incredulously. Even Mother and Father.... Since I was little, I've learned not to rely on anyone else for my happiness. Is there any reason to allow a—a barbarian like Lion Hampshire to cause me such anguish now? The strength came to her in a heady rush and soon she was dressing hurriedly. I have made a terrible mistake and have made a fool of myself, but that is no reason to go on this way! From now on, I shall do just as I've always done—look out for myself. I don't need anything from him, or from Priscilla either!
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