Wright, Cynthia

by Touch the Sun

  Quietly he knocked, but when there was no response, he eased the door open. The fire was fast dwindling to red-orange embers which lent the darkened room a warm molten glow. Meagan looked tiny in the middle of her field bed, raven hair splayed upon the silk pillows and fringed lashes lying against her cheeks. Lion's heart turned over at the sight of her. Carefully he grasped the trunk with both hands to set it down where he stood. For a moment, he wavered between leaving and staying, but his ale-induced recklessness won easily over any sense of propriety.

  Meagan was clad in the same billowing cambric bedgown which she had worn the night he came to her window. However, this time she had neglected to fasten the buttons which would have covered her neck and Lion thought that her throat looked as soft as ivory rose petals. Gently he kissed her there, his lips brushing upward to press against her cheekbone, then her parted lips.

  Meagan awoke slowly, but remained unsure of her actual state of consciousness, for Lion was the one constant in all her dreams.

  For the moment, she chose to believe it a delicious fantasy. His face and hair were burnished in the firelight, while well-loved blue eyes sparkled above her like stars. When he bent to kiss her, Meagan clasped her arms around his neck and let the heady magic of his lips sweep away all caution. She caressed the muscles in his shoulders which were easily discernible even through his coat and shirt, reveling in the feel of his hard masculine body pressed to hers.

  "I brought your trunk," he whispered, shattering her illusion.

  Meagan shifted her hands to his shoulders in an attempt to separate their bodies.

  "You have taken advantage of me," she protested without conviction. "I thought you were a dream."

  "Why, thank you," Lion grinned, white even teeth flashing in his dark face. "To be honest, you looked rather like a dream yourself, fondling." Tenderly he traced her shell-pink cheek with the edge of his thumb.

  "Well," she said, trying to sound brisk while averting her eyes, "I appreciate this late-night delivery. I do need my clothing, for I haven't had a chance to wash that single dress yet. All I had space to bring were my fresh aprons—"

  "That reminds me," he interrupted, "I want you to get rid of those awful black dresses. Not that you don't look charming in them, but I do think we might find a more cheerful color. I'll choose your new uniform."

  "I can imagine," Meagan muttered dryly, and Lion laughed.

  "I don't mean to change the subject, but I realized partway through the play's first act tonight that I never did hear what the important matter was that you wished to speak to me about. Will you discuss it now, or are you still angry?"

  "I—" her voice faltered and, still sleepy, she let herself smile. "I should be. Deep inside, I always am, but—"

  "You are unable to resist such a charming rogue."

  "You flatter yourself overmuch."

  "Before I suffer a deeper wound from your sharp tongue, let me inquire again what it was that you wished to discuss. Our conversations seem to be plagued by digression."

  Meagan wrinkled her nose, aware for the first time of the alcoholic smell which mingled with those other body scents she loved so well. Peering more closely at his face, she discerned subtle changes in his expression; the way his usually firm mouth seemed to tilt down at one side, the brash gleam in his eyes, replacing their generally keen watchfulness.

  "Lion, are you intoxicated?"

  He grinned, then pretended to be offended, blond eyebrows flying up as he clasped a protective hand to his white shirtfront.

  Meagan noticed then that his cravat was slightly askew, an unusual bit of negligence which convinced her more surely than any other piece of evidence. Lion's attire was never any less splendid than the body it covered; even his most casual riding clothes were perfectly tailored, spotless, and unwrinkled.

  "No wonder you had the effrontery to burst in here in the middle of the night!" she scolded.

  Lion smiled mischievously, but then his expression grew more serious. "I drank tonight to blunt the pain, attempting to banish your face from my mind. The ale helped for a time, but now its only effect seems to be a lessening of all the checks I have kept on my heart and my tongue. I feel as compelled to reveal my emotions to you as you were earlier tonight."

  "Perhaps you should leave then," she suggested rather weakly. "I wouldn't want you to say anything that you might regret tomorrow."

  "If I were sober," he replied with an ironic smile, "I expect I would leave. I expect I would have overcome the temptation to come in here at all. But, right now, I am sick to death of being strong-willed. I am sick of the role I must play with Priscilla, sick of the deceit, and of forcing myself to recall my ambition whenever I would listen to my heart." A jaw muscle quirked. "You doubt that I have one? Well you might, little one. But I do. I shall tell you something now and I suggest that you listen carefully, for when sobriety returns, so shall my guard." He picked up one of her hands, examining it tenderly. Against his own, so dark and lean, it seemed as tiny as a baby's.

  "Soft, sweet..." he mused. "As unique as its owner and as incongruous. There could not be another serving-girl alive with delicate, fine hands like these." Looking up, he met her eyes squarely, but the firelight camouflaged her guilty blush.

  "Meagan, you imagine that I have used you—as a plaything, a diversion. You think that I toy with your feelings because of the amusement you give me. I am telling you now that you are wrong. My feelings for you are anything but casual though I have tried to convince myself that they were just that. On the occasions when I have made overtures toward you, it was not for the sake of diversion but because my mind could no longer master my heart."

  She saw the line of his jaw harden as his eyes mellowed with poignant longing. It was impossible for her to breathe; she could not have made even a finger move, and under the cambric of her bedgown, the downy hairs along her arms stood up.

  "Ah, Meagan, if only we had met earlier, before I laid these plans for my life! If I had known you even a season ago, I'd have married you in an instant." Firelight played across his face, and Meagan shivered deliciously at the sight of his rakish grin. "You see, that is the rub. All my life I have thrown caution to the wind, counting on nothing but my incredible good luck to see me through. I've been a devil. Then, for once, I found something that I wanted but could not have. Something of serious substance—a seat in Congress. Can you not understand even a little the forces that pull me from you? That day I arrived at West Hills, I was alive with my dream, excited at the prospect of working toward it. A loveless marriage? It was only a step toward that goal and I was happy to do it for that reason alone. I was happy to have found some meaningful purpose in life beyond accumulating wealth and seeking adventure. I'm no longer young—"

  "Oh, Lion!" Meagan could not suppress a delicate snort of laughter.

  "I'm not!" he argued defensively. "What do you know about it? What are you? Eighteen?"

  "My age is not the issue. You are croaking about your own as if you were in your dotage! Look at this!" Her hand slid under his open jacket as she sought to squeeze his narrow waist. There was not an inch of spare flesh; Meagan could not even pinch him.

  "Or this!" Her fingers moved to his arm, which bridged her hips, bracing him against the bed. Under the concealment of his beige coat, she felt the pattern of steely muscles and glanced at him triumphantly. Lion smiled down at her in the secret way that made her feel so uncomfortable.

  "Or this!" Her voice faltered a bit. She had thought to save her best point for last, but as she reached out to touch that magnificent face, her nerve seemed to crumble. She had planned to remind him of the firm smoothness of his tan skin, to declare that she knew no boy of eighteen who could boast such a hard-muscled, conditioned body. But her fingers trembled against his cheekbone and strange tingling sensations seemed to pass through those five points of contact. One of Lion's dark hands came up slowly to cover her own, flattening it along his cheek and temple.

  "Are you trying to t
ell me that you like the way I look, or is this inventory of my body being done from a purely objective point of view?"

  Meagan blushed so profusely that no amount of flame-hued firelight could disguise it. "I—I—"

  "Let me help." The polite tone of his voice mocked her gently. "I believe I was opening my heart to you; baring my soul, if you will. My guess is that you felt the situation growing rather sticky, particularly as you saw the conversation on the point of being tossed to you, so you grasped at this straw of a distraction—the issue of my age." Lion's eyes began to sparkle now, like sapphires under moonlight, and his mouth curved up slightly. "With your typical enthusiasm you set off to change the subject completely, never realizing—until it was too hue—that you were only digging yourself in deeper!"

  He allowed himself a soft chuckle as Meagan's face grew hotter. Embarrassment was joined by indignant outrage and she tried to pull her hand from its warm nest, wishing she had the nerve to hit him.

  "If you were sober, I should slap you," she announced coldly, thinking that it might be enough that he knew her inclination.

  Lion startled her by laughing out and bending to enfold her in his arms. "You are very considerate of my infirmity," he murmured against her ear, obviously highly amused. "It is kind of you not to take advantage of a man in my weakened condition!"

  Meagan struggled like a kitten in its first bath; she was totally vehement and totally ineffectual. She had the feeling that Lion could have held her there with one hand if he so desired.

  It was perfectly obvious to her what was in his mind and she rebelled at his self-assurance. I will not be aware of his body! she repeated silently, over and over, while continuing to squirm against all those warm muscles.

  Lion waited for her to quiet, but when she showed no signs of giving up, he decided to spare her the discomfort of exhausting herself. Smiling at her flushed, piquant face, he bent his head and found her lips.

  Meagan wanted to shout, Cheat! but instead she sobbed deep in her throat, pressing her body closer to his, feeling him harden against her even through the quilts as she parted her lips to answer his kiss.

  Then Lion's warm breath and firm mouth sent shivers all along her nerve endings as he alternately devoured her and savored her. It was as though he lost control and couldn't get enough fast enough, and then he would remember how long he had yearned to hold her and kiss her so and would wish to make the interlude last forever.

  Meagan was born and died a hundred times under the sensuous magic of his mouth, hands, entire body. She pressed hot, sweet kisses over his chiseled face as he flicked open the buttons down the front of her gown and gently slid it off.

  To Lion, she was as perfect, as soft and gracefully made as the cream and pink roses in the Binghams' greenery. With every kiss or caress, he felt her silky skin prickle, then warmth would blossom where he had touched and he knew that she responded to him as sentiently as he did to her.

  Even in the heat of passion, Lion perceived that Meagan had abandoned restraints, but not permanently. She was indulging them both—because of the things he had said to her? Did she understand, even if she would not say so? He believed, as her lips clung to his, prolonging a kiss even when he would have broken it, that she did. When he was naked beside her, she seduced him with such uninhibited joy that he knew she loved him. Loved him in spite of what he had done to her.

  Neither of them could have spoken aloud, but on through the night, Lion and Meagan communicated, again and again, in that most universally eloquent of languages.

  ***

  Soft, apricot light filtered through the muslin bed-hangings and Meagan opened her eyes to the first blush of dawn. Oh, she thought contentedly, this is paradise.

  The bed was warm and rumpled, embracing them as they embraced one another. Lion lay almost on his back, one lean-muscled arm holding her against his hard chest while the other fit itself to the curve of her hip. Their legs were entwined, so totally different in every respect that Meagan found herself staring at them. How wondrous is this man-woman phenomenon, she mused. No wonder it has the power to send us to the heights of ecstasy or the depths of despair!

  Her violet eyes turned up to drink in the sight of Lion's quiescent face, splendid yet so vulnerable that her heart ached with love.

  In all the plans that she had laid the previous night before sleep overtook her, Meagan had not allowed for this contingency. Now as she tried to memorize every detail of his face, she wondered if those glorious hours she had just spent with Lion would prove to be a fatal mistake. It was difficult to concentrate with her body molded to his, but she knew that she must reassess her strategy before he awoke.

  She had decided that the only way to win Lion would be to make him realize, during the weeks she would spend in his house, that he could not live without her. The other side of the coin was that he also must be made to believe that she would not remain as his mistress. Somehow the fateful decision laid out in their bargain would have to be reversed to rest with Lion, and reversed so gradually that he would not even realize what she had done. If he comprehended the fact that she was scheming as diligently as he, Meagan knew that all would be lost, for Lion would never allow himself to be manipulated.

  She had never intended to let their physical relationship enter in as a factor, at least not to this extent, but now she sensed that her instincts had not betrayed her. When Lion had kissed her, her brain ceased to function and her woman's body had taken control. Meagan had learned her first lesson: all the careful planning in the world could not save her when Lion spun his golden web of magic around her. She knew that her heart could be trusted to follow the right course. When all else failed, the simplicity of love could be the best weapon of all.

  Smiling, Meagan nuzzled against the muscled ridges that began between his ribs and continued all the way down his flat belly. Sunrise lent a rosy-orange luster to Lion's tawny skin and the gilt hairs that shimmered over his arms, chest, and legs.

  Meagan edged her way higher, nibbling gently at his collarbone and brushing feather-soft kisses across broad shoulders. She lingered over the hollow at the base of his neck, teasing with her tongue until she felt him harden against her satiny thigh. Slowly Lion's arms encircled her and for a long moment he held her close, breathing in the lilac fragrance of her rich hair.

  "You are insatiable!" he teased, his voice husky with sleep.

  "I know. I am terrible."

  Lion laughed low, rolling her over into the pillows. "On the contrary, sweetheart. You are wonderful."

  His mouth grazed her throat, ear, shoulder, burning wherever it touched until Meagan felt the fire spreading downward. Helplessly she arched her hips for closer contact with his bold manhood. Longing kindled anew in her loins; she laced slender fingers into his hair, unaware that she gripped it painfully.

  The intensity and quickness of her response heightened Lion's own desire. He came to her, thrusting deeply, and Meagan answered him with fervent passion.

  They were consumed by a blazing sun, a searing pleasure that reached far beyond physical need. Afterward, Meagan could not let him go, keeping him within her, her arms around his muscled back. They were both covered with a light sheen of perspiration and their hearts thudded in unison.

  Meagan's face was pressed to the place where Lion's neck blended into his shoulder, while he lay against her raven hair. Unexpected tears congealed in her throat. Blinking, she tried to keep them from her eyes, but to no avail. One slid out and fell across the bridge of her nose, then dropped onto Lion's collarbone.

  Instantly his head came up. Bracing with his elbows, he stared down at Meagan's face. A warm, surprising tide of emotion swept over him as he gazed at her, wondering how anyone could look so beautiful, winsome, soft, womanly—all at once. She was flushed; a film of moisture clung to her upper lip like dew on a rosebud. Lustrous ebony hair spilled over the pillows, accentuating the delicate translucence of her skin, while her magnificent violet eyes pooled with tears.

>   "Oh, Lion, don't look at me like that!" Meagan managed at last. But her voice was faint, and her tiny chin trembled even as she bit her lip in an effort to still it.

  "I was thinking what an incredible mixture you are. Girl and woman, innocence and sensuousness, classic beauty and piquancy, candor and... mystery." She shivered beneath him while her expression grew more anguished. Kissing a tear from her temple, Lion asked gently, "What are you thinking? Do you weep out of regret?"

  Meagan's hands caressed his back, tracing every muscle, every line that they could reach. When she spoke, her voice was soft and halting. "I could never regret these past hours; I am able to recognize the beauty, purity even, of what we have shared. Part of me cries because of the intensity of my happiness at this moment, but I suppose that there is a sadness, a regret, within me as well. I would like to be the kind of person who could live only in the present instead of complicating things by remembering tomorrow." Her next words were spoken with poignant directness and eyes full of love. "Oh, my great golden lion, I wish I could stay in your arms forever."

  "No one is forcing you to leave me, Meagan," he replied quietly. "You are more than welcome to spend the rest of your life with me."

  Lion had seen her weakness and could not resist the opportunity to appeal to it. However, he had underestimated, or forgotten, her strength. For a long moment, Meagan gazed at him and her chin steadied, then went up a notch while her entire body stiffened.

  "If you think to wear me down by rendering me defenseless, you misjudge me. I would feel less angry if you would stop acting as though you believe I am dimwitted enough to be persuaded to live out my days as any man's whore. Just because I have shed tears for you, that does not mean that I have turned to jelly!" Angrily she swallowed a sob. "See what you have done with your crude charm? You have cheapened a time that I would have treasured—"

  Lion was well aware of her body's rejection. As Meagan's eyes closed and she pressed a fist against her lips, he obligingly moved away and left the bed, bending to lightly pick up his breeches from the nearby wing chair. His thoughts were in a whirl, but he knew that he could not accuse her of being proud or stubborn, for he possessed the same traits in equal measure. Also, justice was certainly on her side.